Their red stone cottage was nestled within the Beggs town proper, not too far from a water tower that, from our angle, read: EGGS. I noticed ivy gracing the home’s outside walls as I stood on the porch and knocked, only waiting a moment before Jill answered the door. Continue reading EPOTM: Beggs, OK
I have a confession.
It bothers me that my daughter isn’t a stellar soccer player.
Further, it bothers me that it bothers me that my daughter isn’t a stellar soccer player.
I’ll give you a minute to process those two statements.
When I delivered a beautiful baby girl almost eight years ago, I had a vision for what I wanted for her life. I prayed for health, happiness, and spiritual wisdom (hers and ours). I definitely didn’t have any strong desire for my daughter to play sports. Why? Because I didn’t play sports. In fact, I have no hand-eye coordination (or foot-eye coordination, for that matter) and early on I found my sweet spot in more creative endeavors and never looked back.
My husband, on the other hand, played every sport under the sun. To him, there was no doubt our little girl would be a natural athlete. Of course, the decision about what activities she wanted to pursue wasn’t up to us, so we waited for her to develop her own interests. Now, she really enjoys dance, has played one season of basketball, and excels in school. We are so very proud of her accomplishments.
And then there’s soccer.
Frankly, soccer stresses me out. The first year she played would have been comical if her teammates weren’t already so skilled. I expected to watch five-year-olds twirling on the soccer field, but instead I spent the entire year watching intense games while pretending her lackadaisical approach didn’t bother me. But it did. She stood around, played with her hair, approached the ball only when the Mars and Jupiter aligned, and looked forward to the post-game snacks far more than the actual games. I was relieved when the season came to an end and I asked her if she wanted to keep playing. I expected her to acknowledge that soccer might not be “her thing” and I secretly hoped she would want to move on to something else.
She wanted to keep playing. She loved soccer.
The second year was a little better and she started to play with a sense of purpose. She made her first goal and I may or may not have shed a tear. The upward trajectory was short-lived, however, and she began to regress. My husband and I were frustrated and threw around phrases about “not applying yourself” and others we heard from our parents and vowed never to utter to our own children. At the end of the season, I asked her if she wanted to keep playing. Again, I secretly hoped she would ask to try something else instead.
And again she wanted to keep playing. She loved soccer.
So here we are nearing the end of her third full year of soccer. Most people say, “it’s only a game” but it’s also very difficult to watch your child struggle at said game. I hate watching her try so hard and still completely miss the ball or never get the ball at all. I hate listening to the exasperation in her coach’s voice when he addresses her during the games. I hate listening to the exasperation in my own voice, and that of my husband’s, when we call out to her from the sidelines. And I hate not knowing how I’m supposed to handle the post-game talk. If I don’t address her performance at all, I feel like I’m doing her a disservice. If I come down hard on her, I’m not adhering to the philosophy that youth sports are supposed to be fun.
Continue reading My Soccer Mom Journey: Defeat Doesn’t Preclude Victory
NOTE: Last year, I wrote an essay about infertility, miscarriage, and infant death. This week is National Infertility Awareness Week®, a nationwide campaign intended to educate the public about infertility and the concerns of the infertility community. In honor of the campaign, I reposted my “Unsung Lullabies” essay.
[kendy]
I’ll never forget the day I realized I was ignorant in my belief that having a baby is one of the simplest and most entitled acts in the world. My husband’s cousin Michael and his wife Tina were days away from delivering their first child and we were all excited for little Emma’s arrival. Then, in an instant, excitement turned to grief. Through a series of frantic phone calls and bits of information left on voicemails, we learned that the unthinkable had happened and Emma didn’t survive.
The aftermath was as sad and confusing as you might imagine. Even more than the trips to the hospital and the funeral, my most vivid memory is of watching the frenetic activity around me from within a cocoon of numbness. I felt like I was floating through a strange world that had spontaneously filled with uncertainty and betrayal. You see, I was just 25 at the time and Jason and I had begun conversations about starting a family. Those happy conversations were safely protected by what I thought was impenetrable hope. I had never known anyone who had suffered a miscarriage or lost a child in this manner and the only thought in my head for days on end was, “How can this happen?” Sure, childbirth USED to be serious business back in the day, but not now!
