One More Day

This isn't like my usual posts, but for some reason I feel the need to write about it.

Just today, there were reports that a person well-known in the Auburn University community is on life- support because of a possible self-inflicted gunshot wound. We hear about suicide and suicide attempts more often than we should, and we all know that unfortunately it happens way too often. And of course it should NEVER happen.

But what makes this different, other than the fact that my husband personally knew this person, is the fact that he was KNOWN for being happy. He was known for his faith. He was known for lifting people up. You always hear people say it, but he is literally one of the last people you would ever expect to get to that point.

Which just goes to show, we never, NEVER know what people are going through inside. Sometimes, in fact, MANY times, those who seem the absolute happiest are the ones struggling the most. To many, being happy and bubbly is a mask to hide a very deep hurt. Think about all of the comedians who we come to later find out are actually some of the saddest and most depressed among us.

One of the things that always upsets me so much when I hear about suicide is the thought, "What if he or she had just waited one more day? ONE. MORE. DAY."

Surely something would have changed. Think about all of the times in your life that you have felt at your breaking point and then think about what a difference one day could make. One walk outside. One talk with a good friend. One heartfelt prayer. One good night's sleep. Just one...SOMETHING.

I'm not suggesting that a walk or kind words or rest could alleviate deep depression. That notion would be ridiculous. However, I still always wonder if maybe one more day would have changed their perspective, just enough. Maybe they would decide to seek therapy. Maybe decide to go talk to a pastor. Anything.

After all, our feelings of desperation can be so volatile. What seems impossible in one moment, may seem possible the next.

I think I heard somewhere that if someone were standing on the edge of a building preparing to jump and you tried to push that person, he would hang on for dear life. We would naturally fight to survive. Self-preservation is our strongest instinct.

I don't think anyone really wants to die. What they truly want is the pain and suffering to end, and sadly they reach a point mentally where they see no way out.

And what is so sad is that there are so many ways out. So. Many. Ways.

They say that suicide is the most selfish thing a person can do. And, really, it is. Nothing can devastate a family, friends, or a community more. But I have never believed that people who have reached the point of taking their own lives are thinking about anything or anyone other than escaping the pain. It IS a selfish act, and there is nothing, absolutely NOTHING that could hurt a family more. But in the moment, in THAT moment,  I don't think they are BEING selfish. They are DOING selfish, but not BEING selfish. They aren't capable of being selfish when they are SO broken, so mentally ill.

Usually when someone takes his life, we question if there is anything we could have done. Is there something we could have said? Something we could have done? But honestly, when someone is to that point, when someone is THAT broken, that person has to save himself. That person has to dig deep inside and come up with something, even if it's mustard seed in size, but something small within that still has hope. And then that person must use that mustard seed of hope and every fiber of inner strength to focus on that hope and let it grow bigger.

Which leads back to my earlier question...what if he had waited one more day? Just one more?

It also makes me stop and think about all of these children being bullied all around the world. It makes me think about the hurt and deep scars the bullying is causing. Not all victims speak up. Not all victims seem sad.

Once again, this man I was speaking of earlier was KNOWN for being happy.

If you stop and think, it really makes you want to be nice to everyone you meet, for you truly have no idea what pain they are struggling with inside.

My hope is that those out there who are struggling, wanting to escape some sort of pain...I hope they never get to the point where they are so hopeless that they see no way out. There is always a way out. And tomorrow can bring hope.

Just one more day can make all the difference.

Put Me in Coach...I'm Ready to Play!

Okay, so those who know me best knew there had to be a baseball post coming. Oh yeah, here it is...
Try not to fall asleep because I promise I am getting to the point.

First, let me say that when I was in high school, I did not enjoy watching baseball games. I was dating a guy who played football, basketball, golf, and baseball. As the dutiful girlfriend, I trudged to many, if not all, sporting events. To me, then, golf and baseball were definitely the least enjoyable to watch. I mostly just talked in the stands, ate candy bars, and clapped at the appropriate times.

Well, let's just say times have changed!!!

I don't know if I've simply developed an appreciation for America's sport or if my own flesh and blood playing has made all the difference. But I am a total, card-carrying  Baseball Mom. Bar none.

Much to the disappointment and embarrassment of my friend, I have even changed my cell phone ring tone to "Centerfield,"  by Jon Foggerty. The younger moms on my younger son's team probably have never even heard of Foggerty. And please remember, I have never claimed to NOT be a dork.

