Act Locally

This summer, a new Habitat for Humanity neighborhood began development in my town. Habitat is an organization that I believe in whole-heartedly. We have supported them financially over the years. This summer, my husband and one son actually worked building the first house in the neighborhood.

They enjoyed working alongside other like-minded people wanting to help as well as the family that would live in the house. Additionally, some future homeowners were working on the house too. They made it into an event with on-site lunches and lots of fun as well as hard work.

Two weekends ago, the new owner was handed the keys to her new house.

Two days ago, someone set a fire on the front porch.

I felt as if someone had punched me in the stomach when I read the article in our paper. The homeowner said, "I didn't think something like this would happen so soon." Why would it happen at all? What comes over people to do such cruel things?

So today, I got a nice big basket and loaded up some kitchen staples and took them over to that house. I'm not telling you this because I want you all to praise me or think I'm a great person. I sincerely hope not a one of you will say anything like that in the comments. Honestly.

I'm telling you this because of two reasons.

One, it was an easy thing to do. It wasn't that expensive. It took only a few minutes of my time to put together something that I hope will lift her spirits. And that is exactly why I did it. I would like her to know that there are people here who want her to be happy in her home. Who are proud of her for helping to build that home and the homes of other people. Who want to see her succeed and would like to help in some small way.

Secondly, I tell you this to confess. I have not been a person who acts on a local level. I write a check. I send money. If there is a catastrophe, I happily send money to the Red Cross. Then, I mark it off my list and move on. It was easy for me to be a "couch donor". I've decided I don't want to live like that anymore.

I can't promise you I'll act every time I read a story about someone being down on their luck. But, I'm going to try to do it more often. Sure, I'm still going to send a few checks. We all need to continue to support these organizations - now more than ever.

I want to reach out. I want my kids to see that it is easy to help someone who is having a hard time. We don't have to know their whole story. It's OK that their lives aren't just like ours.

I left the basket of food hidden behind a chair on her front porch. I hope she came home and was uplifted seeing that someone cared.

It was easy. You want to try it with me?

Could you do what Carolyn Savage did?

I hope everyone has heard about the woman in Ohio, Carolyn Savage, who gave birth this weekend to a healthy baby boy. 40 year old Savage had received an embryo transfer at an infertility clinic. Ten days later, she received a phone call informing her that she had been implanted with the embryo that actually belonged to Paul and Shannon Morrell of Detroit. The Morrells were informed of the clinic's error the following day after Savage's notification.

As I said, Savage gave birth to the baby boy this weekend. She immediately handed the baby over to the Morrells.

So here's a woman - a 40 year old woman - who became pregnant through the help of an infertility clinic. I don't know further information about Mrs. Savage. I don't know if she has other children. We can assume she was willing to undergo tremendous financial, emotional, and physical hardships to become pregnant. Otherwise, she wouldn't be needing the assistance of an infertility clinic.

And a miracle occurred. She did become pregnant. Only to learn that the life she was carrying inside her was the genetic offspring, as well as the hopes and dreams, of another couple.

Mrs. Savage could have terminated the pregnancy. She could have fought for custody of the baby she nourished and gave life to. But she didn't.

In a world where it seems everyone is only out for his or herself (Kanye, anyone?) and children are often used for monetary gain and 15 minutes of fame (Gosselins? Octomom?), here is a woman who performed an unbelievable act of selflessness.

She spent the better part of her 40th year of life giving birth to a baby for a couple she had never met.

Every year I am astounded at who the media chooses for Mother of the Year. It's always someone with billions of dollars, six nannies, and several homes to spare. This year, I think we have a clear winner.

Carolyn Savage is my pick for the epitome of Mother of the Year.

Several readers knew more details about this story. Apparently the Savages do have three children, thankfully. As the commenters pointed out, that still doesn't make her act any less amazing.

Exercise - The Suburb Style

I have been fortunate enough to acquire several friends through this blog that are athletes. Runners. Some do marathons. At least one does triathlons. They post wonderful sagas of their training and accomplishments.I try to sound semi-intelligent when I comment.

But, honestly? It's all Greek to me.

