A very long time ago, I had a diary. What a comfort it was to have a way to write down my most intimate thoughts. to share the secrets that I didn't have the courage to share with anyone else. I used my diary to express my fears, celebrate my triumphs and endless hopes. My diary collected my tears but at the same time, it held my joys. Today, instead of a diary, I have a journal. Actually, I have a ton of journals. While my journals don't resemble my good and faithful diary, I have the same excitement as I write in my journal. I share most of the same things that I did in my diary so many years ago. Here's where my thoughts switch though...

Diaries, journals are being used every single day by millions of people. Every second, every hour, someone is writing in their diary- sharing their their innermost thoughts, hopes, dreams, fears. These are personal, intimate yet today I found myself thinking- When did we as people begin sharing our personal diary with the world?  My childhood diary had a lock on it. It was easy to pick, but it felt secure somehow. Today, people don't lock their personal diary or journal. Social media yields open access to every thought, fear, emotion and sometimes shares things that not everyone needs to know. So when do we use discretion and stop allowing total access with the world? Yes, there are many amazing messages that help people every day. There are also messages that cause harm. I'm not anti social media. I believe that we need to measure our words, think before we share and truly consider who it is that we're sharing our message with. And sometimes, listen to that voice that says, "Don't post this..." If you cherish and safeguard your diary thoughts, use the same caution and safeguard your social media thoughts. Sometimes your personal and private thoughts are meant to remain- intimate and for your heart only. I'm just saying...
 

Once upon a time... Oh how I used to love hearing or reading those words. Those words usually meant that the story would begin with a heart-gripping situation, (Think Cinderella sweeping cinders at the demands of her cruel stepmother.) Then, the story would be laced with magical possibilities mixed in. (Cinderella attending the beautiful, lavish ball) Next would be the wonderment and anticipation of what would happen next. Would true happiness be found? Finally, the inconceivable but hoped-for would occur. (The glass slipper fit Cinderella then, she and the Prince lived happily ever after.) At this point, I would sigh and wish that dreams really did come true. But, sometimes real life can actually mirror those creative, hard-to-believe fairytales.

God authored my fairytale story with my husband of almost 40 years. We met 45 years ago. I was a skinny, awkward insecure teenager and he was a shy but daring boy with a smile. He had the courage to approach me on the second day of school with a note that said, "You don't know me but my name is..." He went on to tell me that he liked me, which was pretty amazing since we had never even spoken to each other, let alone, met face to face. Then, the gripping part of his note. . . he asked if I would 'go with him'. I was flattered. My heart did a little flutter thing. I replied to his note and reminded him that we didn't know each other, but still I was touched by the fact that this guy knew what (who) he wanted, and was brave enough to let me know.

As fairytales go, awkward girl and gangly guy did go together. The school year was filled with lot's more, sweetly written notes, hour long phone conversations, cookie-grams and him predicting that one day we would marry and have kids. (He held a God-ordained vision that would eventually be fulfilled.)  I share all of this because I believe in fairytales. I believe that happily-ever-afters can happen. I believe in the beauty and pathway of finding true love. Most of all, I wholeheartedly believe that He is the author and creator of our story. 

Today, I still believe in fairytales. I've seen the impossible work in my life on a kajillion occasions. I've seen God orchestrate a well-defined plan for my life. While the bumps and bruises along the way weren't pleasant, I recognize that through it all, He sees me, knows me and already knew that one day the awkward boy and girl would fall in love, marry and share a rich, fairytale kind of love story.

 

                                                

                                      Along for the Ride

    Recently, I was in a frenzy of busyness. I usually consider myself pretty good at managing multiple projects. (Insert pat on the back) But, this particular time, I was dusting, decluttering and shampooing a rug, all while the bathroom was in line to be cleaned next. As I went outside to empty the trash, I noticed a lizard  was doing a head bob while hanging out on the screen door. I'm not lizard squeamish. As a kid, I'd had a handful of them as pets. This one was small, which means it was 'fast.' I brushed it off the screen door and onto the front porch.  Then, I made sure that it was a safe distance from the front door. Trash emptied, I went back inside to finish cleaning.

