I'm moving ....

Hey Friends,

This blog has been a fun adventure, but I decided it was time to get a fresh start and try out some new more sophisticated
options on a different platform.

Check out my new website and blog at HeatherDay.Net. 

See you there!

Heather

Praise Down the Walls

This is Jackson's version of what a magician looks like. :)

 Jackson has a book of children’s Bible stories, that I do my best to read with him every night. Last night, we came to the story of Paul and Silas in prison (Acts 16:16-40). Imprisoned for proclaiming the Gospel, they decided to pass the time by doing what the knew to do best – praising God.

As Paul and Silas sang hymns, the walls of the prison began to shake, and soon came crumbling down. The power of God had freed them and even the prison guard became a believer that day.

Jackson, who is currently fascinated by all things magic, was uncharacteristically glued to this story. I said, “Hey, I actually know a song about this. Want to hear it?” He responded with an enthusiastic, “Yes!”

I had my phone on me, so pulled up Ray Boltz’s music video from the 90s. (Side note: Shout out to 1994-1998 Impact Team!) It was a little cheesy/mullet-y by today’s standards, but the words were just as powerful. Jackson’s eyes were big as saucers by the end.

“What’d you think Jackson?”

“I wish I could praise God like that!”

Before you assume him a budding theologian, I knew what he really meant was that he wished he had the power to shake down walls at his command. (One of his current favorite activities, for example, is to pretend he’s using the force every time we go through automatic sliding doors.) 

Still…his question hit me square between the eyes.  “Jackson, we actually can praise God like that, and He will do AMAZING things.”

When the Walls are High

I was thinking more about Jackson’s desire this morning, and that’s ultimately my heart’s desire, too.

I want praise God like Paul and Silas. When… the walls are high, the chains are tight, the kids are cranky, the projects are piling, the house is cluttered, the van is failing, or whatever circumstances I happen to face today.

It’s easy to praise God for the prayers He’s already answered. I want my kids to see me praising God when I have absolutely no clue of what’s going to happen next. 

Won't Shut Up

Recently, I heard the most amazing news story about a 10 year-old little boy named Myrick.

While playing on the driveway at his home in Atlanta, a car pulled up, and the driver attempted to engage him in conversation. As soon as Myrick got close enough, the man snatched him up, shoved him in the car, and drove away.

I can’t imagine the fears I’d have as a 36-year-old woman, let alone how terrifying that must have been for a little boy.

But Myrick decided to do what he knew to do best. He started singing the gospel song “Every Praise” repeatedly, much to the annoyance of his kidnapper. 

The man kept shouting and cursing at the boy to shut up, but Myrick was relentless.  When the kidnapper finally couldn’t take it anymore, he stopped, opened the door and threw his hostage out.

“He told me not to tell anyone,” reports Myrick. But as we already know, he’s not so good at staying quiet.

 All the Day Long

I wonder… where did Myrick learn to praise God like that? 

Somewhere, there is a mother, grandmother, father or friend who oozes God’s praise at every opportunity.   

I want to praise God like that.  For my kids. For my husband. For everyone I influence. But most of all, for me.

Because in praise, I am changed. I recall that I am loved. I remember I am provided for. God’s never failed me before, and I know He never will.  God is almighty and knows what’s best for me. He is worthy of my praise.

“This is my story. This is my song. Praising my Savior, all the day long.”

A different tune

Tom Petty said it best, “Wai-ai-ai-ai-ting is the hardest part.” 

Sitting on my hands. Biting my tongue. Waiting for action until the moment is just right.  These are not behaviors that come naturally for me.  I want to do, to move, to change, to achieve.
But sometimes life challenges me to pause. And then pause even longer. And then pause some more.

I. Hate. That.

For me, staying idle takes far more energy and focus than it ever takes to pounce. When it comes to trusting God, I sometimes have trouble listening, sitting, resting and waiting for HIM to move in His good and perfect timing.

Trouble is, when I try to take things into my own hands, it never ends well. I end up settling, hurting, agonizing and repairing. Premature pouncing produces messy regrets.

And so I wait. I listen. I surround myself by faithful encouragers, and I fill my heart with better lyrics.

