convicting eyeballing or curious envy

Not too long ago, I set up for myself a little challenge. I wanted to see if I could refrain from consuming alcoholic beverages for 15 days. Now before you start jumping to all sorts of conclusions, I must first clarify that I don’t have any sort of serious issues with drinking! Nor do I consider my evening glass of wine a vice. I just had a few reasons for wanting to discover possible benefits of doing without for a set time frame (they are listed below).

So more than a week goes by, tra la la, life is good. All was going well and I didn’t feel too much of a withdrawal while I was refraining. Until…

A weekend birthday party (and for a toddler at that!!) put me right in the line of fire with major temptation!!

There were beverage choices galore and the lusting/longing (both words apply here…) for a lager was almost overwhelming. Because there were many brands and names that I had never heard of before, I was doing some extreme scrutinizing of those sipping merrily from their bottles. I wanted to know what they were enjoying and take some mental notes for when I could indulge again. But the next day, I was troubled that I might have given false impressions to those who were victim of my most severe stares. Apologies were made and I pleaded for pardon, as I confessed not as one who judges, but as one who suffers from another transgression: jealousy. I needed them to be assured that it was not convicting eyeballing that caused me to look their way, but rather curious envy.

And on that note, I am concluding that this little “no drinking challenge” with the goal of possible benefit has, on the contrary, done me (and as it appears, others too) more harm than good. Friends that didn’t know I drink had to endure and wonder what my glaring was all about. I had to put my first $1 in “mommy’s yelling jar” after making it two whole months without any uncontrollable hollering (is there a correlation between not drinking wine and acting like a crazy mom? Perhaps…). I still wake up restless in the middle of the night (I had always concluded being wide-eyed at 1 am was from wine intake. Guess not). But the biggest letdown was in regards to my main reason for the challenge. Knowing that wine and beer have lots of calories, I was really hoping to see some improvements in weight and appearance by foregoing a couple hundred calories a day. Nothing happened. The scale still spins to the same number, my jeans remain a little snug, and my meaty, bulky looking right arm is still seriously disproportionate with the rest of my small scrawny bone frame. You see, I had heard of “beer belly” where folks just gain a larger middle in their abdomen area from drinking; so I had this idea that maybe I suffered from a rare case of “wine arm” and that a lack of wine would remove the extra bulk from my right arm leaving in its stead a sinewy slender limb. Not so!

Oh well, if anything, I have learned for certain that sipping on my evening glass of wine and enjoying beers on the weekend (all in moderation, of course) have no negative consequences. And April 1st (my target date), I can say “cheers” again with a glass in hand!

 

to hoard a gourd

There is a familiar passage in the book of Matthew that says this.  ”Not what goes into the mouth defiles a man; but what comes out of the mouth, this defiles a man.”  And even though I know without a doubt, there is 100%  inerrancy in this Scripture, I am struggling to believe (and maybe it doesn’t) that there can be NO truth in the first part of this verse.  Because as it stands now, I have two cases, in very similar scenarios, revealing times where my character was indeed  ”defiled” by what I would put into (or wanted to put into) my mouth.  It was after posting this very dishonorable story , that my conscience was not slow to remind me of yet another time the possible pleasures of pumpkin flavored goodness put my morality to the test; and not surprisingly, I failed.   

And real quick, a little fyi; I looked it up and discovered that a pumpkin is a fruit (did you know that?).  For now, just hold that fact in the back of your mind, it will be used later.   

Anyways, it is nearing Christmas time.  Rob, the girls and I are all out running holiday type errands and shopping for gifts.  Hours into our outing, we see the all too familiar green circle coffee-shop sign with the face of a woman and her flowing hair outlined in white.  One shouldn’t have to think long to know which logo I am referring to.  It is the one where the lady figure in the center of the sign has that smile of pure contentment; suggesting to all who pass by that they should enter in, buy her brews, and then be equally happy (bewitching almost…).   And it is because we have been feeling very generous spending money on others this day that we consider it justifiable to enter this establishment and purchase something with which we can treat ourselves to.  

