Double, double, toil and trouble; when I feel like a bad Mom

Joining Kathi Lipp today hoping to encourage some other Moms-in-the-Trenches by airing my own dirty laundry.  You are not alone!



Double, double, toil and trouble
Fire burn and cauldron bubble.
Fillet of a fenny snake,
In the cauldron boil and bake,
Eye of newt, and toe of frog,
Wool of bat, and tongue of dog,
Adder's fork, and blind-worm's sting,
Lizard's leg, and owlet's wing,--
For a charm of powerful trouble,
Like a hell-broth, boil and bubble.
--from Macbeth

Hell-broth.  
Yeah, that's me sometimes.
I also do quite a bit of bubbling, toiling and troubling.
I don't know what a fenny snake is but sometimes I have an adder's fork for a tongue.

With three kids, I find myself talking most of the time.  Instructing, answering questions, reminding, answering questions, acting as referee, calling them to dinner, and answering questions.  Sometimes I even find myself...I also fuss every day.

I am starting to get on my own nerves.

There is a kid in my life, yeah, he's one of mine and sometimes you would think he doesn't have feelings.  Talking to that boy is like talking to a brick wall.  So, to get through, sometimes you need to use a hammer. I don't mean literally, I mean strong words, not foul language, just big, deep words.

Twice this week I cut that boy to the quick.

Both times I was wrong to do it.  Both times I used my big words to make a point that was irrelevant, unnecessary and careless.  If a friend spoke to me like that we'd have to have a long talk on the porch.

I cut my boy with my words and I saw it on his face.

Hell-broth, that's what my words were made from this week.  I fell again.

I apologized and pray that he forgets over time.  Literally, I pray that he forgets my ugliness, but who's to say if he can?

I tell my kids to listen more than they speak.  You know, the whole "God gave you two ears and one mouth for a reason" thing.  

Practice what you preach, girl.  Practice what you preach.

If I listened to that boy, maybe I would know how to get through that brick wall, how to put velvet on the hammer.

Too many words are like a hell-broth, all full of junk, but certainly a charm of powerful trouble.

Powerful trouble.

So maybe I keep my dog tongues and frog toes to myself a little more.  

Maybe I make my powerful charms out of love and verses and acts of kindness instead of too many words.

If you see a big, black kettle laying by the street, I don't want it back.
m


How do you balance correcting behaviors with staying positive?  Consider sharing your advice here or on Facebook before you share so we can all chat...
Traveler on Facebook here


More posts like this:
Confessions of a Reformed Helicopter Parent
Yesterday: oh my words!

What's a Friend for Anyway?

Ever have one of those days?  You know what I mean, days when the only way to get out of bed is to resort to emotional bribery.  "If I get up now, do these three things, make it until this time, then I can go back to bed."

Some days I am my own worst enemy with my self-talk fueled by self-judgement.

Could be too much sugar yesterday, too little exercise, too much caffeine, too little caffeine, or some real life-struggle.

Maybe its just a blue funk, that feeling that hangs around for no good reason at all.

A text from a friend.  She is having one of those days.  How can it be that my encourager, fellow striver, clear-seeing propper-upper is blue?

Her words are the same ones that have been running through my own head today.

What a mess, if she is down, how can she pick me up?  Her own words, spoken to me in past weeks come into my head.  All I can do is speak them back to her because goodness knows, I don't have any wisdom of my own.

Speaking her own words back to her begins to break the hold of my own heart-fog.  I am grateful for her and her striving, clear-headedness and timely propping up.

I am glad to have a friend like her.  She makes a difference.

Sometimes the circumstances we set up in our mind just aren't accurate.  They just aren't real.

Sometimes we stand on one side of a canyon with circumstances and interpretations of our own creation.  But the truth, the real issue, the heart of the matter is on the other side.  And some days, we just can't get over there.

A friend stands in the gap between you and reality.  A friend makes a bridge for you to come on over.

You can leave behind the whispered lies spoken by your own mind and cross to the truth spoken by a friend.  Because a friend stands in the gap.

You can leave the land of loneliness and come into the house of fellowship.  Because a friend makes a bridge.

I don't know about you but I am tired of standing on the doorstep and making nice about petunias and casseroles.  I want to get to the heart of the matter so that if you ever need it, maybe I can stand in the gap for you.

