Such Beautiful Little Things OR Why Facebook Can Be a Gift from God

Don't you just love those days when all the pretty things around you are all that you can see.  When a little www address is the portal to awe inspiring joy.  So in honor of all those lovely threads of beautiful things, here is a list of all my exhilarating views on the world today via Facebook:

I love that I log onto FB to answer a quick little message and am treated to a Flashmob performing Ode to Joy by Beethoven.  My arm hairs stood on end as the music swelled and tears crept out as I watched the crowd be visibly moved by the majesty of music.  I got to see a little girl, another continent away, hanging from a light post and raising her arms in joy, throwing a kiss filled with gratefulness to the musicians.   I watched a little boy in the crowd, completely taken over by the music, conducting his own symphony with such joie de vivre that it made ME want to be six again (and trust me, six was not a great look on me).

I click through pictures of a brand new, fresh from heaven, baby boy whose mama I've known since SHE was a baby.  I remember thinking that she was the cutest thing I'd ever seen as she twirled around in her puffy dresses, lacey ankle socks and white patent shoes, and now, magnificently... she's a mama herself...what indescribable JOY to have a view on all that wonder!

I read an uplifting update about a boy whose life is filled with challenges and blessed by the unrelenting love and formidable care-taking of his parents.  His mom and dad were high school sweethearts when I was still in elementary school, and I remember watching them and thinking that they were THE perfect couple.  She:  so sweet and gracious and just lovely, and He:  so kind and manly and above all, gentlemanly.  And those qualities stand them in good stead as they live everyday with their sweet boy, walking every step with God.  How ridiculously blessed I am to read about their lives and be moved to better places by their faith.

I see amazing miracles of families that are grown COMPLETELY by God and in His time and by His path.  Girls I've known who have grown to women who fight and pray and push forward to have the families they've always dreamed of, only to be given a double portion by God for their unyielding faith that HE WILL MAKE A WAY!!  Oh, God, thank you for allowing me to see these things, read them, soak them in and forever make them part of me and my faith.


I get to share in change with friends who are moving far and wide and starting new chapters in their lives.  I have a court side seat for all the excitement and nervousness and plans and to do lists and eventual settling in that these great migrations will bring.  I am given the privilege of offering words of encouragement and even allowed  leeway to be a wee bit maudlin about it as well; and, ultimately, I get just so doggone excited to watch all the awesomeness yet to come. 

I write Happy Birthday messages to people I don't often (if ever) get to see and wish them every good and lovely thing on their birthday; and, if only for this one day because life's hectic pace , they stay on my mind and heart while I work my way through my day.

I am treated to clever and funny posts about kids and pets and politics, and well, just about everything AND the kitchen sink, and enjoy barking out loud with laughter!!  So, thanks friends for the endorphin rush, it's always needed and greatly appreciated.

Finally, FB old friends/acquaintances/new friends I consider myself magnified by sharing in all your tidbits and blurbs and pics and status updates about your lives because, DOGGONE IT, it's good to get outside of yourself and share in the laughs and joys and burdens of other people.  It's what keeps us grounded and loving and loved.

Status Update:  Gonna clean my kitchen for the 12 billionth time and then think on these things:  whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable--if anything is excellent or praiseworthy, with your status updates & pics & posts, by golly, I'll get to read allllll about these things.

A Love Letter to My Folks OR Mom, You Always Said I Should Be a Comedian.

So...there is no other way to start this out than by saying that my folks are THE BEST doggone parents a girl could have...literally.  They were and are loving, but very (read very very...like one shaved head/habit shy of a convent) strict.  We were blanketed in affection & coffee cake.  Even running to the store earned us kisses all around, and does still to this day.  On Sunday afternoons, we had these great picnics in the back room.  Mom would spread out towels and we would enjoy a feast of White Castle hamburgers (a fast food choice that appalls my hubster, calls them "Monkey Meat Sandwiches", to no end)  They brooked no nonesense from me and my sissy (up to the college years...then I think we just plain ole wore them out)  (well...maybe a little less from me and a tad more from "new baby"..but you other first-borns know what I'm talking about, don't ya...ps, I love you new baby..xo ).  And as good parents should, each one brought a different skill set to the parental goulash that is growing up. 