    While putting things away, I walked towards the hallway and spotted Lil Lizzie standing near the front door. I have no idea how it got inside, but I had images of Lil Lizzie becoming Big Lizzie and multiplying somewhere in our house. I reached down to grab it, but it dashed away somewhere and camouflaged itself against the brown carpet. After being on my hands and knees and still not finding it, I prayed that it would somehow show up sooner rather than later.

    I went to cleaning. I finished dusting and headed into the bathroom. Suddenly, I felt this weird vibration on my back, right below my shoulder. I scratched at it but kept cleaning. I felt it again, but this time I looked into the mirror. I didn't notice anything on my back. I kept cleaning but finally couldn't take the weird sensation. Finally, I took off the cardigan that I was wearing and looked in the mirror. You guessed it. Lil Lizzie was head-bobbing and perched on my back. I calmly quick-stepped outside and gently shook Lil Lizzie off, farther away this time. 

    I still can't quite figure out when the little hitch hiker had jumped on for a free ride, but I'm so thankful that God answered my prayer by allowing Lil Lizzie to be discovered, even though it was in an unexpected way. It was a sweet reminder that God is in the big, the small and the in-between. Sometimes a glimpse at a lizard is a chance to redirect, reset and create a much needed pause. 

Confessions of a Former Helicopter Mom

     It's not easy to admit but I used to be a helicopter mom. If you're not familiar with the term, a helicopter mom is someone who tends to hover, or is overly protective of their child or children. In their defense, helicopter moms are well meaning. They truly love their children but just can't bear to see them experience hurt, pain or discomfort. So, they will do whatever it takes to keep their children happy, content and free from pain. My struggle with being over protective came after the birth of our first born, Bria.

     Bria was a 5 pound 11 ounce bundle of colic. She cried when she was hungry, she cried when she was full. She cried if she was hot, cold, tired, wet or dry. I was so sleep-deprived after Bria was a month old that I suffered from exhaustion. Even though people told me to just let her cry, I just couldn't. I knew she was unhappy and wanted to do everything I could to take away her discomfort. Hubby and I spent a lot of sleepless nights walking and bouncing Bria until she quieted down. It became a routine for her to be held her while she slept fitfully. If she stirred I would rub or pat her back until she settled down again.

     I'd like to say that she eventually outgrew it but Bria ended up being a germ magnet and was sick quite often. She had a lot of ear infections and ended up in the hospital a few times with upper respiratory stuff. Then, the little pint size germ spreader would catch a cold or a cough and would gag until she would barf at night. So, I'd get up, clean her, the linen and settle her down again. By then, I was wide awake and usually sat up in a rocking chair to make sure she was ok.

    Don't even get me started on the middle kid or the youngest.  I took up residence at the foot of their beds or slept on the floor. In my defense, I hated being startled awake and this was a better alternative for me but not so much for them. 

    Years later, I can honestly say that my urge to hover began to release as they got older and resisted having their 'mommy' hang around prepared to whip out band aids or kleenex. I became busy with life and discovered things that kept me busy. I learned that I had a creative, crafty side. I spent more time doing what I loved and getting to know myself without guilt. Before long, I no longer felt the need to hover or check in with them. I learned to trust God in my journey of mommyhood and not allow fear or the 'what-ifs' to take control. It was a freedom that I and they needed.

    Are you a helicopter mom or a recovering helicopter mom? I'd love to hear your stories of what helped move you towards helicopter freedom!

Things That Make Me Go, 'Hmmm'!