Let's rejoice together, cry together, let's stand tall and strong, together.


Thanks T, you inspire me..."Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep."  Romans 12:15...you and your words, they matter.







More like this?
Iron Sharpens Iron, I wanna be like you...
Love Does, our story
The Truth, and I saw it right there in Sunday School

If I Were Someplace Else

This about the 8th or 9th post in the Bloom Where You're Planted series.  Thirty-one days of learning to put down roots and grow and really live right here.  The Nester started all this so you might want to click on over there and check her out.  To read the rest of the posts in the Bloom Where You're Planted series, go here Bloom.

Wishing to be somewhere else is a dangerous game.  I suspect it would pretty much kill your chances of living fully where you are.

I am not doing that today.

I am going to practice being grateful today.

Today, right here, is a list of things that would NOT have happened if I were someplace else:

My kids playing for hours at the park with their cousins.

Seeing the sunset over the pond while Eight counts frog calls in the dark for Frogwatch USA.

Signing school papers for Almost Ten and listening to him discuss the personality traits of various teachers.  (Apparently Mr. C and I have much in common.  In other words, don't annoy him either due to his tendency toward crabbiness.)

A raccoon standing in a flower pot on my front porch eating bird seed.  (Yeah, I know that isn't a raccoon, apparently my flowerpot is a wildlife magnet cause that's where he was.)

A raccoon/skunk trap in my yard.

Eight getting mad at his daddy for ruining his science experiment by watering one of the four plants meant for his science experiment.  He allegedly watered the one that was supposed to get "no water" when he washed the porch after removing the raccoon trap.

Making Angie's three layer chocolate cake.  Wow.

The kids making plans to spend Christmas Eve at their grandparents, without us!

Things that would not have happened if we were somewhere else. Good things.  

I am sure there would have been other good things, but not these things.  These things are precious, and I am watching for more!

m

Good to Know

Even though we had been there at least every year for their whole lives, this summer was different.  When we were there in July, the three children were, well, they were strange.  They were quiet and as four days passed, they got quieter.  It was embarrassing really.  I felt like a bad mother.  

Then we moved.  Now that place we used to visit is just down the road.  This time when we went to visit their grandparents, they were strange.  It was embarrassing really.  I felt like a proud mother.  It was wonderful to see those three children bubbling with energy and emotion and raw enthusiasm for life and making memories.  

At one point I thought my daughter was going to stand  in her chair at the table trying to tell a story to the family.  Her family. 

We were celebrating Almost Ten's birthday.  He smiled when he saw the balloons tied to a line from the house to the bell.  His smile bloomed full when he saw the sign on the front porch.  The sign they tied there just for him.

He knew the cake was going to be there so that was no surprise but the pinata on the table blew his mind.  When we all stood around watching him open his gifts, gifts chosen just for him, that boy turned redder than an atomic fireball candy.  The best part was that he knew those gifts were chosen for him.  He knew that his grandparents and his aunt had picked them out just for him.  He knew we had conspired to make this special, for him.

His laughter rang around the house as he chased his brother and sister.

He said he'd never had a birthday party before.  I frowned, we always have a birthday party.  Then I realized what he meant, "But it was always just the five of us, wasn't it?"

It was strange really, how the children had changed.  Their perspective had changed.  They are no longer visitors in this place.  Now they belong.  The people here know these children now in ways they had only glimpsed before and it feels good to be known.

It feels good to be known.

It's good to know.

love,

m

This continues the 31 day series on blooming where you are planted.   For more encouragement on choosing to live completely right here, right now, follow along by subscribing or liking the page on Facebook.  The other posts are here:

Bloom Where You're Planted
Blooms Start With Buds
Roots
It Takes Work to Make Blooms

Roots

This is the third post in the 31 day series "Bloom Where You're Planted" for the month-long blog party at The Nesting Place.  After a cross-country move back to the place where I was raised, this is a time to focus on living completely present in each day.  For you and me, it's the perfect time to stop wishing for what might be and live fully right where, and when, we are at this moment.

I have it easy I think.

My move was back home.  Back to my roots.

I am soaking it up.  Soaking up familiar restaurants, the same old streets, friends that I have known for 31 years and their grown children and grandchildren.  Grandchildren!

Back to my roots. 

