Thanks Margaret!

Do you ever reflect upon the events that brought you to where you are today; pondering those decisions, whether good or bad, that built character in you and paved a path for you?

I have been watching a lot of biographies lately, thanks to the Biography channel and Hulu.  It is fascinating to hear about people's stories.  Where they came from.  How they are wired.  What motivates them.  What they are known for or what sort of impression they have or had on others.

Sometimes I wonder if I should have accomplished more in my 30, almost 31, years.  Then I think, what does that even mean?  What is the "more" that I should have accomplished?

Thinking about what should've/would've/could've been creates wonderment around my purpose and what I want to be remembered for.  What sort of imprint do I want to leave on this world? For my family? Friends?

When I ask myself about my accomplishments, legacy, impact, purpose, etc., it seems a bit overwhelming and daunting.  It seems overwhelming because my mind naturally goes in the direction of needing to do something huge and awesome that will somehow influence a mass so that I am remembered for that great thing.  Let's be honest, I don't foresee myself ever walking on the moon, being the President of the United States, starring in a major blockbuster movie, or bringing world peace.

Recognizing that my imprint may not be as grandiose as the aforementioned, I am stirred by the practical ways in which my legacy is created.  Margaret Mead said it well, "A small group of thoughtful people could change the world. Indeed, it's the only thing that ever has."

I love this thought for a couple of reasons: 1. It seems attainable.  Even on days where it feels difficult to be considerate and loving of others, we can still make it happen.  2. There are others in it together, gathered around a shared vision.  It doesn't all rest on one person's shoulders to bring change. 

White egg yolk?

Recently, I have been trying to balance out my diet, paying attention to consuming the nutrients my body needs.  Spinach salads are one of my favorites when it comes to salad.  Baby spinach topped with Applewood Smoked Bacon, an egg, onions and Smokehouse Vinaigrette.  Tasty, tasty.

Today I performed my normal routine when preparing to partake of this salad: take lid off of container, pour Smokehouse Vinaigrette over salad, place lid back on container and shake, shake, shake.  Remove lid and dive in.

As I was devouring this delectable dish, I noticed the egg looked unusual.  What, pray tell, was wrong with this egg?  Upon further examination, the yolk appeared to be white, not yellow.  Never have I seen anything like it and I have seen a lot of eggs in my day.  I have seen two yolks in one egg before, but never a non-yellow yolk.  Immediately, I typed “white egg yolk” into Google.  Could it have expired?  Been produced by a sickly bird? 

After reviewing some sources, it seems that a white egg yolk is rare, but not unheard of.  It also is quite edible.  Whew! 

I finished my salad and enjoyed every bit of it.  The white egg yolk, however, is sitting in the empty salad container next to me.  I just cannot do it.  Not today.  Maybe next time.

Just another day?

Yesterday was Valentine’s Day.  Justin and I don’t really go all out on this day because it is a little ridiculous.  In fact, we didn’t get each other anything this year.  Don’t get me wrong, chocolates, cards, and flowers are wonderful and I love receiving these things, but I also enjoy getting chocolates on sale the day after, and cards and flowers throughout the entire year and not just on a day where you are “supposed” to get those.  However, aside from the gifts, we did have dinner plans.  I was so looking forward to a night out.

We were invited to share a meal with some very dear friends.  Salmon, chicken Parmesan, pasta, roasted vegetables, bread, wine, Pellegrino, salad, and chocolate cake were on the menu.  I was a very happy lady!  I can’t remember the last time that I had such a scrumptious meal.   Along with the delectable food, there was a lot of laughter.  There were many stories and jokes being told throughout the evening.  It was great and I do not remember the last time that I have laughed so hard.  It was a much needed evening, especially for my soul.

