Sometimes I forget to share just how lucky I am.

I am married to a bona fide handy man.

Because of this, I cannot even begin to calculate how much money we have saved over the years on repair bills or replacement items. I am convinced that there is nothing he can't fix. He takes things apart that I would not touch with a ten foot pole. Things that have parts and pieces so small, I can barely see them. And he always finds a way to "fix" a problem.

We recently had an ant situation in our cottage bathroom. Our "bug guy" as I like to call him, came and sprayed, but did not successfully handle the situation. There were still big black ants randomly marching out from under the toilet base. Gross.

Let me just say it is an uncomfortable feeling, especially for a girl, when you have to sit on the toilet knowing ants might be crawling up the side.

So, Mike decided to tackle our ant situation.

First, he put on his very fashionable "under the cottage suit".

I think he's kind of sexy in a "guy in uniform" sort of way.

Then, armed with ant killer stuff and a flashlight, he prepared to crawl under the cottage to see what's what.

This is his irritated you-are-not-really-taking-pictures-of-me-for-your-blog-look. 

Just watching him slide the panel back to reach the opening caused my claustrophobia to kick in. No way could I crawl into that hole. No way could I rescue him, should something happen to him under there.

Checking out the situation.

Just think about it.

He has no idea what is lurking in the dark. What if there's a snake, or a bed of snakes, a whole super colony of ants, or a skunk? I totally freaked myself out with this train of thought and made Mitch be on standby should Mike need assistance.

He didn't, of course.

Somehow this shot makes it look like there is more room under there. 
He has to crawl on his belly and in some spots cannot even turn his head.

My hero. 

Unfortunately, the results of his trek underneath the cottage netted a whole lot of nothing. He didn't see any nests of ants, or an indication that they were eating away at the underbelly of our cottage. But he sprayed under there just to be safe. And I have to admit that since then, the ant situation has been much more tolerable.

  

I am in awe of what he can do.

Admittedly he sometimes takes longer than I want him to in doing the repairs (that patience thing rearing its ugly head again), but he always comes through.

I so love that about him. 

My lack of mad skills in the fixing department came from both my parents. It's genetic. Did I ever tell you about the time my dad blew up a toaster? And, he once exploded a bike tire while attempting to patch and repair it. My brother-in-laws are not terribly handy either, so Mike is the shining star.

Gotta love my own personal "Mr. Fix It".

Thanks honey, for all that you do.

Thanks to my dear friend Gayle for reminding me of this passage, and for loaning me her book so long ago.

Sunset on Big Star Lake, My happy place

Let It Go

Let go of the ways you thought life would unfold; the holding of plans or dreams or expectations—Let it all go. Save your strength to swim with the tide. The choice to fight what is here before you now will only result in struggle, fear, and desperate attempts to flee from the very energy you long for. Let go. Let it all go and flow with the grace that washes through your days whether you receive it gently or with all your quills raised to defend against invaders. Take this on faith: the mind may never find the explanations that it seeks, but you will move forward nonetheless. Let go, and the wave’s crest will carry you to unknown shores, beyond your wildest dreams or destinations. Let it all go and find the place of rest and peace, and certain transformation.—Danna Faulds, From Go In and In/ Poems from the Heart of Yoga

I recently wrote a post about letting go and have been doing my best to do just that.

To let go.

But somehow crap keeps slapping me in the face, throwing me off balance, and my quills are suddenly raised. (Did you read the quote above?) This is not a good thing, as instantly my positive mojo poofs. And the negative energy begins to grow and the beating myself up begins.

I am sharing this because I need to let go the negative. And I've found in the sharing, I find the strength to do that, piece by piece.

I am my own worst critic. Heck, I take things personally. I self motivate and self monitor.

So, in my heart I know that I am a person of value, that I bring something to the table and that somewhere there is a place for me. But, in my head, I cannot stop the second guessing.

What have I not done, what am I missing, what am I doing wrong? How can they not see the me I know I am?

Is my vision of myself so different from what those who criticize, question and second guess the very core of me, see?

I hope not.

