Welcome Home, Hero. Rest in Peace.

This was not the first military funeral I had attended.  It was the first time I’d been to any funeral that took place 76 years after the deceased had died.  This young man, a kid the same age as my third of five children, has finally made it home to be put to rest with his family in a hero’s ceremony.  Seaman First Class George Anderson Coke, Jr. came home to Arlington today for the first time since he left for boot camp back in 1941.

My friend, Leslie Dorn Barton, is George Coke’s second cousin once or twice removed.  I’m still unclear on all that genealogy stuff.  While I’d like to be able to trace back my family tree, I’m quite unorganized and tend to think circularly rather than in clear straight lines.  Besides, I’ve got aunts and cousins on both sides of my tree who really dig that sort of thing and they actually journal it all. Anyway, Leslie is one of the Special Education teachers who taught my daughter at Sam Houston High School. We became friends over the last couple of years. So naturally, when she mentioned that this funeral was happening today, I told her I’d come.

It’s been hotter than ever all week and I was so relieved when the thunderstorms hit our city last night and it rained until the wee hours this morning.  I donned my black abaya and a gray and black scarf and then headed over to the First United Methodist Church and tried to “blend in” with the Arlington locals.  I know.  I didn’t. The sole Muslim in a sea of mostly older, white, Christian faces.

I listened to the history of George Coke, Jr., son of George Coke, Sr., who was the Chief of Police in Arlington back in the 1920s.  I learned that of the 3,500 American casualties that day in Pearl Harbor, that Arlington lost 48 souls.  My mind wandered, as is the norm during funerals.  Everyone in some way or another is reminded of their own immortality at a funeral.  With military funerals, you are also reminded of all of your family members and friends who also served in the armed forces.  I felt a few tears escape today as I remembered friends who were killed in foreign wars.  I felt a few more tears escape as I offered prayers of thanks and gratitude for those family and friends who returned safely home.

I followed the funeral procession to Parkdale Cemetary. We were escorted by members of the United States Navy and a large number of the Arlington Police Department.  I watched as the sailors, now pallbearers, respectfully carried the remains of their comrade who fell in the line of duty more than half a century before any of them were born.  And the firing of the three volleys, though I knew they were coming, still caught me off guard and those tears of relief that most of my loved ones returned to me fell from my eyes as a silent salute to Seaman Coke and all of the thousands who didn’t.

My heart stirred as I watched the slow and deliberate movements of the sailors folding the flag and the hand off of that folded flag followed by the final salute from Seaman to Non-Commissioned Officer to Officer to Rear Admiral and finally to George Coke, Jr.’s family members.  The spent shell casings from the three volleys, symbolizing duty, honor, and country, were then placed into the hand of the young descendant of Seaman Coke.

A cool breeze gently blew across my face, air-drying the silent tears and leaving my cheeks a little bit sticky.  I hugged Leslie and shook hands with her son, aunt, and mother.  I looked back to see the final resting place of Seaman Coke, under the Live Oak and the Crepe Myrtle trees, beside his mother and father.  Welcome home, hero.  Rest in peace.

 

Judging Books by Covers

The following was written by my friend, Joli Crow. (It’s shared with her permission.) And it speaks volumes as to the body-shaming and judging and the ridiculous lack of manners that seems to be rampant any more. I read this this morning on her Facebook status and the more I read, the more my heart broke for her. I honestly don’t know what I would have done were I to have been in her place. I would like to say that I’d have called him out on it out loud. I’ve done this in defending my daughter during her autistic meltdowns and people are staring or making rude remarks. But I don’t know that I would if I were the target of mean comments and bug-eyed glares.

Joli, you are an amazing woman; a survivor. Keep strong. ~N

****

Dear Mr. Chiseled Jaw,

I heard you this morning. Standing behind me, on your phone. I heard you tell the person on the other end that you can’t stand fat people. I heard you tell them you thought something was wrong with me, because you can see the scars on my arms and chest. I heard you tell them that “a little hard work and some plastic surgery and she MIGHT be a 5 someday.” And the comments about my hair. And the laughing.

