Good will always win over evil

Mothers and fathers all over the world are hugging their kids longer and tighter today. That's what we do when unthinkable things happen. Unthinkable, unspeakable... unforeseeable.

We send our children off to school in the mornings believing and praying that they will safely return to us at the end of the day. We pray the bus driver will deliver them to and from school safely. We hope that their school is indeed a safe place. We expect actual heaven-sent angels will be at their side, every step of the way.

I have first and fourth grade children. The idea that there could ever be a day touched by such horrific actions, had never before entered even the worst of my nightmares. Who could possibly contemplate a gunman walking into an elementary school and taking the lives of so many?

20 precious children, ages 6 and 7, didn't get to go home yesterday. 27 families and an entire nation scared forever by another senseless tragedy.

As a parent, you spend your entire life trying to protect your kids... trying to teach them to make good choices so that one day, they can be successful, happy adults with families of their own. It's hard-wired into our DNA; the idea that we have the ability to control what happens to us... but we don't.

My first instinct was to immediately pull my kids out of school and homeschool them until they're 30. Unfortunately,  news headlines also flashed through my head from this past year, of mall and movie theater shootings. The reality of it is, there is no true safe place. Home invasions and car accidents happen every day.

So, what do we do now?

The only thing we can. Teach our kids to pray and to enjoy life.

The world is a scary, uncontrollable place. Our children, as well as adults, need somewhere they can be 100% secure. The belief that we have an eternity to spend with our loved-ones in heaven is so powerful, that we gain strength and peace in times of great sorrow.

Do I believe the world is a more violent place today than it was two days ago?

Probably not. There have always been evil people in the world, but there have always been so many more of the good. I refuse to raise my children in fear. I'll give them the tools they need, to live the best lives they can. I'll do my best to direct their futures to fulfill their dreams. I will not raise them to think the worst in people. I will always believe good will always win over evil.

My heart aches for the families affected from the Sandy Hook Elementary School shooting. They will not mourn alone. Their great loss will not be forgotten. My prayers are for them tonight. May their little angels find peace in the arms of our heavenly Father.

Painting: Serenity by David Bowman

In memory of Scott Guffey

This may be hard for some to read, you won't hurt my feelings if you don't. I wanted to document my thoughts and feelings, as well as moments I witnessed during this last week.

My family has been blessed for many years, in the way that we've suffered very few pre-mature deaths. Believe me, I count those blessings daily... my great-grandma lived well into her 90's, grandpa had a massive heart attack two days before his 71st birthday, and both grandmothers are thankfully still living. Maybe that's why I'm not really sure how I feel right now. I'm not even sure how I should feel.

As many of you know, we lost my cousin, Scott Guffey, after a relatively short battle with Leukemia. He was 35.

Love birds, Scott & Kris Guffey, May 2011

Less than six months after his diagnosis, we found ourselves celebrating his life, along with hundreds of  people we'd never before met, but whom loved him. In the time he had, he was able to affect the lives of so many. He became, not only a rock star daddy to his three girls, Alley, Natalie & Jaleigh and devoted husband to Kris, but a safe place for anyone who needed advice, friendship or just some good ol' tough love.

He was one of the healthiest, strongest and virile men you'd ever know. He was a hard-worker, a strong leader and lived life to its fullest, his way... usually involving as much adrenaline as possible. He drove way too fast, drank too much, and was constantly in a state of motion. Yet he never missed a chance to enjoy his friends and family, making it his goal to live life without regrets.

Gray Family Reunion in October, 2012. Alley, Kris, Scott, Jaleigh, Natalie, Shannon, Garret & Matt.

He raised his girls to be strong, independent young ladies, and I know they'll be alright. Sure, they'll make their own rules for many things, but they'll figure out their way in life just as Scott and Kris did.

Attending his funeral yesterday, I witnessed incredible maturity, emotional strength and love for their daddy in their dry eyes, sure actions and words. I can tell you that many adults in the room were able to remain strong because they were. Scott wouldn't have wanted tears, but laughter at his funeral. They were amazing, and I know he's very proud.

So why am I confused? Why do I find myself snapping at Todd and getting so irritated with my own kids?

I think it's because, after all is said and done, I didn't really know him... not really. For many years, I wouldn't have been able to pick him out of a line-up, and it makes me angry. I lived ten minutes from him, and yet, there was no foundation laid during our childhoods to build a friendship on. I lived my life, and he lived his.