I started wondering the other day why I love baseball so much. I'm from Kentucky and I absolutely adore basketball. My small high school was very good in football and has won the state tournament numerous times. So why is it that baseball evokes such emotion from me now? How can I watch my son play basketball or soccer and stay so laid back about the whole thing? Not that I don't celebrate their accomplishments, and it's not that I don't enjoy watching and love to see them play. But when I watch them play baseball my emotions roller coaster from elation to feeling as if I could vomit. I feel almost electrical watching them play. I've been thinking about it, and I think I've figured it out.

I like soccer, but what usually happens, is that there are two people or so on the team who totally dominate and everyone else just runs back and forth. I realize it's not really fair for me to say this, because my older son decided after about three seasons that he did NOT want to play soccer anymore. I was okay with that, because of course I simply want them to find what they enjoy and "do" that. But I couldn't help but wonder why he had scratched soccer off of his list.

"Why don't you want to play soccer anymore?" I asked. "Well, Mom," he said. "I just don't really like to kick." If any of you out there has an answer for that one, more power to you. Because to me, it seems like there just isn't a whole lot you can add to that.

So maybe it's unfair for me to say that about soccer. I'm sure when they get older it gets WAY more interesting. Let's just say we never got far. The whole not-liking-to-kick thing sort of ruined my ability to see older kids play soccer. But my younger son still likes it, so who knows. I may change my tune when I actually get to see it when the kids have actual "positions." 

My older son has no interest in football. It's a good thing too, because I wouldn't let him play tackle until he is in middle school anyway. I've heard too much from REAL football players, a Heisman winner (on TV), pediatricians, etc., to know that there are so many health reasons not to that there is no way I would go for that. So good thing he isn't interested. But even if he were, I can tell you the reasons I wouldn't like it. First of all, I would worry about every hard hit, and from what I have heard, there is a lot of sitting on the bench for the so-so players. And I assure you that if my child were on that field practicing or playing in the hot, deep south for five days (insane), I'm not sure I would be too happy with two minutes of playing time. And I'm not really sure how I would explain it to my son. Sure would be a lot easier to explain to a 10th grader than a 6-year-old.

I remember walking in Academy Sports one day watching this big guy mash a big old helmet down on his little boy's head. The boy was whining because the helmet was hurting him. His dad responded, "You'd better get used to it!" Oh boy. Did the little boy really want to play, or did daddy not make his high school team?

Anyhow, my youngest son, who is only four, came out of the womb knowing how to tackle. One time during soccer he ran down the field, then off the field, and tackled a man squatting on the sidelines with a camera.

My four-year-old uses tackling as a way of saying hello. I'm going to have a heck of a time holding him off from tackle football until middle school.

Sorry, let me quit rambling and tell you why I love little league baseball.

First off, every single kid gets to play. They all get to bat, they all get to field, and they all get equal playing time. Are they all equally good? Of course not. But they all practice, and they all try to improve, so they all get to play. They may not play the position they are hoping for, but that has to be earned. That is where they learn that practice earns you a better position. But there aren't little kids pouting on the bench because they aren't getting any play time.

During football and basketball, everyone is screaming and cheering throughout the game, which of course happens in baseball. But here is what is so cool about baseball...there is nothing like when your child is up to bat and everyone, I mean EVERYONE, is cheering for YOUR child. It's like your child is on stage and everyone wants to see him succeed. As a parent, it is one of the best feelings ever.

But of course there is the flip side. There is nothing that causes me more angst than when my child is up to bat with two outs and the bases loaded. I seriously need a barf bag. Talk about pressure. That "child on stage" thing is awesome, with the exception of this. But I promise, when your child is playing, there is no "boring" in the sport of baseball.

I remember when my older son first started baseball. Ahem...let's just say that we weren't on the upcoming All-Star list and leave it at that. But my child LOVED it, and so we kept it up. No matter how bad he was in the beginning (and honestly I don't know if he even remembers now how brutal those first couple of years were) he STILL wanted to play baseball. He loved it, so we loved it too.

One season his team lost every single game. I pretty much knew it was the end. I mean, how can you practice that much, show up at every practice numerous times a week, and STILL want to play baseball? But he didn't bat an eye. He wanted to play...again. 