“Trust and obey, for there’s no other way.”

“Where you go, I’ll go; where you stay, I’ll stay.”

“Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander”

“Be still and know that I am God.” 

These are not the tunes I’d choose to hum, but it's the song I’m called to sing.

A diamond, stars and seven-year-old theology

As the designated carpool driver for this week’s Christmas musical practice, I was happily heading north on Rt. 45, having a lovely conversation with my co-pilot, Ashley. I’m what some might call a hand talker, and in the middle of a gesture-filled anecdote, I suddenly observed there was something noticeably missing from my left ring finger.  My diamond. Gone. A gaping crater left in its place.

I panicked. 

Over remaining 10 minutes of the ride, my verbal skills deteriorated rapidly.  “Oh my word. Oh my word.  I can’t BELIEVE this. Where could it be?! Oh my word. Oh. My. Word!” (And so on, and so forth forth)

I’d been to four places that day, and the chances of finding my treasure at any one of them was slim to none:

1.       The toy-laden church nursery, where I’d been on morning duty with 12 active babies and toddlers.

2.       Walmart. 

3.       My carpet wonderland of a home.

4.       My parents’ house, along with 15 other relatives — several of them clutter creating younglings.

I searched my pockets, scoured my van and then made some calls, including the dreaded one to the purchaser of that diamond. A few of us crawled on our hands and knees around the nursery. Mom offered cash prizes to the army of children in her living room. Nothing. 

I resigned myself to the fact that my diamond was likely lost forever. Considering the expense of replacing it, I figured I’d either be ringless or rocking a dime store knock-off for quite some time.

In the midst of the whole ordeal, I thought about praying for help in finding my precious stone. But really, I felt kind of silly about doing so.

Heaven knows, I’m the queen of losing things, and I felt like I’d called on that godly favor far too many times before.  Plus, my mind immediately went to the recent tornado victims. And the typhoon survivors. And the impoverished around the world. In comparison, this was NOTHING.  I didn’t want to make a mountain out of a rock.

Returning to the church for my passengers, I crossed paths with Pastor Bekah. 

“God knows where your diamond is,” she said. 

“Yeah, I know,” was all I could think to say.

Just as the kids came bounding down the stairs, I reached into my right pocket — not my left — and felt something slightly bigger than a cookie crumb. My diamond!  How in the world did it get in there?!

Overhearing my exclamations of joy, Angela, the children’s choir director, leaned over to Emma:  “It’s a good thing you asked all the kids to pray for your mom.”

Wow.

As we were driving home that evening, I said Emma. “You know, I really do think God put that diamond in my pocket.  Thank you for praying for me.”

Taken by the beauty of the clear night sky, I pondered, “Isn’t it interesting that the God of the universe, the one who puts the stars in the sky, who created all the animals, and keeps everything in order, still cares about the little things in our lives?”

“Yeah,” she answered. “That was a little thing.”

After a few moments of silence, she continued, “Sometimes you pray for things that are small, and He doesn’t give them to you. But God knew that it was really important to you, so He answered.”

Indeed.  God always gives us what we need.

Perhaps in her early faith journey, Emma needed this tangible answer to prayer. 

I, on the other hand, just needed some good ol’ seven-year-old wisdom.

Don't get too cocky after child #1

Look at me! I'm averaging one blog post a year.  Awesome! : )

I had this idea a while back to write Emma a book that I can give her on her wedding day.  I'd love to say that's the reason I haven't been on here, but the truth of the matter is, I've only been averaging one entry every six months on that project.

At any rate, the book is filled with "lessons" I'd like to share with her about being a wife and mother.  I thought I'd share this sample, primarily with three audiences in mind:

1. Publishers who would be willing to pay me up front for a limited audience book that may or may not be finished in 15 years or so.
2. First time mothers who are getting too cocky. 
3. My sisters, who makes me feel good about myself by laughing at all my jokes. 

---

Lesson #5: Don’t get too cocky after child # 1.

I was feeling really good about my natural mothering abilities after you were born. Everyone has always been quick to tell me how sweet, smart and well-behaved you are.  I did really good with you.  Truth be told, I’ve occasionally contemplated writing a parenting book just to share my wisdom with less effective mothers.