My dad kind of raised me to think like a dude; which, while being a super fun party trick on girls night out, can tend to make me a bit of an oddball...okay, okay...that'll be enough from the peanut gallery (But wait, hold on, I just gotta ask... what is a peanut gallery anyhow? Is it a bunch of rooms filled with well lit exhibits of extraordinary examples of nutty legume perfection? OR...is it, as I imagine it, just a big ole theater filled with row after row of Mr. Peanut impersonators all hooting and hollerin' out their two cents worth....yeah that one...let's go with that one.  Okay...now back to the show).   When I talk to my dad about some emotional dust-up or another that I've gotten into, he shakes his head and gives me that pained look that clearly says "please, for the love of your father...leave off all those itty bitty girlie details that are important for nothing except making this excrutiatingly detailed scenerio last longer and keep us from a.) finding the right solution to this straight-forward problem and b.) getting me back to my war movie / home-improvement show". When we talk about business, he regularly tells me to take all emotion out of the equation, and just deal in facts.  He is THE BEST that "man" has to offer.  He loves his wife, girls, son-in-laws and grandchildren fully...with nothing held back, no "love" stone left unturned.  He is quick to laugh and slow to anger with us.  He is EXCELLENT at exotic accents and is full of corny jokes (much to our communal chagrin & his unending delight).  He is the first one to tell us when we've gotten off the path and the first one to come to our aid to help us back on.  He has been given by God the power of disernment and wisdom...if John tells you something, I promise you, it would behoove you to listen...for reals.

Conversely, my mom did everything in her considerable power to make us the girliest girls that ever did girly things on planet super-girlie...up to and including teaching me how to curl my eyelashes in the 5th grade, how to utilize "Sun-In" as a beauty aid and making my sissy and I wear ridiculously-ruffled matching Gunne Sax frocks (regardless of the fact that we were 6 years apart, and that while empire-waisted dresses, trimmed in ribbon, with a mile-high lacey collars look ADORABLE on 1st graders, conversely, your 7th grader would rather not look like a piece of 1980's confection on picture day and, oh joy, for all of posterity....I'm just sayin').   She taught me everything I know about relating to all people.  She is dedicated to making people feel special and cared for.  She ALWAYS remembers special days and our favorite things, she unfailingly writes notes for EVERY occasion, and she loves phrases like "how do you feel?" and "what can I do for you?"  She is all things good and true and honest in womenhood.  She is beautiful inside and out (which is to say she's still a total hottie), clever and artistic.  She takes such great care of our dad (she still makes his lunches everyday...and even for my hubster when she comes to spend the night...he gets sooo doggone spoiled) and loves us girls, our hubsters and her grandbabies to distraction.  She is the epitome of the "mama bear" if ANY of us is even remotely poked at..she WILL cut you and drop you like a bag of cement.  She is ABSOLUTE about her beliefs and opinions and would win, hands down, any debate team nationals, given a chance.  She is pretty much to motherhood what Sean Connery is to hot Scottish men (and if you know me at all, you know of my undying love for Mr. Connery and what high praise this is indeed).   (and ps...yes...I have come to terms with the fact that my days with Mr. Connery are numbered and am currently interviewing extensively for a replacement...I'm told Gerard Butler is waiting anxiously by the phone for my call).  My mommy is the real deal...all the way.  She has been given by God the gifts of mercy and faith.  She worries for nothing and is unflagging in her belief that God will make a way...NO MATTER WHAT!!

So...the upshot of all this is that we (me and Mar-bear) have all this great stuff from our folks that has been mashed up to make, well...me and my dearest sissy, different and alike both and both a slightly unique interpretation of our mommy and daddy in all the best and weirdest ways.   My personal "Daggles / Moosie" sides can sometimes play nice with each other, and at other times...well, let's just say it can be like a not-so-fun scooby-doo haunted carnival episode up in here (pointing to my medusa-like too curly red-head.   Incidentally brought to you by:  new layers plus MI humidity). 

So, thusly, my "Uber Girlie-girl Artsy" side can mix it up a bit with my well..."2nd generation Italian Vietnam-vet Contractor" side (you can see how this could be troublesome).  It tends to make me VERY resolute (read...stubborn) about the things I believe, crazy-super-duper opinionated (you're shocked, I know) and also a wee bit "dude-ish" when dealing with overly emotional situations.  Which is to say, I don't love them and tend to zone out and begin scrambling for the escape hatch asap.  That "guy(ish)" part of me can be heard saying things like "well...you're just gonna have to toughen up buttercup" and "suck it up...what the heck did you expect to happen?"  While on the other side of the carnival grounds that is my personality, my "diva-artsy" side does things like wearing her pajamas all day and hiding away in her studio "creating", wearing false lashes and hot pink eye shadow to the grocery store just for the love of it and befriending random elderly Italian couples in hospital waiting rooms and becoming fast and busom buddies.