What I didn’t realize at the time was that modern technology has its limits. The reality is that pregnancies still end and babies still don’t make it. When I got pregnant with Bailey, I began to hear the stories I had been shielded from previously. Multiple miscarriages without any knowledge of the reason. Miscarriages at 16 weeks – long after the “safe” 12th week. Planning for months, even years, for a baby that inexplicably hasn’t become reality. Premature babies spending months in the hospital. In short, I became aware of a whole world of heartache I never knew existed.
While the list of women’s issues is long, few matters have remained closer to the hearts of women throughout time than the ability to create life. While some of us have always envisioned our lives with a gaggle of kiddos running around, others have taken steps along the way to preserve a life free from that responsibility, either temporarily or permanently. And, of course, the debate about abortion and reproductive rights wages on to this day. Regardless of the path we choose individually, we collectively have a stake in the reproduction game. Continue reading Unsung Lullabies: National Infertility Awareness Week
When my daughter was four years old (she is almost 8 now), she dropped a bombshell that instantly broke my heart.
“I want to run away from here!”
Even though I was a first-time mom, I knew that most children go through a “running away from home” phase. I may have been knowledgeable, but I was not at all prepared for the moment. I felt so betrayed by the child I’d loved and cared for so sacrificially. I clung to the knowledge that she did not mean it, that testing boundaries is a normal part of a child’s emotional development.
And yet I wanted to cry.
I wanted to ask her what her dad and I had done wrong as parents and vow to do better. I wanted to beg my preschooler’s forgiveness for “mean” things I’d done in the past or would do in the future.
Fortunately, I did not give in to these desires. Instead, I calmly began helping her plan her exodus.
“If you want to run away, I suppose the first thing you have to decide is where you’re going to go.”
She was incredulous, but also stubborn. “I will go to grandma’s house.”
I expected this response since Grandma lived a few streets away. It was evening and dark outside, so I posed a logistical question. “Okay, that’s probably a good place to go. So, have you thought about how you are going to get there?”
This seemed like an odd question to her. “You’re going to have to take me, of course.”
I knew my next revelation would throw her. “Well, that’s not really how it works. I do not wish for you to run away, so I’m not going to take you. If it is your desire to run away, you have to do it on your own.”
She immediately started to panic. “But it’s dark outside!” Continue reading There’s No Place Like Home
On March 31st, 2012 the lower floor of 50 Penn Place was packed with people. The chairs were packed. The walls were packed. A group of people stood behind the designated seating area around the elevators, and there were even people behind the stage who were looking for a vantage point. After being delayed in traffic due to a wreck on I-35, Ree Drummond (better known as The Pioneer Woman) was ready to begin her book signing event at OKC’s beloved Full Circle Book Store. The event doubled as a fundraiser for the YWCA Domestic Violence Shelter, and by the crowd, it looked to be a good day to help out the provision of those important services.
Drummond mentioned she “gets nervous speaking,” so she used a Powerpoint presentation. The crowd was interactive as she went through her slides covering the history and development of her online blogging, cooking and TV projects highlighting life on the central NW Oklahoma cattle ranch where she, her husband and their four children reside. The attendees’ smiles turned to laughter as she finished her presentation by singing “Endless Love” to her Basset Hound, Charlie.
One key to a good audience connection is an open and one-down position. Drummond interspersed her presentation with many of these moments, including one instance where she had backed up until she ran into a plant behind her. As she played with the plant fronds bouncing around her head she commented, “I’m so nervous I’ve backed into the plant!” Continue reading The Art of Standing in Line: Pioneer Woman Book Signing at the Full Circle
My fingers, usually clickity-click fast on my iPhone, hovered above the screen. I knew I was making this harder than it needed to be. Yes, I had chosen to text, because the thought of having this conversation in real time was just too scary. This way, if she said no, I wouldn’t have to quickly come up with an easy breezy comeback that belied my disappointment. If she said yes, well, I hadn’t exactly thought through the next step because I could hardly make myself begin the first. I typed…and then deleted what I typed because it sounded ridiculous. Sigh. How hard can this possibly be?
The above is a play-by-play of something I did just this last week. Was I asking my boss for a gigantic raise or delivering bad news to some unsuspecting soul? Nope. I was inviting some new acquaintances over to our house for a cookout.
Many of you will not understand why I got worked up over such a simple transaction. You don’t understand because friendships are easy for you. From that day in elementary school when you locked eyes with a girl wearing the same “My Little Ponies” t-shirt to the adult days of hosting neighborhood parties and going out for “girls’ nights”, you’ve never really thought about friendships as difficult or complicated. I am not you. I envy you. I do many things well, but making friends and maintaining friendships has never felt particularly effortless or natural. I am an accomplished woman – in fact, I’ve been called “Super Woman” twice this week – but friendship is a chink in my armor.
