Live Mas! And With Kindness, Too...

Today I was juggling many items on this ridiculous to-do list- the one that's been giving me insomnia, migraines, and heart palpitations.  Yeah, fun times!  Anyway, I rushed out the door to an appointment, with one begrudging child in tow so we could talk on the way.

Once I finished with the appointment, I decided to head to Taco Bell, taking the easy way out on at least one item on this list.  We did a u-turn at the train tracks because I don't have the patience today, and went to the Taco Bell that's a bit further away, probably saving no actual time and spending a bit more gas, but allowing me to feel better because I was actually moving.

We took our place in line with, well- the rest of the  free world, and slowly inched our way toward food.  Jasen Riley thought he'd be funny at the talky box (We've talked about this.  It's a word now) despite the impatient line behind us and my inability to deal with even minor stresses at the moment, taking forever to say what he wanted and not telling me that he didn't want a soda and was ordering his brother's choice until after I did the same.  So I had to change the order.  Yeah, it was super NOT funny.  But finally after a couple of false starts and about 5 exhausted apologies, I made my way around to the window.

This would be the window where I realized that I didn't have my purse.  I had $12 in cash thanks to my appointment before, but a $17 order, I think.  And the dread set in.  This is exhausting, stressful, and embarrassing.  Really embarrassing.

With little choice, I related my sad tale to the busy woman at the window who had already had to deal with my ordering situation and was facing a line of hungry customers.  I asked her if I could pay for part of it now and come back for the rest.  And you might guess what comes next.

I'm sure we've all encountered the harried employee who forgets customer service after having to deal with the stresses of the industry.  You've seen the eyeroll, heard the tone when you ask for more napkins, perhaps even dealt with the ridiculous employee who can't even be bothered to do the job at all- even without complications like this one.  You've witnessed the judgement and disdain that only compounds the embarrassment of idiocy exposed.

But this isn't that story.  She simply asked me how much money I had, with no trace of annoyance or even concern about what impatient person she might face next.  She spoke with straightforward kindness, not even pity which might heighten embarrassment, and then when I answered her, this amazing woman simply set to work calculating how she might be able to fix my problem for me.

She gave me a senior discount (I was having a senior moment, so that's fair, I guess), and when that still left me  scrounging through my change for the rest, she decided to comp me the 2 soft tacos as a "promo," getting my total to $13.15 and us on our merry way.

Perhaps that train sent me exactly where I was meant to go, so that we could pick up something more important than a quick lunch.  I left Taco Bell today with the food that would help fill my boys' bellies, but more importantly, with the simple act of unearned kindness that has filled our hearts and spirits.

A Tale of Two Balloons

He had me tie the yellow balloon to the red one, in the young, optimistic hope that the red balloon, still high on the helium of balloon life, would pull the yellow one up and help it to float.  But the yellow balloon didn't rise much.  No, instead its drooping weight pulled, dragging the happy red one down.

"Cut it off, Mommy!  At least the red one should float," he exclaimed with the simplistic, albeit fickle, certainty that five year olds are so blessed with.  And so I cut the yellow balloon loose and watched as it quickly sank, releasing that red balloon back to its full potential.  He cheered.

But I felt a twinge of sadness, thinking about how many people are like those two balloons.  How often some joyful soul finds itself tethered to a negative weight that just drags it down.  How much more complicated it is when contemplating the cutting of those strings.  The choice is never so sure and easy with people, and yet the illustration seems sound, and so very tragic.  Why should that red balloon be pulled down, potential lost?

But if the ties were to be severed... What of the sad, yellow balloon?  It is sinking under its own weight, but why?  Is it solely to blame for being the way that it is?  Were there influences, predisposed conditions that the poor yellow balloon just could not overcome?  What of history, family, love?  What about obligations, vows?  Responsibility and guilt, deserved or otherwise, are invisible strings, harder to really see, much more difficult to sever.  But if they are not, how long before the joy and life is drained of them both?

He just came to see me again as I pondered these questions, the now-deflated yellow balloon slack and shriveled across the small palms that carried it reverently.  "It died," he said softly, sadly.

But after a single, grieving moment, he was off- running toward his room, red balloon streaming behind him proud and strong, soaring high on a five year old whoop of joy, helium, and the breath of hope.

