Free Tilly: how an irrational fear turned me into an activist

So, I have probably mentioned a time or two on the blog about my fears. I have only a few great fears in my life, most of them have to do with animals. A lot of times when I tell people I am afraid of snakes, they nod in agreement, or at least sympathize.

When I tell them I am afraid of cats, they scratch their heads but eventually understand- afterall a lot of people are. But it's the third animal that I have a phobia of that often has people rolling on the floor laughing about. I admit, it is a bizarre animal to be afraid of, and not often something people understand.

The truth is, I'm deathly afraid of killer whales. It's sad but true. Last year just driving down the street and seeing a giant Seaworld billboard featuring Shamu sent me into hyperventilation mode, and my husband into hysterical laughter. I mean really, who is afraid of killer whales?

I can trace my fear back to an unfortunate visit to Sea World Orlando I had with my dad and grandpa at age 5. During a shamu show, one of the whales got out of control and had a "run in" with a trainer. I can remember my dad covering my eyes and potatoe sacking me out of the stadium.

Recently I got to talking with my brother about this fear and he looked up all of the instances a killer whale has had an "incident" with a trainer. It's astounding really the amount of them. However, he was quick to point out that there was never any documented proof that orcas have ever attacked a human in the wild. To which I sarcastically countered with "Yeah, because there probably weren't any survivors to come back and document." Okay I admit, perhaps that is too far. Maybe I should give them a little more credit than that.

Recently, the documentary Blackfish has shed some light on the current problem of orcas attacking trainers. Specifically, 33-year-old Tilikum who has been involved in at least 3 deaths. Tilikum is literally my nightmare. What I can't figure out is how in the heck after that many documented attacks they thought it a good idea to collect his sperm and use his DNA to fill their orca population quota? Do they not think that more incidences will occur with genes like that?

While some refute Blackfish and label it as useless slander, it's difficult to argue with that much evidence of dangerous encounters. Yes they are wild animals, yes proper precautions aren't always carried out. But some instances, like Dawn Brancheau, the attacks are completely unwarranted.

After seeing the film, I began to become killer whale crazy. An odd, discomforting desire to research and understand came over me. I began to research an organization I have only rolled my eyes at; PETA. Interesting fact: there are several PETA activists who serve on the board for Sea World, in efforts to change some of it's animal handling practices.

PETA, an organization known for extreme and sometimes ridiculous measures to get their point across, are taking a surprisingly ethical approach to the whole Sea World craze. Instead of wanting to "Free Willy" (bypassing a failed Keiko the whale experiment), they simply ask that Sea World move it's facilities to the coasts where the animals can live in natural water enclosures. It's true that most of the animals born into captivity would not be able to function if set free. But being able to experience the ocean and it's elements would at least give these animals a very very small taste of what their original habitats are like. Perhaps it would allow orcas to not be so violent towards humans, and each other.

And so, after a lifetime of fearing, loathing and generally having a large distaste for killer whales, I have found myself becoming an activist for them. What? How did this happen? How did I become pro-PETA? I have to say it's because of an animal, Tilikum, who both terrifies and intrigues me.

Just Dance

I love to dance. Please understand, I have absolutely no talent when it comes to dancing. I never took lessons as a kid, in fact dancing was prohibited for the most part in my childhood. My dance moves are seriously lacking, and I'm quite certain that I probably look ridiculous 90% of the time. But there comes a point in your life, well maybe there just came a point in mine, when you really don't care what other people think; you just need to have fun and let loose.

When I was a sophomore in college, I had a roomate who was a little eccentric. One day, she had had a particularly bad time and I thought I would walk in my room to find her crying on the floor, instead I opened the door to find her dressed in nothing but a bra and underwear (oh also there was a feather boa) dancing on top of my bed to a Britney Spears song. I watched her in skepticism, what was she DOING? It was her answer that changed my outlook on things permanently. She said, "I had a bad day, so I thought, instead of pumping my body full of meds, or bawling uncontrollably, that I would dance. I'm just gonna dance it out until I can't stop smiling." Wow. So simple. And with that little gem of wisdom, was born my love of dance.