Growing up, I usually had one friend at a time as groups were intimidating. I often felt ill-equipped to navigate the dynamics of friend groups and far preferred to focus my attention in a single direction. I attended lots of group activities (dances, ballgames, etc.), but put far too much energy into making sure I had a plan for exactly what was going to happen once I arrived, who I was going to sit with, and what we were going to talk about. I was insecure about the friendships I had and often felt like I was constantly auditioning for my role, and only made new friends if they made the first move. And, I was quite passive if and when friendships shifted off course. A few very special people floated out of my life because I didn’t know what to do in response to a rift, so I did nothing at all. While this sounds incredibly depressing, I have somehow managed to enjoy some great friendships throughout my life, and for this I’m incredibly grateful. Thank goodness for people who make the first move!
Age has provided some perspective, but I’ll admit I still struggle with insecurity. About 5 years ago, I learned I am an introvert. I’ve spent my whole life performing, speaking in public, and leading in various capacities, none of which aligned with my perceptions of an introvert. Previously, I defined an introvert as someone who is anti-social or doesn’t like to talk. Well, I get along with people really well and I talk all the time (sometimes I talk so much I have to kick MYSELF under the table). In reality, I’m a fairly typical introvert. I do most everything with some degree of anxiety and fear and require ample down time to recover from my social activities. Further, when stressed, I withdraw as opposed to engage. This insight definitely helped the world make sense, particularly where my friendship history is concerned. Knowing how my personality impacts my actions definitely helps me strike the right balance and compensate for some of my natural tendencies that are counterproductive to maintaining relationships. Continue reading Is There Hope For The Friendship Flunky?
“He’s such a jerk. He had a new girlfriend within a month of breaking up with my friend.”
“OMG. Clearly she has no morals.”
“I can’t believe someone would throw a fit like that. She’s crazy!”
Admit it. You’ve made a similar statement at some point in your life, perhaps even recently. I don’t have to look too far back in my own memory to stumble upon a few similarly disparaging comments. In making these statements, I felt justified in my conclusions about someone’s character based on their actions. Sadly, we often find a certain satisfaction – consciously or subconsciously – in pointing out, reveling in, or discussing others’ mistakes or offenses. If this was not the case, we would not have so many disreputable periodicals available for our perusal in the check-out line at the grocery store.
My question is this: How often do you define others by their worst behavior? I know I’ve done it and I’m certain it’s been done to me. Should we chalk it up to human nature and move on, or should we change the way we respond?
On a blog I follow, MckMama recently explored the issue of defining others by their worst behavior. In the midst of personal pain that society would say easily warrants a hurled insult or twenty, she made a decision to abstain from defining her wrongdoer by his recent hurtful behavior. In her case, the wrongdoer is her husband who abruptly left the family a month ago (mom and 5 kids) and hasn’t spoken to any of them since. She is angry and heartbroken, and she desperately wants to lash out at him and about him. She has thousands of virtual friends who wouldn’t at all blame her , as well as the perfect medium to try him for his crimes. No one can argue that leaving the family was an honorable thing to do. However, MckMama has decided that her pain is no worse than his, even though she doesn’t fully understand the source of the pain or the reason behind these actions. She believes it is her responsibility to preserve her husband’s honor and character during this difficult time, certainly until they can put aside the hurt and get to the bottom of their issues. While he appears to be acting irresponsibly, he is also the same man she married and deserves more than being labeled, judged, and hated.
My own husband recently learned what it’s like to be defined by behavior he doesn’t even remember. Continue reading Do People Make Mistakes or Do Mistakes Make People?
In the corner of the Queen’s Lane Coffee House in Oxford, I am only a student.
I relax after a full day of lectures by eating Greek yogurt, honey and fresh strawberries. This scrumptious food of the gods is beautifully arranged in a tall parfait glass. The bowl of my teaspoon digs to the bottom of the treat and drags bits of each layer up the side of the glass for my next bite.
As I take that perfectly mixed bite into my mouth, my eyes close, and this noise escapes from me: “Mmmmm.”
During the summer I am an instructor with a lighter load, I’m managing a few research projects and writing two papers.
I prepare for the day’s work by eating Greek yogurt, honey and fresh strawberries. This breakfast created to remind me of Oxford is plopped precariously into my cereal bowl. I grab bites here and there with a soup spoon as I dry my hair and get dressed for the day.