Now, his improvement to me, is amazing. He has gotten better every year, not from natural born talent, but from hard work and perseverance. It's almost a blessing that he started off the way he did. If he had started out good, what would that have taught him? But I feel he has learned one of life's most important lessons. Never, EVER, give up, and if you work hard at something you will get better. Baseball has taught him that, and I didn't have to say a word.

I admit I still see parents taking it all too seriously. I have heard a mom yell for her 6-year-old to "put a skirt on!" Classy, huh? I've heard parents curse. I've even seen coaches run the clock down so the other team didn't get a chance to bat again. And when I see adults acting like that, my blood pressure rises. Sometimes my husband has had to put his hand on my knee to remind me to remain calm.

Good parents and, of course, a good coach are detrimental to a good season. If you have a coach who teaches bad sportsmanship, screams and screams at the kids, or one who puts the bad players in the outfield and only works with the All-Star material -- run, and run fast. One horrible season can make your child hate the sport, any sport.

We are lucky to have a coach who wants EACH and every child to improve. He wants the kids to have fun and improve. And we couldn't ask for anything better.

But to all of these parents who act this way, not only are you embarrassing your child, but your child is going to end up HATING the sport that you want him or her so desperately to like. You are sinking your own ship.

I am so much more laid back this time around. My four-year-old is playing coach-pitch ball now. In two games he hasn't hit the ball once. It clearly didn't bother him because after the game he said, "I got to try to hit the ball THREE times!" He called me over to the dugout twice to hug me (LOVE it)!

Sometimes when he is in the outfield he spins around and around until he is dizzy and then staggers around like a drunk leaving a bar. That is only when he is not walking back and forth across the field kicking up dirt. I'm sure some of the more hardcore parents don't find this amusing. But all I have to say about that is that this isn't this mama's first rodeo.

I know there will come a time when his hand/eye coordination will click. I know there will come a time when he is more focused. But why in the heck would I want to speed things up. For now, let him be a happy kid and just have fun. It's fun to sit back and enjoy the show.

Yes, he has missed the ball every time so far. In the past, with my first child, I would have been mortified.

But all I can think now is, YES, he has struck out so far, but think, just THINK about the first time he actually HITS the ball!!!

Think about when that finally happens just how SPECTACULAR that is going to be!

Disappointment Stinks

Disappointment stinks. I mean, for real. It really, really does. Everyone experiences disappointment. It's just part of life. Plain and simple. And I will admit, right now I am having a really, really hard time with it. I can't even cry. Not like last time. I simply feel numb. And the fact that I sort of feel numb and robotic isn't good. Numb is bad. Just my opinion.

I wrote a children's book that I really, really believe in. Usually I am very quick to criticize all things having to do with myself. But this book, and I'm not kidding, seemed to flow not from me, but through me. The book came to me faster than I could write.

I was driving my younger boy to preschool one day and I asked him a question. After I asked him that question, an entire book came to me faster than I could write. I seriously had a crayon and a napkin for the first part. I drove immediately home and wrote the entire thing in three hours.

I have never, ever had anything happen like that before, or since.

So then, I started writing query letters. Ahhh, the dreaded query letter. Basically you have one page to make some agent (probably in New York) think that your book is more important than the other zillion books they have been sent that day. No pressure or anything. Especially when you are some stay-at-home mom in Alabama trying to convince a Central Park person that you have got it goin' on. Not an easy task.

Lo and behold, I had an early bite, from a reputable agent (found in Writer's Market and everything.) She is a major author too. She said the book was lovely. I was on cloud nine. I'm serious. My dream was coming true. I didn't care if I ever got one penny out of it. I just wanted to be published in something other than a newspaper. Total life dream and everything. We all have our thing.

Anyhow, for a while I thought this agent was going to represent me. And from what I have read, that is the really hard part. 99% of writers never find an agent. I can't tell you how happy I was. I thought my heart was going to pound out of my chest. And that is not just an expression. It was pounding so hard you could practically see my chest move.

She was interested for a while, and then said that she would pass because she really wanted to see more work from me. I suppose another book. And the economy was bad. Tough to take. 

I was devestated. I remember throwing myself on my keyboard and sobbing. My heart was utterly broken. Totally broken. I took a break and licked my wounds.

Then, out of nowhere, I get an e-mail from the agent at the beginning of the new year. This year. She was interested again. She even sent my book with changes in it, suggestions to me, and wanted to know what I thought. I took her suggestions into consideration and formed the book into something even better. At least it was better by the standards of an important New York agent. I mean she LITERALLY took the time to break down every line into syllables and made sure it was pleasing to the ear. NOT something that you can do quickly. Not something you would do for the heck of it. She was clearly interested.

