Passion (or, Do You Have An Appointment?)

There are so many reasons to hate Facebook/online social media. It can be so cold, impersonal, invasive, exposing. And the irony is that, in a world that is inwardly-oriented, looking out for "#1", me-me-me-me-ME, "what do I get out of it?" - all the oddly-specific, tailor-made advertisements that observe your every digital move make you stop and wonder just how much some geeky stranger knows about you.

*Insert the heebie-jeebies from The Grinch w/Jim Carrey*

But then. Then there are those little redeeming links that whisper in your ear instead of yell at your face. They speak of hope, courage, perseverance, love...things that most of us wouldn't mind seeing in a banner ad at the top of our page.

The coined Biblical phrase, "Ask and you shall receive; seek and you shall find" applies quite beautifully to the internet. What you ask Google for, you will most definitely find 11,497 pages of. What you seek, you will find in 37 colors, 14 sizes, and gluten-free (and I'm just talking about scarves.) And dog-gone it if Amazon doesn't remember exactly which boots I lusted after, how many are left, and how much my total would be IF I bought them with that dress I just know I'd look amazing in. And then, mysteriously, ads for the boots and the dress are...everywhere. Relief comes only when I'm pushed to the limit, feeling violated enough to scream like a banchee, and delete, delete, DELETE my entire browsing history and every cookie ever to attach itself to my IP address.

BUT. Ah, the sweet potential and saving grace of "but".

BUT, if I seek out other things, things that look good on my soul (not "sole"), things that refresh & restore, or revive and inspire, I will find them, too. Maybe not in as many colors, and maybe not quite as many results turn up, but they always seem to be one-size-fits-most, delicious, and organic (no rBST here! Heh.)

And I have loved some of those sweet, surprising links so much that I want to share them. I've found that if I share them on FB, they go by mostly unnoticed. I believe that is because they are not immediately registered as funny or shocking. But quite the opposite is often true. I also believe that if someone does happen to give it a chance, the subject matter (which, as you will find, is about intimacy/sex in marriage) is not one they feel comfortable "liking" or commenting on and attaching their name to.

Why not? There is nothing to be lost and so much to be gained. And even if something of quality is taken away from a particular post, to have someone see their name associated with material that is "taboo", "dirty", "hush-hush" seems to be very threatening. Sad and frustrating for me to know this while I also know that thousands of couples are hurting, confused, angry, withdrawn, and feeling unloved because no one dares broach the subject of, what is supposed to be, a beautiful, sacred experience shared with the one great love of your life.

If you're looking for tips/techniques/position-of-the-day, you need to try Google again - it will not disappoint (it may, however, scar you for life, so be prepared.) But if you'd like some honest information, insight about the opposite sex, and hope, please see the obligatory bulleted list:

• Hot, Holy, & Humorous
• The Generous Husband
• The Generous Wife
• Marriage Bed
• Unveiled Wife
• To Love, Honor and Vacuum
• Winning at Romance

Each of these sites are so good about sharing invaluable information in a comfortable, even humorous, way. Nothing is off-limits, everything is real and real important. And they each have additional links to other wonderful sites. I hope you check a couple of them out (so far, HHH is one of my personal favorites -- anonymous, funny, and completely candid!) You will find a broad spectrum of posts, primarily centered around passion, and how sometimes, scheduling (yes, scheduling) time for "passion-maintenance" is just as important as the times that are overflowing with seduction, glowing candles, and mood-music.

Face it: it's just not always going to be this dramatic.
But I'm free Tuesday at 3.

I realize I'm not married, but frankly, I don't need to be to know that the topic needs some help; that the subject can use a little "push" from someone without any ulterior motives, who doesn't receive $.04 from every mouse click, who has had sweet, private conversations with friends who feel alone or desperate, from someone who values what it is designed and meant to be.

Whoa, Nelly

I hurt my neck Monday. I believe the technical term is "tweeked".

Or at least it is over at urbandictionary.com. (Don't go there to verify, though. Apparently "tweek" also means a variety of other, mildly horrific things which I refuse to divulge in this merry & bright holiday season.)

And you know what my injury forced me to do?

Something unfathomable. Unthinkable. Ridiculous. Something I definitely didn't have time for.

It forced me to slow down.

I took a very hot shower, slowly (no complaints.)
I slowly picked out the most comfortable, work-appropriate outfit & shoes (my feet thanked me.)
I had to slowly turn around to back my car out, or to check for oncoming traffic (you're welcome, people I didn't hit.)
I moved more slowly at work and could enjoy more Christmas music from my desk (fa-la-la-la-la!)
I got a last-minute massage appointment because the chiropractor was out of the office (gee, if you insist.)
And once I got home, changed into the favorite sparkly sweatpants, and sat down; I didn't have anywhere else to go. I went through Eric's homework slowly and deliberately, examining the answers he got wrong to see if I could figure out why, and admiring & praising him for the purple stars & stickers adorning the tops of the others. I sat next to him while he read, and patiently discussed birthday treat options for his class. I got to watch his reaction when I offered "ice cream cone cupcakes": first, his eyes lit up and he started listing the kinds of ice cream he wanted, and then his eyes & shoulders fell when he said, "But, Mom, you can't have any." He knows I can't have ice cream and his sadness at this thought enveloped me with the loving mystery of having a child that loves/knows/cares about me so much that I cross his mind when he's thinking of birthday treats.

I was able to describe exactly what ice cream cone cupcakes are and all is again right with the world.


Mommy & Eric


Today, I feel tons better and have donned high-heels and sparkles yet again. But I started the day off with Christmas music, sat and read my book during my lunch hour, and practiced my Christmas choir songs while watching my glittery snowflake sway from my rearview mirror. I also sent Sean a text that read: I don't want a bunch of silent pressure on this special holiday. I just want it to be nice. And I really don't want you stressing over there. I will try to think of something I would truly like [to receive].

I'm also relishing the fact that I get to go home in a few hours, turn on the prettiest white Christmas lights on the prettiest tree, and maybe take my my baby to a movie, even though I should {probably} be wrapping presents.

