Gratitude

Two and half years ago I attended an Oprah weekend. Big things. Oprah talks of big things. It was exhausting and awesome at the same time. We were given homework. A years worth. I haven't done well in that category. At all. (Especially considering it's taken me more than two years to even really think about it...) Which is sort of odd because I typically do whatever Oprah says.

One thing I work on from time to time is my gratitude journal. I miss a lot of days, it comes and goes, waxes and wanes depending on time or mood. That's a big Oprah thing. Write in the journal. Every. Day. Never. Miss. A. Day.

Well, I've missed a lot of days. Probably around 900.

And then, Lent came around and gave me the push I needed. I am pretty well known for totally failing at Lent. It's my super power.

I aim too high.

I go for unattainable.

I've tried to stop swearing.

I've tried to give up alcohol.

I've tried giving up chocolate.

Yeah. Me.

None of those have gone well. At all. All #epicfails

Instead of giving something up, I did something this year. Added. I wrote in my gratitude journal. And, I actually liked it. To just stop at the end of the day and be grateful. It's powerful. I didn't hit every day. But I hit most days. Improvement. Progression.

So here goes a sample... a number of items I am grateful for. In no particular order.

Soft sheets. I'm pretty cheap on some necessities. But, you will find, on my bed at least, really nice sheets.

Hot water. If you don't step out of the shower scalded, what's the point?

A nine year old with an attitude. Any small child who starts a conversation with, 'Listen Genius' is destined for big things. Big things.

A teen boy who totally cracks me up and still tells me he loves me. Enough said.

A job that is rewarding and challenging. Even on days where I'm swearing.

The ability to find humor in damn near everything.

The roof that's over my head.

A plan to run. Normally I'd be thankful for miles. Miles and miles. Today I'm thankful for a plan to get me off the bike and out on the street. Even though I am only running a few minutes at a time - I am grateful!

Friends. I'm very fortunate that I hang with some pretty awesome people. Really awesome people.

Love.

Family. They're pretty cool. And with the added bonus of being tall and looking the same, they're easy to find in a crowd.

All I have to do is look up.

Doing what Oprah says.

White!

I was 23. It started small. A few strands on my right temple. Just a few gray hairs.

At first I had blonde highlights added to mask them.

Then more highlights.

Then roots plus highlights.

In the ultimate betrayal, the gray spread like a virus. Across the front and then down my part and then the majority of the top of my head.

I was diligent on my color appointments. There was no way that I was going to be so young and have gray hair. No. Way.

I often joked that not only did I have no idea what my actual hair color was, I couldn't remember what color it used to be.

When I was in my early 30's I read an article about going gray and when you should let nature take its course. The recommendation was to go gray at 40. 40. Clearly the woman who wrote it was insane. Insane.

Who in their right mind would go gray at 40?

My hair was becoming a constant battle. After a touch up, it only looked good for a couple weeks. Then I'd have grow out and had to start getting really creative with how my hair was parted. I couldn't pull it into a ponytail lest someone see how white it had become. Because now it wasn't gray, it was white. It was taunting me every morning.

And then... well, and then, I turned 40.

And I decided I just couldn't do it any more. I'm letting it happen. I'm going gray. Or white, rather. Because, it's WHITE.

I haven't had my hair colored in seven months. Oh, don't get me wrong, it's a bit weird. I miss the monthly appointments. Having grown up in a hair salon, I feel quite at home hanging out in one.

The hair and I have made peace.

And, I've never felt better.

White!

Choose Your Own Adventure

I am not a 'mommy blogger'. It's not my thing. But, sometimes the mom in me comes out. As I do 'momming' a good amount of time.

This teenager business. It's tricky. That's all the unsolicited advice I'm ever going to give: It's tricky.

Because, you won't believe it any way. Or, you'll think it can't possibly be that hard. Or, it won't be that hard for you. Because you're awesome. You're fun. Neighborhood kids love you. All that? All that means nothing. NOTHING!

I think back to 15 years ago. The months and months and months of trying to get pregnant. All I wanted was a baby. A boy specifically. And, I got him. Later than I had planned. But, still. Mine.

Pregnancy. That's hard. I threw up a lot. I got extremely large. I had gestational diabetes and an emergency C-section. All that stuff? Mere child's play compared to parenting a teen. Child's play.

Remember how bad you wanted a baby? Channel that. Hold onto that. Because, no one says 'I can't wait to be the parent of a sullen teen!'

Because no one does.

And, hey, I don't even have it bad. I just have it annoying. Today. I have a pigsty of a room. Laundry all over the house and a whiny attitude. It's not terrible but it's also not the sweet little four year old I used to snuggle and giggle with.

Not all moments are bad. Some are downright awesome. Like tonight when we were belting out 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' in a totally awesome kitchen dance party.

I think that's the issue - why can't there be more kitchen dance parties and less shoes all over the house?

Why are these teens essentially Choose Your Own Adventure books without page numbers?

And, I swear, if I have to say 'no food on the second floor' one more time...

Fact.

Grown Up!

Well, maybe. Likely not. But, making strides in the right direction. I'm an adult, by legal definition. I can pay bills on time, get to work, feed the kids - some grown up things. For sure.

In other areas I'm terribly lacking. I have the humor of a 12 year old boy. I wear sneakers. And t-shirts. I've turned down excellent job opportunities because they were 'dress up jobs'. I eat peanut butter and jelly. A lot.

This balance of grown up and not has served me well. Until recently.

Driving to Bend a few weeks ago my passenger cut her finger. Pretty bad. Stitch worthy. On the pass. A long way to get help. Me with literally no supplies. Other than a partially used napkin. Don't worry, she didn't get any blood on the leather.

It got me to thinking. I was sort of screwed with just a cut. What would happen if there was something more? Double screwed, I'd imagine.

The only safety item I have in my car is the glass breaking seatbelt cutter thing. And, that's mostly because I crossed the river twice a day for a lot of years. Odds of a water landing were high. A thing to smash windows, yes. A bandaid, no.

I'm also the proud owner of heavy duty jumper cables. They hang neatly in my garage. You know, where I'll never need them. At home. I have no idea why they aren't in my car other than my dad stored them in the garage, so I store in them in the garage.

That all ends now. As of today, I have an orange back pack with a first aid kit, flash lights, emergency blankets, battery powered flashers AND jumper cables. Flares are probably a better idea than battery powered flashers for safety but anything with fire seems like a bad idea for me.

The mere act of assembly made me actually feel a little more responsible. A little more grown up, if you will.

So, be on the lookout for me, cruising around, looking for emergencies.

Stuff. And things,