I am a slug. Oh sure, I've tried. It always sounds appealing and interesting. No - not the running. Good heavens no. That never sounded appealing. But maybe some other aerobic type exercise. Or yoga. Or pilates.

First, aerobic exercise? They never tell you this up front but that stuff wears you out. I start huffing and puffing and sweating. Awful business. And if you're not careful, you're sore the next day. It's terrible.
Yoga. Now that looked promising. Mostly they just stay in one position. None of that unreasonable bouncing around. What they don't tell you is that gravity works against you in every one of those poses. Plus, I'm old. And stiff. I'm not sure my body ever moved in some of those ways.
Pilates? That would be my niche, I thought. Again, no sudden movements yet they looked like someone who hasn't done time in a circus could possible achieve them. I could get into the positions, I just couldn't repeat them. What is with the obsession on repetitions anyway?
Back to running. Lots and lots of people run in my neighborhood. I see them all the time. Women I know from our kids who are very near my age. Running. In their bras. Oh, I know. They are running bras. When did that become acceptable? If you're young, you're too darn bouncy for those things. And if you're my age, honey, your days of being seen out and about in your undies has come and gone. That is reason enough to never attempt running.
So, I'm doing my own triathlon. First, I nap. Then, I eat something fried - specifically either a potato or corn. They take to deep, hot oil beautifully. Then, I sit on my derriere. And, unlike my athletic friends, I can do this daily or even multiple times a day. In my bra. I'm quite accomplished. You are welcome to join me.But, I dare say you'll never beat me at my game.

All Around East Tennessee

On a beautiful, sunny carefree day at the beginning of summer, an email came to me asking if I'd like to participate in a blogging event to showcase our varied and fabulous 50 states. That sounded like fun to me so I quickly said yes. I was to receive a little mascot that would be showcased in photos around my lovely area.

Lots of bloggers took their mascot to fantastic places and got some exquisite shots. Me, not so much. Seems when the mascot got to my suburb, she decided she wanted to be like so many other Americans this year. She didn't want to paint the town red or gas up the car and go. Oh no. By the time she got to my house, she wanted that latest trend - the Staycation.

Down she plopped on the bookshelf next to all the fantastic books I've snagged in giveaways, out popped her reading glasses (don't let that little outfit fool you - the woman has the eyes of an 80 year old), and she would not budge. Except to slide another chick flick into the DVD or get some more chips and salsa.Oh well, everybody needs a little down time every now and again. Every a super hero. But, had I been able to budge her scantily attired carcass out of my house, I would have shown her a great time around the hills of Tennessee.

I really wanted to take her on a hike. It's our favorite thing to do. When you live next to the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, why wouldn't you hike? I had a guy I know, Ken, invite her to go. I figured a good looking guy might be able to persuade her.
Guess not.

So, we took off without her. Every season in east Tennessee has its beauty. In the summer, we are blessed with flame azaleas.
In the fall, our colors are legendary.
And the winter brings its own sparkle and shine.
The vistas are breathtaking.
We always like to make a water feature our destination.
And you should never discount walking up on some of our local inhabitants.
We have also walked up on a few bears in our time but we are smart enough not to stop to take a photo of those.

If the natural beauty isn't your cup of tea, you could head into Knoxville. Sure, Seattle has its Space Needle but we have our Sunsphere. We have never been quite sure what to do with it, but we still have it.
Fall color continues on the campus of the University of Tennessee where football reigns supreme.
"Oh, Debbie", I hear you saying. "I don't look good in orange." No one does. Just put it on and wear it. 100,000 other people will be walking around looking ridiculous in it too.

We could head back into the mountains and do some massive outlet shopping in Pigeon Forge. While we are there, we could pop into Dollywood and see if our favorite local girl who defines moxie is there - Ms. Dolly Parton herself.
Then we can head back home, grab another good book, and sit on the screen porch. It's the perfect place to unwind after any day. I wouldn't want to live anywhere else.
If you'd like to see more of Mona's travels, her full itinerary can be found at Better in Bulk, Mama's Losing It, Seven Clown Circus, Scary Mommy, and Mayhem and Moxie.