I told her that I was almost finished with a second book. She said she looked forward to reading it. I sent it to her and waited. Waited in that New York, cool, don't want to seem too desperate kind of way.

Anyhow, I stayed busy and didn't tell too many people.

A couple of weeks later I saw that I had received an e-mail from her. Heart pounding out of chest again.

The e-mail was titled, "APOLOGIES." Yes, in all caps.

She said that she was overextended and that it would be better for her and ME if I found someone else to represent my "lovely" book.

Seriously. Limbo for a year and a half!!!!!!! A year and a half that I could have been sending it out to other agents. A year and a half of my life wasted by waiting. Not like a job interview where you don't get the job. One hour of your time. Nope. A YEAR AND A HALF.

This time I didn't sob at my computer. I seem to be fluctuating between numbness and anger. Not ONE tear was shed. I couldn't cry even though I wanted to and thought I should.

Because see...I'm stubborn as all get out. And I believe in this book. I will wallpaper my laundry room with rejection letters if I have to. (Yes, I know that sentence ended with a prepositon, but this is my blog and I'm a rebel.)

And here is why I couldn't cry. Nothing worth anything is EVER easy. Maybe it took me almost 40 years to figure this out, but I now officially believe it. Yes, I'm sad. Yes, I'm mad. Yes, I kinda want to suck my thumb.

But my stubborness trumps all of that.

I cannot think of one successful person who has not had to power through failure. And I think the success is much sweeter if it wasn't handed to you on a silver platter.

So I allowed myself a few days to lick my wounds, and now I'm moving on. Yes, I know that I may never publish a book. And I know that most of you out there realize your dream may never come true.

But wouldn't you rather be on your death bed saying, "I did all I could do," rather than, "Wow, I should have gone for it?"

Of course you would.

NO MATTER WHAT, NEVER, EVER give up on your dreams. You are not truly living if you give up.

I know it may not happen for me. I'm not that crazy. Of course I realize that. It might not even be good. I could be delusional.

But if it does...oh my goodness...if it does???  

Well, I will be like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman.

I will take a trip to New York with my new book and head straight for that agents office and say, "Do you work on commission? Mistake. Big mistake."

True Friends Don't Grow on Trees

When I first moved to this area, I was a total mess. I didn't know anyone. I had gotten a job at The Birmingham News, but quit when I had a miscarriage (went a little cukoo I'll admit.)

Then, I was expecting again after six weeks and decided to stay home. I wanted to be a stay-at-home mom. But it's hard to go from being a reporter working all hours to watching Oprah and eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I was so lonely. I didn't know a soul, was new to the area, and it was the first time I didn't have a job. I was home alone all day, and was borderline nuts.

I remember staring out my window one day and watching all the dogs running around the neighborhood. I can't believe I am admitting this, but in my lonely boredom (all of you Ally McBeal fans will get this) I gave all the dogs "theme songs." There was this one brown dog who sort of swaggered through the neighborhood. His song was that one, (not sure of the title), but it goes, "Saturday...in the park...think it was the fourth of July...." Yep, that is the sign of someone teetering on the edge. I remember noticing another dog's impeccable posture. He seemed enigmatic.

Talk about pathetic. I had no family here, no friends, was pregnant, and had just quit my job. It was pretty much a recipe for disaster.

After I had my first child, when he was eight months old, I joined a Mom's Club in the area, It made all the difference in the world. Many of us have now gone our seperate ways, but they literally saved me. Who knew that adult interaction and contact was the key to everything. I learned an important lesson then. That no matter what the situation, isolation is NEVER the answer.

My children are almost five and eight now, I am almost 40, and I am proud to say that I have the best friends any girl could ever ask for in a million years. They enrich my life in ways that no words can describe.
Are we alike? Heck no. We could be the cast of Desperate Housewives. But that is the difference in 20 and 40. When you are 20, you think that you have to have so many things in common, all the same interests, the same backgrounds. When you are 40, or close to that, you embrace your differences, warts and all. I know I can say what I really feel, and they love me anyway. I know we can get irritated at each other, but we will get over it. Just like sisters do. We don't have a choice. We are one.