As these things tend to happen, years ago, adults in our families made choices. Choices that put us children on different life paths. So despite spending the early years of our lives actually being playmates and learning about life together, we wouldn't really meet again until we had kids of our own. Sure, there were those random family gatherings, when we'd see each other and be cordial, but it was more like we were just polite strangers. Eventually, he stopped coming to family functions, and we stopped calling. We become strangers.

It wasn't until about 5 years ago, during an indoor soccer game at a gym in Mooresville that our paths would cross again. I was bringing Jocey to the bathroom while Zander played, and a very large, 6' 3", very red, very sweaty man holding a basket ball walked up to me and said hello. I must have had a strange look on my face, because he said, "It's me Scott."

I was stunned. "Bubba?"

Wow, Scott got old. Wait... we got old.

Scott was there with his girls & Kris, watching Jaleigh play in her own soccer game. I sat with them and made small talk for awhile. I felt awkward, like I was intruding on their space, like I was someone that they would try to avoid. Which, knowing what I know now about Scott, is ridiculous. He was the kind of guy who wanted to make everyone feel good and welcome. I know whatever weird feelings I had that day were from my own inner crazy. I had told myself for years, that they didn't really want to be part of our family, that we weren't good enough for them. I don't know why I thought this, considering that I never once reached out to call him and Shannon. I was an adult, but I was still expecting the real adults around me to determine my relationships and arrangements.

I'm so very grateful that over the last five years, we would see each other at least once or twice a year at a family get-together. Family gatherings were never boring... Christmas dinners almost always involved wrestling matches, mixed drinks, sweat and laughter. Summer functions would involve RTV's, water balloons and a hose. But this is where my account of his life stops. He was my first cousin, and I didn't really know him. 

All the cousins. Back row: Alex, Elizabeth, Shannon, Tara, Scott
Front row: Summer Joy, Melissa, Sasha, Kyndra & Max

How can you mourn the loss of someone you don't really know?

It provides you with a reality check... a wake-up call, that any day could be your last.

I wish for more time.

I wish I didn't have regrets.

I wish I was stronger... a better mother, friend, sister, daughter, person.

Scott's battle with Leukemia

When we first learned that he had an aggressive form of Leukemia, and was undergoing chemotherapy, I was lucky enough to get to visit him in the hospital. Again, I felt awkward, like I wasn't worthy of taking his valuable time. Like I was intruding on his family. Like I didn't belong there. But he greeted me with a smile, and a warm hug. (I learned in the last few days, he didn't really like to touch people, so I'm even more grateful) He made me feel welcome, and that he appreciated me stopping in to see him. He didn't have to do that. He was the one with cancer... it was just who he was.

His first round of chemo didn't rid his body of the cancer, so he would have to stay there, in isolation and undergo something called super-chemo. Which did force the cancer into remission, but it almost killed him. I don't remember all the details at this point, but I know he had to be placed in a coma for about two weeks, and then later have heart surgery to repair the damage the chemo had caused. He was placed on the bone marrow transplant list. So they waited.

He was able to go home again and regain some of his strength, but all too soon, the cancer would come back. I hear that the doctors told him he wouldn't have much longer to live, a year at most... After receiving that devastating news, he would get a phone call just hours later, that a match had been found. So, they would do chemo again, and then he would have a chance at life.

However, this time, the chemo didn't work. He couldn't get a bone marrow transplant until the cancer went back into remission. He was determined to go down fighting, so they opted for a medical trial.

I woke up Sunday morning and looked at my cell phone. There were about 20 text messages from my aunts and sister. They were batched by person, so I didn't understand any of them, but one.

"They coded Scott..."

I called my Aunt and she told me what was going on. I asked her what exactly "coded" meant. She said he had died. They worked on him for 20 minutes to bring him back.

I'm not proud of this... but I spent the rest of the day in tears between panic attacks. I don't know if it was the fact that it was really happening, if it was that he had died, if I was feeling sorry for myself, if I was worried about his girls, or if he was a Believer or not. As a Christian woman, this is the biggest thing that weighs on my heart. I just have to pray that such a great man, who did so much good in the world would be welcomed into arms of a loving Father.

As mothers often do, mine knew the best way to help me, was to bring me to the hospital to see things for myself. We went and sat with his wife, Kris, his mother, Corkey (Trevelyn), his sister, Shannon, his dad, Jeff, and his brother-in-law Matt.