This year I have found myself in a serious funk. Walking through this unbearable grief and sadness can be so overwhelming. It feels like it's never ending, and with every season, it just brings more sad. But I've also noticed a major increase in my desire to..... dance.

When I'm unloading my dishwasher.... I'm dancing. When I'm putting away my clothes...dancing. Picking up the kids from school everyday.... so much dancing. I'm dancing to 90's music, I'm dancing to radio music, I dance sometimes to the music that's only in my head. I find that I can barely go a day without it. Is it ridiculous? Oh totally. Do I look dumb? Probably. But I also feel so much better when I'm done.

Dancing has also become worshipful. I know what you're thinking: the CMA pastor's kid dances in worship? Yup, I've developed a little pentecostal in me (must be my husband's influence). I find in my own home I dance and I sing and I cry and I belt out songs to Jesus. It is so freeing to not care what anyone else thinks, and to know it's all for my King.

When bad things happen, some people take prescription meds. Some people stop showering, eating, or living. When crisis hits, some people crack under the pressure. I just dance. I dance in my pajamas, I dance in my nicest clothes. Sometimes I dance when I'm not wearing any at all. It doesn't matter what you wear, or what people think, or how many moms stare at me when I'm dancing like a chimpanzee in my minivan as I pull up to my son's school. What matters is.... I'm happy.

So the next time you feel a wave of sadness, when life becomes messy and uncontrollable. When you feel like maybe you just might crumble, turn on some music and just wildly dance.

A Happy Life

                 To live with purpose,
                 To say the courageous thing,
                 To celebrate the simple gift,
                 To follow your dreams.
                 This is a happy life.
                                  -Wayland Henry

This was the quote on the front cover of one of the most moving birthday cards I have ever received, given to me tonight in one of the most peculiar and wonderful ways by a completely anonymous person.

So tomorrow is my 31st birthday. Normally, I love birthdays and look forward to mine starting the day after Christmas. But there was something about this year that was the first time I was actually quite dreading it. Sure, nobody loves turning older (unless you're 6). But that wasn't it really. This would be the first year I turned older without my dad singing me a birthday tune in his pavorotti voice at an insane hour in the morning. It was like I was moving on, growing older without him and it left me with a lump in my throat everytime I thought about it.

Of course it's also February, which meant the car registration and a renewal on my license and just like that... boom.... no money to even celebrate with. It was looking kind of grim and I spent the entire week in prayer about it. I prayed for peace about it, I prayed for God's provision financially, using a specific sum (that was seriously like asking for a million dollars). But I also prayed that in some way, with my earthly daddy not here to tell me he loved me, that God himself would tell me. That I would just know that He loved me, and that He was with me. And one night he distinctly said, "Erin... be still and know that I am God."

So, I was still. I prayed, and I cried and I praised Him and I watched as the days slowly drifted towards my birthday. Tonight, my family decided to leave our home around 7pm. We packed ourselves in the car and took off. About 15 minutes into our ride, I saw a strange phone number calling me. I didn't recognize it and thought it might be a person from Craigslist, so I let it go to voicemail. When I checked the message, it was a man (disguising his voice) telling me that there was a package on my front porch. Now, I don't know about you, but usually when someone tells you that, you start to think about bombs and terrorists. But I also thought that it was the night before my birthday so maybe, just maybe it actually WAS a package?

We came home later that evening and went to the front porch to check. Sure enough there was a small Anthropologie gift bag. I opened up the nicely ordained giftbag to find a sealed card. It was a beautiful card really, with the most amazing poem. It spoke right to the heart of me, like those words were God speaking. And inside the card there were no written words at all and only a Happy Birthday printed on the inside. And there it sat, the EXACT amount of money I had prayed for this month.

I bawled, I sobbed, I ugly cried and I thanked God. How could this person have even known it was my birthday? How could they have known that I wouldn't, I couldn't possibly accept money from someone I knew? But mostly, how could they know that right then, that night what I really and truly needed to know, was that I was loved? Really loved?