I'm beginning to realize that perhaps it isn't me, it is them. They are the ones who need to step back and take a look at the direction they are going, at how their words and actions are perceived, and what is at their core.

I know what is at mine.

I am a person with a plan. A goal. A path. A list. Always.

Well, until now.
What lies before me is unclear. It's a grey area.

I have never been good without knowing the next step. Grey areas are not my thing. I want a plan. A next move. A direction. A step forward.

Something.

And did I mention that patience is not one of my virtues?

Good things happen to good people. Good things happen to good people. Good things happen to good people. My new mantra.

I know this. I believe this. And, I have come to realize that I am not the only one out there who is a bit lost.

Many of us are trying to determine "What do I really want to be When I Grow Up? "

The knowing that I am not alone, is a huge comfort.

Let's keep telling ourselves that the possibilities are endless. That we are worthy. That our next step is right around the corner.

Transformation, here I come. Oops, I mean here we come.

I am pretty sure that I hate menopause.

You see, I am hot, then I am cold. All night long I sweat, then cover up, then throw off the covers, then....I start all over again. Sometimes it even happens during the day. Hot flashes are ridiculous. I never expected they would bother me. But they do.

And let's not even talk about not sleeping at night because your mind won't shut off.

I find it extremely unfair that women have all the crap to go through. Periods. Childbirth. Post partum depression. Menopause.

Guys walk around on hot summer days, shirtless. Um yes, can I do that please? It would save a lot of shirts from sweat pits.

Guys can pee in the woods, and not have to take toilet paper along with them. Not fair on many levels.

Guys can "not shave" for a week and say they are working on their beards. Girls have to shave their legs every day in the summer or they risk hurting people. Mostly ourselves.

Guys have it so much easier. Good thing then, that women are stronger creatures.
Waaaay stronger.

Rock on, girls.

Not exactly the way I expected to spend my Friday night. I imagined it may have involved pizza, a glass of wine, a book, maybe even a pontoon ride. Instead I spent it in the emergency room in Ludington with three teenagers I barely knew.

Who knew I would actually have such a good time?

Okay, maybe it was not so good a time for the guy we took there. Bloody lip, fuzzy brain. In the end it all worked out okay, the procedural CT scan they immediately order when someone loses consciousness (even for a minute) came out okay, and no stitches were necessary, instead they super glued him up.

Man we so could have done that ourselves (just kidding).

It looked awful. Photo credit courtesy of my son Mitch. I would never have thought to take a pic.

I love it when life just works out sometimes. 

For the first time ever, Mitch has been hanging out with some boys he met at the lake this summer. Wakeboarding, surfing, doing whatever boys do. I was starting to get curious about what kind of kids they really were. My momdar (mom radar) was telling me it might be time to check them out. I'm used to knowing who he hangs with.

Yesterday, when I came up from the beach, they were all here. Perfect. We needed a spotter for a tubing run, and they all agreed to come along. 

I had only met one of the boys, once for about 5 minutes. Mostly I just knew their names, and a couple details I'd gathered up and tucked away about them, one was an outdoorsman, one's parents had split, both went to Grandville high...little things like that. But me, being me, likes the nitty gritty details. What are their grades like, their attitudes, are they polite, are they responsible, do they have jobs? (I did already mention in an earlier post that I like to ask questions, right?).

Yep, it was my idea, I took them tubing. (And yes, there is a bit of residual guilt over me having been the boat driver, for it being my idea, and mostly that this accident occurred on my watch.) Anyway, the girls tubed, then the boys jumped onto what we call our "old lady tube", the virtually unflippable tube that anyone can ride. To make it more exciting, the boys decided to try flipping the unflippable.

They were successful. Somewhere in the third flip, his friend's teeth went thru his lip.

Holy bloody mess. Ick.

Being a mom, I could not send him a half an hour away to the ER with his little brother in charge. Little, is a bit of a misnomer, his brother is 16 going on 30. I put myself in their mom's place and knew I'd want some parental supervision in attendance. It was a face wound after all, and it looked like it was going need 12 stitches.

No question, I'm taking him.