I need to take a brief pause from the flow of this story to make you aware that this “treating” truly is something rare that we don’t often do.  We have been living frugally on a tight budget for many years now and we allow ourselves a very limited dining spending allowance (two starbucks alone would use up a fourth of our alloted monthly funds for restaurants).  So it is a big deal to decide that we would find a way to not sacrifice our eating-out money for some lattes.  

OK, back on track.  So with this decision, I am bouncing out of the truck and running into the shop to get some drinks for Rob and me.  As I wait in line, there is enough time to notice all the edible delights they have on display; cheesecakes, over-sized brownies, carrot cake muffins, donuts, eclairs…YUM! But there is one baked item in particular that strikes my fancy; the seasonal pumpkin loaf bread.   I can feel the drool sensation begin to hit me.  But our planned purchase was only for the drinks. That means, if I am to indulge, I will be required to withdraw an extra amount from my own limited spending money to satisfy this craving I now have.   I reason, however, that for a slice of this highly desirable pumpkin loaf bread, it is well worth it. 

Back in the truck, Halle (not quite three years old at the time) is curious about the items I returned with. She is already accustomed to mommy and daddy drinking various “adult drinks” and knows from past requests, that coffee related beverages cannot be sampled by her.  But she spies the brown bag I have and wants to try her luck with a taste of whatever contents might be found within.   The dreaded question comes when I put my seatbelt on and start opening up the bag, “Can I have some?”  Now I love my baby girl DEARLY, but to share or not to share at this moment (with this particular possession that I want to savor solely by myself) should not be an indicator of an action that would display that deep and passionate love for my daughter.  I mean this kid would be perfectly content with a stick of gum, a marshmallow, an m&m; any little morsel would suffice to make her feel like she has received something of great value.  And I can arrange for that to happen (at a later time); she doesn’t need some of MY bread to feel loved. Still, I don’t want to say, “no” to her (I want to be a good model of sharing and all – rules for good parenting – blah blah blah…)  So I manage to say, “Halle, I would love to give you some” and reluctantly a little piece is broken off and handed back to her.  

“Mmmmmm, this is sure good.  Can I have some more?”  

What to do? What to do?? I choose to respond with, “Sorry little one, there is no more for you” (this choice I made to add the “for you” part makes my remark true, no lies told, right?). But Halle is a smart girl and my reply is not a plausible one. I think she knows that I could not possibly have already finished my bread.  So she asks me to SHOW her the bag.   Grrrrrr…. I don’t have time to remove the bread as she is watching my every move.  My mind thinks fast and I quickly grab the bag at its center.  This allows the remaining contents of my pumpkin loaf slice to be concealed in the bottom half of the bag while the top part is now almost in exact appearance of what an empty sack would look like.  ”See baby, doesn’t the bag look empty?” I make the opening very wide and allow her to see and conclude for herself that there is nothing there, the bread appears to be gone.  But, this smart two year old is still not convinced. She tells me she wants to HOLD the bag.  As you can see, it is becoming more and more difficult to take pleasure in eating my pumpkin bread, but I am not giving up yet.  I bring the bag back in front of me and am now forced to empty it.   Hidden by my purse, out of site from the eyes of this too-smart-for-her-age preschooler, I remove the slice.  ”Here Halle, you can have the bag.  See it is empty. There is no more bread for you to have.”

In letting her first SEE the “empty” bag and then HOLD the empty bag, I have evaded her skepticism.  She loses interest in pursuing the matter any more and starts to talk with her dad.  I feel in the clear, the bread is mine (mine. mine. mine!!!) But in order to remain above reproach and continue to thwart the truth to my daughter, I now have to eat the remains of my bread in secret.  Sitting in the passenger side in the front of the truck, with Halle in the back, in the middle seat, the profile of my face is clearly in her line of sight.  If I were to sit normal and put anything in my mouth, she would take notice.   Because of that, I am not able to enjoy my bread in a preferred manner. And with every bite, I have to either bend over to look down at the floor of the truck (staring at all the typical grime and yuck you would expect to find where dirty shoes rest) or I have to hold up my purse on my left shoulder and turn my head to take a bite.  Neither option provides me with the most gratifying way to relish the taste of such a delicacy.   Instead, with each bite consumed in secrecy, there is the bitter flavor of shame for not sharing with my daughter. UGH!  Another goodbye to my vanishing virtue!! 