Then came Jackson. The most common compliment I get about him is that he’s a good eater.

Last night, I had the pleasure of dining with my “good eater” and your grandparents at Cracker Barrel.  It’s really quite amazing how quickly the family next to us ate just to get away from him.  I think they were seated, served and out the door in 20 minutes flat. 

Shortly after the table was cleared, the hostess started to seat another family next to us.  I watched as the father adamantly shook his head no, and then the hostess discreetly moved them to the other side of the room.

Yeeeaaah.  I’ve got some recalculating to do on my parenting tactics. 

I went out for a bike ride

After dinner tonight, Emma and I went out for a bike ride.

Prior to leaving our house, we covered her from head to toe in all the appropriate protection: a helmet, gloves, knee pads, elbow pads and tennis shoes.  To some that may seem excessive – but seeing how she fell twice over the course of our half hour ride, I feel pretty good about that decision.

As we rode along, I had to maintain a painfully slow pace. I could have gone much faster had I left her at home – but that would have defeated the purpose. I wanted to ride with Emma, enjoy her company, explore the world with her. This is why I wanted a bike in the first place.

I had to keep reminding Emma to stick to the side of the road. She had a tendency to get distracted and wander closer and closer to the middle. Though the roads we took were safe and quiet, I made sure to always stay to her left side, putting myself between her and any potential traffic.

All along the way, Emma asked lots and lots and lots of questions. How did someone write their name in the sidewalk? How did they build this road? What’s down in the sewer? How many cars are there in the world? Why is that person flying a kite? I thought about all the walks we’d taken over the years. So much of her reality is shaped by these random conversations.

When we got to the end of our familiar path, Emma decided she wanted to go further than ever before. I smiled – I’ve been waiting for this. She’s been getting stronger the more we go out. She doesn’t tire so easily any more, and it won't be long before we can take off the training wheels.

I told her to turn left; we would check out a new neighborhood.  As we did, she kept asking, “Are you sure you know where you’re going, mommy? Are you sure you know how to get us back home?” She was a little unnerved by the newness of it all. 

But of course, I knew exactly where we were, and so she had no reason to be scared.  We were only one block over – I’d been this way a hundred times before.

It was then that it hit me. This all seemed so amazingly familiar ... except that I seem to remember being the one with the training wheels.

It was as if God suddenly whispered, “It’s like this for me with you.”

Christmas according to Emma

I know I literally JUST posted another note, but I couldn't resist sharing....

It's been amusing to listen closely as Emma's been singing Christmas songs this year. Here's some of her best lyrics:

"Oh Christmas Eve, Oh Christmas Eve, how lovely are your branches."

"On the third day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, three French kids."

And my favorite...

"Rudolph the red nosed reindeer, had a very shiny nose. And if you ever saw him, make sure that you say, 'hello.'"

Though she has her mother's gift for butchering song lyrics, she's heard the story of Christmas loud and clear. We were sitting on the couch one night when she piped up out of the blue: "It's not about the tree. It's not about the presents. It's all about Jesus' birthday."

At least she's kept the most important things straight.

Best Christmas ever and postpartum advice from Emma

**Note** I wrote this one week ago today, but apparently fell asleep before I posted. :)
---

Today, Christmas Day, we returned home from the hospital as a family of four. Jackson Robert Day entered this world with the most beautiful cry I've ever heard on December 23, 2011 -- his daddy's 33rd birthday. For those keeping score, he was 8 lbs, 0 oz, 20 1/2 inches long and had a full head of coal black hair.

There's so much to say about that experience in itself, but I'll save that tale for some other time. Let me summarize by saying that God continued to remind me of His promises found in Isaiah 40. The Great Shepherd gathered me in His arms, keeping me close to His heart. Time and again, the One who has "with the breadth of His hand marked off the heavens" renewed my strength when I was weary. (Read this passage next time you're discouraged!!!)