Fed by my roots.

Knowing family in new ways-we are all 12 years older now-but loving the familiar sound of their voices, their senses of humor and our shared memories.

Even the land feeds me.  I love the way everything seems to be moving in the Oklahoma wind.  I love knowing instinctively which direction I am going even when I don't know where I am going.  I love the big airy sky open for all to see and the miles and miles of land.  Feels like I can finally take a deep breath.

I love that my kids and husband are seeing me in a way that they never have before.

Never realized that my own roots could feed me this way.  It makes me happy to plant a whole new life here. 

It will take hard work and constant tending to start again in a new place.  I am planning on a good harvest. 

michele

The other posts in this series...
Bloom Where You're Planted
Blooms Start With Buds

Feel free to subscribe by email or if you find it easier (like I do) just like the community page on Facebook at:  Traveler In My Own Backyard

Bloom Where You're Planted

"Bloom where you're planted."  

Mary Engelbreit

Maybe I have the heart of a nomad.

I moved 13 times that I can remember--before I was 23 years old.  Maybe I am just not afraid to move.

Maybe I know that this world is temporary and so it's hard to feel at home anywhere.

Less than a month ago, my husband and I moved our family 1,280 miles to be near my family.  That wonderful man changed jobs, gave up some retirement, and spent quite a bit of money to bring me back home.

I lived in North Carolina for almost 13 years and now I'm back home in Oklahoma.

I wasted alot of time in North Carolina hoping for a possibility and wasting some of that present.

God forgive me.

Forgive me for squandering a million little gifts.  Beautiful days at the beach or in the cool of the mountains, mild winters and wisteria vines that covered acres of trees like a big, purple net.  Pine trees everywhere and tangy barbecue sauce that soaked into pulled pork leaving only red pepper and a tangy bite that goes perfectly with cole slaw.  Kudzu.  People, this Oklahoma girl had never seen anything like that before, vines like great, green ghosts covering entire miles.

Forgive me, too, for complaining when I finally got what I wanted.  Complaint is a dangerous thing.

Though I have been transplanted and though we are still in the throes of adaptation, I am making a choice.

I will bloom where I am planted.  This time I will bloom.

I will not compare the two lives I have lived.  I will miss old friends and continue to love them and I will leave this house and make more friends.  I will not get  my feelings hurt because I will choose to love here.

I will look for beautiful blooms that I haven't seen in 13 years.

I will make a life right here.

There are many beautiful things blooming already.  

One kid is at home at the local elementary school.  He is blooming.  This neighborhood just feels good.  The time I have had with family is precious, so is knowing it is not limited by miles anymore.  Old friends have come out of nowhere to help us.   I soak these things right up, and I bloom.

Who would have thought blooms came in the form of Braum's brownie fudge sundae and sweet barbecue beef brisket?  The constant breeze that is sometimes a hot wind and how everyone has a fenced yard because everyone seems to have a dog.  All the wonderful geographical names that come from the Native American language and make me smile because as yet I am the only one in my family that can pronounce them correctly.

My children will really know my family.  That may be the sweetest bloom of all.

The weight of what my husband did for me still surrounds me all heavy at times.  It is as powerful as the summer sun and I bloom.

It feels good to have roots in the dirt.  It feels good to bloom.

m

This post is the first in a month-long series where I get to go visit over at The Nesting Place.  This is quite an endeavor, a post every day for 31 days, but it is good to do hard things, right?  These posts, Bloom Where You're Planted, will be in the Inspiration & Faith category.  I am sure you will find lots of goodies there, enjoy!

small time

Taking a five-minute party break with Lisa Jo Baker this Friday.  Want to know more?  Check it out at: Five-Miinute-Friday.  It's Lisa Jo's party and she gets to pick.  Today she inspires us to write about one thing: small.  It amazes me how folks can interpret one word so many ways.  Click around at Lisa Jo's page and read what other people wrote. As for me, here, have a small piece of my heart.

Small time girl, grown up to be a small time woman.  I'm good with that.  Don't want attention, really, just can't quit talking here on this page.  Enjoying the idea that there are other women out there like little ol' me.

Small town girl, going from one small town to another.  Love livin' where you don't need a cell phone to find somebody.  There are only three places to go.  If your friend isn't home, she's at the grocery or Sonic.  Check your watch and take a guess...Sonic has a happy hour at 2PM.

