Bipolar News Reporters and Choking on That pepper

There's a side to me I haven't shared with a lot of people. Even my husband will give me a sideways look when I, seemingly out of nowhere, weigh in on something contravertial in the news.

I've always wanted to be a lawyer. An advocate for the persecuted.

But it hurts too much.

 I can't even watch the news. This is the side most people know. I hate the news actually. It jumps from weirdly upbeat to overly depressing in a strange minute by minute pattern for thirty minutes right before I go to sleep.

I don't want to lay my head down on my pillow right after I learn that some teacher in town got his student pregnant and in other news it's almost time for the rubber ducky race down the Truckee. And if the news anchors changed their expressions and tone in everyday conversation like they do on the nightly news? Well. We would call them bipolar.

Anyway. I read. I read news. I follow newsworthy stories on well written blogs and websites. I read the news paper when I can get my hands on it. I also listen to news on the radio. 

In fact, I get so engrossed on my way to work listening to some of these stories that I forget I am eating a spicy pepper and I suck the pepper, and its satanic seeds, down my windpipe.

Then I cough and gag and pull my car over on the side of the busiest street in the city until the burning sensation passes, my eyes are bloodshot, and I literally have a scorch mark in my throat. Yah. It doesn't come any more politically aware than this cool cucumber.

 Don't worry. I had my phone in my hand and the numbers 9-1-1 at the ready once I realized my throat was rejecting the seeds by closing. I've got this covered, and I am winning at life. 

I was relaying this experience with my eldest child. She's sixteen and wise and speaks without thinking.

She asked why I get so involved in these cases anyway. I didn't have a quick answer, but after a few minutes I thought "because I have a voice. Not everyone does, but they could, and I could help." 

What I did tell her was that when I was a kid, I often thought I would become a lawyer. I also told her that I have prayed twice in the last two weeks about being a lawyer. Not just any sort of lawyer. The kind that works on cases that impact our country and our rights. The ones that remind certain presidents that his pen and his phone were given to him by voters and he has been allowed to keep them because of God. And God doesn't like ugly.

Cases where a soldier/student was threatened with a court Marshall if he refused to take down a scripture off his personal white board outside his dorm room when several other students quoted scriptures and passages from the Korahn and the Torah and old guys from Italy. 

Or cases where a pastor has been arrested in Iran for being a pastor. Not an Iranian pastor. He's American. And he was arrested, and he has been sick and hurt and put in Iranian prison, but no one here seems to know or care and our government has a mumbled answer to every direct question regarding him. 

And my newest favorite case. The one where certain presidents feel it's worthwhile to "share" control of the Internet with other countries. Other countries who are not nearly as interested in our first amendment.

Other countries who already severely limit what gets through to citizens on their version of the Internet. Other countries who think communism is still a worthwhile venture. Thanks Obama, but I'm siding with Bill Clinton on this one. I'm ok if we don't hand over our security and freedom of speech over to China, who incidentally has a frighteningly skewed view of every war they have been involved in posted on their internet.

 Me thinks Vladamir Putin and his overly welcoming reception at the Olympics might have different ideas than Americans when it comes to censorship. 

And hey, Hobby Lobby, stay strong little roots. I don't think even Obama stands a chance against the pope. Well. Maybe this new guy. He's a bit of a wild card. 

My point is that I care about the people bullied by strong arms and deep pockets. I could do some real damage. For Jesus of course. I've always had a problem keeping my mouth shut when a little guy is picked on. Maybe this is just a case of being protective. Maybe that law school I looked into is just a neat idea. Maybe I am just supposed to sign petitions and use the internet to stay updated on what's really going on. 

Maybe. 

Well. Certainly I am supposed to stop eating peppers, but we will see about the rest of it. 

Just For You Mom: Suffering

Grief. That nasty five letter word. We all feel it at some point, and none of us really knows how to do it. People act crazy at weddings because they are losing something (someone). They act crazier at funerals. It's true. I once went to a funeral where a woman in a bathing suit cover-up announced from the stage that she knew her father would be smiling down at her with every rainbow. My seven year old pointed out that rainbows in fact are more like a frown. He's totally accurate, really. 

At the same funeral, a man was asked to give a quick eulogy of his friend. He brought his guitar and said he could only think to sing a song. He sang three and then told us where we could buy his CD. It was amazing. I hope he sold out every copy.

He grieves his way, and I grieve my way. This article is a short glimpse into a very real time of grief for my family and me. When I began the article, I thought my grief was handled. I had to stop several times to pray and thank God for being so close.

The funny thing about grief is that it takes a while, and just when you think you are done, someone says something or you hear a song or you are reminded of what you have lost.

For me, it's every time I go to the doctors. They ask me benign questions like my age and if I am allergic to anything. But there is a spot on the paperwork that gets me a little choked up. They ask how many pregnancies I have had and how many live births. For me, like so many women, these numbers do not line up. Not even close actually. But I am learning about suffering and grief and God's ability and desire to supersede all of it.

