Sir Lancelot and a life plan

Ahhhhh....so many reflections, so little time to sit down at a keyboard. Maybe I'll start putting out my posts via my cell phone.... you should see how fast my thumbs can go...... Ok, fasten your mental seat belts faithful readers, because I'm going to be posting like a madwoman here pretty soon.... or not. I don't know. Probably don't fasten your seat belts just yet...in fact, go grab a frosty beverage and watch a little something on TV. I'll post when I can. That being said, I'm going to tell you a little story (100% true) about a boy, a bike and a life plan....

A couple of weekends ago we attended a wedding of sorts... OUTSIDE... in ARIZONA... in JULY. Who gets married... OUTSIDE.... in ARIZONA... in JULY? It was like I was burning alive. The only things that would have made that experience hotter would have been if the ushers had been passing out pashminas and hot cups of cocoa to all of the guests... but that's not the story here. After the wedding and after the big flaming ball of fire finally set behind the mountains, there was a reception and there was dancing. And what transpired was straight. from. a. fairytale....

Under a twilight sky, Sir Lancelot comes riding toward the dance floor on his trusty steed, the breeze in his hair and a weathered, determined look on his face. Ok- in full disclosure, Lance was 5, he rode in on a little red bicycle complete with training wheels and a horn and probably what made his face look weathered were the remnants of wedding cake and frosting trying desperately to avoid ending up in his mouth. But his name really was Lance and that has to account for something, doesn't it?

Our handsome knight proceeds unrestrained to the dance floor and no sooner than you could say, "destiny," he locks eyes with the fair little maiden M. Rhapsody. And then they embrace. And they dance and dance and dance... And it's as if the knight and the fair little maiden are the only ones who even exist in the entire world.... Until in a Shakespearean-esque twist, there is suddenly another enchanted moment between little Sir Lancelot and who else but another fair little maiden...Orion.... Oops... And so begins the centuries old love triangle.... But as a courtesy to Little Sir Lancelot, I would like to recommend that he not mess with the Musial sisters... they are part Mexican and part Puerto Rican and they will cut you.



As I am watching this from a safe distance, ("safe distance" in this case being close enough to not miss anything but far enough to not interrupt anything.) I can see it all going down as though I'm watching a movie without sound.... and then (from stage left) I see the maidens' father walking toward the trio with an expression that looks as if he's got some plans for the little knight's sword and they don't include cutting the wedding cake....

And if you had been lucky enough to have been privy to the conversation that ensued, you would have heard the following....

Protective Father (of both maidens): (slightly annoyed) Hey Boy, I saw you dancing with my daughters out there.

Sir Lancelot: (also slightly annoyed but for entirely different reasons) Yep.

Protective Father: Are you asking for trouble?

Sir Lancelot: Nope.

Protective Father: How did you get here?

Sir Lancelot: My bike.

Protective Father: Do you have a life plan?

Sir Lancelot: What's that?

Protective Father: What are your plans for the future?

Sir Lancelot: I wanna drive monster trucks.

Protective Father: Really. Does that come with a 401k?

Sir Lancelot: I dunno.

Protective Father: You tell your dad I'm watching you. And I'm watching you HARD.

Sir Lancelot: Ummm..... Ok, I will.


And as quickly as he had come, Lance was gone again.... on his trusty steed... wind in his hair and determination on his face.... In search of a life plan perhaps... or possibly just a nice big glass of milk to wash down the wedding cake....

And there on the dance floor stood two sad little maidens and one protective father with the beginning of an ulcer and a strong desire to start cleaning his shotgun.

This is just bitchin'.

And by "bitchin'," I mean complaining.... not awesome or rad or wicked or any of the other outdated things that people say that mean, "good." And yikes. You know you're in for an awful blog post when the title is a play on words that L-A-M-E.... so consider that a warning.

A long time ago someone once said to me, "Tava, your down-in-the-dumps, depressed times are the majority of people's best-day-ever moments." Now either that was a compliment or he really thought I was maniacal, which now that I think about it, makes a. lot. of. sense. But he did have a really nice car. Or something. Suffice it to say, if he could see me now... Well, I guess you could say that I'm "down-in-the-dumps". I tell you this not to get your pity, but more I suppose to explain why I haven't been posting lately. You see, my reflections as of late, are pretty much downers and I don't wanna bring ya'll down with me. See, "ya'll down with me"? Who says that? You know who doesn't say that? Me. At least when I'm myself.

Now onto why I am not myself.

First and foremost, I blame the JC Penney "Fitting" Room, which should really be called the "You've GOT to be KIDDING" room. Speaking of reflections, if that was mine in their mirror.... Do they WANT you to buy their stuff? Could they have worse lighting? More unflattering mirrors? Grosser floors? Ok, the floors really don't matter that much when it comes to buying, but really? They may as well send a mean little person in to not only point out your flaws to you, but circle them in marker on the mirror, the way a football announcer does over a football play. Luckily, I brought my own two little people to do that.

