Waiting to catch the Roadrunner

My kids have recently become fans of Looney Tunes. Some of you may not know this, but there is a new version, called The Looney Tunes Show in which Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck are roommates, Taz is their pet, and Yosemite Sam is their next door neighbor. Crazy right? At first I was totally against it, but Kristen Wiig plays Bugs' crazy stalker girlfriend, which is kind of hilarious.

The one thing this new version of the Looney Tunes did is stay true to the Wile E. Coyote and Roadrunner concept, which usually comes on right at the end of each episode. The Coyote still uses ACME products to blow himself up, drop himself off cliffs, and generally fail in every way to catch the Roadrunner. My kids think this is hysterical. Who doesn't? It is classic cartoon violence at its best.

I'm not going to debate the merits or horrors of cartoon violence in this blog post. That is for another time.  Instead, I want to ask a question.

Why the heck doesn't the Coyote give up?

Clearly, he came into old money some time back because he has unlimited funds to buy rockets, jetpacks, Batman suits, earthquake pills, slingshots, and of course birdseed.  According to those rare episodes where Wile E. Coyote actually talks (something my kids hate) he has a genius I.Q., or as he says, he is a super genius.  But if the definition of insanity is trying the same thing over and over, expecting different results, doesn't that make him an insane genius?  Insane, rich, and genius. I feel like I read about those people in the paper pretty frequently.

Perhaps it is because he is rich and incredibly smart that he keeps on chasing that which will always allude him. (Maybe it is because Warner Brothers realizes there will always be kids laughing as the Coyote falls off a cliff with a sign that says "help!").

But isn't it true that when you have everything you ever wanted, you want the one thing you can't have?

Not to say that the Bible and Looney Tunes are equally reliable sources of moral guidance, but I can't help but be reminded of King David. After years of being chased, threatened, and waiting for the throne, he finally got it. He slew giants. His army was feared above all others. He was always successful in whatever he did.
And then he saw something he didn't have.  Bathsheba.  Only issue was, she was someone else's wife. You can read the whole story here, but is short version is King David used battle, liquor, sex, and murder to get the thing he couldn't have.

A little different, (and more effective) than the anvils and solar powered race cars of the Coyote, but I would argue it is the same concept at the core.

When we spend our days working hard for a paycheck, caring for a family, enjoying our blessings, we don't have the time (or energy) to fixate on the only thing we don't have. When we get everything we ever wanted, we have unlimited time, energy, and resources to pour into our obsession.

I mentioned  I was planning this post to my husband. I told him that I wanted to examine those things in our life that we continue to chase regardless of how many times they blow up in our face (literal or figurative interpretations apply).  He had a completely different view. This could be because he enjoys debating for debate sake.  None the less, he said that the Coyote's "never say die" attitude shows persistence, which he contends is a positive trait to teach our kids. 

Quite a different view from my "give it up and order a pizza" attitude.

So, I am leaving to you. When is enough enough? When do you give up the chasing the uncatchable?

When do you admit the Roadrunner wins?

Waiting for prince....ummmm....whoever.

I have always been a lover of Disney movies. Even so, I used to believe that they set a bad example for us gals. Whenever a princess, a step sister, a mermaid, or basically any girl with power to sing to animals would find herself in some sort of trouble, along would come prince charming (or another perfect prince, Eric, John, whatever the name) and he would save the day and they would live happily ever after.

It isn't even the happily ever after part that bothered me, even though, that is a tough one.  It was the perfect prince, and the easiness with which the princess, stepdaugther, mermaid, etc, snagged him. I mean, I dated. A lot, and not once did I find a prince. Now I could chalk this up to the fact we live in a democracy and I would need to travel across the pound to find an actual prince.  But I think the more likely explaination is that there are no Prince Charmings. No Prince Erics.

But as I sit here watching Tangled with my daughter, I have an even bigger issue with the more recent Disney movies. It started with Beauty and the Beast, kept on with The Princess and the Frog, Tangled, and even Cars.

What these movies teach is that you can turn a beast into a prince with your kindness, a snowball fight, some singing dishes, and well, love.