I spent the last few years of my life wanting everyone to like me...trying to be friends with everyone. But as I get older, I realize that is not how it works. If you can count your true friends on one hand then you are lucky. VERY lucky. True friends won't abandon you through the hard times, through the beligerent times, or through the PMS times. They care enough to love you through the thick and thin. It's not a superficial friendship, not a convenient friendship, but a friendship of sisterhood.

It's the friendships where you can say anything. "No, that outfit looks terrible on you." "If you cut your hair you will look older." "Yes, if you are ever in a coma, I will wax your lip." "If you wear a cowboy hat in Nashville, I'm going to pretend like I don't know you." Those are the friendships that matter.

The REAL friendships are those where you can be told the truth even if it hurts, even if you are mad, even if it takes a month to get over it. Because of the simple fact that they love you enough to tell you the truth.

Facebook has us trying to be "friends" with everyone. But honestly, if you can't call them at 2:00 a.m. crying for them to come over immediately, are they really friends or aquaintences?

My husband, who is 18 years older than me, always said that you can count your true friends on one hand. That is true. Oh, SO true. It just takes us a while to figure it out. True friends can fight and work it out. They can be honest. And they can be themselves, the good, the bad, and the ugly, and always feel accepted.

As we get older, with children and so many responsibilities, we realize that we can't be "true" friends with hoards of people. We can be friendly, of course. But true friendships take work, just like marriages. And if we aren't willing to nurture them, then they weren't our soul friends to begin with.

My mom has a group of friends that she has played cards with once a week since I was a small child. They still meet once a week to play cards. They have been through cancer, death, all the drama of raising children, and they are still going strong. I admire that so much. That is what life is all about.

They have been going strong for over 30 years. If that isn't friendship, I don't know what is.

All I know is this, there is nothing more important than family. But if you find friends...true soulmate type friends, then they are your family as well. And you need to fight to nurture that.

Because if you get that just once in a lifetime, you are very, very lucky.

Mel

Christians Should Read This, AND Those Who Are Not

The Grammy's aired this week. The "Academy" or whatever they are supposed to be called, allowed an utterly blasphemous performance on stage. Nicki Minaj, who apparently can't sing, decided on a blasphemous performance that the network thought was absolutely fine. There is also some speculation over whether the lead singer of the Foo Fighters was wearing an inverted cross or if it was in fact supposed to be something else. Anyhow, after the performance, people clapped, and we tuned in. The station made MONEY while we tuned in. Wait a minute. Wait one FLIPPING minute. Why was this okay? Why in the name of God-literally-was this okay? Would it be okay if someone made fun of the Jewish community on stage? Or Scientology? Would it be acceptable to mock Muslims? Would it be acceptable to take a dig at ANY minority group? Of course not!!! Groups would swoop in...OUTRAGED. Groups would boycott, the network would apologize. That is the very LEAST that would happen. So why in the WORLD are we Christians just sitting back and taking it? Why ate Christians always the ones who have to just take it? Well guess what? WE DON'T!!! We can write letters, e-mail, and demand an apology. We can make sure that when we are trying to be entertained we never have to see our beliefs mocked on a major network. Think about it. Melissa

Get it Together Hollywood

Quick comments tonight because FINALLY I am starting to get sleepy at a reasonable hour, and after a long, hard couple of months of insomnia, I feel like I need to take advantage of being groggy. But after hearing Adele sing on the Grammy's, I just had to comment. First off, I just find her absolutely captivating. Her voice is unbelievable. I'm not sure there is anyone who can deny that. But I didn't realize how absolutely beautiful she is. Stunning. I'm talking Elizabeth Taylor stunning. And I told my husband this as we were sitting there.

I find it absolutely unbelievable how Hollywood continues to turn into lollipops. Huge heads with anorexic looking bodies. This is happening to people more and more and to people who have always been an ideal size. It's like they get older and suddenly begin starving themselves because they think it will make them look better and younger and it only does the opposite. I've already heard of girls (thin, pretty girls) in elementary school who are talking about being fat. It is incredibly sad. Painfully sad.

When I think back to all of the people I consider GREAT beauties (and this list does not include Demi Moore or Kate Moss) I think of Sophia Loren, Grace Kelly, Elizabeth Taylor, Marilyn Monroe, Jaclyn Smith, even Christie Brinkley and Cindy Crawford. And the one thing they all have in common is that all of them were gorgeous, and all of them looked like REAL women. They looked healthy. I'm sure they also exercised and took care of their bodies by eating right, and none of them, not ONE of them looked sickly and thin and drank Red Bulls constantly or made themselves vomit to be skinny. To me, overly skinny does not look healthy. Overly skinny is NOT healthy. It makes women look older, wrinkly, unhealthy, and haggard. Not to mention that if they actually are anorexic, their lives are hanging in the balance.

