Self Portrait Challenge: Imperfections

Yesterday I went to the pharmacy to pick up some prescriptions. This is a monthly outing at my house. It is usually a difficult task that I don’t look forward to, because it includes dragging three children in and out of the car and putting on shoes that have been taken off for the seventh time and trying to keep track of three extra people who want to run in three different directions and saying, “no, we’re not buying that today…stop touching the plungers…no, we’re only here for the medicine…no, I’m NOT buying you that right now…” until I’m blue in the face, only to rush out the door, hold a bunch of hands through the parking lot and buckle squirmy bodies into their seats. It’s a simple task, seemingly, yet it exhausts me just thinking about it.

So, yesterday, I went through this ordeal, and got to the counter and the woman only handed me one bottle (which is less than is normally handed to me), so I said, “Is this everything?” After checking on the handy computer, she assured me that this was all she had for me, and I paid and left.

Now, I realize that she didn’t give me my ADD meds. What do they expect from me? How is a person with a brain that is scattered to begin with supposed to enter into a pharmacy in the chaos of dealing with life as a mother of three and remember that I am there for my ADD meds? Seriously. They should be watching out for people like me. I should have a sign around my neck that reads, “please remind me to take my ADD medication” because they tell you your neurons are misfiring and then actually expect you to remember to put the little pill in your mouth. It’s too much to ask.

I still haven’t made it back to the pharmacy…tomorrow is another day.

www.selfportraitchallenge.net

Name That Song

The Rules:
1. Please DO NOT guess in the comment section. E-mail me (see my profile page for my e-mail address).
2. I really send a prize, so be honest and fair. (If you can sing it when you read the lyrics, you know it.)
3. Previous winners may still play.
4. Be the FIRST to e-mail me with the correct song title & artist and win.

Good Luck!

This month's lyric is:

every word you say
i think i should write down
don't want to forget come daylight
and no need to worry
that's wastin time
and no need to wonder
what's been on my mind
it's you
it's you
it's you

SPC: Imperfection

I love music. I love my ipod. I love itunes. It makes my life better.

About a month ago, I had my trusty little ipod clipped onto my pocket while I was cleaning up around the house. I walked into the laundry/bathroom to grab some clothes out of the dryer, and I was listening to one of my new favorite songs for about the 50th time, singing very loudly as I worked. My hand brushed against my pocket, side-swiping my ipod, and my $6.oo clip just wasn’t strong enough. The ipod flew through the air, doing flips and I was watching as time slowed down. I drew in my breath as gravity caught hold of my Precious and pulled it down into the toilet. Other times, if I have found a toy or some random object that needed fishing out of the toilet, I have been very finicky and refused to touch the toilet water—that’s just gross. But at this moment, gross didn’t cross my mind (well, a few seconds later it did), and I plunged my hand straight into the bowl of nastiness to save my ipod friend.

It was too late. We tried everything. I had a warranty on it, but it didn’t cover dropping it into the toilet (which actually happens quite often, I found on google). My can-fix-anything husband took it apart, but to no avail. The screen would never light up again.

So last week, my parents were here visiting and they lovingly informed me that they wanted to get me a new ipod for my Birthday (in about a month). When the time was drawing near to take my mom to the airport and no ipod had been purchased, I said, “uh…hey, uh…what about the ipod?” My mom seemed a little uninterested and said we didn’t have time to get to the store, so I said, “you know, you can get anything on line these days…” And I proceeded to go to the online Apple store and get my mom’s credit card out of her wallet and purchase it for myself—from her.

I don’t know which part is the most imperfect part of me, but I felt pretty selfish. But I HAVE thanked my parents several times for the gift, even if I forced it on them a little; even if they did just spoil me rotten in a million different ways during the time they were here and it still wasn’t enough without my Precious.

Self Portrait Challenge

Good

I feel a little down on myself lately. You know how that happens from time to time? So at the risk of sounding vain, I’m making a list of good things about ME.

I’m good at baking. I’m not the best baker there ever was, but I can make some good oatmeal bread (amongst the various other good things I bake).

I have a good marriage. A good marriage takes a lot of work and nurturing. I’m good at nurturing—it comes naturally. Work, I have to work at, but I’m still good at it.

