The Cuppa Jo

Cuppa Jo is MOVING!

2011-12-20T20:23:00.001-05:00

The Cuppa Jo will be moving to www.thecuppajo.wordpress.com by January 1.

In fact, I'm there now, but still living in two homes. Any NEW posts will be there. All archived content has been transferred. I've yet to move my domain name. So use the address above for the next 12 days.

And I did it all by myself.

Shhh.

This kind of stuff is challenging for me.

I still have to tweak a few things, so give me some time to play around and redecorate.

Looking forward to seeing what all the fuss is about over at Wordpress . . . especially considering that for the past week I've been unable to edit any content here at Blogger, and have thus LOST two posts. I took that as the kick in the pants that I needed to finish a 2011 goal:

Move to Wordpress.

Done.

See you there! Come on over. Bring an appetizer!

(So, as of this posting, the editing feature here at Blogger seems to be working again. Sadly, it was too late - after being unable to edit two posts, which then ended up disappearing altogether, I'd had it. Had it, as in, time to teach myself something new today: Wordpress.)

Independent Reader: Yes, to Pigeons. No, to Cats. In Hats.

2011-12-14T23:14:00.000-05:00

Mo Willems' books are always entertaining.

I first adored them through the sweet voice of my once 5 year old, Harper.

And tonight . . . from Zane.

Only, I wasn't sitting next to him.

"Mommy! It's my first night!"

"Your first night?"

"Reading in my bed by myself before I go to sleep. It's my FIRST NIGHT!"

Thanks to Miss B, Zane's first-grade teacher, and thanks to having a son who is wired to move and groove when there is a prize at stake - like going out for pizza with the lovely Miss B once he finishes 100 books - Zane has caught the reading bug and is continually trying to challenge himself.

We are finding that Zane likes measured goals. In Cub Scouts he was all over the popcorn sale so he could win a gift card. He wants those darn beads. And belt loops. STAT! You know it. Earned three tonight. (Beads? Belt Loops? What? Yep, those boys are just as decked out as some Mary Kay consultants I recall seeing at conventions. Truth is - I love that kind of stuff, too.)

So, when it comes to reading?

No different.

His book form has a place to check whether he read the book independently, or whether the book was read to him. The last 10 books he has tackled have all been on his own.

Tonight was evidence.

With his little lantern next to him in bed, George and I heard him reading for an hour after tuck-in.

It was 10:00 before he dozed off.

This morning, he showed me what he accomplished last night. Two Mo Willems' books, and another about an albatross.

As for the "Cat in the Hat Came Back" which was also sitting on his night stand?

"Nah, I didn't finish that one. It was just too long and the Cat was annoying me."

Dude, I feel the same way.

That cat produces anxiety. In children.

And adults.

Confession. I've never liked those books. Who wants to go to bed all stressed-out and high-strung?

I'll stick with my second run-through of Hunger Games . . . ;-) Movie trailer, here.

No tension there, right?

Can't wait to listen in on you tonight, little man!

Salvation Army, A Tiffany Lamp, and My Big Mouth

2011-12-14T15:50:00.001-05:00

"It's not a real Tiffany lamp. It's a reproduction."

I'm at Salvation Army. One of my favorite Wednesday haunts due to it being 50% off day.

This week, I wasn't there to linger. I had something specific in mind. A 1940's-style dress and shoes for our church's radio production of "It's a Wonderful Life." I found them. $7.99 total. Score.

See, I really do adore my Sal Val.

Unless, I feel they are trying to pull one of their second-hand wool sweaters over a customer's eyes.

The sales-clerk responds.

"It is so. Says so. On the tag. Tiffany lamp. This is the real deal. I think we should price it at $99.00."

"Yes, it says Tiffany, but I don't think they put tags like that on their pieces." I was really trying to be polite, but clearly, the thing was a knock-off and hardly worth $100. Not to mention the "real deal" would come in at way more than 100 bucks.

"Well, it says it is, so I think we should sell it for $100. It's a brand new one, too."

"Before advertising it as such, I'd do some research on legit-Tiffany lamps. This isn't one."

Basically, I was at the counter hanging with the employees who were trying to decide if the lamp was legit, and if so, how to price it. Now, certainly, any discerning buyer would know that this thing clearly wasn't an original, but the employees wanted to price it high, (just in case), for the non-suspecting crowd.

"Turn in over," I offered.

Made in China.

"Oh. Ok. But we could still put $99 on it. Someone will buy it, thinking it's real."

I took that as my cue to walk away, 'cause now I was just getting angry.

One of the guys who was a part of the discussion walked with me.

"You totally called that."

"Yeah. I can't stand when people get taken. Especially on fake stuff. It's not a real Tiffany. You guys shouldn't try to pass it off as being real."

"Yeah. But we could!" and he laughed.

The whole exchange from the initial discussion at the counter to that moment wasn't heated in any way, but I could tell the woman who really wanted to price it at $100 was not too happy to have my input.

Sometimes I just can't help it.

I just don't want someone to get taken. Or cheated. I can't stand being deceived.

Over lamps. Or anything else.

Brain Book

2011-12-10T10:11:00.001-05:00

Let's start with what a BRAIN BOOK is NOT.

It is not a:

~ To-Do List
~ Daily Planner
~ Calendar
~ The same for everyone
~ A rigid system
~ Expensive
~ Something that can be done online or with a smart-phone
~ A place to organize large quantities of paperwork. It's not a long-term filing system. I don't house recipes, bill statements, or my children's pieces of homework or art in this binder.

On Wednesday, as I picked up Zane from school, I noticed the kids filing out holding small items that they had obviously purchased at the Santa's Workshop: a craft store with items ranging from $.25-$5.00. A school sponsored event where kids can do their Christmas shopping for family members.

I remembered the paper coming home about it. Noted the date on my calendar. But could not for the life of me remember an envelope coming home on which Zane could write his shopping list and store his money, (as they've done in the past) and thus, wrongly assumed it would come home on another day with a reminder about the event.

I blew it. The envelope had been attached to that initial handout. I guess.

Zane had tried to remind me the night before that it was happening the next day, but as I didn't have the envelope, I just figured . . . well, I figured wrong. Oddly enough, I didn't even check my calendar, which is very revealing.

Clutter. Papers on my secretary desk in the living room. Papers in my office. Papers in the basket on the dining room buffet.

Too many papers. Too many locations.

I removed some emotional clutter from my life over these past two weeks by choosing to limit myself from getting caught up in Facebook chatter on my personal wall. Instead, I've been focusing on my Fit with Jo page, my Coaches, and my accountability group. I still post my blogs, and the blogs of friends, but I really sensed that part of my clutter, was the presence of too many voices. Too much input. Senseless, mindless, time/energy/spirit-sucking chatter.

Now, it was time to remove the tangible clutter that was clouding my thoughts and wasting my time. The,

"Where is that paper?"
"Where did I put Zane's site words for the week?"
"Where is Harper's basketball schedule?"

We waste so much looking for stuff that should already have a home.

Enter. The BRAIN BOOK.

What it is:

~ A simple 3-ring binder.
~ Pocket dividers with categories written on the tabs.
~ Cheap
~ A place to organize minimal paperwork. Items that need be readily available.
~ Customizable: mine will not look like yours.
~ Mobile. Can be carried from room to room.
~ Ever-changing. Papers are not there to be filed for good. Think short-term filing. Papers go in and go out. Categories can be changed as the seasons of life change.

I made my BRAIN BOOK yesterday morning. One would be tempted to start by writing out categories, but let me encourage you to start by sorting every piece of paper that is stacked up in various locations in your home. Once sorted you will know what categories you need to make. The pieces that do NOT fit a category can go in to long-term filing. Thus, I have a file cabinet for items I do not need to see everyday, and a BRAIN BOOK, for the items I do.

The kicker?

IT NEEDS TO BE CHECKED.

DAILY.

Enter, the "Daily/Urgent" category pocket.

The other categories? Completely up to you. Mine are Daily/Urgent, Pay, George, Harper, Zane, Purchase, Coupons (which then get moved to my coupon book), Beachbody, Mom to Mom, Write, Contacts, Personal/Keep.

The BRAIN BOOK is something that should be at your fingertips. It is the first point of contact. The "go-to". The "you'll find it in there."

Clutter can by paralyzing.

The BRAIN BOOK gets me moving!

2011 Highlights and 2012 CHANGES!

2011-12-08T23:33:00.001-05:00

2011 was sweet.

As I've mentioned in previous posts, I am not a New Year Resolution maker. Simply sitting down and writing down a list of goals does not a finished goal make. I believe, or rather, have been retrained to understand, that goals must flow from priorities. It's very hard to set goals when you have no idea of your driving purpose.

I've been fortunate to have a number of mentors in my life. Yes, Chalene Johnson is one. But there is also Linda Anderson, creator of Mom to Mom ministries. And the prayer partner I've had since 1992, minus the first 2 years we have lived here in Beaver (we are once again back at it, thankfully). I have "people" and I am continually trying to learn and grow - with them at my side. Going at anything alone is counter-productive. So I choose to be teachable. Not always easy or comfortable. But, hey, I'm in my 40's - I'm really not interested in the shallow.

My latest epiphany happened today. In a quiet house. No music. No TV. No other people present. Just me. And God.

I had a 2x4 moment.

The Beachbody journey that I began in 2010 grew out of a need to be well. I was, for lack of a better word, blah. My husband was struggling with depression. My body was becoming the 40 year old I never wanted to be, my emotions were haywire, and I was a lazy, hazy mess. I chose God and fitness to get me out of my funk.

2011 brought the realization that Beachbody was becoming a true business. There was still so much to learn, and through the process I realized that I hadn't even scratched the surface of what this business could bring me, my family, and my customers.

I decided to sit in on a cyber course Chalene Johnson was teaching. A 30 day course which I thought would be strictly about organization. I was wrong. The course actually taught me that I was approaching my goals a$$ backwards.

I wrote a purpose statement. Clarified my priorities. And only THEN sat down to brain-dump some goals. Out of the list - the following were accomplished:

Earn the Beachbody Success Club trip to Atlantis for me and George, so we could celebrate 20 years of marriage on our FIRST trip alone since Harper was born.
Earn a specific monthly income with Beachbody.
Close another 3-year old home-based business. "If you chase two rabbits, one will escape."
Return to theater: Lost in Yonkers and Pump (for which I won Best Actress - which WASN'T on the goal list - a perk).
Pay off half our debt.
Complete P90X.
Start a devotional blog, Daily Fast Fuel, with other writers.
Build a deck in the backyard.

Which brings us to today. Just days away from 2012.

So, what's on the docket?

Well, first of all, I'm dumping one of my blogs.

Cuppa Fit, will be making its exit.

Why? This year, as I built my Beachbody business, I increased my time on my Fit With Jo Facebook page, Twitter, and You Tube.

In that process, good 'ole Cuppa Jo suffered. This blog. And, I miss it. Greatly.

This year also taught me that fitness isn't just about losing weight, inches, getting lean and cut, and being able to do a zillion push-ups in a month. If anything, the work I began in January, taught me that fitness is wholistic. It covers all areas of my life: physical, emotional, mental, spiritual. Cuppa Jo is truly where I work all that out. It's the coffee shop where I sit with friends, chatting away about everything. It's where I process. Linger. Learn. Grow. I've been a coffeehouse girl since 1992. As I look back on this year, I barely visited my own shop.

If I truly want to encourage YOU to a life of whole fitness, (and I do) then merely having a blog where I talk about my workouts, ain't gonna cut it.

Simply talking with you on Facebook about exercise and nutrition isn't going to move either of us forward.

It's time to expand the content to include LIFE.

2012's theme is hereby announced!

Total Fitness: It's Not Just Physical

Ho, Ho, Ha, Ha, TEARS, Repeat: Manic Christmas

2011-12-07T08:24:00.001-05:00

"Is it Saturday?"

"Nope."

"Is there school today?"

"Yep."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOO! I'm not getting up!"

"Zane, I thought you loved school!"

"I do! BUT NOT AROUND CHRISTMAS-TIME!"

Normally, I don't count down the days until Christmas. This year, I can tell you, that as of this posting, there are exactly, 18 looooooooong days until the DAY OF DAYS.

Until that time, we will experience laughter, weeping, deep meaningful questions, gnashing of teeth, cheers, pure grief, good deeds, lots of back-chat, snuggles, and screaming.

I'm certain a door will be slammed.

It started on Sunday - the day we got our tree. The tree was spotted by the children within 2 minutes into our wagon ride around the farm. Once the tree was up, Christmas had officially begun. The tree is our ushering in of the holiday. And, once again, we they picked perfectly.

"It's coming! It's really coming! Christmas!!!!!!!!!!!! I. LOVE. CHRISTMAS!"

This was Zane for the remainder of the day.

"Can you believe it? IT'S COMINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNG!"

As we decorated, the kids marveled at some of the home-made ornaments they had gifted us with over the years. We sang the little Thomas the Train diddy as one of Harper's favorite ornaments from her Thomas stage was removed from the box. We all "ahhh'd" as our Linus ornament, complete with green blanket (a la Zane) was proudly hung by our own Linus.

"I forgot how much fun this is," was Harper's reaction - and she was right.

We finished decorating and celebrated with our family tradition of turning off all the lights in the house, except for the tree, and running outside with no coats to view it from the street.

Every year we seem to get the "best tree yet", and this year is no exception.

The snowman collection is proudly displayed, the tree is lit and standing tall, the advent boxes are filled with treats. We are reading Letters From Father Christmas this year to set the mood.

But emotions are thin. Fragile. The ice is cracking.

Someone, mainly Zane, looks as if he won't make it to Christmas Day. The mere correction of a "b" and a "d" on a homework assignment (those two can be so confusing) turned him into an angry elf. And it was only Monday. A slight hot-chocolate spill, causes his spirit to boil over.

He won't eat. Unless it's from Buddy's diet. The slightest inconvenience ("Where are my shoes!") sends him into a tearful tantrum. The expectation is just too much for him to take. The last two days in a row have had him wailing his trademark "This is the worst ________" statement.

Currently it is, "This is the WORST. CHRISTMAS. EVER!"

Translation: it's the worst because it's not here yet.

And then, last night, curled up in our reading chair, we read 6 Christmas stories together. Wrapped in his blanket (in which I'm glad we can both fit), we read about Santa and Rudolph, when . . .

"Mom, let's read some of the real Christmas stories. The TRUE ones. With Jesus."

Back to DEFCON 5.

If you come to visit, be prepared to do some hill work, for it's up and down in here. Touch and go until the 25th.

But perhaps, you have some Manic Christmas in you as well. If that's the case, you'll fit right in.

A Nun's Wisdom About Facebook

2011-12-06T22:45:00.001-05:00

My apologies for not offering the exact name of the author of this prayer (scroll down to bottom). All I can find is a title: "Seventeenth-Century Nun's Prayer". However, the language sounds a bit too modern to be written by a Nun in the 1600's. I suspect false advertising.

However, Nun or no Nun. It's good stuff. As you are well aware, I've been doing quite a bit of writing on the subject of Facebook. You can read about that here, here, and here. They are lengthy posts.

There is no denying that FB, Twitter, blogging, etc. are now a mainstay in our culture. Communication has not necessarily "come to this", but the "this" has certainly taken up some prime real estate in our interactions with one another.

A friend shared this prayer with me a few days ago, and I thought it was both a fabulous read, and incredibly convicting and helpful as we navigate our daily interactions with one another in person, as well as in cyber-life.

I have come to yet another conclusion about social media: In the written world, there seems to be a lack of grace towards the poster and those that comment on posts. The environment yields itself well to quickly constructed sound-bytes which seem to provoke (encourage?) quick responses (reactions?) in return. However, the grace we may extend to one another in real, physical life, you know, the face to face contact that was so popular years ago, seems to get chucked when we choose to type our thoughts - whether as the original author, or the commentator. People misspeak. We all, at times, speak without thinking. So one could argue that we also mistype - letting our fingers do the talking without first examining what it is we are saying. I know I have. Have you?

Just look at the citation list above.

If that was the standard, I'd be guilty of all it. Except maybe the vulgarity. Unless you count "A$$" or the cleverly disguised, "@#(^".

Is anyone completely innocent of all charges?

And, just who is writing these "tickets"?

"The author [of the list in the photo] should just," as my sister put it, "remove him/herself off of the offending social media site and let the rest of us enjoy ourselves."

Yes, rather than keeping a list of wrong-doings.

In that respect, FB and real-life seem eerily similar. Do they not?

So, the prayer. For those of us that post. And for those of us who comment on posts. For me. For you. For the time being, I'm choosing to watch my fingers a bit more closely. Slow to speak. Slow to type.

Lord, you know better than I know myself that I am growing older and will someday be old. Keep me from the fatal habit of thinking I must say something on every subject and on every occasion. Release me from the craving to straighten out everybody else's affairs. Make me thoughtful, but not moody. Helpful, but not bossy. With my vast store of wisdom, it seems a pity not to use it all, but you know, Lord, that I want a few friends at the end.

Keep my mind free from endless recital of details; give me wings to get to the point. Seal my lips on my aches and pains. They are increasing, and the love of rehearsing them is becoming sweeter as the years go by. I dare not ask for grace enough to enjoy the tales of others' pains, but help me to endure them with patience.

I dare not ask for improved memory, but for a growing humility and a lessening cocksureness when my memory seems to clash with the memories of others. Teach me the glorious lesson that occasionally - I may have been mistaken.

Keep my reasonably sweet. I do not want to be a saint - some of them are so hard to live with. But a sour old person is one of the crowning works of the devil. Give me the ability to see good things in unexpected places, and talents in unexpected people. And give me, Lord, the grace to tell them so.

Pittsburgh Mom dot Com 12/06/2011

2011-12-06T16:05:00.001-05:00

Any Moms and Dads out there want to give me advice for enduring the climate in the bleachers when seated near a parent who can't hold it together?

Here's my most recent post for Pittsburghmom.com.

There's always a new experience in the world of career parenting.

I'm clueless when it comes to bleacher etiquette.

Emily Post me on the ins and outs of being a proper spectator.

"You're always on your phone."

2011-12-04T15:09:00.001-05:00

Has anyone ever said this to you?

I've heard it.

Today, I overheard someone direct that same statement towards someone else.

I chuckled.

The recipient also chuckled as she responded to her accuser. (Which is what I TRY to do when that statement is directed towards me - only, I'm getting tired of hearing it.)

See, only a moment before, we had both been reading the Bible on our phones. Yes. There's an app for that.

I used to carry a really large bag everywhere I went. It contained my planner, address book, and as I try never to go anywhere without a book, a book. Then there was the journal I often carried, and a notepad with a scrawled daily to-do and shopping list.

During college and afterwards, BEFORE cell phones, it was customary to see huge planners: Franklin, DayRunner, DayTimer, FiloFax, sitting out on tables when people were meeting. I worked at a college after I graduated, and when I met with a faculty member, a student, or sat in on a meeting of any kind, out would come the huge planner. See that pic up there?

THAT is now the planner.

My phone has taken the place of my beloved Planner Pad.

My to-do list. My calendar. My husband's calendar. My kid's schedules. Address book, Bible app, fitness/nutrition diary, my online Team Beachbody office, my shopping list, my bank. I keep a list of books I'd like to read. I even read the newspaper. The alarm on my phone reminds me of appointments before they occur. I barely use the actual main feature of the device.

The phone part.

I'm not exactly sure what people are insinuating when they say, "You are always on your phone." Perhaps there is the misunderstanding that the minute one looks down at their phone they are automatically communicating with someone else. I know there is also a lot of talk about "disconnecting" from electronics - taking an electronic-fast of sorts, but as an organized person, and the keeper of our family schedule (I know that sounds like a pat on my own back, but this does happen to be an area in which I've got mad skills. I've kept a planner since my freshman year in college) I'm not sure what would happen if I couldn't check my phone. It's all there. As well as backed-up on my computer.

Trust me. I fought going electronic. And always thought I'd be a paper and pen girl. Forever. I really liked my planner of choice (I've used two different brands) and couldn't imagine ditching the "old-school" way of keeping organized. 2011 marks the first year I've I've gone paperless.

However, I've definitely adapted. It took me all year to do so. Other than taking notes at church or penning my prayers in a bound journal, everything else is organized electronically.

So, if we're talking, and I get an idea for a blog post, or realize I need to pick up an item at the store, or want to jot down a product, movie, book, restaurant, etc. you just happened to mention in our conversation, etc. I will reach for my phone.

No, this doesn't mean I'm checking Facebook or answering a text.

It would be the same as me saying, "Oh! That's cool, I gotta write that down." or "Let me check my calendar."

And, in church, if you see me reach for my phone . . . it's not because I'm planning my week (guess what - I USED to catch myself doing that with a paper calendar . . . haha - so now which one is actually more distracting for me, eh?), but rather, I'm opening my Bible app.

Electronics aren't evil. Yes they can be overused. Of course. But, just like Facebook, let's not jump to a conclusion with one glance.

Where I used to jot things down, I now type them in.

How do you stay organized?

Paper or electronic device?

Facebook Flub: Aw, Snap!

2011-12-03T23:00:00.000-05:00

Part three of my continuing personal saga with Facebook involves that little "Recommend" box that one will find on many articles on the internet.

I have literally "put baby in the corner" - and by baby, I am referring to myself, by NOT posting articles on my personal page any longer. As many of my articles have to do with the topic of the obesity rate in the U.S., the rise of child obesity, health & fitness, and blogs/articles about our food supply and choices here in America, I have made a conscious choice to post these articles directly to Fit With Jo.

What's cool is that when I read an article I'd like to share, all I need to do is click the little Facebook link (widget, I think it's called) and then I will be given the CHOICE as to WHERE I would like to post it on FB: my personal wall, Fit With Jo, a private group?

I get the choice.

I learned yesterday that THIS IS NOT THE CASE with the "Recommend" button.

Yesterday, as I went to recommend an article, I assumed (wrongly) that I would be given the choice as to where the post advertising the link I was recommending would be published. Only I was not given any options other than my personal wall.

Thus, I decided not to continue (and by continue I mean by typing a short note about the piece I was recommending). Instead, I closed the pop-up.

Only, by clicking "recommend", the link had already gone through - whereas normally when you "share" a link, it will not post unless you click "publish".

Since I have my wall closed to outside posts, my article recommendation did NOT show up on my wall.

BUT IT DID SHOW UP IN EVERYONE ELSE'S NEWSFEED: "Joline Pinto Atkins recommends a LINK."

