"I'm with him!"

What if when the man you love went to check out, you went with him? How bad would that be?
We listen to our girlfriends, and I've done it myself, whine about the man in our life just "checking out." Do we gripe because we are jealous? We are, you know it.
We are jealous of the freedom of dreaming outside the box. We are jealous of the irresponsibility of it all. Thinking like this doesn't fit our schedules, but could it? What do we have to lose? What are we holding so tightly to that is worth more than taking an adventure with the love of our life.
Do we skip the vacation because we aren't in-love anymore? Do we even know what love is or looks like?
I believe that as women we have denied ourselves the right to be "crazy." Our crazy has to fit society norms. That, my friends, is crazy.
Why do we want to fit the norm?
Where is that crazy high school girl in you that used to dare to be different? Nerves of steel to tackle adolescence with a reckless abandonment! That girl needs to be retrieved. That girl could save a marriage...build a life, a real one.
Next time, when you see the glazed over look in his eyes and you think nagging at him will bring him back to your reality, I beg you, don't. Go with him, ask him where he is going and if you can come. Then pull out your rocker shirt from the 80's and dare to be the girl that could turn his head.
Double dog dare you...

Constructing a Memory

This week while dining at an awesome bistro, cleverly titled, The Bistro, I got a call from my "baby" cousin. Okay, so he is no longer a real baby, but in our family of practically all girls, he once was and always will be "our baby."
He's getting married in July, and like a lot of us, anticipating a change can bring back other changes in your life - pretty common. So, where has his reflection taken him? To a change that affects his future.
Someone will be missing at his wedding, his sister. Unfortunately, he was only three when she was taken instantly from us in her car, she was driving alone and hit a cement drain wall asleep.
I got this call because he is trying to piece together a memory of a beautiful person that he doesn't remember, but feels like he should, after all, she was and is...his sister.
Just at the mention of her name, I have a flood of warm goosebumps, as she was my childhood idol. Partly because I was almost four years younger and our moms were best friends so we spent a lot of time together. The other partly was because she was one of those people that you just felt loved by. I don't ever remember not saying and feeling loved in our relationship.
I have a little, autograph dog that I got for my tenth birthday that has written across an ear in bubble letters, "I love you! Love, Jeanean"
Jeanean is a part of my first memories...pooping together. (embarrassing, but true)
She is also in one of my most lasting, terrifying memories of hearing her car pull away from our house just minutes before her life ended.
But her brother doesn't know what those hours or days were like after her death. He doesn't remember the church that was overflowing with high school kids and grown-ups trying to understand such a tragedy.
All he knows is that there will be someone missing and that he wants to feel like he knows exactly who she is to acknowledge her absence.
If only he could know how sacred that spot should be. Now, it is up to us that knew her radiant spirit and details of her being to fill him in on the sister that would wish him the best and tell him repeatedly, "I love you! Love, Jeanean."

Are Men Optional?

It is not shocking to find out that I started a nonprofit for children of divorce after spending a childhood witnessing one divorce after another.
I know the statistics, I lived them. I know that children of divorce are twice as likely to be abused, I was. I know that the death of a parent is less devastating to a child than divorce, even more than knowing the statistic, I know why? Rejection. Death means that your mom or dad didn't want to leave...divorce can mean, they chose another life over the one that you were living.
None of these reflections are a bit shocking to me, instead they comprise a huge soap box in which I have been standing for quite a few years - hollering from the roof tops for parents to please consider the effects of divorce and provide life jackets for their children.
What I am surprised by is my core belief that lingers far below...although none of this life of advocating these children would have been possible without my husband...I have believed that men are truly optional.
In 1997 statistics came out that over forty percent of our children are growing up without dads in the home. Will those girls turn into women and believe that men are optional as well? And if so, what does that look like?
I can tell them from experience that it robs a women of security, strength, unconditional love and most importantly...a feeling of being desired.
For over fifteen years I have carried a back up plan in my back pocket for "the day." How was that helpful? It wasn't.
Taking the risk in a relationship and burning the ships, sort of speak, is where the joy and security reside. Living life on the rocking boat hoping that you will never have to set sail is a miserable experience. It is all the parts of dating that we hate with none of the rewards of adrenaline highs.
Men are not optional. As a matter of fact, had it not been for mine, I wouldn't know that.
He believed that I was worth burning the ships. He still believes that because he has no other plan than to be my husband. How beautiful.
Eden doesn't believe he is optional. Her primary desire is to get his attention and keep it, she lives for his approval and he gives it at will.
His presence in the home provides much more than finances and meeting our needs. He is the rock that keeps us steady.
He alone has convinced me that men are not optional. Men are to be treasured as the valuable jewel that they are, different from us, but a true gem.