It is impossible every day, with the way we and our days are wired, to make the time for some things...to slow down and just absorb & enjoy...but it is always possible sometimes.

Gangnam (Blogging) Style

Raising my blog from the dead has given me an interesting perspective. Mostly on other blogs.

Because I know how I feel after I compose something, I am compelled, obligated even, to read posts written by others. To take advantage of the window they've left open to their heart and mind. And I am never disappointed by what they allow me to see, whether it's a photo of their favorite sneakers or a summary of a recent trip or something far more insightful. It is personal and, because of that, it is beautiful.

But I spent a good chunk of my drive to Jerome & back last night thinking about what "windows" I leave open and the view I leave others to absorb. I came to a couple conclusions about what you will typically NOT see when looking out my windows:

1. Shooting stars
2. Thought-bubbles full of hearts
3. Lists of things that inspire me
4. A yellow brick road
5. Neatly-place road signs reassuring me that I'm on the right track
6. Fluffy woodland creatures living in harmony with their natural predators
7. Bucket lists, goals, motivational phrases, and the like
8. Vanilla-scented anything
9. Wisdom for the ages
10. Unicorns

And while I appreciate the opportunity to enjoy those views from others' windows, I have come to terms with the fact that those things just don't do it for me. It would be unnatural and uncomfortable for me to write, let alone for you to read. You'd be able to tell my sincerity was left out of the equation. Can you imagine reading something I wrote without being able to detect a trace of metaphorical eye-rolling?

Alas, here I sit, with one eyebrow perched high on my brow in assumed skepticsm. And we are all comfortable again.

This is me. The girl with quips that are more suited for demotivational posters than for fortune cookies. With facial expressions that end up embarrassing you more than her. With the uncanny ability to make those I love laugh, even though they're upset. With the desire to love fiercely, but not in a rose-colored, candy-coated, vanilla-scented (bleh) "love is all we need" kind of way; but in an in-your-face, Imma own this, do it and do it well, grammatically correct (so help me), work-at-it kind of way.

And both views are wonderful and necessary to be appreciated. One is read with a sigh of optimism and blind hope; the other with a sigh of exasperation and a hint of whisky. One just as valid as the other.

On that note, mind if I borrow your unicorn? There's a new place down the (yellow brick) road that's supposed to have $5 buckets of vanilla-scented alcohol called "Shooting Stars". Word on the street is they inspire you to obey all neatly-placed road signs and help you avoid running over fluffy woodland creatures. But parking's crazy.

Day 12 | 5 Attractive Faces

I wasn't entirely sure how to approach this post simply because I have a handsome man of my own.

If you're a woman, you know how being attracted to a man goes way beyond the physical level. Without the emotional connection, a pretty face is appreciated much like a picture of a tropical beach you'll never actually spend time on.

That being said, here are 5 "tropical beaches":

Gerard Butler



Bradley Cooper



Channing Tatum



Paul Walker




Robert Downey Jr.

 *This post is strictly a personal assessment. No nervous giggles, tears, exaggerated gasps, or wistful gazes were invested into this post.

Challenge | Kiss & Catch Up (Days 8-11)

Ever have those times when you know you've been quite busy, but when someone asks you what you've been up to, you can't think of a single extraordinary thing to tell them besides the mundane? Suffice it to say, I've been busy doing...life, apparently.

So, sit back, relax, and enjoy Campbell's Janelle Soup, condensed for richer flavor.

Day 8 | What I Ate Today
This topic seems exceedingly boring to me, so I'm not going invest much time. At some point, throughout the day, I will have consumed plain yogurt w/grape nuts, a handful of grape tomatoes, a couple sweet peppers, gourment almonds and/or cashews (click here for mind-blowingly good munchies), and a Dove peanut butter/milk chocolate square or two. Days can vary with the addition of Cheez-its, Luna bars, oatmeal, turkey sandwiches, or left-over Buffalo Wild Wings. Also? Water, but never nearly enough.

Day 9 | Importance of Education
Very. Like, a lot. Tremendously. Silly question, really.

Day 10 | 10 Songs
Here's where I admit that I do not own an mp3 player of any kind. I used to use my sister's when I would run, but I stopped doing that some time ago (...and, by sticking it in my sports bra strap, I managed to sweat all over that poor little device...and it's gotten farther with me than 98% of my serious relationships...but that's just between us, k?) So, I have no "shuffle" button to push to create a mysterious & cultured aesthetic for you to absorb about me via lyrics & notes. However, I like The Beach Boys, Soulja Boy, Miranda Lambert, Beyonce, The Supremes, Toby Mac, Hunter Hayes, Britney Spears, some 50 Cent, classic Christmas songs, and the occasional Justin Bieber jam. Deduce what you will.

Day 11 | My Family
Oy. Where do I start with this bunch? There are 7 of us: Dad (Pete), Mom (Annette), Me, LoriAnn, Traci, Michael, & Shelley. I am the oldest at 29 and Shelley is 13. And we are a loud, rowdy, sarcastic, ridiculously good-looking, hilarious bunch. Just ask us. Oh, and we love each other fiercely. My family is so solid, it's hard to explain in this day & age. The amount of support is immeasurable. Such different personalities, but each one necessary to make us whole. You should "holiday" with us sometime. You'll never want to leave.

Day 7 | 5 Pet Peeves [Not Really]

If we're friends on FB, you already know that I'm fuming over here about a doctor's appointment I had in May. There are 2 other prominent issues wrapping themselves around my heart like barbed wire at the moment. And the last thing I need is to focus on 5 other things that bug me. I may address them later, but for now, I need to redirect my heart and mind. I need to find a safe, soft place to sit while I delicately try to disentangle the barbs; while I'm open with the Lord about how heavy my burden feels right now. Gratefulness won't remove it, but it might tie a few lime green and orange balloons to it and lighten the load.

The ABC'S of Thanks - Inspired by Finding Joy

A - Autumn, as warm as this year's has been.

B - Boy clothes, toys, sounds, hands, love...my baby boy.

C - Christ's mercy and love for me...good golly.

D - Dairy, the place I belong, learned life-lessons, ran barefoot; where my heart will always call home.

E - Eric.