As I pack the car with my briefcase, purse and grocery list for the evening trip home, I run back into the house, grab my soup spoon and quickly scrape the last of my faux parfait. This noise escapes from me:
“Hm, good!”
During the January semester I am an instructor with a full load, a student who is taking her last statistics course that paralyzes her with fear, and three other things that make me stressed to type so I don’t.
I don’t have time to drag my breakfast around with me. Rather, I rapidly toss Greek yogurt, honey, fresh strawberries, some ice cubes and a little skim milk into the blender. I turn it on while I’m zipping up my boots. As soon as the zipper reaches the top of the boot, I slam a cup down, jerk the blender off the rotors, and pour in my liquid not-anything-like-a-parfait.
I toss everything I think I’ll need for the day into the car and wedge my breakfast into the drink holder. Half-way to work, I toast the Morning Edition hosts with my liquid breakfast. I drink in gulps it while listening to the news about Pakistan, the upcoming elections and the economy.
Not really regarding the goodness of what I’m drinking, I don’t say a word.
[kelly]
A week ago, I wouldn’t have labeled myself a Whitney Houston fan. Sure, I can appreciate her talent and my, oh my, was she a pretty lady, but I hadn’t kept up with her career since long before she entered her turbulent Bobby Brown years.
Her tragic and untimely death prompted me to reflect on her long career. I had forgotten how many great songs she produced. I had forgotten that she acted for a little while. I had forgotten how many moments from my childhood and adolescence featured none other than Whitney Houston.
You need only log onto Facebook, Twitter, Yahoo, or Google to see the many ways lifelong Whitney fans are paying tribute to their idol. These public discussions are tempered by those who are concerned about the lack of negative attention regarding the anticipated cause of death and the implications for how we as a society view drug use and abuse. My intention is not to address this conflict, as I don’t have anything to add to this particular discussion. I do, however, look fondly on the memories I unearthed this week from the recesses of my brain, and I will contribute to the various tributes by sharing those memories with you.
I clearly recall the first time I saw the Whitney Houston album cover and heard Whitney’s voice. Granted I was a child, but I had never heard a voice like hers and I certainly had never seen a woman who looked like her. You may remember the album cover – slicked back hair and exotic dress. She was gorgeous. My friends and I would spend hours dancing around our bedrooms singing “The Greatest Love of All” at the top of our lungs. We were convinced this song would change the world, but only if we sang it loudly enough and with extreme passion. My friend Hayley was a forward thinker and called dibs on having the song performed at her future wedding. We all reluctantly agreed to let her have it, because we couldn’t find a loophole in the dibs system. Come to think of it, I attended Hayley’s wedding and I’m pretty sure Whitney Houston was not present, nor was the coveted song performed. I knew I shouldn’t have given up so easily during those early negotiations.
Continue reading Whitney Houston: The Soundtrack Of My Youth
No. Nope. Negative. Nuh uh. Not gonna happen. Absolutely not. O, let me count the ways I tell my kids they can’t have or do something. In short, I say “no” A LOT.
I’ve heard a good amount of conflicting information about the impact of saying “no” to children. Now, I don’t think anyone would argue the need to stop a child from stepping into the street or touching a hot pan on the stove. There’s a good deal of discourse, though, about the right and wrong ways to respond when our children ask for (or demand) time, attention, or toys, or are behaving in a way that needs to be stopped.
While one expert expounds on the necessity of parents asserting authority and reinforcing firm boundaries, another warns of the devastatingly negative impact to a child’s self-esteem of denying kids their thoughts, opinions, and desires. As with many other philosophies in the parenting world, I feel like we are set up to feel guilty no matter where we stand on the issue.
Just in my circle of family and friends, I see divergent beliefs. Some parents work very hard to avoid saying “no” to their children. These parents aren’t pushovers, but they believe there is something inherently damaging about the word. They distract their toddler when they see the telltale gleam in her eye when staring at the dog’s food or when she’s demanding chips for dinner. They are quick to praise good deeds as a way to elicit only good behavior. And, they ask their kids why they want to do or have whatever it is they are asking for in order to understand the child’s point of view. The child eventually tires of the conversation and moves on to something else.
I also know parents who seem afraid to say no to their kids. They worry their children won’t love them if they are constantly denying them, stating life is too short not to experience simple and inconsequential joys. These parents are usually the same ones who appease their children in order to avoid anything “ugly” in front of other people. As long as the kids get what they want, there is no crying, whining time outs, etc.