While this tug-o-war with my parental units' input used to fluster me a bit, I have learned to give in to the dichotomy that is "the eldest daughter of Johnny & Moni".  Not only give in really, but actually relish...run toward and even groove on.  To really take a beat and fancy all those pieces parts.

Delightedly, 15 years ago, God picked out the perfect guy for me who loves almost all of my idiosyncrasies.  Some, admittedly, he adores an itsy-bitsy less than others (as there are a few that are just beyond the pale by anybody's standards). 

He is eternally cool with being the romantic in our relationship and the one who always remembers special days and anniversaries.  He greatly appreciates the lunches  I make for him (somewhat sporadically) & (complete with lettuce and tomato on his sandwiches, which for some unknown reason pains me greatly and seems like a LOT OF WORK for the meager healthy payout) and acknowledges with humor how it goes against my baser instincts to do so.  He accepts that our bathroom is frequently full of girls of all ages and doubles on a moments warning as a hair salon/makeup artist studio; and that my hair color/style changes as habitually as Katy Perry's.  He doesn't crab or turn down the music when I have it cranked to an abnoxious level as I sing and dance around the kitchen while I clean...stopping frequently for my (badly done) break-out solos. And as if all that wasn't already cake & icing...he acquiesces almost every time when I ask him, as we girls are wont to do, what he loves most about me . He answer is always the same, "Your eyes."...to which I maddeningly whine, "no, not physically...what do you love about 'me the person'"...his every-time reply:  "Your tenacity".  Which I then follow up with the predictably girlie-ish trick question of "and what do you love the least about me?"..to which he again, just as consistently, replies "Your tenacity".  So there you have it folks... 

So thank you again, Mom & Dad for the mash-up that made me.  It's a gift I'll always be greatful for and just a wee teeny bit leery of.
Tenaciously Yours,
Andi

Why Midnight Snacks Lead to Scary Stuff OR Can a Graham Cracker Really Do Alllll That?

2 things I NOW know for certain:

1.  Even one stinkin' graham cracker before bed  can give you some seriously funkadoodle nightmares/dreams AND

2.  YOU NEVER NEVER EVER want to be caught walking through a combination...

  a.  Aquarium ...where they have the guests, kids included, throw big ole Flintstone-sized raw steaks to the sharks when they jump out of the water onto the deck...while all the other guests are contained safe and sound behind cages, and there are shallow ponds filled with pirana with signage which encourages you to "pet them".

  b.  SLASH petting zoo ...which includes an exhibit of a human lying on a circular bed holding a baby gorilla (who was sooo crazy cute, the gorilla..not the human) while they cuddle up to a female lion as the male stalks free around the enclosure AND where a miniture stegosauruses keeps trying to butt your legs (because you later realize that you are wearing one of those puppet hand dinosaur thingies that McDonalds gave out in their happy meals like 10 years ago, and so probably brought the whole leg-butting thing on yourself).

  c.  SLASH weirdy university (contained completely inside the aquarium/petting zoo), with dorms that actually look like doll houses with no back on them and that have crazy "recruiting" posters everywhere that feature people you used to know (even a girl from your high school basket ball team, who is apparently giving rave reviews for the "university's" communications department... and who is now also sporting a lovely full mustache in her photo) AND where you run into a "whose who" of who you've dated for the last century..going allllllllllll the way back to your first "boyfriend" in the 8th grade (using this term loosely here as, at that age, you can only really make googly eyes at each other between classes), some dude you really only mostly dated by phone in the 10th grade and took to one family wedding; as well as, an assortment of other characters you have known through time (most of whom you were never very tight with but in this aquarium slash petting zoo slash weirdy university, are strangely very chatty with you as you stand by the "chimpanzee lounging with a white tiger and some other crazy animal I can't quite remember by the end of typing this because I am now sadly, completely awake (but feel strongly it might have been a mythical creature)" exhibit.

Just trust me on number 2 here folks ...cause it just happened to me via one wicked graham cracker...and it weren't pretty (having jerked upright in bed, slightly sweaty, and looking wild-eyed around the room for that pesky little miniture stegosaurs)

so... be warned , no amount of graham-crackery goodness is worth wondering why your kind-of ex is living in a room with no back and doesn't apparently care or being cornered by people you barely know (who may or may not be sporting lush facial hair) while trying not to get your shins bruised all to heck by a smallish dinosaurs...I'm just sayin'.