If they were holding it together, then what right did I have to fall apart? Although I couldn't actaully see Scott, I felt comforted by the fact that his loved ones were right there... waiting, watching, hoping. 

At 3:30am the next morning, my phone rang. Mom tells me the doctor asked the family to come in to say their good-byes. By 3:55am, I was pulling into the parking garage right next to my mom on one side, and my sister on the other. We walked into the ICU together. Aunt Tonya greeted us with hugs and brought us up to date on his state. Kris, was sitting at his bedside holding him and family wept silently in the dark hallway outside his little room. There was a window, large enough that you could see in to from the hallway. His eyes were closed, and he was bundled up like a newborn baby. 

Scott would pass away at 11:30 that morning. His body just couldn't take any more punishment. His spirit will live on through all the people he touched, and in the hearts and minds of his girls.

I pray that I can allow myself to live life as he did. Without any regrets, with complete confidence in myself and compassion for others. I hope one day I can say that I too and #GuffeyStrong

Balloon release at Scott's funeral. Each one written with a message for him.

Gray Family Reunion, October, 2012

In typical Guffey-fashion, he and his family asks you to sign-up to be a bone marrow donor. You could be a match for someone's daddy, someone's brother, someone's son... http://marrow.org/HomeOld.aspx It just takes 10-15 minutes to complete the online registration form. They'll mail you a kit to swab the inside of your cheek and send back to them.

If you're unable to register, please consider making a donation. You could save a life and give someone a chance.

"River Monster" Spotted in Indianapolis!

My 9-yr old son Zander is obsessed with becoming a world famous, extreme angler, like Animal Planet's Jeremy Wade, the star of "River Monsters". He's spent the last several months watching every tv episode, reading all kinds of fish stories and planning for future fishing excursions.

Each year about September, we start talking about what each one of our four children wants to be for Halloween. This year, Zander's answer was easy. "I want to be an extreme angler" he says.  I'm thrilled because I think how easy this is going to be. Oh, and how cute...

When I was little, we would challenge our imaginations to make our costumes from things we found around the house. Mom would break out the acrylic paints and her home ec skills. Dad would do any constructing we would need. It was awesome.

Since I became a mom, I've always felt like I've taken the easy way out. Either we head to Costco, or to the couch to order online the costumes of choice. This year, the only children's size fisherman costumes I could find were for toddlers or grown ups. The little tykes were adorable, but too cutesy and baby-like.

So I start thinking... about how unique a look Jeremy Wade has. A unique, distinct and easily replicated one. I realized that Zander could actually be Jeremy Wade for Halloween, not just any ol' fisherman, but the extreme angler himself. All we would need, is to buy a pair of cargo pants, a long sleeve button up, collared shirt, and white hair spray. The key to pulling it off though, would be the fish. Yep, he'd need a really big monster fish.

I instantly have visions of twisting wire, paper mache and paint flying through my head. I could do it... I could make a monster fish. Better yet, I could make the inside big enough to hold the candy too. People would put their hands into the big mouth, past the pointy teeth to give him the candy. How cool would that be? At this point, I could feel the gooey, paper mache running between my fingers. I could smell the strips of newspaper and just imagine Zander as the 'cutest little mini-angler' ever created.

The Supply List

Paper Mache (mix equal parts water and flower, with a little bit of salt)

Strips of newspaper

Plastic gloves

Thin gauge wire (you want to be able to bend it with your hands easily. I used .5mm wire you would usually use to hang plants, or possible anchor a christmas tree to a wall.)

Needle nose pliers & wire cutters

Duct Tape

Foam Craft Balls

An exacto knife

Acrylic paints & brushes

Glue

2 Straight pins

Paint primar

Large empty plastic jar (I used an old pretzel container to put in the belly of the fish to hold the candy)

Length of time: Multiple days. It took me about a month to get it done.

Step 1: First, I built a wire frame to the shape of what I thought would resemble a monster fish. Looking back, I would have started with an actual photo to go off of. As it is, I made it up as I went. I cut the wire up into smaller sections, about two to three feet in length and twisted the pieces together securely. I added the tail (yes, I know it's horizontal, and not vertical as it's supposed to be, but what can I say... I was thinking about dolphins), the fins and the teeth. Zander insisted that we include dorsal fins, so I added those too.

Step 2: I decided to use duct tape to create a base layer to hold the paper mache strips to. This also provided structural support since the thin wire is really flimsy.