At any rate, we were ecstatic when both Jackson's pediatrician and my OB cleared us for take-off. We scooped up Emma from Aunt Nana's house and came home to find Santa had raided our cookies in return for a blue baby stocking and a slew of gifts for our wide-eyed 5 year-old. To be sure, Emma was thrilled with every present she opened. But her excitement this year seemed to surpass all the normal Christmas giddiness. Yesterday, when she hung out with us in the hospital, she told Robert, "All I want for Christmas is for us to be home as a family."

I'm so glad her Christmas wish came true.

On a lighter note....

Tonight, as I was laying in bed trying to nurse Jackson to sleep, Emma crawled under the covers beside us. She cuddled up next to me and said with the honesty of a five year old, "Mommy, your tummy is still big." I laughed and then explained that it will take some time before I lose that.

"Well," she said, "There is a vitamin you can take that makes your tummy go away."

"Oh really?" I asked "Where did you learn about that?"

"On a commercial. It's for women over 40."

Puddle Jumping

Tonight, the sky opened up and rained down on the great metropolis of Momence. It was just a short shower, not nearly enough to raise our yellow lawn from the dead, but it did leave behind a series of shallow watering holes.

I threw caution and dry clothes to the wind and invited Emma on a puddle jumping date. She was stoked.

We splashed around in the puddles in our driveway. Then on the sidewalk. Then down the street. Then she said, "I have an idea. Let's take a little walk." "Yes," I agreed. "Let's take a little walk."

So there we were on a quest to find the biggest, bestest puddles in town. "Ooh, look over there," I said. "There's some great looking puddles."

"Yes," she said. "Perfect for a little girl and a grown up to jump in." I laughed out loud at her perfect articulation.

We continued our puddle walk another a half-mile or so, and then turned back toward home for dinner. We revisited the deepest, muddiest spots we'd found along the way.

Passing through a parking lot, Emma took note of all the cigarettes and other debris on the ground. "Mommy, why do people throw things on the ground?"

"I don't know, hon. They shouldn't should they?"

"No." (Pauses for contemplation.) "We should tell all the people in all the world to stop throwing things on the ground."

"Great idea," I agreed.

"We can save the world," she said matter-of-factly.

"Yes," I laughed. "We can save the world."

Teach us to pray

Every night, Robert and I pray with Emma before she goes to sleep.

Depending on how exhausting the bedtime routine has been, our prayer time looks a little different each night. Sometimes I pray, sometimes Robert does, and sometime she insists we both take a turn. And often, after we're done, she prays all by herself, including every family member and stuffed animal within sight in her list of "thank you for"s.

Lately, Emma has taken it upon herself to lead us in prayer. She says, "Repeat after me," and then Robert and I follow faithfully along, never knowing exactly where her ramblings will take us.

This is a typical prayer:

"Dear Jesus" (She pauses for us to say "Dear Jesus")

"Thank you for this day."

"Thank you for your blessings." (I wonder if she knows what this means, knowing that she's mimicking my oft-uttered prayer.)

"Teach me to be a good girl" (Robert chooses to insert "boy" instead.")

"I love my Star Wars figures."

"I love my Cinderella." (The stuffed horse directly beside her that she's named after her favorite princess.)

"I am so beautiful." (I chuckle as Robert goes with it.)

"In Jesus' name, amen."

As we turn off the light, and say good night, I can't help but smile.

I'm thankful for our funny little girl, and the God who is always there to listen to our silly prayers.

30 by 30 (Part Deux)

I'm now less than five days away from my 30th birthday, and so I figured I might as well get this end of the "30 by 30" challenge report out of the way.

Short of a miracle and liposuction, coupled with a full-limb amputation, I will not meet my goal. Since July, I have lost approximately 10 pounds (give or take a few ounces, depending on whether or not I had pizza the night before), not the 30 I would have hoped for. Bummer.

What happened?

Holidays. Birthdays. Tuesdays. Taco Bell. I have no good excuse, I just didn't pull it off.

BUT, as mentioned in a previous blog, I'm focusing on the lovely. And you know what? I think I look lovelier than I did 10 pounds ago.

Furthermore, that 10 pounds is on top of the 30 pounds I had already lost when I began this challenge. And 40-some pounds was enough to prompt a genuine "I'm proud of you" from my doctor at my last annual appointment. That felt pretty darn good.