It teaches that the lying, fun loving prince who is broke and looking only to marry for money will have a change of heart after his time as a frog.

A thief will completely change his ways after watching you hit a few guys with a frying pan, dance, and share a moment in a boat watching flying lanterns.

To me, this message is more dangerous to our daughters than the idea that there is a prince charming waiting in the wings. It is the idea that they can take a horrible person and change them into prince charming. If they just love him enough, sing enough songs, and of course, share some kind of dance (dancing seems to be the key).

This isn't to say that people can't change. Certainly they can and do. But falling in love with someone with the idea that you can change them, well, that is even more absurd than happily ever after. If you  look at someone and think, "I could love him if just...." Or "I'm sure that once we are together he will stop...." Well, that isn't fair to the princess or the theif.  If someone has to completely change who they are to earn tour love, they will never be happy. And neither will you.

Because people change because they want to change. Not because someone is constantly nagging them, or singing, or even dancing with them.  I have seen a lot of relationships that start with the hopes of one person changing the other. I haven't seen many of them succeed.

Because whether we marry Prince Charming or the Beast, we should love them for who they are. It isn't our job to change them. It is our job to look at their shortcomings and faults, to see their distinct lack of royalty,  and decide we love them anyway. Just like they are.

So maybe Disney movies aren't the best guide to relationships. Which I guess is why I, as a mom, have to show my daughter how to love unconditionally. I hope as she watches me unconditionally loving her daddy she will learn that she should fall in love with the man who is, not who she wants him to be. And as she watches him love me unconditionally, she should learn that she should never have to change who she is for a man.

Because if he truly is a prince, charming or otherwise, he will love her for exactly who she is. And she will do the same.

That is how I found my happily ever after.

Waiting to graduate from hell

The book of Revelations has always been a little confusing to me so I'm not sure if hell is one big place or if there are personal hells devised to torture us in much more unique and painful ways than fire and brimstone. I'm not planning to ever have first hand knowledge of that one.

But for me, if hell was personal, mine would be middle school. More specifically, I would be stuck in middle school while AC/DC played an endless loop of The Little Drummer Boy. But mostly, it is that awkward, hormonal, mean, and confusing time between 12-15 that makes my skin crawl.

I grew up in small town Montana (there aren't a lot of other options in MT). This meant for the most part I went from kindergarten through high school graduation with the same girls. Girls I considered my friends in elementary school who magically grew breasts and simultaneously forgot that they knew me over the summer between sixth and seventh-grade. My breasts did not get the memo that they should appear until about 4 years later, and even then, it was a meager showing.

What I lacked in breasts I made up for with my good grades,  a talent for playing saxophone, braces, glasses, and a pretty impressive case of acne.

Awesome.

Oh wait, in seventh-grade I also learned to play the clarinet. Surprisingly, that did not raise my stock.

As you can imagine, I was quite a catch. Unfortunately, not many people were fishing for my particular species.

But it wasn't the middle school boys or their lack of interest that made my early teenage years unbearable. Probably because most of the boys were just as awkward as I was. Voice changes, carrying their Trapper Keeper in front of them while walking through the hall (I didn't understand why until college).  Not too many boys hit their stride at 13. Plus, I was pretty sure I was going to marry Kirk Cameron.

No, it was the girls who bloomed early, teased their bangs, put on the blue eye shadow and grew mean streaks. The girls who constantly made me feel like less of a person because I didn't wear designer jeans, have a boyfriend, or drink peach schnapps on Friday nights.  I feared the girls who played sports and got a tan while I did science fair projects and wrote short stories.

As I watched 13 Going on 30 today I was transported back to East Junior High. I was sitting in my backyard, wishing or maybe even praying, that I would magically be sixteen I never wanted to be 30. Even back then, 30 seemed old. But sixteen, sixteen seemed perfect. For crying out loud, they call it sweet sixteen for a reason. Probably because when you are sixteen you are done with middle school. But I had no magic wish dust that swooped me past my middle school years unscathed.

I did something even better.

I survived.