Note: Jocelyn doesn't usually wear such drastic make up.
She was a vampire girl earlier in the day.

Step 3: Here comes the fun part. Tear the newspaper into strips about 1" by 6". Mix the paper mache. Dip the individual strips in the goo and remove the excess by pulling the strips between two fingers. I prefer to use plastic gloves for this since the salt in the mixture burns dry skin. Overlap and criss cross the strips.

Put the large empty plastic container in the belly of the fish while everything is still wet and pliable.

Step 4: I balled up newspaper to shove inside the fish around the container. This helped support the weight of the wet paper mache, so the fish would retain its shape and not start to collapse in on itself.

Step 5: Let it dry completely for a few days, and then add a second layer or paper mache.

Step 6: Once it's completely dry and firm, you're ready to paint. Start with a white, water based paint primer. One coat should do it.

Step 7: I cut down two small foam craft balls to form the bug eyes. I glued them down, painted them, and added the straight pins to add a gleam to the eye and secure them to the fish.

Step 8: Use acrylic paints to finish off the desired look.

Some of you may be saying to yourselves, "She's crazy! She did all that work for a Halloween costume prop?". I agree, I may be crazy... and it may be one of the best thingamajigs I've ever created.

Hopefully, Zander will have some great memories of the Halloween he had a one of a kind costume... and of course, was the star of River Monsters for a few short hours.

What was your favorite homemade costume? Were you a child, or a full grown, Halloween-loving adult? Post in the comments below.

A bucket of fried chicken and a school choir

My stepdaughter Ashley was blessed with a beautiful voice. Naturally, she's been an active participant in the school choir for as long as I've known her. She loves being on stage, learning new songs, being with her friends, and knowing that her family is there in the audience watching her.

One of the most memorable performances occurred her 8th grade year, when she was 14. It was an outdoor, springtime, student-organized event. She had literally been talking about it for months ahead of time. What she failed to mention, was the length of the event. They handed me the program when we arrived, and after I got over the shock, I counted the number of acts ahead of us. There were 27! Of which she sang with the chorus, in the back row for two. 27 - 2 = 25 acts, in which she sat in the bleachers and goofed around with her friends. We sat and watched. I remember it well. I prayed for rain. "Please God, let those dark clouds bring rain." They didn't.

Three and a half hours, one teenaged magician, several extremely uncomfortable solos, duets, group songs, an interpretative dance, a line dance, and did I mention the magician... we were able to leave. It didn't take me long to realized that we were in fact held hostage, along with all the other parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles and siblings... all because of common courtesy. Something I thought we were all born with.

Because no matter how badly you want to get up and leave after your child has performed, it would be considered rude in modern society to do so. So, we sat, covered our ears at times, and avoided making any eye contact or loud comments within earshot of one of the proud parents surrounding us. I left there feeling a great sense of empathy and camaraderie with my community. We had survived.

Of course, once Ashley made it to High School, she continued her study of music, and joined the choir. I arrived for her first performance her freshman year, and was pleasantly surprised that it was held in the auditorium, not a gymnasium, cafeteria or courtyard. The auditorium was beautiful, comfortable and professional. I was stoked.

Everyone took there seats, the lights dimmed and the show began. Here we go again, parents and family members banding together to muscle through another season, video cameras in one hand, and a bag of peanuts in the other? What? Seriously, the couple sitting beside us, literally pulled out a bag of peanuts. The man took a hand full, and placed them on his very large stomach to use as a table. The munching and crackling began.

I was suddenly grateful that it was a Tuesday night and my kids, who are deathly allergic to peanuts were with their dad. I became angry. Not only were these people breaking the clearly stated rules stating "No Food or Drink Allowed" posted at each entrance to the auditorium. They felt the need to add their own sound track to the music. A sound track of whispers, crackles, crunches and chewing.

Ashley is now a junior, and we've attended 2-3 performances annually. Each year, "the people" in the audience become more rude, inconsiderate, self-centered and brazen. What happened to the warm, gooey, camaraderie I had felt during the three and a half hours of torture we had shared years before? Don't these people want to support their children? Why can't they just shut up? Didn't their parents teach them manners?

Although I tried to get out of attending the Fall Concert just a few weeks ago, Ashley insisted that I be there. She's in show choir now, and had been putting in a lot of hours, and energy into following her dream. I did really want to be there for her, even if I really didn't want to deal with the people. So we went. I knew that the performances would be light years better than what we witnessed in Middle School, but I also knew that the people in the audience were the most inconsiderate, thoughtless people I've had the pleasure to share a zip code with.