A few years, a few months, hell, even a few weeks ago, I would have broken and faltered under your harsh words and judging gaze. I would have gone home, curled up under my blanket, and cried myself to sleep. I would have started comfort eating, or hide myself in a book, or done ANYTHING I could to pretend I never heard you.

But I’m going to tell you something. Are you listening? Probably not, but I’ll tell you anyway. This “fat” body? Carried life inside it. It protected a tiny human, one who now could pick your ass up and toss you aside without a second thought.
This “fat” body? You act like it is unlovable. Yet not only do I have an amazing partner who loves it and all its curves, but I have two children who love to cuddle it; who think my softness is a source of comfort. It’s a body people are not afraid to touch, to hug. It’s a body that has lived.
My scars? The ones you said made me look like a junkie or an AIDS victim? I never chose them. They chose me. Each scar was carefully applied with hate, malice, and savagery. Each BATTLE SCAR is a reminder of each day I have survived; each war I have won. Each scar is a reminder of the victories, both large and small, that I have earned in my life.
I may not be YOUR perfect 10. But I know my worth. I know who I am. I know and love each of my demons. I have survived and I have won!

Today, you could have hurt me. You could have undone all the hard work I have put myself through to love myself more. But you’re not worth it. You are no one to me and I don’t have to answer to you or your opinions of me. Because at the end of the day, are you the one putting food on my table, clothing my children, paying my bills, loving me and each of my scars and every pound of me? Are you the one jumping to my side when I need a friend? Are you the one I turn to for comfort?

NO.

So, have a nice day. Enjoy your life and learn to be a little less of an asshole.

K? Thanks, bye!

From,

The Woman who no longer gives a damn what you think.

PS. I will admit a certain satisfaction when you were refused service because of your statements. Gotta love small towns!

Kroger Plus Card Swipes for Starry Night Prom

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Are you one of those people who truly LOVES inspirational stories and programs and organizations that want to help all of the people with all of the things but you just don’t want to buy anymore cookie dough or wrapping paper or write anymore checks?! Yeah. I’m one of those, too.
So how can you help support STARRY NIGHT PROM and stay true to your Introverted tendencies? It’s easy. Go grocery shopping.

WHAT?!?

Yes. You read that right. GO GROCERY SHOPPING. But not just anywhere. Go to KROGER.

Here are the exact directions as outlined in the email we received from Kroger:

Kroger Community Rewards – Customer Instructions

A Digital Account is needed in order to participate in Kroger Community Rewards. If you already have a Digital Account, then please skip to the section named ‘Selecting an Organization’.
 
How to Register a Digital Account
Creating a digital account is as simple as 1,2,3! Simply visit www.kroger.com or download the Kroger mobile application from the appropriate app store for your device and follow these directions.
1.      Select the ‘Register’ button.
2.      Enter your information.
3.      Select ‘Create Account’.
Please make sure that you add your card number or create a virtual card number while registering your Digital Account. This is required for the Community Rewards program so that your transactions apply towards the program.
 
Selecting an Organization
Selecting the organization that you wish to support is as simple updating the Community Rewards selection on your Digital Account.
·        Sign into your Digital Account (if you haven’t already).
·        Select ‘My Account’.
·        Scroll down to the ‘Community Rewards’ section of your account page.
·        Select ‘Enroll Now’ or ‘Edit’.
·        Enter the name or NPO number of the organization that you wish to support.
***STARRY NIGHT PROM’S NPO number is 75547****
·        Select the appropriate organization from the list and click on ‘Save’.
Your selected organization will now display in the Community Rewards section of your account page.
Any transactions moving forward using the card number associated with your digital account will be applied to the program.
It takes approximately 10 days for the Community Rewards total to begin displaying on your receipt.
 
Again, Starry Night Prom’s NPO number is 75547.

