Ducking and Weaving

I never thought I'd receive inspiration for a post from a kid's movie. And if ever I was to attempt to glean inspiration for a post from a kid's movie, I doubt I would choose Zathura as the film through which I would receive a new nugget for personal reflection. For I'd tend to lean more towards a film with the depth of, say, The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, or The Secret Garden. But, Zathura? Surprising.

This isn't a movie review.

Although I will offer up that we enjoyed it. It was a great Movie Night selection for the family.

Pretty early into the film, a moved game piece on the Zathura board, (Yep, it's a game. Think "Jumanji", only 2005 style), sends asteroids raining down upon the living room of the house where the main characters reside.

The asteroids, of which there were many, both large and small, came blasting through the roof, shattering windows, toppling bookshelves, crushing furniture and burning holes in the floorboards. Seemingly unavoidable, these searing, reckless, and aimlessly flaming rocks rained haphazardly through every inch of the room. The kids, in an endless frenzy, spun and ran in several directions to avoid being hit. But, as quickly as they ran, the destructive asteroids were able to match all evasive maneuvers with lightening speed.

I knew the asteroid shower would end - as this was a movie and we were only about 20 minutes in - but, even so, I felt a huge amount of tension. The scene touched a cord. For I realized that the asteroid shower would only end when it was time for it to end.

This made an impression on me.

In a really surprising way, I related with the two boys. Engulfed by flaming chaos, they ran, dodged, ducked and hid to avoid being hit, resting for a millisecond only to turn, just in time, to find another asteroid headed straight for them, thus destroying the safe spot they thought they'd found. One after another rocks fell all around them keeping the boys on an exhausting adventure of staying on their toes, with all senses alert, endorphins firing, and "not a moment to lose".

This is how I feel.

I was recently sharing with a girlfriend (a newly engaged girlfriend - YEAH!) how over these last few months we have felt hit with one thing after another. She replied with, "Oh come on Joline, this isn't new. It's amazing what you and George have handled over the past four years." And, she was right. Here I was sharing my exhaustion from a few months of experiencing an asteroid shower of sorts, only to have my gal pal acknowledge (thankfully) that we've actually been ducking and weaving hot rocks for years. Huge boulders. Smaller nuggets. Broken and jagged bits and pieces. All shapes and sizes. A constant stream of them for four years. None completely debilitating, some only slightly annoying, but, yet, a constant barrage.

She went on to say, "Over these past 4 years, there has always been something that you two have been hit with."

I can honestly say that other than my family, she is the first person here to acknowledge that this truly has been the case for us. Even I have tried to brush off the impact made by the constant "fires" by redefining our lives as a "new normal", even though this "new normal" has taken an incredible toll on my physical, spiritual, and emotional health - which, simply, can not be good.

Do you realize how comforting it was to have someone communicate that they have seen how difficult the past four years have been? I am so very thankful - not so much for her seeing our difficulty, but more so that she actually told me that she could see how hard it has been.

Everyone has their asteroid showers. I know this. I'm not saying that my shower is tougher than yours. I'm not challenging you to a "my life is harder than your life" competition. I also don't believe in a health and wealth Gospel that insures that I will have a healthy and prosperous life, free from hardship and suffering, because I believe, love, and make my feeble attempts to walk with Jesus.

This is not a compare and contrast piece.

Rather, it is a personal acknowledgement that the ducking and weaving from both the big and small calamities of life, has completely challenged my mental, physical, emotional, and spiritual toughness. I am the-about-to-be-40 year old woman that I never thought I would ever be. The tired one. Worn out. A bit frayed.

Thankfully, I have faith that God won't leave me in this place. I'm pretty darn sure that He has a personal training program set up for me to begin.

Just. Not. Now.

The asteroid shower hasn't let up enough yet. I do have faith it will slow down, allowing me time to catch my breath. However, I am not praying that it will stop altogether, because life doesn't really work that way. For there will always be an asteroid of some size. So I am praying for the frequency of the blows to slow up, enough for me make an attempt to regroup. And until that day, I will rely upon my belief that in my weakness He is so very strong. For once the shower is downgraded to a "spit", I will once again have a window of time to rest and train up my mind, body, and spirit back to my former self.

So, thanks Zathura for the visual. (Geez. That's sounds so weird.)

And thank you, Stephanie, for the verbal acknowledgment that we've been bombarded.

And congratulations on your engagement!!!!!