I had given up anyone following the clearly posted rules at the door, and decided if they weren't going to, then why should I? So although my conscience plagued me, I brought my large sweet tea in with me, and carefully stowed it under my chair. I had run into Ashley and her friend in the hall outside the auditorium as I was trying to finish my tea before I went in. She suggested that I just bring it in with me. She told me a local urban legend that had been passed around the show choir for the last several years. Legend was, a family brought in an actual bucket of fried chicken and passed it up and down the aisle during the performances. The entire auditorium reeked of the Colonel's secret recipe. So I figured, a sweet tea is pretty harmless compared to chicken legs and greasy fingers.

Again, the lights dimmed, students took the stage, and immediately, the talking behind us began. The most incredible example of white trash the south side of Indy could produce was sitting earshot right behind us. The man looked as if he just finished beating up 6th graders for their lunch money, and he picked up some new teeth for his wife from the dumpster in the back on the way in. At least he sure smelled like it. I tried to ignore them, and their smell. I made it about 4 songs.

I turned around several times and glared. This normally works with my children, and was sadly disappointed when they seemed not to get the hint and shut up. I even raised my eyebrow, giving them "the look". Prior to Ashley taking the stage, there may have been heated words exchanged. At this point, I'm fuming angry that we couldn't just sit and enjoy Ashley's stellar singing and dancing. Suddenly I also wished that the school had metal detectors at the door. We were indeed encountering the thug life.

I keep thinking, "These people are raising children!", "These people are raising children?". What kind of example is being provided for our future leaders and citizens? When the parents don't have the ability to recognize the need for the greater good, and are constantly put their own selfish needs before others, where does that leave their kids?

When did we become a society and that no longer cares about the most basic considerations for others? More importantly, is there anyway to course correct and regain the common ground we once used to share. I have to believe that the individual desires, hopes and dreams that we all share for our children's future becomes the bond and the goal we all reach towards, even if it's unknowingly.

Until then, we'll be there in the audience to cheer on Ashley through the rest of her show choir career. She's definitely worth it.

The Tooth Fairy's Helper

When I was a girl, I remember standing in the dimly lit hallway of the old house next to my little sister, as I tied a string around my very loose baby tooth and secured it to a door knob. Of course, I couldn't imagine pulling the tooth myself, and I knew that this was a tried and true method to take care of my wiggly tooth issue. Tara I think was just there for moral support. Slam! Done.

Now that I'm a mother, I have always encouraged my kids, Zander 9 and Jocelyn 6, to lose their teeth at daddy's house... or at school. Zander never had much of a problem taking care of business, and pulled more than one tooth on his own. Happily I might add – the bloodier, the better. So we discovered last week that Jocelyn had a wiggly, somewhat bloody front tooth. She would nudge it forward and back with her tongue, and not let anyone near it.

I promptly reminded her of the rule previously stated. Mommy doesn't do loose teeth. She promptly laughed in my face. A few days went by, and a few nights at daddy's house I might add, and her front tooth was still hanging on. Saturday afternoon, we went to the Anderson Apple Orchard and came back with two bags of freshly picked apples and six carmel apples. I congratulated myself on this brilliant new strategy and was certain when I gave her an apple dipped in creamy carmel, that her front tooth would surely fall out the minute she bit into it. Well, I've never seen a child eat all the carmel off the apple before, never even breaking the skin. As I threw her whole, decaramelized apple in the trash, I knew Jocey had won this round. It was now Jocelyn 2 points, mommy zero.

So back to school she went on Monday, and to daddy's house again. I even sent him a text message encouraging him to pull the tooth for her. His response was simple and clear. "I'm not going to make her cry." Those words would haunt me later...

While I'm at the office Wednesday, I looked at my phone and saw that I had missed three calls from grandma's house. The frequency of the calls 4:59pm, 5:01pm and 5:27pm all told me that my princess was calling me. I checked my voicemail on the way home and my heart melted at her three almost identical voicemails.

"Hi Mommy, this is Jocelyn. This is a reminder. My tooth doesn't have any blood or oxygen in it. It's turning blue. I think I need to go to the doctor. I love you very much. When are you coming home to pick me and Bubby up? Byyyyeeee"

Of course, I saved all three messages; she's not going to have her chipmunk imitation voice forever.