One of my friends, of about eight years, shared about the journey he is on and how each person around the table was a part of who he is becoming.  He has an amazing gift for encouraging and uplifting people.  It was so beautiful and affirming.  Those were words that I needed to hear – my soul needed to hear.  I remember thinking that each one of us there is a part of something grand and as I looked around the table I knew that we were all better because of who was present, because of who was sitting next to us.  We are all better spouses, parents, friends, and human beings by doing life with one another.  It was a moment of joy and wonderment.  I wanted this evening to go on and didn’t want it to end.  

Alas, all things must come to an end, right?  But there was something sparked in me, something deep in my soul.  As my friend shared, there were things that resonated in what he was saying, stuff that paralleled some of what I was discovering about my own journey and who I am.  Two things stood out to me:  1) that when he started to write his last album (he is a songwriter), he noticed a lot of anger coming out on the pages, and 2) that he saw a lot of his insecurities over the last year.  

Though these things were only a mention, this led me to do a little soul searching of my own.  I hold some anger (while I wouldn’t say I am an angry person) and I observe it when I read some of my journal entries over the past ten years and some even beyond that.  I see it when I lay awake at night and I replay scenarios in my mind and I sense the anger rise in me.  What I know to be true is that I am not an angry person and that there is something deeper in it.  Most of my anger stems from being hurt, from situations where people have let me down in a major way, and I feel it in the core of my being.  Needless to say, this has influenced some relationships and has hindered me from experiencing life in them.

The insecurities part I notice on occasion in relationships, but more prevalent in how I view myself.  A significant pattern in my journey is the lack of grace that I have for myself and how quickly I can feel worthless and insignificant.  Constantly I am challenged to view myself through a different lens that is not my own.  

What I know to be true is that I am a better wife, mother, and friend because of the dear friends I get to experience life with.  This journey is not meant to be experienced alone.  There is beauty is our messiness and sometimes the only way is through.  Last night I lay awake feeling an overwhelming sense of joy and hope because several hours earlier I saw a glimpse of heaven.

J.E.W.

About eight years ago, I had a roommate who played the harp and loved classical music.  She also loved J.E.W. aka Jimmy Eat World.  It would be blaring on the stereo system from time to time as she went about her day.  Today, I live with someone who has a similar, perhaps greater, love for J.E.W. – my husband. 

Normally, when I drive alone, I drive in silence (unless I decide to break out in song).  I appreciate silence as there does not seem to be much found in an average day for me.  When I got into the car this morning, the radio was all ready on and I decided to sift through the stations: 101.3 (ehh), 91.1 (hmm), 98.5 (no), 94.5 (nah), 97.1 (blah), and so on and so forth.  Alas, nothing seemed to fit my disposition as I drove in the -10 degree temperature.  When braving these below freezing (dare I say, painful) temps, one must find the right music to stay motivated to continue on with the day.  Determined not to drive in silence this morning, I turned to the CD selection in hopes that something would prevail. 

There it was, right past Brandon Flowers (sorry Brandon) in slot number five.  Jimmy Eat World.  I was feeling it.  I really like one song in particular, “A Praise Chorus.”  I found myself listening to it repeatedly on the commute this morning, somewhat loudly I might add.  Loudly enough, in fact, that while waiting for a stoplight to turn green, I wondered if I was that person.  You know, the person who listens so loudly to the music that the other drivers sitting in their vehicles can hear it.  Secretly, I hoped I was that person.  This rockin’ anthem-like song should be heard by all!

Thank you J.E.W. for accompanying me on my very frigid commute this morning!

Try Again

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" screeched my daughter at the top of her lungs as she threw herself on to the floor and let out some cries.  One might think that she just had her arm cut off or something of the sort.

I looked at her to get a read on the situation.  It appeared that she was trying to put her Princess Presto cape on which straps around the neck and then attaches into place with velcro.  She kept fiercely trying to get the pink cape up over her shoulders, but it was getting stuck around the mid-body and she couldn't seem to shimmy it up past her upper half in order to secure it and go about playing.  I calmly asked her if she needed some help.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" she screamed back at me, "I'll do it myself!"  This went on for several minutes - the screaming, crying, and demands that she do it herself.