     I'm a friendly person. I can strike up a conversation with just about anyone, including drooling babies. But lately, people have been seeking me out just to talk. Maybe I have this expression on my face that says, "Share anything you want; I'm all yours." Today, while waiting in line at Costco, this man engaged me in a conversation and told me that he'd noticed me walking around the store because he thought I looked like his ex-girlfriend. He proceeded to tell me all about his ex. How he took her to Italy...(she went with him as a virgin and came back as a virgin.) He told me that she walked out on him without leaving a note and, get this...even her own mother thought that she was stupid for leaving him. I learned everything about Ms. Ex...she jilted him for a twice divorced man with 4 kids etc...All of this I found out in the course of about 5 minutes.

     A few weeks ago, a man that was standing in line behind me at the grocery store decided to get up in my personal space. (When I can feel and smell your breath, you are way too close.) He was literally talking in my ear. He kept calling me 'baby' and 'sweetheart'. He told me about his views on life- unfair. He talked about his 'old lady' and said, "if 'mama' ain't happy then no one is happy..." I was taught to always be polite so I kept a smile on my face and nodded a lot.  I couldn't wait until it was my turn to check out.

   Then, a few months ago, this lady approached me and started telling me about how she had gotten injured on the job and was fired unfairly. She went on to tell me that she would be going to court soon and asked if I would go with her. I sympathized, nodded my head and told her that I hoped things got better. Finally she said, "Okay, so my friend, I'll see you at the courthouse? You come to my house first, okay?" Not wanting to disappoint, I told her that I would be there.

    I realize that I'm a lot like my dad. My father was a rather quiet man, who talked to everyone. He knew all about the mail man, the meter reader and trash man. He would say, "Oh, that's Ben...He's a good guy... been dumping trash for 15 years. His wife is visiting family out of state..." My dad knew people that I never could imagine that he would know. When music mogul, Barry Gordy Sr. was alive he would attend the same church. My father would chat with him before he entered church each Sunday.

     Dad crossed paths with a lot of unusual people. Even though he didn't get out as much as he used to, he 'met' a lot of people; celebrities, athletes and entertainers. My dad knew everybody! If I want to know about Magic Johnson, my dad will say, "Yeah, Magic just bought his wife a new house...their kids are doing well..." About Tiger Woods, my dad would say, "That  Tiger isn't looking too good right now...." When I spoke to him on the phone, I expected my dad to say, "Hey did you hear about so and so? Yeah, that dummy broke up with his wife..." It was funny because my dad didn't know these people personally; but he knew all about them. I had no idea how he found out his information, especially since he didn't have a computer, but he's always knew.
    
     I'm glad that I'm like my dad. I believe that every encounter happens for a reason and also believe in divine appointments. When I'm chatting it up with an elderly lady in the store, I feel good knowing that our meeting is a part of His plan. After all, I might be filling a need for someone who is lonely. I may not realize the impact that my passing conversations may have but I do know that I am blessed to share a smile, a laugh or maybe connect with someone who might be in need of a friend

     As weird as it may seem, I also believe that God is present even when we least expect it. We are called to love and respect everyone just as Christ did when He walked this earth. So, I embrace the unexpected grocery store interruptions. Who knows?  My next encounter might actually be God with skin on. Do you chat with people wherever you go? I'd love to hear about it.

    

It's Time for Show and Tell!

     When I was in grade school, one of my favorite activities was, 'show and tell'. Show and tell was when you got to bring something to show or talk about in front of your classmates. On the morning of show and tell, the kids would enter the classroom with their items wrapped up, stored in their book bags, or stashed away in their desks. When someone had something really cool to share they would literally be fidgeting and wiggling around in their chair. When the teacher finally announced that it was time for show and tell everyone's hands went up. The cool thing about show and tell was that you could bring anything to show to the class. Kids brought in furry hamsters, sparkly rocks, pretty hair barrettes and even showed off baby brother or sisters.