I called grandma's house and spoke with Zander. I asked him just to pull her tooth. He told me she wouldn't let him. To this I responded "I'll pay her $5 to let you.". Yes, I tried to bribe my 6 year old girl with $5 to allow someone other than me to pull her tooth. He passed along my offer and I could hear her response clearly in the background of the phone. "I don't need money. I want a new teddy bear." Part of me laughed, and the other part thought, this isn't costing me more than $5. So I countered offered with "I'll bring her ice cream." Ha, I thought. The deal was sealed. Jocey never passes up ice cream. We hung up the phone and I hoped...

My phone rang again. Zander said he just couldn't get it. Dang. Jocelyn 3, mommy still zero.

I got my kids home and my wonderful man was making dinner. So, I tried to muster up the courage to yank that tooth out myself. Jocey opened her mouth, I grabbed it with my thumb and index finger and began to pull. Here's the thing. The tooth didn't just fall out when I touched it. So, this wasn't going to work either. I just grossed myself out imagining that I'd succeeded.

I asked Todd "Will you please pull it out?". He shook his head, "Nope, she won't let me.". I hung my head in defeat and walked away. But you see, I hadn't lost! I had an inside man. I had a Bubby. After dinner, I hear Zander say, "Mommy, do you have any string?" String! Yes, I have string! Why didn't I think about that. I did that when I was little! Zander shared his plan with Jocey, and she told him she would "consider it" while she was in the bath tub.

As luck would have it, she consented to the idea of tying a string to her tooth. Zander was so excited to finally see some action that he was going to bounce right out the door. Instead, he went to get Eric, his soon to be step-brother, to take in the show. The boys hovered around us just waiting for the moment when Jocey would finally swing the door closed and the tooth would fly out. And fly out it did. I gave an excited, shrill cheer, and Jocey reacted instantly with glee. The boys immediately began the search for the tooth and that's when the screaming began.

The moment Jocey tasted blood, and I saw it gushing from her mouth, it was downhill from there. Drops of blood splattered on the floor as I walked her to the sink to get a wet towel. Suddenly, I couldn't think clearly. I could only hear the very loud cries of my baby girl. Not a whimper, but a real, gut wrenching cry. Oh dear God, what have I done? Twenty minutes, some Ibuprofen, a wet wash rag and plenty of hugs, kisses and apologies from mommy later, she was ready for bed. The whole time, I hear her muttering, "This is the worst night of my life." I kind of agreed with her.

She went to bed really easily after that and I knew I would have to remember to get the tooth from under her pillow and replace it with cash. It had to be paper money this time. Coins just weren't going to cut it. I settled on $2 and went to bed.

This morning, I went to wake her up, and to watch her discover what the Tooth Fairy had left for her. She showed me the two dollars and we celebrated. About this time, Zander came in and he began trying to talk her out of her newly found earnings. Then he says something I didn't quite understand. "Jocey, are you sure there isn't another dollar under your pillow?" I told him, no $2.00 was what the Tooth Fairy left. He insisted... He then went to her pillow and shook it and another dollar fell out. She was over-joyed at this. Zander and I looked at each other, and in that moment, I knew that he would always be there for his little sister.

He had snuck into her bedroom without me knowing it and placed one of his own dollars in her pillow case. My heart melted with the strength of the bond that my kids have for each other. I realized, that the whole time I was pushing Jocey to make sure her tooth would fall out at daddy's house, that Zander was there with her. He was there to try to pull the tooth, when I couldn't. He was right there to comfort her. He was there to show her how proud he was of her. That she would be so brave, and he would be so thoughtful... there just aren't enough words for me to describe it.

I went to work this morning, thanking God for my kids. That they have each other. I can only hope that they will continue to make their bond even stronger as they grow up. I'm sure it's just fanciful dreaming on my part, but hey... that's what moms do. And sometimes, it's really great to have some help... and a Bubby.

Eating cheesecake off the floor

Today I came to the realization that I'm getting married in less than two years. June 27th, 2014 to be exact. 646 days. This is a wonderful, amazing thing and something I had truly hoped and prayed for. I know I should be thanking my lucky stars and planning every detail of the wedding to come. So why is it that instead, I feel paralyzed with fear. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE my future husband, and want to marry him. I'm incredibly grateful that he's in my life, and we have big plans for the next few decades. What scares me to death though, is the dress.