So with this new story fresh in your mind involving another propriety-lacking plot prompted by a pumpkin; you can help me determine if perhaps it wouldn’t be a stretch to say that, for me, this orange gourd should be a “forbidden fruit” (a fun play on words, yes? ) 

 

the kindness of my husband and the wickedness of his wife

OK, so usually I don’t share events in my life that would give folks extra grounds to conclude what a pitiful soul I am (they most likely can do that on their own, without my assistance…). But this particular incident I am about to make mention of was just too humorous to not pass along.

so here it goes…
The past four nights my mom was in town and she had arrived bearing many goodies and gifts. One of which was this pumpkin spice coffee-mate creamer (by the way, I have not been able to find that item ANYWHERE in the grocery stores). Two bits of information should be noted here. One – it is a well known fact among most family members and friends that I love coffee mate creamer (I absolutely do!) And two – oooooooooooh how I also love any pumpkin-flavored treat!!! Knowing that I had a double dose of taste-bud heaven before me, you could easily guess that I was most delighted at this offering. So thrilled in fact that I turned greedy and evil! This truly terrible person emerged from within my being and took over. You see, I made a conscious deliberate decision that I would not tell Rob about this new creamer we had received. And even worse, I went through much effort to actually hide this creamer on a bottom shelf on the door of our fridge; ensuring that he would not come across it when he went to doctor up his cup of coffee in the morning. Then…UGH!!!…that night, lying in bed, I became so convicted of my selfishness. With much guilt on my shoulders, I decided to turn from my self-centered ways. The next morning, before he was awake, I pulled the pumpkin spice creamer out of hiding. I cleared off all items from a shelf in the fridge and left only the pumpkin spice creamer, placing it front and center, directly ahead of our half-gallon sized French vanilla creamer we normally use. I had had a change of heart. I honestly did want Rob to be able to see it and share it with me. But here is where the kicker is, when I asked Rob if he had used the pumpkin spice creamer, he so sweetly and sincerely replied, ‘No, I knew how much you would like that. And I didn’t want to take any away from you.” So on top of my already convicted state, I ended up feeling really really crappy. And with all my shame and sorrow, I did humbly come before Rob and share with him all that I had done. His response, you might ask??? He just laughed and laughed and laughed (serves me right!).

 

If I can’t win, I won’t run

When I first heard those lines, my immediate response was this. “How arrogant! That guy has some serious pride issues!” My heart never skipped a beat nor did I allow that remark to strike a chord with me as the rest of the dvd, ‘The Chariots of Fire’ played on. I had heard there were some great quotes concerning running and faith in the script and I thought this movie would be perfect to watch before running a half marathon. I was hoping for some extra motivation; some positive mental reserve I could call on in the final miles to keep my spirits up and help me finish strong. And while watching the film, I certainly didn’t think the olympic sprinter, Harold M. Abrahams, who confessed, “If I can’t win, I won’t run” to his leading lady would be the one to challenge me and inspire me. Because honestly, I had never considered myself competitive (with others), I am not one who believed it is important (with regards to others) to be first at things, and the idea that actually winning anything (even 1000th place) in this half-marathon (with 6000 others) was absolutely inconceivable. So what could I possibly have in common with this pretentious character who has this complex of needing to win and be the best? No, this line DID NOT apply to me! Or so I thought… _{(if you are getting the vibe that “jo eats crow” would be a fitting title here, then yay for you. You have the gift of foresight to see where this is going)}

With the first half-marathon, the experience was a positive one, at least in my summation. But instead of just being excited that I had run farther than I ever had run before _{(that detail got lost in my “non-competitive” mind)}, I focused only on my completion time. And because I wasn’t disappointed with the results, I now had a determined mindset that ALL future marathons HAD to be finished with my average pace falling in a certain range. Anything less would not be acceptable to me.

That first race was so fun!! Lots of people cheering, music, a completion medal & t-shirt, food, and (I love this next part) it was perfectly acceptable to drink a couple of beers before 10 in the morning! It totally had me fired up to try again for another half. It was very doable and I had a great time. But could I push myself even more? I didn’t really care, no time to think about that. I seemed to be content just knowing that I did what I already knew I could do _{(a little bit sad when you think about it)} . And I still believed attempting a full was out of the question. But at this point, I never allowed myself to wrestle with “why?” I felt that way.