Secondly, I said "good-bye," to both my inspiration and my naturally curly hair sometime in late February and I must say that the absence of both really stings. Although I've said, "good-bye," to that particular inspiration in the past, it was the first time I said it to my curls. Now this is important. If you have a long surgery or are under anesthesia for a considerable amount of time, (in my case, 12 hours) it will CHANGE YOUR HAIR. Mine was curly. Perpetually 80s admittedly. But never once did I complain about it, try to permanently straighten it or even wish it was straight. Anyway, it's gone. And I will one day accept the fact that when people see Orion's curly hair, they ask me who she got the curls from. (sniff)

Finally, I have lost myself somewhere in motherhood. Now, I suspect just by this statement alone if said in person, I would hear a collective, "Amen Sista." from moms around the country and the world who, without my going any further, know exactly what I'm talking about and feel the same. Can I get a witness? (Note: I attended a gospel church for years, so if I'm losing any reader on these statements, I apologize.) I think that generally speaking, I do a pretty good job maintaining Tava as her own person, but really? There are only so many Dora and princess coloring book pages I can color, leftovers from kids' meals I can eat, only so many brightly colored books under 15 pages I can read, only so many trips to the potty I can make with two little ones, only so many cartoons, computer animations and obnoxious kids' show hosts trying their best to teach lessons and instill manners (God bless 'em), and only so many mysteriously sticky messes I can handle before I am unrecognizable... to even myself. Whew. Felt good to get that out.

I know these things seem trivial. They are. They are not however really what has me down-in-the-dumps. Maybe I'll get to that later. But I have been a single parent now for about 2 months and I guess I'm getting a little... hmmm... let's call it, "punchy," shall we? In the near future, I will be going out by myself to find some adult conversation, some spicy food served on breakable dishes and I will then treat myself to some time to catch up on some Leah posts and maybe a book.... with lots of pages. And no pictures. And sprinkled with multi-syllabic words. And I will wear shoes that are in no way sensible. And a white shirt. And I will not bring wet wipes. See, I'm feeling better already.......

buried alive.

Dear Buried,

It's amazing the way two little words in the subject line of an email can really affect me. I am often affected by your words, but usually in more of a belly laugh sort of way rather than a heart-wrenching, cry-my-eyes out way. The body of your email explained and expressed where you are right now and what you are going through, but your two little words were well more than adequate.

And in this time, between reading and responding, I sit here full-hearted but empty-handed with the "thing" or "stuff" or "answers" or "cure" to what it is that has you buried alive. Sure, I know that "I'm sorry." or "Put it in God's hands." or one of my all time favorites, "It will be ok in the end, if it's not ok, then it's not the end." are all well-intentioned and no doubt appreciated... but you and I both know that no number of heart-felt and empathetic platitudes come anywhere close to easing, nevermind anesthetizing this seemingly insurmountable pain. And it is for this inability for which I apologize to you right now. I'm sorry I don't know what you are going through. I'm sorry that the rain that began trickling down upon you has become a torrential downpour. I'm sorry that every direction in which you turn, there is grief and loss and heart ache and while trying to console and encourage those around you, you must also grieve and manage yourself. I'm sorry that I am not there right now and in the upcoming days and weeks ahead.

You're a smart girl. And I wise one. You know Who holds the future and you know the promises that He gives to us in His Word. So do your loved ones. And that is tremendous. We both know that. But if I were with you now, I would give you my entire set of brand-new Villa della Luna Pfaltzgraff, discontinued dishes, take you to a raquetball court and hand each individual piece to you to shatter against the wall of your choice. (I would insist on protective eye wear, however.) We could yell and destroy and perhaps get in a couple games of raquetball. I wouldn't tell you that I know what you're going through, because I don't. I wouldn't quote scripture to you, because I already know you're in them. I wouldn't try to console you or tell you that it's going to be ok because I don't if the "ok" that it's going to be, is the "ok" that eases your pain. And I'm so so sorry for that.

You and I. We're words people. And I don't have any. To make it better. And for that I'm sorry. I'm a phone call away. To cry. To vent. To distract. To listen..... shovel in hand and on my knees.

Ready to dig,
~Tava

defenseless.

There are three things in this world to which I am utterly defenseless.

This little face is one.


(That nasty public bathroom that we are in is NOT another one....)

On the upside, my birthday suit still fits.

So anyway, (I'm starting out this way to make it seem that there has been no long break between posts...let me know how well this strategy is working, would you?) Welp... it is the end of another birthday for me and I felt that I would be remiss if I did not capture some of the highlights and pass them along to...well...myself and Tennille...who informed me the other day that I needed to post blogs, "way more often" which I took to mean, "Don't call me on the phone...nothing good can come from us talking on the phone."