When the noise had subsided, I looked over at her to assess the progress.  I noticed that she was lying on the floor.  With some further observation, I noticed that she was securing the cape strap.  She had decided to lay the cape on the floor, lay her body on top of the cape positioning her neck precisely by the strap, and fasten the strap around her neck.  Genius (for a three-year-old)!

"You did it!" I exclaimed with excitement while clapping my hands rejoicing in her great triumph.

She stood up, looked at me, and in a very matter-of-fact way stated, "I just needed to try again."

Listening to the Happenings

I recently read about someone who decided to experiment with listening to the sounds of life.  The sounds of life meaning the literal sounds that he heard at any given time throughout his day.  He recalls listening to a clock ticking in concurrence with swallows twittering (not to be mistaken with tweeting) outside in the back yard as his stomach begins to growl anticipating lunch, and he is convinced that there is something to be heard in the humdrum of his day, in the noise that adds to the busyness, should he take the time to listen. 

He writes a series of lectures about this experiment.  It is fascinating and inspiring, even challenging.  I find this exercise particularly challenging because some days it takes great effort to accomplish simple tasks like getting the clean clothes (that have been sitting in the wash basket for a week) folded and put away, let alone intentionally listening to the sounds of life in hopes to discover something deeper within.

I find that life happens and that it happens quickly.  At the beginning of the week, I sometimes forget what events took place at the end of the last.  Not because I was intoxicated in the days between, but rather due to lack of being present in the moments and listening to what is happening as I go about.  I seem to get caught up in the next thing in order to ensure that everything that absolutely needs to is accomplished.

So, here I am.  My eyes closed. I hear my space heater humming at my feet.  I hear the buzz from the lights above and the clicking of the keys on the keyboard as I type.  As my head tilts from side to side, stretching out muscles sore from a restless night, I am increasingly aware of my poor posture.  Correcting that.  Breathing.  Waiting . . . and now feeling more sleepy than I was prior to doing this little experiment.  I have now discovered a relaxation exercise and a solution to those times I lie awake at night for no apparent reason.  All I need to do is listen to the sounds around me.

Seriously though, life will not slow down and wait for me to catch up.  I challenge myself to find moments in my daily routine to pay attention to the sounds of life.  I do not want to miss the beauty that lies in listening to the happenings. 

The Joys of Nap Time

Okay . . . nap time is in session.  I am listening to the noises of my children, who are not quite sleeping yet, ring through the monitors.  A door opens and I hear footsteps upstairs.  The door closes and the playing continues.

I have to admit that this is the daily routine when it comes to naps and can carry on for up to two hours.  I am going to be patient this day as I sit here writing about how I try to live in the moment and all that jazz.  So, I'll give them some extra time to burn some energy and settle down, maybe ten minutes or so.

My daughter has discovered how to work the monitor in her room in that she knows we can hear her through it and uses it for communication purposes.  When she is in a bind (and doesn't feel like leaving her room) or REALLY wants to get our attention for whatever reason, she will get real close to the base and talk to us as if it were a microphone or something of the sort.  Her little three-year-old voice blaring throughout our downstairs level as she makes her important announcement is not only startling, but brings a smile.  Oh, the joys of nap time.

First Things First

This moment is a little chaotic.  I am new to the blog world and I somehow ended up creating two completely separate blogs as I rushed through the process in order to finish in time to get lunch ready.  While trying to at least get something up and going, I had one child asking me, or more like demanding to know, what princess doll I would like to play with and another child screaming at the top of his lungs.  He was screaming at the top of his lungs not because he needed anything in particular, but because he can - he is discovering his voice.  Oh, and in case you were curious, I chose to play with Cinderella.  But, I couldn't just say, "I choose Cinderella," I had to specify which Cinderella doll I wanted as there are two.

At any rate, as I type away (quite quickly I might add) I look across the table and see my daughter giving her little brother some cheese to snack on.  She breaks the little cubes apart since he is too little to do it himself and places them on his tray.  This is a great moment as she is usually taking his snacks from him.

More to come . . .