Dear "Anthropologie" I'm calling you that because I have no other name to call you. I have no idea who you are, and I know you went to great lengths to keep it that way. But I just wanted you to know that I have never felt so entirely loved by a stranger before in my life. I so appreciated your words to me, your encouragement, and your support. I felt them. And I felt God through them. I could literally feel that big God bear hug I was so longing for on my birthday. I wish there was a way for you to know just how much that meant to me. And so, this is the only way I know how to tell you thank you. I hope you read this, and that everyone who does read this knows that once again, God is CRAZY CRAZY just so very CRAZY AMAZING. I've said it before, and I will say it to the end of my days. Thank you Anthropologie, for making this one of the most amazing birthdays of my life.
Yours, ever so sincerely,
Erin

If These Walls Could Talk

When I was a little girl my room was the bright pink foofy collection of flowers, bunnies, hearts and patterns that most girl's rooms are. After fighting my mother's interior design instincts for several years, I finally won the right to tack posters on my wall at age 12. Like most pre-teen girls, I flew to the pages of teeny bopper magazines with free pin up posters of my favorite boy crushes. So why am I blogging about this, you ask?

Last night I was lying in bed thinking about the boys I chose to riddle my walls with and how ironic my choices actually were.

First poster: Joseph Gordon-Levitt

Long before he starred in Inception and Batman, and I mean long, long looooong before, he starred in my dreams. I watched him guest star in Dr. Quinn Medicine woman (and rewound it and re-watched it multiple times), I didn't miss the obscure Sunday night movie where he played a kid moving to Africa. And I watched as many episodes of 3rd Rock From The Sun as I possibly could before my parents deemed it unfit for me to watch. And while my crush for him faded, my interest in his work didn't. I followed his independent movies like Brick, which sidenote is an amazing movie, if you haven't checked it out.... you should. And then 500 Days Of Summer came around and I thought to myself how nice it was to have him back in the mainstream. Ofcourse, Inception, Batman, and Looper came into the mix and he just blew up. I'd like to think my hanging him on my wall had something to do with it.

Second poster: Leonardo Dicaprio

I'm sure most girls developed a crush on Leo during his Titanic debut as the adorable Jack who's famous last words were, "Never let go!" But I'm talking about the loveable young teen who was adopted by the Seavers in Growing Pains. Yes, I spotted a star in Leo even then. Of course his winning role as Romeo in Romeo + Juliet sealed the deal for me. I will not insult your intelligence in listing of the ridiculous amounts of amazing and Oscar-winning movies he's starred in, but I have to say that I'm not sure he would have been quite so successful if he wasn't tacked to my wall.

Third poster: Jonathan Taylor Thomas

Okay, so clearly I mistepped here, but in my defense, every seventh grade girl was taping episodes of Home Improvement and ever-watching The Lion King back then. Unfortunately for JTT, he stopped growing at age 12. Wah wah.

Fourth poster: Elijah Wood

I had a MAD obsession with Elijah Wood when I was a pre-teen. Forever Young was where I first spotted him, next it was The Good Son, where he was victimized by the kid from Home Alone. I could not get enough of him in Huck Finn. Shoot I even watched North a million times. But then, he just disappeared for a while. Where did he go? Would my crush ever come back? Then Boom. The Lord Of the Rings trailer came out and I turned bright red with embarrassment. Yeah, that's right, I was in college. Of course his stardom rose to the ranks of hall of fame status. I can't say for certain, but it might just have been because his poster was right next to my closet in eight grade.

In short, the walls of my bedroom when I was 12 read like a who's who of American Film Culture in 2012. Could it be because they're a group of extraordinary talented and good looking people? Oh possibly. But I'd like to think that maybe it's just because I plucked them from the pages of TeenBop and displayed them all over my room for a few years that was the REAL ticket to their success.