The four of us set off on our adventure, my injured party, his little brother, another friend of theirs, and me. It began a little crazy, the minor concussion my injured party had received, along with the lip cut, had made him a little fuzzy. He was talking a bit of gibberish from the backseat, and at times, he was downright funny. (When I could laugh and stop thinking about all the stitches I thought he would need.)

We made our trek to the Ludington ER, the boys taking my mind off of the worry by joking and talking. After checking in and being told we'd have "quite a wait" (is it ever any different than that?), we settled in. Being prepared, I had brought along a book.

Much to my surprise, I never even opened that book. I never even wanted to.

The time spent waiting in a hospital ER usually crawls by, but this time, it flew by. Me, asking questions of the boys and listening to their answers, them telling me stories, sharing more details of their lives to add to my "mental file" on them, and a grunt or two from the injured guy who had ice on his lip...and a whopping headache.

I cannot tell you how refreshing it was to sit with kids I barely knew, and have them talk to me. Really talk. And not "at" me or begrudgingly, because they had to. It seemed like they wanted to talk to me.  To me, this mom --who wasn't afraid to go all "mom" at them--asking where are your shoes, bossing them around, making them wear their seatbelts in the backseat-- whom they didn't even know.

I loved it. Without the accident, and the ensuing trip to the hospital, I probably never would have had the opportunity to get to know these boys so well, so fast. I'm counting my blessings for the experience.

And I'll cherish it as one of those special bonding experiences that only happens in a crisis. Proof positive they got the Terri seal of approval: by the end of the night I  asked them to check my teeth for Beer Nut skins. And I think we talked about poop. (No, not really.)

Great guys. Great adventure. I am so lucky my kid knows how to pick his friends.

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I ask a lot of questions.

According to my kids, I often don't know when to stop.

In my opinion, if you don't ask, then you don't know. And knowledge is power. I am not embarrassed to stick my hand up and ask for clarification (anywhere) if I do not understand something. I am also not afraid to put myself out there to ask a question, especially if I believe others in the room will also want to hear the answer.

But I do remember a time when I too, was afraid to ask, it might have been as far back as middle school, though. I think somewhere in my growing up years I realized that I was more embarrassed making mistakes from not understanding, than I was by being embarrassed asking questions. And after a few times of putting myself out there to ask, risking ridicule, but not receiving it, I got brave. I realized others were getting answers and clarification out of my questions as well. And even the "speaker" or teacher--- or whomever I was asking, seemed to appreciate the questions.

(Well, most of the time). I can be a little intense.

I know from speaking in front of groups myself, that when someone asks me a question during, or at the end of my presentation, it tells me that they were listening. If something I said was unclear, and I can then clarify it for them, then I, as a speaker, know to incorporate this question or clarification into my message the next time I share it. I love getting questions. I think it makes my presentations better.

Maybe time will give my children the confidence to ask questions. I am hoping that they too, realize the power of knowledge. And that not fully understanding something, only leads to mistakes and frustration all around.

There are times I purposefully try to remain quiet to allow others the opportunity to ask questions. But they don't, or won't. That frustrates and amazes me.

As an example, sometimes in sales meetings with my peers, no one asks any questions after a presentation. So I raise my hand and begin. And oftentimes, people thank me later for clarifying. What? Didn't they too, want to fully understand the material so they could figure out what it means to them?

Sometimes I ask questions even if it isn't information I will ever use, but I like to fully grasp things. Over time, I have come to realize that if I don't understand something, there is a pretty good chance that someone else who may really need to use the information, isn't understanding it either. (Except math. Don't even go there with me. It never makes sense no matter how many questions I ask, or how many times someone explains it).

I will give the younger generation a slight pass about this, at least until they grow up some, but I get pretty frustrated when I send my kids off on a fact finding mission only to have them ask one question. One. Question. What do you learn from that? Usually not nearly all that you need to know.

I have a lot of friends who are ten, or even twenty years younger than I am. In most cases, they do not step up to ask the right questions either. Why is that, I wonder? Don't they want to know? Maybe it is because they just don't know what to ask...or maybe they are just not comfortable enough in their own skin, to ask. Whatever the reason, I would like to bring back the art of asking questions to people of all ages.

