A Man She's Never Met

I remember it vividly: it was Christmastime, I was in eighth grade-- twelve, almost thirteen. My parents had dragged invited me to my brother's Freshman Chorus concert at Fairmont Senior High School. We were sitting up in the balcony, and the musty auditorium was dark except for the glowing lights on a black, empty stage. And then I heard it.

It was only singing- men's voices, although it sounded almost like a single voice.

O come, o come Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel.

The haunting melody resonated in that dark, cavernous room, and I thought, "What a beautiful recording." I thought it was nice to have some recorded music playing while the next choir came onstage. I could see the members of the next choir making their way down the aisles, and I perked up, because it looked like they were wearing costumes. Over the ethereal, melancholy choral music I could also hear a slight tinkling, jingling, a soft rustling as they made their way to the stage, and the dim light of the stage played off the glittering parts of their gowns and tunics.

But then as they made their way onstage-- the rich velvety jewel tones of their stunning attire coming into full view in the light, transforming the space with a magical, royal presence-- I realized that they were the ones making the ethereal music, and my mouth fell open in surprise.

As the performance continued I realized that they were performing with no director in sight. How can you have a choir that sings together without a director? As they sang, they moved easily with the music and they looked at each other, as if the song was a private group conversation, and we were all just listening in.

Even the songs themselves sounded like conversations. They were intricate, with so many moving pieces-- as soon as I fell in love with a particular chord it was gone, as if it had been carried off on a breeze, but it was always replaced by another chord, or another moving part that tickled my ears and made me hold my breath again. They seemed to just know when to crescendo, and when to clip a word, and when to take a breath, all without the guiding hand of a conductor- and without the aid of any accompaniment. They were in themselves like a perfectly tuned instrument; their tone was pure, their pronunciation impeccable. It was like nothing I'd ever heard.

In short, I was fascinated. They were amazing.

And that was the first time I ever heard the Fairmont Senior High School Madrigal Chamber Singers.

Obviously, I knew what choir I wanted to join when I reached high school, and I couldn't wait. I suffered through a year of Freshman Chorus, then lined up with my friends to audition for the prestigious madrigal choir (my brother had done the same and had gotten in the year before). I knew my voice wasn't very strong, and I didn't have that neat vibrato that so many of the other girls had. I was still young. But I could hold a tune. And I hoped that would be enough.

To make a long story short, it was enough, and the following year I joined the ranks of the alto section of the Fairmont Senior High School Madrigal Chamber Choir.

And that's when I got to know Mr. Bunner.

I think my first indication that he was different from your average teacher was when we got a student teacher in his class. When our student teacher arrived, she looked as nervous as if she were arriving for an audience with the Queen of England. She stammered something about what an honor it was to work with Mr. Bunner, and how thrilled she was to work with a choir of our caliber, and how she couldn't believe that of all the student teacher placements SHE got this one. She said everyone she knew in the WVU music program was green with envy. She was practically giddy.

I remember most of us just kind of laughing about it, but she was right. Our group was special, a fact that I think I took for granted during most of my time in it.

We never lost a competition we entered. Never. Never anything less than first place in all categories, and Grand Champion of the entire thing. We competed with magnet schools, schools for the arts, with intensive specialty choir programs. And we-- a group of high school kids from a little town in West Virginia-- beat them, handily, every time.

Usually during a choir competition, judges use a voice recorder and speak into it during your performance to give you notes. We rarely ended up listening to those tapes because they usually sounded like this:

"Wow, beautiful costumes. Lovely opening."

"Wow."

"Just beautiful."

"Amazing, wow."

And then a whole lot of silence. One judge even said, "I'm just going to be quiet now because I just want to listen."

We had judges request our CD (it was the nineties, but we were getting asked for CDs so often we finally had one professionally recorded). One judge said, point blank, "You are, hands down, the best high school choir I have ever heard." (Side note: That particular judge was a former member of the Grammy-Award-winning a cappella choir Chanticleer, of which Mr. Bunner was a huge, huge fan.)

We were even invited by the governor of West Virginia to represent the state for a special 50 states musical showcase at the Kennedy Center in Washington, DC. (I remember it was snowing outside as we sang there in the Grand Hall. Magical.)

I'd like to think that all of this was because we were all unusually talented, but the fact that the Madrigals were so good for years before any of us had joined, and continued to be good for years after all of us were gone, means that the common denominator wasn't us.

It was Mr. Bunner.

Mr. Bunner was quite tall, with a face that might have resembled Santa Claus had he ever grown a beard and had his hair turn white (his hair was brown and he had a mustache). He was generally soft spoken, with a resonant baritone voice, and had a perpetually content expression on his face. It was the expression of a man who loved what he did for a living. He loved music, and it showed.

Mr. Bunner had a mischievous sense of humor. He was always poised and articulate, but sometimes he let his inner high school boy slip out (he loved making us groan with a little teasing innuendo). He was endlessly passionate about music, unfailingly kind, but also firm. He had high expectations of us all. We were his kids, and he was the patriarch of our musical family. None of us were keen to disappoint him.

And we didn't. He was so proud of us, and he loved showing us off whenever he got the chance-- especially if he discovered a spot with great acoustics. As an a cappella choir we could sing anywhere and so we would sing everywhere-- at hotels on trips, on the bus, in a castle in Canada, standing in line waiting outside a restaurant-- even inside the restaurant as we sang a beautifully harmonious and moving blessing on our food.

In short, Mr. Bunner did flash mobs before flash mobs were cool.

And, oddly enough, we were never embarrassed by it. We knew how good we were. We knew that people would stop in their tracks, would gather round, would start snapping photos of us (with actual cameras- this was before cell phone cameras) recording us with their camcorders, and start murmuring appreciatively.

So we'd sing even when Mr. Bunner wasn't around, because he'd taught us to own it, to take pride in it, and to appreciate what a cool skill it was to be able make music wherever we were. And besides, it was FUN! We'd be standing in line for rides at amusement parks and do a quick role call to see if we had at least one of each part and then just start singing while we waited. We'd sing at parties, or while we were just hanging out at each other's homes. Some of my guy friends (and my brother) started arranging pop songs for men's quartets and octets so they could watch the girls swoon as they serenaded them.

And that was another great thing about Mr. Bunner-- he showed guys what a masculine thing it was to be musical. There was no such thing as "choir nerds" at our school. There were the Men's Choir studs-- the guys who took the stage in their khakis, light blue shirts, navy blue sport coats, and red ties, looking preppy and (to every girl in the room including me) pretty hot. And when they opened their mouths and started singing Billy Joel songs? Well...let's just say they broke a lot of hearts.

But he took care of us ladies as well-- I remember my first year of Madrigals having to sit through a required professional makeup artistry class. Mr. Bunner appreciated the beauty of women (in a respectful way, of course), so he made sure that we all learned to do stage makeup properly. He told us that music is expressive, and if no one can see our beautiful features, then they can't get the full effect of the music (don't worry-- on special occasions the guys got to wear makeup too.)

Most girls learn to do makeup from their mothers. I learned to do makeup from my choir director.

He made sure we were taken care of musically as well-- anyone who sings alto knows that it's a part that often gets the short straw when it comes to choral pieces, but I remember one year we sang a piece where the altos got the starring role, with a low, sultry, romantic melody. I still think wistfully of that piece whenever I'm stuck singing an F over and over again on an alto part...

Mr. Bunner was also a man of vision. He had big ideas, and looking back, it astounds me to think of the audacity he had to have to do some of the things he did.

We never just sang. We put on productions. Our concerts and performances had speaking parts with poetry and monologues, dancing (while singing, of course), even a 10-foot may pole one year. A may pole. Complete with a dance that went to a song we sang as we neatly braided the may pole ribbons around the pole.

This was before Google and YouTube existed. How on earth did he figure out how to do that?

One year, he decided to replace the spring concert with a musical. A full-on musical. "Once Upon a Mattress." It was a massive production, but fortunately, thanks to our elaborate Madrigals costumes, we were in pretty good shape as far as wardrobe went. And it was a boost to the Madrigals as well, because Mr. Bunner managed to charm the drama department and several thespians ended up succumbing and turning into Madrigal singers the following year.

