Yes. There Is Even A Special Day For The Delusional. Happy Festival of Popular Delusions Day!

We all carry our favorite delusions around in our back pocket:

• The 5-second rule for dropped food.
• Barack Obama is not a natural born citizen of the United States. (For all you conservatives out there.)
• Sarah Palin believes she can see Russia from her house. (For all you liberals out there.)
• Global warming. (I just threw that in to irk my husband.)
• Summer is a great time to get things done while the kids are out of school.
• Irregardless is not a word. (So sad. It is so widely used it has become “nonstandard” English and now appears in virtually any dictionary. Look it up.) 
• It takes 7 years for  gum to pass through your digestive system.
• Eating turkey makes you sleepy. (Actually, ground beef and chicken contain the same amounts of tryptophan as turkey.)
• Santa Claus. (For all of you. Because I still believe.)
• That your boyfriend is completely faithful.
• Saint Patrick was Irish. (He was English.)
• Walt Disney is being preserved in a cryonic chamber.
• Friday the 13th is an unlucky day. (When you’re a glass-half-full gal like me? It’s just another day.)

There are things we want to believe because it makes us happy. There are things we believe because it provides order and an explanation, no matter how irrational the belief may be. There are things we want to believe because it gives us hope. There are things we believe, not because we want to, but because we’re too lazy to look it up.

There are things we choose to believe because it’s the world we have created for ourselves and we like it that way.

Put me in that category.

I like my rose colored glasses.

I choose to believe that there can be a world without the need for war or weaponry. I believe in Disney magic and Santa Claus. I believe that the Mayan calendar would start all over again if the Mayans were here to produce a new one. I believe in the 5 second rule. (Depending on the surface on which it falls, of course.)

I choose to believe the unseen truths that comprise my faith. I believe that someday my mortgage will no longer be upside down. I choose to believe that I will not turn into my mother.  I believe that if I break a cookie in half the calories will fall out.  I believe in fairy tales and miracles. I believe that people are born good and fate has a nasty way of twisting those who succumb to evil. I believe in goodness and light and kindness and joy.

So.

Call me delusional.

I don’t care.

I’m much happier this way.

Yep. I’d Choose Kind Atheists Over Hateful Christians Every Single Time.

Now THIS is my kind of church!

Amen to that!

They Make Lifetime Movies About People Like Me!

My teenage daughter has hit yet another (inevitable) stumbling block in her young adult career. First (real, true love)Break-Up.

It sucks. And it sucks to be her mother watching her go through this heartache and not be able to make it all better.

Except laugh.  (Yes, I’m one of those moms.)

“They make Lifetime movies about people like me!” she wailed.

Thank goodness her head was buried in a pillow and she couldn’t see my face. I was biting back a smile.

You mean the one about the teenage girl raising her half siblings because her drug addicted mom was in jail?

Nope.

Or the one about the good kid turned porn addict?

Nope. (Thank God.)

Or what about the one about the cougar-she-devil who seduces her stepson who kills his dad to have creepy stepmom all to himself?

Ewwwww and a firm no.

Then there’s the upcoming movie about the woman who thinks her husband has been unfaithful so she hires a private investigator to prove it and the P.I. falls in love with her so he fakes that the husband is having an affair to win her over.

(Honestly. I couldn’t make this stuff up.)

No, sweetheart. I hate to tell you this. Your life, as unique as it is, is so similar to the millions of other lives out there. We have heartache. We have pain. We have suffering.

Some of us push through it better than others. Some of us wallow.

But we are all walking Lifetime movies of our very own.

And hopefully, yours will never be produced for television.

(Hugs, hugs, kisses and hugs, sweet girl. I am hurting for you. Right now, everything is raw and horrible. Empty. And oh-so-difficult. But like the beautiful moments we should treasure and cherish; this, too, shall pass.)

Jane Declares This Week Commenter Appreciation Week!

More specifically?

My regular commenters.

My dear, sweet, intelligent, kind, feisty, patient, thoughtful, supportive, commenters. If you’ve commented here once, twice or many times more.

If you’ve been thought-provoking or just plain hilarious.

Irreverence (as long as it isn’t malicious and it makes me laugh) is welcome here. So is compassion and tact. I appreciate constructive comments – ones that make me pause, re-evaluate and encourage me to be a better person.

What I do not appreciate are anonymous (fake name, fake email address) comments that criticize and name-call. The ones – ok, just one – that hints you know me in real life. If you’re upset with what I’ve written, please call me (you know my number). Email works, too.

But this post isn’t about you.

This post is about the fantastic people who have followed me through thick and thin, pithy and verbose, enthusiastic and depressing, here and not-s0-here.

This post is an enormous, sloppy, wet thank you to my amazing peeps. You comment when I’m happy. You comment when I’m sad. You even comment when I’m not around here much.

I appreciate your candor. I appreciate your thoughtfulness. I love your dependability. I love it when you make me laugh.

In a nutshell, I love you. Each and every one.

Thanks for letting me know I’m not posting to the wind.

Warning! Controversial Post Below. If You Are Easily Offended, Please Go Somewhere Else

 

I could just stop there, I suppose. My readers know me well enough to know what I’m going to say. But just in case you’re here for the very first time, I’ll elaborate.