Please help support Starry Night Prom and select STARRY NIGHT PROM (NPO number 75547) from the Community Rewards section at Kroger.com today. Thank you.

**Only valid in Kroger stores in Texas and Louisiana.
***Photograph credit: Amber Inman Photography. Property of Starry Night Prom, Inc, Used with Permission

Gearing Up for Starry Night Prom 2017

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See these bright smiles and happy faces in this photograph? They belong to some of the participants in the Starry Night Prom 2016. Starry Night Prom is a registered Non-Profit 501 (C) (3) organization that annually holds an all expense paid prom for Arlington ISD High School students with significant disabilities. Starry Night Prom is heading into its tenth year of hosting proms for these amazing kids and we want Starry Night Prom 2017 to be better than ever.

Throwing a prom at no cost for the students and their required chaperone requires donations, both money and in-kind. So the Starry Night Prom Vice-President of Donations has decided to start early this year. And our first fundraising event is already set up! With the help of the amazing, tasteful, and trendy: Charming Charlie (located in the Arlington Highlands.)

Charming Charlie is already having an awesome sale this entire Labor Day weekend. Why not do your shopping the first night of their sale to take advantage of their discount prices, fabulous selection, AND help a worthy cause? Think of the great Christmas gifts you can score ahead of the crowds! And don’t you think it’s time you got a new purse for yourself? Charming Charlie has bling, accessories, clothes, shoes, handbags, scarves and more.

How does your shopping help Starry Night Prom? It’s easy. If you show up this Friday, September 2, 2016 between 5:30 p.m. and 9:00 p.m. and shop, then you mention, “I want to support Starry Night Prom,” to the associate at check out. The associate will key in our special Starry Night Prom Chic Charity Event code into the register and then Charming Charlie will donate 10% of your total purchase price to Starry Night Prom. That’s it.

So, when and where and how is this again?

WHEN:          Friday, September 2, 2016
TIME:             From 5:30 p.m. until 9:00 p.m.
WHERE:        Charming Charlie located at 3901 Arlington Highlands Blvd,

                         Suite 101

                        Arlington, TX 76018

HOW:            Just go to Charming Charlie at the address above. Buy from their entire selection of amazing products and mention STARRY NIGHT PROM to the associate at check out. PLEASE be sure to mention STARRY NIGHT PROM at the beginning of your check out process to ensure that they code the transaction properly so that STARRY NIGHT PROM will receive a donation in the amount of 10% of your total sale.

We at Starry Night Prom thank you in advance for coming out to support our worthy cause. Helping to give an Arlington ISD high school student with significant disabilities the opportunity to enjoy the Prom experience that they might not have been able to have is definitely a reason to smile. Don’t believe it? The proof is in those smiles in the photo above.

 

 

 

 

 

Did I Do Too Much for Them?

As mothers, we second guess ourselves and the choices we make all of the time. Since these children don’t come with owner’s manuals or anything remotely close to that, we sort of “wing it” and combine our gut instincts with the way that we were brought up and what we admired from parental examples we admired from TV and movies, and that long list of stuff we swore we’d “NEVER do when I have kids of my own!” And for the most part, that tends to work really well for most of us. We do the best with what we have and what we know and we try to do what is best for our kids and hope and pray that that is enough.

I used the great ways that my mom had to interact with us when we were little. She was awesome at distraction tactics when we would fight. There were four of us and sometimes it would get pretty loud. I remember many times that she would just come in the room while we were fighting and just sit down on the floor. She’d pull all of our building blocks and Matchbox cars, Fisher-Price people and Weebles out of the box and start making entire towns right there in the middle of the rug. She’d completely ignore us while doing this. Soon we were sort of staring at all the fun she was having and no longer interested in who broke what, or whose turn it was to whatever. We’d watch and eventually sit down and ask if we could play with her. She always said, “Yes.” And we’d join in and start having fun, too. Then she’d slowly work her way out of the game and leave the room and we were none the wiser, yet peaceful.