Of course not everyone has the same body type. There are women who are eating a helathy number of calories and working out, who will NEVER EVER be a size 6. And if you are healthy, who cares if you wear a 2 or a 12? Healthy is healthy. I am NOT one of these people who thinks it's okay to eat junk, not exercise, and just embrace your bigger self. That is not a healthy message to send either. And that is why America is so obese. It seems like all the messages being sent are all wrong, and are one extreme or the other. "Big is beautiful, it's great to be big, and if you don't like it tough," isn't exactly what we want to teach our kids. Otherwise, they will eat Cheetos and play the Xbox all day. But we also don't want to say that thin is the only way to be. That only teaches kids to go to whatever length they have to-- to be thin. And that is a very scary and dangerous message to send.

Why can't we somehow find a way to teach kids to eat right, exercise, and know that HEALTHY is beautiful whether it's a size 2 or 12? We can put a man on the moon but we can't get this message across? I once got down to a size 4 (which is great on some body types) but was way too skinny on me. (Obviously this occurred a long time ago...ha!) Anyway, stress was the cause of my new smaller size, but I literally was questioned if I was anorexic. I had to have an MRI over it all. And I will be the first to say, I looked HORRIBLE. I truly did.

Other cultures have such a healthier mind set when it comes to women and beauty. Why can't we get with the program?

Oh, and by the way, that list of great beauties? I'm adding Adele.

And just remember, Michelangelo painted voluptous women, not lollipops downing Red Bull and scary diet pills...just sayin'.

Sleep tight!
Melissa

I'm Weird and I Know It. (Get the beat going in your head.)

People can pretty much be divided into two categories: those who have covered their hands in Elmer's glue and peeled it off, and those--who sadly--have not.

 

I was floored this weekend when I discovered that my husband had NEVER done this. It was pretty obvious that he had not when he watched me settle down all comfy in front of the TV with my hands covered in Mod Podge. I had just completed a Pinterest project that went awry, and I wasn't about to let the event end in a total loss. I was going to have myself a little fun.

I found it completely fascinating that there was anyone, especially someone in my own home, who had never done this. I truly thought everyone had. I boldly stated that I was certain that at least 80% have done this. My husband, however, was just as confident that many people had absolutely NOT done this.

 

So, folks, this is a blog on which I'm going to need some comments? Am I in the minority? I seriously want to know this.

So after being shocked that I might not be in the majority on this one, I started thinking of all of the odd things I did growing up. I began questioning my husband about various odd behaviors...

"Have you ever eaten Play-Doh?" He had not. I told him it was salty. He was glad to hear it. "Did you ever hum in class at your desk with your mouth closed while nonchalantly doing your homework to make your teacher think she was hearing things or going crazy?" Ummm, no again.

 

I didn't even ask him about tasting paper mache. And I especially would never tell him that it was when I was a senior in high school preparing for our play in which I played a nerd. I know, it's a stretch.

 

My husband is older than me. We have the whole May/December romance thing going. And that is a good thing. He is mature, I am not. When I do crazy things, he merely shakes his head. And I'm here to tell you people, he shakes his head a lot.

 

Just the other say I said, "It's good I have fingernails, now that I've grown them out. Now if someone attacks me I can for sure get their DNA."

 

Head shake.

 

I guess that's better than smiling and saying, "Sometimes you act as crazy as a run over dog." Which he has said to me, by the way. But he says it with love.

 

But I suppose I simply embrace my craziness. One of my favorite quotes I have hanging on my refrigerator states, "The only normal people are the ones you don't know very well." I TOTALLY believe that. Totally. I just happen to be one of those people who embrace my craziness. And hey, as long as you think you are crazy then you really aren't, right?

 

So I suppose some of these "quirks" as I like to call them have carried over into adulthood.

 

So I've started thinking of other odd things I do, and I guarantee that some of you out there are with me on some of these. Others, perhaps not.