I tell my children, my younger friends, heck, even my older friends, if you don't get something, ask a question. It shouldn't be scary. It should be empowering. After all, if you are at a presentation or a meeting, it is the speaker's job to make their message understandable and clear. If you stop at an information desk, it is their job to assist you. If you have a meeting scheduled with a college advisor,  it is their job to advise you. But at all of those places it is your job to ask the questions, to mine the information you need, to fully understand it.

So if a person's message is not coming through clearly, ask for clarification. If a person's answer does not clarify things in your mind, ask another. You should be confident in asking questions to learn the answers. It's called dialogue. 

I believe that asking a question shows your strength, not your weakness. I am also convinced that others around you benefit from your stepping up to ask a question. That's a win/win situation, right? So, ask away. Being a little uncomfortable or nervous when you first learn to ask is normal. But the more you ask, the easier it will be in every aspect of your life. 

Think how smart you will be then?

I am almost 49 years old. I am not afraid to ask questions. Nor should you be.

Knowledge is power, my friend.

I find it ironic (and really sweet) that Leanna, one of Alec's best friends, and an-almost-daughter to us, wrote a blog post about true love and said some nice things about the relationship that Mike and I have together. She said we made it seem effortless. And somehow we make her believe that true love exists. See her full post here.

Ha! Why do I think it is ironic? Because I had just written the following blogpost without even having seen what she had posted yet.
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Really...did I really have to end it on that note?

Last day of our week of vacation and what do I do? I go all sensitive. And well,I kinda freaked out a little I guess. Here's what happened.

There are some things I do that I am completely confident in. Hosting a party (of any size) is one. Driving a boat on a busy lake? Most of the time. But not on Sunday.

First off, it was windy. Second, I could see lots of boats getting ready to take off at 11 am. Third, I was not feeling it. I chose not to ski first, like I often do, but offered to drive Mike if he wanted to go.

He did.

"Which way do you want to go?" I asked. (We have three coves we can head to from our dock).

"You're the driver, you choose." He replies.

Hmmn. Indecision. I'm a little unsure now. What if I choose the wrong way and all the boat traffic is there? What if I choose the windiest cove? I don't want to choose, boat driver or not.

I know which way I want to go when I go up. It is almost always the same way. The way I see it, if the water is bad and I choose that way--it is my fault. No one to blame but me. But when the skier asks the boat driver to choose, the bad water is kind of their fault. They chose the wrong way. At least that's how I have always felt. Maybe Mike does not really care as he tells me...but that niggling seed of doubt creeps in and so begins my unravel.

I choose a path and off we go. He falls on the up. Was it my fault, I wonder?

Alec tells me I went too fast. I felt like I did it the same as I always do though. More doubt.

"Did I go too fast?" I ask Mike as the boat comes around. Prepared to take the blame if I did something wrong.

"No" he says. I'm still unsure.

He gets up on the second attempt but already boats are bearing down on us. I take a turn that cuts off a portion of the cove to get ahead of the pack. Mike falls again.

Now the personal watercraft  brigade is barreling at us. All five of them in a pack, cruising the lake at 10:56 am. (Four minutes before anyone is even supposed to be out making a wake on the lake. Yes, we cheated it too.)

He gets up again and I head off for the "good"" water that lies ahead as more boats are going up all around us. Great. Now I am really getting stressed about navigating between boats, trying to stay ahead of the personal watercraft brigade, and keeping the speed consistent at 32.5 mph for Mike to ski.

I am relieved when the brigade cuts slightly to the left, short of the good water, that's a nice move I think. But I am going faster than they are and pretty soon we are riding parallel to each other. Shore on right. Brigade on left. Doofus on the jet ski in the brigade has no idea he is making a beeline into my direct path. Hey doofus, I am towing someone, I have the right of way.

As we get closer and I have no where to go, the doofus has not even looked over his shoulder, I yell. Same time as Mike shouts, the guy on the jet ski turns to look...surprised no doubt, that we are so close to him. He veers left out of my path, but I still have a super narrow opening to navigate ahead. I think about signaling Mike to drop, but he does it on his own, he sees the situation. He's done.

