Wrong Shoes

So I had a meeting this morning and thought it was going to be a sit-down meeting ... So I wore these really cute wedge shoes (I love them - they are casual yet dressy, black canvas peep-toe with a 3-inch wedge). Normally, these are shoes I reserve for job interviews or meetings ... Events that don't require me to be on my feet for long periods of time and certainly don't involve walking any farther than to my car, my seat or the restroom.

But I misjudged my meeting. And what I thought was to be sit down 20-30 minute question/answer time ended up being a walking tour of an elementary school media center.

Let me stop here and say: For those of you who don't know, I LOVE a library. Any library. For me, libraries are a second home, filled with family and friends and characters waiting to become friends. I am a book lover. I love hard backs, paper backs, e-books, book jackets, book shelves, computer-access to books, blogs, magazines ... I love the technology aspects that are associated with the library ... If it's not clear, libraries are one of my happy places. And it's my goal to become a librarian - once I suck it up and take the GRE, that is.

So I have been accepted as a substitute teacher for our school district and I'm trying to make myself known to some of the local principals ... And today I met with a local elementary school librarian (who was very nice, BTW) and wore the wrong shoes.

Now, if you've never chosen the wrong shoes for certain activities, you can't really understand how this impacted me. So let me share.

I was walking around in the wrong shoes from about 8:45 this morning until around 11 am ... And then I stopped by Home Goods (not to really shop - my friend Paula works there and she had mentioned that they have gotten some great new comforters and quilts in & since I was just a couple of miles away, it made sense to stop in and say hello and take a gander at the new goods ... BTW - I only bought two things - a wall cling for the kids' book nook and a towel stand for our half bath). And then I remembered that I needed to go the grocery store. By now it was Noon and Wal-Mart was the nearest grocery ... You know where this is heading, don't you?

Well let me ruin the surprise - I didn't quite become one of the People of Wal-Mart, but it was a near, near miss.

By the time I made it to Wal-Mart, my left pinkie toe and my left bunion (yes, I have a bunion) hurt so badly, I was hobbling. I made it to the back of the store (of course they put the shoes in the back of the store!), I could barely walk.

Unbelievably, Wal-Mart had no women's or girls' flip-flops in my size.

So I hobbled around until I found the last pair of little boys 4/5 plastic flip-flops in blue-camo and I was back in business.

But now it's hours later (I'm waiting up on my parents who are driving down tonight for Labor Day weekend) and even with my feet propped up, my toe and bunion are absolutely throbbing.

The moral of this story?

Cute shoes = pain. Ugly shoes = pain-free.

Happy Labor Day Weekend!

I have two major problems: OCD and ADD ... These two are not my friends when I need to clean.

I start cleaning one thing and get distracted by another project
Example of how the ADD effects me: I'm folding clothes and realize the drawers are a disaster, so I end up dumping the drawers to refold & organize. And the next thing I know, I'm stacking clothes that are too small or not the right season. And the next morning, I walk downstairs looking for clean underwear and realize that I never finished the laundry from the day before.

Or I start cleaning and I can't simply straighten up - I have to deep clean.
Example of how the OCD effects me: I start cleaning the kitchen - just a normal-after-supper cleaning ... Three hours later I find myself sitting on the kitchen floor with every single pot, pan, utensil, etc., all pulled out while I scrub cabinets and drawers. And then I find that my pants are ruined because the spot on the floor turned into me scrubbing the kitchen floor on my hands and knees, with bleach. (Yes, I clean with straight up bleach. It makes me happy. Hush.)

Or, and this is where these two issues hit me together and hard: I look around and get so overwhelmed, I don't know where to start. 

• The floors need to be vacuumed. 
• The kitchen needs to be cleaned and swept and mopped. 
• The kids rooms are in desperate need of a deep cleaning. 
• The playroom? Eeegads, man. 
• The pile of laundry that I've all but given up on - it's clean, but it's unfolded. 

Or, and you'll like this one, I quit. I look around, totally overwhelmed and decide that I'd rather write a quick blog entry.

If any of y'all have have thoughts on organization tips, cleaning tips, tips on managing OCD and ADD ... Well, I'd love to hear them all.

Happy Hump Day, y'all.

Accepting Donations

We're broke.

But today I found a house that I want.

(Side Note:  We weren't looking for a house. We aren't looking for a house. This house is around the corner from us and I got an itch to peek in the windows - it's been sitting empty for months now ... And something told me to call and find out more.)

It made me smile. It made think about paint colors and where our furniture would look best. It made me start thinking about the cost to tear out the carpet (it's gross!) and how much new flooring would cost. About which shrubs would need to be pruned back immediately and which ones would need to wait til the first frost. It made me think about hearing my kids run up and down the stairs. It made me think about hearing their laughter in its halls. About Christmases and birthdays and Thanksgivings and sleepovers and cookouts and ... Well, you get the idea, right?