I'm also coming to grips with the fact that 30 is not a magical age where I immediately begin the transition toward death. Sure, I've sprouted a crazy amount of gray hairs over the past couple of weeks, but I think that's more related to stress than impending elderly-ness.

30 is not the end of me being young, and it's certainly not the end of my quest to achieving a healthier weight. I'm still hoping to rock (maybe easy listening is a better analogy?) a new, smaller-but-still-one-piece swimsuit this summer as I float around whatever lazy river I can find.

There's really no change at 30 -- except that I can FINALLY remove that ridicules countdown calculator from the sidebar that's been haunting me for the past six months.

That, my friends, is something worth celebrating.

Whatever is lovely

hello blog. it's been a while.

have i been avoiding you? yes. because of the 30 under 30? mostly. (we'll talk about that some other day)

so how do you welcome me back from my long absence? by suddenly making my shift key stop working so that i can't capitalize any letters. okay, i suppose i deserve that.

anyway, it's been a long day. a reaaaaaaaallllyyyy long day.

there have been a lot of those lately. days where i have more places to go than i can possibly go. more things to do than i can possibly do. more people to see than, well... you get the picture.

in fact, it's been downright discouraging.

i've dwelled on it for far too long, and have finally decided that what i really need is a paradigm shift. afterall, the frustrations, the stress, etc. are not going to disappear anytime soon.

so... i'm repurposeing this blog, dedicating my posts to the embodiment of of philippians 4:8.

'finally brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable -- if anything is excellent or praiseworthy -- think about such things.'

i won't be able to post every day. maybe not every week. maybe not even every month. but i will try to post something pure, lovely or admirable on here from time to time, if for no other reason than to remind myself that life is good, and god (with a capital g) is definitely good.

so here's my lovely thing for today...

i took emma to dance class tonight, which she loves, loves, loves. she looks forward to it every week and gets downright giddy about wearing her pretty pink leotard with matching pink tights and ballet slippers.

she also loves the fact that there is a heartily stocked candy store in the mall, directly beside the dance studio. emma knows that if she is a good girl and listens to everything her teacher says, mommy will take her to to the candy store after class and let her pick out whatever candy she wants.

tonight, after we left dance class and picked out our candy, i walked across the parking lot toward our van holding emma's thick-mittened hand. it was a quiet night with no one around, so we chatted uninhibited along the way.

i asked emma, 'do you like your dance class?'

'yes, mommy,' she replied.

she returned my question with a question. 'do you know what i like even more?'

i smiled knowing she was thinking of the long, gummy snake i was carrying in the brown paper bag in my right hand.

'what do you like even more?' i humored her.

'i like you and daddy more.'

in my humble estimation, that's about as lovely as it gets.

The wit and charm of Emma Day

Well, it's been a while since I posted. I blame it on Caravans which is consuming my every non-working hour.

When she asked me to consider taking over, last year's director told me, "All you have to do is order badges."

Not that I'm bitter. In my heart, I knew better than to trust the person who was trying to find her replacement so she could quit. And actually, as busy as it's kept me, I'm enjoying every bit of it. Strange, I know.

At any rate, I figured I'd use my lunch time to post some of the funny things Emma's said lately.

If you don't find childish banter amusing, a) what's your problem? and b) come back next time where I will resume discussing nonsensical topics with no profound meaning.

THE ALL ENCOMPASSING EXCUSE

Lately, my daughter has begun applying a universal excuse to getting out of anything she doesn't want to do.

I say, "Emma, finish your vegetables." She replies, "I can't, because my throat hurts."

Or if I say, "Emma, say that you are sorry." She replies, "I can't because my throat hurts."

Or I say, "Emma, go pick up your bedroom." She replies, "I can't because my throat hurts."

You get the picture.

I really don't think she was ever sick to begin with, or if she was, that it has persistantly plagued her throat for 4 1/2 weeks.

MUSIC TO HER EARS

The other day Robert passed gas in front of Emma. (Apologies to my husband for telling this story.)

Emma says, "Daddy, you tooted."

"Yes, I did."

She replies, "It was a beautiful toot."

HOLE IN ONE

We've been helping my sister, Deanna, paint and repair her new home. In the process, the house has been less-than-kid friendly.