F - Faces. Familiar, silly, furry, messy. All of them.

G - Girlfriends. There are a few of them out there who continue to help shape my world.

H - Heat. Whether it's the weather outside or the air blowing in through the vents.

I - Instant gratification. So good.

J - Joy. Being able to feel it.

K - Kiwi Loco. (Frozen yogurt.) 'Cause I can't have ice cream.
L - Laughter. It's my favorite.
M - Music. I have it playing all. the. time. It lights the dark, fills the negative space, makes me dance.
N - New friends. I've made a couple lately and have already been blessed by them. I hope they know that.
O - Originality. I love thinking of new design layouts.
P - Please. The word can move mountains.
Q - Quiet-hearted. Yes, I think I made that up. But I think you get it. I'm trying to be more like this.
R - Romance. To be made to feel special. Does not require extravagant acts.
S - Seven. As in, how old Eric will be in December. As in, how many years I've had to freak out about how old he's getting.
T - Tequila. Sometimes, a couple margaritas with treasured people is a perfect, priceless gift.
U - Ugliness. It makes you appreciate beauty. The messy makes you appreciate the clean. Life.
V - Vacations.
W - White Christmas. The magic of a snowy holiday morning.
X - eXamples. Good or poor, lessons are taught through them.
Y - Yes. So much opportunity awaits us with that word.
Z - Zinfandel. God bless it.




Baby boy

 

Day 6 | View on Mainstream Music

I have found that almost every genre of music has something good in it. It is also as subjective as someone's favorite color, food, or footwear.

I don't have satellite radio and I don't own an iPod. Local radio and the occasional cd are what I have at my disposal.

Due to my current demographic, country music and hip-hop are the most popular. I'm sure we aren't without a few, but we do not seem to possess the required amount of hipsters to sustain that particular genre.

My views are non-committal but valid: Music is like beauty - it is as it does; it is in the eye or ear of the beholder.

Whatever moves your soul; whatever gives you goosebumps; whatever you connect with; whatever makes you close your eyes and transports you somewhere you love...crank it way up.

Day 5 | Things You Want To Say To An Ex

If I gave in to the small, hurt Janelle, the one with the pitchfork and pointy tail, this post would be a stagnant sea of expletives. Or, symbols, rather, because she's still a lady. And believe me when I say it is tempting. Tempting to let fly with every accusation, quickly followed by a well-versed & rehearsed justification of why a long and torturous demise is appropriate; generous, even.

But I won't.

If anyone's tired of hearing about it, it's me. It still (and always will) make for some of the best anecdotes to be shared over a couple glasses of wine. But I've worked hard to put it behind me, beneath me. Some parts of it, the parts that don't pair well with wine, the parts that only a tight circle are aware of, need to be left unsaid. To be removed from my identity and left to turn to dust.

So, what would I say?

Anticlimactically?

Nothing.

There is nothing left to say. Not an arms-crossed, passive-aggressive, pouty-bottom-lip kind of "nothing". A very literal "nothing".

No more of my energy and resources will be exerted beyond what is legally required.

And so much of the time, silence speaks for itself.

Day 4 | Bullet Your Whole Day

Because it is still the morning of today, I'm going to shoot bullets through yesterday.

• Get son & self ready for church
• Sean arrives
• Drop dogs off at Opa & Oma's to play while the humans are at church
• Eric to Sunday School and us to the service
• Catch up with friends
• Leave for lunch a little early - Sean not feeling well
• Play Tetris with the tables at restaurant to accommodate inevitable arrival of mass quantities of family/friends
• Head home
• Sean naps; I edit photos from Saturdays' shoot; Eric puts camo barn boots on and heads over to the dairy
• Sean & I head to dairy
• Dad & I leave for Christmas choir practice
• Sing, sing, sing
• Come home to the men I love
• Eat pumpkin pie
• Put my little squirt to bed
• Wonder why the dogs are acting maniacal
• Bed

Day 3 | A Book I Love

My first unbridled love affair with a book burst forth while I was spending a summer in New Hampshire.

When I wasn't working, you could find me on my towel on a number of aging, mossy docks that jutted into Squam Lake like staccato notes in a watery song.

I was typically in a bikini-clad, closed-eye state with my headphones in, Hawaiian Tropic on, and defenses down.

During one of my shifts, in-between clients, I was perusing Amazon.com for the perfect summer read. And when I locked eyes with Mona Lisa, it was over. It was the first and only time love at first sight would weave its spell around my perpetually-skeptical heart. I read the teaser on the jacket, but mostly out of habit. Any further convincing was unnecessary. I could tell instantly that the story was one of history, of codes & riddles (love!), of a mild romance that served more as a sweet footnote throughout some of the more intense parts of the book.

I needed to hold it in my hands. To smell the pages as I resist the lustful urge to leap forward into the next chapters to see if I had correctly deciphered the ancient puzzles; to stamp my imagination's passport as it discovers illuminated fountains and hand-chiseled statues.

I am grateful to Dan Brown for the experience of a lifetime...via Professor Robert Langdon.

Day 2 | Something I Feel Strongly About

One of the most powerful mindsets available to us is gratitude.

It is a choice. And it is life-changing.

It doesn't change circumstances; it doesn't give you answers like the "all-knowing" 8-ball. It simply makes good things amazing and painful things more bearable.

For example, I am super-duper, Scooby-dooby-dooooo proud of how well my son can read. The concept of phonics, letter sounds & relationships, grammar & puncuation, and even proper voice-inflection has come to him as naturally as his Jedi abilities (or, as I like to think, he gets it from his mother.) And this is great. But let's add some gratitude, shall we? And suddenly, "my boy can read well" becomes:

What an incredible gift that will last a lifetime! Eric is now able to read information, absorb it, and store it away forever! Who knows what he will read that will become pertinent in his life down the road! I am so thankful that God blessed him with such a sharp mind! And how fantastic is it that I get to watch a whole new world open up to my Noodle every time he figures out a new word! We have been blessed with caring teachers, a wonderful & safe school, and an infinite amount of books (read The Book Thief to appreciate this). Every single day.