Not only did I survive, I survived while staying true to the girl in the mirror, even if I did hate how she looked most of the time. I didn't stuff my bra, beg my mom for Z-Cavaricci jeans (oh yeah, they were hot), drop out of band or try to be someone I wasn't. Instead of trading in my elementary school friends, we bonded together.  I think maybe we figured it was harder to pick us off if we were in a group.

In fact, my only good memories about middle school involve this amazing little group of girl friends.  The kind that weren't willing to change who they were either. We passed notes, giggled and talked about boys we would never be brave enough to actually meet.  We stayed up all night at sleepovers using Ouija boards to predict our future (don't judge) and eating Cool Ranch Doritos and raw cookie dough straight out of the package (again, don't judge).

Most importantly, we accepted each other.  No strings attached. Those girls, those amazing girls, gave me the confidence I needed to survive my little hell, because they never asked me to be anything.....but me.

There are still times when my insecurities get the best of me. I walk into a room of PTA moms who all know each other or start a new women's Bible study, and I am all of the sudden 13 again, only this time it is my wrinkles and weight that I'm self conscious about. I worry that I talk too much, am too sarcastic, and still don't own designer...well anything.  In an instant I forget that I am a smart, successful, fun woman who married an incredibly handsome man. Every time one of those gals whispers to another, I'm sure they are listing my glaring faults in great detail.

What I have learned over the last two decades is that most women feel exactly the same way. Even the ones with perfectly manicured nails, no stretch marks, and who only wear yoga pants when they are actually doing yoga have some buried insecurities that rise to the surface on occasion.

And just like middle school, this is one of the most important reasons we need friends. Not acquaintances. Not work friends. Not Facebook friends.

Real friends. Friends who love us exactly like we are. Who can laugh with us about our wrinkles, cry with us when our life falls apart, freak out with is as our kids grow into teenagers themselves. Friends who know exactly what kind of person we are, and love us anyway.

Because even though the door you walk through today might be to your office or even to your own house instead of home room, all of us have a middle school day once in a while. And on those days, we are just trying to survive.

So be nice. That girl you really hate, she may be having a middle school day herself.

And when you are lucky enough to find true friends, the kind that stick with you through middle school and beyond, cherish them. Whether they live next door or across the country in Chicago, they will be the reason you survive.

Waiting to be okay with the woman in the mirror

First off, my mom rocks. I think I've established this in several posts, but in case you are new to the blog or don't know my mom, she rocks.

With that said, most of my childhood memories of my mom have to do with her hating her body. She bounced from one fad diet to the next. Took diet pills, and hated shopping because she hated her body. She never went to the pool or beach with us because it meant putting on a swimsuit.

I honestly didn't think her weight struggles had an effect on me either way. I was always pretty happy with my weight. I have come to realize that the reason it didn't affect me is because my weight stayed pretty stable for most of my life. I might have moved from a 6 to and 8. After kids I was a 10 for a while, but eventually landed  on an 8, which I was totally fine with.

Then, at Christmas, we took a family photo and I looked at it and thought "who is that fat girl?" Not just a little overweight, but fat.  I didn't recognize myself. It had been coming for a year. I had been stuck in bed for months and then put on medicines that, instead of helping, made me crazy and gain 15 pounds in two weeks. All of the sudden, I wasn't 10 pounds away from where I wanted to be, I was 40.

In case you are wondering, I hate it.  I hate how I look. I hate how I feel. I hate to look at myself.  I go to try on clothes, and I hate everything. Not because of the clothes or how they fit, but because the body I'm looking at in the mirror cannot possibly be mine. My body is an 8, not a 12. I keep thinking maybe it is one of the funhouse mirrors.  

 It isn't.

My instinct is to complain continuously, pummel my self esteem, and just stay in bed until the weight magically goes away. (fyi, I have not found this to be an effective weight loss strategy).

But then, I look at my daughter. Tall, skinny, perfect daughter. And I realize, someday her body will go through awkward changes. She will be tempted to hate her body, even if she is still tall and skinny. If she has heard her mom talk continuously about how much I hate my body, how can I expect her not to hate hers.