 

I'll begin with one of the most odd, and *sigh* this is really putting myself out there. Here we go...I cannot bear to leave one vegetable on my plate. I imagine that it feels left out. That there is a whole party going on in my stomach that this one veggie is distraught over. That it is wondering what it did wrong. This all began when I was little. I don't know if someone said this to me, or if I came up with it on my own. Sometimes when I simply couldn't bear to stomach that last and final morsel, I would just rip in in half and make it into two.  I chose to think I was creating a "friend" for that last vegetable. Others might see it as vegetable dismemberment. If I had thought about this too much, this might have been a bit disturbing. Like something Jeffrey Dahmer might have done as a child.

 

I have even used this to try to get my youngest to eat lima beans. I used that crazy song from Yo Gabba Gabba. "There's a party in my tummy...so yummy, so yummy." So I told my four year old that there were limas in his tummy having a party and the other ones were feeling left out. He wasn't buying it. A few minutes later I heard him having a discussion with his lima beans. He pointed at them and said, "You are NOT invited to my birthday party, and you NEVER will be!" So much for that idea. He must really hate limas.

 

We also have an eyeball stuck to our ceiling. One of the kids during a Halloween party threw the pretend Halloween sticky eyeball up to the ceiling and it stuck. It is shockingly sticky. Beats anything I've ever seen. Anyone in her right mind would stand on a chair and take the darn thing down. Not me. I am fascinated by it. Even during Christmas, the celebration of the birth of our Savior, there was a big sticky eyeball right there on the ceiling that seems to be staring at you when you enter the room. I'm sorry, but that puppy is not going anywhere. My own personal goal is next Halloween. Let's see if it happens. There is no reward if it does. Just a personal accomplishment.

 

That no one would understand.

 

Have a great and quirky day tomorrow!

 

Melissa D.

Keep On Moving On

There is nothing worse than having potential good news at 11:45 at night. Everyone is asleep, and unless you are dying or having a baby, they probably won't be too happy for you to wake them up.

My husband shared in my excitement and then went to bed. My husband is happy and laid back, but not an excitable man. He has a Clint Eastwood type personality. Which is good, since I seem to have a Lucille Ball type personality. The most excited I have ever seen him is when our newborn peed into my mouth from across the room, as I mentioned in an earlier blog. But right now I need one of "my girls" to talk to...RIGHT NOW. I may just dig a hole and scream into it. I was literally shaking all over earlier.

 

If I hadn't just had wine (one glass), I would be tempted to go to the Waffle House and talk to someone, ANYONE. Surely someone would be there. And they would probably be drunk so they would be very receptive to letting me tell my story and probably agree with everything I said.

Today is a perfect example that we NEVER know what each day holds. We always tend to use that statement in a negative way. Sort of like, "Enjoy every moment because you never know what life changing horrible event can happen next." But we never focus on the positive things. For example, you could be sitting at Captain D's and someone could walk up an offer you the job of a lifetime. THE JOB OF A LIFETIME, literally, while you are popping a fried shrimp into your mouth. You just never know. But it reminds me of Field of Dreams. "Build it and they will come." Do what you love, and magical things will happen. 

 

So this blog is dedicated to a friend of mine. W--you know who you are. We all need friends who lift us up and celebrate in who we are. Friends who push us even when we don't want to be pushed. Who tell us the truth, even when we don't want to hear it.

 

It's fascinating to me that you can be sitting on the computer one minute just horsing around or playing Words With Friends on your phone and then suddenly--WHAM--you are inspired to do something crazy, take a risk, throw it out there. And then...WHOA! You get what you wouldn't even allow yourself to hope for. Right then. Unexpected. Random.

I'm sorry I can't go into details yet. I don't want to jinx myself. But let's just say that very soon, either all my dreams will come true, or you may find my curled up in my closet sucking my thumb. That's when I will need reinforcements. My family and friends. The true rocks of your life.

 

But I just had to let this all out, or I will never get to sleep. I still probably won't.

 

But the important lesson I've learned tonight is this. Sometimes you just have to stop waiting for the perfect moment. THERE NEVER WILL BE A PERFECT MOMENT FOR ANYTHING.

 

You have to stop worrying about the logistics of everything. Listen to Nike, and JUST DO IT!!! If someone rejects you because you worded something wrong or because of a typo, or because you didn't wear the right color for that interview, etc., well, that's just baloney. It's analysis paralysis, and it gets you nowhere. They either like you and what you have to offer or they don't. And if they don't, there is someone who will.

 

Keep on trucking.

 

Melissa

PS: All typos are to be blamed on the cheapest glass of red wine that Publix offers that was purchased to use in a crockpot beef tip recipe:)