On the opposite end of the spectrum is gratitude in the midst of pain/despair/adversity. And it goes without saying that this can be hard. Like, hard. It goes against every angry, screaming, tear-filled fiber of our being. Most of us have visualized our pretty, manicured hands introducing itself to the side of some unhelpful smiling face as it spews every disgusting, "silver-lining" cliché Hallmark ever created. (Resist the urge.)

But here's the thing - anger, in and of itself, is not a bad thing. It's a valid emotion just like joy, love, sadness, and disappointment. But anger has a tendency to make us think or do bad things. Feeling angry with God is a common scenario, and He allows that of us. What He doesn't want is for us to curse His name and lose our faith in Him. Similarly, you may be driving and see your ex-boyfriend or an ex-best friend who hurt you so deeply that "accidentally" plowing into them in your car seems completely lucid and reasonable.

More personally, my marriage and subsequent divorce have been the single-most awful things I've experienced in my life to date. I felt a lot of things during those times; "good" was not one of them. In the later years, anger and bitterness...hate...were my constant companions regarding that specific relationship. On the surface, I still seemed like a great wife, doing all the "wifey" things I was supposed to. On the inside, I was anxiously waiting for one of the {many} phone calls from the police to tell me he was finally gone. One of his selfish decisions finally turned and laughed in his face and dropped an Acme anvil on him.

This is not healthy thinking. There was no gratitude then. But it is an honest glimpse into my head/heart that time.

People who have met me post-divorce have expressed surprise in how I "turned out" when they become aware of what that part of my past consisted of. And I don't bat an eye when I tell them I am most definitely not the same person I was then. That experience chiseled me into the woman you know me as today.

And I needed to go through that to be able to succeed after it. And I am thankful for that. Thankful for being independent and being comfortable with what some people mistook for " being alone". For being given the gift of learning from another's mistakes (and my own). For being able to tell when someone truly loves me and being able to love them fiercely in return. For being able to use Jesus' example in response to some of Eric's hard questions. For the chance to watch the incredible web of support being woven beneath me by my family by simply being themselves.

Do I still have bad days? Oh yeah. Am I now this individual overflowing with rainbows and butterflies and giggles? Uh...no. Am I a silly girl surrounded by love and blessed beyond all reason in spite of herself? And am I thankful for that?

Are Hallmark cards overpriced? ;)

Day One | 5 Ways to Win My Heart

{This is the beginning of a 30-Day Challenge I've decided to tackle, with poise & grace, no less.} {Heh.}

1. I am a natural conversationalist, so engaging me in conversation, especially about things you know I have an interest in, is a guarantee.
2. Thoughtfulness. Little things that say "You were on my mind." or "I know you well enough to know that you would appreciate this." Things that don't have to be done...they just are.
3. Make me laugh. Not an easy feat, seeing as how I think I'm one of the most hilarious beings on earth.
4. Appreciate me. "Please" and "Thank you" fulfill this one quite nicely. Yet, I still find them hard to come by these days. Makes my heart go, "Hmph." instead of "Mmmm." So, say them. (Please.)
5. One of the 5 Love Languages: offer me words of affirmation on something you genuinely think I did/do well. It makes me feel like I can fly.
6. I'm throwing in an extra one because I feel it has become somewhat of an epidemic: if I hug you, hug me back. Not a one-armed, dead-fish, patronizing, infantile pat-on-the-back-like-you're-tyring-to-burp-me "hug". I'm inviting you into my space. My personal space. I don't just go around doing that all willy-nilly. HUG ME. Like you're grateful for my friendship. Like you would if we were saying goodbye for a really long time. You just never know, lovelies.

______________

In case you'd love to jump on-board, here is the challenge! Leave a comment with your blog address so we can embark on it together!

Betty {Crock}

One resounding theme among women seems to be how we bite off more than we can chew. We over-commit. We are people-pleasers. We have a hard time saying no. We are convinced we must be the be-all, do-all, know-all, FOR all.

This isn't entirely our fault. We can non-accusingly say that those around us expect it, at least to some degree. And, to add conviction to obligation, we love most of the people we surround ourselves with, so of course we don't want to tell them no or "disappoint" them.

There is a plethora of books/studies/workbooks/prayers/mantras written specifically for this reason; specifically to help make sure you don't think less of yourself by convincing yourself that others think less of you.

Pretty sure my eyes just crossed involuntarily.

Here's the thing: I know it's ok to decline sometimes. I know the world won't stop turning because I don't volunteer. I know I'll remain loved by those who matter even if I can't be there/bring this/cook that.

But that matters little when you want to do those things. Needs need to come first, and that definitely helps narrow the list down. But what do you do with the "wants"?

If you're anything like me, you have several different circles of friends. All of whom you enjoy spending time with...right?? These friends want to meet up for drinks, these friends are having a bbq, it's this friend's birthday, these friends want to plan a trip, and this friend just really needs you right now.

And I want to do it all. I want to cultivate every one of those relationships. Each person is important to me in a different, beautiful way.

Did I mention my sweet son? (Homework, class parties, birthdays, friends, shooting bad guys, life lessons in general...)

And my wonderful boyfriend? (Date nights, work, schedule-juggling, handling the holidays, making sure he knows I'm proud of him, respect and love him, figuring out life in general...)

And my amazing family? (Birthdays, graduations, performances, babysitting, dinners together...)

And my two youngest "children" - Gracie & Gus? (Playing, eating, potty, sleeping, petting, instructing, shedding...)

And we can't forget about my church family (Sunday mornings, choir practice, support system), and my girls at the pool (AquaZumba! Aw yeah!), and my desire to volunteer.

These are all things I want to be a part of. Granted, my son is an immovable priority, but you know what I mean. When "needs" aren't necessarily a factor; when the activities on the horizon all have the same level of importance (Code Orange!); what do you do? How do you decide to divvy-up your time?

And when do you decide you'd just like to sit your pretty little buns on the couch with your favorite VS sweats, a glass of ___________, and one of your all-time favorite movies?

I am truly interested in the method to your (lovely) madness.

Feel free to comment between batches of cupcakes.


Cupcakes come from boxes, right?



What's That Supposed to Mean?