Please note, if you click "recommend" the link will immediately post on your profile wall. The deed is done. And you will not have a choice to link it to the page of your choice.

I ultimately chose to remove the link all together because one point in the article obviously frustrated a friend of mine.

As I've mentioned in two blog posts now, I am not going there - into debate-mode - on FB any longer. I'm just not. I do not want that aggravation. Especially since no actual audible words were being exchanged about the content of the article. We weren't having a conversation about the piece. There was simply a LINK to a piece. I made no commentary when I recommended it. Even so, the response that followed, reminded me once again, what a slippery platform FB is.

So I deleted the recommendation's existence from the Newsfeed.

Be careful of that pesky "Recommend" button.

Lesson learned.

Again.

Basketball Tourney: Through Harper's Eyes

2011-12-03T16:30:00.001-05:00

This weekend marked another "first" for Harper. We generally think of "firsts" as those milestones which happen to our babies and toddlers, but trust me. "Firsts" continue.

Even long into adulthood.

But I digress.

So, Harper. Right? We were talking about her.

Harper played in her first basketball tournament this weekend. I thought, rather than share my take on the experience, I would interview her. So, here goes.

Mom: Harper, you played 3 games this weekend. How are you feeling?

Harper: Well, the first game I felt a little nervous.

Mom: That's funny, 'cause during the first game, you were totally trying to pick-off the girls who towered over you. I was like, "Is that my kid going up against the giants?"

Harper: But I got used to it, so that's when I started doing that.

Mom: So, your nerves settled down?

Harper: Yeah, but in the second game, I had to come out because Coach put me on point-guard, and I was so nervous about being point-guard because when we had a scrimmage against West Allegheny, they took the ball from me every time. I was so nervous, I had to ask the ref if I could go out.

Mom: Yeah, we figured that. You were doing great, though. So, what do you like playing better? Point-Guard or Guard?

Harper: I like playing Guard because I'm more used to playing that.

Mom: Did you enjoy the whole "weekend tournament" deal? Being a part of a team and playing together for three games?

Harper: Yeah, I liked the whole weekend tournament thing. I thought it was fun because I'd never done it before. But I was actually a little nervous, too. And I think playing on a team is really fun because I know all the girls from my school. So I know all of them which helps a lot.

Mom: Is basketball a sport you would like to continue, or are you thinking of returning to tennis?

Harper: I REALLY want to continue basketball because it's such a fun sport. And I don't think tennis is fun anymore, so why would I return to it?

Mom: What would you like to improve in your game?

Harper: What I think I need to improve is learning what to do when the Coach yells plays, because I had no idea what to do the first game. I didn't know where I was, or what I was doing, and I think I just need to learn that better.

Mom: So what you are saying is that you are willing to learn?

Harper: Well, duh.

Mom: It's been a pleasure talking with you today Harper. May I share with you my favorite point of the weekend? Or will that embarrass you?

Harper: No, go ahead.

Mom: Ok, so you were out there guarding on Friday night and you didn't stand still for a moment. You were totally blocking anyone who came your way! And then, out of nowhere, you started to guard this girl who was almost double your size. I was like, "What is she doing" and then, YOU STOPPED HER WITH YOUR BODY! She was certainly shocked, as was I. You played really strong on defense. That was pretty cool for a parent to watch.

Harper: Thank you.

And, this has been . . . Basketball Tourney: Through Harper's Eyes (and, of course, mine as well.)

Facebook Relationship Status: Reply Hazy

2011-12-02T09:37:00.001-05:00

Thank you friends for the emails and messages regarding the recent post about my change of heart with Facebook. You are sweet to care about us. We are working out our issues. Getting counseling. So far, my separation from FB hasn't led to my wanting to end our relationship completely.

We have to think of the children.

Many of you offered options on how to provide more privacy - and it's not that I ~~was~~ am seeking privacy controls to keep people OFF my page, but rather, I just ~~felt~~ feel like, as in all varieties of friendship, not everything I do and conviction I hold, every article I find interesting, each photo I take, every bite of food I eat, or, yes, each workout I endure, MUST or SHOULD be shared with everyone.

Think about it. Do you share every inch of your life with all the people you know?

In non-FB life, I don't keep a written list of my friends - placing them in different categories (the provision FB has in place to enable us to keep certain groups separate). Something about doing this on FB ~~left~~ leaves me feeling really uncomfortable. And kind of icky.

So, while I DID figure out how to create more privacy through "lists" (and not really, as there's a huge glitch in the only-the-people-on-this-list-can-see-what-I-am-posting-right-now "privacy" system within FB - which doesn't actually create true privacy at all) a better choice was to take a step back from posting so much content.

"But then, why are you still posting blog posts, links to your business wall, and your workouts?"

Part of my beef with the FB platform is the "sound-byte" issue. It goes something like this: Someone reads a quickly, and, at times, poorly composed status update. Then, as a dear friend, and college Professor explains, "Without ANY background, the reader "fills out" that sound-byte, and, most often, does so improperly." As a Christian, if I am sold on the importance and value of reconciliation and restoration, then I better hold human communication to a higher standard than a sound-byte.

FB is sorely lacking as a model for clear interpersonal communication.

Thus, I have chosen to point you to my blog, (where I can better work-out my thoughts), the blog I write with other writers (Daily Fast Fuel and Pittsburgh Mom), and my workouts - which due to Team Beachbody's website does not allow me to choose which FB page on which to post it. But, as a Coach, I must post it. It's kind of, sort of, part of my job. And I like receiving my weekly paycheck. As for my Fit With Jo page, I must continually invite friends to come on over, so I'll add a link on my personal page from time to time.

"But you are still commenting on other people's updates."

Yes, as I mentioned in that first post. I like FB. I'm just in the midst of figuring out how best to use it for me. And for my stress level. I still want to click "like" for a friend who successfully completed NaNoWriMo. And my husband as been training hard for a race, so, naturally, I'm gonna pop in on that conversation as well. This morning my sister posted that she was wearing "Christmas socks". Fearful for her welfare, I felt the urgent need to communicate my honest concern. Where I've backed the truck up, is on my personal wall . . .

"So just write general stuff."

That response is funny. People get ragged on for typing mundane posts like, "I just had lunch. Mmmmm", as well as for updates that can be considered controversial, "Walmart - bad!"

One can't win on FB.

Interestingly enough, I've not missed it. I don't feel "disconnected" from people. The friends who I see, talk with, text, and email daily, are, surprisingly, still in my life . . .

Without an open FB wall.

Imagine that.

My Little Artist Knows THE Artist

2011-11-30T23:13:00.001-05:00

"God is an artist. We are all His art."

Zane, for a 6 (just about 7) year old, you have great wisdom.

Thank you for ministering to your Mommy.

Starbucks: I Guess I Don't Know All the Terms Going In

2011-11-28T12:31:00.001-05:00

I love coffee.

Surprise!

You didn't know that, did you?

On Thanksgiving Day, we decided to stop at Starbuck's before heading to the movies. You should know, and probably already do, that I am not a frequent customer of "St. Arbucks" (coined by my friend, Melody). It's not that I don't like Starbuck's. I just prefer the independent guy. And gal.

So we pop in to get a drink.

George asks me to order him an Au Lait.

"Hi. Can I get an Au Lait, please?"

"A what?" is the answer I receive.

"An Au Lait."

"Well?! What do you want in it?"

"I'm sorry. I don't understand. Coffee, steamed milk . . ."

"No, I mean, how many shots?"

"Oh! Sorry. Do you make yours with espresso? Ok. Um, just one."

She leans over to the barista and says, "She says she wants an Au Lait."

Followed by "mumble, mumble", and then, YES, I kid you not: a visible eye roll.

Why? Did I do something wrong?

She turns back to me.

"By the way. What you ordered? It's actually called a Misto."

Hmmm, well, yes, it can be referred to as a Misto, (most notably at Starbuck's), but, actually, it's an Au Lait. Coffee and steamed milk. It was Thanksgiving. I didn't get into terminology with her. She was working on Thanksgiving - and probably not too happy about that. I gave her a pass and chose not to give her my husband's resume . . .

George returned.

"Here's your Misto."

"My what? I wanted an Au Lait."

Are there any other "fancy" newfangled terms I should know about? Either at Starbuck's or other establishments?

Facebook: We're On A Break

2011-11-27T18:51:00.001-05:00

If you read my last post, you'll already be aware that I am in a "battening down the hatches" sort of mood. Which, admittedly, is difficult when so much of one's day is spent online.

I began blogging 10 years ago - almost 11 now. When Harper was about 3 months old. My posts at that time were all about being a new mother. Since then, my blog has morphed, and now, I just like to chat away. On a variety of topics.

I miss blogging. Sadly, I realized recently, that many of my thoughts/ideas, which I would have most certainly blogged in the past, have been reduced to "sound-bytes" on Facebook this year. Lazy writer. And while I am grateful for social media in the respect that it has played an ENORMOUS role in building my Beachbody business, I am also finding myself getting progressively weary of the FB platform - and miss writing on my blog.

I know. Right?

Yes, you are reading Cuppa Jo. Do not adjust your settings. It is indeed Joline writing. And yes, I DID state that I'm not loving Facebook as I once did.

I began making some small changes this year:

I removed my personal page from being Public.
I have hidden friends who use offensive language, are continually snarky, or just have a negative spirit.
No posts, photos, or videos, etc. in which I am tagged can be posted unless I approve them.
People can not check me into places, and I don't do so either.
I moved the bulk of my business information to my Fit With Jo page, (while still having to post on my personal page from time to time to drive people over there to build the page.)

However, It was a few short weeks ago on the women's retreat to which I referred in Hula Hooping, that first clued me in to the fact that these changes weren't easing my FB tension.

Add to this a recent situation at church that produced a lot of statements and gossip on Facebook that I wish I hadn't seen, and the tension headache grew.

Then there was a nudge from God which taught me that Facebook seems to have become the way that many have chosen to start and maintain "friendships"- getting to know people solely through status updates or by what they post. Enter, migraine.

God has been known to speak to me in the "rule of three". Only this time, I'm not laughing.

So, in response to God's prodding, I attempted to make adjustments to my Facebook account over Thanksgiving, only to find myself more frustrated. In my desire to create "lists" so that not everyone was forced to see each and every post I write, I ended up dizzy. I let "this" list see "this post" and "that" group see "that post", but forgot to put "this" person in "this" group, and forgot to remove "this" person" from seeing all "those" posts, and then, I basically gave up. It wasn't worth it. I didn't like the feeling of "categorizing" people, and at some point, someone's feelings were going to get hurt. (And yeah, I care about that kind of thing.) It was like inviting people to several different parties. Ridiculous.

My conclusions.

There is absolutely no way to have complete privacy on Facebook.
The likely-hood of misinterpreting someone's written "sound-bytes" on Facebook is high.
While it is a great place to share statements, articles, links, and opinions, it is those very posts which drive people crazy and create weirdness. (But, yet, isn't that why we are all there?)

Facebook is a petri-dish which breeds misunderstandings, hurt feelings, assumptions, perceptions, judgments, and lack of discretion. All without actually talking.

And lest you find me sounding full of myself, I am, as they say, preaching to the choir here. Guilty as charged.

As much as I actually enjoy or have enjoyed FB, I just don't want the Tylenol PM headache any longer.

I am not leaving completely. My Fit With Jo page is going great. So supportive. Those of us there have a common purpose and goal. As for my personal page? I am going to step back for a season - how long, I don't know - until I reconcile some of these feelings I have developed, and realizing that the "custom list" option ain't gonna cut it for me.

What used to be so much fun has just gotten too complicated and confrontational, without proper confrontation. It's become a game. And within any "discussion" where tone, pitch, body language, and facial expressions can not be heard and seen (like in this post) there is the possibility of trouble.

Trouble that no amount of smile faces, LOLs, LMAOs, IMHOs, or HAHAHAs can cure.

I know I'm not the only one out there who has become increasingly frustrated. Perhaps you aren't one of them. If not, that's great. (Give me a call and we can talk about it.) But I have personally witnessed first-hand and heard from others over this past year how the luster seems to be fading on the FB gem.

So, respectfully, I'm bowing out for a bit.

See you on Fit With Jo. Or, email still works. So does the phone.

Hula Hooping

2011-11-25T11:17:00.002-05:00

Recently, on a women's retreat with my church, I listened to a fantastic teaching on the importance of creating and maintaining healthy boundaries. It was a simple overview, to be sure, as the topic of boundaries actually warrants a week-long conference - but, even so, I found this hour-long entry level talk VERY eye-opening.

As the speaker began, I turned to a dear friend and asked, "Do you have a pen?"

She dug in her purse for one and went to hand it to me.

"No," I said. "I just wanted to make sure YOU had one."

(Don't freak-out over my directness towards her. We often discuss boundaries.)

Only, as the speaker got into the nitty-gritty of it, I realized that it was me, myself, and I who really needed this refresher course. I sat listening, while silently muttering, "Thank you, God" as she spoke life-giving truth into MY life, as well as my girlfriend with the purse full of pens.

As a blogger, internet marketer, and someone who has a presence on social media due to my online business, I. Am. Out. There.

I share opinions. Motivational tips. Bold statements. Links. Tough challenges. Products. Articles that I find informative and worthwhile. Seldom is there "gray matter" in my world. As this same friend of mine once stated, "I'm in my 40's, I have no interest in playing games any longer. You wanna know me? Here's who I am," I too, feel the same. I like what I like. I share what I share. Those who know me - KNOW ME. Those who think they know me - do not.

Here's where "hula hooping" comes into play.

I may have the ability to communicate with an enormous number of people via my blogs, twitter, and facebook, but the masses are not necessarily in my "sphere of influence": the people who love me unconditionally, challenge me, appreciate my honesty (and I theirs), celebrate with me, cry with me, pray with and for me, caution me, speak directly to me, fellowship with me (offline), show interest in my interests (even if they aren't personally interested for themselves), and are "lifers" - quite simply, those who have proven to me that they are trustworthy and know me well enough to have my best interests at heart.

It's a small group.

Until the recent boundaries talk at the retreat, I thought I had that area under control. I realized, however, that the opposite is true. My boundaries were fuzzy. Mainly, because, as my husband puts it, "You have a conscience."

I'm glad I'm more to him than just a pretty face.

Yes, I do have a conscience. I feel this moral imperative to insure that reconciliation be the goal between both God and human, AND human and human (which is VASTLY more difficult, IMHO.) Here's where my hula hoop gets crowded with people who, well, don't belong there.

Often, in my feeble attempt to help people get along, (or reconcile a relationship myself), I drag them into my hula hoop even though they shouldn't actually have access. When that happens, there is absolutely NO ability to move.

It's gotten awfully crowded in there. It gets loud in a crowd, and hot. There are misunderstandings about who said or did what, and assumptions about the meaning of those statements/actions. Nobody can really have a good face to face conversation. It's uncomfortable. Tight. Crowd-control is dangerous. Someone gets hurt. A foot gets stepped on. An elbow in the back. This is not the place to have a deep conversation. Period.

Well, friends, I recently made some very simple changes to protect the integrity of my personal sphere.

It was hard. Seriously difficult. Mainly because I didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings. But, after speaking with George and another friend, I finally took some steps that I've always known (deep down) would need to happen.

So I did what I needed to do.

I don't need to share the details here. BUT, I can encourage YOU to take a look around at who you are allowing into the small space of your hula hoop. You can't control others, but you CAN control who has major influence in your life. Do you feel stuck? Can't move? Unable to turn and get some awesome life-momentum going?

Purge.

Hot Metal Thanksgiving

2011-11-24T21:47:00.004-05:00

She sat stroking the fur of the stuffed toy. A sea lion. A sea lion wearing a baby-blue dog coat.

"Ouch! He bit me! I can't blame him. Really. He's 4 months old and teething."

And thus began our Thanksgiving as volunteers with the Hot Metal Bridge Church community on the South Side.

I paused. It took me a minute to register what was happening.

"I'm so sorry he bit you. Does it hurt?"

"No. You know how puppies are."

"I do. Well, you are doing a great job snuggling him. I can tell he loves you very much."

As I glanced down at the table where she had placed a few of her personal belongings, having removed them from the basket on her walker, I noticed Barry.

Barry Gibb.

A 5x7 color cut-out of Mr. Gibb, in his signature white, polyester suit, was sitting beside her plate.

I smiled. And got her some pie.

When we first entered Hot Metal Bridge Church earlier today, my ultimate concern was for Harper. She had communicated for days how nervous she was to be with "strangers". Translation: homeless folk. She clung to me, visibly shaken, as if she might cry at any moment, her eyes frozen wide as if she'd just seen a ghost.

To assist her, we had made "welcome cards" over breakfast - each with a handwritten word/scripture reference, as I thought that perhaps having something to offer to our guests would be helpful. While Zane took to our designated role of Welcome Wagon like white on rice, bouncing around to everyone while handing out our cards with with a cheerful "Happy Thanksgiving! This is for you!" - Harper? Not so much.

She needed more of a "chore" role. Something to scoop, or cut, or . . . WHIPPED CREAM!

As a volunteer vacancy opened up at the dessert table, I knew we'd found her place.

Harper LOVES whipped cream. Eating it. Squirting it. Making designs with it.

She quickly took up the uber-important job of offering everyone whipped cream on their dessert. Within minutes, her demeanor had gone from terrified to, "Don't you want whipped cream with that?! Yes?! WOOT!" Suddenly, those "strangers" she was so worried about had names. And needed pie. And whipped cream. She seriously turned her tiny job into a party. Hive-fives. Fist-bumps. Even a squirt directly into one of our guest's hands, to which she responded with, "Ok. That was awesome!"

I stepped away and she took over with another adult volunteer, while Zane continued handing out cards and prepared "to go" desserts in small boxes.

I realized we had truly turned a corner upon hearing her exclaim, "When we come back next year, I'm totally working this table again!"

So, what did I notice from our afternoon?

That those who have nothing are so much more gracious and loving than I am. I was hugged. Kissed. And there is no drama-Jo here when I say that EVERY person with whom I personally came in contact, when offered a "to-go" box, first DECLINED, (saying they didn't want to be wasteful) and only after some prodding, answered with, "Ok. I'll take a couple of boxes. I'm going to give them to _______________."

They planned to GIVE THEM AWAY.

You know, this was the FIRST Thanksgiving in YEARS which hasn't found me in a post food-orgy coma. I didn't over-indulge - and no . . . it wasn't a choice because of the whole Beachbody health and fitness thing . . . but because today I learned a lesson about being wasteful.

These folks, some of whom walked in wearing every piece of clothing they had (one gentleman had 6 coats to remove before he could take his seat) DID NOT WASTE A THING. Including food. I had one small plate. Seriously? Did I REALLY need any more than that? No. I didn't. (Most Americans don't . . .)

Will we volunteer again?

In a heartbeat.

Am I rethinking our Thanksgiving tradition from here on out?

Yes.

After all, I can't wait to see that cute little sea lion/puppy a year from now, as I'm sure it will have grown so much.

Hot Metal Bridge Church. Muppet Movie. After-hours gathering at Cafe Kolache.

A VERY Happy Thanksgiving. Don't you think?

Working From Home: What Does It Look Like?

2011-11-14T09:58:00.002-05:00

Before we moved to Pittsburgh, I worked part-time teaching music at a local pre-school and taught classes and private lessons to young acting hopefuls after school and most evenings. I enjoyed both. But times, seasons, interests and locations/states change, and well, I left both behind.

Since moving to Beaver, I have thrown myself into building a home business with Team Beachbody. I've immersed myself in training on how to use social media to build my business - for truly, any independent business owner must embrace the electronic age. I've also actively sought out writing gigs and now write monthly for PittsburghMom.com and the Hero Program. And, after rekindling my love of performing, and hopping back on stage twice this year, I am planning, in 2012, to reactivate the old SAG card, dust off the on-camera acting chops and have at my new city.

I've entertained many questions about my set up, and thought I'd write this post to share some thoughts about working from home.

1. Facebook much?
"You seem to be on FB a lot." I hear this. Often. I immediately cringe and feel this awful need to explain my actions - for the statement feels weighted and dripping with a bit of judgement. Maybe I'm reading it wrong. While I realize I shouldn't have to explain, it's hard not to want to launch into an explanation about the amount of time I spend online. Quite simply: I run an INTERNET business. As in, on the internet.

I hope this doesn't sound like I'm patting myself on the back, but part of my business training this year was time management and goal setting - how to run both a home and a home-business effectively while working towards some personal bench marks I've set for myself.

Facebook, has been the ULTIMATE tool to win new business, connect with new customers immediately, and hold myself accountable for sticking to my goals. For me, Facebook is my cubicle. My office. It is where I connect with total strangers about my business ("ooh, that's scary" - no, it's not, if you ran a shop, you wouldn't know everyone who walks in . . .). It's also where I run private groups (think, traditional conference rooms) with customers, coaches, and my team. It's where I connect with my CEO. Where some drive to the office? I login.

And here's an interesting tid-bit. If you see an owl underneath something I've posted, you can be pretty sure that I am not currently online and that the post you are reading was scheduled a day in advance. Where for many Facebook is a time-waster, for me, it's a money-maker and essential to my business. Time-management. It's beautiful thing.

2. Busy much?
I think this is one of the BIGGEST misunderstandings about those of us who work at home and are unavailable during the day. Why are we? Because WE ARE AT WORK! There is a reason that I make a steady weekly paycheck with Beachbody. Because I "clock in" every day at 9:00 and put in the hours at my JOB. In between phone calls, coach training, social media updates, and even creating video posts to share my enthusiasm for my company, I also exercise, run errands, do laundry, straighten rooms, prep dinner, and attend school functions. Believe it or not, there is a sense of "rest" in my home. We can not escape the calendar. Our life must take on a schedule in order to avoid chaos. And avoid it we do. George and I are thankful that I can stay home and work ('cause the paycheck doesn't just fall in my lap), while unloading the dishwasher or folding laundry.

Yes, this arrangement is definitely easier to manage than the one experienced by Moms who work outside the home (God bless you) BUT, that doesn't mean I'm out shopping or having lunch with the girls. (Although, I certainly could if I chose to do so.) No, I work. From home. Or from a coffee shop (if I don't need to be on the phone).

I don't like to "be at work" when my kids are home, so I have from 9-3 to accomplish my list for the day. Some may view that as "busy". I view that as focused.