Picking Cherries When They're Ripe

I am a practical woman. Even my husband says so. I don't really have the romantic, sentimental side that so many people have. I tend to think that particular aspect of my personality was greatly shaped by being raised by a father who, as one of 16 children in an impoverished family, didn't ever have a choice not to be practical.
When family members give me gifts, I am always appreciative. I also explain to them that I will use the gift. And I do. Whether it is something brand-new from Target or a 150 year old family heirloom, I use it. As often as possible. Especially the family heirlooms. I've always felt that a little of a person's spirit ends up in a cherished and well-used item and I enjoy feeling a connection with an ancestor when I use items.

My grandmother's old bowl? On my kitchen island right now full of clementines. My husband's great-grandmother's blanket chest? In my bedroom holding linens and being opened frequently. All through our house are items we have been lucky enough to inherit and use. We also treasure them.
When my children were babies and were gifted with delicately smocked or embroidered clothes, I let them wear those clothes. On any ordinary day. They spit up in them and on them. Diapers leaked in them. Some folks probably consider that a crime but every time my kids wore them, I derived intense pleasure seeing them being used.
I really don't believe in saving things. What good are material items if they aren't used and cherished? In my opinion, that is how memories are made.

Which brings me to my cherries. We have a very small cherry tree we started from a cutting from my father's prize tree. This spring, it was finally mature enough to produce some cherries. Maybe 15 cherries. My husband noticed the cherries about an hour before our youngest child was due home from school.
We waited.

When he came home, my husband immediately told him to go pick the cherries and eat them. He raced to the tree.

Not a single cherry was left on that tree. Birds had eaten them all in that solitary hour we had waited.

Never again. I will extend my enjoy life as soon as you can policy to all aspects of our lives from now on.

Life is too short to save experiences for later.

Humility

I first realized the situation 12 years ago when my oldest children played soccer for the first time. There were one or two kids on the team that could actually kick the ball. Mostly, they were out there to have fun, get some exercise, and experience team sports. I think they won two games during the season. All seemed great to me.
Until near the end of the season when an eager, smiling mom approached me to inform me she needed $10 for each of my children for trophies.

Trophies? Were we going to some tournament where everyone pitched in on the cost of trophies? Had something happened that I was unaware of? No. Every child on the team was to receive a trophy for the season.
Reluctantly, I ponied up the cash, attended the team party at the local restaurant and chipped in our family's portion for the coach's trophy as well. I chalked it up to a well-intentioned but misguided parent.

Until the next season when the same scenario played out again. Those of you with kids know this. If your child participates in anything, a huge reward is coming their way. Whether they have truly deserved it or not. No longer are the fun, exercise, and experience of playing a team sport the rewards. Oh no. We must purchase rewards. For everyone.

I then saw this duplicate itself in the classroom. The first time I went to a teacher to politely ask her if she could mark my son's errors on a paper instead of placing a sticker at the top and writing "Good Job!", I was informed that she wasn't going to use a red pen to mark errors because it might harm his self-esteem.
Good grief. I have self-esteem to spare and I can guarantee you some teachers had to buy red pens by the gross to get me through school. That's why I have self-esteem. I learned from my mistakes and reveled in my successes.
My true successes.

And kids do know the difference. At the ripe young age of 11, my daughter came home from school furious one day and slapped an English paper down on the counter. It had a yellow post-it note on the front with a 96 written on it. At first I thought she was upset that she hadn't received higher than a 96. Not my girl. She was smarter than that. She proceeded to explain to me that she didn't know why she received a 96 and not a 76 or an 86 or even a 99. Because there were no other words or markings on her paper. No feedback whatsoever. She was livid because she didn't know why she deserved a 96.

We have been creating generations of kids who do not know how to truly work toward a goal. They don't know how to accept failure and learn from it. They don't realize that some people excel in one area while others find different avenues in which to do well. We've led them to believe they are great in everything.

Incapable of mistakes. Justified in all they do. Right no matter what.
Now, could this lead to grown men, elected officials, yelling rude and disrespectful comments to the President of the United States in a public event? Or to a spoiled performer strutting uninvited onto a stage to rip a microphone out of young woman's hand and announce that she was not the performer he believed should have won?
I think so. I think we have created a culture where everyone thinks they are right and justified in all that they do. I'm sad for what we've lost. I think it's called humility.