Every single year at Christmastime we had the Madrigal Dinners. The dinners took place at a ballroom at WVU's Mountainlair. We performed for around two hundred people a night for four nights, with weeks of rehearsals leading up to the week of the dinners. A $30 ticket got you a fully catered four-course meal, served by professional waitstaff, with approximately two hours of Madrigals entertainment.

And speaking of entertainment- did I mention that Mr. Bunner was also really good about celebrating (exploiting?) all of our many talents? One year he noticed one young man in the group who was particularly witty and liked to ham it up. So Mr. Bunner declared that he would be the court jester, and the tradition continued. Each year the jester would entertain crowds with a funny monologue, and have free rein to goof off at will. One year we had two jesters, a guy and a girl.

Once we had a Madrigal Singer who was also an amateur magician, so Mr. Bunner appointed him the court wizard. (Come to think of it, we were kind of like a little kingdom and Mr. Bunner was our king. His wish was our command.) That year the Madrigal Dinners included a magic show portion in which "Merlin" would make solid rings lock and unlock, and even made the "jesteress" float in midair.

As for my band friends and me, Mr. Bunner decided to put our instrumental acumen on display as well, and created a "Madrigal Minstrel Band," complete with flutes (the jester and me), a hammered dulcimer, violin (aka, fiddle), and bodhran drum (which no one actually knew how to play yet, but he taught my brother), and sometimes guitar. We played our own pieces in between the a cappella choral numbers, often as background music to speaking parts, and the final chord of the music would magically be the exact right chord we needed for our starting notes for the next song, eliminating the need for a pitch pipe. It was beautiful-- and it was brilliant.

Students who played the piano were drafted into service as accompanists for pieces like the Hallelujah Chorus (yes, we had students who were talented enough to manage that one, incredibly enough), a piece which we sang faithfully, every single Christmas, with the entire school's choir department, any alumni who wished to join us onstage, and anyone in the audience who wanted to be a part of a massive choir. (Another side note: You've really never lived until you've sung the Hallelujah Chorus along with several hundred other people in a high school auditorium with great acoustics.)

So what did all of this do for us, his students?

Well, it made music cool. It made music enticing. I can't even begin to tell you the number of students who had never sung before, never even considered singing in a choir, who saw Madrigals and wanted to be a part of it. And yes, maybe it was because we got to miss so much school (one of the ways we raised funds for our trips was by doing paid singing gigs for holiday office parties around town- again, one of the perks of being an a cappella choir) but it was also because it looked like so much fun-- because it was fun! One year we had over fifty members (which is an unwieldy number for a madrigal choir) because Mr. Bunner couldn't resist giving all of those musical hopefuls a chance. They may not have been great singers to start with, but he saw their potential and transformed them into a perfect piece in his fine-tuned instrument.

Another effect of Mr. Bunner's influence that I only realized years later was that a surprisingly large number of former Madrigals went into careers involving education, and specifically music education. Three became band directors, another a youth music pastor, another an elementary school teacher, another an elementary school assistant principal-- and those were just from my circle of friends. I think that Mr. Bunner exemplified what it looked like to find joy in music and joy in teaching, and he passed that joy on to his students, inspiring them to want such a career for themselves.

He also taught us all what it meant to have stage presence. He taught us that wherever our focus was, that was where the audience's focus would be, and that while we were onstage it was our responsibility to direct the audience's attention appropriately, and never be a distraction from whomever was performing or speaking. We were to be poised and graceful at all times.

I hadn't even realized the power of this until the reunion concert held recently in Mr. Bunner's honor, when his wife took a few minutes before the final song to speak about him. It occurred to me that in the several minutes while she was speaking, we all remained poised and perfectly silent with our folders open to the next song. No one slouched or shifted their weight or lowered their arms. We all stayed stock still and respectful of the speaker, not because anyone had told us to, but because Mr. Bunner had instilled that stage decorum into us. It had become a shared performance habit learned from years of his careful tutelage.

Probably the most important legacy left by Mr. Bunner was the sheer love of music he passed on to each and every student he taught. He didn't just teach notes and words, he taught feelings and meaning. He brought renaissance chamber music to life for some 20th century teenagers.

I remember having just suffered a bad breakup and hardly being able to make it through "Too Much I Once Lamented" without falling apart. "Weep, O Mine Eyes" wasn't exactly helping matters either. "Il Est Belle Et Bon," on the other hand, was a French song that somehow perfectly described gossiping-- a topic familiar to every high school student-- through music, and thanks to Mr. Bunner it made perfect sense to us even though most of us didn't speak French. Even more entertaining was "Allen a Dale," a slightly inappropriate and humorous tongue-in-cheek song that none of us would have gotten without Mr. Bunner's "helpful" wink-wink, nudge-nudge guidance.

But it wasn't all high school angst and goofiness. Mr. Bunner was also a very spiritual man, and as a result, much of our repertoire was religious. There was no line drawn between the secular and the spiritual in Madrigals. I learned several passages of scripture by heart thanks to the musical selections that wrote them into my soul, and I still draw strength and comfort from songs like, "Lift Thine Eyes" and "The Lord Bless You and Keep You."

The best thing about having been a student of Mr. Bunner's was that he nurtured a musical seed inside of me that blossomed into a flower, which is now nestling new musical seeds inside of each of my children.

When I attended the reunion concert, I brought my daughter along with me. She's twelve now-- the same age as I was when I first heard the Madrigals sing. She and I have always shared in a love of music, especially choral music. After our concert rehearsal, she said, "Mom, the Mormon Tabernacle Choir can't sing at General Conference this weekend. Because apparently they're HERE. WOW."

After the concert she said to me with tears in her eyes, "Mom, I never knew Mr. Bunner, but now I feel like I kind of do. And I'm just so glad you got to have him as a teacher."

What she said struck me as profound, because I know that she felt that way because of her love of music, which I have encouraged and nurtured, because Mr. Bunner nurtured that same love in me. Her gratitude for a man she's never met stems from an appreciation of music that was passed down from that man to her mother, and will continue to be carried on now through her.

And that is Mr. Bunner's enduring legacy.

C. Douglas Bunner

1951-2018

Photo from his obituary in the Times West Virginian

To Everyone Still Talking About Guns: Please Just Stop

Once upon a time, there was a big, beautiful forest. It had tens of thousands of trees, and the people of the nearby village loved the trees.

Ceedy Cee was the name of the caretaker of the forest. He kept an eye on the trees and made sure they stayed healthy and safe. As years went by, he noticed that quite a lot of trees were dying. Silently, one by one, tree after tree fell victim, losing their leaves and dying. Thousands and thousands of trees were dying, and Ceedy Cee knew he needed to find out why.

Eventually, he discovered that the village had diverted a much-needed water supply away from the trees in order to make a swimming hole. The villagers enjoyed their swimming hole, but Ceedy Cee knew they loved the forest more, so he told them about the problem and encouraged them to at least divert some of the water back to the forest. It wouldn't be hard and it would save the forest.

Unfortunately, around this same time a logger appeared at the edge of the forest. He started cutting down trees with his sharp, menacing ax, and the people cringed at the sound of their beautiful trees being hacked away. The people began to have meetings about what to do about this evil logger- especially his awful ax! He was killing their trees!

The people met and debated and shouted about what to do about the logger. Meanwhile, Ceedy Cee was continuing his research and saw that the trees were dying from dehydration at an alarming rate. He tried to warn the people, but all they cared about was the logger with the ax. Ceedy Cee couldn't understand how they could be so focused on one logger cutting down two or three trees a day when there were hundreds of trees dying of dehydration every day. But no matter how he tried to warn them, all they cared about was the logger with the ax.