3. Workout much?
No, I don't teach exercise classes. But, yes, I DO get paid to workout. Actually, I DO NOT get paid if I fail to do so. Sure, that may sound silly, but I put that plan in place to insure that I would remain consistent and committed to the personal health and fitness goals I have fought to create as a habit over this past 1.5 years. It worked. I now workout. And get paid to do so.

4. Scheduled much?
Yes, I keep a VERY detailed calendar. Complete with color-coding for each member of the family. I even plan meals (gasp!). Now, let's not confuse using and sticking to the calendar (and the "to-do" list) as being "rigid". Seeing as I DO work at home, I am completely responsible for my own schedule. No one is giving me orders to telling me what to do. And, actually, that can be dangerous. For without a set schedule, or a manager, I could waste a lot of time. Instead, making the effort to keep "order", actually frees me up to do more! What? Being scheduled actually creates FREEDOM?

Yes.

2011 has been simply amazing.

I began the year taking a great goal-setting course and learning how to create a Daily To-Do list that would actually help me reach some yearly goals.

Due, in part, to this focus, I was able to:

Return to acting and win an award for doing so (a total bucket-list BONUS goal)
Earn a trip for George and me through Beachbody (we've not been away ALONE since before Harper was born)
Pay off half of our debt (don't knock network marketing - Beachbody has SURPASSED my expectations)
Start Daily Fast Fuel with some great writers/friends (want work? CREATE your own!)

These were all items written down in January of 2011.

Listen, our family life is pretty faced-paced with my gig, my husband's, and the kids. But, it is certainly not chaotic, by any means. But that is something I have FOUGHT to combat.

I know others who work from home, and their arrangement looks incredibly different than mine. This is MY adopted plan. I'm thankful to have the opportunity to create what my day looks like, and truly, it's taken over a year to figure out HOW to be the most effective I can be for my husband, my children, my friends, and my customers/coaches.

Do you work from home? What does you day look like?

Ponies or Unicorns: What's the Difference?

2011-10-30T21:36:00.001-04:00

Today at Living Treasures Animal Park.

Me: Look, Zane! Isn't that an adorable pony?

Zane: Wait! Ponies are real????

Me: Um . . . .

Zane: Oh, right. Of course they are. I just got them confused with unicorns.

"I'm Batman!"

2011-10-28T17:06:00.004-04:00

I just adore my son.

His latest statement.

Not five minutes ago.

Zane: "Mom, can we watch Batman vs. Dracula? It's ok, 'cause we all know that Dracula isn't even real. And Batman is."

"And the award goes to . . ."

2011-10-10T12:16:00.000-04:00

"Caitlyn Allison for Outstanding Supporting Actress!"

"Joline Atkins for Outstanding Lead Actress!"

"Scott Calhoun for Outstanding Director!"

"Pump for Outstanding Production!"

And so concludes my FIRST visit to the Pittsburgh New Works Festival, and my SECOND show in the Pittsburgh area.

Yes, I'm flattered.

No, I didn't even know I had been nominated. Nominations were read at the post-Festival Gala just last night.

Yes, I had to make a speech.

No, I wouldn't have won any awards for Outstanding Impromptu Speech based on my words last evening.

I managed to thank those who needed to be thanked: George, Scott (my Director), and Caityln (my fellow partner in pumping crime).

I also managed to thank the Pittsburgh theater community by muttering something like, "Yinz are great n'at." (how embarrassing - but, I did . . .)

And, as the award was given to me by a professor at Point Park who happened to have a small role in "Inspector Gadget" filmed here in Pittsburgh back in 1999, I actually hummed the Inspector Gadget theme while heading for the mike. (Yes, go ahead, hang your head, and shake it in shame for me.)

Oh yes, and there was also that little statement about being a Pastor's wife from Beaver in a play centered around boobs. (Nursing boobs - put your eyes back in your sockets.)

What do you expect?????

I WAS SHAKING IN MY HEELS AND WONDERING WHAT THE HULLABALOO I WOULD SAY!

Post-show thoughts:

I'm digging my return to acting in this decade of life.
I'm not running out to audition for every show that comes my way like I did in my 20's and 30's. I have a family. A fulfilling life. I simply want to do good work. Pump was good work.
I love performing. My desire for it is back after Yonkers and Pump. I'm content with being selective.
Time to investigate agents so that I can continue to dip my toe into the performing pool, AND get paid for something I LOVE to do.
I am auditioning for something tomorrow, but unlike in my 20's and 30's, I won't be devastated if I don't get it. Having played Bella and now this, I have a confirmation that age as brought a whole new maturity to what I can bring to the stage. I'll be disappointed if not cast, yes, but since performing doesn't run my life, I'll be cool. I am happy with the work I am doing, and will patiently wait for the next gig.
Life is back to normal around here. I'm a mommy with a sick kid at home, and another who is stuck at home because his sister is sick. And when I showed them the award, their response was, "Oh. Is it made out of glass? Can we have some toast?" I'm Mom.

I truly felt like a fish out of water after accepting the award last night, and only knew 3 other people in the room - so there was this odd sense of "what just happened?" running through my head.

George, on the other hand, beamed. Came home, dusted off a shelf, and promptly displayed my award.

Back to being Mommy now. Off to the pediatric office. Dear God, I certainly hope it's not Strep.

Zaneism: 9-11 Thoughts

2011-09-11T13:46:00.002-04:00

My son learned about 9-11 in school on Friday.

Admittedly, part of me was sad. First, because by learning of the tragedy he would now lose some of his wide-eyed innocence about the world. Secondly, because I wanted to be the one to share the event with him.

Only, I dig his teacher - and from what he shared with me - she did a great job explaining what happened on that beautiful morning back in 2001.

This isn't a reflective post. I wrote one back then and a few years later when I shared with Harper what had happened that day after reading a book about New York which included a picture of the Twin Towers.

"Oh! I want to go there!" my little gal exclaimed.

I called George upstairs, and we all talked about it together. She was 4.

Anyway, none of those blog posts are on-line any longer due to several blog redesigns in which I failed to transfer the posts. I have them stored away. Just not here.

So, I won't be reflecting again.

But I did want to share a recent Zaneism which seems to be fitting for a day like today. And, well, every day - if you think about it. In uttered these words completely out of the blue a few weeks ago,

"I think there is an invisible thread that you can't see that connects every person in the world. Because of that, we are all family."

Well said, son.

Repost from Pittsburgh Mom: Job Opening for a New Tooth Fairy

2011-09-08T22:31:00.000-04:00

During a trip to the dentist last week, Zane was ecstatic to learn that he had a loose tooth.

Finally.

Harper didn't lose a tooth until First Grade, and I suspected that Zane would follow suit. Sure enough, on schedule, after only a week into First Grade, it was time time to check-off his next milestone.

Following that exciting trip to the dentist chair, Zane spent the entire week wiggling the darn tooth - and even entertained the idea of tying one end of a string to his tooth, the other the door handle, and slamming the door.

(No. Of course we didn't.)

As we patiently waited for the gem to fall, Zane discussed an important matter with me.

"You know, " (wink, wink) "there is such thing as a Tooth Fairy . . . MOM."

"Zane, I am well aware of the Tooth Fairy."

"I wonder," (wink, wink) "what she will leave under my pillow . . . MOM. $20.00?"

"Nope. Think again."

The day came. Zane woke on Tuesday morning, and out came the tooth. No blood. No drama. Just - out it came, into his palm.

We placed it in a little plastic treasure chest, and he set it on his night-stand in preparation for the over-night festivities.

"Have a great day . . . MOM . . . I bet you'll be busy doing . . . um, stuff . . . MOM!"

I don't know what's worse: surprising the kid who believes the Tooth Fairy is real, and thus dreams of discovering an enormous booty fit for a pirate under his pillow, in place of the tooth, or the kid who DOESN'T believe the Tooth Fairy is real, and is just waiting for his parents to come through in a big way. We'd never discussed it, but it was clear that my kid was waiting to see how I'd perform.

Pressure. It had been so long since Harper lost a tooth that I found myself fumbling. It was midnight when I actually remembered . . . and so, admittedly, I ~~borrowed~~, stole 4 quarters from our Christmas Jar, and as duty calls, placed them under Zane's pillow.

The next morning, he wasted no time throwing his pillow off his bed. Thankfully, he let out an enthusiastic, "Woo hoo!!!!!!!! MONEY!"

I was relieved. And even a little proud. I did good. I rocked the Tooth Fairy gig, (even though I had to resort to petty theft.) I kept it simple. No gimmicks. Classic.

I eagerly waited to receive the props I deserved from my beaming son.

"MOM! Nice try, but you forgot about the tooth! LEAVE the MONEY. TAKE the TOOTH."

Doh. I knew that . . .

I've never liked fairies.

SCENE: Summer Makes Its Exit at Lakehouse Lodge

2011-09-06T00:22:00.002-04:00

This is where we officially ended our summer.

Remember that list I made back in May?

Well, I'm happy to say that we checked off everything on that list, except for the laser tag, New York City, and seeing "The Wizard of Oz" on the big screen.

No worries. Laser Tag will be saved for a cold, rainy day, New York is still there having been spared by Irene, and we can watch "The Wizard of Oz" anytime.

The summer was, in a word, exhausting.

I mean, look at that list. We were constantly on the go. The kids really enjoyed themselves, but it wasn't relaxing. At all. Fulfilling? Yes. Tiring? Completely.

This weekend, however, we breathed.

Enter Michelle and Jason's wedding.

Who would have thought that being a bridesmaid in a wedding would be a vacation?

Michelle and Jason know how to show their guests a great time. The Lighthouse Lodge in Monticello, Indiana was BEAUTIFUL. The cottage where we stayed along with two friends from our Chicago days, perfect. The breakfasts were delicious. The ability to just HANG OUT AND TALK with forever friends was such a gift. We enjoyed time with old friends. We went "American picking". We got to know Tommy and Nic. I worked out on the the lawn in front of the lake. Bonfire. Boat ride. Cornfields. Lots of cornfields. Falling asleep with my book on my head because I just couldn't keep my eyes open long enough to read. Having my son blow me a kiss while I stood up in the wedding of one of my closest friends. And I mean close. We've really been through A LOT - no surface crap here.

Such fun. The highlight of my summer.

Fall came overnight. While we sweltered in 98 degree heat during the ceremony, the next morning had us in the 70's and today, the 60's. I am now heading into the final three weeks of rehearsal for my next gig, and then . . . would you believe nothing is planned?

Farewell summer. You were busy. You were hot. I got a deck out of your season, but now the temps are colder, and I'll need a fire pit in order to hang with you in the evenings. Next year, I hope to meet you earlier in the season - perhaps with a week at a calm lake somewhere with the family - and maybe another reunion of friends, taking walks, exploring, and not having to be anywhere specific.

My kids - they have some great memories from our adventures. And so do I.

But, after all the traveling, and the kids being here, or being there, I needed a long nap.

This weekend seemed to help much of the fatigue.

Perfect exit.

Congratulations Michelle and Jason. Thank you for gifting US with the best weekend of the summer!

Delta Downer

2011-08-06T00:52:00.004-04:00

It began with an email at 5:00 AM.

"Your 9:45 AM Delta flight has been cancelled."

Ok, I thought, not a big deal - I'm confirmed for the later one. And for the connecting one after that. All's good.

I was lying to myself.

For deep down, I had concerns about Delta. But booked through them anyway.

Wimp.

I've disliked Delta for years. Ever since they made me rush down to Leo Burnett to record a callback for a voice-over commercial with only two hours notice. Then, after 30 minutes in the booth, they had the audacity to file for Chapter 11, thus scrapping the entire project.

Perhaps a completely selfish reason for disliking a company, but I had to scramble for a sitter, prepare for an audition, AND find parking in the Chicago Loop. Two hours notice was crazy ridiculous.

Plus, there are the stories related to actual frustrating travel experiences with Delta. I've heard a few. (Arguably, these reasons are far more sound for not digging an airline :-P.)

On Thursday, I developed my own story.

Harper and I arrived at the airport, flew through security and relaxed at the gate.

Until they moved the gate. We changed locations.

The delayed flight took off without a hitch. It was packed. For now, all of us bumped from the earlier flight were joining the later one. This meant Harper and I were no longer sitting together. Thankfully, we did find a nice gentleman who was gracious enough to move so that we could at least be across the aisle from one another. Due to the flight being packed, I went ahead and checked my luggage at the gate to be helpful, whereas normally, I'd just carry it on. (A decision I'd later regret.)

We arrived in Atlanta with 30 minutes to spare. Not a huge deal, only it was Atlanta, so we had to boogie and change terminals. We made it to the gate just as boarding was about to begin. I grabbed a salad and sat down to shovel it down. Then comes the announcement, "Ladies and gentlemen, your flight is delayed due to a mechanical malfunction."

I chewed more slowly.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your flight has been cancelled."

Thus began the stampede of frustrated passengers to the Delta ticketing area to secure seats on one of the other 4 flights to Jackson that day.

I managed to get on stand-by for every flight: 4:30, 5:57, 7:50, 11:something, and 8:00 AM.

4:30 flight. Oversold by 8 and me 11th on the Stand-By list. Didn't happen.

Next flight, 5:57. Oversold by 4 and me being 8th on the Stand-By list.

I scramble and secure a 7:30 flight to Meridian as a precaution. Even though it's almost 2 hours away from Jackson, our friends are more than willing to come get us. It's better than nothing, for the last thing I wanted was to be stuck in a hotel over-night, should I not get on any of the remaining flights that evening.

At 5:30 we hear, "Ladies and gentlemen, the 5:57 flight has been cancelled," and then something to the effect of, "I'm sorry. We have no idea where your flight crew is at the moment. We have no information to give you. This flight has been cancelled."

Knowing that I'm confirmed on a 7:30 flight to Meridian, I don't panic. Until I realize that I have no idea where my luggage is.

I call Delta. Note: It's 5:45.

"Hey, I was originally booked on flight ABCD which was cancelled and am now confirmed on flight ABCD to Meridian. It doesn't take off until 7:30. Can you move my luggage to that flight?"

"Absolutely. Hold on. (pause) Mrs. Atkins, we have your luggage and have moved it to Gate C52 for the Meridian flight."

"Thank you."

We get our vouchers for food, and blow it all on trail mix, bananas, grapes, and bottled water. (Nope - NO FAST FOOD.) And wait to board our flight to Meridian.

We land in Meridian.

We step off the plane and into the thickest jungle heat I've ever experienced. At 8:00 PM.

Our luggage does NOT arrive with us.

Direct quote from Delta rep in Meridian.

"Mrs. Atkins, they flat out lied to you. Your luggage left Atlanta on the 4:30 flight today. It's in Jackson."

I can do math. My luggage had already arrived in Jackson when I was told it was being moved to my gate for the Meridian departure.

I give her my address in Jackson so they can drop it off.

We get to Jackson around 10. No luggage.

The next morning. No luggage.

I attempt to call Delta, but the wait time to speak to someone in luggage is over an hour.

I call the airport. They tell me to get in touch with Delta.

I call Delta customer service and ask for help. I ask to speak with someone who can tell me when I should expect my luggage. I, admittedly, GO OFF ON HER, and ask to speak to a PERSON, and NOT to be put on hold. She gives me a non-1-800 number to call to speak with someone directly.

I call it. The woman listens and then transfers me to the BAGGAGE DEPARTMENT WHERE THE HOLD TIME IS MORE THAN AN HOUR TO SPEAK TO SOMEONE.

It's 10:00 AM. Over 12 hours since my flight and since my luggage flew to Jackson without me. I've had no phone call. No email. No communication from Delta as to when I will be getting my luggage, so . . .

We drive to the airport.

My luggage isn't there.

"It went out for delivery at 8:00 AM."

COULD SOMEONE HAVE CALLED ME?????? Why give a number if it isn't going to be used????

We fly back out tomorrow. I am NOT checking my luggage.

Hopefully, my story ends here and I will not have to write "Delta Downer: The Sequel"

You Can Pick Your Friends . . .

2011-08-02T09:38:00.000-04:00

(Oh, Zane, forgive me when you are older. Son, I HAD to record this story.)

Zane has a new habit.

THAT habit.

Yep, digging around in the recesses of his nostrils for treasure.

I catch him every time.

I've used every command I can think of to ~~encourage~~ threaten him to stop.

I've been gentle.

I've been downright nasty.

What is so darn interesting up there?

Recently, I caught him in the act and told him to stop. Again.

He burst into tears.

I hadn't yelled this time. I hadn't told him that he'd be labeled a nose-picker if the kids in school catch him. I didn't go into a tirade about it being disgusting.

I just told him to stop.

Why the tears?

"Zane, I don't want to hurt your feelings. But, really, you have to quit it."

"Mom!!!!!!!!! I'm so confused."

Serious flow of tears.

"Zane, what is there to be confused about???"

"I'm just doing what Daddy told me to do! I'm trying to do the right thing!"

What the-?

"Daddy told me I can pick my friends, and I CAN pick my nose, but that I can't pick my FRIEND's nose! See, I'm doing what he said!"

No punchline.

I'm speechless.

New Philosophy?

2011-07-24T16:45:00.002-04:00

Be patient.

This is going to take some time for me to work through in writing.

Lately, on two separate occasions, after communicating that I did NOT want to do something that I have committed to doing, I have been met with the statement, "Then don't do it. Don't do anything you don't want to do."

Are you still with me?

Both times, upon hearing this statement, I have responded with something to the effect of, "Well, simply not doing what I don't want to do is not always wise."

Do I WANT to clean the house, when I could be out with friends?
Do I WANT to sit with the kids while they do their homework, when I could be reading a book?
Do I WANT to help a friend, when it infringes on my schedule?
Do I WANT to answer the children, when I crave quiet?
Do I WANT to exercise, when it's easier to just blow it off?

No. No, no, no. And, no.

I am quite intrigued by the philosophy of only doing what one wants to do - as if that is the litmus test by which one should make a decision. In the most recent exchange, I was sharing about not wanting to do something that a friend has asked me to do for her. Will I do it? Absolutely.

Why?

Because my relationship with this friend far outweighs the inconvenience of the task. (My husband calls this 4AM friendship.)

Another word for this would be: sacrifice.

I love my friend. I do NOT love the request. But, I will place the love I have for my friend before my own needs, for I value her more than my brief discomfort. Quite frankly, she would be hurt if I didn't come through. I know her that well. So, while I don't necessarily WANT to do what she has asked, I will get it done for her.

The relationship is more important.

Does that make sense?

The "only do what you want" philosophy is baffling to me.

If' I lived that philosophy I would weigh 20-30 pounds heavier than I currently do. I would choose convenience over hard work. I would eat out and stuff my face with buffalo wings as often as I could stomach them. Instead, I choose the struggle of working out several times a week in order that I stay healthy and fit, and am meticulous with what food I bring into the house and feed my body. I don't always WANT to do these things.

Only, my body, and my emotional/mental state, tell me I must.

No, nobody HAS to do anything . . . only there is a huge difference between what I may WANT and what I CHOOSE.

And sometimes I must CHOOSE to do what I don't WANT to do.

Thoroughly confused yet?

I'll let you discuss now.

Any thoughts here? Scripture? Life experiences? Let 'er rip.

CAST: The Pittsburgh New Works Festival Edition

2011-07-19T13:10:00.001-04:00

The Lost in Yonkers experience bit me hard.

It was so refreshing to hop on stage after being away for close to a decade.

Immediately after leaving Yonkers, I started combing FB and the internet for Pittsburgh auditions, and came across the Pittsburgh New Works Festival, a competition of new one-act pieces.

I was available for the audition, and while auditioning has never been a strong, or favorite, skill of mine (although I spent years coaching others how to do so), I made an appointment, pulled out my monologue, brushed up on it, and went.

Walking in was frightful.

The sign-in table.

The wait.

And then, entering a room FULL of representatives from theater companies all over the city. 12 to be exact. 12 one-acts would be cast based upon a 2 minute monologue.

I cracked some initial jokes, mainly due to nerves, and thankfully, they laughed.

My piece? I would grade it as "meh", but it did get chuckles, so that calmed me.

I had one line to go when I heard the dreaded "2 minutes. Time.", but I couldn't leave them hanging, so I managed to squeeze in the punch line.

They called that evening. I had been offered a role in a two-woman piece called "Pump", written by a gal in Pittsburgh who now lives in, of all places, Evanston. And works at Northwestern. That. Is. Crazy.

So, I'm 2 for 2. And while new works make me a tad nervous (and the subject matter of this one may not be for everyone), I'm game. I'm in. I'm excited to be standing up on my theater legs again. And it's pretty cool to be learning more about Pittsburgh's theater community.

Thank you to Michelle Christ who did a rush job on my headshots last week - and a fantastic job at that. Talk about making oneself available. She rocks. Check her out here.

Thank you to my husband, who never hesitates before he tells me to, "Go for it." I had considered cancelling due to the events at the RUCKUS the day before, but he made sure to help me chuck that stinkin' thinkin'.

Thank you to my friends, who have been so lovely about cheering me on. If you don't have a cheering section in your life, you should find one.

So, I'm back to memorizing. And the hives.

Perhaps rather than simply praying before entering the stage at the start of a show, I should consider adding Benadryl to my pre-curtain routine.

CAST: The RUCKUS Race Edition

2011-07-18T20:41:00.002-04:00

It started great.

Months ago a group of us from church decided we'd tackle RUCKUS Pittsburgh.

This Saturday, we gathered to compete against ourselves, in this 4 mile race that also included 16 obstacles.

I have absolutely no desire to rehash the details of what happened to our dear Carrie on one of those obstacles. I'll only add that she left the race on a stretcher, with a badly broken leg (in three places no less).

Reaching the finish line lost its luster once she got injured. While we weren't necessarily running together, there were 5 of us in sight distance of one another for half of the race. Sometimes we'd run together, sometimes we'd branch off. Only, when we reached the Gorilla Bars we were all lined up together. So, thankfully, when Carrie heard and felt the break, we were all there. Including our spouses, gathered on a hill to take pictures.

And then, for me, the race stopped.

Carrie is one of my most cherished Beaver friends. And I really wanted this for her. Only, now . . .

After being told by the guys to go and finish the race, as there was nothing I could do while she lay there surrounded by medical personnel, I ran off. Reluctantly. No wind in my sail.

I met up with a few guys who offered to run with me, having witnessed what had just happened to my team-mate.