Small hearts, can they grow big?  Sometimes it doesn't feel like it.  I fuss small words in a big voice and I wonder how my heart got so hard.  Dr. Seuss says the heart of the grinch grew two sizes one day and we all know the wisdom of Dr. Seuss.  Maybe there is at least small hope for me.

Small days, trapping me here in this home.  Trapping me here until I remember what I believe, that this is no small thing that I do, mothering these kids and loving this man and building this home with the hands of my soul.  Big, beautiful, small days.

Small gifts.  Little boxes with big things inside.  Small gifts might just be the best gifts of all.

loving the small,
m

More?
Blessedly Ordinary
More from Five-Minute-Friday: Fall
For your friends, "I Wanna Be Like You"

They Grow More Than Vegetables at the Rocky Mount Farmers' Market

Two years ago, almost to the day, I moved to Rocky Mount.  Came to a house I had never seen, a people I didn't know in a town that had no reason to care about me.  Just another move, another house, another year.

My family quickly found the Farmers' Market and I applied to the craft committee to sell my homemade soap.  You see, the folks at the Rocky Mount Farmers' Market are committed to ensuring that the things sold there are really local.  Your hard earned money goes directly into the hands of the person across the table.  You can ask questions about what you buy.

Take grits for example.  I never knew a thing about grits (did I mention I am not from around here?) until I got to know Carol.  Carol and I talk about more than grits, we discuss beaches, art, music and travel.  By the way, if Carol is there with the Carolina Grits, don't ponder your purchase very long or you will find the crate empty.

One fall Saturday, I set up my soap, put on my reserved smile and tried not to scream, "I'm not from around here!"  Rena, the other woman who sells soap, came over to my spot.  She has beautiful soap and even more beautiful eyes.  We talked. Then I bought some calendula from her, the first of many purchases.  So much for competition.

I feel for the market manager and his task of herding all of our wares and opinions into our spaces but I know his secret.  He is watching out for all of us at the market, making sure that we are all well cared for.  When the weather turns cold, he creates space where there is none so that we can all fit into the warm, main building.  He makes a person feel easy, like you should on a Saturday in the South.

Recently, I bought a loaf of Magie's bread.  All seven ingredients are listed.  They are all recognizable things like yeast, spring wheat flour, and butter.  My kids eat that bread instead of chips and many Friday evenings have seen heated discussions about what kind to buy the next morning.

The truth is, I didn't mean to find my friends at the farmers' market.  But there they are.  There is the joyful woman who gave my daughter a small pot of "hen and biddies" and Michael with his collard shirts and I did not spell that wrong.  I will never forget the quiet integrity of Mr. H and his honey and how his unfiltered beeswax makes the best lotion cake ever.  That beeswax could make a donkey's hoof look like she'd gone for a french pedicure.

My sweet friend Angie and her pecan chewies and if that wasn't enough her lovely daughter had to go and get her started on that ultimate chocolatey death thing, and it is so good I think every piece added a year to my life.  Drury Lane sells amazing breakfast bars and you get humor with every purchase.  Kellie and her husband bring lettuce and peppers and pottery from the microfarm and her beautiful voice spoke encouragement to me once when I dared whisper about my dreams of writing.

Great, I am crying now and you folks from Rocky Mount weren't supposed to make me cry because I want to go back home and I'm not from around here!

No one knows home better than you.

You people who were so generous with the work of your hands and your happy hearts, you know that when the door opens I have to go back to my people but you had to go and grow my heart here.  Now my heart will break for you too and it was just supposed to be a farmers' market but instead it is a gathering of friends.

I don't think it's like this everywhere.  I think it's special here.

So go to the market.

Grab a twenty or whatever and pick up some fresh produce and eat it when you get home.  Get some cranberry honey this fall from Gardenbees for your biscuits or hot tea.  Pick up an organic roasting chicken or some seafood driven in from the coast and celebrate who you are and your friends, old and new.

They grow more than vegetables at the Rocky Mount Farmers' Market, they grow hearts.



Interesting Farmers' Market Facts:

• The people who sell baked goods at the market are required to have a kitchen inspection.
• Farmers who sell produce have their scales certified for accuracy every year.
• Baked goods have a list of ingredients.
• The market isn't just for groceries.  You will find pottery, beautifully bottled vinegar, quilts, plants, information on gardening, freshly cut flowers and the occasional live band or car show.