Did I mention the being broke part?

Yeah. Buying a house is nowhere near our radar right now, but this house ... To be totally cliche, this house spoke to me. 

To that end, I'm accepting donations. The MLS list price on this house is $205,000 ... So, if  10,250 readers (I currently have zero readers) send me $20, I can write that check with no worries. Please note I'd happily accept funds in larger increments, if you're so inclined.

So, are you in?

Oh yeah - I forgot to mention - it's a HUD house (a failed FHA loan) and the bidding ends August 30 at midnight. So ... send me some money?

Elastic and steak

I used to make fun of my Mom for wearing elastic-waist pants.
I used to laugh, I tell you, and tell her how truly dorky she was.

I used to roll my eyes at my Dad when my sister and I would ask to go out to eat on Saturday nights and he would say (in a very, very exasperated tone), "I'm not going anywhere tonight. I am staying at home and cooking out on the grill and having a beer. I have been gone all week."

I didn't understand that in the hustle and bustle of raising two children, working a full-time job, keeping a home orderly ... I didn't understand that sometimes you just want to be comfortable. And good grief - do y'all know how comfortable elastic-waist pants are? Oh. My. Gosh. I'm gonna say it on the record ... I wear elastic waist pants ... Yoga pants? Sure. Sweat pants? Absolutely. Granny-style elastic waist slacks? You betcha.
Y'all - being comfortable should never take a back seat to style. I say here and now: Elastic waist pants are comfortable and stylish.

And my poor, poor Daddy. Stuck with a wife and two daughters. Two daughters who were extremely social and wanted nothing more than to be out and about. But now? At 30-something, I totally get why he wanted to be at home, sipping a cold beer, knowing that he was going to sit down to a steak cooked just the way he wanted it, a fresh salad and a hot baked potato with the love of his life and his two amazing daughters. I understand now that there's just something about knowing you can bum out in your comfort clothes, relax, nod off (or not), watch a movie (or not) - whatever.

It isn't crazy how perspective can change with time? With maturity? With life experience?

Expecting Twins? No. Not us. But other people are.

Tonight I stumbled upon a pair of blog entries written by a husband/wife about  their IVF pregnancy which has resulted in twins (due this month) ... HuffPost picked up her response-post, and well, here I am.

Let me start with this: I believe that every life is a gift. I believe kids give us hope - they remind us of all of the things that we don't know; They remind us that there's a future to think about, to plan for, to want; They remind us to laugh at ourselves; They make us hear ourselves - have you ever heard your child(ren) repeating something you've said and thought, "Hmmm ... that didn't sound quite so awful when I said it!"? Yeah. I have, and it's not pretty.

That said, I kind of have an idea of how these parents feel. We love The Boy (Baby No. 1), but we wanted him to have a sibling (Baby No. 2 = The Girl).

I recall being so, so excited when were expecting Baby No. 2 ... For about five minutes. And then it hit me ... "Oh god - what have we done?" ... With The Boy, we had a system - a way of doing things, a routine. We were finally sleeping enough (almost). We finally seemed to have a handle on finances (almost). We had a gorgeous, smart, sweet, blue-eyed, healthy little boy. What were we thinking, upsetting the status quo with a pregnancy?!!

I was worried that we would not love Baby No. 2 as much as Baby No. 1.
(No worries - The Girl is much loved and has no self-esteem issues!)

I worried that Baby No. 1 would suffer waiting on Baby No. 2 to catch up (4.5 years is a big gap!).
(Well, The Boy did hate that The Girl didn't come out of the womb ready to play Legos or light sabers, but at 10 and 5, they get along pretty well ... And in all fairness, I have to say that The Boy is maybe the Best Big Brother Ever, and The Girl is maybe The Best Little Sister Ever. Only by the grace of God!) 

I worried that Baby No. 2 wouldn't be as smart/funny/gorgeous/liked as Baby No. 1.
(Oh. My. Gosh. I have the two most gorgeous, funny, smart, kind, witty children ever. What a stupid, useless worry). 

I worried about money and space and how much sleep we would (or would not!) get.
(Um, in fairness, we're still short on money. And the space thing would be easier if we were better about staying organized/not collecting stuff.  And sleep? Beat this with a stick - I regularly get anywhere from 5-8 hours of sleep. Bam! And my kids? They sleep All. Night. Long. Almost every night.)

And I worried about money some more.
(Let's be real: Unless you're independently wealthy or are planning/plotting to win the lottery, money is always a concern. Stuff is expensive. But the truth is ... My kids would rather snuggle and watch a movie, or read a book together than almost anything else. It's nice to do stuff, but it's more important to love each other. A lot.)