Some of you might be surprised to hear that my soul has a mouth.

(Some of you are probably less surprised.)

It's the one part of me that is sarcasm-free. No quick-quips or witty retorts or skewing of the eyes/face of any kind.

And how it's survived this long, I'll never know. Maybe the rest of my being views it as the "runt" - part of the family, but smaller, weaker, slower, quieter (my brain reads: pathetic), but still, a part of the whole. And maybe the rest of my being gives it a break out of sympathy.

Gotta love family.

Very recently, say, about 7 minutes ago, I learned two things about my "runty" soul:

1. Sometimes it's upset, and that's...o...k.
2. It longs for meaning; to be meaningful; to do/share/love/create/hold/watch/be a part of something meaningful.

I know about the Elf on the Shelf story/personality that comes to life every Christmas. Now, it has never come to life in my house, but, oh...how the young girl inside of me craves it. The simple idea of waking up to a surprise every morning lights a fire of anticipation in my eyes. And, gasp, add to that the magic of Christmas and you, my friend, have a very tall, very squeal-y, girl on your hands (me).

I think I would like to "elf" my shelves this year for my very tall, less squeal-y, boy. But I have committed to incorporating Bible verses and/or Christian Christmas carol lyrics into every day. We don't "do" Santa, but {FUN} is something I plan to squeeze the heck out of into a festive bowl, mix with the gift of our Savior and a dash of cinnamon (naturally) and enjoy every last drop.

Volunteering is also something that tugs at my heart constantly. Don't ask me about the animal shelter...well, since you brought it up. I can't go there. Like, I have a desperate need to go there...but I can't. If the shelter was looking for a volunteer "Dog Smuggler" or "Hug Them 'Til Their Eyes Pop Coordinator" or "Cryer", then I would probably have a paid corporate position by now. Want to. Can't.

The Mustard Seed thrift store has extended volunteer hours as the Christmas season approaches. The store closes, but the volunteers are invited to bring snacks to share and then get to spend a couple hours plowing head-long into Christmas itself. Box after box of puffy snowmen, twinkling lights, and proud Christmas trees, all waiting for that perfect little price tag that will make them a cheerful addition to a new home. The food and fellowship is, without a doubt, one of the best parts of each night. Eric and I used to go when he was little, and he'd play and play with the toys and games while I tackled tote after tote of lights. An evening too perfect for words.

RACKing people might also be on the To-Do list this year. It's not as illegal as it sounds: Random Acts of Christmas Kindness. You know, feeding meters, buying someone's coffee, putting $ towards someone's layaway, etc. Anything to bring some of that "little squealing girl" magic to someone else's life.

And to show my baby how to live outside himself. How blessing someone else will, inevitably, bless him. And to get my own soul to pipe-down.

Like I need more voices to listen to.

New Constant

I haven't taken a deep breath in a month.

Starting a new chapter doesn't allow for such things, not even as a footnote.

When I finally came to terms with the fact that it was never going to be an "ideal" time to move, I began the monumental task of finding a new address.

And it had to be perfect. Close to a school so I could get Eric to his class and me to work on time, but as far away as possible from the ex (the Moon is not currently taking occupants so Twin Falls was still a viable option.) And one cannot possibly forget the two other children in the Thorpe household: Gracie and GusGus. And, of course, affordability; because, let's face it, I'm not being paid to be this awesome.

And I kid you not, 3 days into my (unsuccessful) search, an opportunity was handed to me on a bedazzled platter. To make a long (but lovely) story short, the 4 of us are moving in to a house that fulfills each of the items above.

{Insert quasi-maniacal squealing and flailing of arms.}

Commence Project My-New-Digs. Which consists primarily of me trying to furnish an entire home in a matter of 3-4 weekends. No, I didn't get anything out of the divorce. No, I'm not sorry about it. Yes, I have all of Craigslist memorized.

Anyway, one rain-check, a few emails, several texts, and one very successful trip to Boise later, and I'm almost done. (May God rain down blessings on my brother and Sean for being my slaves very handsome heroes; on my mom for being all sorts of amazing; and on all of the individuals getting rid of their crap for screamin' deals.)

But above all the craziness of starting new, are the things that remain constant, which includes two very important men who, for their own reasons, want to spend time with me. And sometimes, I am allowed to spend time with them both simultaneously, when I am wearing both the more-floppy, big-flowered, less-flattering "Mom" hat and the more-sexy, mystique-inspiring, sparkly "Girlfriend" hat.

And sometimes I am afforded the opportunity to rock just one of those looks (with the exception of "mom jeans" because...oh, honey, no.) And I get to focus on one of their lives at a time. Sometimes it's ninjas; sometimes it's night-shifts; sometimes it's First Grade; sometimes it's First Friday downtown. Sometimes this, sometimes that, but always wonderful.

And so it goes. And I'm so excited to watch the beautiful melding of the "starting new" with the "always constant" to create our very own "new constant".

The other night, as Sean and I were putting together my dining table & chairs, I flopped down on my new-to-me couch. Eric came up to me in his signature camo barn boots and said, "It's like you guys are married and this is our house together and I'm the kid."

New constant? I think we're getting there.

I've Always Hated Math

I'm at work. Doing my job. And doing it very well. (Except for right now, when I'm not doing it at all.) If I answer the phone, I will be the most cheerful person you've ever encountered in. your. life. Making you laugh is my personal goal. And I'm 97% successful (no tax dollars were spent researching the actual percentage.)

But today, after I hang up the phone after making another grumbly contractor chuckle, I am tired.

I'm tired of trying. I'm tired of the charade. I'm tired of being the one making someone else laugh instead of being the one made to laugh. And I'm tired of freezing my buns off as I stand in front of the AC unit downstairs as I let it blow away my tears and red-tinged face without leaving behind all the little fuzzies that tissues do in their own tattle-tale way.

I'm tired of exes. I'm tired of critical eyes doubting my every move before they're even made. I'm tired of not being worth it. I'm tired of being pulled in two different directions. I'm tired of asking "why?" And even more tired of asking "why not?"