Farmers' Market Challenge:
Consider trying to buy most of your gifts at the market this year.  Our family did it last Christmas and it was a big hit.  Red pepper vinegar for someone who likes spice, a lovely bowl or chicken roaster, a scarf, a handwoven basket or beautiful woodwork.  Make a fruit or vegetable basket or pick up a beautiful piece of handmade jewelry.  Not every vendor or farmer is there every Saturday so come often to see new things.

This story was originally published on the Rise Rocky Mount: Our People, Our Stories Facebook site.  If you have a story about life in Rocky Mount that you would like to share, check out the Facebook site listed below or email Lori Harris at rockymountstories@yahoo.com.

Facebook pages:
Traveler In My Own Backyard
RISE Rocky Mount: Our People, Our Stories
Rocky Mount Farmers' Market

Other posts you might like:
Before we found out we were moving...Heavy, Heavy July
When your heart is one place and your life another...The Great In-Between
Friends...Iron Sharpens Iron...I wanna be like you...

The Great IN BETWEEN

Oh, Lisa-Jo Baker, you dared us to write about the great IN BETWEEN.  If I open this gate sister, it might not stop flowing and certainly not in time for five-minute-friday.

When I saw the topic this Friday morning, I almost winced.  You see, I AM IN BETWEEN.  I live in between, with just an eye on the yesterday, driven toward tomorrow and more often than I wish, right in between them both.  And missing so much of what is in front of me.

Always, in between cities, in between friends, in between families.  Never quite there.  I referee in between kids, plant flowers at someone else's house while I am in between homes and live too much in the future.

But life is now, right here in between and I am missing it.

I am missing it because of my desire for what isn't.

Maybe I need to accept the great IN BETWEEN as the greater WHAT IS REAL.  The fields around us in this house that isn't mine are real.  My real kids play in those fields and I can go with them.

The future I imagine isn't real.  It can change or never even happen.  I can participate in it when I get there but I can't control it.

This life IN BETWEEN is real right now and begging to be lived.

The pool down the street in between the park and the cute green house is real and begging for wild, splashing kids right now.

The great IN BETWEEN THAT IS REAL is calling me and I don't think I want to miss it.

m.


Other posts about living life right where it is...
What I learned in June for Chatting at the Sky
Unplugged...Living a Real Life
The Truth, and I Saw It Right There In Sunday School

What I learned in June...

Emily at Chatting at the Sky is hosting a blog party inviting readers to post what they learned in June.  By the way, this chick has a great blog, definitely worthy of your email subscription.

Please comment on what you learned in June, then share or forward.  We'll call it a party within a party...

Here are just a few things that I learned in June:

• Life is not, in fact, boring.  Sometimes things get wild.  Just when I think that I am going to be crushed under the sheer repetitiveness of cleaning this house and driving to the grocery store again, God grabs my whole basket of life and throws it in the air.  I have no idea where the pieces will land.  They will probably land exactly where they started and I learned in June, that I will NOT take that for granted.  Actually, I will probably will take it for granted, but not for quite awhile.

• Sometimes it feels kind of good when your basket of life is in the air.

• I glow.  This June, while our entire basket of life was in the air, my husband said I had a glow about me.  It's adrenaline.  I am not stressed by the pieces of my life careening around my head, landing who-knows-where, but I am awake, alive and aware.

• Sometimes God is like a freight train, fast, loud and powerful rolling right through your life.  You can run alongside and grab on or you can watch it go by.  This has happened to me before.  I LOVE IT WHEN HE IS LIKE THIS.  LOVE IT!  Just grab the train and hold on.  It is one of the few things I do well and I encourage you to grab the Train next time He comes by.  It will take your breath away.  It will make you glow.

• Running can be fun.  This is revolutionary.  I am a walker.  Two weeks ago I would tell you that I hate running.  My daughter and I started Couch to 5K.  It's fun.  I am embarrassed to admit that I  look forward to the three days a week that we run.  Seven weeks to go and we will be "runners" able to go three miles any time we want.