So the night before the second marathon comes along, we host a pasta party with other fellow runners. They are all running the full 26 miles, I am the only one running 13; so I begin to feel a little bit of ambition tugging at me. But I didn’t really toy around with that possibility. My focus was still set, only because I felt certain I could, to keep my time for this half within my acceptable pace range. Little did I know, or admit to myself, that I was labeling this goal “acceptable” because I would consider the race a loss in my book if I didn’t meet my completion time standard _{(some might say the opposite of lose is win, yes? And “win” is in the title of this blog. See…I am still trying to help you out with the foreshadowing here)}

Ten miles into my second race, the half-marathoners split up with the full-marathoners. The folks in my group finish up running a “measly” (I’m using that word in comparison terms only here…) three miles while the latter continues on with another 16. I do begin to feel rather mediocre. But I press on, making sure I don’t suffer defeat with a speed slower than my goal. Thankfully the big stop watch at the finish line assures me that I made it; wahoo! another personal victory (yes, there is sarcasm there). Because when I succeeded with that, it just wasn’t as satisfying as I had hoped it would be. I think it was due to the fact that, secretly, I had already believed myself capable of attaining the pace I wanted (and what is so noteworthy about that?). I was starting to realize there was this side of me that only sets out to try new things that I feel certain I won’t fail at.

Whatever happened to give it your best and have fun?? I don’t know, that wasn’t in my realm of reasoning. So questions were pondered. Am I shying away from attempting to run a full because I think I have to do it with a certain pace? Shouldn’t it be fair to say a self-victory of finishing a full-marathon for the first time is indeed “winning”? Or do I think “winning” involves keeping the same pace as my half-marathons and focusing only on the speed. For me, it was the pace thing : ( And so I had to come to terms with the reality that I too was in essence saying, “if I can’t win, I won’t run.”

But in the movie, Harold’s girl Sybil very wisely counters his comment with, “If you don’t run, you can’t win.” How true!! And yes, while my first desire would be to know that maybe, just maybe, I could run the full distance with my ideal pace (and that I won’t know unless I try); it is even more important for me to own up to the fact that I need get over this personal pride issue. If I am going to be teaching my children to be brave and try new things, giving it their best, and to enjoy themselves no matter what the results (because isn’t that what true “winning” is all about?); I need to be able to be someone to model that behavior to them. “Do as I say, not as I do” doesn’t work here.

Wow, sorry I am looking up through all these words and realizing this is very long! I’ll try to wrap it up. So all said and done, I made up my mind that for better or for worse, I need to do this. In March I signed up for the Rock ‘n’ Roll San Antonio marathon . The big day is November 16th. And “low” and “slow” are the categories for this blog; for many reasons.

Low: Well, I had to learn how prideful I was. That is a low feat. And sadly, I am STILL of the mindset that I will not learn my lesson soon enough. Just knowing how my brain works, I still believe I will be sorely disappointed if my time doubles my half-marathon time by more than just a couple of minutes. I desperately want to get over that goal and just be proud to know I attempted such a long run and that I gave it my best (regardless of what that clock at the end says). But I am sure it will be a long drawn-out process in getting myself to wise up in that area. I know that I need to redefine in my mind (and heart!) what success and winning are really all about.

Slow: This is a time-consuming training and slow-going process, with many more weeks to go. I won’t be ready, mentally or physically, overnight. And, with the last long-training run I did on Saturday, I am seeing glimpses of just how “slow” I might really be when it comes race day. That little virtual runner on my garmin forerunner quickly ran off my screen with the pace I gave him; and I never did catch him. I’ll get him next time! Oh wait. I can’t admit that, I forgot I already claimed that am not competitive : )

So stay tuned and see how I do. Do I learn my lesson? Can I actually survive all the training AND then the actual 26.2 marathon miles? I hope I can write about saying, ‘yes’ to all of them!

 

The girl who cried “BEE-e-e-e-e-e-S!!!!”

It was a nice and warm summer evening and the girls and I were all having fun outside. I was at the patio table reading. Halle, Dee, and Gracie were finding ways to entertain themselves with the grass, the flowers, the playset. All was well.