It was one of these guys who gave me a verbal spot on the Ranger Bars, for after witnessing Carrie, I was terrified. I knew I MUST complete the challenge, but I was tentative. And when one is tentative there is the opportunity for injury. He talked me through obstacle. We met up again at the finish where he gave me a fist-bump. That was cool.

But I wanted to fist-bump Carrie.

My drive for confronting the remaining obstacles: the walls, the tires, the rope ladders, was "meh". Whereas, at the start I figured I'd be excited over conquering the obstacles, my mind was now divided between, "Oooh. I've never scaled a wall before. " and "How is Carrie?"

So, while I finished, and have the bruises to prove it, there was much left undone.

It was an empty experience. While once again, the race confirmed that all the physical work I've been doing has really made a difference in my strength, it just wasn't the same with a friend down.

There are certain people in your life that inspire you. Cheer you. Encourage you. Challenge you. Carrie is one of them. Without an ounce of sarcasm, annoyance, or negativity, she consistently loves.

I dig her.

Rest up my brave friend.

Extrovert or Introvert?

2011-07-06T09:53:00.001-04:00

I get asked this question.

A lot.

Perhaps because while my exterior screams, "I love to be with people", I also tend to hibernate. Alone. Often.

On purpose.

Yes, my personality is gregarious and assertive. I am comfortable in groups of people. However, due to this, many would assume, incorrectly, that I am fueled by large social gatherings.

While I'm certainly at ease while with, or in front of, groups of people, I much prefer a small dinner party or coffee with one or two friends.

After a full day of mothering, and working, or as was the case the last two weekends of being in show where my character was full on GO at all times, I just need to be alone. I don't want people around me. I crave solitude. I look forward to quiet.

I think this surprises people.

Apparently there IS a name for this: Ambiversion is a balance of extrovert and introvert characteristics.

I always thought I was a pure extrovert, and perhaps, once in my life I was. But, when the '40's hit, the desire to be around people all the time lost its importance.

Ask my husband what I would rather be doing and he won't hesitate to say, "Sit alone with a book or write all day."

My 40's have brought a much tighter focus than I have ever experienced. The 20's were fun. The 30's were all about having and raising children. The 40's seem to be about focus and conquering new fears/goals.

At this stage in life I know who my "go to" people are, I enjoy what I do for a living, I am experiencing a new found confidence, and I'm grounded. And being by my lonesome is something I cherish. For IT fuels my interactions with others - NOT the other way around.

Why write this? Simply because it's been on my mind.

As my buddy Marlene says, "I'm done with games. This is real life."

Living it.

How about you? Extrovert or introvert?

Opening of "Lost In Yonkers"

2011-06-25T12:53:00.003-04:00

Mountain climbed.

Fear conquered.

Sabbatical complete.

"Lost in Yonkers" opened last night.

If you know me from Evanston, then you aren't accustomed to my doing straight shows.

Musicals? Yes.

My 40's have had a theme.

FIGHT.

They began with moving to the Pittsburgh area after 20 years in Chicago.

The move came with heavy bumps: financial, emotional, mental, physical. Those bumps created challenges to face and stare-down until they were forced to break eye contact.

I relentlessly sought after writing gigs. Pittsburgh Mom arrived.

A new business venture with Beachbody caught my eye and I attacked it. Voraciously. No looking back.

And the *last* piece of the "No Fear Tour" (and I hesitate to say "last", 'cause who knows what God has in store next) was auditioning for "Lost in Yonkers".

I HAD to play Bella. I adore her. I've adored her since seeing the movie years ago. With the goal of playing her ingrained in my mind, this girl who could once shoot from the hip quite successfully, researched the part, ran lines, and sought out advice from my favorite director back in Chicago. No more winging it. It was go-time. Do the work. That's what I've learned since moving here.

Last night was glorious. The cast - absolutely delightful, and supportive, and forgiving (Monday night of tech, Bella was waaaay off game). I love the small size of the cast, as opposed to a ginormous ensemble. I dig the eye contact. The discoveries. The way Louie scares the sh*t out of me in the "chair" scene. In my head and heart I could hear the "click" of it coming together. Or, maybe that was just Bella hearing things . . .

I'm by no means cocky. I don't know whether it's nerves or age, but I MUST run lines everyday. My stomach is always in knots and my heart pumps audibly (at least to me) before I open the door in Scene 1. I dropped lines last night (pretty sure the audience didn't catch it). I exited the first scene to find my chest broken out in hives. I needed to expel a huge breath after an intense scene in Act 2, but couldn't 'cause I had to change clothes to turn around and re-enter. This is by no means "easy". Bella is exhausting.

But, the bug has indeed bit again.

Time off was necessary. And wise.

Back in the saddle.

SUMMERTIME!

2011-05-27T17:38:00.000-04:00

VBS (Zane)
Basketball day-camp (Harper)
Boy Scout day-camp (Zane)
Rock Band 1 (Harper)
Art day-camp (Zane)
R.O.C.K activities (Harper)
Warrior Dash (George)
Beachbody Summit in LA (Joline)
Lost in Yonkers for two weekends (family effort)
Manitoqua week camp (Harper)
RUCKUS race (Joline)
Pool
Laser tag (per the kids request)
Drive-in movies
$1.00 movies (Wizard of Oz on the big screen)
Broadway (in the planning stages)
Ocean City, Md
Summer "home-school" (yep, Mom is already gathering material)

There will also be fire-fly catching, ice-cream truck tracking, deck-building, fishing, and lessons in tying one's shoes (Zane-boy).

We're ready. Bring it on.

Current Read: The Penderwicks

2011-05-20T15:12:00.002-04:00

The Penderwicks: A Summer Tale of Four Sisters, Two Rabbits, and a Very Interesting Boy

This book is simply delicious.

I really don't know any other way to describe it.

Add to the experience that we've been joined for our reading jaunts by Harper and Zane's honorary older sister - our delightful neighbor, (a writer herself), and you should just be down-right jealous.

Get this book. Gather the children. And feast.

It has been delightful story to read aloud. The characters are fantastic and I've enjoyed the challenge of making sure each sister sounds and acts differently than the others. After years of being forbidden from actually using voices for the characters, I was only recently (within the last two years) given the "thumbs up" to do so. This ban was due to an unfortunate incident years ago when I scared the pj's off of Harper during a reading of "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe". Seems this Mom was just too believable as the White Witch.

Oops.

We will most definitely plan on continuing the series after adventuring through this first book!

Pittsburgh Playhouse: Thumb's Up!

2011-05-15T07:55:00.000-04:00

Date night.

Only, he doesn't like me to call it a "date" any longer.

But, he can't read this entire post, so he doesn't know won't hurt him.

Date night with Zane.

It was amazing.

I first found out about the Pittsburgh Playhouse through Groupon of all sites. For other than the show I'm currently rehearsing, and the professional touring companies coming through the city, (Billy Elliott is on its way!), I have been completely out of the theater loop.

Pittsburgh Playhouse may be just want the doctor ordered.

"Peter and the Wolf" has been a favorite of Zanes for years. He loves listening to "beautiful music" at night and has been lulling off to Patrick Stewart's soothing narration of the timeless story for several years now. When the chance to see an adaptation of the story live on stage showed up in my email box, I purchased.

The theater was easy to reach (except for a few close calls in the car as I navigated the craziness that is the city of Pittsburgh), parking is accessible and cheap at the hospital next door (only $4), tickets are surprisingly inexpensive for Playhouse Jr. productions ($7), and the theater itself? Awesome. 10 out of 10.

The lobby had a display of the costume, set, and lighting design for the current show and the next show, "Diary of Anne Frank" (yep, I already have plans to attend with Harper). The cafe is warm and friendly, and offers wonderfully priced items to sit and munch or sip before the show. The roaming actors prior to curtain was a HIT- especially because somehow we had first row seats, prime real estate for interaction.

First row.

Each character made their way around to Zane and chatted with him. Oh, to see his face.

Seriously. Theater is so much more magical than a Wii game.

The sets, costumes, blocking, choreography, and length of the show were all perfect for a children's production. And, there were just enough adult jokes (not THAT kind of adult joke) sprinkled in for me.

Afterwards, for $1, you could purchase a black & white cast photo to be signed by each actor.

Zane stood in line patiently. Shyly communicating with the players.

Until he reach her. The one he REALLY wanted to meet.

The Bird. His ultimate, hand's down, FAVORITE character in the production.

She was terrific - he knows his stuff.

He was speechless upon meeting her, so she signed his photo and we moved on. Only, I KNEW he wanted a photo with her and just couldn't work up the courage to ask.

Mama to the rescue.

Done.

To know that there is a playhouse of such quality available to my family adds yet another "I'm home" quality to living here in Pittsburgh. And, they don't only offer productions for children. The Playhouse also houses full blown Rep companies and a conservatory.

I'd LOVE to do children's theater of this quality.

Who knows. Maybe, at some point, I'll click the "audition" tab on their website . . . .

Matching Gift

2011-05-09T17:41:00.000-04:00

So during the Lemonade Benefit for the Hero Program, I casually threw out over FB that I would love for someone to match the total brought in at the end of the day.

Sure, it would be cool.

I didn't really pursue it. Just prayed that perhaps someone reading the accounts of the day would feel compelled to give.

Our total was $220.

Then another $5.00 came in.

And another $10.00 today.

AND A MATCHING GIFT OF $220.

I can't not adequately describe how I am feeling.

Thank you.

Who Needs a Radius and Ulna, Anyway?

2011-05-07T18:40:00.002-04:00

Loot from Beaver Community Yard Sale per Harper and Zane.

As sales came in at our house (they chose to sell a bunch off stuff), Harper and Zane decided to take a bit of their earnings and walk the neighborhood without me (GASP!)

Zane comes walking home at one point along with a personal courier who is holding a large black garbage bag that I was sure contained some sort of legoy, playmobily, an awful lotta small pieces type of toy. Yep. For $2.00 Zane is now the proud owner of some dinosaur camp. I don't know. I simply found a bin for it and dumped it in for proper storage in the play room.

Then there was the:

Small pottery wheel kit (Harper)
Crystal-Making Kit (Zane)
Spin-Paint (Zane)
Laser-Gun (Zane - no real lasers . . . just cool sounds)

And . . .

(As if we are even entertaining putting Harper on such a thing after the twice broken arm.)

A snowboard.

You heard me.

No, it's not anything to admire. It's a plastic deal.

But, it is, indeed, a snowboard.

And, in true Harper form, she connected her feet and started attempting jumps.

My response?

"Get the crap away from the hill!!!!"

Mom isn't ready to risk anymore broken bones right now.

Best sale/non-purchase of the day?

Zane, not "feeling" the Nerf cross-bow in which he invested a few weeks back, sold it, taking a huge loss. Well, I knew this, but he didn't. And since I didn't pay for the thing - whatever.

And then, at the end of the day, as the children on our street gathered for a Nerf war, I mentioned to one of the older warriors that Zane had sold his weapon that day.

"Oh, he can just have this one. I have several."

Zane now has a *new* Nerf gun. He still wants to invest in one that is green, but the glee he felt being given a Nerf gun from one of the older guys????

Worth the loss he took on the prior sale.

I've now written two posts about today. I couldn't have loved it more.

(And neighbor on the way with a Trader Joe order . . . sigh. Really. Good. Day.)

Best Mother's Day Gift EVER. Seriously.

2011-05-07T16:53:00.001-04:00

Sure, I could get a gift card.

Or jewelry.

A spa treatment.

Been there. Done that.

I've NEVER, however, been given THIS.

As a volunteer with the Hero Program, I write press releases, letters, and do some light fundraising. I've learned how to write grants, and I also get the chatter going on the Hero Program FB wall. Words.

Words. Words. Words.

Nothing wrong with those words.

But, just yesterday, I was informed that one of the children supported by the Hero Program is being denied treatments that can greatly increase the length and quality of her life. Insurance paid for only 2 out of the 10 medically recommended treatments for Leah, who, along with her sister, has Dravet Syndrome. The cost of each treatment? $55,000. Yeah, cause we all have cash like that stuffed under mattresses.

This kind of situation revs me up. When medical professionals are in support of treatments, only to have the insurance company deny them, I get mad.

And then, I get moving.

I shared with Harper and Zane about the situation and asked if they would like to help by donating proceeds from a yard sale we were planning

"Let's do a lemonade stand, Mom."

Harper. God love her.

So, she, Zane, and our neighbor, Missy started at 9:00, when it was still chilly, and threatening rain. There wasn't time to make a sign, but we were set with Hero bracelets (want one?) and brochures. As yard sale goers do, many just peeked at what we had to sell, ignored the jumping children holding a sign, and kept on moving.

Harper wanted to give up, "Nobody is paying attention to us."

"Well, figure out another way. Find another way."

That's when the umbrellas came out. A basket filled with Hero bracelets and brochures was packed up, and off they went on foot. To crash other yard sales.

After hoofing it, and bringing in quite a few donations, the sun came out. We decided to change locations, get the lemonade crankin', and picked up two more volunteers.

Briefed on the situation, the extra boys flagged people down and then Harper gave the presentation.

As I continued manning our yard sale down the street, a woman approached me.

"Are you Joline?"

"Yes."

"Thank you. I'm Leah's Mom. I saw your post on the Hero FB wall and my husband and I decided to come over and say hello. We introduced ourselves to your children."

I hugged her. And cried.

What else was there to do????

You gotta know that I've not met ANY children supported by the Hero Program and only 1 other parent, so now, meeting Leah's parents, helped me see that the families are not just words . . . they are flesh.

As the afternoon continued, the group of kids offering to help, increased. A rap was conceived. The Macarena was performed curbside. The final total for donations?

$220 and change.

Anyone wanna match it?

Happy Mother's Day.

I received the joy of watching my kids run and problem-solve the Lemonade Benefit, along with sunshine, and steam-cleaned carpets (thank you, George).

Why would I want anything else?

Aslan Joins Our Family

2011-04-24T22:53:00.003-04:00

We don't do Easter baskets.

We do this.

Zane is a lion lover. His bed is covered with them. So as Easter rolled around, I got the idea to add to his collection with an enormous Aslan.

Why not for Easter? Come on, you get the symbolism, right?

If not, pick up "The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe". Good God, man! Read the book!

With Grams and Gramps on board, I entered Castle Toys and Games, gave the owner, Linda, a nod and a wink, and while Zane wasn't looking, paid for the one huge lion she had on display.

We set Aslan up on the couch on Saturday so that Dad could watch Zane's reaction to his new snuggle-lion a day early, for George would be out of the house early Sunday morning and didn't want to miss the unveiling.

Zane responded just as we thought.

I think he and Aslan will be very happy together. Along with the other lions in his stuffed pride: Lion, Liony, pillow-pet Lion, Playmobile Lion, and other assorted lion figures. Add to the weekend a viewing of Disney's "African Cats" and "Born Free" and I think we have outdone ourselves.

Harper is lioned-out.

Scout seems to be a bit confused by the newest addition to our family. Threatened even. Aslan is larger than she is.

This is how we do Easter.

Who needs candy???

Harper's Baptism, Take Two

2011-04-24T22:37:00.004-04:00

Yes, she was baptized as a baby, but that was more of a decision we made on her behalf. Infant baptism doesn't hold any "magic" power. It was a public profession of OUR faith. It was during Harper's infant baptism that we communicated our commitment to introduce Harper to Jesus.

Ten years later and Harper shares with us that back when she was in 2nd grade she asked Jesus to be her Saviour.

She is not very vocal or overtly emotionally expressive when it comes to her faith in Christ, so when the opportunity to be baptized on Easter presented itself, we sat down to talk with her about making a public profession of her faith.

We wanted to make sure that if she did decide to get baptized it wasn't because she thought WE thought she should or because it would please her Grandparents or friends. It needed to be her decision and hers alone. So we talked about her "story", which went back to the years when she struggled with social anxiety. A very touching part of this story included the influence of our neighbor, Martha, who has made a huge impression on Harper - something we hadn't realized until we sat to chat about her faith.

After much consideration, she decided to be baptized, and we felt that she was ready to do so based on how she expressed herself to us.

George would already be up helping for the ceremony, so I asked Harper if she'd like me and her brother to join her as well.

No.

We could tell she didn't want this to be a drama-filled event. She didn't want to be surrounded by us, which would only increase the attention. It was very "matter of fact" for her. A next step.

We followed her lead - didn't make a huge deal, no gift, no fawning over her. Nothing that would serve as a means of "influencing" her.

When her name was called, she bounced up there, hopped in, smiled, and then, dunk! This, from a girl who used to struggle and hesitate to do anything in front of crowds.

Yes, I cried. Am I proud? That's an interesting question. I am not as much proud as I am filled with joy that she has chosen to profess her young faith by this means. When folks say, "You done good, Mom!" I cringe. Yes, I pray for her, and we do our best to be in the Word and address daily issues from a Christian perspective, but strip all that away and really it's just her and Jesus. Strip that back even more and you hit a bigger truth.

It's not about us.

It's not about Harper.

It's ALL about Jesus.

So, I'm proud of Him. For dying. And then conquering death. So that Harper may live.

Introducing Daily Fast Fuel

2011-04-23T16:09:00.003-04:00

Introducing . . . a dream.

For over a year now I've been bouncing around the idea of starting yet another blog. I know. As if I need another project. I was thinking the same thing. Only, as my Cuppa Jo blog began to incorporate a number of different topics, drifting away from the original intent of it being a family blog, my mind started to dream up a place to write about the spiritual lessons I have learned.

Last year I approached an old friend and fellow blogger about the project, suggesting we partner together. We sat on it for a while - not due to disinterest, but rather due to a lack of direction. As I took the year to really reflect and tighten the idea, I recontacted her. She spoke with a writer friend of hers. I then approached another gal. And another. Feeling led, we added one more.

Six. Six writers. Six women from around the country, all committed to loving God daily and inhabiting a NEED to write as part of our individual spiritual journeys.

We are now ready to present to you the outcome of months and months of praying, brainstorming, planning, and Friday conference calls.

Presenting, Daily Fast Fuel.

Debuting on Easter Sunday, 2011.

Join us everyday to read hearty morsels of fast fuel. Our desire is that our offering to you would be tight and concise. Meaty enough to challenge, real enough to be transparent, and so tasty that you will want to ponder and savor the tidbits throughout your day. We know that it can be difficult to commit to being in the Word daily, only we can not deny that this is necessary for living, right? So, we designed Daily Fast Fuel to serve you quick (notice I didn't say "easy") daily nuggets taken from God's word. And, in the process, you'll get to know us as well.

Sticking to a weekly theme, each of us in this cooperative of writers will serve you for a week at a time: Monday-Friday. You'll find that we are similar, in that we all desire to love God and love others in our relationships with Jesus Christ, and yet, our styles, outlooks, takes on life, and perspectives, vary, due to our own personal experiences. How exciting it is to be a member of the body of Christ where He has designed each of us so uniquely.

So, come. Read. Give us feedback (we're open to it), and most of all, enjoy.

The link will be available as of Easter morning.

Daily Fast Fuel: share it with your friends: www.dailyfastfuel.com

Lenten Progress

2011-04-19T09:20:00.000-04:00

Easter is almost here. 5 more days.

Great time to check-in and reveal how my Lenten Project has faired.

I give myself a "C". Ok, maybe a "C+".

For while waking with sun, (or, rather, at least 30 minutes earlier every day) was the initial plan, I've been very hit and miss on this task. (Caution: list of excuses to follow.)

Rain. Lots of rain. Husband in Belize. Staying up too late. All of these have contributed to my NOT rising as early as I would have liked during Lent. Rain, you say? Yes. I love a day or two of rain. But when one gets almost an entire month of it? It starts to bring a mother down. Seriously, I think we may get more rain than Seattle.

Ok, so the rising wasn't consistent. Thus, the drop in grade.

HOWEVER.

The morning ROUTINE has absolutely been redesigned. Transformed. Changed for the better. Refocused.

The ultimate goal was fellowship with my Lord, was it not?

I can honestly say, that while rising earlier may have fallen short, my devotional time with God before moving forward with my day has absolutely occurred daily, AND has paid big dividends. My reward has yielded a much better profit than simply adding "morning person" to my list of mad skills.

What have I gained?

Intentional, consistent, daily time alone with the One who establishes and orders my days.

Thank you Lord for gently tapping me each morning, and then patiently waiting for me to join you once I have dragged my night-owl wings out of bed.

For the record, I'll keep asking God to build the discipline of rising earlier into my life. I'm fun that way. Only, this Lent, I am thankful for His grace - that all my "ducks" (the goal of 6:30 AM) did NOT need to be in a row in order to have met with the One who gives me life and breath every day. Many get caught up in "I must DO this, in order to DO that", and had I put off meeting with Him due to my disappointment at not sticking to the plan (rising earlier), I would have missed the richness that He has shared with me over these past 35 days.

That is progress.

Awkward Adventures in Spelling

2011-03-30T17:59:00.005-04:00

We sit and read scripture in the evenings fairly regularly. Lately, we've been following a reading plan that has been given to Harper through Summit, an after-school program at a local church. She really enjoys reading aloud to us from the Bible - especially ANY portion in red-letter which signifies the actual words of Christ. In fact, her only specification in choosing a new Bible for herself was that it be a red-letter edition.

Deal.

So, two nights ago we gathered to read the story of the Prodigal Son.

All was going well. Until-

"Mom, what does p.r.o.s.t.i.t.u.t.e.s. spell?"

I had to pause and figure it out . . . ohhhhh. Ding-dangit, you wayward son!

"Prostitutes."

"Right. But what is it?"

I played dumb.

"Prostitutes. The word is prostitutes."

"Mom! I know! But what IS it?"

Really?! Really?!

Long pause.

"It is referring to someone who doesn't treat their body the way God intended."

Gosh, that was lame. I wanted to expand about how some women and men make the choice to abuse their bodies in this way, but also that many poor souls are forced into these situations, etc. I knew, however, that it wasn't the time to delve into the topic as is should be handled. So, I hoped my brief, shoot from the hip (not to mention inadequate) answer would suffice.

But she wasn't done.

"Don't treat their body right, like how?"

"We'll talk more about it later."

"Like later when you put me to bed?"

No, like later when you're 50!

"No, Harper, not tonight. But I promise you that we will talk about it. Just not tonight. Not yet."

Zane was sitting on the floor taking it this entire conversation. His turn.

"I think I know what it is."

Oh, come on . . .

"Well, I'm not sure, actually. But I'm pretty sure it has something to do with something disgusting."