Still others feel like “no” is almost an automatic response no matter the question. My husband and I fall into this category. We know we should be in charge and entered parenthood prepared for that authoritative job. We even knew our precious offspring would try to manipulate us – that’s what kids do – and we were poised and ready for the challenge. What we weren’t prepared for was all the gray area, blurred lines, and being so very tired! Lately we’ve been wondering whether our “nos” are always necessary or whether we sometimes take the easy way out instead of doing our kids justice by thinking critically about each situation.
I am not a parenting expert; I’m simply a parent trying to do right by my kids and stay sane in the process. I believe in positive reinforcement and parenting from a place of love and acceptance. I also think saying “no” is absolutely necessary. I believe this is the first step to teaching my children how to say “no” to themselves and others when something isn’t right – socially, morally, or legally. Down the road, when they are faced with life’s temptations, I want them to be able to use their own “no.” I try to remember that today’s second cookie quickly and easily turns into tomorrow’s far riskier choice. Continue reading The Plight Of The All-Noing Parent
Clink, clop, Clink, clop, Clink, clop.
I was walking to my College briskly as it was twenty-seven degrees outside. Burdened down with my workout bag, my briefcase, my purse and my lunch bag, I stopped every once in a while to shift, resettle, then walk again.
Clink, clop, Clink, clop, Clink, clop.
“Crap, I think one of my heels must be worn through to the nail. I’ll need to get a new plastic cap put on next time I’m in town. I only have two pair of black dress shoes I can wear around campus.” I was talking to myself as I neared the building. I stopped again, shifted the load one last time, balanced my bags, grabbed the double doors and entered the building.
CLINK, Clop, CLINK, Clop, CLINK…
“Criminy, shoes. Loud much?” Now I was talking to my shoes.
I got to the elevator, somewhat relieved that I could give my shoes a break. When the elevator door opened, I tried a different way of walking.
Tip, tap, Tip, tap, Tip, tap…
That was better. At least I wasn’t Clinking and Clopping. Stop, shift, balance…open my office door, and…begin my day.
Thirty minutes later I walked down to the office to ask for some room scheduling support for a weekend class I was teaching. Annoyed by my shoe-noise once again, I told myself I’d probably have to shift to my tip-toe quieter mode for the rest of the day and resolved to look at my shoes before I got dressed from now on.
I stopped and talked with a few students on the way back to my office. I stopped in at the cafe and grabbed a cup of coffee. I had probably, by this point, encountered between fifty to one hundred fifty people.
I returned to my office, settled into my work mode and bent down to turn on the power strip to my computer. “Ohhhhhhhh…..” I stared at my feet.
Remember the “only two pair of black dress shoes I had that were suited to walk around campus?” I had one of each on that day. Continue reading 5 O’Clock Friday Funnies: My No Good, Very Bad, Horrible Day for Shoes
If you ask ten people about their New Year’s resolutions, at least half of them will disclose a new or renewed effort to lose weight. If you wait three months and ask those same people how they’re doing, you’ll discover most will have abandoned their weight-loss plan. Some will have tried in earnest, while others gave the plan a good deal of lip service but did very little to actually inspire change in their lives. For those considering more permanent solutions, many are now looking for a plastic surgeon in Lafayette to help them achieve their body goals. With the right guidance and support, individuals can find the confidence to make lasting changes and embrace their desired transformations.
Change is difficult at best, and the change necessary for weight loss or healthier living often seems overwhelming. The majority of the well-intentioned population will make claims to go to the gym every single day, cut out all fat from their diet, or never again indulge in their favorite treat. The problem with these goals is that they are unachievable, and certainly not easily maintained.
While I am no fitness or nutrition expert, I am a fan of looking and feeling good. That said, I know firsthand how difficult it is to consistently align my actions with those desires. I don’t want to eat like a bird or have grilled chicken and broccoli for every meal. Even if I vowed to eat this one meal every night, my own preferences would inevitably take a backseat to the greater needs of my family.
With that in mind, I found a way (many ways, in fact) to keep my family full and satisfied without making drastic and unwelcome changes. I simply had to re-evaluate how I prepare our favorite foods and make small, and often undetected, adjustments. In the process, I’ve helped my family cut unnecessary fat and calories from our diets.
I have compiled some of my favorite cooking tips and tricks. I can’t promise amazing weight loss in 3 easy steps, but I can promise that incorporating a few of the below will, at the very least, help you feel more hopeful about reaching your health goals.