Ceedy Cee then discovered that the reason the logger was cutting down trees was because he used to be a fisherman, but the diversion of the water depleted the fish, so he had to become a logger instead in order to make a living. Ceedy Cee tried to tell the people that by restoring the water supply they could solve both problems, but they were still shouting so loudly about the logger with the ax that no one could even hear him. Despite his best efforts, the trees continued to die, and whenever he tried to talk to them about how to fix it by restoring the water they yelled at him and said that he was just like the logger, an ax-loving tree killer.

Eventually, Ceedy Cee stopped trying, and the forest died off even faster, but there was nothing he could do.


If you understand this parable, you'll understand where I'm going with it.

Let me make it very simple: school shootings are not the leading cause of death among our kids and teens. 

School shootings are not even on the list of top causes.* Not even close. 0.002% of all schools in the U.S. have had gun violence in school.

You know what is on the list?

Suicide. I wonder how many schools in the U.S. have had suicides? I can guarantee you it's more than 0.002%.

You know what suicide and mass shootings have in common?

Mentally unstable, depressed people.

You know what's being ignored why we're sitting here yelling at each other about gun control?

How to do a better job of helping mentally unstable, depressed people.

But there's more: you know what has increased in direct proportion to the number of mass shootings in this country?

Smartphone usage.

Guess what experts are now saying is directly correlated to depression in teens and young adults?

Smartphone usage.

Lately I'm feeling a lot like my friend, Ceedy Cee. I bring up these statistics and correlations in discussions and all I hear is, "Well yeah, but THE GUNS! WE MUST DO SOMETHING ABOUT THE GUNS!"

*facepalm*

The only reason you want to do something about the guns is because the media is telling you that's what you want.

Let's take a step back from this tree. Let's look at the forest and see what's really happening here. Our kids are dying, but it's NOT from mass shootings in schools. They are more likely to die from catching the flu at school than from someone shooting them at school. Just look at the statistics!

If we're going to help this rising generation survive and thrive, we have to stop letting the media distract us from the real issues so that they can get more clicks and better ratings. As long as they're dangling the carrot and we're blindly going after it, we're ignoring what's really happening. It's not only terribly inefficient, but it's a major disservice to these impressionable kids.

It's time for us to step out of line and start coming up with some real solutions.


*Homicide is a leading cause of death, but not in schools. And again, mentally healthy people don't murder other people. And incidentally, homicide rates have decreased in recent years while suicides have been sharply increasing.

Why This President is Different

I get very agitated when I see people- especially Republicans- saying, "Okay, so you're 'scared' about Donald Trump's presidency. How do you think I felt the whole eight years Obama was in office?"

Let's get one thing straight: this is different. You might have been worried, concerned, maybe even anxious, but don't tell me you were scared.

You want to stop reading now, and I get it. But please don't. Please read this, and please prove me wrong. Please give me some actual evidence that what I'm saying here isn't true. Because, in all honesty, I wish it weren't.

Every single other recent president, including Obama, had some sort of government experience, whether as a senator, lawyer, governor, or in military.

Donald Trump does not.

Every single other recent president was considered to be a fairly likable person, calm under pressure, diplomatic and careful in their dealings.

Donald Trump is not.

Every single other recent president has openly released their tax returns for public review prior to taking office, demonstrating their transparency to the American people.

Donald Trump has not.

Every single other recent president took the time to review potential national security threats with daily intelligence briefings.

Donald Trump has not.

Every single other recent president has drawn clear boundaries between his business dealings and his presidency.

Donald Trump has not.

Every single other recent president was one I would have happily welcomed into my home for dinner, would have been glad to work with professionally, and, in most cases, would have even invited to join me at a church gathering, no matter their political party.

Donald Trump I would not.

This is not about politics. This is about the person, the individual who is representing our country. Up until this point, all U.S. presidents have behaved professionally and courteously, even to their enemies. And every single thing I've mentioned here has just been assumed to be part of the job, and for good reason- they are all very, very important parts to being President of the United States.

But not to Donald Trump.

And that, more than any political agenda, scares me to death.

I did not vote for Obama, but I was not devastated when he took office, because despite his political views, he seemed to be a decent guy. I knew that policies and programs might change, and I prepared myself for that, but I did believe he understood the office well enough to represent all Americans, not just those who voted for him. I knew he would take counsel from intelligent advisors, and again, while he did several things that do not sit well with me, I do believe it was his intent to better our country, and I respect him for doing his job honorably and professionally.

I wish I could say the same will be true for Donald Trump. But if past and current behavior is any predictor of future behavior, (and in my experience it is) I can't.

This is not about people not "getting their way." This is a genuine concern about the fact that our nation will be run by a man who is known to be impulsive and explosive, who has no government experience, who intentionally hides pertinent information from the American people, who refuses security briefings, who is blurring the lines between his profits and his presidency, and whom I would not even feel comfortable meeting, much less working with on anything.

So yes, I am scared.

This is different. This is different, and if you can't see it, then you are intentionally turning a blind eye, and that might scare me even more than Donald Trump as president. Because if anything is going to keep our nation safe, it's having citizens who demand professionalism, accountability, and respect from their president. Unfortunately, right now I'm not seeing that.

I don't expect Donald Trump to agree with me on everything. But at the very least I do expect him to listen- to me and to others who might disagree with him- and I do expect him to respect his office and this country.

I can only hope you would expect the same.

Why I Can't Stand Commercials With LGBTQ Characters

It happens pretty much every other day now it seems: a company puts out a commercial in which there are two dads, or two moms, and then somebody gets offended and complains, and then half the planet loses their minds going up in arms in defense of this company, and it's a social media frenzy, and so on and so forth.

It's all done in the name of acceptance and equality, but there's one problem with that:

It has nothing to do with acceptance and equality.

It has to do with money.

And if you're one of those people who will get all up in arms in defense of these companies "promoting equality and acceptance" then you, my friend, have just been played.

Here's the deal. Do you know how many people in America identify as gay or lesbian?

3.8%.

If you're a big, moneymaking corporation, does it make sense for you to gear all of your advertising dollars toward 3.8% of your consumer pool? To spend the millions that it costs for a 30-second time slot in a commercial break to make sure that 3.8% of your customers feel comfortable shopping at your store?

This is not a hard question. The answer is no. It makes no business sense at all.

Unless...

Unless that 3.8% is getting a lot of controversial attention. Unless that 3.8% has a big fan club. When that happens, it makes a lot of sense to gear an ad toward that group, because it means that ad is going to become a flag that will be raised on the moral battleground. And that means people are going to start waving that flag by sharing that ad on social media! And talking about it, and talking about your business and, if you handle it correctly (which you are obviously planning on doing, because you're not stupid- it's all part of the marketing plan) and you reply to the "haters" with some sort of fantastic "drop the mic" response, then your company comes out as the hero and everyone loves you and comes and shops at your store!

Oh, and you just got a ton of free publicity thanks to all those LGBTQ supporters and that handy little "share" button.

Seriously. Anyone who thinks a big company puts an ad featuring two moms out there and that the company expects it to be received just like any other ad is simply naive. These companies aren't "brave." They aren't doing this to promote equality and acceptance. They're doing it to drive sales! They know exactly what will happen when that ad hits the airwaves- and not only that, but they're banking on it! 

So this holiday season, if you want to promote acceptance and equality for your LGBTQ friends, then stop sharing these ads and the stories about who said what about them and how the company handled the haters. Instead, then invite your gay friends to dinner. Treat them like the nice people they are. But please, please don't get sucked into a corporate marketing scheme that uses them as bait to make their business more money. 

Because, hopefully, you're smarter than that.

Let's Pretend

Okay, so it's the night before Election Day. The country is divided. Few people actually like their options, but they claim there are no other options.

I feel like a lone voice in the wilderness saying, "What about Evan McMullin? He's the conservative we've all been looking for- one who is actually honest and honorable and humble and respectful, who will represent our country with dignity and integrity. What about him?"

"No!" everyone yells. "No! There's no way he's gonna win! We have to pick someone who at least has a chance. If he had a chance then maybe, but he doesn't."

 Okay. Let's pretend.

Let's pretend that suddenly, a new poll emerges that shows Evan McMullin making a massive surge in popularity. Suddenly, people ARE voting for him, suddenly he's actually a real threat to Trump and Clinton. What then? Would you change your mind then, once you saw he actually had a chance?