it takes a village

When I came up with the theme, "it takes a village," my thoughts were that it takes a village for our kids to grow up with an anticipation of success in life and love. What I didn't realize was that they are part of that village and we need them as much as they need us.
I have had the honor of being a volunteer in a fifth grade class in Tulsa. Mrs. Mills has been this incredible inspiration that has allowed me to tryout a journal pilot program with her class.
Months ago I walked in with a belief that I had some tools that might benefit the class and that sharing my experiences and coping skills through writing would be helpful.
Now, what do I believe?
I believe that this group of fifth graders has changed my mind. Reality is this, yes, I do have some experiences that can be related to and gleaned from, but I have something much more, a listening ear!
Aside from being a beautiful, handsome class, this crew has emotional intelligence. They know what they need, they are smart. They know they need tools that equip them to handle "CHANGE" because they have all experienced it in one way or another. Some through a lot of moves, death, divorce, new family members...all of these students know what change looks like and they know they are not equipped to handle it.
Let's face it, most adults are not equipped to handle it either. And in a climate of recession where we are all watching our 401K dwindle and seeing our housing market not retaining values. We stress, like they do.
The difference is we have vices. Would you suggest our vices for fifth graders?
Probably not.
So, thanks to Mrs. Mill's Fifth Grade Class, I am on the hunt to research healthy ways to handle changes in life and compiling that information with the writing process.
Thank you. Somewhere between fifth grade and adulthood people lose their transparency, my prayer for you all is that you will never lose the beauty of your honesty.
See you soon!

Perspective

Perspective. This morning I woke up believing, philosophically of course, that I was this little tree. My run down Riverside changed that.
On the trail there is a bench, quite a few actually, but a bench with a tree behind it and a man sitting on it around eighty or so. At first, I thought, "how sweet, nice day, great idea."
But as I kept running I wondered if he knew that he was toward the end of his life and was he happy with all the decisions he made while he was in his prime. Or does he still think he may have another twenty to go and is taking a minute to refuel before going back to work at some company he started when he was twenty? Who knows.
What if I am at the end of my life and don't know it? What if I am the tree behind this little tree now? Have I watered Eden enough that she is now this little tree, budding, dreaming? Lord knows at her age, I was that way.
Does almost thirty-six qualify you to be the bigger tree? Or is it pushing to reveal your passions and not being afraid that makes you the bigger tree?
Only you can answer that.
For me, I woke up the little tree and am going to bed tonight the larger one. When the metamorphosis occurred, I will never know, but I saw the change today.

What do you do with a broken heart?

As I have been preparing to speak to the students at Bethel College in February, I have been asking myself what topic to approach. Obviously, the invitation is because of nonprofit work with children of divorce, but how can I relate to college students?
What do we have in common? What do we have in common with mankind? What experience do most people have before they die?
A broken heart, at some point.
So, what do you do with a broken heart?
That is my question to you.
History reveals that some of the most amazing humanitarians started their efforts with a broken heart.
History also reveals some of the most tragic events were caused by a broken heart!
So, I ask you, the audience of my meanderings, what have you done with a broken heart?

Feast or Famine

I don't know how many of you grew up hearing, "It's either feast or famine."
But for me, out of all the maternal sayings I remember, this one has always rang true.
Growing up it was always "feast or famine" with boys, friendships, successes, failures...you name it, there was never balance.
Last week, I begged to get out of the house, but snow and illness prevented it for most of the week. FAMINE.
This week; however, I have been running like a chicken with my head cut off, seriously.
I have had meeting after meeting for Blended Love, which I love, but boy howdy. I have seven writing projects going on, some written on fast food napkins or my phone because I am not home. Dinners, lunches, practices, commitments....oh, so much.FEAST.
The irony here is that like many of you, I preach balance. Yet, my life doesn't reflect it at all. I preach, everything has a season, yet I myself have put all four in the same month.
I guess I must go back to the old adage of "feast or famine" and enjoy both of them whenever they come.
Moments like this morning; how many of you can say you were driving two girls to Chick-fa-la at 5:40 a.m. this morning? Or that you got to drive to the top of a hill and watch the sun come up with little girls oohing and awing the experience?
I did. It was a feast. A feast of opportunity that would have been missed if I listened to the book on my nightstand that demands balance.
Joy can be found in the feast or the famine!

What can bring you to tears the fastest?

Have you ever asked yourself what brings yourself to tears the fastest?
I used to ask myself this as a little girl because I was convinced that I was going to be a movie star when the agent found me checking out at the Walmart and that I would need to be able to cry in the movies.
Until eighth grade not a lot made me cry, as a matter of fact, I was kinda good at not crying about things that probably merited tears.
But the shock of losing my friend and cousin at seventeen to a car accident changed everything, tears flowed easily. She was my trusted confidant that knew my real life, the painful one. She was actually the only one who really knew some of the tragic experiences I had had as youngster. In an instant, gone. She left our house and never made it to her house. I couldn't say her name for over ten years without crying, the ugly cry.
Her loss changed my life. The last thing I said to her was "I love you." I never regretted that. Because of her loss, I say those words frequently to people I love and care about.
Those were also my last words to my dad before his passing. Just to type that sentence makes me cry, I am still in my decade of tears at the name...only on year three for this unfortunate loss. Like my cousin, at his passing, he was truly my best friend. We talked almost everyday on our cell phones for over a year. With each upgrade on my cell phone, I couldn't bear to take his name and number out. When I look at my phone I remember so many crazy conversations, one while I was in a boat with friends on the lake. It didn't matter where I was, if Dad called, I answered because I always knew it could be our last conversation.
So, why I am blogging about this now? Because this weekend I got a new phone and it was so painful. I went back and forth on taking his number out, but I just couldn't do it. I cried a lot about it, which was shocking to me.
Being aware of the human experience of all mankind, I started to wonder...what kind of things bring other people to tears?

the LLLOOONNGG face...

