A Gross Understatement

My son returns home every weekend to hang with friends, thereby invading my girl cave.  When he moved out, I transformed his room into my dressing room.  He kept his room nice and tidy at all times.  Everything had a place and everything was in its place.  Now, it looks like an outlet mall/cosmetic store exploded after Christmas rush frenzy.  If I cared, it would be embarrassing, but since I don’t, it isn’t.  Saturday I went to Ada to help my cousin move my aunt.  I grabbed the only pair of jeans I had in our bedroom.  They were my favorite jeans but I hadn’t worn them in a long time.  I zipped them up and wiggled my butt to see if they fit or it they were too snug.  With the stress of the last 9 months, I haven’t been diligent about my workouts and I’ve been stress eating.  Surprisingly they fit in a not too tight, but just right kind of way. 

It is amazing how much stuff one can cram in a tiny assisted living apartment.  We were moving my aunt into a smaller apartment.  I thought to myself the day would be a breeze.  We were only moving a few doors down and the rooms are small, so how bad could it be… Oh how wrong I was.  We had eight people moving and it still took ALL-DAY-LONG.  In spite of the air conditioning, all the women were having hot flashes (an important part of the story) and I was thanking God I had put my hair up in a ponytail.  When we finally finished, her room was cute as a button with her walls decorated, family pictures up, and TV in place.  We went to my cousins to clean up and planned to meet the other worker bees for a celebratory dinner.

Disclaimer: this is where the story takes a comical turn that will seem exaggerated, but I have multiple witness who will testify that it is embarrassingly accurate, if not drastically understated, because even I am at a loss as to how to accurately describe it in a way that will bring it to life so you  feel like you were there to also be a witness. Yes, my grammar check had a conniption about the previous sentence telling me it was too long. Well, too bad!

I lay on the couch candy crushing (with no success) while my cousin took a shower and cleaned up.  I was a sweaty, yucky mess. I didn’t think to bring a change of clothes with me so the best I could do is tuck the hair that had escaped my ponytail, back in place. When we started to leave for the restaurant, I sat in the car and heard a barely audible rip.  I sucked in a large breath and muttered CRAP!!  My cousin looked over at me with confusion on her face and said… “What?”  Slowly I got out of the car.  As soon as I stood, she gasped (GASPED!) then ERUPTED in a fit of laughter.  I mean like she was having to hold onto the steering wheel so she didn’t fall out of the car kind of laughing.  Her husband stood at his truck looking back at us trying to figure out what was so funny (to her, not me…. I wasn’t laughing).  Her daughter-in-law came out of the house and we called her over to the car.  She took one look at my hiney and total shock took over her face.  Meanwhile, my cousin is STILL laughing hysterically and finally says…. “Oh my gosh Jac…. What are you going to do?”  I looked at her and said…. “You are going to go into a store and buy me a pair of jeans and try, just try to show a little compassion here!”  We got in the car and as she continues to laugh, I try to come up with a reasonable plan and a plausible explanation as to why the ENTIRE seat of my jeans ripped and not in a "shabby chic" kind of way.  “What detergent are you using?”  she asked me.  “It’s not the detergent!” I spat…. “Obviously, it’s all of the sweat and hard work I did helping you today!  It caused the denim to just…. Just disintegrate!  That’s what happened, that’s got to be what happened.”  On the way to the store she suggested I take my shirt off (I had a tank top under it), and wrap it around my waist which she thought would cover the entire. Well, mess… (for lack of a better word that doesn’t start with A).  So, I took my shirt off, wrapped it around my waist and instructed her to stick to my back like glue!!!  We chose to go into Stage since it’s small store and usually not crowed. We went straight to the jeans section and I snapped up a couple of pair and we headed to the dressing room.  The second pair I tried on fit fine… I wasn’t crazy about them, but I wasn’t exactly in the mood to shop either.  “I’m not taking these off” I told her… “They’ll just have to scan them with me in them.” She held up my old pair and I told her just to leave them in the floor…. “I’m not taking them.  Just leave them here.”  She wadded them up what was left of them and threw them in the corner.  She didn’t even have the decency to stifle the snickering.  We went to the sales counter where a sweet girl stood to check us out.  I approached the counter and said…. “Here’s the deal…. There are a pair of jeans in the dressing room that has no seat in them…. They are my pants and the ones that I’m wearing belong to the store. I’m going to buy them but I’m not taking them off so you’ll just have to scan them with me wearing them.” Her eyes flitted from me to my cousin and back again. I could almost see the gears in her head thinking maybe this was a secret shopper prank or a reality show trying to punk her. “I just have one question” she said… “Why don’t they have a seat in them?” This caused my cousin who was trying to get a grip, to lose what little she had…. “Well, that is a good question and I would like to answer it by saying apparently they don’t make jeans like they used to.”  She held her hands up in a stop motion and took a step away like I had Ebola….. “You’re going to have to do it… You’ll have to lay on the counter, unzip the pants, turn the waist inside out and press the alarm tag onto this metal thing right here to get the alarm to come off.”  Again, my cousin took enough of a breath to give her laughter more momentum and mentioned something about filming this.  Without hesitation I hopped my big butt upon the counter, unzipped the jeans, turned the waist inside out and leaned over attempting to match the alarm with the metal button on the counter.  The button was situated precariously close to the cash register causing me to have to lift my arm over my head in a pin-up model kind of pose (without the beauty of such), in order to scooch close enough to match the alarm to the button, which also caused me to bang my head on the register.  As I was doing this as quickly as possible I heard the clerk say…. “I’m just looking for my manager.”  Quick as lightening I shot up saying…. “Oh, no, no, no… Please don’t do that…. I’ll go take the pants off and have her come pay for them.”  About that time the clerk looked down and noticed that I had been successful in removing the alarm, all that was left was the needle part poking me in the hip.  She scanned the pants as my cousin stood behind me taking the stickers and tags off.  As we left to get me aunt (with my cousin STILL laughing hysterically), I remembered something about my old jeans.  They had bling around the hips and on the pockets.  The brads would sometimes poke me so I had taken hot pink zebra duct tape and taped around the inside to cushion the brads…. “When they find those jeans, they’re going to think I duct taped them together!” I shouted.  The car swerved as another fit hit my cousin. “Jac, do you realize that EVERY time we’re together, something like this always happen and I laugh harder than I ever have???  I haven’t laughed this hard since you came down for Mom’s 90^th birthday… What is it with you?”  What can I say?? I live to entertain, things just happen.  There is a very good reason why my husband calls me Lucille Ball.