• I can still surprise myself.  (I didn't say confuse myself, that happens every day.)  Forty-two years old and starting to run.  After a lifetime of faithful Dr. Pepper drinking, I now prefer Coke.  Goodbye 30 years of Hershey's with Almonds, my favorite candy bar is now Milky Way.  Maybe it's early menopause.

• Don't take your local farmers' market for granted.  Their stuff really is better.  The weather here in NC is messed up this year though.  We had about three weeks of strawberries instead of six.  The blueberries and tomatoes are not here yet.  I miss my berries.  Next year I won't mess around. I will eat local strawberries because local strawberries taste like candy and store strawberries taste like cardboard unless you sprinkle sugar on top.  Then they taste like cardboard with sugar.

July may well bring the landing of the basket of life, most likely right where it was before.  But maybe not...

gotta go, there's a Train to catch,

m

Other posts you might like...

my favorite post...the identity of Superman

maybe the scariest day of my life...The Slidin' Chevy

when my kid taught me a lesson about giving...Nathan and the Bell Ringers

When You Show Up for the Trip and Get Sent Home

Ever have something you want?  Something you really want and it seems like you could have it, if you just did everything right.  But maybe it isn’t up to you.

Right now, there is something that I want.  I really want this thing.  Well, it isn’t a thing exactly, more like a circumstance.  I don’t mean to be all secretive but I can’t tell you what it is.   I mean, I love you all but some things just aren’t meant to be shared on the internet.  Not yet.

It doesn’t matter anyway because this is about all of us together so you just imagine your own thing because at the end, I am going to ask you something.

Okay, so the allegory goes like this:

I want to go on a trip.  I believe I can go if I just get everything ready.  I get all my ducks in a row, iron (insert muffled laughter here), get the dog and kids ready and five of us hop in the car.  We think, we believe, it is time for the trip.  We all want to go.

We get to the airport, grab our bags and head toward the counter to buy our tickets.  We have the money and all the paperwork.  Everything is as perfect as we can make it.

We arrive at the counter and announce our intention to board the plane.  The agent looks at us calmly.

“No.  Go home.” 

We ask questions.   I plead.

“No.  Go home.”  Nicely, gently, certainly.

I want to know why but there is only one answer.

“No.  Go home.”

Does this mean “not today” or “not ever?”

Have I done something wrong?  Do I wait?  I have done everything that I know to do.  I showed up for the trip and got sent home.  I don’t even know why or really even what the answer means.  I am a woman of faith so what do I do with this?

DO I GIVE UP?  Let go and move on?

When does “no” mean “no” and when does it mean “not now” and most importantly…

How do I know?

HOW DO YOU KNOW? 

Does it even matter if you know?  What do YOU do when you get sent home?

The actual circumstances don’t matter.  If you are going to forward or share this post, please consider doing so after you add your own insight in the comments.  The best way to go the unknown is together.

It is well,

m

On a lighter note...

Okay, so not a lighter note but another big question and the story of the Slidin' Chevy.

When we had a blast at the Tough Mudder...happier than a pig in mud.

My Name is Still Butmommy.

Iron Sharpens Iron...I Wanna Be Like You...

You have someone you admire, right?

Where my life is right now, I don’t spend much time around other adults.  I spend every waking moment with people, but the oldest is nine.  This does not sharpen my iron, if you know what I mean.

So, in an effort to meditate on all things good and lovely, I want to tell you about some of my friends.  Friends I admire very much.  Of course, other people are not our ultimate model but we each have gifts, shadows of perfection lived out in practical daily life.  When we live out our gifts in front of each other, it lifts all of us up.  Iron sharpens iron and we all become better for it.

For Michelle, 

I want to be like you in your transparency.  There is no guile or misleading in you and though you are reserved, you let people see you.  This gives me great courage for myself, courage to let others see me, my heart, my dreams, and my struggles.  Most of all when you hosted that group of moms, you were transparent to us, and in your transparency, I saw a friend, a friend that I very much needed.  Your very transparency showed me that I was not alone.  I hope one day I can be like you…

For Kristi, 

Oh girl, how you persevere.  The events in your life would fill a trilogy of books and I don’t even know if anyone would believe they all happened to one person.  Well, perhaps Job would believe.  And like Job, you lifted your eyes upward, you blessed and looked for blessings and sister, you found them where a less faithful woman would have found only questions and pain.  By surrendering so much, you found even more.  And one other thing, how did you face such trials and still look outside at the rest of us, care for the rest of us, give to the rest of us?  So many times I sat by your side whining and you listened, and you cared and you gave.  Oh girl, I wanna be like you…