Most little girls grow up imagining that very day in which they would stand in front of their family and friends, and be handed over to their very own prince... I mean man, they've fallen madly in love with. I can't say that I grew up with visions of white lace dancing in my head exactly, but as a 'big' little girl of 36, I want all of that too. I want to share the experience with the people who have had such great impact on my life. I know that if we were to head to the court house for a quick legal procedure instead, I would always regret it. 

I want the flowers, the guests, the pictures, the champagne, the tuxes... so why don't I want the dress? I can see myself walking across the room with everyone's eyes on me. And in that moment, I have to wonder if everyone will be thinking "Oh, what a beautiful, plus size bride she is" "She has such a pretty face". At which point, I feel like I should be right between Rachel and Chandler in the episode of Friends we watched this evening, fork in hand, trying to scavenge every last piece of dirt-free cheesecake from the floor in the hallway that they could see. Some days, I'm not sure I wouldn't just eat that part of the cheesecake too. Mmmm dirt flavored, cheesecake with a touch of vinyl flooring.

Like most women, I struggle with my weight and my love of food, resulting in larger pant sizes than I would care to admit. How can I make myself go dress shopping when the idea of standing in a room with a sales consultant staring at me, while I try on dresses meant to be worn by a size 8, just to get an idea if the style is right for me or not, makes me nauseous? So what do I do to fix it?

If I go by the title I've chosen for my blog, the answer is "Whatever it Takes". So how do I put that into action? It may be silly, but I spent some time tonight printing out pictures I found online of women modeling wedding dresses. More alarming than that, women in bikini's lounging like nobody's business on a tropical beach. You see, I had this very original idea, that I would hang them up near the refrigerator and at my desk at work, so they would discourage me from snacking. If I could just focus on "being the bride", and being on the honeymoon, then I could make it happen. I could lose the weight in time to order the dress, and book the honeymoon in Hawaii. I could be, just another beautiful bride, and not a beautiful plus size bride with such a pretty face. What I want most of all, is to simply allow myself to enjoy this special occasion, and period of my life.


So as I go to bed tonight, I'll be trying to figure out for myself what exactly it's going to take for me to put down my fork, stand up and walk away from the cheesecake. I'll pray that I receive the strength I need to treat my body as a temple, and bring honor to the God I love, by not worshiping at the alter of junk food.

Deep down, I know that Todd loves me just the way I am, and I just hope, that on the day of our wedding, I will prove to him that I love me just the way I am too. Until then, I'll just hold on to those pictures I printed out tonight as inspiration.

The Sympathetic Hangover

As some of you know, I went out with the girls last night to celebrate mom's 60th birthday. I didn't know when I was driving to Greenwood exactly what the night would bring, however I had a pretty good idea. After all, I'm no Spring Chicken, and this isn't our first girl's night out.

As the designated driver for the birthday girl, I knew I would probably not have quite as much uninhibited fun as the others, but I'd also do anything for my mom, so out I went. I caught up with them at a Pub off Southport Rd and I-65 which had the only requirement they were looking for; a big dance floor. Now, the dance floor and I aren't really friendly with each other, although we do share a mutual respect. It promises not to make me the center of attention, I promised not to trip and fall on it.

I nursed my Sprite and watched the others dance to the DJ's choice... what I can only describe as loud, obnoxious music. Time went on, the dance floor slowly filled up and I eventually snuck out onto it. I did the "side to side step" in a rough, ever changing circle with girls and later, the Electric Slide —which is the one dance step that's burned into every adult female's muscle memory over the age of 30. The only reason I mention my attempt at dancing, is because at the time, I was also wearing my brand new 3" heels. As a woman with natural height, I don't often have cause or the inclination to wear such absurd shoes. Shoes that make you use muscles in your body that haven't been used in a very long time.

The time came for mom and I to head home, and I can assure you that I performed my job as the DD with great care. :) With mom tucked away, I came home and for the first time in months, didn't need to take a sleeping pill to fall asleep. I remember thinking, I had done it! I had went out for the first time in... well, I can't tell you how long. I recalled many similar nights out, in which I wasn't the designated driver, and imagined how the others would be feeling in the morning. This is where the mind starts to get confused. As I slept, I dreamt about the activities of evening. That I didn't enjoy a single alcoholic beverage apparently didn't seemed to matter.

