As the flurry of activity settles from the winter holidays and I catch my breath, I reflect on how different our family’s traditions looked in the face of a transitional season. Navigating traditions during a time of transition can feel like trying to put your makeup on without a mirror.
Picture it- 10 am on a Thursday morning. Most people my age, somewhere between no longer young and senior citizen, are at work. Not me. I’m sitting on my back deck wrapped in a blanket and drinking coffee.
It probably looks relaxing, and it is. The sounds of nature on a cool morning are a great way to start a day, but there are things no one can see- the blinding pain in my right hip, or the waves of nausea and dizziness. The only thing visible about my many illnesses is the weird walk my hip has given me and the falls from the dizziness. There are many more symptoms. So many that it breaks my heart, but they just sit there silently torturing me. Invisible.
I don’t usually yell at my husband. I’m not a yeller. But in this instance, I was screaming my head off just inches from his ear.
“WHY IS NO ONE HELPING ME? I NEED SOME HELP!”
Daryl patted my arm and looked around in dismay.
“It’s transition,” mouthed one of the nurses. “This is totally normal.”
I’m one of those crunchy-hippie-granola folks who willingly chooses natural birth. It’s funny because I’m not that much of a hippie in real life. I wear black pencil skirts to work and I eat way more Skittles than granola.
But birth I do the natural way.
I admit it. I have mixed feelings about the topic of being brave.
Phew, there it is. I said it. This declaration might make you feel as uncomfortable as I do with anything that smells like status quo.
It seems to be a trendy buzz topic these days and I tend to rebel against trendy anything. This is proven by my love for comfortable shoes regardless of the fashion statement I might be making – although I do try to keep it classy. My aversion to “trendy” is also made evident by the fact that my marriage survived hell when most in the world would have thrown it away. I also never bought into trendy parenting techniques, quick weight loss schemes, and Reese’s Pieces. Aaaannndd… some of you stopped reading at Reese’s Pieces.
I’m joining in on the #fmfparty (Five Minute Friday). This is a writer’s link up hosted by Kate Motaung. Each Friday, she offers a single word writing prompt. The participants have five minutes to free write whatever comes to mind using that one word as their prompt. No overthinking, no editing. However, being the rebel (and perfectionist) that I am, I will likely edit for spelling and blatantly bad grammar.
I hope whatever I write makes some sort of sense and I’m not totally embarrassing myself. This is be a good exercise for me. It helps me get some words out and keeps the writing juices flowing. It also helps me connect with other writers who long to become better writers and are willing to be vulnerable with their craft.
Today’s prompt is ONLY.
It hit me the other day that I am no longer the mom of littles.
I guess the fact that 2/3 of my children are taller than me, my oldest is driving and preparing for college, my middle child will be in high school next year, my youngest spends time with friends on her own should have clued me in.
If you’re like me, as the current year winds down, we begin searching for the perfect planner. We stock up on cool highlighters and maybe even calligraphy pens to ink down our plans in style, set goals, and press into the future with hope. With the impending turn of the new year, we plant seeds of hope in preparation for the change that will inevitably come.
Isn’t it ironic how the leaves falling and the changing of colors can offer both sadness and joy? This is perfect godly order, for without one, we would not have the other. ~Andrea Stunz
In two words with a comma and a period, symbolizing pause and closure, I bid adieu to my least favorite month of the year. Goodbye, September. This two-word sentence contains proper grammar and punctuation forming a complete sentence. But don’t be fooled. This tiny sentence packs in six years of brokenness and redemption.
When I think about all of the adventurous dining experiences I’ve had it brings me a smile that fills my soul and makes my taste buds (and sometimes my whole body) do a little jig. My global food adventures have brought me countless wonderful and exciting memories. Since my memories are so positive, I assumed that everyone else would crave the same experiences. I never once stopped to think about how others might not be so keen to take their taste buds on a road trip. Until I sat across the table in a French cafe from my dear friend, Terri, in England.
I learned the importance of sitting around the table at a very early age. Mostly because there was good food involved but there was never a shortage of life happening around the table in my house. The table actually became one of my most favorite places to be, as long as people chewed with their mouths closed, that is.
As my family and friends would gather around the table, we would eat good food that was lovingly and skillfully prepared by my mom and stories would ensue. Laughter would always find its way to the table and sometimes there would be tears. But, for the most part, those who sat around my childhood table left feeling satisfied, in both belly and soul.