Your voice DOES sound like that, but it’s okay.

Yesterday, I had a near-death experience. It made me think about a lot of stuff. This is pretty erratic. You’ve been warned.

When I was a kid, my parents were hard on us. They expected certain things that most parents do: respect, good grades, honesty, responsibility. There was another unspoken expectation that no one outwardly acknowledged, but we all knew existed: Perfection. I’m not beating up my parents. They did the best they could with the tools they had to raise us into productive members of society, and I don’t hold them accountable–anymore–for my shortcomings. I beat myself up instead.

As a young mom, I was super hard on Chloe. I didn’t get on her about her weight or hair color, as my mom had done with me, but I pushed her to excel at everything she did. When she was about 15, and I witnessed the crazy high standard of excellence she imposed on herself, I realized that I had instilled in her not only a drive to succeed, but also a drive to be perfect. I really beat myself up about that. I still do sometimes.

Beating myself is something I have excelled at for decades. When I was very little, I was frightened by my dad’s yelling, but I quickly learned that I could be just as mean and scary by yelling and saying mean things. I also learned that when you say mean things to yourself, it doesn’t hurt nearly as much when other people say those things. Since I’d told my 100 pound 13-year-old self how fat I was, my mother’s admonishments that I “didn’t have the eating habits of a thin person,” went in one ear and out the other.

Still, I am a world-class champion when it comes to being hard on myself. It makes me laugh sometimes when people say or write derogatory things about me. Sticks and stones, pal; I’ve said way worse to myself.

My quest for self-awareness threatens to be pathological at times. My husband says, “Baby, you’re too hard on yourself.” My girlfriends say, “You’re a good person.” My kids say, “You’re the best mom.” My mental health professional friend says, “Try not to overthink your parenting.” I read and pray and try but still continue the complicated cha-cha of self-acceptance and self-improvement.

Today, however, I had a revelation taking P to school. Revelations often happen in the car, and I hear Anne Lamott advising, “Writers always have a pen and paper handy to write these things down.” And I do, Annie, I do, but I’m driving!! So, I open the notes app, press the little microphone and blurt out my revelation as fast as I can before it gets lost in the great abyss of nonsense I fret about.

Then I come home, make a wonderful cup of coffee and sit down to write an encouraging piece based on this revelation. But I open my notes app and it says: “All of thenthings we thought made us unlocks let.” What the fuck does that mean? Read it again…slower this time… “All of thenthings we thought made us unlocks let.”

You know when you hear your voice on a recording and think I don’t sound like that? Well, I do sound like that (my recorded voice is high-pitched and childlike, not at all sexy and ScarJo as I envision it) and evidently, I don’t speak in complete thoughts but weird fragments of ambiguity instead. That. Just. Figures.

Now, if you’re still here, I promise I’m going to get to the point. Or at least a point. Sometimes, Brad asks me, “What made you think of that?” And I give him a long complicated story such as the dog was dreaming of running and the way her toenails clicked on the floor reminded me of tap dancing which made me think of Chloe in her only dance recital and how she stood in one position tapping her heel in a little purple costume and the sequins scattered all over my car which reminded me that I used to pick up sequins off the floor at Joann Fabrics when I went there with my mom and she took me to the dairy queen after but wouldn’t let me get a peanut buster parfait like I wanted and made me get a small chocolate cone. I hate chocolate cones. It’s so exhausting to be in my head for even one minute, you guys.

Anywayyyyyyy, my revelation was this: Sometimes the people in our lives who are “supposed to” love us fall short. Our parents, siblings, you know…the blood people. When this happens, God, or the Universe, whatever you believe–personally, I think we quibble more on semantics than actual beliefs–provides other people. These people love us not because they are “supposed to” but because they choose to. They look beyond our brokenness and imperfections, our past mistakes and current shortcomings and actually see us. These are the friends who encourage us, the partners who forgive us, the kids who adore us. They are the ones who look at all the things that we thought made us unlovable (that is what the illogical fragment meant, btw) and see instead what made us so special and unique.

This past week, I’ve been on self-help reading overload. I’ve mined my childhood for memories of my mom and dad and found both delightful and disturbing ones. I’ve written personal mission statements and examined what annoys me about other people and how those traits manifest in me. I told Brad this morning that I was really tired, and I’m beginning to realize why. So today, I’m going to smile, relax and be kind to people. Starting with myself. And you too.