This morning when I awoke — ok, this afternoon, when I awoke, I felt exactly as I had went to bed imagining the others would feel. I was exhausted and couldn't think clearly. My body hurt in places it shouldn't. I could barely put one foot in front of the other to hobble across the room. The fact that I had slept until noon and later learned that the birthday girl was up at 8am cooking lunch for the family should have embarrassed me. Of course it didn't, and in reality, it only proved how strong sympathetic feelings can change you mentally as well as physically. It also says a great deal about the strength and resilience of my mother... but that's for another blog entry.

This sympathetic hangover has given me all the evidence I need to try to stop sympathizing with people. It's apparently very impact-full... No, just kidding. It's really taught me just how important having sympathy for others is. To imagine dancing in their shoes for a night, and what it takes to get them through whatever obstacles come their way. This specific lesson, is one I've been working on for years. The ability to connect with others emotionally and let your guards down. This morning was a great reminder for me, and I'll never be too old or too young to go out with my mom. Some say, let them eat cake. I say let there be dancing.

My cocoon of white noise

Today was a very special day at the office. One that signified a bigger, brighter future for our little island of misfit toys. I got to trade my shared cubicle space with no doors in for a shared office with two doors. Two doors that close to be exact. After spending the last three years working in a bullpen with all my other coworkers and hearing every conversation, every ringing phone, every sneeze, every throat clearing, every footstep, every copy made and every flush of the toilet... I've been set free by a wall, two doors and white noise. The constant whirl of the air conditioning sounds like we're sitting directly under a jet engine just before take off. Please don't misunderstand me, I'm not complaining about the noise. It's rather wonderful.

You see, the beauty of white noise, is that it's just loud enough to drown out all the sounds that distract you throughout the day, but not loud enough to make you want to throw yourself off a balcony. It wraps you in a warm cocoon of pillows and teddy bears and allows you to focus on the task at hand. So now, whether designing an ad, answering the phone or planning a marketing strategy, my time is finally my own. I think it's just possible to move those mountains I've been putting off.

I may have complained just a bit about the lack of privacy, and constant mental and physical distractions over the last few years; but forcing us to share a space has helped us learn so much more about each other and grow closer than we ever could have before. So although I'm thrilled to be able to focus on work, while I'm at work, I will miss the constant laughter, arguments and life that we shared before I entered my cocoon of white noise. Heck, I may go ahead and suggest that we all sit in a circle tomorrow and sing kumbaya. If we do, I'll be sure to video tape it and post it on Facebook.

Ode to "That's what she said"

As you may tell from the title of this entry, "The Office" and Michael Scott became a member of our immediate family over the last several years. At first blush, I couldn't be in the same room when Todd would watch it. The sheer enormity and frequency of the awkward moments celebrated in a business environment was too much for me. Possibly, I thought I was too sophisticated for such baboonery... Well, I was wrong. Yes, I will admit, just this once. I was so very wrong.  I LOVED every episode in which Michael Scott, aka Steve Carell, shared his misleadership skills with his fellow Dunder Mifflinites.

There wasn't an episode that went by in which we weren't anticipating a dozen "That's What She Said" moments. "It squeaks when you bang it." is a favorite of mine, but don't let me stop you from enjoying it on your own. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2GPImySGLcc

So, how does this old joke have such a profound place in my life? Those four little words could just be the most commonly spoken words I say, not only at home, but at the office. Those four words are responsible for what equates to hours of giggles, guffaws and grins. I think, it's better than a cup of coffee in the afternoon, or a Snickers bar for a quick "pick me up". It makes my day go by faster, brings camaraderie and friendship to the work place. Naturally, I don't hog the limelight; we take turns channelling our inner Michael Scott.

Michael Scott may have left Scranton and "The Office" may be on its last season; but when it comes to all-time favorite zingers... "That's what she said" can't be beat.

"That's what she said."

It's all a juggling act

I'm a 36 year old, graphic designer, mother of two, soon to be stepmother of two more, daisy girl scout troop leader, and well... I'm tired just trying to remember all my titles. I wake up each morning and think to myself, "Here we go again". As this thought may illustrate, I'm not exactly a morning person, and I drive my fiancé crazy with my multiple alarms. Not all of us were blessed with the ability to rise and shine.

After sending the kids off to school, and heading to the office, I spend my days bouncing from one surprise to the next. There are two things that motivate me through my work day. My God and my sarcasm. I know you're thinking that those two things don't belong together, and how can I be a true Christian and so cynical at the same time. Well I'm here to tell you, that I'm living proof that He has a sense of humor, and He gives me the strength each day to do whatever it takes.