This is not to say that we shouldn't eat healthy and exercise. We should, and as a parent it is my job to lead that charge. But it is also my job to make my kids feel great about themselves. There are times in our lives where even if we eat right and exercise, our body doesn't respond like we would like it to.  If they get sick, or something happens and they aren't the perfect size, they should still feel great about who they are. And if I can't feel great about who I am no matter my size, how do I teach them that they should love who they are, no matter what. 

And it isn't just about them. What about their friends that are bigger then they are? My kids need to know those kids are just as amazing, fun, and delightful they are.

The most wonderful thing to me is that right now, at ages 7 and 4, my kids don't care about size. They think their mommy and daddy are awesome and beautiful (or handsome in daddy's case), even when we feel frumpy and old. I don't want to be the reason that ideal changes. They should love themselves, and others, no matter what the size or shape.

If I am constantly complaining about my weight and that changes my kids' perspecive, shame on me. I can work out, eat sensibly, and even if I have to buy a size bigger, it will be okay.

I want to be the person my kids think I am, and they think I'm beautiful.  I need to think that too, because kids see through our lies, especially when we are lying to ourselves.

I saw a sign in a doctor's office that said "Be your own kind of beautiful." I'm signing up. How about you?

Waiting for Madagascar 3

Every once in a while, a movie comes out that out kids are super excited for. Okay, I admit it,sometimes it is Richie and me that are excited.  Right now the buzz is about Madagascar 3. The first two movies have some of our favorite lines:

"We lost two Captain."   -  "And that's a number I can live with."
"I hope to be a professional whistler. I'm pretty good right now but I want to be even better."
"Remember that time when you bit my butt?"

 And so on. So when I got invited by Crowdtap to host a Madagascar 3 party, I was ready. The kids were excited about the circus theme. Although we had a kit with decorations from the movie, they decided to make their own. Nothing says circus (or makes my daughter more happy) than streamers. Add in some silly string, a guy juggling baseballs, and live performances from five kids under the age of 8, and we had our own circus.

The kids took turns wearing Alex, Gloria, and Marty masks, which they enjoyed most while they were eating their zebra ice cream cake. While the masks, part of the digital party kit sent by Crowdtap were a hit, they were designed for a string to be put through two holes and then tied onto the wearer.  If we were to do this again, I would print the masks on card stock and then glue a Popsicle stick to the bottom to let the kids (and adults) hold the masks in front of their face.  I think that would make it far more user friendly.

Memorial Day provided the perfect setting to kick off summer and to start thinking about lazy summer days at the movies. I'm guessing Madagascar 3 will be one of the first ones we see.  I'm also pretty sure the kids will be ready to put on more circuses for us after they see the movie.

If any of you want to join the fun and have your own Madagascar 3 party, let me know and I will send you the kit. Or check out Crowdtap It was an inexpensive way to entertain the kids, and more importantly to let them entertain us.

Waiting for rain

Last week I posted a blog about God's provison. It was based on a sermon series our church is doing called "running on empty" based on the life of Elijah. I would encourage you to check it out, but if you don't have time, here are the high points.

- God tells Elijah, this guy from the middle of nowhere, to go tell the king that they are about to face a big old drought.

- God then tells Elijah to run and hide by a brook, where God sends him daily breakfast and dinner via a raven.

- The brook dries up.

It is no secret to any of you who know our family, follow us on FB, or read this blog that our family has been in a drought. It started with medical problems, then financial difficulties, topped off with family health problems. We have been in the drought for what seems like a very long time. But looking back, we can honestly say that God has continued to provide for us, day by day. We get enough in the morning to make it through the day. And we have become completely reliant on God to give us enough for tomorrow. 

And every time we feel like we can't take another step, God sends enough.

Today, the brook dried up.

Richie's grandparents have been in and out of the hospital for the last several years. It seems that when one gets healthy, another gets sick. In the last two weeks, both grandfathers have been in the hospital.  Today, the journey ended for one of his grandfathers.  His dad's dad (well, really his stepdad, but the man who raised him) ended his journey through this life and moved to his journey through eternity.

Losing a family member at any time is difficult, but when you are already completely drained, worn out, and just plain weary, it is unbearable.  It is looking at that little brook, your only source of refreshment and the only small hope you have for survival, and watching it dry up in front of your eyes. Praying for rain and finding only dust.

