You don't bring me flowers, You don't sing me love songs.....

So I drive by this house several times a week.

I love it. I think it must have been such a cute house.

I always look at it and wonder,

How did someone let it get like this?

Didn't somebody love this house?

Did they raise a family here? Have parties here?

Was there love inside?

This must have been somebody's safe place at one time.

How did it become broken and forgotten?

Neglect is a funny thing.

Everyone is it's victim.

It doesn't hate you.

It doesn't even really care.

Unlike guilt who is noisy and demands attention,

neglect is quiet.

It just sits in the corner hoping to be ignored.

Neglect just sort of happens.

It happens in seconds or over decades.

It only takes a moment for a baby to roll off a couch.

Dinner burns in just minutes.

A few hours outside in the July sun without sunscreen? Yeah.

If I go days without doing laundry for seven people, I pay for it.

Imagine a couple weeks worth of weeds.

I haven't blogged for a month.

A year ago I said I was going to re-stain the deck.

Neglect is patient.

Sometimes it takes decades to realize that you

have lost part of who you are.

What about that childhood friend that made you laugh till' you peed?

Do you miss her?

Has she fallen into the "I have too much going on" pile.

What about that beautiful landscape

you've always wanted to try painting?

Has that been hidden under

that stack of "I've got to paint the living room."

What about that 15 year old girl that wanted to visit

every baseball field in America?

Is she still in there?

Or has she been brushed under that pesky

"I don't have time for that" rug.

We all have many things going on in our lives.

Many important and essential things.

We all do good things.

But do you ever just sit back and look at certain aspects of your life and think,

How did I let it get like this?

Didn't I love this part of me enough?

Isn't that dream important any more?

Didn't I want to be better at that?

I think this week I will turn the t.v. off or

*shudder*

tell someone no. (can I do that?)

and I will spend that time

pampering some part of me that has been pushed to the way side.

Even if it's just one little corner...

like calling an old friend,

doing a paint by number picture with your kid,

or watching a baseball game on t.v.

it's a start.

Here's to paying attention.

The 5th Food Group

Is it very, very terrible
that this

was what we had
for Dinner????


Or do you secretly wish
you lived at my house?

They were so delicious
that I couldn't even have
too much guilt about it.

We had milk with them.
*said in my best,
"Does that count for anything?"
tone*

So a few years ago (like 34) my mom was born.
Her birthday is today and I just had to do a little post
and let her know how amazing I think she is.
I have always known this but have come to
really appreciate what a great mother she is
even more now that I am a mom too.
I find myself calling her more and more frequently
to apologize for some random thing that I'm sure I
did 25 years ago.
The conversation usually goes something like this...
"Hi Mom. I'm just calling to say sorry for all the times I
"copied" Melinda until she cried." or "Hey Mom, did I ever purposely
make the most annoying sounds you could possible imagine?"
"If I did, I'm sorry."
She usually says something like,
"I don't remember."
So it gives me great hope that I won't remember
the silly things that drive me kukoo.
Looking through some old pictures I said to my sister,
"I forget what Mom looked like when we were little.
I just always picture her looking like she does now."
But I do remember what she was like.
My mom was the mom who started the water fights with the neighbor kids.
She was always making bird houses with the scouts or pillows with the Young Women.
She was never without a project for the Primary.
She was busy being the one in charge of the School Carnival.
There was always an extra dinner being made for somebody in the neighborhood.
She could sew anything.
It seemed like she was canning something every day.
We went camping all the time.
She mowed the lawn and did most of the yard work.
Our yard was always beautiful.
I remember 5 kids in a tub with chicken pox at the same time.
She answered the phone the same way every time.
The hairs on the back of her neck would stand on end if she
didn't like one of your friends. She knew the good ones.
She was always involved politically and knew about current events.
We had the first 'flagpole' on the street and she was very proud of it.
She loved her Pepsi.
She got 7 kids and herself ready for church on her own for years.
She didn't love to cook but we always ate great, healthy meals.
She knew exactly what to say when I told her that the boy I liked....
liked my best friend. (this happened often....Natalie).
She had a beautiful signature that I could never forge correctly.
She always sang in the choir and I could pick her voice out of everyone.
I remember her plunking out notes on the piano until she knew the song.
She hated sleepovers.
She had the prettiest fingernails.
She made me look like this.

She was fair and didn't like to get mad.
But if she was locked in her room.....you didn't knock.
(I totally get that now)
She wrote thank you notes.
She loved and took care of animals.
She sometimes let us stay home from school even though
I'm pretty sure she knew we were faking it.
Sometimes she cried.
She was on a bowling league and taught me how to throw a strike.
She was really good at softball and either played or was the umpire.
She loved taking long drives to nowhere in particular.
She babysat other kids to help provide financially.
(Just the thought of that makes me very tired.)
She was always a room mother and made great treats.
We always had amazing Christmases.
She hated laundry but we always had nice, clean clothes to wear.
Summertime was like magic at our house.
She knew all the employees names at Ream's and they loved her.
She had a great laugh and was a fabulous story teller.
She gave us jobs even though I'm sure it would have been
easier just to do it herself.
I learned to look until I found whatever it was she sent me to get
cause' if she had to eventually go and get it......*shiver*....
She didn't (still doesn't) like going out to lunch.
She always got the bag of popsicles with the root beer flavor cause I loved em'.
She came to every recital, concert, play and performance.
I pretty much grew up at a ball-park.
She shared my dad with the whole neighborhood.
She had (and still does) a tremendous love of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
She loved her family.
These are only a few of the memories I have of her.
I really could go on for days and talk about all the wonderful things
that make my mother who she is.
She is a fantastic 'Nana' and I'm so glad my kids have her.
She is still all of these things and even more.
Hopefully, the way people look at me is a reflection on her.
Thank you mom for not only giving me life
but for teaching me how to live it.
I know I am a better person because of your example.
Happy Birthday.
Love you.

Inside all of us is a Wild Thing.

When I was a kid, I absolutely loved the book
"Where The Wild Things Are".
I loved Max and his costume.
And he was a real stinker of a kid
and I was not.
I was probably living vicariously
through his disobedient antics.
So when he got sent to his room
and his imagination turned that room into
a forest and an ocean and had creatures,
I was convinced that my imagination was
either broken or missing that vital
"everything comes to life" part.

I still love reading this book to my kids.
It's not a really bright, happy go lucky book
and I think that's why I like it.
It has depth and it's a little artsy.
When I heard they were making it into a movie
I was kind of nervous and slightly protective of it.
I did not want a cheesy, slick, cutesy version of the book.
When I found the trailer for the movie
I wasn't expecting much. Most kid's movies
tend to feel like a weekly Wal-mart mailer.
It comes every week,
it's shiny and flashy
you look at it quick,
and then throw it away
and wait for the next one.

This feels like the double issue of Pottery Barn.
You know the one. It comes once a year.
The one where you wait for the kids to go to sleep,
sit in your favorite chair,
drink your favorite beverage,
slowly browse through,
look through it again,
and then keep it on the coffee table for months.

And if the music is any indication
of what the movie is like,
it's gonna be good.

I think my imagination just got fixed.