A New Resolution

HAPPY NEW YEAR'S!! What? It's January 19th? Well, just pretend with me. HAPPY NEW YEAR'S and welcome to the blog where I reveal my new year's resolutions. Now, I'm not one of those kind of people that gives myself unrealistic expectations about what my year will look like. Usually, I like to give myself goals that I can accomplish, things I can achieve, so I don't feel like a total failure come December 31st. But this year, I'm just not so sure it's as attainable and it's scaring and exciting me all at the same time.

I've hesitated revealing this secret in my life for a few months now, mostly because I don't want to sound pretentious and also because I knew if I kept it quiet there was still a possibility that if I quit I wouldn't look like a total idiot for doing so. But, alas, it's too late for going back now, I've intrigued you too much.

I have recently started writing a book. It's a book about my struggles with being a parent of a child with special needs and finding God in the midst of the hard stuff. I've already written several chapters and my New Year's Resolution this year is to finish writing my book. I won't go so far as to send it to a publisher, but I think making myself finish should be a sufficient enough challenge. Besides, i think it sounds kind of romantic to finish writing your first book by the time you're 30. Besides, who wants to read the book of a 20 something anyway right? Well if it's not, don't tell me because it's what I am saying to motivate myself.

So there it is, my deep dark secret is a secret no more. It's going to be a year of challenge, and development and what I hope to be the accomplishment of what has been a lifelong dream. Who knows, maybe I'll even let someone read it....someday.

The Flan of a lifetime

So, it's no secret that I am rounding the end of my 20's. Even young people have bucket lists and mine is to go to Disneyland. I know it sounds CRAZY. But I've never been. Sure, my parents took me to Disneyworld when I was 6 months old. They tell me all I did was sleep. I'm pretty sure that doesn't count as actually going to Disney.

Ever since I met Tim, he's been trying to move heaven and earth to get us there. Constantly plotting, scheming and devising ways to make my dreams come true. That's when I came up with the term "Flanning". To Flan is to make a fake plan. You look at airline tickets, and hotels, you talk about the cost of gas, you rent vacation package DVD's and you do everything but hit the BUY button.

Then, things happen. Like: You spend all your honeymoon money on a scam and never get it back or you move across the country, you find out you're pregnant, or you have to buy a new minivan, or your drier and your dishwasher break at the same time. And somehow, one year, bleeds into three years, which doubles into 6 years. And before you know it, you've been Flanning for ten years and you've never done anything about it.

This year, we decided that 2011 was the year of Disney! Meaning: No more flanning, no more things getting in the way. It was going to be me and him and nothing but Mickey, Donald, Goofy, Buzz and Woody! We have a date on the calendar, and we have a date tonight to actually click the BUY button..for the first time EVER. I wish I could describe in words what this means to me. How amazing it feels, and how badly I need it. I think I'm gonna cry everytime I take a picture with a character, or go on a ride I've only seen in a commercial. Pretty much every picture of me is gonna be crying. But I don't care. It's time for this 29-year-old to slip back into her 4-year-old shoes and live the dream that childhood forgot.

So Disney- I hope you're ready for me... cause here I COME!

Thou shalt not watch bad idols

I am just trying to figure out when I became an American Idol watcher? I mean, I have always been a cynical person about that show. Now I find myself hopelessly hooked to it. I cannot wait each Tuesday night to see who is going to be a star, and who is going to be a total bust. Why is that?

I have to say that half of the fun is waiting to hear what Simon will say about the singer. Because I find that about 90% of the time, I feel the same way. I just love that he's the guy in the room that will say what everybody else is thinking. He just says it much more harsh than you would ever let come out of your mouth. And somehow, that amuses me. The only time I felt that he went too far was last season when he went AWOL on David Cook the night before the final results. I totally disagreed with him. Ofcourse, it was funny to see him eat crow when David was announced the winner.

I guess growing up in such a musical family, and having voice lessons since I was a teeny little girl, it makes you a much more critical person when it comes to vocals. This can be a real problem in places like church for instance, but American Idol seems to be the perfect setting for my musical criticism. I think I get it out of my system so that I am not doing it on Sundays.