First, let me say I am beyond thrilled that we finally (and I do mean finally) have a black president under our belt. Now, maybe we can vote/concentrate/fix the issues at hand rather than focus on the skin color of our elected officials.

Second, I adore the fact that, once again, we seem to have a stable, loving married couple in office. No matter what your politics, both the Obamas and the Bushs seem strong, united and committed to each other.

I saw this magazine cover at my local grocery store. Frankly, I was offended by the headline “Celebrate Black Love!” Whenever I see something that points to color of skin I insert “the opposite” and wonder who else might be offended.

So let’s try it. Let’s insert white for black.

“Celebrate White Love!”

What do you picture? The cover of a KKK magazine? And who would be the quintessential white couple? Now, who is offended?

Let’s skip the fact that this is a magazine geared toward the black community. (That’s a topic for another post) Let’s focus on the fact that the white population will soon be the minority. Let’s consider that everyone, including our president, craves to be recognized for their contributions to society, their strengths, their merits.

Not for the color of their skin. 

We live in a country where the concept of melting pot is becoming more and more real every single day. I love it that the US is a melting pot. This is something I want to celebrate. This is not a time to encourage distinction and division.  

Celebrate Black Love?

Why can’t we just celebrate love?

Love It Or Hate It? (50 Cent Fans? This Post Isn’t What You Think It Is)

Love it or Hate it?

I’ll tell you. (My answers are in parenthesis)

Then, you tell me.

Ready?

Set.

Go!

1. Snow days when school gets cancelled and there isn’t any snow on the ground and the roads are clear? (Hate it!)

2. A real Christmas tree complete with dropping needles? (Love it!)

3. Asymmetrical haircuts? (Still hate it!)

4. House guests in your home for 20 straight days in a row? (It’s love/hate for me)

5. Shopping online? (Love it!)

6. Shopping at Whole Foods? (I love it! My wallet hates it!)

7. Tuna Noodle Casserole? (I loved it as a kid. As an adult, I’ve pulled a 180. Hate it!)

8. The Apprentice Season 10? (Loved it!)

9. Amazing Race – any season? (Love it!)

10. Reality shows on MTV?  (Hate it!)

11. College bowl games on December 31 and January 1? (Love it!)

12. Spreading out the football games from December 18 – January 10th? (Hate it!)

13. The mom who chewed out her NHL coaching son for using foul language? (Love it!)

14. Eggnog? (Hate it!)

15. Truman Capote’s boxed set of The Thanksgiving Visitor and A Christmas Memory? (Love it, love it, love it and I read it every year and never tire of it!)

16. Pixie haircuts? (Love it! Just wish I could pull it off.)

17. Creating a Facebook page for your baby? (Hate it!)

18. Trying to complete this post on a dinosaur of a computer with a slow internet hook-up? (Hate it!)

19. Being completely finished with Christmas shopping a week before the big day? (Love it!)

20. Having a blog that, not only provides a creative outlet, but has introduced me to some amazing people and some amazing writing? (Love it, love it, love it!!!)

What do you love and hate?

If I Could Have Just One, Make That Ten, Do-overs

If  I could just have one do-over, I would have let Scott kiss me and said, “Yes. I will go with you.” (“go with” as in date…well, as much as you can date when you’re in the 6th grade.)

If I could have nine more do-overs? I would have…

…gone to law school immediately after college. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.

…found a way to live closer to my favorite place in the world. (Don’t laugh) Yes, that would be Disney World.

…stopped every stupid lesson plan that started going wrong and pushed my students harder instead of letting them (goof off) explore their creative impulses.  

…stood up to my mother more in my twenties when I was an adult and in charge of my life.

…pushed and pursued a singing career with a little more effort. Opportunities just fell into my lap and I took them all for granted.

…called my grandparents more often and begged to hear story after story after story and written every single one of them down afterwards.

…listened to my mid-wife when she told me that losing weight after a baby is difficult. Even more difficult when you’re having one at age forty. And then, I would have eaten less and better.

…been a heck of a lot more confident in high school. Because, really. How much of that crap matters now?

…waited until I was a little bit older and a little bit wiser to get married for the first time.

But I didn’t.

I said no to Scott, let’s just be friends. (even though I had a killer crush on him) I floundered after college. I stayed in the same place after college. I let my students run over me sometimes, not wanting to squash their creativity. I let my mother dictate my life until I was in my 40’s. I thought there would always be singing opportunities. I talked more about my life with my grandparents than I listened about theirs. I fed my cravings of ice cream and McDonald’s french fries when I was pregnant. I pretended I was confident in high school, but deep down I was pining to be the popular one. I married at the oh-so-wise age of 21 because, seriously, I knew everything there was to know about what was good for me.

But.

And it’s a big but.

I wouldn’t change a thing.

I have an amazing husband. Three fantastic, beautiful children. A career as a stay-at-home-mom – and who knew I would love it so much? I have a life with regrets and accomplishments and friends and scars. And I wouldn’t change a thing.

Because I like who I’ve become. And I wouldn’t be me without all my experiences.