We went on to finish the story focusing on the most important part of the entire piece - at least to me.
³¹ “‘My son,’ the father said, ‘you are always with me, and everything I have is yours. ³² But we had to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’” (Luke 15:31-32)

A beautiful story of redemption. We HAVE TO, MUST celebrate when one who is "dead" is brought back to "life" - when one who was "lost" is now "found". We talked about how God's arms are wide open - ready to welcome us back with a hearty celebration, regardless our choices and failures. Regardless of who we once were. For there is nothing that can separate us from His love.

This is true for e.v.e.r.y.o.n.e.

Let's Give It Up For Lent!

2011-03-30T09:08:00.001-04:00

Previous thoughts on Lent can be found here.

Lent gets a bad rap. Lost in the humorously intended groans of, "Ugh, how will I get by without chocolate?", or "Coffee. I'm never going to make it 40 days without caffeine" is an all too often forgotten gem of spiritual growth, discipline, and freedom.

A relatively common question makes the rounds in Christian circles this time of year.

"What are you giving up for Lent?"

Only, in today's culture, the answer may look a bit different than the typical chocolate or coffee response.

Try, "Facebook."

Confession time. Lent and I have a hot and cold relationship.

I'm a fan, and yet, the practice of giving up something for Lent has proven to be a struggle at times. Am I expected to choose what to give up? Will God lead me to the answer? I could definitely use a Pre-Lenten period - a time of personal reflection to help discern what it is that actually steals my focus away from God, thus, preparing me for Lent! Too often, though, I've arrived at my "WHAT" (I'm giving up) on the fly - without forethought or preparation. And approaching the Lenten journey so haphazardly has resulted in bit of a Debbie Downer attitude.

"Woe is me. No sugar until Easter. Can't wait until Day 41!"

I've had a revelation this year.

What if Lent isn't first and foremost about giving up?

But, rather, giving?

The first insinuates loss - something being taken or removed. The other? A willingness to hand over. The focus becomes less about what I don't have and more about what another may gain from my offering.

This year, rather than approaching Lent focused on what I must give up, I have chosen to enter my Lenten journey with the question of, "What can I give?"

It's a simple switch of attitude, really. But one that has been very powerful and motivating. And challenging. Especially for a night owl like me.

During Lent, I have decided to give God my morning. The first moments of my day. Perhaps you don't find difficulty in rising early and meeting with the Lord before leaping into your day.I do. In fact, the first thought that enters my mind when my alarm rings in the morning is not, "Good morning, Lord", or "I love my family," but rather, "Where is my coffee?"

I have made several humanly empowered attempts at willing myself into becoming a morning person. All have ended in failure.

This time, however, there was a stronger reason driving me to tackle this area of discipline in my life.

God asked me to meet Him. He requested that time of me. How could I ignore a personal invitation from the One who made made the sun rise so I could enjoy that first cup of coffee?

So, this Lent, I have been rising 30 minutes earlier (almost) every day (there have been a few glitches) and handing that time directly to God: in prayer, scripture reading, and silence.

Sounds great, right? It's been harder than giving up chocolate has every been. At least with chocolate I can control whether it's in my house. With waking, I have no control over the sun rising. Nope, by God's mercy and design it happens every day - whether I'm ready for it or not.

The truth about sacrifice is that it doesn't necessarily feel good. Rising early isn't natural for me. Nor will sacrifice always benefit us. I'm exhausted – for I've not given up my night owl tendencies. And, yet, at its deepest level, sacrifice has nothing to do with me. True sacrifice is giving (fill in the blank) on behalf of another.

In my case, that means giving my beauty sleep to my Maker.

When I look at it that way, I feel no loss – even though, technically, I am losing some shut-eye.

Funny how a change of approach can adjust perspective. In the evening as I turn off the light I now find myself praying to be infused with God's strength to help me rise with eagerness in the morning. I am more aware each morning when the iPhone chimes my wake-up call. I have somewhere to be. An appointment. A commitment. With coffee in hand (yes, I make that cup), I sit in silence, I read His word, and I lift up my friends and family in prayer.

I may be groggy, but I'm enthusiastically groggy.

Lent, I'm giving it up for you. Woot! Woot!

Slow Down, You Move Too Fast . . .

2011-03-23T20:20:00.002-04:00

Words of wisdom from pastor Mark Buchanan, when asked what was his most profound regret in life:

"Being in a hurry. Getting to the next thing without fully entering the thing in front of me. I cannot think of a single advantage I've ever gained from being in a hurry. But a thousand broken and missed things, tens of thousands, lie in the wake of all the rushing... Through all that haste I thought I was making up time. It turns out I was throwing it away."

- as quoted by A. Voskamp in her challenging book, One Thousand Gifts.

Zaneism #49872076: Absent Teacher

2011-03-16T23:44:00.000-04:00

Zane: We had a Step-Teacher in class.

Me: You had a what?

Zane: A Step-Teacher. Mrs. Strauss wasn't there.

Me: Ohhhh. Zane, I think you mean a SUBSTITUTE Teacher.

Zane: Right.

New Directions

2011-03-14T00:32:00.005-04:00

The joke's on you, this is not a reference to the show choir on Glee. Made you look.

Sorry. Wrong blog. Go back to Google and search again for information on the show. Or, stop here, and read about real life. No, I'm not going to sing about it.

Two weeks ago, I conquered a fear giant and contacted a local organization, the Hero Program, to ask how I could volunteer. Specifically with writing.

Turns out that the organization needed someone to help with grant writing.

I don't know anything about grant writing.

Time to learn.

Directly from that new venture, I landed a press release gig for the new, and additively delicious, Waffles INCaffeinated. Thank you, kindly!

Then, a dear friend's husband landed in the ICU.

Enter Japan. Memories of knowing someone who perished in the 2004 tsunami cautioned me from watching too much footage - just need to donate whatever I can.

Add Stage 4 lung cancer taking up residence in a friend's uncle.

And the death of another dear friend's aunt.

Really?

But, of course.

THIS IS LIFE.

So, since this is life, the real question is, "How do I respond?"

1. I learn how to write grants so the that the dear children living with terminal illnesses and their families can feel some financial relief. What I dig about the Hero Program is that gifts are tangible. Material. Cars, groceries, gas, housecleaning, a laptop so that the mother of an ill child can work at home, Christmas gifts. They have a real life need and we want to find it for them.

2. I work my butt off to get people from near and far into this five-star waffle joint. And pray that Chef Tahj Merriman really will create the falafel waffle. If only for me.

3. I pack an overnight bag for my girlfriend, insure her daughter will have fun after school while feeding her any snack she wants as my children gawk, INVEST a precious Saturday in the ICU waiting room with her and her amazing friends during her husband's surgery, and do my very best to BE.

4. I gather friends to join me at a charity spaghetti dinner after church, the proceeds of which will go to the family where a 44 year old Dad is battling evil.

5. I plan to cook up some Italian food this week to help comfort my favorite Puerto Rican's.

There is way too much "I" in this post.

It is not my intention to make myself the focus of this post.

If anything, I am learning, from all of this, that there is way too much "I" in my life. God is gently, albeit, clearly and precisely, showing me where He needs me to be.

We began a new series on discipleship at church this morning.

How fitting.

How then shall we live?

For ourselves?

Not in this life.

Which is the ONLY real life we will experience here on Earth.

I choose to be involved.

Flashback: Places, please!

2011-03-05T10:31:00.004-05:00

1992.

A year out of college and barely a year married, I decided to dive back into the theater world while my husband holed himself up to study a year of Greek through a 6 week course affectionately known as "Suicide Greek" by all the Seminarians who had gone before him.

"Hello Dolly" was my escape from the boring evenings at home sitting alone while George was locked in his closet of an office.

Fast forward to 2011.

How interesting is it that one of the characters in Dolly was looking for a "life outside of Yonkers?" For here I am 19 years later about to get "Lost in Yonkers".

Last night, George and I entered a room full of strangers.

Thankfully, I quickly found the owner's of my joint, and then the artistic director of the Bobcat Players. I was then reintroduced to the woman who read the mother (and was cast in the role) to my Bella during my "Lost in Yonkers" audition back in January. We sat getting to know each other for the majority the evening as I stole glances at others around the room who very well could have been the same folks from my Highland Park Theater days.

The gathering had a familiar feel not unlike the ones we enjoyed so many years earlier when we'd land at Bennigans after my rehearsals every Thursday evening. Even George would take a break from crackin' the books to join me and the cast for some after-rehearsal dining. Simply put, those evenings were just downright fun - a ton of laughing - with incredibly wonderful people. I will ALWAYS carry a fondness about those days.

Last evening, in the course of 2 hours, George must have commented at least three times how this Happy Hour felt like those "old days" and how much he was enjoying watching me rediscover this enormous part of myself that had been purposely placed on a shelf for a number of years. Purposely placed. Not begrudgingly placed. There's a difference.

When one moves, special items are carefully packed away. While in the process of unpacking, it is not uncommon to leave several boxes untouched. For months. Upon reopening them, the special item takes on an entirely new quality - the rediscovery of that dear object serves to increase it's beauty.

At times, the course of one's life makes it's necessary to pack up something precious and set it aside. Not in the "giveaway" or "trash" pile. But rather, the "later" pile.

I unpacked my acting bug last night.

And the second perk of the evening?

Meeting a woman who had moved to Beaver from CHICAGO only 6 months ago. Through her struggle to adapt to this new environment, she discovered a few articles I'd written in The Bridge under the title "New Girl in Town".

"Thanks for writing those. They really helped. I figured if you could get used to being here, I could, also. I found them comforting."

Stories drive relationships, don't they?

Stories on stage.

Stories off stage.

Life is one big story and you're cast in it.

Places!

Thanks, Mom. (In So Many Words)

2011-02-24T22:28:00.000-05:00

We're currently 3/4 of the way through the 5th and final book of Gregor: The Underland Chronicles by Suzanne Collins (of the Hunger Games trilogy fame).

I can't even remember when we started this series. Summer? What I do know is that the kids have been hooked from day one.

So tonight, as we settled in to read, Harper asks,

"Mom, is this a series you would choose to read on your own?"

"What do you mean? I did choose it."

"No. Would you read it without us? Like, alone."

"Ohhh. I get it. Yes, it's something I would read by myself."

"But, well, you chose to share it . . . you know, read it to us, like, together . . . instead of well, keeping it to yourself, like, you know-"

"Harper, are you trying to say thank-you?"

"Yes."

"You're welcome. This is my favorite activity of the day. Reading to you both."

And THAT is why I continue to read aloud to my 10 year old.

Addict

2011-02-19T10:08:00.001-05:00

I know.

This post could be titled "duh". Move along. Nothing to see here.

We all know I'm a coffee addict.

My husband is aware of it.

My kids see my daily need for coffee.

My blog is my online coffee shop where I chat about everything.

I'm not hiding anything.

But, why the post about it?

Cause, all joking aside, I really am addicted to coffee. Going on 20 years now. It was post-college when I truly joined the coffee craze and shops starting springing up like weeds. Really tasty weeds.

Just as a smoker craves to hold a cigarette between their fingers, I too crave the warmth on my hands that only comes from cradling a steaming cup of comfort. Sometimes I don't even want to drink it, but rather, hold it, for my addiction is also a tactile one.

During a morning power outage yesterday I was thankful that George had already fired up the Keurig and passed me my morning glory. For a brief moment I had an internal discussion as to what I would have done if the outage had happened earlier, thus making him unable to power up the machine that brews crutch.

How much do I drink? Really, not much. (And that statement just screams denial. Does it not?)

Three. Maybe, four cups a day - one of them, sadly, decaf. I realize that this doesn't sound like much. Only, coffee is the FIRST thing I think about when I wake in the morning.

No joke.

Honestly, I can NOT quit anytime I want, for I don't want to quit.

Right now, the biggest issue with my java jubilee is that I don't drink enough water. Which comes back to bite me, as I'm currently doing this. Working out hard without proper hydration sucks the life out of me, and not even caffeine can bring it back.

So, here I sit, typing my admission to you.

My name is Joline and I am a javaholic.

Now, enough of this silliness. It's already 10:00 AM and I've not yet had my second cup yet.

Well, don't just sit there. Chop chop.

Are You A Puppet Master?

2011-02-14T21:42:00.002-05:00

I read this incredible quote today:

The gift, once given, is no longer yours to control. If you give someone something, do so openly and freely, otherwise, what's the point? If you're not giving joyously, but to control the people around you, it's time to reassess.

It's not as if this idea is a new one to me. But this quote does a great job summing up a belief I've held for years but have been unable to communicate as well. Sure, we've all heard the cliche "no strings attached". Those strings insinuate CONTROL - like a puppet on a string.

When we give, and then treat the givee as a marionette, we've not actually given a gift 'tall. Think about it.

I'm still giving as I shared with you I would. Whether it be tithing, putting change in our Christmas jar, placing aside clothing, shoes, and household goods for Good Will drop-offs, picking up items at the store for friends or running their errands, donating cosmetics and personal products to the women's shelter, etc. I have traded my, "How much cash can I get for this?" for "Who could use this?"

And trust me. I could use the cash!

I've had great examples to guide me. When I look around my house, every room has an item that has been graciously given to me. Without those puppet strings.

So, I do the same.

Lighten the load for someone else when you have the opportunity. Heck, it could be as simple as picking up a loaf of bread for a neighbor.

Simple gifts translate into full hearts.

Trust me. My heart runneth over.

The Last Time I Question My Husband For Making a Non-budgeted Purchased

2011-01-29T08:42:00.001-05:00

Zane isn't a huge Steeler fan. Sure he'll hang out in a room of people at a party to watch a Steeler game, and he might even dress in yellow and gold for the event. But, for the most part, he's "not a sports kid".

Those are his words.

So, it was quite a surprise to hear him asking for a new Steeler shirt, or Steeler socks, (yes, socks), after the AFC championships last week.

The week before, while the Steelers beat the Ravens, Zane won a "Stillers" can cozy in one of the raffles during a game-viewing party with our church. That night, in the spirit of the event, he also donned black and yellow beads, compliments of my friend Amy. He was pleased enough with having these items.

For this week's game, he barely squeezed his 6 year old body into a fleece he was sent to him from Four Mile back in 2008 when we were still living in Chicago but preparing to become Pittsburgher's.

Pretty pathetic for Steeler gear. I promised him we'd hit the $1 store to get some more Steeler-wear for him before the Superbowl. I knew that would appease him. It's not like he needs a jersey or anything. You know me - waste not.

Wednesday night I sent George and Zane out to pick up some soup for me and Harper, as we were down with a nasty with a virus. They came back with the miso. And an extra surprise.

Zane returned wearing a brand-spankin' new official Steeler AFC championship long-sleeve tee which could NOT be mistaken for the dollar store variety. My eyes bugged out of my sick head as I gave George the stare down.

"Trust me," he said, "I'll tell you the story later."

"How much was it?"

"$20. I'll tell you later."

For a kid who could care less??????????? Really? Talk about questioning his judgement. So he wanted to have a father/son sports moment. I get that. But couldn't he do it for less? I mean, really, Zane would have been pleased with SOCKS! Cheap SOCKS.

Turns out, while waiting for the soup order, George and Zane hopped over to our local Steeler's store to look around. They were in the store maybe 5 minutes when Zane came over to George carrying a mini goal-post in his hand.

"Daddy. This broke."

George walked the piece back over to a replica of Heinz Field. A replica with a broken goal-post.

I think he may have cursed in his head. Which is a big deal for him.

"Did you break this?"

"I really don't know."

"Zane, did you break this off?"

"I just touched it. I don't know if it was already broken."

George carried the model to the counter and explained that he hadn't witnessed Zane break the piece off the stadium. He honestly wasn't sure if he had actually done so, or if it had been snapped earlier. Regardless, he was very apologetic. He realized he could be asked to pay for the replica which was much more then the $20.

There was silence. And uncomfortable silence.

George broke it with, "So, do you have any new Steelers shirts in kids sizes?"

Out from the stock room, for they hadn't even been unpacked and hung on racks yet, came the newest addition to Zane's wardrobe, which he proudly wore to school the next day.

Well played, George.

I'm the Chief Household-Budget Officer. And I approve this purchase.

God Told Me To Mail You This Book

2011-01-28T12:24:00.000-05:00

Two of you will be receiving this book in the mail.

One of you doesn't read blogs, so you have no idea it is coming.

The other one does read my blog and follows me on Facebook. We've shared a friendship since Trinity days. And I want you to have this.

Why?

I really don't actually know. Well, I have an idea. As I know a little about what is going on in your life right now. But, that's not why I purchased this book for you, packaged it up, and it now sits hear ready to be mailed to your house.

I purchased it because God told me to do so.

A loving neighbor turned me on to A Holy Experience. Apparently, she stumbled across it and thought I would love it from the perspective of a Christian. And a writer. The style of the blog is not something to which I naturally gravitate, but I'm a good listener. There must be some reason I was being led there. So I visited. And read. And got hooked.

The phone rang a few days ago. I had a conversation with a friend about an enormous tragedy in her life. One that happened months and months ago. While I've tried to contact her to offer my condolences and pray with her, I also knew she needed time. Plus, the nature of our friendship is so deep that I knew, in time, we'd connect. We did. This week. For hours.

Upon hanging up, I went to A Holy Experience to read a new post, and my eyes were led to the advertisement for the author's new book.

"Buy it for her."

I obeyed. Knowing that the decision to purchase the book, wasn't mine. If you know me, you know I don't buy any books new - or at full price.

While at Amazon, I found myself purchasing two copies.

They arrived yesterday. I packaged one for my friend who shared her lament with me this week. She believes and knows that even in the violence that has occurred in the life of her family, God's presence is not merely near - but, rather, embracing her. There is pain. So much pain. But also so much trust. And an unexplainable joy that only comes from knowing Him.

I sat there staring at the second copy - thinking I would read it myself.

"Send it to her," was what I heard - referring to a second friend.

I packaged up the second book to be shipped.

A few thoughts: As I shared in earlier blog posts - I have this desire to give. Not just used clothes. Or items I no longer need. That's great. But my purging isn't solely for the purpose of cleaning my house or decluttering my life. My deepest desire is to be a part of God's desire to give LIFE. And while I've not read this book, I'm pretty convinced that there is something in there that these two women need to read.

God used the internet-wandering of my neighbor, to point me to a site I most likely would have never chosen to visit, to show me a gift that two friends needing encouragement would find joy in receiving.

How heavenly-orchestrated was that?

Listen.

I Left My Heart . . .

2011-01-24T12:37:00.000-05:00

I left my heart on the floor of the Coffee Buzz where I gathered with my church family to watch the Steelers/Jets game last night.

I grew up in a Redskin family.

I remember sitting in the family room on Sundays listening to my entire family cheer while I sat there - uninterested. Although I DID see the game where Theisman broke his leg. That was way gross.

So, now, here I am. In Steeler country. With a 10 year old Steeler-fanatic for a daughter. A child who plans her Steeler clothing for each Sunday, and made it clear that she needed her jeggings and Polamalu jersey clean and ready for game day yesterday.

A daughter who dressed in full Steeler fashion for her birthday party (as did other girls).

A daughter who took the front and center seat at a Steeler-viewing party last night, terrible towel and bad-call brick by her side.

I, on the other hand, arrived at the party having NEVER watched a full game all the way through. Yes, I did watch the Steelers win the Superbowl back in 2008 - spurts of it anyway. We had just told the children we were moving to Pittsburgh, and so I thought it only proper we watch the game. I'll admit - I was VERY impressed. Wow'd.

But, no, I've never continued the practice of sitting and watching an entire game.

Until last night.

Oh. My. Word. How do you people do it?

My heart was racing. I was up and down from my chair. I was shh'ing children. I was yelling about some play NOT being pass interference and that the ref better not call it that way (how'd I even know about pass interference?). I watched all of it. The second half about killed me.

I simply can not live this way. I was anxious. Tense. Impatient. Ready to fly off the handle.

All the traits I've worked so darn hard to decrease over these past 1.5 years flew right back to the surface during the AFC Championship game.

As I told George, "Ok, I'll do the playoffs. I'll even watch the Superbowl. But I can NOT do a whole season of this. No way. It will kill me."

So, I'll continue to be that person who wanders in and out of the room during a Steelers game.

Except for the Superbowl.

I'll be front and center.

Don't get in my way.

On the Eve of Having a 10 Year Old

2011-01-21T14:53:00.000-05:00

I look forward to it every year.

And then I tear up.

See, it took me 10 years of marriage before God laid it upon my heart to have children.

The day I finally told George I was ready, by sharing with him that I really liked the diaper pack made my Eagle Creek, he was shocked. And elated.

And then came Harper.

Recently, I interviewed her for PittsburghMom. I'm not one of those Moms who does this every year or keeps track of their answers when I do remember to interview my kids. This, year, however, I did remember to climb up in her loft bed to interview her. I had a post due - Harper would serve as my topic.

The answer to one question in particular really got my attention and affirmed what God had been telling me lately. Harper shared that her favorite thing to do with me, is sit in her bed at night to talk.

We used to do this all the time when she was younger, but this special time has been happening less and less due to my schedule. However, since beginning a 30 day organizational challenge taught by Chalene Johnson (who I consider to be a fantastic business coach), I have made enormous changes to how I balance working from home AND turning the work OFF during Harper's bedtime.

Last night, as we sat chatting, I was able to share with her a story that I had never told anyone. Even George. It was regarding something that happened to me as a very young Christian (13 or 14) that I truly believe was a physical, visual sign from God that He loved me and that He was indeed real.

"Wow. That is really cool. And a little creepy" was her response.

I also shared with her how I wasn't particularly kind when I was a 4th grader like her. In fact, I could be a bit of a snob. In 5th grade, I'm ashamed (and forgiven) to say that I was awful to a girl in my class for the better part of the whole year, only to learn later on that her father was physically abusive to her.

Ouch. Such guilt.

We talked about God's forgiveness - me and my girl, and she thanked me for sharing with her.

"You need to tell me this stuff more often. 'Cause I'm not like you were in 4th grade."

No, Harper, you aren't.

You are kind. You are funny. You are sad when people are sad. You are positive. You are dramatic (yes, honey, you are - sorry - you have my blood). You are brave. You are creative. You also get nervous some times - but not like you used to - remember those days?

I love you, baby girl.

Yes, I said it. BABY girl. You were the first baby I ever had, and the picture above is my absolute favorite of you during your first week out of the womb.

I'll see you on your bed tonight, OK?