21 Days: Day 8 — LET’S GO BUCKS!

I have to write early because there’s a pretty important football game tonight, and preparing physically and mentally takes a lot of energy. Additionally, my husband is home and bouncing around the house like a little kid on Christmas, and that makes it hard to write. And finally, I have to take my mom to the doctor, which also requires preparation…

Apparently, the snow plow drivers are Buckeyes fans and were already preparing this morning; at least they weren’t plowing the snowy, slushy roads. It was a crappy drive to school so I used the time to give Peyton lots of useful tips about driving in the snow. It sounded a lot like, “See how close this a-hole behind me is? Don’t do that.” He won’t drive for another year, was half asleep and not a bit interested in my monologue, but it soothed me.

1. After three lazy snow days and a weekend, when that alarm sang out at 5 a.m., gratitude wasn’t my initial reaction. Ugh. Bed, Brad, kids, house, car with good tires and 4-wheel drive. I realize, as I’ve been writing about the blessings that my bed is nearly always first. It’s a good bed. Everyone who sleeps in it agrees. The kids love it. Our Florida besties love it. Brad does too. Once, after an extended out-of-town stay for work, as we snuggled in, he whispered “I missed you so much…”

“Me or the bed?” I giggled.

“Both of you.”

2. The good thing about having a husband who travels a lot is that you learn to do lots of things by yourself. That is also the bad thing. You have to because if you don’t do those things no one else will. I used to complain more, but I have a friend whose husband travels a lot as well, and she never complains. She just does stuff, asks someone else to do it, or doesn’t do it. She is one of my many role models. This morning, I dragged 3 garbage cans through 4 inches of heavy, wet snow and then drove P to school without thinking twice about it. I’m not bragging, just stating the facts. When I came home and told Brad that the roads were bad, he said, “Why didn’t you wake me up to take him?” I didn’t think of it because it isn’t usually an option.

I’ve always wanted Brad to take charge of some certain traditional gender role tasks. Take the garbage out. Handle car maintenance. Clean the gutters. You know. But, a funny thing happens sometimes when you’re waiting for someone to take care of you: You learn to take care of yourself. But today, watching my husband who is a) home and b) not only fixing my leaky sink but also replacing the faucet which has been leaking for years, I am almost overwhelmed with glee. When he was home every day, I probably would have been worn out from asking him to fix that sink. My reaction would have been more, “It’s about damn time,” and less, “Look at him! He’s fixing the sink AND the faucet. He’s an angel boy!” Changing circumstances sure can shift your perspective; I see that today with amazing clarity. 

3. Writing daily Thank You notes is teaching me that there are always people to thank. The smallest act of kindness can shift your mood and change your whole outlook. It’s a good reminder that we can and do make a difference.

In Small Victories, Anne Lamott, in a quandary over political and military situations questions her friend, a Jesuit priest, how to help, and he advises: “You take care of the suffering,” reminding her that there are people suffering everywhere. Sometimes we get so caught up in our helplessness on a grand scale that we miss a million little opportunities right in front of us. We forget to smile and hold the door because we’re focused on our destination. We walk past a person picking up their dropped groceries caught up in fussing about what great things we could do instead of grocery shopping. (Or maybe it’s because we’re worried it’s a ploy to rob us because of that email we just read.) We can’t be bothered to pick up a frazzled mom’s change clanging on the dirty Walmart floor as she wrestles her wriggling toddler into the cart because we are waiting for our big break. We’re waiting for God to show us our purpose. That’s the thing though: These little things are our purpose. Slow down, look up, pay attention, love, serve…

Don’t miss out on the beauty of the life you have because you’re waiting for the life you want.

This is gonna be a rough Daniel Fast day. Buckeye parties mean beer, more beer and delicious food that is not fast-approved. I’m going to eat sweet potato and black bean soup, which is delicious even if it’s not pizza or 7-layer Mexican dip. I think I’ll also wear blinders and a nose plug. But I’m already telling you: I’m gonna drink beer.