Desperate Plea

At the risk of having my 1999 Subaru Forester morphed into some suped up speed machine, I am putting the call out to these guys, and gal, from Overhaulin', to save my car.

My car, whose transmission blew this afternoon.

The transmission which was previously replaced in July. And then repaired again in September.

If you are a faithful reader I don't even need to link you back to the events of this summer. For you, this is like a bad film sequel: Transmission III: Stranded at Walgreen's.

I am numb.

And now I'm really not sure how to get the grocery shopping done that still hasn't happened since my run in at Aldi's.

So, I'm boldly putting out the call to the Next Food Network Star and Overhaulin'. I could use some meals for the freezer along with that transmission.

Thanks. I'll just wait here, trapped in my house. I'm the one sitting in the front window learning how to play my pink electric so that I can drown out my troubles with very loud songs.

Oh, and did I fail to mention that I got a few more bills from Humana today, denying some claims for Harper? Is there a show called,

We'll Fight Your Insurance Company For You, So Just Sit Back, Relax, and Let Us Take it From Here, Because You've Spent Way Too Much Time Attempting to Reach Someone Who Can Give You a Straight Answer As To Why They Won't Pay?

No? There should be. Time to pitch that one to the network. Though the title probably needs a little more work.

Cue primal scream.

I Have a Bow and Arrow and I Know How To Use Them!

Dear Indian Scout punk,

Yeah, I know all about how you were smitten by my daughter last weekend. Your little Indian Scout cronie ratted you out in the buffet line at dinner. I wasn't sure I overheard the exchange correctly when he yelled, "Hey, girl in the red tank top! He likes you!", but a member of my tribe confirmed that she indeed had a suitor.

Hey, pal, how old are you anyway? 8? 9? Are we seriously in the "liking" stage at this point in your development?

So, what was it about Harper that had your heart all up in a-twitter?

Was it the fact that she could match you arrow for arrow on the archery range?

If so, I should warn you.

So can her mother.

I know there is a stereotype about the actual Indian Chief of the family, dear old Dad, being the one going all back-woods crazy over a boy coming a callin' on his daughter. And that may be true. For most families.

But in this family? It's Mama who can wield a bow and arrow.

And while I don't own a compound bow (yet), acquiring one is only a Craig's List click away.

Whiz . . .

Missed you on purpose. This time.

Here's to your natural development,
Harper's bada*% Mother

The Beans Spillith Over

I began blogging when Harper was 3 months old, which also happened to be during the time in my life when I was still auditioning quite regularly for commercials.

A few times a week I would traipse downtown to David O'Connor Casting, circle the area to find a parking place, sit in the waiting room with the other hopefuls, perform a glorious audition lasting, oh, say, 5 minutes, get back in my car, and trek the hour (with traffic) home again. As I was being called in with some regularity, I began a blog to share with my family the details about my auditions: how I felt, what I wore, whether I would change my delivery, the result, etc. Never once did I hesitate about what I wrote, or censor my words.

One day, however, as I was exiting the casting office after an audition, I was I stopped cold in my tracks by David O'Connor himself as he announced with a grin, "Joline, I really enjoy The Audition Chronicles."

It took a moment to register what he had just said, but once I realized that he was referring to my blog (which was indeed called The Audition Chronicles) my insides turned to jello. WHAT???!!! David O'Connor had read my blog. David O'Connor, one of the biggest casting director's in Chicago had read my blog. Any flattery I may have felt disappeared quickly as my mind raced to weigh the situation. At the very center of my racing thoughts one stood out: had I written anything negative about David himself?

It was on this day that I was hit square in the face with the reality that blogs are public. Very public.

I mumbled some incomprehensible response about my parents living out of town and my wanting to give them the details of all my auditions, blah, blah, blah, panic, panic, panic. I stumbled. I muttered. I think I may have spit or drooled during this exchange. Regardless, I came out looking like a buffoon.

I called George immediately and told him to read through posts to see if I had ever said anything derogatory about David himself. You know how temperamental actors can be: blaming a bad audition on the casting director. (Not that I'd ever had a bad audition . . .) He assured me that all was OK. But, I was quite flustered and sure that I would never be called into his office for an audition again. I also wondered how he had found my blog. And concluded that it must have been due to googling either the name of the casting office, David O'Connor Casting, or, (as if the next option was even a remote possibility), me.

My next post detailed what had transpired and included a "hello" to David himself.

I never heard another word. And it wasn't the end of my career. Catastrophe averted.