I'm Bringing "Stage-legs" Back

2011-01-15T13:56:00.006-05:00

So far, the 40's have been all about ditching fear.

I set out on an adventure to begin writing, for an actual paycheck, and clinched my first regular gig over at PittsburghMom. I am indeed thankful for them taking a chance on the likes of me.

My once toned body began to slip this year after walking my husband through some tough stuff - no worries about my sharing - all is out in the open. What came from a 90-day journey on a program called ChaLEAN Extreme (on sale right now, by the way), was not only a new-found commitment to health and fitness but also a new business which truly matches one of my priorities in life: to motivate and encourage people that they CAN indeed make positive changes in their lives. When I started, back in April (both ChaLEAN and the business) I didn't think I would be successful. Joke was on me.

There was one more teensy, weensy, fear dangling over my head. I moved to Beaver knowing there was a local theater group. I moved to Beaver wondering if I could ever recapture the joy I once felt from performing which had fallen by the wayside prior to Zane's birth. At that point in my life, juggling Harper, auditions, and rehearsals, got to be very overwhelming for me. So, I walked away. Called my agent. Opted out. A week later I learned I was pregnant with Zane. I immediately shifted gears and began pouring my efforts into private coaching, which is where I stayed until we moved to Pittsburgh.

But in the back of my head, I've always entertained this nagging thought: will I ever go back? I was nudged by a friend of mine who owns Kolache, an actor himself. I was nudged by George. After punching so much fear straight in the kisser this past year, I was listening to those nudges. Especially because much of the nudging seemed to be coming directly from myself.

Over the past few months I found myself reading/researching a specific play. Following that, I watched (and thoroughly enjoyed) the film version of THAT play. I made an appointment for an audition. I told people of the audition - for if there is one thing I have learned this year is to SHARE GOALS with others - sure fire way to hold yourself to your word. My monologue of choice, hiding in that black binder I've ignored for years, was easily located and reviewed this week: in my office, in front of the mirror, laying in bed, in the shower. My family gathered to pray for me this morning.

Proudly, I can now say, regardless of the outcome, that I auditioned for a show this morning. A play that I truly adore, and always have: Lost in Yonkers. Feeling a bit like the Tinman before being oiled, I performed my monologue and then steadied myself for the cold readings. Rusty? A bit. I haven't stretched these skills in years.

But, fun????

Oh my goodness, YES!

There's a lot of healthy risk-taking going on in my life right now - behavior which began to wane around age 36, when life began to take on a bit of a hot, grainy, "desert-feel", and I, in turn, emerged a bit weather-beaten and parched. I placed limitations on myself, approached new opportunities with why I COULDN'T do them, and was content with personal status-quo. A new me, that wasn't actually me, was calling the shots.

And then, we moved. And yes, I tasted a fresh start.

Writing has become my main focus, and believe me, I'm applying at least once a month for new opportunities.
Team Beachbody is all the rage with me now: both for the physical AND financial benefits.
And, as for Lost in Yonkers, that choice isn't up to me. I simply showed up.

I showed up.

Where do you need to show up????? Trust me. Showing up isn't always easy. There was that desert to cross and then, after feeling "watered" again, there were quite a few weeds needing to be whacked. Honestly, I'm still hacking away at a few of them.

But it's a happy-hacking.

I'd love to see you show up, also. It would be great to see you here.

January 10, 2005

2011-01-10T08:41:00.000-05:00

Welcome to the world, Zane!

Click on over the Pittsburgh Mom to read the little ode to my boy that I posted last week.

First words uttered when he was lifted up over the screen so I could see him (c-section baby)?

"George! He looks just like Harper . . . only . . . with new parts!"

I also recall thinking to myself, "I don't know him." I was inwardly troubled by this.

For when Harper was born, I felt as if I had known her for the full 9 months.

This felt different.

Well, my son, I know you now. And these last 6 years have been such a joy for all of us. You are one big, snuggling ball of love. And your heart is enormous.

You completed our family.

And we all wildly adore you.

Planning for Next Christmas

2011-01-03T14:24:00.001-05:00

"What?! You're already thinking about next Christmas?!"

Yes.

Part of our goal as a family is to give more. I've blogged time and time again about my quest to give one item away each day. And while I've missed a day or two here and there, the action and discipline of giving has had the effect I had hoped. For now, I am habitually looking for ways to give away belongings I do not use, money of which I have excess, and time which can be used to help others.

Which brings me to NEXT Christmas.

This week, our family started a Christmas Jar. Let it be said that I have no intention of reading the book attached to this project. I've got enough reading to do.

The chore thing in our house ebbed and flowed all through 2010. The kids have gone through periods of being spot on with completing their chores, followed by weeks of inconsistency - an endless back and forth of paying them or not paying them for the completion of the specific responsibilities each one has been given. I've written about our family, um, "system" (I can't stand that word), here. I actually like our current plan, even if the chores are only getting done maybe 65% of the time, so this is not some big announcement that we're chucking it.

Rather, we're adapting it.

Enter, The Christmas Jar.

We mentioned this idea to the kids a few nights ago and the response was favorable: upon completing a chore, rather than receiving coins for themselves, all spare change (whether chore-related, or that random dime you find in the washer) will be placed in the jar. All. Year. Long.

Come Christmas, we will anonymously give our jar of spare change to someone who needs it. One person.

Harper's response, "Can I put my tithe in the jar?" I was more than fine with this. Spirit of the law. In went her quarter.

Zane? Not sure he got it. But he likes the clinking sound the coins make when they get thrown in.

The kids are still so "high in sky" from receiving Christmas gifts and have birthdays to look forward to this month, so any thoughts of buying items for themselves is thankfully off their radar screens. Perhaps this is why the idea went over so very well. They are currently well stocked.

The jar is visible - right on the kitchen windowsill. So, if you stop by, and have some coinage jingling away in your pocket - drop it on in.

We'll make sure it gets to the right person in December.

We're pretty sure God will make that person as clear to us as the glass of the jar itself.

He's cool that way.

Looking Back, Looking Forward

2010-12-30T11:21:00.001-05:00

If you know me well, you know that I do NOT make New Year's Resolutions. Ok, call them what you will, but I do NOT make the traditional list of "items I WILL accomplish" that is supposed to start with a well-intentioned BANG on January 1 every year.

I truly believe that doing so is actual personal sabotage.

That doesn't mean I don't make goals. So, what is the difference? My goals don't necessarily have anything to do with the drop of the New Year's ball. They are year-round, life-style changes, whereas most New Year Resolutions fizzle out (the success rate isn't great).

Check out this post from last year.

Looking back, how'd I do?

"Thank you". Yep. It's a natural habit of mine to vocalize my thanks. Would I like to be a better thank-you note writer? Sure. Will I? I don't know. I am however sitting down to write out Christmas "thank-you's" with the kiddo's before Christmas break ends. It's a start.
"Time with friends". Check.
"Healthy Body". It's really no secret that Beachbody has made a tremendous impact on my physical and financial life.
"Daily Prayer". I still need to work on this one. It will be a life-long struggle.
"Write". I said hello to a weekly gig at PittsburghMom.com this year.
"Morning space". Nope. I still don't get along with mornings.
"Move in". Yep. Dining Room and Living Room got painted, garage demo'd, new attic playroom set up, kitchen overhauled, media/workout room organized.

So, do I have any plans for 2011? Yes. Will I start them on January 1? No.

Accomplish P90X. I'm doing so with over 20 other people. My Beachbody business has grown leaps and bounds and thus, along with P90X, I'll continue to work this particular "love" as a real job.
Daily Prayer. I'm doing so by meeting for prayer one morning a week with two very special women in my life.
Write. I'm continuing with Pittsburgh Mom and will continue to hunt down new opportunities. God has given me a new idea this year, and I've already contacted two writer friends to see if they will join me. I would also like to get Cuppa Jo, and some older versions of that blog, made into books this year.
Mornings. I think, with the addition of P90X, I may need to get mornings kicking. Ugh.
Move in. Time to tackle my bedroom (paint), create an outdoor patio space, and print and hang family photos. Plus, I'd like to complete a photo book of our move in 2009. I won a free photo book from Vistaprint - time to get it going.
Pay off. I got a good amount of debt paid down this year. For 2011, I'm targeting a specific card.

That's it.

Notice that three of the desires I have, include involving other people in the task. There's nothing like asking others to join you to really get the party started.

What are your YEAR-LONG plans?

But Enough About Me: Repost from The Bridge

2010-12-19T09:40:00.000-05:00

This piece was recently published in The Bridge, a local publication for which I am a contributer.

But Enough About Me

BIBA.

It's fun to say.

BIBA.

Biba, a Latin dialect of the Spanish, bebida, means “drink”. But to hear the true inspiration behind the name of this new restaurant, check in with owner's Jason and Chrissy Benegasi.

“It's named after our dog.” Talk about honoring the legacy of your beloved pet. Biba, your name now lives on through Beaver's recent addition to ethnic dining. Good dog!

I sat down with Jason one October evening while under a tornado watch. A little wind and the threat of being whipped in the face by flying piles of crispy leaves wasn't about to stop me. I've played Dorothy. I know the adventure a twister can bring. There's no place like Biba!

Entering the restaurant, I was struck by the spaciousness of the tiny venue. Surprisingly, with room for only 11 tables, seating wasn't tight. And although Biba is considered one of Beaver's more upscale restaurants, there wasn't a hint of snootiness.

Jason, formerly of Lidia's Pittsburgh, dreamed of opening his own place for years.

Why Beaver?

“Beaver is obviously up and coming. It's a unique small town with a main drag feel – not commercial.” Here, we veered off, swapping opinions on local business vs. corporate establishments as it pertained to certain coffee shops. You can ask him for his thoughts on this subject. I agreed not to print details. Wink.

“Beaver is happening. Everyone here is really into their little town.”

He's exactly right. We adore our little town. What's not to love about our “main drag” which now boasts the flavors of Cuba, Jamaica, Puerto Rico, Peru, and Argentina, thanks to Biba, whose menu specializes in dishes from South America and the Caribbean, along with Central American and Mexican influences.

“Folks may not recognize what's on the menu, but it's really nothing weird,” Jason joked. Chicken, steak, pork, and fish are regulars in the line up, with some new surprises coming in December.

Not to be confused with tapas, (a rumor I think I actually started – oops), Biba is a Latin seasonal restaurant, offering “small plates” (as well as larger dishes) from a unique menu which changes weekly. “Sticking to their guns” by using seasonal, fresh, and local ingredients, Jason shops with venders from our very own community. And while one might find the prices a bit startling at first, the finest ingredients combined with the talent of Executive Chef David Plankenhorn naturally comes at a premium.

I act nonchalant when Jason asks if I'm hungry, but truthfully, I was so hoping he'd ask.

He whips up two of his favorites: a jerk chicken taco on a home-made tortilla, topped with cabbage, pineapple/Serrano pepper salsa and a drizzle of sour cream, followed by a soft taco filled with jumbo lump crab and chorizo, sprinkled with onion and chihuahua cheese.

“You may need a fork with that one,” he shares. Nope. I had no intention of attempting proper table manners. Those tasty tacos were gone in a snap.

No sooner had I finished than Chef David, a former Chocletier, quietly laid a spoon of chocolate gonache on my plate.

I love him.

Venture into Biba and be treated to a meal that will stretch your culinary palate with dishes from countries far beyond the land of Beaver Bobcats. And if you find “new” to be strange and intimidating, and aren't brave enough to go it alone, allow me to accompany you. I'll even hold your hand.

Biba is located at 406 Third Street. (724) 728-7700. Tell them Joline sent you.

Strip Searched

2010-12-19T00:17:00.004-05:00

I don't know what took me so long.

Sure, there was that quick trip down to Klavon's on the last day of school back in June, but that doesn't count as a real trip to the Strip District in Pittsburgh.

There was also my half-marathon which took me through a deserted Strip District one Sunday morning in 2009. It was vacant. Shops closed. No bystanders cheering me on. It was my least favorite leg of the trip.

Today, however, was glorious.

Visiting the Strip was EVERYTHING I hoped it would be.

I ventured down this morning with Harper and my neighbors - cup of coffee in hand and grocery list in my purse. The drive down took no time. I still marvel at the lack of traffic that I hit whenever I wander into the city.

The Strip District was already alive and bustling with activity. 9:15 was pretty late for a visit to the area (especially a week before Christmas). The crowds were thick and street vendors were hours into peddling their wares. The sound of "Fresh bread!" rang through the air. It was kind of like the "Who Will Buy" moment in Oliver - only with a rousing tune about the Steelers amplified above it.

Of course I bought some of that bread.

Actually, I bought the largest, most yummiest pepperoni roll I've ever scarfed down, for the cheapest price I've ever paid. The thing was massive and fed four of us for $5.00.

My purpose in visiting the Strip, a week before Christmas, was to get some authentic Italian meats and cheeses for my annual antipasto, plus some surprise goodies for my parents who just can't get items like frizelles, and tarelles on the MD shore. Last year, I tried to get all my ingredients at an Italian market in Monaca, only to have that plan fall short when I arrived to find them out of mozzarella balls. I'm sorry, but what true Italian market runs out of mozzarella balls? It's a staple. Like flour.

So, I resigned myself to picking everything up at Giant Eagle, and while the antipasto was terrific - this girl really loves her cured meats - it was lacking the experience. Back in Chicago, I loved visiting a certain market every year to get my goods. The smells, the languages being spoken, and the hustle and bustle of everyone getting ready for Christmas by hitting up the deli counter, was an experience - a treasured one.

I've been searching for that.

Now, I know everyone is all, "You gotta go to the Pennsylvania Macaroni Company", and I did, for the jarred ingredients and the tarelles, but for the meats and cheeses? When I arrived the crowd was enormous. My letter/number was G40. The number being called? E17. The numbers went up to 100. So, do the math. And that was for the cheese counter only. I didn't even have a number for the meat counter. I was so sad. I had been warned that this would happen. Not even the announcement that they were serving free wine in the back room helped ease my disappointment. I wasn't getting my stuff here. I resigned myself to purchasing the ingredients at GE. Again.

But, my neighbor, who is far more Strip-saavy than me, suggested we return to the deli where I first purchased that luscious pepperoni roll.

We returned to Sunseri Brothers (Jimmy and Nino's place) where I approached the deli - which was far less crowded then the Macaroni Company.

"Do I need a number?"

"Everybody pick a number!" was the response.

Which is when the handful of customers, including myself, all began yelling out random numbers in chorus. With laughter.

I turned back to the guy and told him I was number one.

He chuckled and got my order of sharp provolone cut, while a male customer asked what cheese I was getting.

"Sharp provolone. If you've never had it, you need to."

"Hey! I'll take the half she doesn't purchase!"

The man helping me asked if the orders were together.

"What? For us? What are you suggesting? We just met!"

More laughter.

The climate was festive, everyone chatting, talking, and laughing over the coincidence of all having picked the number "one". The feel was so different from the shoulder to shoulder ("excuse me", "pardon me", "coming through") mob over at Penn Mac. And not only did I get great products, but Harper was able to hang with our neighbors on the deli's second floor while sipping a drink and munching on that same pepperoni roll. (We got hours of meals out of that thing).

This particular deli was so much more relaxing and "homey" than the bumper to bumper traffic inside "THE place", and I walked away with all the meats and cheeses that I needed and a warm feeling in my heart.

THIS was the Strip experience I was hoping to find.

"Wait! Do you have pepper frizelles?"

"No. Can't get 'em."

"Ugh. My father is gonna write me out of his will. I promised him."

Perhaps I'll need to make them myself?

The Strip is THE place. Next time down? DeLuca's for breakfast with the family.

And not only did I find my Italian deli of choice on my first visit to the Strip, but I also grabbed a sweet hat from a street vendor.

Cured cuts and cute caps. I'd call that a great day.

Yinz have a favorite place dawn in da Strip? Dish.

Linkage

2010-12-13T08:42:00.001-05:00

Thought I'd share a few blog posts and articles that I've read (or written) as of late.

From Ordinary Time (Life in the Big Ugly House), Elizabeth shares her Parenting Top Ten List.

Coach Jamie has a nice piece summing up the majority of excuses we have when it comes to incorporating regular, intentional exercise into our daily lives.

The latest issue of The Bridge is out! You can read my thoughts about Biba, a new local restaurant, here. Scroll down to my column, "But Enough About Me."

This one really touched me. If we all could be this generous.

Do you have any favorite blogs, specific posts, or articles that have made an impact on you? Please share!

THE Zaneism of the Year

2010-12-09T14:23:00.000-05:00

Harper was reading to us when she came upon this sentence,

"And they came to find that 'so and so' grew an entire foot since last Christmas."

Without skipping a beat, Zane responded.

"Why? Did he lose one last year?"

Merry This . . . Happy That . . . Um, This May Sting A Bit

2010-12-06T15:08:00.000-05:00

This is a re-post from December 4, 2009. The original post and comments can be found here.

I am a born-again Christian.

I believe that God became human, coming to us in the form of a baby named Jesus and would go on to suffer and die on the cross as payment for the sins of all man/womankind. I believe He rose again from the grave, thus conquering death, and that all can know Him personally during life here on Earth before joining Him in eternal glory.

I'm not interested in debating this. So don't start.

I believe it. I experience Him daily. I hear Him. I see Him. I have watched Him change the hearts of people, mine included. I have a unique ability to see His handiwork in the seemingly small stuff that I encounter in both my daily life, and in the lives of others. He has fashioned me this way. Where others see despair, I see hope - even when life is bleak. Yes, I experience darkness like any other human, and yet there is a wellspring of hope that floods my soul.

That Hope is Jesus.

Ok, now that I've shared this testimony, let me get right to it.

(Deep breath)

I find this whole debate over whether one should say "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Holidays" pointless and a complete waste of time. And, to go one step further, I believe it's just one more thing that widens the chasm and hinders our conversations with non-believers.

"But, but . . . ", you say. Just relax. Don't hurt yourself.

Obviously, I celebrate Christmas, and in doing so wish others a "Merry Christmas", for I hold in my heart the conviction that Christ is real, and in my head, the knowledge that I have both the freedom of speech and the freedom to worship.

And yet, I can not ignore my childhood years which were spent in a culturally diverse area and my 18 years in Chicago, surrounded by those who come from a variety of different faith backgrounds. I am thus accustomed, for instance, to wishing my Jewish friends "Happy Hanukkah". They, in turn, have always wished me a "Merry Christmas". In my relationships there has always been a mutual respect for one's personal faith.

I have often found dialoguing with those of different faiths to come, well, easy, having shared my faith with Jews, and Buddhists, and Mormons, through simple conversation, rather than by means of a one sided monologue where I do all the talking outlining why I worship Jesus.

Ping pong. Tennis. Back and forth. It's called discussion.

See, in our country, as opposed to others, we have the freedom to worship any way we choose.

While I happen to believe that Jesus is indeed the Way, the Truth, and the Life, others, do not. Thankfully, they live here, in the United States, where they have the freedom to worship - just as I do. Do I want them to know the love and forgiveness of Jesus? Of course! Do I believe that all streams lead to the big ocean - or whatever that saying is? Nope. See, I really do believe that Jesus is the answer. I do.

And yet, I could care less whether a clerk at a store wishes me "Merry Christmas" or "Happy Holidays" while I'm shopping. Look at me. Closely. How would one even know whether I celebrate Christmas just by looking at me? Honestly, based on looks alone, they'd be more apt to wish me "Happy Hanukkah." Oh yeah, I can pass. And that's from the mouths of my Jewish friends.

And secondly, why would I even expect a secular organization, like that of a corporation, to be committed to furthering the cause of Christ?

For that matter, why would I expect the choreography on the American Music Awards to be wholesome? Why should I be shocked by Adam Lambert? For what was he doing that was so contrary to what the "world" considers "entertainment."

I think we expect too much from the "world" - and when they don't comply with our beliefs, we stand in judgement. We stand in judgement over those who don't posses the power of the Holy Spirit to even assist them in making choices that would glorify God. We stand in judgement over those who don't even profess to know Jesus.

Sorry. That's not our job. That position has already been filled.

BY GOD.

Instead, we threaten to boycott stores - stores whose ultimate purpose has absolutely nothing to do with expanding God's kingdom in the first place, but rather whose goal it is to make a profit. Why boycott just because the check-out person has been told not to wish you a "Merry Christmas"?

I don't remember Jesus boycotting dining with tax collectors, ignoring women of ill-repute, or moving to the other side of the road so as not to bump into lepers. He went where we are afraid to go.

(No, no, no . . . I'm not calling businesses crooks, (some are) adulterer's, (some are) or diseased (some are). I AM saying that Jesus didn't run from tough conversations.)

I propose that we are simply afraid to enter into a natural dialogue with those of different faiths, and those who may hold a different opinion regarding the season, and instead, hide behind our catchy slogans and phrases.

If it is so important to "Keep Christ in CHRISTmas", or if "Jesus is the reason for the season", how about upon being wished a "Happy Holiday" we resist the urge to pull a John Wayne, quickly drawing the "Merry Christmas" from the spiritual holster and firing it off in defense, and instead, actually engage that person in a simple exchange.

"Thank you. I celebrate Christmas. How about you?"

I'm sorry to tell you that the words "Merry Christmas" do not hold some sort of special evangelistic power. But by initiating true conversations with others, (albeit brief at times) rather than throwing out our scripted answers (sweetly, of course) and walking away with our purchases, we have actually offered more than the statement "Merry Christmas" could ever supply.

As we move away from trying to prove a point, and move into sharing a real moment with another human being, there is the possibility of leaving a lasting impression that will far exceed the month of December.

They will know we are Christians by our love, not whether we wish someone a "Merry Christmas".

Don't' get so bent out of shape.

You're going to pull something.

Advent Thoughts

2010-12-02T09:52:00.001-05:00

The town of Beaver thought it clever to get a major jump on the Christmas season by putting up the customary holiday wreaths and red velvet bows, THE WEEK BEFORE HALLOWEEN.

Yes, had I taken any photos during the Halloween parade, you would no doubt be able to make out the lampposts lining our main drag - all adorned in their Christmas best, while my Jawa, British punk rocker, and an entire host of ghosts, princesses, and the cast of the Wizard of Oz walked the street.

Back in Chicago, WLIT-FM dropped its regular Adult Contemporary programming on November 10th in order to flip over to 24 hours of Christmas music beginning with the the playing of "Jingle Bell Rock" by Bobby Helms. Holiday Lite will continue until December 26th.