How’s your Monday? Two of my fellow fasters text me to celebrate their 3 and 1 pound weight losses. I blocked their numbers. I’m kidding… I’ll celebrate with you when you rub my nose in your weight loss, you beeyotches. I’m currently +2. Wooo Hoo.

xoxo

21 Days: Day 7

The first week is almost over, and as far as the Daniel fast goes, I feel bloated, defeated, dissatisfied and tired of cooking. As far as the 21 days of gratitude challenge goes, I feel encouraged, satisfied, inspired and well, grateful. I’ve also enjoyed the consistent writing. Anne Lamott, my idol and secret soul sister (it’s a secret because she doesn’t know we’re soul sisters) says that if you want to be a writer you have to show up at the same time every day and write. So, this has been a great exercise in showing up and writing–not necessarily at the same time, but in the same place. I’m a work in progress.

1. I love Sunday mornings, so it is super easy to be grateful for: sweet sleeping children, a warm safe home, a wonderful husband who will bring me a cup of coffee in bed as soon as he hears me roll over. I cherish these quiet minutes of gratitude in the morning.

2. Again, I feel as if paying closer attention and trying to be present has made every interaction more special and meaningful. Right now, I’m surrounded by 3 of my 4 people, and our house is filled with the amazing aroma of sweet potato and black bean soup. We spent a fun-filled evening surrounded by great friends, and I came home to a sweet surprise gift from another lovely friend. My whole day was sprinkled with the most endearing little interactions. This morning, at church, we served in Mini Movement (little ones up to 4), and usually this wears me out, tries my patience and gives me a headache, but this morning, each little one seemed to offer some sweet blessing. From my friend’s tiny towhead who leaped into my arms repeatedly giggling, “Tickle, tickle, tickle,” to another little peanut who shyly climbed into my lap and sweetly whispered, “I really want my daddy,” these tinies touched my heart. Honestly, even the little boy whom I had to wrestle to keep him from crawling under the divider into the other side of the room made me smile later as he drove a matchbox car up and down my arm. Then his little brother took the same matchbox car and junk punched Brad Bell, and I might have rolled around laughing on the floor. He was fine, you guys, it was just a little boy, and I think boys/men instinctively flinch and protect that area if they sense something is headed that way. Besides, we’re from Warren; the baby thugs are our people.

3. I don’t know why I always forget to do this. Max Lucado says in a webcast promoting his latest book, Before Amen, that we could avoid so much worry and anguish if we would just remember to take our problems to God before our problems get to us. So I’m praying for God to bring me a person to thank. Amen.

With one week almost done, I feel a renewed commitment to see this through. I have seen small miracles taking place all around me, and I’m not sure if it’s due to the prayer and fasting or simply the increased mindfulness and attention to grace and goodness. It doesn’t matter either way. It just matters that there is good, so much good, so many people to love and so many people who love you back. So many opportunities to offer kindness, compassion and love. I’m grateful for the ever-increasing awareness.

Thank you so much for your comments, texts, emails and calls. You guys have encouraged me so much. This is just a 21 day journey, but isn’t this really what our every day journey is about? Sharing with others, reaching out to offer a kind word, a helping hand or just to pat a fellow traveler on the arm and say, “Me too.”

What are you cooking this week? I gotta get off the rice and quinoa, or my ass is gonna have its own zip code. For. Real.

xoxo

21 Days: Day 4

Well, it’s official. I’m addicted to coffee. Addiction might too strong a word to describe my relationship with coffee. Maybe in love would be more fitting. I remember from one of my grad school classes some nugget about addicts needing ever-increasing amounts of their substance of choice to achieve the desired effect. Numbness. Euphoria. High. I’ve heard from heroin addicts that they never reach that same first-time euphoria, and that is what they are always trying to replicate. Chasing the dragon. One night, Brad and I were listening to 70’s hits on Pandora, and I kept googling what the songs were about. Almost all of them were about heroin. Even James Taylor (Fire and Rain). I know, right? He seemed like the boy next door with that sweet voice. I’m way off topic. This isn’t about heroin. It’s just about my one delightful cup of coffee. No more. And I feel like myself again not some evil-spirit-possessed-vile-mean-nasty version of myself. Phew…

1. Another snow day. I didn’t even set my alarm, but I did wake up at a reasonable hour grateful for the usual warm bed, happy healthy kids, amazingly wonderful husband (I really miss him on Thursdays), and great friends who love and support me and are always ready and willing to offer an encouraging word, or a beer, or coffee or all three.