Since that experience, I have continued blogging and have often struggled with the question of when and when not to "spill the beans", so to speak, or, rather, so to "write" when blogging about specific situations that I encounter as I stroll through life.

I am pretty vulnerable. To be sure. And yet, there are several experiences which I choose to keep off the public airway that is the Internet. I don't bare it all. I'm not a blogging pole dancer.
And yet there are those experiences which I share with complete freedom and candor of opinion.

The debate over spilling the beans in a blog certainly arises when one, like David O'Connor, actually locates a blog in which he is mentioned.

Take today.

In this case let's say that the someone who has located my blog is, oh, I don't know, let's go with, MY MECHANIC. And the mechanic's "trans guys".

Google is a really good search engine.

George talked with the owner. He requested that we remove any reference to his shop or the "trans guys". George talked with me. We came the conclusion that since we are working really hard at actually reconciling our relationship with our mechanic, I would agree to remove all references to the actual companies involved. Not the posts, mind you.

Did I struggle with this decision?

Um, yeah.

For the readers that have been following our auto drama, I hope that you can see the shift I have begun to take from my earlier posts which communicate sheer anger and wrath, to my most recent attempt, however feeble, at forgiveness and reconciliation. This is where I struggled over the request that I edit my posts. As, what I have tried to convey with my most recent post was how we are working very hard at repairing and reconciling with this business. After all, they did reimburse us for the taxi and the tow, loaned us a courtesy car, honored their warranty, and credited us back the entire amount for the transmission until which time the work is done and we deem it sufficient. So, yes, they have worked with us. I see this. I am thankful for this. I can not, however, continue to mention them in my blog.

Putting aside all the frustration I've felt towards them, I must say that I doubt other businesses would give us the personal attention they have. In terms of trying to do the right thing by us (based upon their actions that I've mentioned above) they are striving to be above board.

And yet, the situation has been completely inexcusable and unacceptable. Thus, I still struggle with having to edit what I have written - even though I understand that the goal is reconciliation. Yeah, some of you would say, "The goal is getting your car back! What about that!" That is the earthly goal. The bigger goal is to "Treat others as you would want to be treated", which is a much harder goal to reach due to all the pride and personal effort I have wrapped up in my little blogging world.

For this reason, I have agreed to remove all references to the parties involved. Don't think for a moment that I am totally sold out on this or that I am just trying to be all high and mighty and righteous with my decision. For honestly, it sucks a little.

I'm just trying to do my part in cleaning up the mess of spilled beans.

One by one by one . . .

Super Modeling

Today we had a lazy morning at home before Harper, Zane, and I trekked over to the pool for a swim. Upon arriving there, we were disappointed to learn that the pool would be closing at noon, and not reopening until 1:00. Not wanting to come back at 1:00, as that would completely screw up Zane's 2:00 nap, which is oh so necessary, I had to tell the kids that the pool was a no-go.

I expected the weeping and wailing that followed, but I also realized that this was the perfect opportunity to show them that the fortitude and perseverance that they witnessed from their parents during Friday night's adventure was not just a fluke, but rather an attitude that we plan on modeling more frequently when the road swerves in an unexpected direction.

"Hey, I know you are upset. But we can either weep and sob and call it a day. Or, we can figure out something else. Which do you choose?"

"Starbuck's" was Zane's answer. That's just scary.

Harper chose the beach.

We don't have beach tags, nor was I going to pay for the three of us to sit on the beach for 2 hours. However, I was determined to track down beach tags and began calling everyone I know.

Bingo. Thanks to the Holt's we spent 2 hours playing on the beach.

We covered Harper from the waist down in sand, turning her into a mermaid. She preferred to be called a sea creature, as mermaids are just way too close to princesses. That is, if you take the Disney interpretation of mermaids. On the other hand, Peter Pan (not the Disney version - blech) shows them in a much darker light. Regardless of which version of a mermaid is the truth, Harper was a sea creature - not a mermaid.

We made our way out to the sandbar and Harper worked really hard at swimming back to shore.

Zane even ventured out. Which basically means he let me put him down in order to "be brave" in the water.

We all sat and let the current wash over us.