I’m good at knowing where and how to find peace. Not all people are peace-seekers, but I am one, and I’m good at it.

I’m good at singing good and loud to good music…when no one is listening.

I’m pretty creative. I know how to make things look good, whether it’s hair, or a mantle or a scrapbook page. I’m good at it, and I’m glad, because that’s one thing I love doing more than just about anything else.

I’ve got a good smile. People tell me that all the time, and it’s a nice compliment, and I’ll accept that today.

I’m surprised at how hard that was! But I did a good job at not mentioning all the exceptions and all the things I’m not good at. That’s going to have to be good enough.

What are you good at? I’m aching to know.

Self Portrait Challenge: Imperfections

I have a chalkboard. This cute little antique one with a wooden frame and a tray that holds all my chalk and the eraser. There are lots of pieces of chalk—in every color. This chalk board holds all kinds of information on any given day. Sometimes it has phone numbers and important messages for my husband. Other days it holds names of important people who I am supposed to contact. I put my on-going grocery list up there. Some days it sends a happy message out for everyone who enters the kitchen, like, “Happy St. Patrick’s Day!” or “Welcome Home!” Other times it sends out messages of thanks or love. Lots of days my lists are color coded. Pink for things to do at home, purple for groceries, orange for errands, and on and on. Unfortunately, I am still not very efficient. There are rare days when I erase one thing after the other upon the completion of my tasks. There are other times when “call Kirsti back” or “RSVP”stays up there for a week, and then I just erase it, knowing that, dang it, I’m just too late.

I am not an organized person, and I am reminded of this frequently, and although this annoys me, I am forgiving, and I don’t hold grudges. Sometimes, well meaning loved ones (or practical strangers!) will tell me how to organize myself. But you know what? This just doesn’t work. I have come to the conclusion that organization is not something that can just be done (as in, “You just DO it.”), and I have a hard time understanding why people just expect me to suddenly become organized simply because they gave me a plan. I don’t expect people who aren’t creative to just go pick up a paint brush and DO it. It is definitely a talent that people have. And I will try not to be too annoyed when someone gently strokes my back and gives me simple step by step instructions, and I will try to learn and make this into a strength. Who knows maybe when I’m 73, I’ll have the most organized pantry on the block and I’ll be giving hints to poor sloppy girls like myself, teaching them how to train their brains how to put things into compartments. (Can you tell I have problems even accepting the idea of being organized? That last sentence makes me shudder.)



more imperfect people here.

Sunday Scribblings: If I Could Stop Time...

The first thing I thought of (who knows why) when I read this prompt is when Joshua prays for more time to fight in his war and God stops the sun and the moon in the sky and the day is lengthened so that the Amorites are conquered.

If I could stop time, it most certainly would not be for fighting. It would be for a million moments of peace. First, I would start by catching up on my sleep, but without missing the wonderful moments at night when you finish all the little things and relax and walk outside to look at the sky; and without missing the early morning hours when no one else is awake and the sun is beginning to rise and the time is yours alone. Then after I felt well rested, I would stop time every time I felt inspired; every time I saw a beautiful sight, whether in nature or to stop and study the ones I love. I would stop time and sit with paints and a canvas and capture the fleeting moments. I would want to stop time during the precious moments so I could sear them into my memory.

There have been a million times I have wanted to do this. One time in particular, I was in the Denver airport, and I had to say goodbye to my mom and my sisters. We took the train to my terminal and as it pulled up, I suddenly realized that my time with them was over and I had to say goodbye in one moment and hop off before the doors closed on me. As I turned to look at them they were all smiling and waving through the glass and I took my hands as if I were holding a camera and snapped a “picture” as they were pulling away. It somehow worked. I have that “photograph” seared in my brain

Fall Break

Just takin' a little break, hangin' with the folks, running around, and breathing in the fall air.

5th Birthday

"I can't believe it's my Birthday! I'm not even taller!"

Grateful Friday

~My sister has made it easy to donate to the Autism Research Institute for her upcoming run for autism. GO TEAM TOMMY!