That's Vanilla-bean-scone-tastic!!!

So none of us like to leave the house looking less than our best.  It seems like that's when we run into every single person we know, or want to know, or end up on tv... But it turns out that every once in awhile, when you find yourself out and about despite your raggedy appearance, it can really pay off.

The last few days I've been feeling pretty blah.  Headaches and insomnia have been uninvited guests that are free to move on at any moment (no seriously, go away!!)  Every time someone mentioned leaving the house (ok, my bed) my response was pretty much: 😒.  But I had to pull it together and take my nephew home this evening.  So I brushed my teeth, exerting the most minimal grooming effort possible- while averting my eyes so the mirror couldn't remind me about the hair situation, lack of makeup, or the weary expression reflected there, and headed out.  On the way home, my presumptuous car just drove itself over to Starbucks, and after I got over the utter surprise, I decided, what the hey- I needed a pick-me-up anyway...

As I pulled up to the talky box (yes, that IS an official term, just not everyone knows it!  Now you do, so you're welcome.) I ordered my coffee frap and, with much anticipation and hope, asked if they had any vanilla bean scones.  I love these.  So naturally, they almost never have them.  And predictably, disappointment ebbed out of the talky box, "No, I'm sorry, we don't."  I confirmed it would be just the coffee then and pulled around to the window.

The barista at the window slid open the panel of glass and automatically asked me how I was doing today.  Then she glanced up and said, "Oh, you look tired."  I confirmed that looks aren't always deceiving, then turned the conversation back to more important matters: "Do you guys ever have any of these scones left at the end of the day?  I'm guessing you don't since most of the time you're out when I come by.  I'm so sad..."

And she paused, pity in her eyes for this literal Raggedy Ann, then told me that she couldn't make any promises, but she would go check in the back for me.  I tried not to get too excited.  And yes, I realize this is sounding pretty sad, but I mean... vanilla bean scones, people.  So as the seconds ticked by, I tried to distract myself by opening Pokemon Go (the parking lot with SIX pokestops is just across the street!) with a little success, when suddenly she reappeared at the window.  

"I have good news and better news," she joyfully exclaimed, holding up a box filled with vanilla bean scones.  The good news was that this box was in the back.  The BETTER news was that it was filled with day old scones- the ones they donate or allow employees to take home to friends and family.  And then this barista, the most AWESOMEST barista IN THE WORLD, held them out to me, offering me the entire box for free.  It might have been a reflection from the tear in my eye, but as I drove away, I could swear a saw a little glow above her head where a halo would be.

Blood May Be Thicker Than Water... But You're Still Cleaning You're Own Room!

Just living here is chaos.  But I found it even more exhausting when time after time, I would give my boys a job to do around the house and they would come to me with their serious cherubic faces, charlatan claims bouncing off their deceptive little tongues: "all done!"  So I would stop what I was doing and go take a look, only to discover that they weren't even trying to fool me really, they were just hoping I wouldn't check.

Or wait, no- that can't be the whole thought process because soon enough they learned that I would be checking their work before they were released to the freedom of play, and yet they would still come in a zillion times more, the progress meter inching grudgingly to 5%, 12%, 37%, 50% completion- driving me crazy and keeping me from getting anything else done!  Perhaps they just hoped they would wear me down.  Not a bad plan, really, except eventually, I'm bound to have the stamina to really hang in there...

So, finding myself unready to yield to that life-sapping idea,  I decided to instruct them to have each other check the work before bothering me. Which was fine, except those little buggers are sneaky!  If they wanted to get along and play together, they would just approve of the most ridiculous results- out of loyalty, I suppose.  Afterall, blood is thicker than chore-sweat, right?  The bro-code is serious business.  Not to mention, with the right incentives these children of mine are easily bought.  And soon I found myself frustrated at two or more children each time I asked for something to be done instead of just the one original little slacker!

And then, finally- one frustrating, head-pounding, hair-wrenching day marked with much weeping and gnashing of teeth (mostly mine)- like a ray of sunshine bursting through thick menacing clouds... it came to me.  An idea so delightfully simple that I couldn't believe I didn't think of it before!  They HATE it. So, naturally I love it.  And while I can't claim a miracle cure for every day and every chore, it has truly worked wonders.