Just this last Monday, I was given a gift - my son was sick. And I accepted that gift with a fervor that most would raise an eyebrow to, at best, and report to the authorities, at worst. I stayed home with him...all...day. I got to enjoy holding his limp little body as he milked the attention for all it was worth. I got to watch TV with him. And as he started feeling better, I got to watch his imagination turn him into the greatest ninja the New World has ever known. And what do you do with a ninja of that magnitude? You take him to McDonald's for lunch. And suddenly I became the greatest mom the New World has ever known.

This day; this "sick" day; this day that my heart drank down like the chocolate milk Eric had with his happy meal...made me tired...of work. Of having to choose an 8-5 over my 6.5 year old. And I am still grieving the loss of those hours in every day.

Fourteen months ago, I met someone who I decided I wanted in my life. And our lives and identities slowly began weaving together. And I was learning new things about fishing, about camping, about plastic bags, about him.

About his fear of & hesitation about marriage.

And the cruel irony in this situation makes me...well, it makes me a lot of things, but we'll just stick with tired. I'm tired of being the one who still believes in love. I'm tired of working so hard at something that makes me work that hard in the first place. I'm tired of being convenient. I'm tired of frequently resisting the urge to use my "but look what I'VE been through" card. I'm tired of feeling like I make mistakes instead of decisions.

And I am tired of being told "I love you, but..." because in language math, Iloveyou + but = 0.

This just isn't right.

I've always hated math. This doesn't help.

There is a little girl inside me, in high heels 5 sizes too big, in a hand-me-down flower girl dress, swaying from side-to-side in front of a full-length mirror, dreaming about the day when some boy will be as excited about sweeping her off her feet as she is about being swept away.

And I made the epic mistake of "liking" a page on FB entitled "How He Asked". Oh yes, it is exactly what you think it is. In my defense, it was a by-product of my infatuation with designing wedding invitations, and you KNOW how that Google search snowballs. And now I have wedding invitations, engagement rings, and gown ads haunting my every move on the world-wide web. So. much. fun.

But, what is interesting about this site, is that often times, the groom-to-be gives his side of the story. And I don't care how many I read, I will never cease to find myself sitting, mouth agape, reading the excitement, enthusiasm, and optimism pouring out of these sweet, naive, romantic males. I hope they can hold on to that forever...their wives will never tire of it.

Heh. A perfect side-note for my entry: an area manager in one of our other offices just told MY area manager (boss) how nice it is to call our office because of ME. See? I'm good.

And tired.

Seasons of the Heart: Fall(ing Down)

F***.

No, not that "f" word.

I meant...fall.

You're gonna make me say it out loud, aren't you?

Oh, all right. FALL.

And to me, and the thin appendages at the end of each arm and leg, that...is a four-letter word. And now that's it's September in Idaho, it's beginning to offend me. These 40-50 degree nights have come as an unwelcome, uncomfortable shift in the seasons...and in my mood. It's an awkward place between shorts and pants, iced or hot, holding hands or snuggling.

It's unclear!

And as if responding to the weather, I can feel my spiritual "tree" dropping leaves and taking in the pile beginning to form around its base. And the scene is lacking the usual exuberance normally associated with a pile of rich-colored leaves just begging to be thrown and released to the breeze.

The summer has been full of wonderful activities and warm memories. Always so much to do, so many people with whom to spend time. The hot nights slip through my fingers like the tiny strings on a bikini.

And suddenly, I feel good...but not great. Happy...but not thrilled. Hopeful...but not genuinely optimistic. Confident...but not completely proud.

I've missed several Sunday morning worship services this summer. And by "missed", I mean "have not attended" as well as "felt the absence of and have longed for".

My church is my second home. Because I belong there. But also because part of it belongs to me. In me. And by doing things other than spend time there, I have taken complete advantage of what is being offered to me.

I can feel my heart go through seasons of its own. And right now, I, too, can feel the transition into Fall(ing down). I am unsettled. I am frustrated. Ashamed. I am painfully aware of the areas in which I lack.

I have a beautiful lime-green, crocodile-skin-covered Bible. It is truly amazing and has loads of extra features geared specifically for a woman's heart. And doesn't it look pretty laying on the backseat of my car?

And my church friends? Haven't talked to them for weeks, but Facebook tells me all's well, so I really have no reason to check-in with them and see how they're really doing...right?

And my Savior? He promised He loves me always. And I touch-base with him when my plane hits some turbulence or when the church prayer requests come through my inbox. But to thank Him for every minute he gives me with my son...or for the job He handed me...or for the healthy body He's given to each member of my family...or for that blue-topaz-colored sky that you can't touch but you long to be out under simply because it's not part of the 4 walls we spend our lives in? He knows how spectacular His creation is...right?

Well, that last one is right, which is why it's even more amazing that the Lord allows us to be a part of and enjoy it at all. You know how, often times, when a dog misbehaves, we lock them up in a kennel or crate? Cut off from everything they want to do, from those they love to be with? Well, I'm a teeny bit thankful for teeny thing called GRACE. 

So, I'm hoping that, like the trees this fall that bare everything as a beautiful, graceful adjustment to the seasons, that my priorities will strip down and adjust as necessary.

Because cold I can live with. Unsettled, ungrateful, and ashamed, I cannot.

The Empire Strikes Back

I want to write. I can feel it. The desire is there. My fingers are like athletes at the starting line, shaking their muscles and squatting into the starting blocks. It's a familiar feeling - one I enjoy experiencing. The excitement of knowing what might come with the perfect combination of head, heart, and correct grammar.

The grammar? Let's just say the grammar and spelling come easier to me than most. (And heaven forbid I make some humiliating gaffe in this post.)

But I'm sensing a bit of a challenge from the other two entities that compose my writing empire. The decided, albeit involuntary, "default" source of most of my entries is my head. Be thankful you can open a window to my brain, take a brief look around, and leave just as freely. I, however, am trapped here. Blogging is my way of forcing you to share my burden. I have such great, albeit involuntary, friends.

Head demands humor. Anecdotes. Sarcasm. Gross exaggerations. And thanks to my acute ability to be insincere and callous, I'm more successful than not. It's in my blood. (Yes, that was me shirking some of the responsibility. Yes, I feel better. Thank you for asking.)