She walked into the living room, a bit teary, a bit in shock, stating, "what happened to Icy?"
Little did she know that I had already blogged about the poor fellow and planned a small memorial service with our trash men.
"But I love him...mama...make him better."
Seriously, what do you say to this? You say, "yes, of course I will put on hold my speech for over four hundred people to do surgery on a stuffed animal. I am a mom!"
As empowered as I felt, could ability really follow suit? Not so sure.
Again, this dear, sweet child pulls me from my sheltered box of ability and into an unknown world of insecurity. Can I do this? I ask again for the thousandth time since she has been born.
After stuffing for a very long time, I went in with white thread determined to make Icy come back to us...
Never underestimate the power of a hopeful child!

RED RUM

"Here's Monica!"
Fully dressed, yes, make-up included I have planned for a day of site seeing around the house. This will be day three at home.
Although Eden has not eaten a meal yet, her optimism of one in her future has allowed me to become focused again on what's missing in my life...people and places.
The laundry room has become the morgue, thanks to Icy.
The mudroom has become a place of "once was" reminders of coats and shoes for actually leaving the compound.
The kitchen is under utilized and Martha has had the week off, food smells would only increase the vomit cycle.
My bedroom, does it still exist? Eden's room has been my place of sleepy dwelling.
Bathrooms...oh, the bathrooms...Lysol smells now reign and fear of touching anything supersedes any amount of pleasure that used to take place in there.
Maybe today I will venture into the game room and try my hand at Wii.
Attic, oh, the attic, we may have an axe...gotta go!

Casualty of War

The war torn room is finally reflecting that of a child's bedroom after countless hours of clean up.
Just hours ago, vomit and productive gas waste in tornado fashion plunged into the sterile area terrifying all of the residents.
Off the record, it was rumored that the mom possibly slept with a Lysol can in fear of any future attacks.
All three of the human residents survived the surprise attack.
During clean up, at the horror to all involved, it appears that Icy Epperson passed away.
He was discovered in the washer, guts spread all over his camrades and in the fetal position.
As he was pulled from the wreckage lifelessly, he remained wearing the scarf that his fearless leader had placed on him after getting him home from Frontier City, his previous home.
He was a good bear and received a strike of vomit in the face before entering the deadly machine.
His work as a true humanitarian will not be forgotten and his countless hours of hugs and affection will bring all who knew him a bright spot of comfort during this difficult time.
Memorial services still pending.

Be Careful What You Ask For

Last night, I peacefully went to bed feeling the full embrace of the new year minus the perfected charts and graphs of decided changes. Instead, I resigned to the idea of my new, very new, Cosmo philosophy. I slept like a baby.
Around 5:30 a.m. I received the gentle nudge on the shoulder from my seven year old alerting me that her belly hurt. I pulled her in bed, snuggled a bit and stated the most over used parental statement ever, "you'll be alright."
HUGE PAUSE (narrator having to hold hair back for the little up chucker)
So, back to my story. She wasn't okay. As a matter a fact, none of us are okay. Brian and I are living with pruned hands, a Lysol can and fear of the Hershey squirts with vomit.
All morning and now, what is it noon?, I have been living my Cosmo philosophy as a nightmare...FOLLOWING MY LOVED ONE FROM ROOM TO ROOM. I never said with a trash can!!!
I am murdering my philosophical Polly Anna and returning to my Type A rather sterile excel charts for the year. Carry on.

Philosophy by Cosmo

As the new year dawned and my hopes and aspirations began to be written down in graphs, charts and other nonsensical pages, I had the privilege of being torn away from rituals this year to gain perspective from Cosmo.
The beautiful, gray hairs on his face reflect his duration on earth, but he doesn't know the end is drawing near. He is only cognizant of this moment and his desires at this moment, which appeared to be a lot of petting and traveling from room to room as we did, very extroverted on his part.
I do not know my expiration date either, yet I plan for the full year, usually off of my previous mistakes from last year and attempt to plan harder and better. This is a very arrogant activity on my part. Arrogant in the fact that I assume I will have the longevity. I assume no variables and I usually have goals that actually rob me of the joy of present moments.
Like Cosmo, I too, am extroverted and would love to travel from room to room with the members of my family, talking less and listening more.
I have spent way too long believing that I must change my world continually through goal setting and more efficient time management. Before I know it I may be on all fours. And what if, like Cosmo, I stumble across a mirror and see gray hairs on my head, would I freak out and say that I didn't do enough? Or would I calmly pass by in peace?
So, this year, I am going to follow the ways of Cosmo by following the ones I love and entering their world, asking for affection on their terms and not focusing on the million tasks I would like to achieve before my expiration date...because the truth is clear...if I expire soon, I would only want what Cosmo has right now, LOVE..AFFECTION..FAMILY..and most importantly..PEACE.