That is exactly how I felt when I got the news of Richie's grandpa's passing. Inside I was screaming at God, "How does this make any sense? How is this fair? We just got a report that he was out of the woods and you take him.  Can't you give us just a little break? Where are you, because if you were here you would know we are desperate. We are angry. We are barely making it. We are scared. We are thirsty and the brook is dry."

Where is the rain? 

I didn't hear a James Earl Jonesish voice (what I imagine God's voice to sound like) telling me it was all going to be okay. In fact if I knew anything for certain, it was that things were not going to be okay.

But when I stopped yelling at God, I was reminded of that same story of Elijah. When his brook dried up, God told him, it was time to move.

As I looked at our metaphorical dried up brook, I got the same answer. It was time to move. Not literally (who would buy our house with all the crazy construction going on behind it). But time to move out of the season where we wondered *if* God would provide for us every day to a place where we *know* He will.

Time for us to move from a place where we feel angry and resentful for what we have lost to a place where we feel blessed for what we have.

Time for us to move to a place where we not only tell our kids that God will provide, but where *we* believe it.

It isn't going to be an easy move. Moving is never easy. When Elijah moved from his brook he faced a hundred mile walk through enemy territory. I imagine our journey will be similar.

It doesn't mean we won't mourn the loss of loved ones or stop praying for miraculous healings.

It means that even in the midst of loss and sickness, we believe God is still good. It means we believe that even though today is hot, dusty, and dry, tomorrow it just might rain.

Waiting for another dent

It is amazing how much I learn from watching Disney movies with my kids. Maybe because we do so much of it these days (go ahead and judge me). Or maybe it is because I am the one who loves Disney movies. As I type, I am watching Cars 2 and Little Man is no where to be found.

The Little Mermaid taught me how to flirt without saying a word (which is why I don't let the girl child watch it). Beauty and the Beast taught me that, regardless of what everything in middle school leads you to believe, smart girls sometimes do end up with the best looking guy in the room, (which is why I do let the girl child watch it).

I'm not sure if Cars taught me anything, except maybe that I should be proud of my small town heritage. And I was almost sure that the only thing Cars 2 was going to teach me was that some movies should not have sequels. And I would stand by that.

Except for one line, right in the middle of the movie. One line that I might not have paid any attention to. I don't want to spoil the movie for you, but Mater ends up being a spy (gasp). As they are fitting him for his disguise, his partner tries to fix a dent so the disguise will fit better. He stops her. 

He says (and I'm paraphrasing because Little Man is back in the room and won't let me rewind), "You can't fix that dent. I got everyone of these dents with my best friend and it is way to valuable."

There is something to be learned from Cars 2 after all!

My childhood wasn't, ummmm, safe. No car seats. No seat belts. No bike helmets. No net around the trampoline, which gave us a clear shot to jump off the roof. Head first. I won't say we actually lit the house on fire. Because I had nothing to do with that. That was all my brother. I did lite him on fire once, but only because he told me to.

So I guess you could say, I got a lot of dents, only we called them scars and broken bones.

Then came high school. And boys. More dents, only this time they weren't physical scars, but emotional ones.

But one thing didn't change. Everytime I got a new dent, I had a friend right there with me. Whether it was the boys across the street helping us make a roller coaster off the back deck, or my best friend in high school crying with me over my first broken heart. My college roommate, the sister I never had, helping get out of an abusive relationship. My best friend since third grade crying across the miles with me over trips to the ER and crazy health problems that only the two of us could possibly understand.

My husband, patiently waiting for me to come back from depression after we lost our first baby.

All these dents, each one made with a friend by my side. Each one special to me. And I wouldn't want any of them painted over or fixed. Because each dent reminds me who I am and how I got here. And more importantly, who I got here with.

Every scar, broken heart, wrinkle, and gray hair (okay, so maybe I do paint over the grey hair), made me exactly who I am. And I've been blessed to have a lot of amazing friends who got me here.

Cars 2 taught me not only to be proud of my dents, but to look forward to them. They are way too valuable to fix.

And also that they should not make a Cars 3.