But Heart is filling my inner suggestion box with thoughts of its own this time. Instead of sitting around doodling unicorns and hearts and tiny woodland creatures with enormous eyes (oh, like yours doesn't?) and waiting for Head to take the lead, it's nagging at me to take a different, less-familiar route.

And I'm concerned.

First of all, if Heart becomes as opinionated as Head, I foresee me explaining exactly why you should love me. Graphs may or may not be involved. Oooooooo! And a laser-pointer!

Ahem.

But how am I supposed to describe the bizarre combination of happiness/gratitude/excitement/calm/attraction/connection/anticipation/expectation I'm being forced to experience? (Insert Heart wearing a big foam finger and cheering wildly from the stands.)

He listens to me. And that makes this verbally-inclined gal's heart sing. We can have discussions. In which we don't necessarily have the same perspective on. And not only still love each other, but still WANT to love each other. I have forced him into many conversations I don't think he ever dreamed of having until he found himself cornered on the couch, or in his truck, or behind one of the grain silos at the dairy...and then he, quite literally, sweeps me off my feet and I find myself looking into that patient, handsome face. And no more words are necessary.

He's seen every facet of me (like a diamond, I am). And, by some miracle, still wants to take me fishing & camping, teach me new things (like how to be quiet), introduce me to family & friends, show up with me to BBQs, sit with me in church, and talk about what the future may hold in store.

Everything is better when I'm holding his hand. Any raging, internal fire that might be roaring inside me is allowed to maintain a slow simmer until I'm ready to put it out. And he'll hug me in silence or take my hand mid-stride, just to let me know he cares. That he's not ignoring the fact that I'm hurt or upset, but that he knows if he says something, and it isn't the "right" thing, much damage could be done to his skillful fly-fishing hand. So he doesn't say, he just does.

And, ironically, him not saying anything speaks love directly to Heart and Head.

I Think I'm Gonna Be Sick

"Sixty-seven miles per hour."

Psh. That's an efficient pace but not enough to blow your head back. And, if you want my opinion, should be the speed limit on the 13-mile stretch of stop-free highway that sits between me and the rest of civilization. Noooo biggie.

Twists and turns and G-forces and breath-taking plummets towards earth. Sounds like a poor analogy for my life. Heh...heh. *Gulp*

But the view! Oh, the view! It's like you're soaring over the Manhattan skyline. Er...sorry. Maybe "soaring" was a poor choice. Besides, "soaring" implies that you're gliding effortlessly through the air, your gaze lingering on anything that falls within view, taking your time rising and falling, a whimsical dance with the breeze. With approximately 2.6 seconds to take in the view, "soaring" is definitely not the correct term. Screaming. Screaming through the air. Yes, that's much better. The double use of the word is far more accurate.

{Enter Thrill Ride of Doom, stage right.}

The Roller Coaster, New York New York

Lady Liberty is standing confidently in front of this man-made trap of steel tentacles. If nothing else, one would be, dare I say, proud to ride The Roller Coaster. "One" being anyone who manages to ignore the similarities between this ride and Davy Jones' giant squid whom he releases on the Black Pearl to "drag her back to the depths."

That being said, I conducted an informal poll on my FB friends: Is riding a roller coaster romantic?

The overwhelming response? Yes!

My first reaction was, "What the? This goes against every romantic stereotype...EVER!" Granted, I had to agree that puking did nothing to set the mood, so avoid that if possible. But between the marriage proposals and closeness that only fighting for your lives together can bring, I began to see their point. One friend summarized it nicely by turning the question around on me: "Would spending time together, enjoying each others' company, and have a blast of fun while your head and body whips around a track at a high rate of speed be romantic?" I was totally on-board until that last part...

But what brings people together? Drinking! Sigh. I promise to try harder. One more time: what brings people together? Laughter. And survival.

And if I survive, and am not otherwise occupied with other activities (puking), I plan on laughing off the experience.

And drinking.

Ce Cliché

What? No, that can't be right.

Heh. It's the French. Of course it's right. So right that I can hear the pinched-nose arrogance scoffing at me from my computer screen.

I was about to embark on a digital honeymoon, of sorts. A fantastic escape to a place where part (but not all) of my soul lives. It sits at unnecessarily small bistro tables, creates oil-based masterpieces on canvas as it casually picks at unnecessarily large baguettes, drinks café, lounges by fountains in designer labels, carries a small dog everywhere, strolls casually through museums with a glass of aged red wine (can you DO that?), laughs politely at some things but never loudly at anything, never has less than 4 shopping bags hanging from its arm at any given time, and is perpetually annoyed by the silly American who insists on verbally butchering the acclaimed Champs Elysees (shahnz uh-leezay). (You're welcome.)



Champs Elysees


Unfortunately, I am that silly American. Or "American idiot", as the French so eloquently put it. Of course, it sounds almost musical when said with the proper accent, but still, the term was unexpected as it popped up in the translator. The romantic rêverie I was mentally and emotionally prepared to plunge into was forced back into the metaphorical boat, toes gripping the edge, arms flailing in an attempt to rebalance.

So, here I sit, some place in-between my French destination and my silly American desk. And if I'm honest, I'll tell you I don't mind the "translation" interruption. It makes me laugh.

But only politely.

Vegas, Baby!

We all have those friends who've celebrated some milestone in the bright, never-quite-sure-what-time-it-is, open-24-hours lights of Las Vegas. Countless bachelor/ette parties and weddings take place, I daresay, every day. And it sounds so...typical, so casual.

If you've been part of the riotous fun of one of those events, please see me after for a brief Q&A session. I validate.

How? HOW does one plan something like that? With the literal and figurative buffet that is  Las Vegas, with all the water effects, one-of-a-kind cocktails, classy venues, and, um, skin, how does one choose?

Price? Definitely a factor for most of us. I'm (not) sorry to say I will have to pass on the $10,000 drink at Ovo (pronounced "oh-no!", trust me.) But I'm not kidding about the 10 large. It comes with custom cufflinks and a bracelet, I believe. The foolish regret that hits the next morning is included at no additional cost.