I had been in China for six days and had not caved once. I was looking for what I felt was the perfect memento for my trip. After drinking espresso with my colleagues at the base of the Great Wall, I wandered into the back of the store…then through a corridor, and into a room I didn’t know existed. It was crammed with Chinese antiques from the floor to the ceiling.
There wasn’t a soul in sight so I had the quiet luxury of taking a moment from my traveling group to wander the aisles. Armor, pottery, furniture, weapons…as I slowly stepped through the history of China and its artifacts I began to think, “Perhaps this is where I’ll find my memento.”
And I did. On my second trip around the room, my eyes rose to the glass encased artifacts behind the counter and I drew in my breath. “Stop, Kelly. They’re going to be too expensive.” I was already talking myself down from the purchase and didn’t even know their cost, much less their value.
As I peered closer, I knew which one I wanted. There were three doctor dolls behind the case, of various materials and sizes. And, of various levels of detail. But the one I wanted was ivory and so delicately carved that I could see the twists of hair in her bun.
It took almost an hour to buy her. I had not bargained so zealously for anything on this trip. Twice I walked out of the store. But in the end I had a turn of the century Chinese doctor doll, a certificate of authenticity and confirmation from the government regarding its validity, and a smile on my face.
I had found my memento and she had found me.
Why was she so important, you might wonder? Well, the reason was contextual. I was traveling with a group of marriage and family therapists and we were working with hospital and university training programs for the brand new and emerging field of family therapy in China. And…a theme kept emerging from these meetings.
“Our students want me to teach human sexuality classes to help them with their patients, but we don’t have those classes in China. And, I don’t want to teach them.”
“Most marital problems in China are written off as sexual problems, and because of that, couples simply get a divorce. You can’t really help sexual problems.”
“It is still difficult for females to have discussions about sexual issues with their doctors, let alone their therapists. We normally don’t talk much about such things.”
I first became familiar with Chinese doctor dolls when I watched the 1989 dark comedy, “The War of the Roses.” I’ll never forget that film. We had taken a friend who was going through a divorce. The movie was about a horrible divorce. I’ll let you guess about the success of our evening out.
In the opening scene, Barbara shows up at a Nantucket antique auction and outbids Oliver for a Chinese doctor doll. The conversation over that piece brought them together, and it was the last meaningful shred of their marriage that was shattered into a million pieces right before they killed each other in a long, drawn-out and tragic divorce. Continue reading Without Words: My Chinese Doctor Doll Has Come A Long Way, Baby
When I was pregnant with my first child, I received several pregnancy and childbirth books from friends and loved ones. My favorite was The Girlfriend’s Guide to Pregnancy because, unlike the better-known What to Expect When You’re Expecting, the Girlfriend’s Guide provided me answers to my REAL questions – the ones I’d be too embarrassed to ask anyone but a trusted girlfriend who’d tell it to me straight. The author abandons the “this is the way it’s supposed to be” advice in lieu of a humorous account of what no one ever told her about the adventure of pregnancy.
Lest you think I mistitled this article, the explanation of my preferred literature is merely a frame of reference for the information to come. I recently took an extended period of time off work in order to spend quality time with my family. I rarely take more than a couple of days at Christmas because I want to save what little vacation time I have accrued for, well, vacation. However, this year I threw caution to the wind and took the lion’s share of time I had in the bank as a way to repay my family for the last several months of work stress and long hours away from them.
As I prepared for my first-ever staycation, I anticipated the time off like it was an exciting, new project. I asked friends for guidance on kid-friendly activities to fill our days. I made a list of chores I wanted to get done around the house. I fantasized about the memories we would make during our extended time together. 
Now that I am back to work (sigh), I am reflecting on my expectations versus the reality of the experience. I hope I can speak for my family by saying we had a wonderful time. I would be remiss, however, if I didn’t provide a somewhat more frank take on this family-bonding adventure. Much like what I appreciated in The Girlfriend’s Guide to Pregnancy, I hope you will appreciate the between-you-and-me nuggets about what this working mom learned from staying home for 12 straight days.