Multi-hues of Fall

I’m Baa-ack, but not in a creepy Poltergeist kind of way.  Ticks took over the outdoors this summer driving me into the gym where I wanted to stab my eyes out after 15 minutes on the treadmill.  I ventured out last night and returned home tick free!!!  This makes me a happy little walker.  There is nothing I love better than watching the green of summer change to the multi-hues of fall. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My Bewitched Moment Lesson

This morning I realized how much modern technology has changed my life.  I LOVE to read and I LOVE my Kindle.  I tend to tear through a book quicker than necessary.  When I was young I would read the last few pages first because I  couldn’t stand the suspense of how it would end.  I don’t do that any more (just like I quit opening my Christmas presents and rewrapping them before Christmas).... I've grown up.... Some.  But I do breeze through a good read.  This morning I was reading a new Bible study which was in the old fashion book format…. You remember the old books… With pages you have to manually turn.  When I got to the end of the page, I automatically tapped the side of the page like I do on my Kindle.  For a second, I guess I thought I was Samantha on Bewitched and could just twerk my nose.... NO, NO!.... That. Is. Not. Right!   There was no nose twerking in the Bewitched days!  I thought  I could Twitch.... (I Googled it), Samantha (according to Wikipedia) twitched her nose to get things done.  So, like I was saying, I guess for a second I thought I could twitch my nose to turn the page on my book.  Talk about feeling like a doofus!  I've officially become used to having instant information at my finger tips which can be a double edged sword.  Knowledge can lead to pride and arrogance.  It can cause me to rely more on my "knowledge" than my faith. I must be careful to remember that knowledge is not the same as wisdom. Instead of seeking spiritual guidance (through prayer and reading the Bible), I can just Google any question I have, spiritual or otherwise.  When my mind went off on this rabbit trail (all because I tried to tap my book page), it reminded me of the story in Genesis of "The Tower of Babel".  I don't want to become "self-sufficient" in what I think I know, regardless of how much information I have available.  I've been humbled by God before, and it is not a pleasant experience.  "Pride goes before destruction, a haughty spirit before a fall" Prov. 16:18.  And goodness knows I don't want to be haughty, just that word sounds disgusting. So I guess God took me on this rabbit trail to keep me humble today and being the kind-hearted soul I am, I thought I would share my Bewitched moment with you to keep you from getting all haughty too.

Here's Working With You Girl

We had a farewell lunch today for one of the girls who decided to jump ship instead of going down with the Titanic (that's what we are officially calling it now).  It was fun to listen to the stories from back in the day (before I was there).  There was a lot of laughter (back then, not now) and at lunch, as well as plenty of leftovers.  I asked her for her funniest memory. I would have sworn she would say something about Santa Baby, but instead she had a totally different story, which is good because I'm fairly convinced no one can tell the Santa Baby story the way I can....  I don't just TELL the story, I BECOME the story. I would love to blog her story, but I can't (I really just can't) so feel free to use your imagination concerning prostate exams... Just run with it. I promise whatever you come up with won't be nearly as jaw dropping as the actual story. Thanks for the visual "M", I keep trying to shake it from my brain but it seems to have lodged itself quite deeply (deep being the key word here).  A deathly quiet settled over the car as we drove back to work in a carb induced coma.  A coma should make the afternoon almost bearable but there's the running replay of the prostate exam story that just won't go away. Oh the Travesty!!!!!!  Here's to working with you girl.  Best of wishes!