On that cautionary tale and having now effectively expelled any residual scary stuff, I'm off to recheck all the door locks and try to force myself back sleep (with any luck...minus all zoos, marine life, extinct/mythical creatures and past beaus).

ps...please excuse all run-on sentences and other grammatical errors...that's just the kind of shoddy grammar you can expect from a dream sequence.

Waffle-gate or How You Know When Your Five Year Old Is Smarter Than You...

‎6:45 am. Nugget to VERY SLEEPY Mom: sooo mom, you know there's these monkeys with really big noses and lots of stomachs (Proboscis Monkeys).

MOM: huh, oh, uhuh...shhhh.

NUGGET: sooo....if I had lots of stomachs I'd have one for just pickles, one for regular eggs, one would be for breakfast burritos and one for cheerios and raisins...wait I want 16 stomachs...so how many do I have left

MOM: uhhh 12 I think...shhhhhhhhh

NUGGET: okay 12, soooo anyway..... (insert extremely long dialogue about various foods and mom making appropriate "paying attention" noises all the while trying to fall back asleep..unsuccessfully)

MOM: sighhhhh....why don't we get up now and make waffles

NUGGET: yeah...thats what I was thinking all along

MOM: I believe I have just been played

NUGGET: ---big smile-----

The Fearsome Sir Focus

Soooo... I got into a chicken fight my seat belt alarm today. Because it's repetitive high dingy noises drive me to the brink of insanity, I usually only have to hear it once to force my compliance, but today my friends I looked that little bugger right in the eye and sat firm as I drove across a VERY BIG parking lot to my next stop. I made it 5 whole series of increasingly alarming dings & pings....

 Sadly, this is not a story of victory for the underdog. I lost this battle of wills with my little focus and could be seen by Starbucks patrons clumsily buckling my seat belt as I was PULLING INTO my parking spot.

I tip my hat to you Sir Focus...you have bested me yet again.

The Disenfranchised Right Hand

I always feel a twinge of liberal guilt for my Right Hand.
 

It leads the life of a red-headed step child...disenfranchised, left out in the cold doing menial tasks like steering the car in winter, click click clicking away on the mouse in a drafty library (oh..okay..drafty starbucks) and frantically scribbling class notes. All the while Lefty lives in the lap of luxury swaddled in a coat pocket o...r tucked up fast asleep in a sweater sleeve. Even their names signify their lots in life: the ever stoic "Right Hand" and the jauntily name "Lefty".

Will there ever been an end to the Social Injustice....

RISE UP Right Hands! Rename yourselves things like "Right-io" and "Right On" and Occupy Pockets, Fur Muffs and Hobo gloves EVERYWHERE!!

We are the 1%...ummm rather...We are the 50%. unless you've had an unfortunate weed whacker incident in which case Right-io....I'm sorry to say, but you're on your own.

"Chronicles from the College Years" OR "Just Another Tale from My 2 1/2 Year Stroke"

I have considered, at times, changing my name to “Lucy”.  I’ve always had a bit of a knack for getting caught up in (sometimes through bad choices and sometimes just by breathing) ridiculous exploits.  One (me) would have hoped that those "Oops I did it again" moments would have faded away and just become my "twenty-something" tales, but sadly...no.  Well on my way to the ripe ole age of 41, I still provide myself (and my family and my friends) with a bountiful array of capers.  Certain tales from the Andi-side are relatively harmless and can be retold almost immediately; while others need time to age until the rough (read mortifying) edges have smoothed down to just another facet of my gem of a life.  (and no Dawn...I'm not ready to write about "Andi & the Oakland County Sherriff" just yet)

Those brain addled years that I affectionately call my “college years” (I use this term ridiculously loosely and should really just come clean and call them my “Living in Virginia off Government Cheese & Chocolate Covered Espresso Beans Era”) has provided me with gobs of raw material.  Call it a curse, a gift, or a calling, whatever…but here it goes...

Sit right back and I’ll tell a tale; a tale of a goofy girl that’s had more than her fair share of 3-hour tours.  I like to call this one…"Chronicles from the College Years" OR ”Just Another Tale from My 2 ½ Year Stroke”

( in preparation for your read, you may wanna click the link for a little theme music :) 

So it seemed like a really good idea (as often it does when one is in serious “like”) to climb up a steep hill, in the dark, through the snow and sneak onto the campus (of my very conservative non-denominational university) after curfew (quite a few of my college antics came from not being at a sanctioned place at an approved of time) to pick up a “friend” (code for “dude I was really into that was only vaguely into me”).  As I loped across the rode separating the girl’s dorms from the guys, I saw campus security up the hill.  Unfortunately, their headlights bounced off of me at the same time.  So…like all the other perps you’ve seen on COPS, I hit the deck in a ludicrous attempt to evade the campus fuzz (who was actually just a guy that sat next to me in  geography... unfortunately, our class time interactions were never the same after that).  As I belly crawled around the end of a late model Buick, I remember thinking to myself that maybe, just possibly, this wasn’t the highest and best use of my time. 