Until…

I hear this blood-curdling scream coming from the playset. Now a piercing sound like this coming from any other child would definitely stir fear into the hearts of a nearby parent. Signals would be sent to their brain. Instincts would prompt them to act NOW and come to the rescue of whatever danger is evoking such a cry of distress. But with Halle, her high decibel shrills have a proven track record of amounting to nothing more than a little bit of sensed unpleasantness. We try and try to work with her to help her understand that her level of reaction MUST have a true correlation to the level of physical or mental suffering. But it is of no avail, still she screams. A dirty look from her sister, a bump on her leg, hurt feelings, spilled milk, being told, ‘no’, a paper cut; all these minor offenses warrant, in her book, a scream.

So when I hear Halle cry out this time, of course I respond in a nonchalant manner because I thought for certain (like usual…) nothing was really the matter.

Baby, what happened?
BEEEEEEEEES!!!!!
OK, come on down, it will go away soon.
NO! BEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!!!
No worries. Just stay still, it won’t bother you.
NO! BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!

This back and forth dialogue went on for awhile. Me trying to convince Halle everything was cool. Halle responding back like the sky was falling.

Finally, I actually try to look for this bee. My head turns up to the play set and…

 

Oh My…  

 

 

Halloween and the not-so-horrible mom

Some of you might remember Halle’s costume from last year.      

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

She came up with the idea to be a scuba diver, all by herself.  I thought it was one of the most brilliant, creative ideas ever (especially from the mind of a 3 year-old).  And I expected her ideas to just get better and better with each coming year.  But then, the very next day following Halloween of ‘06, Halle told me she wanted to be The Little Mermaid.  What?? Really??? I must confess that I was a bit disappointed in such a common, pick-one-up-at-walmart costume idea.  Even though I didn’t respond with a flat out, ‘no!’ (because that would be HORRIBLE), I did try to change the topic of conversation.  I thought maybe she would just forget about her wish if I quickly moved to another subject matter.  But it was a fruitless tactic, because Halle never forgets things – that just doesn’t happen! She brought up her little mermaid wish several times every month.  November, December, January, February, March, April, May, June… Come July, I took action.  I started trying to alter her thinking about fun things to dress up as and to try to get some other creative juices flowing in that sweet little brain of hers.  It would be a HORRIBLE thing to tell her how lame a little mermaid costume would be, I would never sink that low.  But I did do something almost as evil as a I attempted to coax her into other possibilities, with suggestions I thought would be clever.  I had grown accustomed to having a theme with the girls’ costumes and I was determined to keep that trend going.

Dee and Gracie experienced their first two Halloweens wearing outfits that partnered very well with Halle’s.

The first year, they were Litlle Bo Peep’s lost sheep 

The second year, they were the scuba diver’s underwater friends.  

 

In August, I had the thought that The Cat in the Hat partnered with Thing 1 and Thing 2 would be another ingenious plan.  But this notion left me with a two-fold dilemma to wrestle with.  One, it wasn’t Halle’s idea and two, it was denying her simple request to dress up as Aerial.  And in September, after telling the umpteenth person Hallle wanted to be a mermaid, but ‘no’ I was not going to let her.  I began to feel HORRIBLE! I had a sad glimpse of the future.  If I wanted to control my 4 year old’s costume wishes, what would be next? Her favorite color, her most enjoyable play time activity, her preference of an ice-cream flavor, her college degree, the name of her first born… where would I stop???  I concluded it would be a HORRIBLE mom who does such things.  And I realized that Halle wasn’t trying to be clever with her scuba diver costume, she was just sharing what would be fun for her.  Now, to offer up a little forshadowing of this story’s happy ending, I quote Sebastian, the lobster from the little mermaid who spoke these lines to King Tritan, “It’s like I always say, your Majesty, “children have got to be free to lead their own lives.”  You can know that the mom in this story was inspired, some, by this movie comment and was further motivated to find something not run-of-the-mill for Halle to play out her dream.  And in turn, this mom turned out to be not-so-horrible : )  

Meet this Halloween’s Little Mermaid and her sisters as Thing 1 and Thing 2 (at least I can still control Dee and Gracie’s costume ideas at least for another year…)