I adore this time of year.

But if it seems as if the Christmas season is creeping up on us faster and faster with every passing year, (you know the old cliche, "I can't believe it's already December), it's because it truly does feel like it.

Whether it be the introduction of holiday decorations, or the playing of Christmas music before Thanksgiving even rolls around, our December is being pushed back to October.

What happened to waiting with anticipation????

Here's some reading for you.

Want to hear a 12 year old's thoughts on this subject? Check out what The Missy Times has to say.

Ever heard of "Chradvent"? No? Many celebrate this new tradition. Do you?

And over at PittsburghMom, I wrote a tiny bit about how I approach the season.

I realized only today, that I've written about advent in year's past. Here's a post. And yet another. You'll find one of my favorites right here.

Too much to read?

Maybe you ought to make yourself a cup of hot chocolate, tea, or better yet, coffee, and sit down for a bit.

Slow down. You move too fast . . . yeah, I know that's a song. But, really. Pull back a bit with the rushing into and towards Christmas Day. For Christmas morning was never meant to feel like the finish line.

But, rather, the Start.

Be well.

Small Business Saturday

2010-11-25T18:29:00.001-05:00

I had the BEST Thanksgiving conversation EVER this year. Why?

I sat next to my sister's brother in law, a current employee of Walmart who offered me a first hand account of working for the corporation - even turning down a management position based upon his hands on experience with the company. Although thankful to have a job, he is anxious to move on (and is waiting to hear on a new position elsewhere), having seen too much. He had to leave our festivities early since he's working at 4AM tomorrow for "Event Friday" (no longer Black Friday since the trampling death of 2008), but I thoroughly enjoyed talking with him and getting to know his family.

It was like having pie before the turkey.

And with that, my convictions have been affirmed and strengthened, and once again, I IMPLORE you to patron the small businesses in your community that are clamoring for your business.

Are you free on Saturday, November 27th?

You may not get that flat screen TV for $10 at your local business, but, in the long run, you will receive MORE than a penny saved.

Some facts:

For every $100 spent at local small businesses, $68 is returned to the community.
Small businesses employ half of all private sector employees.
Small businesses represent 99.7% of all employer firms.
For every year over the last decade, 60-80% of new jobs were generated by small businesses.

Try stepping out of your norm and shop with a local vendor this holiday season. Here are a few of my favorites here in Beaver:

AK Nahas: Shared pie with the owner, at my kitchen table, while we discussed what items we'd need in order to have a working kitchen. He even talked me OUT of a new microwave. Good people.

Cafe Kolache: My "go to" place to write, fellowship, and hang. I've even been covered when I forget my wallet. I promise - I don't do this intentionally, or often. Again, good people.

Castle Toys and Games: Hands down, my favorite toy store EVER. Really. Ever. Partly because of the incredible selection, but more so because of the lovely owner, Linda.

There used to be this toy store in Evanston where the owner's were NASTY to children. Toy store + Nasty to children = Bad combination. That store is no longer in business.

Linda at Castle Toys and Games is pure delight. She loves her customers, and even surprises them with goodies when they break an arm. I will spend my money in Castle over Toys R Us any day.

Beaver Healthmart Pharmacy: Can you love your pharmacist? I think so. Especially when you hear the encouraging words, "Joline, we'll figure it out. Hang in there." during a time when a family member is having to change medications every month until we find the one that works.

What is the common denominator here?

Relationship.

I have a relationship with these business. I know them and they know me.

Try a local business this Saturday. Even if it doesn't open at 4AM. I guarantee you that you'll receive much more than a good "deal".

You may even make a new friend.

Repost on Black Friday: Have at me

2010-11-19T11:01:00.001-05:00

This post was originally published on November 19, 2009. It has been re-posted for your shopping enjoyment.

Okay, I've been putting this off, posting pieces about my new exercise challenge, and the inspiration I received for writing a book, and, well, anything else but this topic.

If you know me well, then you already know my opinion on this.

Ok, here goes.

I am completely not down with Black Friday.

And, to go a step further, I don't think you should be either.

Yes, I am an American.

Just stop reading right here if you can't handle the heat.

You say you want to save money and get the best deals for Christmas?

You say it's fun?

You say, "Hey, you're just a kill-joy. Black Friday is an American Tradition. Like Flag Day."

To you I say:

I understand deals. I'm a complete deal seeker. I just don't feel like waking up at 3 AM and fighting traffic and circling a parking lot to find a space only to stand in line with like a trillion other people, who, let's be honest, could care less about my well being and more about whether they'll get to the electronics/toy/whatever department before me (even if they have to trip me), just to save money.

Here's an idea: How about simplifying Christmas by buying less - maybe one or two really nice gifts for your children, the total of which equals the amount you wind up spending on a mountain of meaningless toys, for which you had to risk life and limb and valuable time. Precious time which could have been shared with your kids and your family, and friends, by, say, playing games or watching a movie, or baking, or decorating for Christmas, rather than entering into a full on sprint against total strangers in order to reach the toy department first to grab a toy that will end up irritating you within 5 minutes of the batteries being installed. Can you say Tickle Me Elmo?

No, you be quiet! I told you up front that I am not down with Black Friday, so what did you expect to read here?

You say Black Friday is fun? Yeah, it sounds like a blast.

I'm a negative Nelly? Well, Sherlock, I'll have you know that the original term Black Friday was never a particularly positive title, but, in fact, made reference to some pretty darn tootin' icky days in history. Google it. And the phrase as we know it today, was actually used by newspapers back in the '70's, to describe the extreme hecticness that stores experienced the day after Thanksgiving.

So let me get this straight. Historically, Black Friday was never a good thing. And when newspapers began deeming the day after Thanksgiving as Black Friday, it wasn't initially a compliment, but rather, a phrase used to describe a commonality between the crowds and the traffic and the sheer craziness of the beginning of the holiday shopping season, with, well, dark historical events.

However, since being in the "black" is a necessity for retailers, they have now hijacked the term, and thus, Black Friday now pays homage to the buying frenzy that will drive retailer's books into the "black".

Well, I'm not bowing to Black Friday.

In fact, and this will make you sick, the "big" presents that my children receive for Christmas (they get a main, or "big" gift from both sets of grandparents and then we supplement with a few other items) have already been purchased, at full price, from a local independently owned toy store, and are resting peacefully in my attic. The owner even helped me carry my bags to the car.

And no one tripped me or slipped a mickey in my coffee, so they could beat me to the Playmobile Egyptian Pyramid. Nope. I pre-ordered it. Months ago.

I realize I'm a bit over the top, but so is Black Friday.

If you are going to participate, let me share with you these words from Sergeant Phil Esterhaus of Hill Street Blues: Hey, let's be careful out there.

And when you come to your senses and realize that I am using this statement in reference to SHOPPING, perhaps you'll join me in on my soapbox.

I'll make room for you.

While pondering your plans for November 27th, check this out.

The Reason I Started Blogging In The First Place

2010-11-18T21:41:00.001-05:00

I started my blog back in 2001 as a means of keeping my family updated on Harper.

Since then, it has morphed into a "coffee house" of sorts, a place where one goes to shoot the breeze with a friend. I'm all over the place on topics.

But, now and then, my kids say something that I want to remember, and thus, you're stuck reading their cute little quotes.

Harper
George and Harper were preparing to leave for her 4th grade camping trip. He, as a chaperone, planned to drive them to school the morning they were to board the bus for the trip, thus leaving his car parked in the school lot. Harper, having lived 9 years of her life in a larger city, anxiously inquired,

"Are you sure that's ok? I mean do they have long term parking???!!!"

Zane

Always the mommy-lover, we were on a hot chocolate date when I began to get emotional over how old he is getting. Six in January. I can hardly believe it. When I mentioned my excitement and my sadness about him growing up, he met me with,

"Mom. You can still hug me until I get really old and move out and live next door to you. You know, when I'm 40."

Give a Little Bit . . .

2010-11-15T20:18:00.000-05:00

Remember this?

Well, I haven't forgotten about it. That's more important than whether you remembered that I'm on a "giving quest".

I am.

So how's it going?

Well, the attic is no longer a storage facility, but rather a playroom for the children. That ought to tell you something.

While cleaning the large space in the attic (it is finished and divided into a large and small room), I found mounds of items that could be useful to someone else. It seems as if I have been adding something to my giveaway pile daily. We have cleaned up and donated so much stuff that our storage can now fit in the smaller attic space. And despite moving all our stored items to that smaller room, it isn't full.

Talk about downsizing.

Tonight I brought another load over to Goodwill.

You know what? I realize that I could probably get a little coin from selling a few items on Craig's List or Ebay, but really, I've been blessed with a great freelancing life. Writing, Beachbody, and Mary Kay keep me busy. And paid. I think I can afford to simply give away these items.

And so I have.

For those of you who have joined me on this quest - how's the giving going???

Respectful Repost

2010-11-14T15:03:00.001-05:00

Was doing some reading of old posts and came across this one from November 1, 2008.

At least I'm consistent.

I do seem to harp on the whole love and respect our neighbor deal.

Especially when it comes to politics.

What's flowing from your mouth these days?

Lend Me Some Sugar, I Am Your Neighbor

2010-11-07T22:13:00.000-05:00

I've been doing a lot of heavy thinking lately. It started in a weekly bible study that I attend at my church when I was presented with the fact that my children are my "neighbors".

(For those of you who may not espouse to any particular faith, I am about to get Jesus up in here.)

Jesus summed up our purpose in life quite clearly in Matthew 22:37-39^:

³⁷ Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’^[a] ³⁸ This is the first and greatest commandment. ³⁹And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’^[b]

For years, I took "neighbors" to mean the people around me. Those living outside my home. Those who lived next door and on my street. The people who served me in restaurants or waited on me at stores, the mailman, the woman who never waives back, the homeless guy muttering to himself. Other drivers.

And then, "Doh!"

Recently, during a 2x4 moment, I realized that my neighbor is also my spouse, my children, my parents, my in laws . . . and then I crumpled over what a horrible witness I've been. We've all been there.

God wasn't done.

What Jesus doesn't state in this passage is that loving one's neighbor will be instinctual, comfortable, and easy. Or even bearable. Sure, it would be great if we were all swaying together in one big love fest - but we come together to form this "perfect union" from different families, ethnic roots, life experiences, educational backgrounds, convictions, faiths, political affiliations, and personal tastes, which, in turn, make up our opinions, beliefs, and biases.

And yet.

As Christians, we are COMMANDED, to LOVE OUR NEIGHBORS as we hang out at this big 'ole block party together. I have no issue with everyone having their opinions. Come on, I'm as opinionated as they come. I am, however, struggling, deeply struggling, with HOW these opinions are communicated especially by those of us who follow Jesus.

People, face it. Those of us who consider ourselves Christians can be downright unloving towards our neighbors.

"What?!" you say. "But I lent so-and-so my leaf blower just last week! I'm as neighborly as they come!"

Newsflash. Our neighborhood also includes President Obama. Guess what? He's your neighbor. And George W. Yep. Neighbor. Michelle Bachman. Needing to borrow a cup of milk. Democrats. Living next door. Republicans. Mowing the grass. Tea Party Members. Having a barbeque. Muslims? Yes. All of them. Neighbors.

Search that scripture again. It doesn't state that loving one's neighbor is a SUGGESTION, nor does it place parameters, boundaries, or restrictions on how much love to give or when to dole it out. This is where Jesus is so gosh darn revolutionary. In fact, he even said in Matthew 5:43-45:

⁴³ “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor^[a] and hate your enemy.’ ⁴⁴ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, ⁴⁵ that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous."

Wait a minute. LOVE MY ENEMIES? Yes. AND pray for them. Honestly, we fall prey to quarreling, debating, and fighting about political and religious differences (me included), but really? This is not our job. We do not cause the sun to rise on the evil and the good. And as far as I can tell, I have never sent down rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. Who am I to read a person's heart and soul? That is God's territory. I'm tainted. I can't read that map.

However, I have been given the following marching orders:

1. Love God
2. Love my neighbors as myself
3. Love my enemies
4. Pray for those who persecute me

This is a great challenge when it comes to the political climate of our country. James 3:9-12 addresses what comes out of our mouths (or, might I add, communicated via email, blog, text, or facebook post - geez Louise life has gotten complicated):

⁹ With the tongue we praise our Lord and Father, and with it we curse human beings, who have been made in God’s likeness. ¹⁰ Out of the same mouth come praise and cursing. My brothers and sisters, this should not be. ¹¹ Can both fresh water and salt water flow from the same spring? ¹² My brothers and sisters, can a fig tree bear olives, or a grapevine bear figs? Neither can a salt spring produce fresh water.

Unfortunately, we forget this as we trample public officials. We actually think it's somehow OK to be lip-smacking rude to those who have chosen a career in politics. And it's not even WHAT we say that is the problem (unless we are spreading falsehood - then? I get ticked.), but rather HOW we communicate our stance. For while it is fine to disagree, it is not OK to be disrespectful. I'm no Pollyanna. I'm singing in the choir here. I realize we won't always have glowing things to say about everyone we meet (or don't meet), but, as we speak (or type) have we lost the ability to communicate truth with love and decency, or have our words been reduced to cursing?

How am I curbing my tongue (and keyboard) as it pertains to this subject?

By refraining from bearing false witness against my neighbor: that means not disseminating information that I can not validate. I am going to try my darndest to stick to the facts.
By refraining from attacking my neighbor's character.
By apologizing, without adding a "but", when my words are found to be hurtful, or incorrect.

We, and I mean those of us following Christ, simply must deal with political topics better if we really desire to follow Christ's very words.

I do. So I've enlisted the help and accountability from a friend of mine who voted Republican in the last Presidential election. Both of us will do our best to follow what I've listed above. We both agree that while disagreements will occur and debate is healthy, it often turns into a game of "telephone". Not effective at all.

Oh, and guess what. I'll trip up. See, I'm not perfect. No party is perfect or the correct one for our nation. Human beings are way to prideful to bring about hope and change, or fix what they think didn't bring about that hope and change.

It is bigger than us.

Won't you be my neighbor?

Rollin' In It

2010-10-22T18:01:00.008-04:00

This is my joint.

I've never been a St. Arbuck's girl. Sure, I'll go in for a cup if I'm meeting friends, or on a long road trip, but it has never been my coffee shop of choice. See, it's hard to go from years of this, to mass marketing.

Now, when I need "my time", I go here.

When we first visited Beaver TWO YEARS ago - wow - we walked into Kolache and I knew instantly that IF George took the job at Four Mile, living within walking distance of this place would be a non-negotiable. For Beaver was pretty much "country" compared to what I'd know for 40 years of my life. The ability to walk to Cafe Kolache would be a necessary part of my adapting to a new community.

My mom sauntered up to the counter and ask the owner what it was like living in Beaver. I gave her a light shove to say "SHUT-UP" for we had the kids with us at the time, and they thought we were on a spontaneous vacation in ~~Pittsburgh~~ Beaver. What Hugh didn't know at the time, was that we were casing the town, while the church was casing us. My Mom just about blew our cover.

Just the mere presence of Cafe Kolache gave me comfort on that trip, for I knew I was potentially facing a huge life change. As silly as it sounds, a local coffee shop would offer me some sense of the familiar.

Flash forward TWO YEARS later. After a year of having a son still in half-day pre-school for our first year in Beaver, he is now at school full-time three days a week. Thus, I FINALLY have the time to return to the "days of my youth" (or rather, the days of my young married life) when I would spend every morning at the coffee shop that George managed while in seminary.

I have been waiting for this season of my life to arrive.

I saunter in, sometimes in a foul mood if the morning routine didn't go so well around the house, get a cuppa, exchange banter with the staff, grab my seat, and begin to write. I sip some soup, order some rolls, and chit chat with other customers. My favorite day to date: busting out to "You Keep Me Hangin' On" with a few others as it came over the radio. The "Oooh's" were particularly delightful.

I really like this place. Can you tell?

So when Kolache called ME yesterday to see if I wanted a few dozen rolls because they'd baked too many that day, I knew.

They like me. They really like me.

I gladly accepted and arranged to get the yummy loot after picking up Zane at school. No, they weren't free (and I wouldn't dream of just taking them), and yet, they came with something more important.

The offer of those rolls signifies that Kolache has indeed become, as my son puts it, "mommy's special place."

Thanks Kristi and Hugh. For you didn't know back in October of 2008 that the shop made an enormous impression on me. It has taken me a year to finally make coming in every week a habit. It's hilarious when I realize that you've seen "all of me": pre-workout, post-workout (sorry - I stink), dressed in actual clothes and NOT wearing a bandana, laughing with my children, frustrated with my children, talking with girlfriends, writing, stumped, angry with George, or just enjoying some time out with the entire family all together.

You've even seen me without my wallet - and you fed me anyway!

I'm rollin' in small town love.

Thanks.

My Bandana: Even the Younger Set Can't Resist

2010-10-19T21:38:00.003-04:00

"Mommy, there's this girl and I think she's cute."

Noooooooooooooo!

"Really, Zane?"

Sayitisn'tso, sayitisn'tso, sayitisn'tso!

"Yes, she's so pretty. She has dark hair. And she wears a headband. A blue one. With flowers."

"Oh. Is she in your class?"

This isn't happening.

"Mommy! Look in the mirror! Don't you get it?"

I happened to be wearing one of my eye-catching bandanas. In dark blue. With small flowers sprinkled throughout the pattern.

Phew. Ok, back to one. All good.

My Bandana: Catching the Eye of Cute, Older Men Everywhere

2010-10-19T21:28:00.001-04:00

Before I begin, I MUST HAVE this bandana. Or one like it.

I already have several bandanas.

But none with BLING.

My first glimpse of a bedazzled bandana came during Season One of The Gilmore Girls, only I wasn't as bandana-crazy as I am now. In the episode, Lorelai wore one like this.

I need one.

It's funny. I started wearing bandana's when my short hair would get too bushy and I couldn't afford a cut. I moved on to using them when I didn't wash my hair. Now, it's a sign that I am either going to work out, or have recently finished (showered, hopefully) and rather than do the whole "hair thing", I simply tie one of these gizmos on and run out the door.

I've gotten eye rolls, stares, snickers, and glares. I'm not sure why it causes such a commotion.

One afternoon, while sitting in MY seat at Kolache, for yes, I deem it so - now that I am in a season of my life where I can actually hang out there alone - ("this is Mommy's special place", states my son), a darling older man struck up a conversation with me.

"I like that bandana."

"You do? Really?"

"Yes. It's unique. I like it." Pause. "Whatcha' doing there?"

I proceeded to share with him that I was writing my piece for Pittsburgh Mom.

He shared with me that prior to retirement he had thoroughly loved his job as an accountant. He had some advice for me.

"Do what you love."

"Sir, I'm trying. I'm sincerely trying."

We bumped into each other again at Kolache yesterday, me donning yet another bandana, and he, playfully pointing it out to me.

And then, today, at the seafood counter in Giant Eagle, there he was.

"Bandana girl!"

"Former-accountant!"

We laughed, shook hands and exchanged names. His? George.

"Perhaps one day you'll actually get to see my hair done up all special."

"I always see you in athletic-wear, do you work out?"

"What? (the bandana) Oh, yes. I've not worked out yet today, but I will."

We parted ways and met up AGAIN in the check-out. Here, I learned more about him. Married 50 years and celebrating with his family this weekend. Greek descent. Works out at the YMCA.

"Listen, marriage is only good if both are working at it. It's up. It's down. It takes sacrifice. It's not always a piece of cake."

I told him that we would be celebrating 20 years in September.

"I wish you 30 more glorious years!"

Just a "chance" meeting, over a worn piece of colorful fabric that I frequently strap to my head.

I'm sure I'll talk with George some more in the near future. And maybe, for a laugh, I'll hand him a new bandana to give his wife, since he finds my look so fetching.

Adorable.

Entering Running Hibernation Now

2010-10-16T17:31:00.001-04:00

It's time once again for this fair-weathered runner to hang up her old-school Saucony's until Spring.

I know, for you die-hards, this is a bit early. But, for me, it's just about the time every year that I run my big race, and then, sink into the chilly weather by refusing to run in cold temperatures. Ok, maybe I'll do a 3 mile run here and there, but it won't be consistent, I will not be training for anything specific, and, well, I may not like it!

Nope, time for me to return to my basement gym for another round of a terrific program called ChaLEAN Extreme - the program I credit for getting me back into shape this year.

If you would like to read up about my recent half-marathon - my Personal Best half-marathon - you can skip over to Cuppa Fit to hear how it went today. Which, in one word, was GREAT. Although I use quite a bit more words in my post over there.

Thanks for reading!

Mom Mumbles and Zane Can't Hear

2010-10-15T12:58:00.002-04:00

"Look babe. There are some Amish boys fixing the roof of that house."

"Where?"

"There. Look up. See them? The Amish on the roof?"

"Where?"

"Zane, seriously, how can you not see them? They are all dressed alike down to the hats."

"I see the boys in the hats. I don't see the fish on the roof."

"No! Not FISH. Amish. A-MISH. There are AMISH on the roof."

Either I need to enunciate or my kid needs his ears checked.

Pittsburgh International Airport: WIN

2010-10-14T20:46:00.001-04:00

It's a 15 minute drive.

Parking is cheap.

It's beautiful inside. Quiet. Almost too quiet for an airport.

Not once have I encountered THAT cop - come on Chicago, you know the kind. Those at Midway and O'Hare who yell and scream at you to keep moving as you drive up to Arrivals to collect your peeps, thus forcing you to drive around again even if you spot your party at the exit door struggling with their luggage.

No, this is the Pittsburgh International Airport. Do you know it?

The one, where a TSA official will walk your husband to a mailing kiosk to mail home the Leatherman tool that he told you, his wife, he had removed from his bag before heading to the airport.

TSA: "Sir, is this your bag?"

Wife: "Geez, George, you just lost another Leatherman. I'm not buying you another one."

TSA: "No way. This is too nice to pitch. Let's get this mailed home for you."

Wife: (Silence. Jaw dropped. I know, crazy, right?)

The one, where that same TSA official will then escort your husband back through security past all the other people standing in line.

It has the best customer service I've ever experienced in an airport. Oh, yes it does.

See, when you inadevertantly leave your dog-sitter with the key to the church, rather than your home, causing her to have to crawl in your back window, which, thankfully, hadn't been locked like every other window, you need someone like the American Airline attendant who sealed it in an envelope and ran it from the gate back down to the ticket counter for pick-up by a very good friend, who then delivered it to the dog sitter.