As the high beams of the security car made a beeline for my last know location, I played possum.  Laying inert in the thin coating of snow, I felt a car pull up and heard the electric buzz of the auto window.  A voice laced with a world-weariness disproportionate to his age asked, “Are you okay, Miss?” (I’m pretty sure he knew the answer).

"Well, yeah...ummmmm (buying some time here) you see I dropped my keys in the snow (all 1/8 inch of it) and they slid under the car." (because you know it’s just sooo icy this time of year in Virginia).

“What are you doing out after curfew, Miss?”, my geography-mate asked me. (Hmm…I believe I detect a note of disbelief). 

"Oh, welllllllll (stalling again)…uh...actually I live off campus (true).  But my, uhhhhhh, car broke down in the Walmart parking lot (conveniently located down the hill and across the road) (false), and I thought if I could use a phone on campus I could call a friend to come help me out (false...but now, suddenly very very true...PLEASE SAVE ME, ANYBODY PLEASE)."  As I stood up and earnestly brushed the “mounds of snow” off my barn coat, I know I have played the last card in my hand, and am waiting to be busted.  I am also throwing myself mentally on God’s mercy, Who, to this point, I have seen fit to leave back at my rented farm house (or possibly back in my first dorm room 2 years earlier).

My fellow daytime scholar had mercy on me and Campus security brought me back to the laughably named “guard shack” (which was really just an outpost to stop people from skipping chapel) where I called my friend (who was in ROTC, and not thrilled to have been woken up at midnight the night before drills) to pick me up because, as I communicate in my most stilted / sketchy voice, “my car isn’t, ummmm, starting (wink wink)”.  Being an astute young lady (and being a street-smart Jersey girl didn’t hurt either), she arrived in record time to collect me before the thumb screws and water boarding began.  I held my breath as we exited campus over the bridge, and I promised myself never, never, never again to act like a kook (some promises are reallllllly hard to keep), and especially not over some guy (even if he IS a singing, guitar-playing athlete with the soul of a poet…I mean seriously…guys like that are like college-girl catnip).  My friend read me the riot act like only a girl from Jersey can, and in the end just shook her head.  I think she knew this wouldn’t be my last dust-up with bad choices and “I Love Lucy” worthy capers. 

As the next day of classes dawned, I resolved to do better and be better.  I would be so scholarly I would make Ben Franklin look like a slouch.  I would be steadfast in reaching my goals (which were fuzzy at best and having something to do with teaching; which was unfortunate seeing as I didn’t particularly like kids.  And yes, fellow homeschooling moms, the irony is thick).  I would see the “dude” in question and give him a freeze so deep he would have to report to the campus clinic for frostbite & possible multiple amputations. 

Regrettably, I did not run into said “dude” for several days (one would think this was deliberate), and my indignation cooled.  I continued to be uninspired with my choice of future vocation; while conversely, I was unrelentingly challenged and thrilled with every other aspect of “college” life.  Not one month later, the object of my...whatever, shared with me that he had found “THE ONE”.  He extolled her virtues, lauded her accomplishments and demeanor (I’m gonna go out on a limb and say she wouldn’t have belly crawled away from campus security) and compared her to his mom (does anyone else hear that death knell?).  He said (in his most intense "sharing" voice) that he just knew she would be the future Mrs. "Singing, Guitar-Playing, Athlete with the Soul of a Poet”. (true…they married, had a passel of kiddos and are together still.)  (Oh and ps.. if I forgot to say it then; as I was in shock and gape-mouthed and paralyzed with mortification, Mazel Tov!!).

This scrape served as a potent reminder to me of the girl I had once been...pre-college me.  That girl wouldn’t have crossed the street to see a guy let alone re-enact an episode of “COPS” with campus security hot on her (belly) trail in the snow .  It was, mercifully, near the end of my college time and a great catalyst for me to get it together.  Shortly thereafter, I returned home & got a real life (much to my parents’ great joy).  I still know a few people from that time (thankfully very few) and we can giggle over my youthful antics…all the while all knowing and accepting that there will be more;albeit healthier, not-so-youthful ones to come.