So, if I could have ten do-overs? I wouldn’t do it.

Nope.

Because then, I wouldn’t be here.

Take The Time To See The Magic Around Us

This is such an interesting experiment.

And a huge reminder for all of us to slow down.

Breathe.

Enjoy. And see the magic.

There IS magic all around us if we would only take the time to look.

!!!

For more !!! visit Momalom or Bad Mommy Moments.

Home. Where Is That Exactly?

I moved to the south 25 years ago. In that time, my blood has thinned, I say “y’all” easily, and sweet tea is my medicine. I crave the heat and humidity. When it starts getting cold (below 70 degrees) I want to hibernate. I discovered a love for the blues, salt water air, shrimp and grits. The slower pace doesn’t bother me in the slightest. 

My husband, who has lived here about 13 years, still thinks of the northeast as “home.” When he criticizes the south, when he gets hung up on stereotypes and generalities, I get defensive. When “The Book” (Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil) was released, I became fiercely protective of my beloved Savannah. Facebook has reconnected me with former high school  classmates who now live all over. When they find out I’m living in the South they’ll occasionally make  a crack about us crackers.

I am not amused.

When life throws lemons your way, most of us want to run home. But where is that exactly?

As many of you know, the place where I was born doesn’t create an image of comfort for me. I have fond memories of my childhood home, sure. But it isn’t the place I run to. And because I don’t have parental figures who offer a soft place to land, I have no one to run to, either.

It’s been a sad, sad past few days. My sister’s husband suffered much through the course of his illness. His death was scary, uncomfortable and violent. He was very aware in his last moments and my sister witnessed his tragic end. She is “home” and I am here. I can’t hug her. I can only talk to her over the phone. And while I want to be there for her, I dread going back there.

There is not where I find comfort.

I find comfort here, in Georgia, with our crazy sayings, odd fashion sense, yummy collards and cornbread. I much prefer the sweet southern comments by strangers, that a Yankee might perceive as less than genuine. But I don’t care. There is a friendliness here that I don’t find many other places. Fake or not, this little glass-half-full-gal prefers the smiles, friendly questions and terms of endearment at the grocery store.

Where is home?

Home is where your heart is.

As trite as that sounds, I am home.

My heart is here. With my amazing, loving husband – who sometimes makes me want to tear my hair out. My beautiful three children – who give me a taste of crazy every single day. In a great dream house. In a neighborhood with neighbors who are nice and neighbors who are not so nice. My heart embraces the steamy, hot summers and the snail’s pace. I am fascinated by the number of southern dialects and quaint phrases.

I will visit “home” in a few weeks for my brother-in-law’s memorial service. But where am I complete? Where do I feel most comfortable and wanted? Where is the familiar and the deep-rooted sentiment and love?

Here.

(Thank you, dear sweet readers, for your words of comfort and peace and understanding. Your thoughts mean more to me than you will ever know.)

The Grass Isn’t Greener. It’s Just Different.

(I’m sorry for the unscheduled re-run but here is a post from last year. My sister’s husband died over the weekend and it’s been a little crazy in my house, in my head. Didn’t want to leave you with nothing to read with your morning coffee so here is post originally from September 21, 2009, from my blog’s infancy. Hope to see you all tomorrow!)

A close friend was going through some struggles in her marriage. And if you believe in coincidences, a blast from her past appeared unexpectedly. They ran into each other at a sporting event. She was with her husband and 2 other couples. They chatted about old times and he encouraged them (a few of the people in the party, including my friend)  to stay in touch.  Well, she did. One thing led to another and they were about to do something they probably shouldn’t but she stopped.

She has a loving husband. Beautiful children. Comfortable home. Good job. Loving friends and family. She was so embarrassed and upset that she had been tempted. But things weren’t as perfect as they seemed in her marriage and she started listing all of the cons in her relationship with her husband. The magic is gone. He doesn’t appreciate me. His priorities always take precedence. And on. And on.

I asked her to look at the pros. But all she could think of was the excitement that this ex was providing. She was so caught up with the magic she couldn’t see why they had ended it so long ago. And I told her; The grass isn’t greener. It’s just different.

Some varieties need more attention, more water. They need to be cut more often and edged a certain way. Others are less needy. You can skip watering and let nature take care of it. It doesn’t need to be weeded or fertilized. There are so many varieties out there. You have to decide which variety is best for your lawn, where you’re living and how much time you have to devote to it. You make your decision and then work with it.

I’m so glad my friend decided not to go back to her ex. She’s making it work with her husband. But recently she told me that when I told her about “the grass not being greener” she was just listening politely to me. She didn’t really get it. It didn’t hit her until the ex said something that dragged her back to reality. It brought back all of the reasons why they had broken up and she didn’t want to deal with such a high maintenance lawn.

She liked her life the way it was. She was familiar with this variety. And while there was some weeding to do and she never could quite get which fertilizer to use when; it WAS a beautiful lawn.

(My sister and her husband had a very real, down to earth, love-all-the-warts kind of marriage. They appreciated each other in a way that I so admired. Let’s all hug our spouses a little tighter today. We never know how long we’ll have with each other.)