If you say "Yes, if I saw that he had a chance, then I would," then I need you to recognize something:

You have just told me that you are the kind of person who can't make a good decision unless you see others doing it first. You are a follower. You are a sheep. You want to do the right thing, but you don't- not unless others are doing it too. You wait until you see what everyone else is doing and then you act.

You are the one who waits for someone else to raise their hand and say, "Um, excuse me, I don't think this is right." Then you look around and wait to see what everyone else does. Then, if you can rest assured you will be nicely hidden among the masses, only then, do you raise your hand and add your voice to theirs.

That might be a hard truth for you to hear, but it's the truth.

In this pretend poll-flipping scenario, Evan McMullin is still Evan McMullin. Donald Trump is still Donald Trump. The only thing that has changed is what everybody else is doing. 

Do you really want to be that person who only acts after they wait to see what everybody else is doing? Because right now, if everyone who says they would vote for Evan McMullin if he only had a chance to win would actually vote for Evan McMullin, you know what? He might actually have a chance to win, or at least throw a big enough wrench in the system to make a significant statement to the nation about what we as Americans expect from our leaders.

But they won't vote for him. Because they're scared. Because they're looking around at everyone else and seeing which way the crowd is going and quietly sliding in amongst the masses where it's safe and comfortable. They won't move away from the crowd unless someone else- a LOT of someone elses- do it first. And that's just sad.

If this is you, and you are just going along with the crowd, I urge you to think about who you are and who you want to be.

I can tell you that I won't be that person waiting for everyone else to make my choice for me. I will stand with Evan McMullin, even if it means I'm standing alone. I refuse to hide in the crowd and wait to be told what to do.

I hope you'll do the same.

I Don't Stand In Line.

With the total train wreck that this presidential election has been, I can at least say that it has taught me something about myself, something that I don't think I really knew in a concrete way before. And that is this:

I don't stand in line.

Something that drives me crazy about politics is the number of people who blindly follow. They swallow whatever narrative their party is giving them, or whatever narrative the media is giving them, and they just obediently follow along, trumpeting the merits of their candidate and vehemently denouncing the other. If you were to ask these people why they were doing what they're doing, why their candidate is good and the other is bad, I can guarantee you that only a small percentage would be able to do anything more than parrot whatever it is they've heard people say on TV or social media. The majority flood social media and their friends' (and enemies') ears with emotionally-charged rhetoric that they cannot back up with facts:

"Hillary is a criminal!"

"Trump is sexist!"

"If I vote for anyone else it's a total waste! The bad party will win!"

And if you dare to question them, if you dare to ask them to back up their statements with something so outrageous as facts and reason, you will be kicked to the curb and labeled an enemy.

A friend posted this in response to something I wrote on Facebook, and it is so appropriate to how I feel:

I don't stand in line.

Recently, I saw a video of an experiment that was performed to see how people behave under peer pressure. Watch it below.




When I watched this video, I tried to put myself in that position and I asked myself, "Would I do the same? Would I just go along with everyone else?" My honest answer was a resounding no. And not just because I don't want to be labeled as a "sheep". It's because I am well aware that there are pointless things that go on around us every day and one of my personal principles is to not get sucked into those pointless things. I want to be in control of myself and what I do, not hand over my will to someone else to decide for me.

If I were in the situation in the video, I would be the one asking, "Why are we standing up?" And if no one had a good answer, I would ask the receptionist. And if she didn't have a good answer, I would be perfectly happy being the only one sitting down, knowing that everyone else was making a fool out of themselves. I would have no qualms with being stared at, or even harassed, because I would know that I could defend my position and they could not defend theirs.

Just to give another example, I was recently at a Back-to-School night for my middle-schooler. We were following our children's schedule between classes, and at one point we ended up outside the gym. I had been talking to another mom when I noticed we seemed to be in a line of people waiting to get into the gym, which was our children's next class. I peered up ahead, wondering what the hold-up was. I couldn't see anything, so I said to my friend, "Wait here, I'm going to check and see if this is actually a line or not."

I stepped out of line and walked up to the front where I saw indeed, there was no reason for the line, and so I went back and got my friend and we walked around the rest of the people and headed inside the gym.

I don't stand in line- literally.

One more example: my husband and I decided a few years ago that we didn't want to spend 30 years paying off our mortgage. We knew how much interest we would be paying on it and it simply didn't make sense for us to pay for our home twice if we didn't have to. So we cut back our expenses and started throwing money at it. Which means that usually we are driving the oldest car in the parking lot (but we own it outright) our clothes are all secondhand (and cost a tenth of what they'd cost new) and we don't eat out. Pretty much ever. When we've shared our pay-off-the-mortgage plan with others their response has been, "But you get a huge tax break with a mortgage!"

Er...so you're telling me that I should hand over $100 in interest to the mortgage company so the government can give me $20 back? When I could be keeping all $100?

This is the narrative they've been fed by the mortgage companies and the government, so this is what they parrot. Which is fine. They are welcome to stand in a 30-year-long line handing over thousands of dollars, smiling about how much they're saving. I'm 34, and in less than a year I'll be walking over to the bank to deposit my thousands of dollars into my own account.

I don't stand in line.

I will not make blanket statements about a political candidate without being able to back them up with fact, as near as I can get it. I need to know for myself.

I will not vote in the same way as people who are culturally and spiritually and intellectually similar to me just because they say I should. I need to know for myself.

I will not blindly follow a media-written narrative about a "crisis" that our country is facing without checking the statistics to see whether or not it actually is a real problem, no matter how many people are holding protests in the streets and no matter how much airtime the media devotes to it. I need to know for myself.

We are such a media-driven society, and it's become such a part of our daily lives, I don't think many of us stop to think about how much it influences us, how much power the media has in deciding what to make us care about.

To be honest, though, I am horribly saddened and disappointed in the vast hordes of people I see standing in line as I'm figuratively walking past it. Because you know what happens when you stand in line?

You are stuck.

You must wait for someone else to move before you do.

You hand over your control to some unknown entity, someone who does not care about you, someone who has an agenda that has nothing to do with you and your values, morals, and ideas, and everything to do with theirs.

Why? Why is so much of America still standing in line?

I am not writing this post to say, "Hey, look at me! I'm better than everyone else!" I'm not. There is a ton that I don't know, but I'm willing to learn. But if you want me to take you seriously, to understand your beliefs and to respect your position, then you have to earn it. You have to be able to give me facts. And if you don't have facts, if you're just going with your gut, then that's fine. I can respect that, as long as you're honest about it. But don't act like you know what you're talking about when you don't. Because that I can't respect.

America, please. It's time to get out of line.

Whose Problem Is It Really?

We’ve all seen the ranting posts on facebook- things like:

“Certain people just need to keep their noses out of other people’s business!”

“If people say they’re going to do something, they need to step up and do it and stop hiding behind stupid excuses.”

“I can NOT handle this crap anymore! I am not your verbal punching bag!"

What do these kinds of posts have in common?

Typically the author knows the accused will not see it (or if they do, it is vague enough to allow for deniability) and they take pleasure in venting to the world in a way that does not rock the boat with the accused, but may elicit sympathy from others.

Why is this a concern?

1. This does not solve the problem. So often, people get angry about others’ behavior, but rather than actually talk to them about the way their behavior is negatively affecting them, they choose to rant and rave about it to everyone EXCEPT the person causing the frustration. How is this person supposed to know that you’re upset? (Hint: subtle, nonverbal cues like aloofness or sarcasm do not count.) How is this person supposed to fix the problem if they don’t even know that there is a problem? (Despite your narcissistic beliefs, they are probably not out to get you. Just sayin’.)

2. You teach people how to treat you. Any time you have an issue with someone but you choose to grumble about it to others while keeping the perpetrator in the dark, you are teaching them that their behavior is okay. Because as far as they know what they’re doing isn’t affecting you at all. And then, when the same behavior continues from them, you are surprised and angry and the rants intensify.