Lesson #1: I did not accomplish 90% of the household projects on my list. I went into my time off with visions of reorganizing drawers and cabinets, finishing craft projects, sorting through clothes in the kids’ closets, putting pictures in albums, and cleaning my house from top to bottom. We DID make several trips to Goodwill and I printed, labeled and filed about 500 pictures. While most of my list remains undone, I now have photographic evidence that we have children in the house who are out of diapers. As a frame of reference, they are now 7 and 4. Continue reading The Girlfriend’s Guide To The Ultimate Staycation
As much as I love Christmastime for the religious significance, decorations, music, and good cheer, I dread the everywhere-you-look (and listen) emphasis on gifts. I am not opposed to giving or receiving gifts, but the hustle and bustle is a constant reminder that I am a “bad” gift giver. You see, I believe the entire population can be divided into two categories – good or bad gift givers. A REALLY bad gift giver – the one who hastily selects their gifts from the shelves of 7-Eleven on Christmas Eve – is on the list of the most repugnant holiday offenders along with the one who brings fruitcake to the party, the one who wears ugly Christmas sweaters (not in jest), and the mall Santa who cannot even grow a real beard. My self-given label of bad gift giver does not mean I give undesirable gifts, it just means I do not enjoy the shopping experience and I rarely feel like I have accomplished something meaningful with my resources.
While money is sometimes a factor in determining what constitutes “good” and “bad” where gifts are concerned, I would argue that being a great gift giver has less to do with financial means than a general confidence in the process of developing “outside the box” ideas. Further, a great gift giver has the endurance to shop until they’ve met their uncompromised shopping goals. These are the people who set their alarm clocks for an indecently early hour on the Friday after Thanksgiving, put on their most comfortable outfit, gather their supplies (two bottles of water, Band-Aids, Advil, and a 5-Hour Energy shot) and head out to finish their Christmas shopping while it’s still dark outside. These people are highly admirable and just as highly annoying.
I have neither great ideas, nor shopping endurance. Sure I can ask people I care for what they would like, go out and purchase these items, and call it a day. No sweat. These purchases, and the gift presentations that follow, however, lack the element of surprise good gift givers take for granted. I end up feeling like I should have handed over a wad of bills and let my loved ones shop their own lists. Why not cut out the middle man?
Surely there’s far more to being a good gift giver than the ability to neurotically circle parking lots for the closest space or grab the last limited edition Mario Brothers Wii game (or whatever is this year’s premium gift). I would argue that some of the best gifts are comprised of words and deeds. For me, the gift of my time, talents, compassion, or encouragement is a way to share something far more meaningful than anything that can be purchased or wrapped.
While improving my tangible gift-giving skills is likely a lost cause, I’ve made a personal commitment over the last year to become better at attending to the needs of others. That said, I’ve learned that desire to do something does not always lead to definitive or completely selfless action. Sometimes I look at my calendar on Thursdays and think about all the ways I would rather spend my time than reading with my reading buddies at Edwards Elementary. Continue reading Lessons From A Bad Gift Giver
The first time I read the term “hiney tingles” I knew exactly what the author meant.
You see, I’ve experienced these phenomena. Oh yes. I HAVE experienced them.
I think they started in junior high when Nathan Johns asked me if I would “walk him off the football field after the game.”
What he meant by that was,
“Will you jump the fence with fifty other girls, grab my sweaty arm, stand with me while we thank God for winning the game under the Friday night lights, put up with my sweaty body while I pause during our walk, take my helmet off, shake out my sweaty dark curls, finish walking me to the edge of the locker room entrance and then just prior to me going inside to hear from the coach get your first kiss from me?”
Oh, I’ll walk you off the field, baby. Heck yeah, I’ll walk you off. Me and my hiney tingles will do you proud…
I’m sorry, where was I? Ah, yes. Hiney tingles.
For those of you who are familiar with Ree Drummond’s “Pioneer Woman” blog and her “Black Heels to Tractor Wheels” story, then you know the source of my writing inspiration.
For those of you who don’t read P-Dub’s work, or who are unfamiliar with the term “hiney tingles,” allow me to link you to the highly academic source for all pop-culture answers: the Urban Dictionary definition.
So, assuming that hiney tingles are some sort of electrified sensations felt involuntarily when stimulated by the sight or presence of a romantic prospect, I’m wondering…have YOU experienced them? And, if so, under what conditions?
I did a little research and found that there is actually a blog with the term in its name. Something to do with Edward Cullen?
I know a Twitter-Tweep of mine , who immediately went into hiney tingle overdrive when she recently passed by a cowboy and sent this message out to the world:
“GIIIIRRRRL them steer rasslers make me all tingly!”