Two Truths and a Lie - and maybe some drugs

Today, for kicks and giggles (and also because rumor has it that some folks I don't know from SITS might be dropping by), I thought we'd play that fun game "Two truths and a lie" to get to know me better. I know you are excited so let's jump right in.
1. I am exactly like Oprah Winfrey
2. I am exactly like Bill Gates
3. I am exactly like Michelle ObamaYou caught me - they are all true. Here's why. Oprah and I both are from Tennessee, Bill and I both spent our formative years as nerds, and Michelle and I both get criticized when we appear in public wearing shorts.

Freaky, isn't it? Even I am astounded by how much I have in common with the elite of America. Sadly, I currently have quite a bit in common with another celebrity - Amy Winehouse. I know you're jealous. Allow me to explain.
My family's health insurance currently allows us to contribute to a Flex account and then spend the money through the year. We were told we had maxed it out back in the spring. That didn't surprise me since we had hospital bills from my son's black widow spider bite fiasco and then your garden variety annual bills (mammogram, pap smear, colonoscopy - you know, all the fun tests you look forward to with glee). Looking back over our year, I was just glad we made it as far as we did.
Surprise! We received a message last week that we actually had money in our flex account. Quite a bit of money. And it had to be spent by September 14. Today. I looked around at the clan and quickly deduced we thankfully did not need any joint replacements or artificial limbs. I could have been reimbursed for Christian Science practitioner's fees but I didn't know one. Psychiatric care is covered and I sure didn't think anyone would dispute my need for it, but I thought one week to help me would put a little too much stress on even the best doctor.So I did the only thing I knew to do. I armed myself with the approved over-the-counter medication list and went shopping.

Boy, did I go shopping. Our house is now pharmaceutical central. If it is an approved drug, we own it. We own several of it.
I think even Amy would be jealous of my stash. I'm just sad they don't reimburse for make-up. Then I could truly be like her.I'd like to say welcome to all of the fine folks from SITS as well as my beloved regular readers. And if by some chance you don't know what SITS is, do go over and take a look around. I'm made some fantastic friends through that site and hope to make more today.

Fall - not the best season of my life

I was treading carefully across the room toward the bed when it happened. As usual, I fell into bed groaning and screaming - and not in a good way. I had stepped on the corner of an open box. The sharp cardboard corner finding the softest part of my foot.
We've all done this. And I dare say that those of us that are parents have stepped on even more than our fair share of nighttime obstacles. Those sweet delights of our daytime eyes love nothing more than leaving seemingly innocent objects in our nighttime paths.
Legos. Those I have decided are by far the worst. A Lego piece properly stepped upon can slice right through the foot. I speak from experience. Actually, multiple experiences. (I never claimed to be a fast learner.) But any hard plastic toy can be deadly in the middle of the night. And while I think I have good children, I also readily admit to having messy children. It is deadly in their rooms after dark.
One child loves to rearrange. Daily. I am not exaggerating. Every day his room is configured differently. I don't even go in there at night. If he needs me, I call to him from the doorway. I fell over the open footrest of his recliner one night. (Yes, he drug an old soon-to-be discarded recliner into his room.) That type of experience will teach even a hard head like me to stay out.
We do this to ourselves as well. Who was the genius that decided that wooden storage chests with sharp edges made great items for the foot of a bed? And why are the legs of beds made of such a hard material? I say coat them in that lovely memory foam like we have topping our beds these days. Now that would make my nighttime sojourns far less menacing.

I don't know what the true solution is. Our family will never be the sort to have a perfectly picked-up house before bed. That answer is definitely out. They make glow-in-the dark nail polish. Maybe they could just kick it up a notch and have the toenails actually emit light. That might help me.
Or maybe not. Honestly, I trip and fall in the bright daylight just as much. Once, I was carrying a laundry basket through my kitchen. It was somewhat blocking my view of what was soon to be under my feet. I soon fell right over one of those little popping toys on a stick that kids love to push around. As I landed with a thud and a cry of pain in the middle of my kitchen floor, my then three year old came rushing to console me. "Don't worry, Mommy", he said. "The toy isn't broken."No, mommy's foot was though.