We left completely covered in sand. Happy. And yet, oh, the sand. And this is why I can't stand the beach. I'm of the belief that telling a kid to go rinse off the sand in the water, only to then have them walk back up the beach to the car, thus gathering more sand, is completely ridiculous. There is just no way to leave a beach without sand clinging to every inch of a child's body - or in every crevice. So, I just had them climb into our mechanic's courtesy car, which unfortunately I just don't think I'll have the time to vacuum out tomorrow before I return it, sand and all. Upon getting home, we rinsed off via the garden hose and then Zane was out like a light. Harper completed some workbook pages (I know, what a FUN summer mom I am), and then I gave her some TV time for completing all her chores and then some. Without any back chat.

Alot of parenting success is in the modeling. Unfortunately, my clay doesn't always take on the persona of one who sees the bright side while being throw a curve ball. Which is interesting because lately, I just can't handle being around negativity. I crave positive conversations, responses, affirmations, and outlooks. I find myself drawn to those who can spin a cynical situation into a celebration. I'm still a realist. And yet I desire to take a more affirming approach to life's glitches and thus, model a more faithful spirit to my children.

Harper exclaimed Friday night to be a "great night". Even in the midst of confusion, frustration, and anxiety. Which she did indeed see us experiencing. And conquering.

And although on a much smaller scale, I think we pulled out another good one today!

When we approach a difficult situation with the understanding that our responses will either create positive memories or a negative ones for the children we are nurturing and preparing for life, the idea of modeling faith skyrockets in importance.

I may not be a super model, but I can be super at modeling.

I can.

Straw

I lost it tonight.

Big time.

You know, I'm not a perfect parent. Such a thing doesn't exist. And yet, I do have some brilliant parenting moments. A few. I'm doing all right. For the most part.

For the most part doesn't include tonight.

I am exhausted. Yeah, I know, all parents are, so stop my whining. I'm "on" with them all day, and by the evening, I really need for them to be obeying, complying, and, oh, I don't know, express a tad bit of thankfulness for what I've run around doing for them all day. Ugh, this is sounding so cliche.

And then there was tonight. "Mommy freaks out all over those precious heads of theirs" night. "Harper and Zane can't squeeze one ounce of obedience out of those precious heads of theirs" night. "The children cry those precious heads of theirs to sleep" night.

Oh, are you thinking, "My goodness, how cruel?"

Remove the log cabin from your eye my friend.

Tonight I took away the TV. Not for an hour. Not until chores are done. Not for a day. Or a week. Indefinitely. I have such a difficult time reigning the kids back in after zoning out in front of the tube, (it's so very sad that we still have a tube and not some fancy shmancy flat, high def, whatchamacallit) that I finally decided that enough was enough. The DVD's are packed up, the TV off limits to anyone in the house who is not contributing to household chores.

It's not as if I give my kids huge chores. Harper is to bring her dirty clothes to the hamper each day and straighten her room (not even her desk, mind you, which is a nightmare - that would be cruel). Zane is to pick up his toys, and bring his plate and cup to the sink after eating.

What type of response have I been receiving to these?

"No".

"I'm too tired."

"Not that pajama shirt!" (Yes, this fits, as part of the exhaustion of the evening was not having the preferred pair of pajama's available for Zane who is destined to become one of those old guys who walks around in lounge wear.)

"I can't do it!"

Well, you know what guys? I can't do it all either. My children are old enough to have responsibilities. Even Zane. While wearing pajama's.

So, after the screaming (me), the crying (them), the lecturing (me), the calling out for Daddy (them - although I also called George out of a meeting, as it was that bad), and the growling through clenched teeth (me), the children (them), God bless 'em, fell asleep, and when George got home we worked on revamping the chore charts.

We don't give allowance, by the way. Especially not for the chores that, frankly, should just be done during the day. Now, if Harper or Zane, would like to go the extra mile and fold all the laundry, replace light bulbs, and scrub the bathroom, then I think a little kick back is in order. However, we don't believe in giving allowance for "daily" chores.

I must say that yelling, "You are both driving me crazy!" through their closed bedroom doors, does seem to knock the energy right out of an insomniac. Zane and Harper were asleep within 15 minutes. Who needs lavender essential oil when you've got lungs that can shut your children up in a pinch.

I scared my kids to sleep.

Such a proud moment. Do they make ribbons for that?

Please Watch Your Mouth In Front of the Children

This piece of advice is being given by me . . . for me.

An afternoon a few weeks ago . . .

George makes some comment in an attempt to show how very hip and trendy he is.

Me: "What are you trying to do? Bring sexy back?"

Zane: "I'm bringing sexy back."

Mouth open. Jaw dropped. Head lowered in shame.