Maybe that's why I've become an Idol fan.

The kind of heartbreak that stays with you

Back in 2002 when it wasn't cool to go to a Coldplay concert, Tim surprised me with tickets to see them at the Sleeptrain Ampi-theatre in Marysville. When we would tell people who we were going to see, they would mostly respond by saying, "Who?" 

It was the coolest concert I have ever been to, and such a memorable night. I have always wanted to go back to another one and see them live.

 We tried in 2005 when X & Y came out to go in Atlanta, but we were broke and it didn't work out. Then last summer they were scheduled to go to Sacramento- we were thrilled. We saved for 3 months. Then.... they cancelled the concert. I was so upset at them, that I boycotted buying "Prospekt's March" for 5 months in protest. (I am sure they really noticed the absence of $10 from me.) Ofcourse, I had to give in and buy it, I couldn't go on without owning every album.

Just a few days ago, my loving sister-in-law sent me a link that said Coldplay had planned to come back to where it all started, the SleepTrain Ampitheatre in Marysville this July. I found out about it the day before tickets went on sale, and 3 days before Eli's surgery (which always drains our bank account.) So, I sadly missed out on the experience of a lifetime.

This totally bums me out. Oh Chris, wherever you are in internetland, could you happen upon my blog and take pity on me? (Afterall, I did eventually buy Prospekt's March). I promise, all will be forgotten. 

P.s. Would it help for you to know that I am really considering naming my son after your band?

An honest look

I am a habitual job-hopper. I don't know why, but I have never really been able to stay at a job for long periods of time like some people do. The longest I have ever worked has been for State Farm, and that was just 2 years. Even then, I must have tossed around the idea of quitting a million times. I don't know what's wrong with me really, or why I do that. Is it because I am ill-content? Do I just get bored? Or is it because I strive to find a job that I am actually happy at?

Having Elijah allowed me the job break I had been longing for since, well I started working. It's not that I am lazy. I firmly believe that if I found a job I loved I could be content working that job for the rest of my life. I simply do not know what I want to do with my life.



It's a question that has been plagueing me since high school, sitting in my career counselor's office. Then it was college, and finding a major and figuring out life. Now, whenever I am introduced to new people and they ask me what I do I actually have a job, being a mother. Then there is the dreaded question that comes next: What do you want to do after kids?
Ugh.

In a few short weeks I turn 27, and as I look back I am faced with a painful reality; I am just as lost and confused about career goals as I was when I was 17. I haven't finished my major, and it makes me hang my head in embarrassement particularily at the thought of having to explain my failure to my children.

Recently as my belly has begun to grow bigger, this has come into my mind even more. I think about this baby being born, and growing up, and going to school and then panic sets in. A lump starts forming in my throat, my stomach starts to churn, because I know that I am going to have to make a decision and the thought of that overwhelms me.

I know I should really have my act together, and nothing reminds me of that more as when I see other people my age becoming doctors, and lawyers; making a name for themselves, doing something with their lives. It's embarrassing. 27 don't come yet... I'm not ready for another year of not knowing.

We're leaving on a jet plane

So this is how big Elijah was the last time we got on a plane.

It was difficult to do by myself, but because he slept the whole time, I managed just fine.
I recently decided to head on a plane again with the boy and take him to see his grandaddy in the hospital.

So, on Saturday, we will brave the airport and the crowds of people and make the claustrophobic trip. I am not particularily looking forward to the trip for a few basic reasons:

*My belly is huge and is starting to demand more room on my lap than Eli is willing to give up
*Explaining that we are almost there is useless to a 17-month-old
*My eardrums aren't equipped for the kind of noise he can muster
*I am wondering how long my pregnant bladder can hold out
*The 3 hour time change is going to throw his whole schedule off
*I have to travel across country ALONE!

So hopefully my next blog will be full of encouraging words as I talk about how wonderful he did on the trip and how quickly the time passed by. But..... I really doubt it.