Thank God for calcium supplements, It's hard to tell what I'll trip over tonight.

Thighs of a Certain Size

I celebrated all weekend. I even continued my celebrating into the first half of this week. What am I celebrating? Finally some medical news worth printing. Something that has made all of these 47 years worthwhile. Something truly wonderful and miraculous.
Scientists now say that women with thin thighs are much more likely to die of heart disease.

My cellulite sisters and I can now flash that cottage cheese look we are styling with smiles on our faces and a virtual kick in our step. (We wouldn't really kick because that might shrink the thighs.)
After years and years of scientists deciding that every single enjoyable thing in life will somehow lead to an early death or a disease that will may us wish for one, we get this little glimmer of hope. The article stated the researchers weren't really sure why very thin thighs seemed to be a harbinger of heart disease. That was OK with me. I was already digging a spoon into my gallon of Ben and Jerry's with a smug smile on my face.
Granted, I seem to recall some trivial mention in the article that the fatter the thigh did not mean the healthier the life. Whatever. Scientists are always missing out on the finer points in their studies anyway. It's a well-known fact that they are not as smart as they look.As for me, I'm just secure in the knowledge that those America's Top Model gals are never going to have the healthy thighs I'm dragging around through life.

Now, if someone could just explain to me how to fit these icons of health into my jeans.

Teaching Healthy Relationships

You all leave me the best comments. Next to my parents, you all give me the most positive feedback. Somehow after my last post on the stalking parents, I feel like I need to set the record straight.
I am not the perfect parent. Not by a long stretch. As a matter of fact, I feel like the baker whose cakes are in the oven. I have no idea how they will really turn out. They may fall, they may burn, they may stick to the pan and have to be served in a trifle bowl with lots of whipped cream and fresh fruit. Oops, my mind might have strayed just a wee bit there.
So many of you commented about me being such a great parent. Now granted, maybe that is the serious post's version of LOL in the comments. But I did want to set the record straight. I'm not trying to prove to anyone that I am a great parent. I make far more than my share of mess-ups. I just tend to not write about them. I have always resented that Debbie Downer name and I strive to not be one.
I learn volumes about parenting from each of you. I love hearing about your experiences as a parent or grandparent, or about your experiences with your own parents. I gain far more from you than you could ever get from me.

Having said that, I do want to expand on an aspect from the last post - teens and relationships. Immediately prior to pulling into McDonald's that day with my son and his friend and then finding out he was being stalked by his girlfriend's mother, I had asked my son my usual question: Does your friend and his girlfriend have a healthy relationship?

That is the key term I use with my kids to discuss relationships - a healthy relationship. They've discussed relationships in health classes, in scout troops, and in church groups. And believe me, they have heard about what their father and I deem to be healthy relationships. We also feel we've modeled one for them all of their lives.They've been blessed to grow up in a house where the adults do not yell at each other or really even argue. Sure, we disagree at times but it tends to be extremely civil. How is this possible? I married a saint. Either that or he has a huge stockpile of medications and vodka hidden in his closet that he imbibes to put up with me. All I know is that we are true partners - and our kids see that.We've also been very vocal with them on what we think are healthy relationships for different ages of young people. This varies from family to family but mine know that I don't think kids younger than middle school age have any business having a boyfriend or girlfriend. And through middle school I'd like them to be herd animals. We don't really need to be pairing off too young.
I ask them if their friends who are in relationships are dealing with jealousy. Then we talk about how a healthy relationship allows each individual to be an individual. And how trust is at the basis of any healthy relationship at any age.

By high school, they know I don't think a senior boy has a bit of business dating a freshman girl. What would they talk about - her braces and his college applications? Or the fact that he can legally get a tattoo while she doesn't even have a learner's permit? Shared experiences are key to a healthy relationship.

They know where I stand on sex, drugs, and alcohol in general but also in their roles in relationships. Yes, I ask them lots of questions about couples they know. How else can I get my morals and values across to them while they are still under my roof?

So, before I ever walked into that McDonald's with my son to meet his friend, I had already asked the question. Does your friend and his girlfriend have a healthy relationship? My son's answer? "Yes, but the relationship with the girl's parents is very unhealthy."

Mission accomplished.