I also decided that I liked the way that she kept open lines of communication with us. I employed this, too, with my own kids. But I allowed more expression (like limited cussing when they were at that stage where nothing else would seemingly help them “get it out.”) I never lied to them.  (Okay, I did have them convinced for years that I knew the Minister of Birthdays and Aging and that if they did something really horrible that I could call and have that year’s birthday postponed for another. This isn’t as complicated as it sounds when your kids are younger and are certain that they haven’t earned that year older until they’ve actually blown out their candles on their cake. Truth be told, I did NOT tell them the whole candles thing. That was their own understanding. I just didn’t contradict it until the oldest was about 12 and had figured it out on his own. DON’T JUDGE!)

I would watch some of my in-laws and neighbors and friends who would tell their kids things like, “stop crying and I’ll buy you sweets” or “don’t be scared. The needle won’t hurt at all.” To adults, these seem like little lies to assuage fears and calm kids. But for kids, they are actually HUGE lies that, once told and are proven to be untrue, take away from our credibility and teach our kids not to trust us. I never told my kids untruths about our ability or inability to afford something that they wanted. I would tell them, “No. That is something that is not in our budget” if they were asking for their own mobile phone or wanting to go to the amusement park or join a sports club.

I did not/will not give my kids an allowance. I hated this rule growing up but my dad had it and I’m actually quite grateful for it now. He always said, “I buy you every-damn-thing you need. If there is something you want, come talk to me about it and we’ll decide if it’s something we can do.” So when I wanted a Mickey Mouse watch at 5 years old like my neighbor had, Dad said no. He said it was ridiculous that Michael Murphy had a watch at 5 when the “big dummy can’t tell time.” (I was born in the late 60’s and digital watches were still about 10+ years away.) So, of course, I was heartbroken. But Dad told me that if I learned how to tell time that he would buy me a watch. I accepted his challenge. I learned how to tell time in one week. (And oh, yes, I rubbed that in Michael Murphy’s face big time.) And Dad bought me my first watch at the PX  (Post Exchange for you non-military types.) It was dark blue Timex with silver numbers and hands and had a dark blue band. It was a ladies watch…for grown ups. It was so fancy. He taught me how to wind it and take care not to get it wet. I had that watch for 11 years before it finally broke. I’d earned the right to wear it. And Dad promised it and fulfilled that promise. Trust was built over something little.

When my kids wanted pocket money, I made them work for it. They always had to help around the house and I didn’t pay for that. But if they wanted something extra, I made them work a little extra. My sister-in-law thought I was mean and horrible for making Ismail make all of the beds in the house (a total of 5) after their naps one day and I only paid him 25 piasters. She thought that that was a lot of work for a 6 yr old and that he deserved more than just 5 piasters per bed. I asked what she thought was fair wages. She said 1 pound. I told her she was nuts. I explained that her own sister worked 12 hour days, 6 days a week in a factory making purses and backpacks and she only brought home 250 pounds per month. That averages out to about 1.15 pounds per hour. “He needs to learn that life in Egypt is hard and that people work hard for very little money. Then he will appreciate what he has and will take care of it and learn to work hard himself.” That was ten or twelve years ago. Now she tells me that she wishes that she had done like I did as her kids think that it’s their right to demand large amounts of money to go shopping, buy fast food and go to the movies whenever they like.

I instilled a good work ethic in them. BUT there are other things that I didn’t do right. I still haven’t let them do the other stuff. I handled their confrontations, argued with store owners who wronged them, all the typical advocating for my kids. But they didn’t learn how to do those things on their own. None of them knows how to fill out a job application on their own, their own medical history, how to drive. And I’m not preventing them from doing any of that or still doing it all for them. They’ve sort of just fallen into the habit of asking me to do it and I do it. I fear that I’ve not encouraged them enough to try stuff on their own. I’m afraid to push them out of the nest to test their wings. I know that failure is part of learning and that I have to be a good enough parent to allow them to fail. But it sucks when your job all these years has been to catch them when they fall.