WANTED: Family of God

We've been in Redding now for a year and a bit and I have to say, we still have yet to find a family of God that we are accepted and loved in. I know everybody goes through the pain of having to find a great church with encouraging people, making friends and joining a community. But I guess this year with all of it's challenges I haven't had as much energy to put myself out there.

All of Elijah's surgeons and therapists continue to tell us how important it is to find a church, and a support system. I find that humorous, since it's not exactly a medical neccessity. We really have tried, but I am not super wonderful at standing around and telling strangers that I need prayer and support from them- kind of weird.

When I was in youth group, I was a part of the leadership team (a head-cheese if you will). One year our youth pastor challenged us to show up on Sunday morning and instead of hanging out with our friends, the people most familiar to us, to seek out the kids sitting all alone in the back row. I tried it over the course of the year and ended up making some amazing friendships just from stepping out of my comfort zone and making friends with new people. I wish churches were more like that.

Sometimes it's the people in the back row sitting alone that need the most support.

Favorite Winter Thing Number 9

And the list continues this week with Favorite Winter Thing Number 9:

Black Bear Diner

For those of you that haven't had the pleasure of experiencing a lovely winter meal at the Black Bear Diner, I urge you to try it. Don't get me wrong, a spring or summer meal there is just as nice, but there is something about eating there during the winter time that just fills my heart with soul food.

When I walk into this restaurant I feel like I am walking through a wardrobe into a magical land. It's so cozy and woodsy and full of happy biker dudes and old people, it just makes me feel like I am sitting in a log cabin on top of a giant snow-covered mountain. I don't know why, but I am transformed. And that's just the ambience, the food is AWESOME.

I am in LOVE with their potroast (meat and potatoes girl through and through), but pretty much everything on their menu is great. No fake and bake potatoes, no greasy or over-fried grossness. Just wholesome down-home eating at it's best. Love the food, love the friendly service, love the cozy feel. It just isn't winter until I've eaten at Black Bear Diner.

Favorite Winter Thing Number 7

And so it continues....

Favorite Winter Thing Number 7: Burt's Beeswax

There are a lot of great things about winter, chapped lips isn't one of them. I'm a no-fuss kinda girl, so chapstick has never been on my list of major priorities.

I hate how if you don't put on enough your lips are still chapped, and if you put on too much, they're greasy. Which reminds me of a sidenote- have you ever noticed how chapstick grease always manages to get everywhere? When I put it on and go outside it manages to get all over my face and clothes and sticks to me like bacon grease. I dunno... maybe it's just me.

Anyways, I have never been a fan of the stuff. Until I got into Burt's beeswax. It's not greasy like the chapstick brand is, it comes in a delightful minty flavor and the best part of all? It's colored, so you can use it as lipstick. This thrilled the thrifty side of me (I don't have to buy a whole new tube of lipstick), so I thought I'd give it a go. 2 weeks later, Burt and I are inseperable. I put it on in the house even when I KNOW no one will see me, and somehow I feel made up.

It's a neat little invention that I simply love. Wish I could wear it all year round!

Calling all prayer warriors and close friends

The last 2 weeks of my life have been some of the hardest weeks I've ever faced.
The shock of having a second baby barely had time to wear off before the throws of sickness began to overtake my body. Morning, noon and night I continue to be plagued with it and am hardly able to take care of my son.

Last week we had a meeting with Elijah's doctor and surgeon at Shriner's hospital. They let us know that they would be taking a different approach to his next arm. That instead of one surgery it would be 2, and the first would be experimental. So, on November 26th he will go in for a procedure to have 4 metal bars placed in his arm that will, with the help of turning screws each day, help his little arm to grow. The risk of infection is great, and the pain levels will also be radical. The hardest part about this procedure is the fact that I will have to travel with him once a week to Sacramento to have him checked on and make sure things are going well. The responsibility is overwhelming. I cannot imagine being as sick as I am and driving 5 hours a week.