     Here's how it went.... Bryan B. walks up to the front of the room and says, "Um, this is my favorite truck. My grandpa gave it to me for my birthday. I like it because it's red and it has wheels..."
Diane S. walks up next and says, "I found this feather in my backyard. I like it cuz it's soft and it tickles..." Next, Susan K.'s mother follows her to the front of the room carrying a drooling baby. "This is my baby brother. His name is Bryce. He drools a lot. I like it when I get to hold him and feed him a bottle. But I don't like it when he pulls my hair...." If we were lucky, the object got to be passed around to examine a little more closely. Show and tell was awesome!!!

     In honor of one of my favorite childhood past times, I would like to introduce a new feature in Living, Loving and All That Jazz fashion called Show and Tell. I would love it if you would join me by sharing something that you enjoy or something that has special meaning to you. It can be anything that you treasure, gives you joy or has significance to you. Feel free to post pictures and link back to me. I am excited to see what you have to share.

   Today for Show and Tell I would like to tell you about one of my lucky yard sale finds.  This little guy is called "Yay Me!" I've always had a thing for chimps, especially vintage ones. When I spotted this one at a yard sale, I figured he would be a bit pricey but my little treasure was only a quarter. The seller actually apologized because he was a bit worn. I love Yay Me because at times I feel like everyone's cheerleader. My little guy cheers me on and cheers me up whenever I'm in need. I just simply wind him up and he'll clang to a happy beat. He always makes me smile. Not bad for a quarter. So, what do you have to show and tell today? Tell me about it!

Break Out the Bandaids and a Box of Kleenex

     Middle child, Cam Bam is in his 30's. It seems like only yesterday that I was kissing his boo boos and wiping away tears after an unexpected tumble. Afterwards, I always did my best to make him smile. He was such a daredevil. Since he is my only boy, I often had to fight the urge to be overly protective. I recall a time when Cam Bam was learning how to ride a bike. He had training wheels, although one  the training wheels were uneven which made for a lopsided ride. Somehow he learned to maneuver by leaning to one side of the bike. He never seemed to realize that he was actually riding a two wheeler at times.

     One day, Cam Bam and Bria were outside riding bikes. I was fixing dinner when I heard this ear piercing cry. I ran to the door to see Bria dragging her brother's bike in one hand and her wailing brother in the other. Apparently, Cam Bam was feeling confident enough to take a ride down a steep hill. He hit a rock, which caused him to wobble and lose his balance. Bike and all, he skidded down the hill on his face, shoulder and back. Of course I tried to stay composed but inwardly I was thinking, "Oh my gosh! My baby is bleeding to death." I tried to dab at his injuries as best as I could. All the while I was saying things like, "Wow, Cam you are so brave!" Then I tried a little humor, "I'm not sure if we have enough bandaids to cover all your boo boos." He didn't appreciate my humor. After all, he was covered with road rash and gravel. We didn't want to run the risk of infection so we took him straight to the doctor, who got him to smile as he cleaned and bandaged his wounds. He wore his scars for a long time; kind of like a badge of honor.

     Well, the other day, Cam Bam called me and casually asked if I could pick him up from work. It seems he had rode his bike to work and on his way home hit a patch of sand and skidded. Like last time, he landed on his face. When I saw him, I immediately flashed back to when my 4 year old boy had attempted to conquer that hill. This time though, he wasn't crying, just bleeding pretty good. I fought the urge to wrap him in my arms and console him. Instead I handed him a wad of paper towels and asked if he was okay. Once he cleaned up, I could tell that he would have road tattoos as a reminder, but otherwise, he would be okay.

    Like most moms, I hate when my kids are hurt, sick or in pain. I wish I could take it all away and just make it better. I want to guard my kids, no matter how old they are from the dangers of life, heartbreaking pain and disappointment. I managed to survive and hold it together when Bria had her heart broken for the first time. I fought the urge to want to solve it for her. If it wasn't for Hubby, I probably would've called loser boy to give him a piece of my mind. But, fortunately Bria bounced back better than I imagined.

 
     I'd like to say that I have all the answers when the kids come to me with their problems, but I don't. There are many times that I'm at a loss for words of comfort.

    How do you handle a kid crisis?