Style? Well, sure, but everyone's taste is unique. About 7 years ago, I accepted the fact that I was inwardly maturing at an accelerated rate. Late nights, loud music, dancing for hours, crazy lights, small-talk that had to be yelled to be heard...sigh. No mo'. I don't need every sense stimulated at the same time...do I? I looked at millions (give or take) of clubs and ultra-lounges, trying to find one that appealed to me; one that I wouldn't mind being seen in; one that I would be comfortable having my name on the front of in big, bold lights. And much to my surprise, I think I found one:

PURE Nightclub

Now to find the perfect dress to show up in! Also, can you see that beautiful symbol of romance gleaming in the background? Yeah. You could slap a picture of Le Eiffel Tower on a used boot and I'd buy it. This cynic realist has a soft spot for most things Parisian (except for the men; too much "sen-see-teev" and not enough "pickup truck".) 

Anyway, Sean and I are headed there next month and I've seen more of the internet than I ever hoped, trying to get this trip planned. He's been there tons and wants this to be "my" trip. As generous as that is, I feel a little overwhelmed. So any recommendations, advice, and/or warnings are readily accepted. Not that they'll matter much; if Sean can peel my clammy hands off the legs of Le Tower, he will consider it a success.

Au revoir!

I {Heart} Bulleted Lists

{Found this in my Drafts folder and laughed. So I published it as-is.}

Things I'm thankful for:

• Breaking bad habits
• 4-wheel drive
• Little flat-faced dogs who genuinely believe you are the center of their universe
• Little sweet-faced boys who genuinely believe they are the center of your universe (They would be correct)
• Bosses who make you laugh until you cry
• Child-safe doors for that one friend...
• Tanning beds
• Amazon.com
• Tools (a.k.a. Maybelline, CoverGirl, Revlon, etc.)
• Quarters
• Any piece of mail that isn't from an attorney
• My dumb phone (as opposed to your smart phone)
• Words with oddly-placed apostrophes
• "i" before "e" except after "c"
• Wheel of Fortune
• Cruise control
• Anything written by Jen Lancaster

Not to fear, those of you who thought I may have gotten horribly mangled by the Divorce Express {which is cruelly ironic for such a process}. I am alive and well and have decided, against my will, to take the Ferry to Freedom. Which is, needless to say, a significantly slower method of getting anywhere.

Landmark #7 - Bifurcated Bay
Ok, let's just be honest here -- does "bifurcated" sound like something your dog did after choking down a matted feather and following it with a cat food chaser? Well, in MY case it means I'm one step closer to jumping ship from my marriage in exchange for a ride on the "Kiss This" dingy.

The Other Side

In usual "Janelle" fashion, I have again let a vast amount of time slip by between posts. It seems the "blog-fog" rolls in and, naturally, rolls back out, and I am left with a very sporatic timeline of events. I imagine the dots on my timeline would spell out something fantastic in Morse Code, but leaves something to be desired in the way of consistency.

When I last visited here, I was smack in the middle of my divorce. And even now, I feel sorry for my anxiety-ridden self from then. Divorce is ugly, foul, and soul-sucking. I'm pretty sure that's how Webster's even defines it. Much like the tar-pits I imagine from the dinosaur age. It's been officially behind me for over a year now, so I hesitate to devote much time to further details. However, it is inevitable that they will come up in some fashion. A summary, if you will:

It was expensive in every way a person can be made to pay. Money will make even people in expensive suits do things they shouldn't do. A lack of morals nullifies a college degree. I'm still trying to figure out which feels worse: angry tears or sad tears...or no tears. Someone who lacks the willingness to change can change you. "I love you" became one of the most hurtful things I've ever heard. Worry clouds even the most beautiful days. A family, rooted in the Lord, will not be shaken, unless it has something to do with a very good martini; and you, my ex, are not a good martini. God is faithful; so cliche, but cliche for a reason. I spent more time reading the final report than I did the Bible = big mistake. Some people cut red meat out of their diets for heart health; I've found that scouring Proverbs for God's promises has a similar effect (bonus: they don't charge you for taking a list of them into the attorney's office with you! At least not yet, anyway.) Fighting for her child is something every mother is prepared to do, but not one should ever have to do it. Divorce is not God's design; it is man's, and it is beneath the Lord; however, this divorce was a blessing and the Lord's hand was on it.

Fast-forward to today, right this minute: I have a very tall, very handsome 6.5 year-old who lost all 4 of his front teeth in, what seemed like, 7 minutes of each other. He will be starting 1st Grade shortly and is madly in love with a sweet girl in his class. He's also convinced himself that once he's married her, he will be forced to kiss her because that's what you do when you're married. I have yet to correct him. The end of this month will mark my 2nd year with the wonderful engineering firm who I tricked convinced to hire me after the available position fell right in my lap. I'm coming up on my 29th birthday and am looking forward to the brand new decade that lay on the horizon. And while I know time continues to pass, I don't feel (or look) much older; I just roll my eyes and turn the channel more now.

And if we're friends on FB, I know you've seen him plastered all over my photos, but I would like to do a proper introduction here: Sean Armatage is the brave, handsome man who decided to date me instead of embark on a Mt. Everest-climbing adventure. I'm pretty sure the mountain would've been easier. But honestly, he walked into my life one evening and has yet to walk out of it. That was a little over a year ago. And I fall more in love with him every day. Not the flowery, birds singing, shooting stars, love is all we need bologna. I'm talking about the reality of every day kind of love. Knowing that, even though we might not see eye-to-eye on something, we both want to work it out because we know we have something great. And yes, this is me, almost 30, and talking about being truly in love for the first time. Which isn't a bad idea for the general population, if you ask me. Sean is one of the most patient individuals I've ever met, which doesn't surprise me -- I'm...well...less patient, let's say, so I'm pretty sure God slapped him on the back in a "you got this" kind of way as He shoved Sean into my life. Heh heh...poor guy.

We are getting ready for a couple birthdays/celebrations in my house, but I still promise to try to write more often. Writing that here is purely for my sake. We have a dinner party/river cruise planned for 2 weeks from today that I refuse to leave undocumented.