My best friend and I cried together over this earlier this week. She and I have a mess of kids and our oldest are about the same age. She told me that her daughter called from her university on the other side of the state wanting her to put on her “momager” hat and call the school and handle some situation for her. My friend started to do that but then caught herself.

We women are able to have entire lengthy arguments and weigh outcomes of choices all in our minds in split seconds. Men don’t realize this, I think. But we are able to go through every option available, predict results and decide the best course of action to take all within about 3 eye blinks. We’re bionic like that.

So my friend told her daughter, “You know what? This is something you can handle. You need to call and tell them that you don’t want to change dorms again and give your reasons why. I believe in you. You can do this.” Her daughter was pouty but accepted my friend’s advice. Of course, she cried her eyes out after hanging up because she felt she was a “bad mom” for telling her NO. But this is how we have to do it. And it’s hard. And it sucks. But it’s the being there to pick up the pieces if they fall and break during their test flights outside our nests that make us good moms. And while both of us know this intellectually, it doesn’t make it any less heavy on our hearts when our kids want us to do something and we force them to do it themselves.

Have I done too much? Maybe. But we do what we can the best way we know how and trust that we’ve done it right. Excuse me. I’m going to go cry now.

 

 

 

Overbooking and Aging

I’m not really old. But I’m no Spring chicken, either. And for those of us who have been in the “over achiever” category all our lives, this whole aging thing is just ass-kicking. No, not a little tiring. I mean, beat-down with a baseball bat, friggin’ leaving you taking 3-hour naps in the middle of the day, exhausting.

When I was 18, I lived in an apartment with my sister. We both worked several jobs in order to pay the rent, utilities, phone bill, gas/maintenance on our cars, and our part time college tuition and books. And by several jobs, I mean that we were like that overworked family from the West Indies whose members all had multiple jobs on “In Living Color.”  I remember at the time working 5 days a week for my office day job from 7:30 am – 4pm and then from 5- 9pm bagging groceries on Ft Meade 3 days a week, answering the switchboard at (the now closed) Laurel Toyota and Jaguar in Laurel, Maryland from 4-9pm twice a week and all day Saturday and loading boxes onto trucks for E.I.Kane Office Movers on Sundays and days off with the other jobs. I sometimes worked overtime at my day job watching over contractors to keep them out of the “off-limits” corridors or working for our own internal office movers.

The older I got, the more part-time jobs I held down after my day job. I worked as a cashier
for Rite Aid, Romano’s Restaurant, (the now closed) Rumblefish Nightclub, Damon’s Ribs (closed down within a year of my leaving allegedly due to the owner embezzling), and various babysitting jobs, tutoring jobs, and once as a free-lance maid.

Once I got married and had kids, part-time jobs were a thing of the past. I couldn’t juggle all the schedules of five children and work plus a second job. So I made up for the “not enough to do” feeling by over-achieving at housework and cooking. I learned to sew. I would scrub down the walls and shutters and windows every month. I would scrub area rugs and wipe down cupboards and appliances. I scrubbed floor tiles and hung my laundry out to dry on the line.

I’m in my 40’s now. Screw all that shit. I keep a tidy house…mostly. I still cook amazing foods…because we can’t afford to feed a family of seven at a restaurant frequently. I now over-achieve by volunteering all the time and this Summer, my kids decided to kill me slowly by signing up for Summer School to take accelerated Physics and Geometry. That would be fine ordinarily….except they signed up for different sessions. The two taking accelerated Physics took it in the first session. The one taking accelerated Geometry signed up for the second session. Ugh. Also, the two that took the first session now both have jobs so I feel like I’m constantly behind the wheel of a car. My rotator cuff is threatening to go on strike…permanently, due to all the gear changing and u-turns required in a car that does not have power steering.