Gloom Chasers

Be it a hormonal surge or the usual Monday urge to be glum, getting a shoe catalogue in the mail didn’t brighten my day.   Typically, a new shoe catalogue is a reason to celebrate, not so much today.  I opened it up with anticipation, and then quickly realized that unless something drastic happens, I wouldn’t need new fall shoes since I very likely will be jobless and penniless by the end of the year.  Of course, my shoe obsession has never been about “need” in the first place but it’s always nice to have somewhere to wear new shoes if you to find a pair you simply can’t live without.  The boots on the cover are rain boots and I think they would go quite nice with the pity party I’m having.  Happy feet are a gloom chasers for sure, especially when they are covered with colorful twirly swirls that repeal wet soggy days.  Sign me up for a pair or maybe two.

 

 

 

Scarred Heart

The veil lifted.... A tortured conscious revealed.  Regardless of resolve, the scars testify the depth to which the passion penetrated leaving behind an engraved mark, time will never heal. Buried memories climb to the surface, a vivid reminder of  times not forgotten but covered by a falsetto melody of pleasant passings and urgent reminders that reality has nothing to do with the dreams of youth or the ideas by which fairytail stories are rendered.  The slightest fracture on the perfectly mortared wall reveals the smallest weakness not visable to the naked eye. So come as you are, broken and scarred, lift up your heart, prepared to be healed by a perfect God.

That Changes Everything

It took me forever to get ready this morning.  I took extra care getting my eye shadow applied just right. I coiffed my hair bump to beauty pageant height. I did my nails the night before making sure they coordinated with the shirt I had picked out.  I checked myself out, twirling twice in the mirror, took a deep breath and stepped out of my girl cave and into our bedroom.  My husband looked up and as if on cue said... "You look really pretty!"  I cocked my head and questioned him... "Do I look like a grandma?"  In my mind I was chanting... "Dear God, please say no, please say no."  In a nanno second flash, his right eyebrow shot up, he gave me a genuinely naughty smile and said...  "No!  I assure you, you don't look like a grandma."  Then he wrapped me in a sweet hug.  Cha-ching!  He just made a huge deposit into his "love account".

Today was the baby shower for my grand baby, little PitterPatter who has yet to be named. I am told a name will not be given until it has been divinely revealed to the parents, and not a minute before.  This is when I worry about things like... "God's timing isn't always our timing." and silly little things only the faithless sweat over... I can hear my son, the ever carefree lad that he is, assuring me... "It will be right as rain mom, right as rain."  When I look into his smiling eyes just seconds before I feel a meltdown coming on, I can believe it will be right as rain, but I'd feel SO much better if he simply chose one of the stunning combination of names I've sent him for weeks on end.  He doesn't like pressure and he hates to conform, so then I worry that my suggestions pushed him to the edge of a cliff leaving my grand baby with no name.... "Oh Holy Spirit, please speak now."  There will be nothing conventional about this birth, just as there has been nothing conventional about my son (which is one of his most endearing qualities), but is also a big hurdle for an event planner (EVENT PLANNER, not control freak... Event Planner), like myself. The lack of wedding planning almost sent me over the edge simply because I didn't have anything to stress over because we were just supposed to show up and things would magically happen like a herd of fairy godmothers showed up, sprinkled pixie dust and waa-laa, behold a magical wedding at the foothills of Colorado done with absolute perfection and perfectly them in every way.  That is how these two love birds roll. With all that I am, I'm doing my best to "go with the flow", to be a "I'm totally down with that", natural born, low maintenance, tree hugging, laid back Lolli prepared to adhere to all the written in stone boundaries like "no dangling my grandchild by his ankles over a balcony" or "spiking his pumped breast milk with high fructose syrup." As if I would do any of those things in the first place! The list goes on (I'm sure), but those are the high points. Today's parenting is a new frontier.  The new generation of parents believe in the age old theory that one generation gleans from the mistakes of the previous generation, tosses them into the recycle bin, creating a parenting revolution so far above the standards of generations past, that all of our sage advice and hands-on experience is nothing but filthy rags like the pointless righteousness of the Pharisees. This will be like teaching a old dog new tricks (I would be the old dog in this analogy). Grandparenting by gut instinct will not be enough.  This child will be raised by a new generation (which is a good thing because I'm really tired).  I'm not the one in charge (Thank you Jesus), and that changes everything.