Phew. Catch that?

Yes, while going through security, with a sharp object and a highly suspicious kid wearing a cast who had to be placed in the glass box until she could be cleared, the phone rang alerting us that we had locked our dog-sitter out of the house.

As we ~~brainstormed~~ fought about the situation (how could you give her the wrong key?), my husband came up with the brilliant idea of mailing the key back to the house. Ok, but it was Saturday. The key would arrive Monday - the day we got home.

Until, brilliance. George informed the attendant at the gate that this was an emergency, and that attendant took the key and personally delivered it to the ticket counter until it could be retrieved.

I don't think that would happen at a larger airport. Plus, I'd never ask a friend to just take a quick jaunt over to O'Hare to pick up a key - for such a thing doesn't exist. That quick jaunt could take up to an hour - both ways - even though we live just about the same distance to PIT as we once did to ORD.

Had we been at Midway? Forget it. The dog would survive from Saturday-Monday. She's a dog.

My carpet?

Not so much. Would have been a great excuse to finally rip it up and get that hard wood floor.

Pittsburgh International Airport: Epic WIN.

Thanks.

For more Atkins Airport Fun, read this old post from 2008.

Opportunities to Give

2010-10-03T17:02:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago, I wrote a post about giving that came from an overflowing heart of thankfulness.

It was a pretty organic post - meaning, God had tipped me off to something, and I was called to listen and act, rather than ponder. He was clear on his desire for me. So, in response, I did what I always do.

I wrote about it.

I won't rehash all I wrote. You can read it here.

Since that time, I have been playing around with a system to enable me to keep track of my goal of giving something away every day.

As my goal didn't necessarily have to do with de-cluttering my house, as much as it had to do with my giving to others out of their need (both in terms of actual possessions, abilities, and time), I still needed to find a way to track myself, without being self-glorifying in the process by sharing details.

A friend turned me on to Don't Break the Chain. A site offering a chart(s) for tracking daily progress on a particular goal(s). Complete your goal for the day, check it off. If the goal isn't completed for the day, don't check it off. Simple. To the point. No detailing the who, what, when, where, why, or how's of the goal, but rather, just one question: Did you get _________ done today? This has worked great for me.

I'm not going to be legalistic about this. In fact, I've missed 4 days of giving over the last 15 days. It's not like at the end of the day I will be knocking on my neighbor's door begging, "Please take this shirt. I don't care that it's not your style or size. I don't wear it any longer and you MUST LET ME GIVE IT TO YOU!"

Instead, I've been asking God to open my eyes to need, and to respond.

One of the ways He does this is through Freecycle. Emails come to my box daily with needs that people have for this, that, and the other. This morning before church, I checked my Freecycle emails to find a struggling family needing an appliance of which I have two. We haven't been using one of them to capacity, and this family couldn't afford one, so, no brainer. Off it's going.

It's funny, and sad, that at times we view ministry as having to be some BIG THING, when there are "small" needs all around us. Giving a meal, babysitting for a friend, passing on clothing and games, a drive home, a grocery run, and offering a big ticket appliance are just a few ways we can serve others.

Ok, yeah, I've now revealed at least one item that I've been prompted to pass along this week . . . don't get used to it.

Keep your eyes and ears open this week. And when you feel the Holy Spirit nudging you to give, don't hesitate.

Warning: it won't always be easy. It won't always be convenient. And, oops, yeah, it will call for a little sacrifice on your part.

Join me?

Jr. Philosopher

2010-10-03T15:31:00.000-04:00

Zane's thoughts on "nothing":

"It is impossible to do nothing. Even if you are sitting still in a chair, you are doing something."

This is actually a rather deep thought.

Is is really possible to do nothing?

You know, "What are you doing today?"

"Nothing."

"It's Sunday. I'm looking forward to doing nothing today."

Is that possible?

Not according to my son.

Chew on that while you do nothing today. Doh! That would mean you are doing something . . .

God Goes Ahead

2010-09-30T09:51:00.000-04:00

I sit here writing on my daughter's Christmas present. Her Christmas present for this year.

Yes, I know it's September 30th. Don't be cheeky.

I have a laptop - one that I don't particularly like the kids using for it has all of my saved sites, files, financial, and personal information saved on it. It's not that I wanted to hide anything from them, but rather, knowing that laptops can be temperamental, I wanted to protect the "brain". Our dino desktop is useless, and we needed something on which the kids could play games, and Harper could send emails. Thus, we decided months ago that we would look for a netbook.

When we learned that a friend of a friend was selling her used one ("used" meaning a whopping 6 times) we labored over whether to purchase it. Through discussions with the seller I learned that the model was practically new and not used often mainly because the woman really had her heart set on Apple coming out with a netbook - and soon after purchasing what you see pictured, Apple did. She closed up the Samsung, put it up for sale, and bought an iPad.

So, why have I already busted it out of its packaging?

Because God in His infinite wisdom knew that the hard drive on my laptop would suddenly crash on Tuesday. Having learned from past mistakes, I had recently done a backup on my external drive, and purchased and online backup program. So while the brain is inoperable, the data is safe and sound.

However, here i was, with a Pittsburgh Mom post to write, Mary Kay inventory to purchase, and Beachbody clients to check in on - all via the internet.

After dealing with Acer - who is sending me a new hard drive, and MGSoft-net, my favorite local computer place who will be installing the drive, I went to my closet, unpacked Harper's Christmas gift, set it up, and went on with my day.

Had I not purchased it last week I'd currently be without a computer.

Ah, perhaps there are some of you saying, "Maybe God wanted you to take a Sabbath from all things electronic." I beg to differ.

On Tuesday, the day of the crash, I was reminded of Eric Liddell, the Olympic runner turned missionary to China, who when confronted about not going out to the mission field sooner responded with, "I believe God made me for a purpose, but he also made me fast. And when I run I feel His pleasure."

When I write I feel God's pleasure.

I'll go as far as to state with confidence that I am sure God went before me, insuring that I would have a new computer in this house a week before mine would fall apart. He knew what I didn't. He always does.

I'm not grabbing for straws here. He's done it for me before.

I've always kept a planner. God has designed me to be pretty well organized. For as far back as I can remember, I've used a written calendar/planner of some form - before the days of the internet/laptops/google calender. Planners were my sole "brain" - quite like my laptop is now. I'll never forget a particular day my senior year in college when I received a call from someone on the other side of campus sharing that they had my planner. What?

"No. You must be mistaken. It's right here in my . . ."

No, it wasn't.

God had found my planner and returned it to me before I even knew it was missing. By going before me, He had lovingly spared me from panic, worry, frustration, and anger.

So today, as I type away on my daughter's Christmas present, I am reminded, yet again, that

God walks behind me, beside me, and, thankfully, ahead of me
He has taught me and used me through writing
I feel His pleasure as I type away

Oh yeah, and let's not forget, He loves me terribly.

When do you feel God's pleasure? While running? Writing? Folding laundry? Cooking a meal for your family?

I find God's pleasure . . . here.

Take Me Out To the Ballgame, Buy Me Food, and Let's Go Home

2010-09-27T18:59:00.001-04:00

We were given two tickets to the Pirates game last Saturday. As Harper is quite vocal about not loving the Pirates (honestly, I think she only cheers for winning teams), George decided to surprise Zane by taking him to his first professional baseball game.

Now, one thing you should know about Zane:

"I am not into sports."

His words.

So, knowing this, I wasn't sure how the outing would go.

That evening, we simply told Zane to grab his jacket, because he and Daddy were headed out and the evening was a cool one.

Harper and I stayed in Beaver, grabbed some sushi, a little gelato, and settled in at home to watch "Diary of a Wimpy Kid" (thumbs down from her - said the books were better - be still my heart), and a few episodes of the Gilmore Girls (don't freak out - I'll explain this in a later post).

The game started at 7:05 and as baseball games can go on for a ridiculously long time, I didn't think Zane would last the entire game.

I was right. They returned home at 9:45. Zane lasted four innings and was out cold.

The next morning, I was anxious to get the report.

With blue stained lips he enthusiastically described the evening to me.

"We went to a Pirates game! I got a hot dog, a BIG pretzel, Sprite, and cotton candy!"

"How was the game?"

"I don't know. I got a blue slushie, too! I still don't like playing sports, but I like watching them."

Unless you count eating as a sport.

If you do, then Z is MVP.

Give Thanks. Give.

2010-09-16T18:35:00.003-04:00

Over 18 years ago I attempted to make a Thankfulness Scrapbook: a small book of photos, magazine pictures, captions, and drawings to serve as a visual reminder of God's faithfulness to us.

At that time, George and I were newly married, and in the Seminary years of our lives. I remember that season as one where we received a bounty of unexpected blessings. God, through the hands of people, provided for us in incredibly unique ways.

One of my fondest blessings was learning that God could choreograph musical theater. Ask me about that one.

The journal, however, was never completed.

I simply couldn't keep up with documenting the downpour of giving poured out upon us. The gifts and blessings were not unlike a never-ending rain shower. They came too many and too quickly for me to keep up with sharing them through a craft project.

There have been other times when I've attempted to keep a log of God's blessings towards us. During our move, for example, friends in both states provided for us in ways we never imagined possible. While I always planned on writing an incredibly eloquent Thank You Letter to each person, I just never got around to it. I had intended to make special cards, which turned into a New Year's Thank You, which then morphed into a Love Letter of Thanks as February rolled around, and then, finally, out of sheer exhaustion and guilt . . . I sent an email.

It's not that I don't want to thank people. Truly I prefer to do so in person, rather than through a note (Emily Post is cringing), but I realize that many enjoy receiving a note of thanks. Sorry for letting you down.

I just can't keep up.

It's actually a great problem to have.

Cash, TV's, furniture, two grills, food, clothing, pens (seriously, it's the little things), coffee, a laptop, the use of a car for almost an entire year, gift cards for meals, blankets, coupons, washing machine and dryer time (when ours were being repaired), books, appliances, toys for the kids, lodging, plates, crates of organic produce, spa treatments, a coffee tab at the local joint 'cause I forgot my wallet.

Grace.

It's almost as if God is saying "Jo, really. Don't try and keep up with me 'cause I'll smoke you every time."

But, Lord, I do want to keep up with you, and until yesterday, I didn't realize that there was a way to do so that didn't involve cropping pictures, gluing captions, or, frankly, any type of craft project. It would still involve tracking, which I love . . . and, respectfully, kind Father, you made me a list-maker, so I kinda, sorta, feel compelled to to track my progress with what I'm about to attempt.

My 2x4 moment of the week?

Rather that attempting to make note of every blessing God showers down our way, I will, in response to those blessings, make a conscious choice to give something of mine away to someone else,

whether that be a tangible item, or a service or some kind,

(as long as it involves having to stretch myself) every day.

Yes, I said, EVERY DAY.

I have much. Rather than keeping a coffee table reminder book of all the jazz God has chosen to hand our family, (I think the Bible covers that) how about I simply respond by actually giving to those who have need, from what I have so generously been given.

It's not profound.

More like, "duh."

While I had planned on starting this on January 1, God nudged me about this today, while investing my time watching my neighbor's son. What did he tell me? There's is no better time like the present.

I've not yet worked out all the details of how I will make this conviction a reality, but I do know that I won't be writing about all the goods and services I'll be giving away, for then, whose horn am I tooting?

This has to be a God-thang. Not, a Joline-thang.

So for the record, no need to send a thank-you note. Just turn around and do the same for someone else.

Details forthcoming if you would like to join me.

Anyone interested?

Old Home Week

2010-09-11T14:42:00.000-04:00

(Sigh)

That is all I heard from Harper upon driving away from her former elementary school during a weekend trip to Evanston. A glance in the rear view mirror revealed Harper fighting to keep the tears from exploding.

"How do you feel?"

"I miss my friends."

We had just experienced the most beautiful, "could only have been orchestrated and crafted by God" moment at Lincolnwood school where we had made an appointment to spend some quality time with the BEST first grade teacher ever in the history all of first grade teachers in the world. No, this is not hyperbole. Please. Until you get yourself some Ms. Beckstedt, you have NO IDEA of the truth I speak.

After chatting away with Ms. B, we stepped outside and received a gracious gift from above. ALL of Harper's old buddies were on the playground.

Ok, if the statement about Ms. Beckstedt was hyperbole, THIS isn't.

Amidst screams of "HARPER!!!!!" and "You're back!!!!!" were hugs and laughter. Harper held court for 45 glorious minutes.

We took ample photos. I witnessed many sprints across the playground as Harper spotted and ran to hug one friend after another.

My heart was full. And heavy. For I knew we'd have to leave shortly.

As we drove off, the car became silent.

Thankfully, we were on route to Izzy's house (a stellar piece of planning on my part). Izzy and Harper are approaching 10 years of friendship. Yes, those friends at school who lavished so much love on my girl are special and unique and will always hold a place in Harper's heart and memory, but how do you describe the beauty of HISTORY to a 9 year old? For this gig with Izzy? It's the real long-term deal.

I felt the same sentiments upon visiting our old condo building late one night during our trip (thank you Bernstein's for the midnight playdate). For this was where our family began. This was where Harper and her friend Alli (only three weeks apart) grew both in and out of the womb. Running up those stairs to visit with Alli and her parents was completely like "old home" week. HISTORY.

How do you explain to a 9 year old, who as my friend Judie put it, "lives for each moment", that the lasting friendships, those that matter, will always be there? The Izzy's. The Alli's. Couple that with the fact that George and I actually have a relationship with both girl's parents spanning back 10 years, and, well seriously? These peeps are solids.

Unfortunately, I think it took me 40 years to "get" friendship. And as I chatted with girlfriend after girlfriend during our visit, I was warmed inside. No, we don't live in Evanston any longer, but not once did my conversations with old friends seem choppy, uncomfortable, or stilted. I came home to Beaver knowing that my friendships, the HISTORICAL ones still had depth. What are miles?

I made a commitment to Harper to let her email friends once a day AFTER all other homework and chores have been completed. I also challenged her to use the phone more often (she can't stand it). I must remain committed to assisting her in keeping these friendship alive - just as I have worked so very hard to do for myself. For me, Facebook, texting, this blog - they are connections to the people I love.

As we pulled into Beaver, I wondered what type of reaction Harper would have.

"We're home!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

No tears.

It was a defining moment. For I now know, without a doubt, that she feels planted here. And while there are roots in Evanston that will forever connect her to Chicagoland, she does indeed feel at home.

Here.

Karate Has Been Chopped

2010-09-11T14:34:00.002-04:00

Since this writing, the owner of Steel Dragons has indeed called back and we are working together to see if we can't re-ignite Zane's interest in karate.

"Zane, I called Steel Dragons and told them you are taking a break from karate."

Without missing a beat, he answers,

"Oh, I'm not taking a break. I quit."

Sigh.

Prior to beginning our first karate class, I had a fantastic phone conversation with one of the owners of the studio I chose for Zane. I spoke openly with her about the social anxiety that both my children have experienced when placed in new situations with children they do not know.

People, it's real. This is not a made-up struggle that I have concocted in my head. Sure, I can be dramatic, but social anxiety truly exists, and both my kids have been working hard over the years to whoop its a^%.

I had high hopes that Zane would take to karate and that it would assist in building his confidence.

I have already recounted his first class and his rocky second class. From that second class, Zane's interest began to wane. He liked the punching and kicking, and did indeed want that uniform, which he earned after passing a skills test at his 5th class, but he was never quite able to conquer his fear of there being children in the class that he didn't know. And ultimately, that was what fueled his quitting.

We are fine with his decision, for he is doing wonderfully in Kindergarten and couldn't be happier.

What saddens me is that I have not heard from the studio.

At all.

I have left two messages - one after missing a class and also realizing that his uniform was too big and we'd need to swap it out. See, glitches like a wrong size only add to Zane's anxiety, and thus, I called to ask if they could have a new one ready for him. The first one was also missing its white belt - glitch #2. In my message I shared that he was acting "iffy" about returning. Sure enough, at that next class, they couldn't coax him onto the floor, although they did a beautiful job trying. Zane and George left the studio before class had even ended, leaving the uniform there.

To their credit, throughout the 5 classes that Zane took, the instructors made several attempts to help him through his fear.

And yet, after leaving that last class before it had even finished, and leaving a second message informing the studio that we wouldn't be back, I've yet to get a response.

This is where it gets hard for those of us with kids who are reticent to jump aboard the participation boat as easily as other kids do. We need that instructor to partner with us, which is why I interviewed a few different studios before picking Steel Dragons. My conversation with the instructor prior to Day One couldn't have gone better, and my decision was affirmed as I watched her execute the classes.

There are many people who truly shouldn't work with children.

These guys, however, are fantastic and they did everything they could to try and get Zane acclimated.

Which is why I'm a bit shocked they haven't returned my messages or called to check in.

Listen, I realize the world doesn't revolve around my kid. And had I not shared our background, or witnessed how much effort they put in to helping Zane this summer, I wouldn't give it another thought.

It's the inner-teacher and customer-service lunatic within me that drives this post.

And the fact that I'm a Mommy who desperately loves her kids.

Moving on.

Kindred Shopper

2010-09-03T16:27:00.001-04:00

I have this friend.

A friend who is a recent Beaver transplant from Vermont.

She gets me when it comes to my issues with food ignorance.

Don't misunderstand the word ignorance. I am NOT calling folks "stupid". I am merely stating that many are uninformed about healthy ingredients when it comes to making personal food choices and feeding our families (especially our children).

One can not ignore (or should not ignore) the obesity rate in the United States. According to the CDC, the obesity rate in Pennsylvania in 2009 was 27.4 %. New research shows that 1 in 3 children are either overweight or obese.

Clearly, this is an issue in our country.

And this is where the word ignorance plays in. For if you don't believe that obesity rates are a concern or important, then I would respectfully state that you are uninformed on the issue.

I rant about food. A lot.

Chemicals. Dyes. High fructose corn syrup. Artificial Sweeteners. Growth hormones. Antibiotics. Genetically modified junk.

I hem and haw and sometimes irritate peeps with my opinions.

But, not my friend from Vermont. She understands.

Which is why we took all day yesterday to hike it "dahntahn" to visit Trader Joe's and Whole Foods. Back "home" both of us had these stores readily available. Here in Beaver? No. And while Giant Eagle does offer a small natural/organic area, the prices are ridiculous. Down at TJ's and WFs we were able to get the items we wanted (can you say bag of organic pears for $2.99) for a fraction of the prices at GE.

Clean eating doesn't seem to be a priority here. I'm not sure if this is just a choice, or, as I mentioned above, due to lack of information on the subject.

So it was nice, to shop with a friend who got excited when I marched into ~~Whole Paycheck~~ Whole Foods with $75 of gift cards (a prize from my Beachbody business) with the intention of buying packs of free-range chicken to stock my basement freezer. And a few other items. Brown rice syrup anyone? Yeah, that's how I rock the rice crispy treats.

Sure, we had to drive into Pittsburgh, and thus, won't be making it a weekly habit, but it was fun. To talk keifer and organic tofu (for only $1.49), while chatting about the "dirty dozen", made for a great day. (Even if we totally struggled to find our way out of this crazy, loopy, non-grid city. Even my GPS was confused.)

If you would like to further your education about the foods we eat, and specifically the ingredient list on some of the products you may find in your pantry, try Fooducate. It's a great blog, easily digestible, (sometimes food-talk can get haughty - not this blog), and the posts aren't long and drawn out. I've learned a ton.

But, with all my learnin', I still forgot to pick up organic kale.

Dangit.

And Then He Kissed Me

2010-09-03T15:38:00.000-04:00

Yep. That was me. Outside the elementary school dropping off my boy.

The one who was soooo jonesin' for a good-bye kiss.

But, nooooo, that was not to be. At least not if Zane had to show affection towards me in front of any other students or teachers.

See, a few weeks ago, we reached this season of his life. A little early in my opinion.

So the past week has been a bit tough on me, not getting that good-bye hug or kiss that I have been aching for from my newly crowned Kindergartener.

But, then, I had a brilliant idea.

"Zane, come here!"

I slipped behind a brick wall that would conceal us from the others.

And there, my BIG Kindergartener gave me a good-bye hug and kiss.

Don't tell anyone, but, Zane Atkins kissed me behind the brick wall at school!

Mom Seeking Hug. Zane, Please Apply.

2010-09-02T00:08:00.001-04:00

Kindergarten.

Day Two.

"Wait," you say, "What about Day One?"

You can read a bit about that over at Pittsburgh Mom.

Yes, I have a lot more to say on the subject. But, for now, let me leave you with this tasty morsel of deliciousness.

I mentioned to Zane that I haven't had the opportunity to hug him prior to his running into school over the past two days. The first day, he was way too nervous to have Mom touch him. Today, there was some discussion about whether he wanted to stay for lunch and I had to give him a slight, well, shove, up the stairs.

(Not to worry - he is LOVING Kindergarten. Comes home yapping up a storm everyday, and tells us his teacher is "awesome".)

So after sharing about those missing hugs, my little Romeo response with,

"Oh, Mommy! Let's fix that RIGHT NOW!"

And we did.

Overheard In A Bar

2010-08-25T00:27:00.000-04:00

I have never been a big drinker.

I have my favorites. Yes, I do. But drinking has always been an issue of budget for me. We just couldn't justify purchasing alcohol when we needed, say, well, food. And clothes to wear while eating that food. Oh, then there was the mortgage. We needed our home so we could have a place to get dressed and eat our food.

I'm not even a social drinker - yes, I'll have one of these (in the photo) on the porch with a friend from time to time (and I do blame this one for turning me on to these little drinkypoo's), or I'll have a margarita or martini every once in a while. But, for the most part I don't order drinks with dinner, do not purchase "party packs" unless I'm hosting a BBQ, which is like, once a year, and just don't even think about stocking up on alcohol. So, it's funny, that my little bit of drinking inspired this comment from Harper.

While sitting at a golf club bar munching on hot dogs prior to George's half marathon (he wasn't eating a hot dog - that would be completely gross before a race), Harper looked up, noticed a Smirnoff bottle on the shelf and exclaimed in a volume which she could only have gotten from me, "Hey, look Mom, they have your favorite drink!"

Yes, the place was full.

No, I did not order a drink.

I drink responsibly . . . she said while taking the last sip of her Mike's Hard Limeade given to her by a neighbor.

Beaver is a cesspool of irresponsibility and iniquity.