I’m currently attempting to set up 3 different fundraisers for a non-profit organization and I’m running into brick walls while trying to meet the deadlines I set for myself thanks to all the driving. Today was supposed to be a “get the house CLEAN clean” while the kids were at work and school. I ended up losing in a battle of wills with my bed that kept taunting me. I took a 3 hour nap.

I think I’m just going to admit that I’m too old to take on all of the things like I used to do. The sooner that my family can just learn to applaud when I’m able to fold and put away a basket of towels AND get the dinner made, the better. And so what if I’m getting all this accomplished while still wearing pajamas? At least I remembered deodorant and I’m remembering to put actual pants on before going grocery shopping. What more do you people want?!

 

Now That I Can Breathe Without Tears

This was my post on Facebook the day following the tragic and brutal assassination of five police officers just 20 miles east of me in Dallas. I thought I would share it here and then expand:

“I spent the better part of last night with my ear glued to the radio. I feel like a giant rock is on my chest, I am so heartbroken that this happened here. And I am bracing myself to hear what weak attempt to link this cowardly and brutal assassination of our police officers to either the “open carry” side or the “stricter gun restrictions” side of the argument.
Our police force is NOT a means to anyone’s political end. These were good people who were hunted by a sniper’s rifle while they protected peaceful demonstrators who were exercising their 1st Amendment rights to express their solidarity with people of the other communities who lost young black men in violent deaths at the hands of a few bad cops.
That said, I also firmly believe that every one of those black men who were killed by police officers throughout this country were also good men whose lives were taken out of the fear, prejudice, bad judgment, overzealousness, incompetence, or power-drunken arrogance of a select group of police officers. Just as black criminals do not represent the entire black population, those bad cops do not represent law enforcement as a whole.
My heart hurts today and I just do not want to deal with Trump or Clinton or anyone else’s politically motivated soundbites to further their own campaigns on the backs of Blue or Black coffins.
‪#‎BlackLivesMatter‬
‪#‎BackTheBlue‬
‪#‎UnitedWeStand‬

I am still “in the feels” about all of this. I have been since Trayvon Martin was shot four years ago. I’ve watched from the sidelines and spoken my peace in support of my fellow citizens from within the African-American community. I cannot ever understand how they must feel, having to worry every time their young men step outside the safety of their own homes.

I can only imagine that it is similar to how I feel every September 11th; how I go about my day with my butt cheeks clenched and acid burning a hole in my stomach as I wait for all my children and my husband to return home at the end of that day. How every time there is a shooting, hostage situation, or explosion within our borders the first thing that pops into my mind is, “Dear God. Please don’t let it be a Muslim that is committing this terrible act.” Only this anxiety for my black friends is one that they must endure in the backs of their minds EVERY day and not just annually or during some heinous event.

I want to cry out for them and I want to hug them and I want to scream. I want to be the one who organizes some sort of training program to run through all of the law enforcement academies from coast to coast and make sure that our police officers can learn to see our human sides and not affiliate skin color with criminal capability that crosses all racial lines. How do we turn off that hate? Is there an app for THAT?

I am the person who sees the good in others. I am excited that at my children’s high school on the lower socio-economic side of town, there is a police academy training program where the local community college and police academy choose from our predominately minority population to eventually protect and serve our community. This is affecting positive change in our city. I want this for all the cities. I want to see communities working together to improve the economy; opening and supporting small businesses within the poorer neighborhoods so that money is put back into the community and helping to cut unemployment rates, increase local spending, create pride.

I am not Pollyanna. I know that these things will not solve prejudicial views of all or fear due to racial misunderstandings by law enforcement agents. I know that there is no magic wand to “fix it” in the short term. But I know that what I would like to see happen would definitely contribute to a long-term fix of what’s broke in our country. I will continue to push for education opportunities within my own community. I will continue to teach my own kids empathy, fairness, and to stand on the side of right. I know that the genuinely good people of the United States will continue to do the same. And we can support our brothers and sisters of all skin colors, backgrounds, religions, cultures, and still support our law enforcement officials. I’m going to keep doing my part.