Really? And this makes sense because...?

3. The ones causing your wrath are not the ones experiencing it. You save that for the people you actually like. You feel comfortable with the ones you love the most. You know you can rant and rave and they’ll still love you. You can be vulnerable with them, so you take advantage of it, and they get to hear all about how ticked off you are as you make snide comments at texts coming on your phone, or go off about how dumb your boss is.

Newsflash: This is not fun for them. And it’s not fair to them either.

Here’s the long and the short of it: Because you are afraid to be vulnerable, you let people get away with treating you like crud, then you abuse the ones who love you the most (and would never treat you like crud) by treating them like crud because of the person who did it to you. The more you get treated like crud, the more you spew the effects of it all over the special people in your life, while continuing to let the original crud-creator go on his or her happy-go-lucky way.

In the words of Dr. Phil: So, how’s that working for ya?

Chances are, IT DOESN’T.

So what do you do?

1. Pick your battles. Ask yourself, is this worth fighting for? Can I brush this off, or am I willing to do what it takes to stand up for myself? Often at this juncture, you may realize that, for the sake of your sanity and your love of those around you, you can simply let it go. But if not...

2. Be honest. Boil down the problem: why is it a problem? Is it a matter of respect? Is it possible the person simply doesn’t realize what they’re doing? Is someone taking advantage of you? Get down to the heart of the problem and really think it through. You need to have confidence that you have a case before you go any further.

3. Make a plan. Personally, if I have a big issue with someone that I know needs attention but I’m afraid I’ll screw it up if I try to talk to them, I will put it in writing. That gives me time to organize, to edit, and to decide if it’s really something I can take ownership of. Also, most people are happy to accept a well-written letter, as most people like to avoid confrontation. (Sometimes I write the letter, realize I’m being an idiot, then crumple it up and throw it away and move on with my life.)

4. Just do it and leave your loved ones out of it (mostly). Now it’s time to confront the offending party. You can do this in person, on the phone, or in writing.

To prepare, you can ask someone close to you if they would mind hearing your thoughts on the matter. But- THIS IS NOT A GRIPE SESSION. This is a practice to see how your concerns might be received by the offending party, and your loved one will probably be happy to help you out. Then just do it. Send the letter, arrange the meeting, make the call: whatever you have to do to start communicating like a grown-up.

**Emotional Troll Disclaimer** There are some people in this world who, for whatever reason, feel it is their purpose in life to make others’ lives miserable with the things they say and do. I like to call these people Emotional Trolls. I would like to think that some of them are just oblivious. And that maybe some of them have deeper issues that have nothing at all to do with the people they hurt. Others could be vengeful for whatever reason. But no matter why they act the way they do, they exist, and usually- here is the important part- they do not change. They will continue to trample you under their angry feet for as long as you let them.

If these trolls are people that you don’t know (many of them lurk online and leave nasty comments and snarky reviews) then simply ignore them. If, however, they are people in your life (*cough*extendedfamilymembers*cough*) your best bet is to simply love them from afar. Accept that they are who they are, and avoid them if you can, but if not, just try to roll with the punches. Don’t let them be the ones causing you to grumble at the ones who are actually good to you. Remember that their behavior has nothing to do with you, and everything to do with them and their own issues. Be thankful that you and the ones you hold dear would never treat people that way.

You can do it. You can ditch the cryptic Facebook posts and gripe sessions and start being a grown-up. I know you can.

:-)

A Few Words on Robin Williams

Since Mr. Williams’ passing yesterday, I have heard the whole gamut:

“He committed suicide. It was his own choice.”

“He had depression- he couldn’t help himself. Now he’s at peace."

“What did he have to be miserable about? He was rich and everybody loved him!”

“Why is everyone talking about Robin Williams? Don’t they know there are innocent children being murdered all over the world? Why isn’t anyone talking about them?”

Here is what I know for sure:

- We all fight our own battles, which are as varied and individual as we are. If being rich and loved fixed all human problems, then the world would have far fewer problems.

- Only God knows what’s in our hearts and in our minds. It is not up to us to judge one another, just to love one another.

- Mental illness is real, and its effects are difficult to comprehend or to measure. It is not fully understood by even the medical community, and so the best the rest of us can do is to recognize that it exists and to love those who might suffer from it, and help them as much as we can.

- Many people knew of Mr. Williams and thought highly of him because of his work. It is natural for them to be sad that he is gone, and to discuss that loss with others and remember the positive things he did through his work. Because of his widespread fame, this means he will be spoken of quite a bit, and other stories- important and worthy though they might be of our attention- will be put aside for awhile.

- I thought Robin Williams was a brilliant performer. His improv skills were second to none, and his dramatic acting was certainly notable as well. I am sad that I will not get to enjoy more of his remarkable work.

- I wish him nothing but good. I know that what happens to his soul is up to God, and I am glad that I do not have to judge him or his works. I know that God will be fair and merciful.

- There is a lot of pain and suffering in the world, most of it unfair and unjustified, its victims innocent. This breaks my heart, but I know that I cannot be all things to all people. I will focus on doing my best in my own little corner of the world where I feel God has placed me with the work He wants me to do, and I believe that is what Robin Williams did, in his own way, and what we should all strive to do.

Why You Don’t *Get* Common Core Math

I have been seeing this image of this math problem supposedly comparing the “old fashion[ed] way" to the "new [common core] way" of teaching, and people around the net are shaking their heads at the absurdity of it. 

I agree.

THIS problem looks absurd when comparing two different math strategies, and the way the method is laid out in this photo is also significantly exaggerated (which I'll get into later). But the people mocking this new math strategy (and the person who created this image) clearly do not understand either the method or the reasoning behind it. They say things like, "China is laughing at us right now." Yes, China is laughing at us right now. Because they can't believe it has taken us so long to teach math in this way and they really can't believe that educated grown-ups can't even grasp it, and instead are having hissy fits over it because they don't understand it.

Let me explain. First, mocking a problem like this one as an example of this math strategy would be like harassing a 4-year-old for counting on her fingers when you ask her what 2 + 2 equals. When kids are young, they are still trying to understand numbers as representations of other things- like fingers- and they have to take it one step at a time. So, they begin with counting on their fingers. This particular problem, with its long, drawn-out, rounding up and down answer, is the common core version of counting on fingers: it’s the next step in understanding how numbers relate.

 You might have also noticed, if you have kids in public schools, the use in recent years of math tools like number lines and hundreds charts. At first I didn't understand these, but once I did, it made a great deal of sense to me. These tools teach kids to understand numbers as a sequential buildup organized in sections of 10. They understand numbers spatially, not just in the abstract.

One of the issues I have with this particular example problem is that the frustrated student or parent decided to exaggerate the method by rounding to 5, rather than 10. Personally, I have never seen that done, and it looks to me just like the author's way of trying to make it look even more ridiculous. Either that, or they REALLY didn't get how to do it (and no wonder they were frustrated). 

Let's go back to that problem: 32-12. A grownup who has been doing math for years can clearly see that, since both numbers end in two and 3-1 equals 2, then the answer is 20. Easy, right? Big fat duh. Very uncomplicated. 

Let's say, however, that you, the grownup, are given a slightly harder problem, like 326- 78. A little bit harder to do in your head, right? 

Now let's take the common-core-educated student who will be using the rounding up and down strategies. If given this harder problem he will not ask for a piece of paper and start borrowing and carrying. He will say:

"Well, 78 rounded up is 80- just had to add 2. 

If you round that up to 100 you'll have 20 left. 

20 plus 2 is 22. 

326 rounded to the nearest hundred leaves 26. 

300- 100 equals 200. 

26 plus 22 equals 48. 

So the answer is 248.” 

Of course, he probably won't need to say all that. By the time he gets that far, it will be second nature and he will be able to do it very quickly in his head without even thinking about each step. 