A few days ago I found out that my father, who recently had a successful liver transplant, will have to undergo a kidney transplant as well. I don't really know how to take this news, but the pressure was added when I found out that my grandfather died and was asked to fly to Pennsylvania for his funeral. Being the oldest child, I feel the pressure to take the burden on, but my body just can't handle the strain of the plain ride, especially with Elijah in my lap.
Because of my decision to stay home, and years of tension between my parents and I, I am feeling more and more abandoned and cut off. In a time when you really need your parents, it's a bad time for them not to be speaking to you.

Anyway, this blog isn't to throw a pity party or to get sympathy from anyone, it's just a simple plea to please pray for me if you get a chance. God's presence in my life right now is the only thing that is going to get me through all of this, and sometimes it's hard to feel that presence when the pressure continues to mount in your life.

A nail biting blog

There are many ways that people deal with stress. Unfortunately, biting my nails is how I deal with it. And if you've had a chance to look at my nails recently, I believe that each one tells a story of the origin of my stress.

NEW LOOK

With a growing baby and dishwasher, sometimes it's easy to neglect yourself. These days, I am usually lucky if I can keep a shirt clean for more than an afternoon. Being on a TIGHT budget also doesn't help me look my best. So, I was pleasantly surprised when my husband set up a time for me to get my hair done by Shanae (a co-worker/hairstylist extrodinaire).

I am a blonde, I like being blonde and I don't stray from that much. Usually, just variations of blonde color. But I this time I decided to be bold and try something a little more "edgy". I wanted something I could wear to the grocery store (covered in baby drool and cheerios) and someone might think "gee, I like her hair" instead of "gee that chick looks awful".

So I went for dark espresso color on the bottom with blonde highlights. It is very different, and not at all me..... and I think I am starting to really like it.

Sex and the Kiddie

Alright, so I wanted this to remain my secret guilty pleasure, but for the sake of good story telling, I must divulge that I am a Sex in the City fan. Mostly, the TBS version that has little nudity and "fixes" all the cussing. So when the movie came out I was REALLY wanting to go see it. So my BFF Jenny and I decided to go on a much-needed girl date. No husbands, no kids, no limits to the amount of trouble we could get into.

And at said date, we decided to see our secret indulgence- the Sex movie. We busied ourselves getting the perfect seat and chatting about life while the previews were rolling. Little by little, more and more people straggled into the theatre. There were a few middle-aged women there (which I expected) and then a few moms and teenage girls. Then, just as the movie was about to start, in walked a mom and her 3-year-old daughter. At first I thought perhaps they had stumbled into the wrong theatre as I heard "Mommy I have to go pee-pee".

Surely they must be going to see Kung-Fu Panda or something.Then, sure enough, the lights dimmed, the famous theme song started playing and the 3 year old girl started rolling around in the middle aisle. Don't get me wrong, the little girl wasn't all that loud or disturbing. I think it was just that a MOTHER would bring her very small child to a rated R film. And not just any film, a film that cussed frequently and had fairly graphic sexual content.

It was odd to hear someone use the F word and then hear a tiny giggle in the background. We definitely felt uncomfortable. And as we left the theatre, it was everything I could do to hold Jenny back from giving that mom a stern lecture.I am not neccessarily condoning my guilty pleasure by any means, but I certainly wouldn't take my CHILD to see it.

Daytime television (what you're missing part 3)