Then we started talking hiney tingles, then several others jumped in on the conversation and I’m not sure exactly what happened next…but I think some sort of watch-society was created to spot men in tight jeans and also Carhartt/hoodie combinations. Continue reading Hiney, Booty, and Chris: A Tingle Trifecta Conundrum
I spend my days talking about marriage, divorce, family strengthening strategies, and child-well-being. I can spout research and trends, and articulate the many factors attributed to changing family dynamics. I’ve seen firsthand the complex challenges low-income families and single parents face in trying to make ends meet and help their children belie the odds. Let me tell you – it isn’t pretty out there.
I do all of this as a part of my job, which I love, but some days I feel like a fish swimming upstream. It’s easy for the stories and statistics to fuse together in my head and settle into a discouraging presence in my heart. This isn’t altogether a bad thing, because the nagging concern I feel certainly motivates me to plug ahead and work hard to implement programs and strategies which help couples and individuals achieve their family goals. And, even though I hear some tough stories without a happy ending, I’m privy to an equal number of revelations by couples who admit to feeling hopeful for the first time in weeks, months, or even years. Hope is a powerful emotion; without it, they will most certainly fail. With hope, however, amazing things can happen.
Another bright spot for me and something that adds to my own feelings of hope is the launch of the “Oklahoma’s Most Inspiring Couples” campaign. For the past three years, we have worked with a media partner to conduct a statewide search for couples who have shown commitment to their marriages in a significant way – have triumphed through adversity, endured through sickness and health, or otherwise inspired friends and family with their support of one another or zeal for life. Just when I start to feel like there are no couples to serve as role models for hard work and enduring friendship, the “Oklahoma’s Most Inspiring Couples” campaign reminds me that long-lasting and healthy marriages ARE possible.
It just so happens that this week is the launch of our new campaign, so what better way to kick it off than to share some information with those who care about Oklahoma and Oklahomans – you! If you’ve been inspired by an Oklahoma couple, Continue reading Where Have All the Great Marriages Gone?
Not long after our wedding, the questions and comments began. You know the ones.
“When are you going to start a family?”
“I think you’d look great pushing a stroller.”
And my favorite….
“You aren’t going to be one of those women who chooses career over motherhood, are you?”
Most people approach having a child as a given and are not shy with their opinions on the matter. Fortunately, I have always wanted children so the pressure I felt was relatively healthy in nature. After a few years of alone time, my husband and I knew the time was right to start a family. The day our daughter was born we underwent an incredible metamorphosis. We were no longer a couple, but a FAMILY.
No sooner had our daughter weaned from the bottle than a new set of questions and comments began.
“When are you going to give Bailey a sibling?”
“You’re going to try for a boy, right?”
And my favorite…
“Only children are spoiled. It’s your responsibility to have more than one child.”
Fortunately again, I envisioned myself with more than one child so the comments aligned with our family goals. We put the questions to rest by adding a precious son to our clan three years after our first was born. Children are blessings and we were overjoyed to grow our family.
Now that my children are ages 7 and almost 4, the questions have a different texture. “Are you done?” seems to be laced with judgment from those with small-family experiences and expectation from those with large families. Continue reading A Quota of Blessings
The answer, my friends, is unadulterated magic.
Before I share the rest of my article, I have to warn you that reading beyond this point may actually kill perfectly good brain cells. Proceed at your own risk.
The day I realized Kirk Cameron had a life as someone other than Mike Seaver was the day I became a pop culture addict. I’m not so sure addiction is the right word to use, as I categorize my uncanny ability to remember obscure details about television shows, movies, and celebrities as a talent. I can tell you the plot of the show JAG, although I’ve never watched it. I know Lady Gaga’s real name. I’ve seen pictures of Fergie when she was just a little tyke on “Kids Incorporated.”
For whatever reason, my senses are attuned to all things pop culture. Perhaps one day I’ll find myself being held at gunpoint by a mad man who says he will abandon his plans to blow up a building if someone can tell him the name of Balki Bartokomous’s love interest on “Perfect Strangers.” You will all thank me when I disarm him with the confident shout of “MARY ANNE!” Continue reading What Do You Get When You Add Celebrities To The Twitterverse?
From the moment you got the keys to your first rental home you’ll be sharing with your friends, you drove by the location every day after work. When you walked through each room showing us or your guests the patio or the pocket doors, your face beamed with excitement. It reminded me of the same look you had when we went on vacation and you were exploring the hotel room, or spending the night with a grandparent. You would run around the space, look at us, and show us “this!” or “THAT!” Continue reading Emptynesterology