For Sharilee, 

I wish I had your gentleness.  You are so gentle of voice and touch, reserved and yet when you laugh, you fill the air around you with joy.  I have heard you fuss a kid out, making your point and wielding your authority as a mom, while using tones appropriate for a library.  Even more imprinted on my mind is your devotion.  You have done so much for your kids and family, always thinking of those around you and making them know your devotion to them.  Even when we were in grade school, you talked and lived family.  As a side note, you are the kind of girl I hope my daughter grows up to be…completely beautiful and feminine but able to hit really hard when you have to…I wish I were more like you…

This is for you, Laura.  

You set a great example, very powerful and far reaching, when you sat in your office and said (way before Nike) that when there was something to do, just do it.  And you lived it.  Time to get a project done, just do it.  Got a long drive, just do it.  Need to get your car fixed? Clean the cat box? Buy a house? Just do it.  I think of this almost daily and I don’t even think you would remember it.  As for me, can’t get pregnant without going through hell?  Just do it.  Have to move again?  Just do it.  Another toilet to clean?  Just do it.  You inspire me to quit making excuses and just do what needs to be done with grace and intelligence.  Elle, I have always wanted to be like you.

Kirsten, this is for you. 

I believe that you are completely without selfishness.  Never seen anything quite like you.  I have heard people say that so and so would give the shirt off their back but I think you would really do it and then throw in everything else in your closet.  And you pay attention to people around you so that you can give them, not just a shirt, but the kind of shirt they would like most.  It seems to me that you are always on the lookout for a way that you can give to someone.  And it isn’t just stuff, but you give YOU.  Your time and energy, all given just because someone asks and you give it cheerfully.  I miss our walks and hope to grow up to be more like you…

For you Tamara, 

I love the air of peace that surrounds you.  Now this is going to be hard to explain but here goes.  You, your home, your children, your hospitality…it is all filled with peace.  I don’t mean that it isn’t wild, how could a home with a school and all those kids and kitties and driving not be wild.  But YOU, are peaceful.  When you had all of us over for an evening of talk and comfort and food, you made a place of peace.  No worries, obligations, shoulds or oughts.  A place where we could just be and as your kids came and went, there was peace, an absence of strife or angst.  As I grew to know you that seemed to be how you approached challenges that would make my heart race…with peace.  If trials entered your life, you prayed and moved ahead, with peace.  Tamara, I hope to be like you, a peacemaker…maker of peace.

Kathy, 

I am writing this because I hope you know that when I think of you, I always think of, well…good.  Though we live far away, we made lots of memories together and when I think back, I am struck by how much good you did.  You chose to do good things, not because of what you could gain, prestige, popularity, materials for college applications, but because those things were good.  While I was trying to figure out who I was and what I wanted to do, you did good to those around you.  You invited friendship with a new girl for no reason that I can imagine except that your heart is so good.   While I struggled with right and wrong, you just did the right, kind, grown up things without judging me.  One day Kathy, I hope to have a heart as good as you do…

This is for you Sandy, 

because you inspire focus and excellence and pursuit of your dreams.  I am so glad we were roommates in college.  You inspired me to diligence and to be more than just good enough but to strive for excellence.  And then there is the pursuit of your dreams.  How often I have labored under the obligation to do what I thought I should do but neglected my dreams and gifts.  And then you come along and start your own Pilates studio, making your dream a reality powered by gifts that I well know you possessed when we were in college.  Thank you Sandy, your example of focus, excellence and pursuit of your dreams fuels the genesis of one of my own…and so I write because I want to be like you, realizing a dream.

These things I have written, I don’t even know if my friends know this is how I feel.  These things, they are simple and short but don’t you think these beautiful women ought to know this is what others see in them?  Don’t you think they ought to know how they mold me, sharpen me?  I bet these little things I wrote today would fit on a postcard or in an email.  Let’s do it, let’s transparently and gently do something good and give to our friends, maybe a moment of excellent peace by writing or calling and simply say…I wanna be like you.

Thank you,

Michele


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