This has been quite a year... and all I can say is that I am so abundantly blessed. I have a brand new, pain-free back, a great house, a town that is almost eternally sunshine, two little ladies that make me smile from the inside out, a generous selection of the most quality friends of which I am most undeserving, a sister who is one of the rarest people I've known, in-laws that I couldn't even have dreamed up, and a rock star husband, 5 years my junior who I've fooled into believing that he should spend the next 50 years with me. And to think, all I really wanted for my birthday was a day off from my two, 3-foot bosses and the resignation of Nancy Pelosi.... And as I blew out the candle on my cake at lunch and the candle on my flan at dinner (which would explain why I feel like I'm about to fall into a hypoglycemic coma) I had absolutely nothing to wish for. (Incidentally, I did throw one out to the universe at the risk of seeming greedy.)

Thank you to those I spent time with today, either in person or on the telephone. Thank you to those with whom I am eternally connected. But thank you most to my Creator who "has searched me and knows me! Who knows when I sit down and when I rise up; who discerns my thoughts from afar. Who searches out my path and my lying down and is acquainted with all my ways. Even before a word is on my tongue, behold, He knows it altogether. He hems me in, behind and before, and lays His hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high; I cannot attain it." ~Psalms 139~ It's been a tough year in many ways, but hopefully the nicks and scratches, the pressure and the roughening I've endured has produced a more polished and refined gem. As one of my most treasured "Besties" puts it, "You know you are in God's hand, but isn't it nice to sometimes feel His fingers wrapped around you."

38 is GREAT!

beFOUR you...

Before you grow another inch, learn another word or gain one more bit of independence. Before you stop calling your chin, your "chinny chin chin," and before you stop wanting to be a mermaid princess. Before my kisses stop healing your owies and before my silly stories stop making you giggly and wide-eyed. Before I can't carry you on my hip and before I can't throw you on the bed and before I can't scoop you up and cradle you in my arms. Before your hand no longer fits in the palm of mine and before your feet don't drown in my high heels. Before "Mommy" becomes "Mother" and before I stop being able to answer your questions. Before you stop pretending and playing and dressing up. Before you stop riding your rocking horse buck naked with cowboy boots and your Easter hat. Before you stop eating from Dora plates, flower utensils and drinking from princess cups. Before you stop mimicking me, wanting to be just like me and before I stop being your hero. Before you stop wanting me to tuck you in and kiss you goodnight and before your prayers of thanks stop including rainbows and fireworks. Before you have one more birthday and before you have one more first. Before who you are right now becomes who you were.


Before you turn 4, I want you to know. I loved you even before I met you. I loved the hope...the promise of you. You were a miracle when I first saw you and you are a miracle every single time I look into your big espresso eyes. You have brought me so much joy and wonder and perspective and pleasure and magic and laughter and there is not one day that has gone by that I haven't humbly thanked our Creator for selecting you for me to raise and mother. You are sweet and loving and affectionate. You have a tender heart and soft spirit. Sometimes when I'm with you, I get a tiny glimpse of who you are becoming and will be and I'm just overwhelmed... little you... overwhelm me and amaze me and inspire me.


Before I forget the details of your little face and the subtleties of who you are right now, before the daily and even hourly transformation of you creeps in and steals the little you from my arms and my eyes and just a few short weeks before your birthday, I want you to know. I LOVE YOU so very much. I want you to know that your name, Rhapsody~ "an effusively ecstatic expression of feeling or enthusiasm," fits both you and my love for you, perfectly.

dumb luck.

HAPPY ST. PATRICK'S DAY!!!

Dumb luck is in my opinion, the best kind. The kind that you don't wish for, plan for or hope for...the kind that just shows up in your life unannounced and often times unappreciated. So, in honor of St. Patrick and all that his day has come to mean and the fact that I've clearly walked booty backwards into a pot of gold, I am humbled and am hugely aware of all my dumb luck...

I'm lucky to have been born in a country which I adore and to have had the opportunity to explore its depth and breadth from sea to shining sea. I'm lucky to have friends who always make me laugh, and friends that have always been with me when life's punches make me cry. I'm lucky to have been afforded an education, and I'm lucky to be able to stay at home and "mommy". I'm lucky to have a love who not only tolerates my "idiosyncrasies" but finds them attractive or amusing...(very lucky). I'm lucky to be able to view the vast expanse of the heavens right outside my front door. I'm lucky that my two little beauties are healthy and rambunctious. I'm lucky to have been given choices that have ended in success and ones that have enriched my character. I'm lucky to have seen the "big picture" at a very young age. But above all, I'm lucky to know that the great fortunes of my life have not been dependent upon a charm, a clover or a horseshoe, but instead a Creator whose warm showers of love and grace cover even undeserving me. I'm lucky to know that my dumb luck isn't luck at all...

Lucky me.