How has he gotten to that answer? Using the exact strategy being mocked all over the web. He has used number lines and hundreds charts- he knows numbers are not just abstract digits with rules to be followed that only make sense if you have a piece of paper and pencil. He can see how the numbers relate in his head, and he has been doing this ever since he was learning to solve problems like 32-12, so he can easily manipulate large numbers without writing a single thing. He has spent time knowing what plus what equals 10, and he understands how blocks of 10 stack up to build bigger numbers. He has practiced rounding up and down, understanding how adding differences leads to the right answer.

It's not rocket science, people. It's basic math.

I would also like to point out that, at least in my kids' school, this is not the only method that is taught. Kids are also taught borrowing and carrying, and they are encouraged to use whatever method is more comfortable for them. There are many kids whose analytical minds thrive with the shortcuts that borrowing and carrying provide. But, thanks to this mathematical foundation, they also understand exactly why they cross out that 2 and make it a 1, and why that 1 gets tacked on next to the 6 to make 16. And the kids who are not mathematically-minded, whose minds work better with pictures and space, they finally have a method that embraces their way of seeing the world and gives them an effective strategy to solve difficult problems in a linear way. 

The great thing is that the beauty of this method goes beyond basic subtraction. By learning to separate numbers into their individual parts and whittle each part down to its simplest form, it becomes a stepping stone to higher math, allowing them to not only understand how to get to the right answer, but understand why it is the right answer. 

So please, please stop complaining, people. Before you mock something, take the time to truly understand it and the reasoning behind it. It might not be as bad as you think.

There Is No Bar.

You may have seen this video floating around the web recently:







Great video, awesome to see a mom and her son having such a fun time on his wedding day! However, I took issue with this caption from the Today Show that accompanied the video:


"The video, which was posted in March, is going super-viral as moms and sons everywhere prepare to up the ante for their own moments on the wedding dance floor, no doubt.”


My question is this: Why? Why should this video make “moms and sons everywhere prepare to up the ante for their own moments on the wedding dance floor?”

I feel like we live in a society that, especially due to visual media and the ease of sharing it, has become a  world of one-uppers. No longer is it considered “good enough” to throw a birthday party for your kid with a cake, ice cream, balloons and streamers. Now every party must have a theme with matching printables; adorable treats that you make using some combination of Twinkies, licorice, and chocolate chips; games; costumes; a photo booth with props and so on. The party must also be photographed with your DSLR (using manual mode and appropriate bokeh techniques) and you must make adorable thank-you cards to send to all the guests.

When did this become the norm?

From birthday parties to Elf on the Shelf to St. Patrick’s Day leprechaun traps to any number of exceedingly ridiculous new “traditions”, we seem to see something that is unique, out of the ordinary, and above and beyond, and decide that because everybody loves it, it must now be a necessary part of our culture and everyone must do it and there is something lacking if you do not. Each unique and special creation isn’t appreciated for what it is- a single, awesome thing that one person did- instead everyone says it “ups the ante” and “raises the bar.”

No.

No, no, no. Newsflash, friends: THERE IS NO ANTE. There is no bar. The person who created/did whatever thing you saw was not issuing you a personal challenge (and if they were, then they clearly have a deeper problem). Life is not a competition. The way you celebrate and the things you do are entirely up to you. If you see something that will work for you and make you happy, then do it. If not, then don’t. Not because you don’t have the time, the talent, or the money (though these are all valid reasons as well) but because you choose not to.

Just don’t.

No ante. No bar.

I Am a Writer

I had the awesome opportunity to attend the James River Writers Conference this weekend, and to be honest, I spent much of the time there in wide-eyed awe at all the incredible writers and their remarkable intelligence and talent. I felt both way out of my league and yet right at home at the same time.

I learned that there are many just like me, still trying to make their way through this crazy writing business, and that I’m not the only one who thinks it’s HARD. But one of the most powerful things that happened today came in the final session: someone in the audience asked a question about what the authors do when they just don’t feel like writing, and one of the authors had a very blunt answer. She said, “If you don’t like to write, don’t do it.”

Now, I know what the audience member meant- even if you love writing, there will be times that it can feel like a chore. But the author went on to say that nobody cares if you write except you. Your family and friends might encourage you, might cheer you on, but if you just gave up, life would go on. They might offer a few well-meaning inquiries, but if you just said, "Nah, I just decided not to," then nobody would yell at you. They would probably just shrug and say, “Oh, okay.” She said, “You have to write because you love to write, and if you love to write then it will work.”

For some reason, I had a gut check moment. I asked myself, “Do I love to write?” I thought for a second about my other interests- crafting, singing, playing the flute, running, riding horses, etc., and in an instant I knew that as much as I love all of these things, none of them is writing. Writing is something I have dreamed of doing ever since I figured out that putting letters together can make a word, and that putting words together can make a message, and that making messages can change people’s lives.

I remember being in 4th or 5th grade and being so riveted by a Lois Lowry book, “Number the Stars,” that I decided I wanted to be just like her- I wanted to write a book that would make people feel like that book made me feel. So I tried to write a book about the Holocaust. Clearly, that didn’t exactly work out for me, but a dream was born, and I have carried it with me ever since- sometimes actively, sometimes dormantly (yes, I just made up that word), but always there.

As all of these thoughts swirled through my head, I actually felt tears prick my eyes, I was so overcome with emotion. Maybe it was just because it was the end of a long day and I was tired, I don’t know- but something clicked inside me and I thought, I am a writer. I was born to do this- I was made to write.

Yes, it’s hard. And yes, I am a mother and a homemaker and right now is not the best time in my life to be pursuing a writing career, but I cannot help it. I have to write. It’s just who I am.

I am a writer.

(If you are a new writing friend that I just met at the conference today, I am so happy you came by to visit! Please leave a comment and say hello. It was a pleasure meeting and chatting with each and every one of you!)

Because Everyone Has a Story

This week I finished a book by CNN anchor Anderson Cooper called “Dispatches From the Edge.” I have watched AC for several years now, and I’ve always liked him as a reporter. He has a way of asking people the same questions I would ask them, but doing it in a gentle way, with an intensity that makes you feel like he is genuinely interested in his subject as a person. I was curious to read this book because I was interested in finding out the story behind this man who always seems to be at the center of every major world catastrophe. I was mostly interested to find out what wasn’t shown on CNN in events like the tsunami in Sri Lanka or Hurricane Katrina. I was surprised by what I found between the covers of his book:

“Working overseas, traversing front lines, I felt the air hum. Neutrons and protons collided about. I could feel them move through me. No barrier between life and death, just one small step, one foot in front of the other. I wasn’t one of those adrenaline cowboys I’d run into in some Third World cul-de-sac. I wasn’t looking to get shot at, wasn’t looking to take chances. I just didn’t let risks get in the way. There was no place I wouldn’t go.  

Coming home meant coming down. It was easier to stay up. I’d return home to piles of bills and an empty refrigerator. Buying groceries, I’d get lost- too many aisles, too many choices; cool mist blowing over fresh fruit; paper or plastic; cash back in return? I wanted emotion but couldn’t find it here, so I settled for motion. 

Out at night, weaving through traffic, looking for trouble, I’d lose myself in crowds. Gaggles of girls with fruit-colored drinks talked about face products and film production. I’d see their lips move, look at their snapshot smiles and highlighted hair. I didn’t know what to say. I’d look down at my boots and see bloodstains.  

The more I was away, the worse it got. I’d come back and couldn’t speak the language. Out there the pain was palpable; you breathed it in the air. Back here, no one talked about life and death. No one seemed to understand. I’d go to movies, see friends, but after a couple of days I’d catch myself reading plane schedules, looking for something, someplace to go: a bomb in Afghanistan, a flood in Haiti. I’d become a predator, endlessly gliding in saltwater seas, searching for the scent of blood.”

It’s powerful stuff. There was also the behind-the-scenes type stuff I was looking for, but as I read his very personal account, I was reminded of the fact that everyone has their own backstory, even those talking heads on TV. They have their own pain, their own demons, their own past that has shaped who they are, and most of the time we can pass right by people on the street and not even have an inkling.