The Future is Held in Very Capable Nail Scarred Hands

When we were first told that our company was for sell and we would probably be losing our jobs within 90 days, my first instinct was to jump ship.  I don't mind change as much as I mind uncertainty.  Every place I have ever worked has become like a second home.  Everyone I knows has a stash of personal records, bills, pictures at work where it seems you spend most of your waking hours.  A few days after the announcement.... After the fog had slightly lifted, I packed up my personal belongings and brought them home.  I didn't want to have to pack them under duress or the watchful eye of HR.  I left my blingy stapler, my stiletto tape dispenser and a few other odds and ends I actually used, but everything else was hauled home, box by heartbreaking box.  I stacked the boxes of "stuff" in my girl cave hoping against hope that I would have the opportunity to take them back and unpack them as if nothing had happened and all was right with the world.  Today I was looking for a piece of paper to write a note on.  I reached in one of the boxes and pulled out a copy of a note I had written to one of the boys several years ago.  When I say one of the boys.... I refer to one of my sons from another mother, different father, but who I love as my own.  Emotionally I feel like I have a dozen kids or so, just as my kids know they have multiple parents/adults who have spoken into their lives.  We've spent 20 plus years making memories with our extended family and I wouldn't have it any other way. When I first looked at the note I didn't remember who it was written for, but as I begin to read, the memory of the Fall they all left for college came rolling back.  One of "The Girlfriends" had told me that her son was having a really bad week, which broke my heart.  He was away at college, but I still felt the need to reach out and comfort him.  Little did I know that years later I would run across a copy of the note and the words would be a much needed encouragement to myself as well as so many others I know.  This is the note that was sent to him, but is now meant for me and all of my friends at the office..... To each of you I reach out with what will hopefully be healing words in trying times..... I love you each and every one of you and I pray for blessing beyond our imagination because that is just how big our God really is!

"I just wanted to drop you a line of encouragement.  Your Mom said you haven't had a very good week.  I'll tell you what I've told Aja many times in the last couple of years.... Boring lives don't make interesting stories.  Adversity has a way of making us dig deeper than we would normally dig, causing us to reach untapped potential we never knew existed within ourselves.  When God chooses to bring you through the trial instead of lifting you out of the trial, you gain insight into yourself and you grow far beyond the limits that being comfortable provides.  God has a way of bringing us to his expected end, even if he takes what we believe to be an alternate route.  I am praying for you and believing that good things are in store for you in this upcoming season.  Don't be discouraged, don't be distressed, just dig your heels in and give them all you've got.  When you don't think you have anything left, God will come through with that little bit extra.  I am praying specifically that you will find favor in those in authority over you.  God knows where he wants you to be and he knows how to get you there.  I believe in you, and I want you to believe in yourself...."

Love Jac

Guys, I know it's hard to accept the fact that we have no control over what happens, but what I do know is neither do those who sit in their ivory towers.  God hung the moon and the stars and created the ivory by which the towers are built.  It may not be fun.... It may not be what we planned.... But our future is held in very capable nail scarred hands.

Change as I See It

Note to all grammar freaks.... This is just a long run-on sentence so don't judge me, I'm not in the mood for it.

I've tried to remain positive during the..... Sell out - Buy out - Merger - or whatever the H#!! you want to call it, but today my patience has been tried to the max. My anxiety is on high alert and I have an overwhelming urge to empty the vending machine in a manic maneuver to calm myself down. The source of my angst are the tiny, tale tale signs that something is up.  I looked out my lovely plate glassed window this morning which usually brings me such joy, and saw two 12 year old looking men/boys in their white collared starched shirts, with their navy suit coats thrown over their shoulders. If someone is going to come in and dismantle our lives, I think they should at least be old enough to shave, but that's my humble opinion and it's one most co-worker's share. There has been a steady stream of stressed, depressed and aggrieved co-workers come through my office today.  I've been swallowed whole by a spreadsheet, so actually time should be flying by. It's not!!!! When I looked up expecting it to be 3 o'clock (break time), it was only 2. That's when I knew that the constant stress of this change is going to do one of several things to me and my co-workers. We will either come out of this fat and sassy from the urge to manically empty the vending machine (hello 20 extra pounds), alcoholics (it's always 5 o'clock somewhere), drug heads (a vaca in Colorado perhaps?), bald head (some are already there), or just plain loony (I have the t-shirt and hat to match), and quite possibly all of the above (I believe I may fall into this catagory). That's it. That is all I have to say right now. I'm going back to my spreadsheet, my formulas, and my cell. Gosh, what I wouldn't do for some padding in here.

Said with a manic giggle

P.S. After writing this a reminder popped up on my computer to create a note of encouragement for my co-workers..... I promptly deleted the reminder.