So Emma walks into the bathroom and proceeds to fall into a vent where the cover had been removed for paintng. Not baby Jessica style. She just stuck her foot into it, and as she pulled it out, clipped the back of her heel.

Weeping and gnashing of teeth ensued.

Later, Emma had pooped in her pull-up (which gives you an indication of how well potty training is progressing) and so I laid her on the bathroom floor to change her.

She notices the still uncovered vent, and then look up at me with deep concern.

"I hope you don't throw me in that hole."

I didn't know how to reply except to tell her, "I hope I don't either."

---

Well, there's been plenty of other things Emma has said to make us chuckle, but alas, my lunch hour is over. I'll resume bragging about her wit and charm some other day.

Thought you'd like to know

Right now, I'm sitting in my office eating a Smart Ones Three Cheese Baked Ziti Marinara meal. It's like, my favorite frozen meal ever. Seriously.

It takes 4 1/2 minutes to cook it to cheesy perfection in our office microwave. Three minutes. Stir. Put back in for 1 1/2 minutes more.

In general, I hate standing idle, so after I hit the initial 3-o-0 on the microwave, I decided to walk down the hall to use the restroom.

I walked down the length of second floor Burke, exchanged pleasantries with Roy and stopped by Deb's desk to evaluate whether or not she had any candy worth taking. Nope, not at the moment.

I walked into the restroom, did my business, washed my hands.

On the way back, I exchanged a second round of pleasantries with Roy who was still in the hall and said "hello" to a girl I assume to be his granddaughter.

I stopped to fix my shoe and then walked into the break room to retrieve my ziti.

There were still 28 seconds on the clock.

Impressed? I was.

Side note: I came one click away from accidently posting this on Olivet's official blog, because I didn't realize what account I was logged in under. Whew! That would have been fun.

30 by 30

I am hereby declairing my weight loss intentions publicly: I intend to lose approximately 30 more pounds by January 31, 2010.

You see, to this point, I have lost 30 pounds by using an online weight loss program. Check older posts if you're curious about which one. They're not paying me to advertise. ; )

However, about a month ago I plateaued. Not because the program quit working, but because I quit working. I haven't gained anything back, but I've also not lost any more. I got lazy about it.

On January 31, 2010, I will turn 30 years old. I'd like to celebrate this momentous occassion at my goal weight (technically, 31 more pounds, but "30 by 30" is catchier) and in the best shape of my life.

So I'm declaring my intentions publicly to give myself the extra dose of motivation I need. I hate losing and I really hate letting people down. (I know you probably don't care, but humor me.)

In order to do reach my goal, I will stay within my weekly allotted food intake, and I will exercise moderately for at least 30 minutes, at least three times each week.

I will keep myself accountable to the blogging world with a tally of weight loss in the right hand column, which I will update every Monday. And should I exceed my caloric intake OR neglect to exercise, I will post this information, as well.

Gulp. This is really scary.

But I can, AND WILL, do it!

29 reasons I can't dispute the result

I just took another Facebook quiz, and the results have cut straight to the heart.

Just when I was getting used to the idea of turning 30 (start planning your over-the-hill themed presents now; you've still got about 6 months), I find out that I'm actually much older.

According to Facebook, I act like I'm 43. Wow. That's rough.

Of course, I mean no offense to any 40-somethings who may be reading this. It's just that ... well ... would you want to be accused of acting 14 years older than you really are? I didn't think so.

What's worse is that I think it might be right. In honor of my biological age, here's 29 reasons why I may, in fact, be confused with a middle-aged woman:

1. I drive a mini-van


2. And I think it's cool.


3. I'm routinely plucking grey hairs from the top of my head


4. And from my face.


5. I have, on multiple occassions, scheduled my evening around the late night show.


6. That is, on the few occasions where I was up past 10 p.m.


7. I recently bought a hideous pair of shorts, with an elastic waistband, because they were $6.


8. Then I wore them in public.


9. I own a swimsuit with a built-in skirt.


10. And the only reason I quit wearing it was because I'd had it so long it was becoming see-through.


11. I buy underwear based on practicality.


12. It's been at least six months since I've seen the end of a movie without falling asleep.


13. I've used the term "blouse" in the last week.


14. I refer to college students as kids.


15. And I don't understand what the kids are in to.


16. I can count the texts I've sent -- ever -- on my fingers.


17. I eat Fiber One bars for breakfast (They're REALLY good).


18. I gripe about commercials being too loud.


19. I do not know, nor do I care, who Lady Gaga is.


20. But I do crank up the radio when Phillips, Craig and Dean are singing.


21. Or when a Mr. Big song comes on


22. Or Lionel Ritchie


23. Or Aerosmith


24. Or D.C. Talk


25. Or practically any hair band from the early 90s.


26. The last time I saw Zach Effron, my first thought was, "Why doesn't that boy cut his hair?"


27. My purse is large enough to house a small family of rodents.


28. I have no desire to read or see Twilight. It's not a moral stance. It just seems absurd to me.


29. My favorite attraction at Disney World was the Hall of Presidents.

Wow, when I put this all together, I realize I'm even lamer than I thought.

Perhaps I'm more like 73.

The beginning of letting go

This morning began with incredible news. As of 4:35 a.m. today, our good friends Frank and Mary are the proud parents of a new baby girl, Macy Elizabeth.

Wow! Of course we’ve known this was coming for months, but there’s just something about new life. It always catches you off guard in the most wonderfully exciting way.

Therefore, we’ve also known for months that we needed to make alternate arrangements for childcare, since Mary watches Emma during the day. And we did. After checking out local day care options, we decided on a center that was a good fit for Emma and relatively affordable (in a “we’re already going into debt anyway” sort of way).

In other words, I was technically prepared.

But for whatever reason, I wasn’t mentally prepared to send Emma to daycare today. Maybe it’s because her free “trial” day wasn’t scheduled until this Thursday. I don’t know. All I know is that I was a nervous wreck all morning.

I pictured my precious little girl scared in the care of strangers, confused by why her mommy and daddy had abandoned her.

That’s partly why I got ready at record speed this morning; so that I would have time to give her lots and lots of extra attention. I also wanted to allow ample time to introduce her to her teacher and to make her feel comfortable with the new routine.

We shared breakfast in the living room, so that she could watch Dora, her favorite cartoon. Then when she requested a pink, butterfly clip for her hair – a clip I hadn’t seen for weeks – I hunted through the back of the drawer as if my life depended on it. Phew! I found it.

By the time we pulled out of our driveway, my nerves were shot to the point of nausea. For a split second, I contemplated, “How I will ever survive the first day of kindergarten if this is what pre-school does to me?”

We arrived at the center, and I psyched myself up for what was sure to be a difficult goodbye. I could already anticipate the guilt I’d feel as she’d tearfully beg me to stay. But we walked in anyway.

The greeter efficiently welcomed me, and then she ushered us to Emma’s new home away from home.

That’s when it all fell apart.

It only took one look at all the toys and kids in the room, and a huge smile broke out on Emma’s face. I asked, “Are you excited?” and she literally started jumping up and down.

Emma gave me a quick hug around my legs, mostly to humor me, and then she was off. Off to explore and play without as much as a look back in my direction.

Seriously?! How could she do that to me? She didn’t even know these people! How could she abandon me like that?!

Yes, I’m not ashamed to admit it: I needed a longer, drawn out hug to assure me everything was going to be okay.

Before heading out the door, I asked if it would be alright if I called around lunch time to see how she was adjusting. Clearly used to nervous parents, the kind woman told me, “Yes, you can call as often as you like.”

So just after noon, I called for a progress report. They told me she’d eaten almost all of her lunch (which she doesn’t do at home) and that she had just closed her eyes for a nap (which she also won’t do at home).

The woman asked for my e-mail address to send me pictures of Emma’s first day, and the pictures corroborated her testimony. Emma was having a ball.

Sigh.

I suppose I should be grateful that I’m raising a confident girl. She knows the mommy who dropped her off at daycare will also be there to pick her up.

I should also be happy that she can roll with the punches. That she can, as her name means, “embrace everything” that life throws her, seeing it as an opportunity for adventure.