Relief. No more driving in this wind and the boat traffic. Poor Mike, I think...that was a rotten ski run he just had. What an idiot jet skier. What kickin' wind.

Alec: You should've sounded the air horn at him, mom.

Me: I wanted to, but I didn't have time.

Boat driving is tough. Sometimes I hate it. Thinking that Mike knows this and understands, I was totally surprised when he says:

"Not enough time? You had five minutes to see he was coming?" (As in... if I were driving, I would have sounded the airhorn.) Or at least that is what I hear.

I respond defensively, now feeling very unsure about this whole thing, that I do not have enough hands/skill/ability to drive at the right speed, watch the idiot jet skier to make sure I don't hit him, steer around all other obstacles and decide what I should do next....I'm not that talented. I can't also be expected to sound the airhorn.

"Yeah", Mike says to Alec, "but she can drive, drive, drive".

Would you take that as a compliment? A validation of my driving skills? I didn't.

I heard, yeah...all she can do is drive. One thing at a time. No air horn blowing is possible out of her.

Now I am not only feeling defensive. But hurt. And mad. My face apparently confirms this.

Mike hollers from the back of the boat, "What. I'm kidding. I'm joking. Can't you take a joke?"

Nope. I guess I can't.

I drive the boat back in silence to our boat lift. We unload in silence. I do not look at Mike. I go to my chair, grab my book, lay down. I know I am being sensitive, but his words keep replaying over in my mind, and I cannot find a good way to take his comments.

I know I need to let it go. I'm doing a yoga breath. I'm attempting to chill. And then Mike comes over. He's pissed. His body language is telling me this. I think... don't say it. Don't say anything. Just let me get over this.

"You're not really mad are you? Can't you take a joke?" But he says it in an I am so pissed way, not a nice, I'm sorry kind of way.

The tears start welling up. I open my mouth to try to explain why I am upset. I attempt it. I repeat his words and ask, how can I hear these as a joke? Tears are rolling down my face now.

He interrupts, "I'm so pissed off that you are mad about this. You are twisting my words around, and now I am mad." He might even have stomped his foot. (Or maybe I am just imagining that).

Great. Hold on here. I'm the mad one. I'm the hurt one. I'm the one who has the right to be pissed off, aren't I?

So how did I get to be the one in the wrong? And he's yelling at me on the dock. And it is the last day of our vacation.

What the heck?

I know that I am sensitive and that I get stressed when I drive the boat. But here's the thing. I am stressed when I am made fun of and criticized by our children who do not even drive the boat. And to top it all off, I am even more unsure of myself when Mike doesn't take my side.

He didn't do his thing that makes me feel better, that makes me feel less like an idiot for not sounding the airhorn when clearly he would have been capable of it. He was sarcastic. He made a joke of me.

He hurt my feelings.

I think maybe there is truth to the Men Are From Mars, Women Are From Venus thing. How can two people see/hear/live the same conversation so differently?

All I needed was confirmation that it was a tough situation and that I handled it okay. Even a gentle, next-time-you might-try-blowing-the-air-horn comment would be better than the way this whole thing went down.

That's what I needed to feel from my boys. A little support. A little love. A little less sarcasm.

Guys are so weird. Admittedly girls are sometimes sensitive. I am sensitive. And a seed of doubt about my own ability, grows and grows with both sarcasm and criticism. Until I freak out. Hey, I am normally a strong woman. I mostly hold my own. But there are times when I lack confidence. And I am sensitive. And I freak out.

In Leanna's words:
Fights happen, misunderstandings happen, but being able to work through it is more important than what the incident is about. Its finding the middle ground, the common area, and getting there. It's moving forward, together. Forever and Always.

She's right.

Later, it was all okay. Crisis passed. Common ground found.

Leanna, you are wise beyond your years. And I love you forever and always.

And Men are really from Mars.....

P.S. I did apologize to Mike for being so sensitive. I don't think he has apologized yet for getting pissed at me, for getting mad at him.

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“Variety's the very spice of life, That gives it all its flavor”

--- William Cowper

Triangle pose at the lake.

I had the opportunity to sub for a yoga class last week. One that I have never subbed at before.