This week I also came across this fantastic news segment about one of my favorite blogs, Humans of New York. HONY is the embodiment of the truth that everybody has a story: the homeless man whose wife and daughter were murdered while he watched, helpless to intervene, who lost his job because he had such severe PTSD; the little boy whose father is a fireman and once saved 15 people. Check it out if you have a minute.

I’ve realized that I must remember this as I write- every character in my story has their own story, from the main character’s mother to the nosy next-door neighbor to the pizza delivery guy. Their story shapes their worldview and it will determine how they will respond to any given situation. In order to give my characters depth and realism I must know who they are as people. Are they a peacemaker or do they thrive on conflict? Are they self-conscious and reserved or bold and flippant? Are they the kind of person who is the first to take action to solve a problem or do they sit back and observe before doing anything? Yet another important thing to remember is that more often than not, most people fall somewhere in the middle of those extremes- reactions depend on the specific circumstances, the emotional climate, etc.

I will keep working on my characters to make them as human and lifelike as possible- and in the meantime, I will continue getting to know the real life characters all around me. I will discover their story, find out what makes them tick, and try to better understand how our stories shape our selves.

Climbing the Slide

Starlet climbing the slide several years ago.

About a month ago we bought a small plastic slide for our 1-year-old. It’s just the right size for her to start learning about climbing the stairs and sliding down, but I’ve noticed her doing something with it that seems to be a rite of passage for children: she tried climbing up the slide backwards.

I was at the park last week and I started noticing how many children try to climb the slides. I wondered,  What’s the deal with the slide climbing? What is it about kids that makes them want to climb slides anyway?

If you’ve ever tried to climb a slide (or watched a kid do it) you’ll know that it’s hard work. If you don’t have grip it can be nearly impossible. So why do kids attempt something so hard when it’s clearly so much easier to climb the stairs and slide down the slide?

Here’s what I think: Children have an inherent curiosity, and they will do whatever they can to to satiate that curiosity, even if it’s inconvenient and even hard. They will do it just to find out if they can. They want to be challenged. They will push the boundaries and explore and try something to test their abilities just because.

How many adults do that?

Not many.

So where did that go? Did we drop it somewhere on the playground just before we hit puberty? Did it get mixed in with the mulch and sand and lost forever?

I don’t think so. I think it’s all still in us somewhere, but whenever it begins to surface, we beat it down with our inner voice. Oh come on. You can’t climb that slide! Just think of how ridiculous you’ll look even trying. Besides, the stairs are right there. Just do what everyone else does and go up the stairs and slide down. That’s what it’s made for anyway. Plus, what if it’s not allowed? You might get in trouble. And what a waste of time- you probably won't even be able to do it. Don’t make a fool out of yourself. Stick with what you know. Climb up, slide down. Keep it simple.

We do it with our talents, with our work, with our families.

Oh, come on. You can’t join a dance class! Just think of how ridiculous you’ll look even trying. That kind of thing is for other people. 

Write a book? Who do you think you are, Shakespeare? What a waste of time.

 Apologize to your cousin? Whatever! She’s the one who started it. You’ll look weak if you try to smooth things over. And she’ll probably reject you anyway. Just keep those walls up. Much easier.

These are all examples of what Flylady likes to call “stinkin’ thinkin’.” As a kid, we think, Sure I can do that. Why not? Let’s give it a go! The very idea of trying something new and challenging ourselves is an adrenaline rush. Then we grow up and we worry about how we’ll look, what others will think, and we stick to the safe, boring, adrenaline-free route.

Today I would like to challenge you to embrace your inner child and climb the slide. Backward. Up the slippery part, laughing and giggling as you slip and slide, holding on as tight as you can until you fight your way to the top. Just because you can. Because challenging yourself is fun, remember?

Go! Climb the slide.

Because God Has a Good Sense of Humor

I am often amused by the way God teaches me things.

Last week I went to the doctor for a sinus infection. I got a prescription for some medicine I have to take 3 times a day. Well, I was going out of town the same day, so I made sure to bring the pills with me in the car so I could take one at the right time during the trip.

When it came time for me to take my medicine, I ended up spilling some pills and one of them rolled under the car seat. My baby belly is getting in my way these days, so I decided I'd have to wait until I got to my mom's house before I could reach the pill. I was irritated about the whole spilling-the-pills thing and tired and cranky.

Well, when we arrived at my mom's house, it was dark outside and I was trying to get the kids in and I completely forgot about my lost pill. I went inside and went to bed.

The next afternoon we had a family function to attend that was about 30 minutes away, and I realized while we were there that I had forgotten to bring my pills. I was again irritated with myself, that is, until I got into the car and looked down and saw the single pill I had dropped from the night before. It had rolled out from under the seat and was waiting for me on the floor of the car.

I think it's so funny how so many times in life we can feel frustrated and disappointed by things that happen without realizing that sometimes annoying things must happen in order to pave the way for things to work out in our favor later on. This was just a silly example of that- one forgotten pill had no grave consequences in my life- but it just goes to show that things happen for a reason, usually a reason we can't see until we are far past the problem.

Thanks, God, for having a sense of humor and reminding me that you're in charge. I know you'll always take care of me, and please forgive me when I stomp my feet and get huffy. I'll try to just hush up and let you do your thing.

I am linking up to:

If You Give a Mom Some Rice

If you give a mom some rice, she is going to want to cook it for her lunch, so she will need a pot.

The pot still has remnants of the kids' mac and cheese in it, so she will have to wash it.

When she takes it to the sink, she sees it is filled with dirty dishes so she will have to do the dishes in the sink before she can wash the pot.

When she goes to put the dishes in the sink into the dishwasher, she will see that there are still clean dishes in the dishwasher, so she will have to empty it.

She will start putting dishes away, but realize there are too many sippy cups in the cupboard and the rest of the glasses will not fit, so she will reorganize the cupboard.

She will reorganize the cupboard, put the dishes away, load the dishwasher, wash out the pot, then look at the clock and realize it's time to make dinner.

She will reach for the rice...

If You Give a Mom a Dish

If you give a mom a dish, she is going to want to put it in the sink.

If she puts it in the sink, she is going to want to wash it.

If she washes it, she is going to want to wipe up the water that got on the counter.

As she is cleaning up the water, she will notice a pile of mail on the counter and start to go through it.

Once she starts going through the mail, she will find a bill that needs to be paid.

She will go up to her computer desk to pay the bill right away.

As she is on her way to her office, she will notice kids' clothes on the floor in the hallway, so she will need to put them away.

She will put the kids' clothes in their hampers and see that their whole room is messy and she will start to clean it.

She will realize she needs the vacuum, so she will go downstairs to get it.

While she is getting the vacuum she will see a dirty dish on the table...

Stealing My Wiggle Room

It's the end of a long day. My patience has been tried, and tried again, and tried yet again. I have come thisclose to losing it with the kids, but I have kept my cool. They're good kids, I remind myself. They're just tired like I am. Then Daddy comes home and within minutes something happens to set him off and he completely loses his temper with the kids.

And you know what I think?

NO FAIR!!!!

It's like every day I work to build up each child's emotional bank account. I make deposit after deposit, and I am very careful not to lose my temper, because I know that will be a serious withdrawal, and I know that sometimes I can't help but lose my temper, so I have to make sure that the emotional bank account is full enough to handle that kind of withdrawal. I allow myself some wiggle room, just in case. Then what does my husband do? He totally steals my wiggle room!! I'm the one working all day to fill the bank account and then he depletes it in a matter of minutes by losing his temper!!

I want to yell, "NO!! You are not ALLOWED to lose your temper! You have only been with them for TEN MINUTES! I've been with them ALL DAY!! If anyone in this house should be flipping their lid it should be ME!!! But I'm NOT!!! See how COMPOSED I AM????!!!! No fair no fair NO FAIR!!!!!"

But I don't yell. Because the emotional bank accounts are already dangerously close to being overdrawn, and we can't afford it. So I suck it up, support my husband's disciplinary actions (if not his attitude) and save my huffing and puffing for after the kids are in bed. I know my husband has had his own set of stresses during the day, and even though they may not be the same as mine, they still wear him down. I just wish I could go to his office and yell at his boss to blow off some of my steam.