The Beauty in Asking for Help

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We got off to a late start again this year. Several of us had medical issues that affected our family lives that sort of forced us to put Starry Night Prom fundraising on the back burner. But it’s become known to us as “the little Prom that could” and it can.

I started promoting our fundraising website and blogging about past Starry Night Proms that we’ve participated in. I updated the donation letter and the giving levels list and then
added a few photos from Starry Night Prom 2015 to the fundraising site. But I needed my
son to finish recovering from his surgery and get back to school so that I could sleep longer than 3 hours at a stretch and be able to focus my energy on donations and not trying not to drive my car off the road because of the twitch in my eye.

So Saturday afternoon I sat down at my computer and began to send out emails to anyone I could think of that might have an interest in getting this thing off the ground. And on a whim, I contacted a local businessman whose service my husband and I have used on several occasions since moving to Arlington. I explained that I recognized that his company is a fixture in this community and that I see his vans all over the city almost every day while I’m out running my errands. I told him how Starry Night Prom got started
nine years ago and how every expense is paid for by the generosity of others. I asked for help.

Sponsorship to an event such as Starry Night Prom looks different for every donor. Some may donate gently used prom gowns or suits. Our photographer, DJ, and dinner are all sponsored. Sometimes logo-bearing “swag” is donated that we can include in the goodie bags that each student gets to take home; things like pens, hats, cups, refrigerator magnets, lanyards, keychains, stress-squeezers, calendars, etc. Some businesses choose to donate coupons or gift cards. We’ve had restaurants donate a meal for two, a hotel donated one free double-occupancy night, and a university donated a gift basket full of logo-bearing sports gear and free tickets to events…all of these items were raffled off and the monies collected went into the Starry Night Prom fund. And of course, they can choose to make a monetary donation.

Monday morning, Mr Ernie Clevenger, owner of Ernie’s Plumbing, read my email and then clicked on the link to the online fundraiser website. He told me that he enjoyed the bright smiles on the faces of the participants that were featured on the site. He also noticed that we only had three weeks left to meet our goal and we weren’t even halfway there.

Ernie’s Plumbing made it happen and donated the remaining funds to reach our target! His only comment on the website? God is good.

And that is the beauty in asking for help. Because Ernie is right. God IS good. And when you ask for help, He will provide.

****Further donations of goodie bag items for 300+ prom participants are still being accepted for receipt before April 28, 2016.  All donations are appreciated and tax deductible. Please contact me via email at: StarryNightProm@outlook.com  I will gladly provide you with any further information within 24 of receipt of your email. Thank you.

 

 

Girl Power…As Seen by a Boy

Last night, as I was sitting in the bleachers watching my younger daughter play softball, I overheard my son’s friend, Isaiah, mention to him and another friend, Gilberto, how much he admired the pitchers who play girls fast-pitch softball. I asked him why and he stated simply, “It’s harder to pitch like that than it is in baseball. To wind up backwards and fire that ball as fast and as hard as they do with accuracy is crazy hard. I pitch baseball and have a hard enough time controlling the ball overhand. But to throw it underhand like that with a spin on the ball and keep control? That’s way hard and so easy to tear a rotater cuff. They have it harder than we do.”

I think Isaiah is pretty cool.

**I throw like a girl…that’s why your hand’s burning!**

 

Out of Sight Out of Mind (aka Adventures in Homemaking)

Three days in a row, I’ve gone to the half bath in the girls’ room to use the toilet and each time SURPRISE! just an empty cardboard tube where the toilet paper should be. Does this bother me? Of course. I am actually thinking of employing a BYOTP policy in this house. Does it bother me as much as it does you? Probably not. See, you’re probably thinking, “EWWW! Gross. They don’t use toilet paper.” But it’s not so gross as it is WET. We bought these bidet attachments at Home Depot and hooked them up to the toilets in our house a couple of years ago. (This is not a new idea throughout the Middle East or in Japan.) It’s what we’ve used since forever ago. They’re relatively cheap and very easy to install. We go through far less toilet paper than the average American family, have fewer “skid marks” in underwear, fewer complaints of hemorrhoids, and we rarely have clogged sewage lines due to TP blockage. (It’s usually hair in the tub drain.)