I think that every single fear that this Dad/Mom (I read both blog entries) expressed are the Same. Exact. Fears. that every parent of more than one child feels at some point, to some degree ... Times three.

Parenting and pregnancy are hard - it would be foolish not to be worried.

Parents are tired and stressed and financially strapped (unless you're independently wealthy? No? Then "yes" to everything I just said).

... But it's for a season. Before you know it, you're looking back over the last five years, not really remembering how little sleep or how little cash you had on hand - instead you're just wondering how it all happened so fast. How Baby No. 2 is two weeks into kindergarten and not carrying around her pacifier anymore. How Baby No. 1 is walking his sister to her classroom and when did he stop begging to watch Johnny Cash's Riding the Rails ETV special for the 964-billionth time?

You can do anything for a season. It will be hard. It might even suck. But you can do it.

Best wishes to these parents-to-be, and any other Mamas & Daddies out there who are scared spitless of starting this journey ... You're going to be great, even if you're not perfect.

Where have you come from , where have you been?

I'm not very good at starting a project and finishing it. I tend to start something - painting a bathroom, for example - and about half-way through, I'm more interested in something else than in finishing painting the bathroom. And that tends to be the way with most things I start, unfortunately.

For another example: Since I started writing this post, I've stopped to feed the cats, to clean a litter box (I washed my hands really well after), I have my FaceBook up and am watching (listening, really) to an episode of The West Wing - all while writing this post.

And all the while, I have a list of thing flitting through my head of things I need to do ...

• Dogs need a bath
• Vacuum the up- & downstairs
• Organize the too-small clothes
• Wash the guest room sheets
• Sweep & mop the kitchen
• Sweep & mop the half-bath
• Take out the trash
• Iron shirts 

...

Hopefully by this point you're getting the idea.

For a long time - since before my Grandmother's death in 2002 - I've been very interested in my family's history. From word-of-mouth I know quite a lot, but there's so much more to be, well, discovered. Just this weekend, my maternal Great-Grandmother and my paternal Grandmother were heavy on my mind. I thought of all the things they said or did during my life with them that helped mold me ... And about how sad I am not to have them here, now, to know the woman I am - to know my children.

So I pulled up their obituaries - the sum of their public lives.

My Great-Grandmother, Lola Williams Sloan, was an educator in South Carolina for 45 years. She helped pioneer special education in South Carolina (That's her with the huge sun hat on ... With myself, my Mom and my younger sister).

My Grandmother, Marian LaCross Williams Jones, was a Voter's Rights advocate in Marion, South Carolina during the 1970's, helping residents get registered to vote and helping them make it to the polls. (That's her, wearing red and showing off her gardening)

Those facts are out there for the world to know, but those facts are just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to lives well-lived.

My grandmothers loved fiercely - their family and their friends. They didn't accept "good enough" - from family, friends, neighbors. The worked harder than hard - from sun-up to sun-down. They cooked. They laughed. They hugged children who needed hugs - their own children or the children of others. My grandmothers taught me (and others) - sometimes in a traditional classroom, sometimes while playing basketball in the driveway.

I'm sad that my children won't know these women - will never touch their hands, be hugged by them, snuggle in their laps, eat their cooking, listen to them read, sit with them through a thunderstorm ... So I'm going to try to do better about finishing projects and I'm going to do more research on our family tree. Because knowing where you come from can help direct you to where you're going.

These are a few of my favorite things ...

Oreo Cookies.
Thunder storms after 6 pm. 
Shrimp, breaded and fried.
Turquoise and red. 
Tomatoes grown in a field, not a green house.
Linens line-dried. 
Ice-cold Coca-Cola.
Staying up all night to finish a book.
Prosser's BBQ sauce.
Laughing til you cry.
Bacon.
The way my kids smell after a day on the beach.
Vick's Vapo-Rub. 
Hand-written notes.
Justified and The West Wing, The New Girl & The Parenthood ... in no particular order.
Pat Conroy, J.K. Rowling, Suzanne Brockmann, Justin Cronin, Dr. Walter Edgar, John Irving, Stephen King ... Well, you hopefully get the idea. 
Salsa & guacamole, fresh & made at home.
Fleece when it's cold.
Flip-flops when it's hot.
Old Crow Medicine Show, The Avett Brothers, The Dixie Chicks (in all their many incarnations), Adele, The Eagles, Chicago, Cat Stevens.
Ugly shoes ... Not a brand - I just like ugly shoes.


These are just a few of my favorite things ... If any of them strike a cord with you, come back for more. And feel free to share some of your favorite things!