I just hate it when someone steals my wiggle room.

Dreams

When I was younger I picked up a book all about dreams that I found on one of my mom's bookshelves. Dreams have always intrigued me- are they just my brain making sense of my day? Are they my creative juices run amok? Or do they hold a key to a deeper, subconscious self that knows more about me than I do? The answer was: Yes. A little of all three.

As I recall, the book was very long, and I didn't read all of it. To be honest, once I got through the first chapter I felt like I had the whole dream thing down (keep in mind I was a teenager at the time, so I pretty much knew everything). The basic gist of it was this: your dreams are your subconscious projecting your inner feelings in code. And since not all of us are entirely in touch with our inner feelings, it can be very beneficial to pay attention and try to decipher the code in order to recognize those feelings, because once we do, we might be able to take steps toward resolving some unknown inner conflicts and thus live a happier life.

The key to the code, I learned from the book, was to pay attention to the people, places, and things in your dream and how you feel about them. Many sources out there will tell you that certain "dream symbols" mean specific things- like dogs represent loyalty, flowers mean love, etc. However, this is only true for certain things, and for obvious reasons. For example, dreaming that your teeth fall out is representative of being anxious about something, and that is fairly universal because really, is there anyone who would be happy about their teeth falling out? Probably not.

The important thing is to break down your dream into its basic components and to ask yourself, "How do I feel about this in my everyday life?" For example, if I have a dream about my seventh grade English teacher, there is a reason. If I ask myself how I feel about my seventh grade English teacher, I might say that she was very tough but at the same time I felt like I learned quite a lot from her. I take that feeling and then try to compare it to something happening in my life right now, like maybe my current job, which is tough but I feel like I'm learning a lot. If I dream that something terrible happens to my teacher, it may mean that I fear losing my job. Knowing that that is a subconscious fear, I can take steps to allay my fears by rededicating myself, preparing for potential job loss, or gathering reasons why my fear is unfounded. All of these steps will lead me to become a less fearful, more fulfilled person.

After I learned all of this from that book, I began to look at my dreams with fresh eyes. Every night was like a therapy session, and dreams that on the surface seemed as random as they were illogical were suddenly perfectly orchestrated metaphors for my life. Every dream was like a puzzle, and every solved puzzle was another insight into my subconscious. It was so much fun! Plus, I got to amaze my friends and family by interpreting their dreams and becoming their dream guru. Kinda cool.

To give you a recent real-life example, lately I've been pondering recurring nightmares/dreams I've had in which planes and helicopters crash. They have become so regular that I can't see a plane in the sky anymore without pinching myself to make sure I'm awake. Because if I'm not, that sucker is going to crash and I'd better hightail it outta there. It's just a fact. Anyway, a long time ago I had figured out that those dreams represented what I've learned is my greatest fear: that everything I know to be good, right, and real suddenly falls apart and I'm left with nothing of real emotional value (think husbands with secret lives, friends who try to kill you, etc.). In my mind, planes are safe. They take you where you want to go, and are supposed to do so without incident. Until something goes horribly wrong and they crash and you die.

Anyway, the other night I started wondering why it was that I had always dreamed about planes (there were a few years when the dreams became buildings falling down, but lately we've been back to planes- yes, I know this sounds like post-9/11 trauma, but they actually started long before that...which is in itself a little creepy...but that's for another post). I realized that the dreams started shortly after my parents divorced, a time during which I think a part of me did feel like my life was falling apart. And then it occurred to me: my parents met while working at an airport. My mom was a former flight attendant turned ticket agent, and my dad was a recreational pilot and ticket agent. Coincidence? I think not. Funny how our clever our subconscious coding can be.

My newest recurring dream is about tornadoes. My son is obsessed with tornadoes, so I'm always watching shows about them and reading books on them with him. I assumed that was why I was always dreaming about them, but then I decided to take a closer look. How did I feel about the tornadoes? Well, in every dream I would feel terrified- it was a tornado, after all- but I would also feel a little excited and in awe. And after every narrow escape I would think, "Cool. I just lived through a tornado." So my question to myself is this: what is something that scares me, and yet I think it is so awesome and cool at the same time?

The answer is: writing. I want to be a writer. I think it would be so cool to be published, and yet a part of me is terrified of it! What if I'm not good enough? What if I try and I fail? What if I run out of things to say? (highly unlikely, but we're working on 'what if's' here, okay?) Writing is something I'm so close to, I look at it with wonder, and yet I just barely skirt by it, not ready to take the leap into the whirlwind world of publishing, not sure if I'm ready for a damaging storm of rejection. Writing is my tornado.

Now that I am aware of that, I know two things:

1) Writing is important enough to me that it has seeped into my subconscious. That tells me that it's not just a passing phase, it's something that's real and important to me, and it's time to take it seriously.

2) I can allow it to scare me away and never feel that rush of "Hey, I got through this!" Or I can plunge ahead full force, chase the storm and live to tell about it. I think I'll pick the latter.

Writing this post and writing on this blog is a small step in the right direction for me. It's allowing me to acknowledge my passion and to feed it, even if it's in a small way.

That's what my dreams have done for me.

What could your dreams do for you?

Art

Last week I had a wonderful opportunity to visit the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts. The best thing about this opportunity? It was all ladies, and I didn't have my kids! (Don't get me wrong- I love my kids, but a few hours away never hurt anyone, right?)

As most moms probably know, something strange happens when you get away from your kids for awhile. You are suddenly able to use both hands. You are able to hear yourself think. You are able to talk to- and actually hear- other grownups. You can even wear the same clothes for longer than an hour without having to clean random bodily fluids off of them, which means you can even wear nice clothes. You can enter a building without first mapping out the locations of all available restrooms and elevators for strollers. When I visited that museum, for a few brief hours I got to just be me again.

I know, being a mom is probably making me the best me I can be (don't worry, I'm not going to break into song here) but the noise and chaos that comes with having kids doesn't give you much time to get to know that person you're becoming. By the time the little ones are in bed I'm too inundated with cleaning up messes and too worried about the next day's messes and too tired to think straight enough to be introduced to myself.

But as I walked through the museum and gazed at the incredible works of art from throughout history, a quietness came over me. The clean white walls and the neatly ordered paintings and sculptures brought a peace that I'd forgotten. I could stop and study anything I wished; I could wonder and ponder and read and contemplate and listen to my own thoughts as I did so. I found myself asking wonderfully intelligent and thought-provoking questions, and at the same time I also found myself just letting the colors and the textures wash over me, just taking them in without regard to their greater meaning or context. A part of me awakened from a deep sleep, stretched luxuriously and yawned deeply, inhaling the beauty that is art.

It was a rare opportunity, and when I left I felt renewed and invigorated. I felt I could go back to my daily labor of love feeling just a little bit lighter, remembering that underneath all the spitup, homework, and diapers, I'm still in there, getting better and wiser day by day. I'm hoping that sometime in the near future I'll get to hang out with myself again. Until then, I will simply appreciate the art that is my baby's smile, the music that is my children's laughter, and the incredible beauty that is my life.

Wanted: Actual Writer

I keep saying that "I'm going to be a writer someday." Here's a question: Why can't I be a writer right now? Doesn't the very fact that I'm writing something at this moment make me a writer?

You haven't heard from me in awhile here, and I guess this is my way of saying I'M BACK! Pretty much everythng else I do that's creative makes a big mess, and to be perfectly honest, I am sick and tired of cleaning up messes! Writing is the one creative thing I can do that isn't messy. And I am in desperate need of a creative outlet.

I was also in desperate need of a new post on this blog, because I really don't want people stumbling upon it and being forced to read about potty training! (which was a success, by the way- she is now 4 and going to preschool and perfectly potty trained, thanks to that last method) Unfortunately, I couldn't really think of anything particularly creative to use to reclaim this blog, so I'm just kind of rambling here...

My point is, it's time for me to get my butt in gear (as my dad always says) and BE a writer. And in 2010, writers write blogs. So here goes.