SUFFERING

Linking Up: JOY

The rules are simple. You type for five minutes straight and five minutes only. No backspacing or over thinking. Then, link up, read who came before and after you. It's nice. Like paying it forward: it being a candy bar. Please give me a candy bar.

Ready.
Steady.
Go.

Today's topic? Joy.

Fear may knock at my door all night long, but I know what is promised me in the morning. You guessed it. JOY. Sometimes I sit at my desk and type, and other times I stew about what to write. It all seems heavy in the moment, but since I am such a fan of nonsense anyway, it all seems to work out in the end. Like now, rambling. and door bells are ringing and texts are dinging, but I am ignoring all of it. I am typing to you people, and it's the writing, I have decided, that brings me joy. Do you know why? Because this gift of words is a treasure I never want to lose. Writing makes my heart whole and makes me feel as if I have a voice that will carry. Even if I were using a pair of paper cups and a very long string, if I can convey it through writing, my point seems to get made more clearly. So, I've been thinking. Maybe I should be a writer when I grow up. At least part-time. And it's working. Yesterday, I edited 6 chapters. Yep. Six. Then I drank a cup of coffee and started writing a new article for a mom's website for which I write. And I wanted to end that sentence in a preposition. Because I have a rebellious streak. I should have said, "...for a mom's website I write for, LADY." There. That's not a preposition.

STOP.

Visit Lisa Jo and add your own five minutes of joy.

Eating Habits

Today I may come across as cross-eyed and frazzled even though my hair is quite small and in an untidy braid. I ate too many almonds. But they were so delicious I overlooked the serving size and kept eating. I have regrets.

Then, I didn't pack a large enough lunch. I am volunteering at my youngests' school. This is an eating environment. All I want to do is eat. So, I did. I was like the Very Hungry Caterpillar on a mission. I ate through several almonds, two cups of coffee, two cutie oranges, one string cheese, one banana, one granola bar (wheat free oats), and one bottle of water. I wanted to eat my way through the doughnut sitting here, but it isn't mine. And I am allergic. And we broke up. Doughnuts and me? We broke up. We had a conflict of interests called my waistline. I want it smaller and fried pastries want to take it in a different direction.

Also, I obviously eat when I am inactive, bored, have nothing else to do with my hands, am concentrating, distracted, busy, sad, happy, tall, short, feeling pudgy, tired, slow, under an awning, at a booth, on my way places, and instead of fasting.

Also, almonds. How dare you.

The writer admits the picture has nothing to do with this place, but she knew you'd want to see it.

It's happened. The day has come when I realize this day isn't unusual. This is the new normal. Two kids are taller than me. Three have bigger feet than me; two have bigger feet than my husband. We are busy and driving and in my car all the time. I make noises when I sit. I make noises when I stand back up. I don't get all the pop culture references. I wear light layers because in the morning when I leave it's 35. By afternoon I'm down to my tank top and skinnies. And then the sun starts to set while we wait for one kid to finish swim and I have to get dressed again. My kids have cracked my once over their heads code and one even hollars "that's what she said" when little ears are out of shot. It's happened. My kids became teenagers. I am peering over the plateau that is midlife, and it scares me a little. I have nearly equal amounts of dark and grey hairs. I have become resolved to things I may never accomplish, but I recognize the urgency of the now when it comes to others. I've decided to take my husband to a bar for our anniversary. I cried in a movie and during a commercial. It's happened. I crossed over. I care about things. 

What do I do now? Anyone with a heart? Advice welcomed. 

Birthday Central

Round here, we do things in bulk. It's part of having a large family. Large boxes of cereal. Copious amounts of bananas. Grandios jugs oh peanut butter. Bread by the pallet. Ok, maybe not. But we do thinks in bulk. Including birthdays. This year, to celebrate The Man, Elijah, Layla Grace, and my brother George we opted to get retro and visit the ice cream shoppe. Think Taylor Doozy from Gilmore Girls and his snazzy throw back parlor. 

We put out every topping possible, got glass pop bottles of old timey soda pop, and framed old pictures of the birthday players and set them around some white twinkle lights. 

I found chalkboard labels and milk jugs complete with little cows on them from Michaels. Butterfingers crushed, pop rocks, pretzel bits, marshmallows, chocolate waffle cookies, tobasco chocolate, whoppers, cereal, brownies, cookie dough. You name it. We stuck it in  some ice cream. No fuss. No fuss. No crazy and overwhelming party. For entertainment, I put out some old scrapbooks for us to peruse. Best. We were all giggly and mellow. Did you know you can have a 12 and 13 year old's birthday with 18 people in a small house and have mellow?

Try it people. 

Just don't leave your phone sitting around.