Here are the guidelines for my little "slave-labor" quality controllers: Check the work. Check it thoroughly. Check it knowing that if I come in after you've approved the work, and I disagree with your analysis- YOU will be the one finishing the job!

Suddenly, it's a brand new game!  It is truly nothing short of amazing how their observation skills have improved, to say nothing of how much more I can accomplish during chore time these days.  The price for fake stamps of approval are so high now that no one can afford them.  And it turns out that a brother's love will take you far, my friend, but not that far.  Clean your own room!

  

A Lingering Winter Lament

Red River families are no strangers to fickle weather.  The long-standing joke holds that if you don't like the weather, wait a minute, and it will change.  Having lived most of my life here where Mother Nature loves to indulge her whims, I should be prepared.  I know; I get it.

But this?  This goes too far beyond what we bargained for!  Week after week, spring has danced the Texas two-step with a clinging winter that adamantly stalks us as we attempt to flee into the freedom of capris, shorts, tank tops, and flip flops.   The sunshiny days tease, and each time we fall for it, happily packing coats and mittens away, only to be stung by the whip of icy wind like the mischievous snap of a towel in the locker room when we weren't looking.  Enough already!

Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the wonder of winter.  I adore languid days spent cuddling with my boys before a crackling fire, or watching merriment and chill paint their little cheeks red as they find each breath puffing out in smokey wisps they can see.  Giggles echo from the happy memories of snow missiles zipping past screaming, laughing, exhilarated bundled up boys as they face off in hand to hand snowball combat.  Snuggly sweaters, hot cocoa, and fun winter hats- I adore them...

But hello!  It's April!  And as momentarily amazing (when not weeping at the fate of the poor plants who bravely pushed their way into this madness) as it was to find ourselves living in a Photoshopped world of blossoming trees captured in ice above rich carpets of green grass, I'm over it.
Bring on the sweet breezes, the promise of warmth for a time.  Give us the renewal that the seasons promise, that hope of spring we all depend on to help raise our spirits after winter's dark chill.  It's time for brightly colored sidewalks with scattered remnants of chalk, for the jubilant squeals of children racing back and forth on their bicycles and scooters. I'm ready to hear them sweetly beg for just five more minutes of playing under blue skies with the melody and aromas of spring swirling around them.

Maestro!  Change the music!  We've grown tired of the two-step, at least for now.  Summer will soon be upon us; let us finally waltz into spring.

If You're Happy and You Know It...

Here at the Nutthouse, we love our TiVo, so a lot of commercials go unnoticed.  When I get sucked into a project, though, I'm not exactly on top of the remote and the fast forward button gets a well-deserved break. Recently, as I toiled away on something truly important, like checking out the latest and greatest Pinterest has to offer, a Target commercial came on. Suddenly, all-too-familiar lyrics in a fun new remix (the likes of which could never be ignored by a mom and preschool teacher) pulled me out of my laptop reverie, demanding my attention. "If you're happy and you know it, clap your hands. Si te sientes amor feliz aplaude asi..."

Tuned in now, but still toying with my computer, I listened- simply enjoying the fresh presentation of tired material, until the altered final line of this new version gave me pause: "If you're happy and you know it, then your life will surely show it..." Such a small change, that one little word- and yet it takes a simple childhood melody about celebrating happiness and transforms it into a lesson about creating it. 

 Life is a series of choices. Many things happen to us that are beyond our control - things we didn't, wouldn't, couldn't choose - but we can choose how to conduct ourselves, what lessons we will take away, what attitudes to move forward with. We can choose to cover ourselves in insecurity, devastation, or despair. Or, we can choose to dust ourselves off, to focus on the many blessings we still have, and refuse to let happiness be a fickle thing out of our reach.  We build our lives;  we should build them with the things that give us joy.  When we do that, happiness inevitably follows, and of course, our lives will show it. 

 From now on, when I sing about happiness with the children at school or at home, we will still sing about the smiles that celebrate happiness, but I also want to add this new verse. They need to know that a happy life is created and not inherited. Life is what you make it, boys and girls- so make it happy.