But at the moment, I’m just not feeling it. Not one bit.

Instead I find myself a little sad. Suddenly I realize, this is just the beginning of a lifetime of learning to let go.

My latest addiction - Part II

A couple weeks ago, I posted a blog about being addicted to Twitter. And even though I was mostly trying to be funny, there was some truth there.

So if you did check me out on Twitter, you might have scratched your head at my last tweet (assuming you give a rip):

“Trying to reclaim my life from techno overload. So long Twitter. It's been fun”

What transpired in the short time period between my public confession of addiction, and my sign-off to the Twitter world? A reality check.

I realized technology had crept into every facet of my life, slowly undermining my time and relationships. I was tweeting, networking with friends on Facebook, checking my e-mails incessantly from my Blackberry, blogging, IM-ing, and even tracking points for my diet online. I was so caught up with the virtual world that I was missing out on the real one.

Fearing I’d lost complete touch with reality, I quickly signed off of the most recent techno parasite: Twitter.

Then, a couple days after my last tweet, I received an eerie confirmation I’d made the right decision through an article in Christianity Today. One paragraph reads, “I often find myself so drawn to my Blackberry and laptop that I fail to be present with the flesh and blood person who is standing before me. I look at them and pretend like I'm listening, but my mind strains to get back to my email.” (From “Does Twitter do us any good?” by Mark Galli, CT online, June 2009)

Wow. I could have written that.

It’s not that I think technology is all bad, or that I’ve sworn it off completely. Obviously… I posted this blog, didn’t I?

My blackberry helps me keep in control of my inbox when I’m away from my desk for meetings. Facebook helps me keep up with the latest pictures and stories about family members who are hundreds of miles away. Weight Watchers online has helped me lose 30 pounds so far.

I’m not saying goodbye to technology. I’m just renewing my commitment to keep it all in check.

It’s kind of funny. The day I said good-bye to Twitter, I suddenly received several e-mails notifying me I had new followers. Really? Did they not read what I just said?

Actually, part of me wonders if they started following me so that they will be notified at the exact moment I relapse. If so, I have to say, “Sorry tweoples. You’ll be sadly disappointed.”

I’ve left Twitter for the real world, and I don’t plan on coming back any time soon.

My latest addiction

Back in the 90s, when Capri pants first came back in style, I hated them. Despised them. Thought they were the dumbest thing I’d ever seen.

Then there were Macs. Uh, you mean the same outdated devices I used in second grade with the green flashing cursor? I don’t think so. Microsoft’s got the market cornered.

And more recently, Facebook. Don’t even get me started on Facebook. A pretentious site for the “I’m much too sophisticated for MySpace” crowd.


All of these things were silly fads not worthy of my attention. That was, of course, until I adopted them all as my own.

I’m what communications scholar Everett Rogers would label a late majority adopter (my comm profs would be so proud!) AND I HATE THAT.

When it comes to all things trendy, I always start to think something’s cool long after the real trendsetters have moved on to something else. I’m such a loser!

And now it’s happened again.

I’ve been revolting against Twitter for months now – claiming it to be a ginormous waste of time and completely narcissistic. I couldn’t see the point.

Until this week. At the urging of several people much cooler than I’ll ever be, I started playing with it — and now I’m completely and utterly addicted. Every time I say something that makes me laugh or I find particularly clever (Yes… I am my biggest fan), I think, “Oooh, I should put that on Twitter.”

It’s really quite pathetic. I’m limiting myself to four tweets a day, just so I don’t come across as completely self-centered or desperate for attention. That may be the reality, but I certainly don’t want the cool kids on Twitter to know.

And like every good addict, I’m not just using. I’m pushing.

This morning, as I sat in Starbucks sipping my latte — yes, the same drink I used to declare the overpriced version of what I could easily buy at Speedway —I sang the wonders of Twitter to our university chaplain. With heartfelt conviction, I did my best to convince Chap Daddy that this is the best way for him to be an effective minister to the lost.

So yes, I’m a Twittering fool. But this is it. I mean it. This will be the LAST trend I jump on board with late in the game.

Unless everybody’s doing it.

www.twitter.com/quiteaday