Here is how to do it: Go to http://www.zoowalk.org/. There are tabs down the left side. Choose the 'donation' tab. Then click 'donate to a team'. Find 'Team Tommy' on the list. If you can't find it, click on the refresh button on your computer and it should be there. Once you highlight Team Tommy, you can follow the directions to make a secure online credit/debit card donation. Your donation is tax deductible and you can find that info on the website, http://www.zoowalk.org/, in the 'donations' tab. The money goes to wonderful research programs that have been making a difference for years. That info is also on the website.

~My boy was born 5 years ago today. Happy Birthday, Son!!

~Lucky Candice had her baby girl! I hope she posts her story. I can’t stop laughing about it. Congratulations, Candice!!

~#3 is potty trained! She’s doing such a great job, and only those of you who have tried to potty train your children can appreciate the sigh of relief I am feeling. Yeah, Girly Pants—such a big girl!

~My web site is in the beginning phase, but it is started and I am so excited!

~It’s sunny and crisp and the leaves are changing.

~We had French toast for breakfast, and I love French toast!

what the?

#1 has strep, #2 has a sinus infection, and #3 is potty training. I'm tired. I can't keep my house clean and my mom is coming on Saturday.

The wind is blowing through the trees tonight and the leaves are changing and the air is crisp. Mmmmmm. goodnight.

SPC: Imperfection

The ugly truth is that I only wear shoes when it is mandatory. I love looking at shoes and I love having cute shoes, but wearing them…well I only wear them when I have to. I get the mail in my little bare feet {and I say “little” flippantly—I have the largest feet of all the girls in my family}. I walk around the house in bare feet. I tend the garden in bare feet. I take the trash to the garage in bare feet. I go to pick up my daughter from school in bare feet. I have been known to wear flip-flops in the snow or turn back home because I forgot to grab shoes on the way out the door. As a result, I usually have pretty dirty feet. Not to mention the calluses that bring large sighs from my mother and sisters, and gifts of foot lotion and sea-salt scrubs from well meaning loved ones. When I get gifts of spa treatments (usually pedicures) I happily sit as some lovely person scrubs and sands and massages {and comments that I must wear bare feet a lot, with an upturned lip and a sideways glance} and I just smile and give a knowing nod. Then I choose a happy color to put on the nails that will be seen 95% of the time.

Lucky for you, I just showered and put lotion on my feet before I took this picture so you wouldn’t be too grossed out. (A girl has her limits of what she’s willing to post on the internet for all to see.)

self portrait challenge

Sunday Scribblings: Skin

If you peel away the armor is something underneath
If you look below for hidden treasure
underneath another layer
Are you hiding underneath the skin
If you peel away the skin is there anybody there
If you peel away the armor
is it too late to begin
Is there anybody hiding
if you peel away the skin
Now a spark has passed between us now
A momentary recognition
Something lost and something gained
And something shared that feels strange
Something cold that will not go away
There's a heart as cold as ice
In a vault that's made of stone
Over years the walls got higher
Over years the walls have grown
Is there anybody in there
in this self inflicted tomb
If you peel away the layers
is there someone in this room
If you peel away the skin
if you peel away the skin

Skin by Oingo Boingo

Many years ago I took a ride with my cousin in his cool car. He put on Oingo Boingo and I was enamored. I felt so old and mature. (What a laugh, looking back!) I went home and bought the album. These lyrics belong to that girl who rode in that car. What a deep concept for a naïve girl. As I walked through the halls of my little high school, I thought about each person I passed and wondered who they were underneath it all. I considered the possibility that I too am hiding out behind my own skin.

Over the years I have remained cognizant of the times I am hiding beneath my skin and not letting my whole self show. I have tried to get to know others in the same way. Some people are definitely more willing to share their soul, while others prefer hiding behind anything physical, whether it is their skin or their possessions. It is always hard for me to be patient with the latter (even if it’s me).



I do believe that there is indeed something underneath the skin. I’ve always been a big believer in the doctrine of the Soul—the spirit and the body combine to make a soul. Recognition does pass between souls; I have felt it. You can communicate spirit to spirit; I have done it. There is communication with God and answers to prayer; I have received it.

more scribblings here