At any rate, I still don’t appreciate having Taylor Swift added to my LIFE’S SOUNDTRACK although that IS what pops into my head and I always giggle to think that this would make an interesting, albeit less-than-family-viewing rated video addition on the music channels. But because the ginormous econo-pak of 48 rolls of 700 2-ply sheets of toilet paper (that we basically use to dry off with following the washing) is in the hallway closet. I know, how inconvenient. I keep 3-4 rolls under the sink in each bathroom but once those are gone, no one ever restocks them. And I, for the last 3 days while embracing my short attention span, have neglected to do the same. TODAY, I forced myself to “hold it” while I grabbed 4 rolls and stocked under the sinks.

“Out of sight, out of mind” is NOT a great philosophy to have when you need visual prompts like I do. We’ve had to spend Thanksgiving weekend in the dark because my husband hates clutter and he grabbed all the “still need to be paid bills” and threw them into a shopping sack and shoved said sack into that tiny cupboard above the refrigerator so that he didn’t have to look at the cluttered papers stacked on the counter in the kitchen. A) Don’t see it. Don’t pay it. 2) We had an electric stove at the time. Coldcut sandwiches for Thanksgiving was a new one for me. And lastly) I’m 5′ 3″. I didn’t even know we HAD cupboards above the refrigerator.

I AM patting myself on the back today though. I am all caught up on the kitchen. I had done the dishes last night. However, the 20-year old college student was up late doing homework. So I woke up to a sinkful of dishes and glasses all over the counter tops. But I washed them all up. I even cleaned out the inside of that tiny microwave I keep hidden in the laundry room because I’m afraid of it. (Intellectually, I know it’s not going to “get me all radioactived up” but still. One can never be too safe. Plus it hogs up all my counter space and I’m NOT getting rid of my coffee pot.)

And then I decided to empty all the plastic ware (read: petri dishes) that were taking up all of the room in my refrigerator. With as many teens with bionic metabolisms as I have, we rarely have leftovers. Occasionally, I’ll overshoot when projecting how much of something we need at dinner. But usually the only thing we have leftovers of is rice. I dumped about 6 of those fancy storage containers into the trash today and realized that I DON’T actually need to buy more plastic bowls with lids. I just need to make less rice at dinner. I washed up the bowls and lids and now I feel so accomplished. (NO. I didn’t wipe down the refrigerator shelves. I have to leave SOMETHING for the punishment of the smartmouths or as a way to earn money for when my youngest complains about being too young to have a job and can I reconsider giving him an allowance.)

Also, I’ve managed to free myself up today to do fun volunteering stuff at the school because either the laws of physics are no longer working in my oven or I just waited too long to take the chicken out of the freezer yesterday. I cook chicken and potatoes in a deep dish pan covered in foil ALL THE TIME and it’s never taken longer than 1.5 hours at 350 degrees. EVER. Last night, 2.5 hours. My husband had a friend over helping him with some electrical work. I was SOOOOOO embarrassed that it was 8:30 and not only was the chicken still bleeding but it was SQUAWKING. I made a quick executive decision, threw some pasta on to boil, fried up some turkey bacon, mushrooms, onions, and a jalepeno pepper, dumped some seasonings, canned tomatoes and a little tomato paste in there and served it over the noodles with some shredded mozzarella and a side order of broccoli.
I call it “Pasta a la Whatever-the-hell-I-found-in-the-fridge-besides-old-rice-in-plastic-containers.” It was a hit. And I don’t have to cook today because I’m just heating up the finally done chicken (and fresh rice) that I made last night.

Silver linings, people. Silver linings.