For those of you who watch THE SOUP on Friday nights, you might have seen glimpses of the featured show today. For this installment of my daytime television rant I would like to draw your attention to:
THE TYRA BANKS SHOW
What is this show about you ask? A supermodel past her prime who wants to be like Oprah, but is closer to Riki Lake. At 2pm every afternoon, she goes against Judge Joe Brown and the million episodes of a Baby Story on TLC. So why did I attempt to watch this show when the choices of entertainment were clearly endless? Mostly I did it because I knew it would be some good comic relief.
The main focus of Tyra's show is supposed to be about women's issues but the ACTUAL focus always ends up being about Tyra. If a tabloid called her fat that week, she has a whole series of shows with topics like "big is beautiful" and "embrace your big butt". In fact, I find that MOST of her shows deal with being overweight. Often she asks her studio audience to write their weight on a sign across their chests, or to strip down into their underwear to prove that we are all beautiful. It's sort of like what your 7th grade hygene teacher would do, if the board would let her that is.
The guests she has on these shows are typically women who have dealt with these issues. But most of the time, she spends talking to her guests about... you guessed it, herself. Occasionally she has some famous people on and asks them off the wall questions about what kissing Halle Berry is like or if they like Tex-Mex as much as she does. And she always ends these hard hitting interviews posing a question about if they think she looks good, or can sing or dance well, or if they will grab her butt; depending on the guest.
When I was in college, I had a roomate who had some self-esteem issues. She would wake me up out of a dead sleep each morning to ask me if what she was wearing looked okay. I would, in total sleep-deprived frustration, respond to her with a thumbs up, or a "you look great" and then roll over most days. It wasn't until halfway through the semester that she even noticed I never even bothered to open my eyes when I responded. Frankly, I don't think she cared as long as someone told her she looked alright. I feel like Tyra is the same way, always looking for praise or that extra bit of self-confidence she somehow managed to not get while being a supermodel?
If you're up for a good laugh, and you don't mind the constant shameless self-promotion, I would have to say that Tyra is entertaining. But mostly in that can't-keep-my-eyes-off-the-car-accident-on-the-side-of-the-road kind of way.

TAKING THE PLUNGE

My dear dearest baby boy just turned 10 months old. Perhaps to most it seems like a silly thing to blog about. Afterall, 10 months isn't really that big of a milestone. But for Elijah, it will mark the time when his life changed forever.

In 2 short days, Elijah begins to embark on a new journey that will span most of his toddlerhood. I have to say, though I have been pushing and striving and fighting for this day to come, now that it gets closer, I feel a sort of reluctance. We have rejoiced at the chance to be able to make his life better and to watch him grow up to do wonderous things with these new arms and hands of his, but I can't help but kiss them and stare at them trying to keep them forever in my memory.

As he giggles and plays, busying himself with his daily activities I wonder how much of that smile I will see for the next few years. It's probably not as bad as I am making it out to be I am sure that as soon as he has time to heal he will be laughing his head off (at least that's what I continue to tell myself.) But I mourn for the loss of that time for him, the time that other children have to learn to feed themselves and crawl. All those little things you use your arms and hands for that you really take for granted.

But as I pack up his little sleepers and call and make all the necessary arrangements there is a sense of relief. I have no idea what is in store for this little boy, but I have full belief that God has it all under control. And that is really what I rely on when I start to worry. It makes me wonder how people who don't know the Lord deal with these situations. I mean, can you imagine going through major life trials without being able to talk to God, lean on his shoulder, cry out for mercy, and see his goodness in things? I don't know what I would do, honestly... I really don't.

So here I am, resting my arms, clearing my mind, holding my breath and counting to 3.
We are taking the plunge, and letting God do the rest.

To be continued.....

MISSING YOU ALREADY

There is nothing as comforting as the familiarity of an old friend. Someone who's been with you through every heartache, every accomplishment, and every major life event. There is something so liberating about someone who knows all your stories old and new. And it's even more amazing when that friend marries someone you absolutely adore and connect with. And pretty soon, it's like you don't remember a time when they weren't in your life.

That's the way John and Maribeth are for me. I love that they sometimes call me and leave funny messages on my voicemail. I love that they have always dropped everything to answer the phone and talk to me (even once when John was preaching- sorry John). I love that after a visit from them my stomach muscles always ache from laughing so hard. I love that they read every blog I write (regardless of how boring they are). I love how we can stay up till 4am talking and not realize how late it is. I love that they aren't fake about their lives or relationship and are open about their struggles. And I love that we can go years without seeing eachother and when we come back, it's like we never left.

But, I hate the way I feel when I watch them walk out the door and wonder when I will get to see them again.