2. My back was really super-achy the last two days, so I spent a lot of time sitting up against a heating pad. I think that may also have been the universe’s way of reminding me to be more compassionate to my bony little mom. Today, I decided that I wasn’t going to let my back dictate my day. Okay, so I’m reading Anne Lamott’s Small Victories–I told you that already–but there is an essay about her dying dog. I also have a dying dog, and I’m not nearly as nice to her as Annie is to her dying dog. I mostly get really irritated with my dying dog. She can barely walk. She has limited control of her…uh…functions anymore, so I’m always cleaning up messes. She bites me really hard if I forget and try to give her a treat out of my hand. She wants to go outside 57 times a day, which means I have to go outside 57 times a day, and she doesn’t seem to care that it’s really effing cold.

I promise I’m getting to the meaningful part.

Reading this essay today about how Anne refused to euthanize her dog and tried to make the end of her life as comfortable as possible by maximizing the things she, the dog, enjoyed softened my heart. Our dog fumbles and stumbles around in the house, but outside–especially in the snow–she runs and bounds like a gazelle. So, Lily and I bundled up and took her outside so she could race around and bury her snout in the snow and nearly rip my arm off because I wasn’t going fast enough to keep up with her. She sniffed out where the groundhogs live. She trailed after some random scent like a bloodhound. She was happy. She was young. She was energetic. For about 10 minutes. Then she was exhausted, and I practically had to carry her back into the house, where she has been sleeping for the last several hours. It was 10 minutes of putting another’s happiness above my own, and that felt really good after having been so angry the last few days. Lily had a good time too because little kids never seem to get cold even though one trip down the slide into a snow drift sent snow up both legs of her snow pants.

3. I haven’t the foggiest idea who I’m going to write to yet. I have prayed that God will bring someone to mind soon.

On a Daniel Fast note, I made these awesome little energy balls today minus the orange zest and cardamom and plus vanilla, chia, and sesame seeds. I was contemplating getting out my food processor–which I really didn’t want to do because it takes forever to drag down, assemble, and then clean up–when I thought, well, maybe this will work in the blender. Voila. Seriously. In about 15 seconds everything was perfectly blended to the most amazing consistency, and I did a big happy dance the kind that makes my kids come in the kitchen and say, “What the…” before joining in (Lily) or rolling their eyes and retreating to their bedroom (P). And it was okay because I was in my kitchen not the library. Rock on, you amazing little Kitchen-Aid blender. You’re a shining star.

How are you guys? Did you make anything fabulous today? Or do you have a super meaningful story to tell? Gosh, I’m so much happier with coffee.

xoxo

21 Days: Day 1

I woke up with anticipation and hope wondering what meaningful experience I could write about. Funny thing about that: When you approach life looking for blessings, that is exactly what comes to you. Power of attraction, intention … call it what you will, but I’m gonna call it a fact.

1. I spent way more than 2 minutes counting plenty of blessings not the least of which was waking at my normal 5 a.m. and functioning caffeine-free–that, my friends, is nothing short of miraculous.

2. While I’m not scrolling through pictures and status updates and actually spending time being present in my own life, I have way more time to spend engaged in one of my favorite activities: Reading. So today, I took a long look at my Goodreads to-read list and requested a few from the library. Our little Cortland library doesn’t always have the books I want to read, but they always get them within a week or so. Since I was really in the mood to read, and a few minutes early to pick Peyton up from school, I decided to wander around the library and see if any books wanted me to read them.

Strolling through the new releases, I nearly squealed (but I’ve been kicked out of the old Warren Public library enough times to know to keep quiet) when I saw Anne Lamott’s newest release, Small Victories. I did do a small and nearly imperceptible dance that probably could have been written off as a nervous er whole body twitch. Anne Lamott is my absolute FAVORITE writer. I had just requested this book and never dreamed it would be on the shelf in our tiny library. But of course it would be. The subtitle is: Spotting Improbable Moments of Grace. I got it. This time.

3. Still working on my thank you note–by hand. I won’t say who it is for because the person might be one of my 3 loyal readers. You’ll know if you get a card in the mail 🙂

In conclusion, my friends, Day 1 was fab-u-louso. Ate healthy food, did yoga with my dear sweet friend, and got some great books to read. Also, I don’t have a caffeine headache. That’s really remarkable. I would love to hear how you are doing on the fast, or if you have a really kick-a$$ recipe you’d want to share. Or if you also love Anne Lamott. Cause she’s awesome. Happy Monday; I’m grateful for you.

xoxo