My confidence began wavering as the date got closer. I started getting nervous that this particular class would not like my style. That maybe I wouldn’t be “good enough” when compared to their normal instructor. That somehow, heaven forbid, I might disappoint them.

As confident as I may seem to people who know me, there is a weird part of me that is still a scared little girl who doesn’t feel like she has grown up. She wants everyone to like her, and she absolutely, positively does not want to let anyone down. Heck, I'll be honest, she does NOT want to fail.

But the mature part of me has learned that it is just not possible. You cannot please everyone or be liked by everyone all the time. So, it would be ridiculous to think that everyone in this yoga class would like me and my style, right?

Right.

I'll admit that I'm a bit of a "routine" person myself. I do seem to always have a schedule or a plan, and I am not so great with change. For example, I may frequent different restaurants, but once I find something I like, I seem to order the same thing from that restaurant every time I go. Is that weird?

The way I see it, I know what to expect at each restaurant, therefore I am not disappointed by trying something new and wishing I had just stuck with what I know and like. I still get variety because I go to different restaurants, and of course I do not order the same thing at each place. That would be very boring. So this way I get the best of both worlds, good food that I like, a little variety and no disappointment in choosing something I am later sorry I tried.

Okay, it might be weird, but it is me.

Routine = Safe = Happy me.

For all my love of routines, and keeping things same/same, one place I love a little variety is in my yoga practice. Trying out new yoga classes and new instructors is something I regularly do. Variety is a perfect spice for yoga because who wants to do the same routine every class? Or who wants to hear the same phrasing? That would also be boring. As a student, I welcome the opportunity to experience a new instructor. It inevitably shows me a new perspective, a new style, a new way of getting into a pose, whatever it is, the variety equals a better experience for me.

Even if, by experiencing a new instructor, I realize I learned something that I don't like.

So as I mentally prepared for this class, and my case of nerves got even worse, my sweet husband looked me square in the eyes and said: “Stop it. You will be fine. I'd better not hear you get up in front of this class and apologize for anything. Period. Just do the class your way and have fun. ”

Can I just say that he was so right?

Having fun is exactly what I did. And even though I felt like I should, I didn't apologize. I encouraged them to appreciate the variety in instruction.

A funny thing happened on the way to "fun" for me.…. my nervousness, my fear, my competition with the regular instructor (which was only in my own mind anyway) vanished.

It left room for yoga. And some spice. And fun.

I thought it went well. The instructor may never ask me back, but hey, I had a good time.

For those of you who like their yoga routine the same/same. I get that. But don't forget to be open to the possibilities and new perspectives that a sub may bring. Who knows, a little yoga spice might be just what your practice needs.

Are you a fixer?

I am.

When I come face to face with a problem, my first reaction is to try to find a solution. To fix it.

I've come to realize that it might not always be the right reaction. And in some cases, the situation may be impossible to fix.

I have spent the last 11 years at the same company. In those 11 years, I have attempted to make a difference in the company, in the company's bottom line, and to those I work with. But I have recently realized that despite my efforts, it is a losing battle.

In the scheme of this company, one person cannot change a tide.

After sleepless nights, and countless arguments within myself, I have come to the conclusion that I have given it my best effort. 

I have in essence,  failed. Big time.

Surprisingly I have no regrets. I have done my best to do what I think is the right thing, only to realize since no one is in support of my ideas, it really isn't going to make the kind of difference I want to make.

And even as I repeat to myself, Let it go. Let it go. Let it go, I begin the second guessing. The what ifs---the what could have beens.

Do you do that, too?

Or is it just me?

If there is a problem in my life, I tend to be tenacious about fixing it. And it tends to affect me deeply when I fail. It saps my self confidence, my usual unshakable belief in myself.

Looking back over my life, there have been many things that I have succeeded at, and very few that I have failed at. It makes me a little frustrated, a lot sad, and maybe a bit mad that this job is one of them.

I totally get stuck in the what could-have-beens. And the what should-have-beens.

So, how do you deal with the what ifs in your life?

Do you second guess yourself? Get frustrated? Does it throw you into a tailspain and make you lose your focus when you realize that you cannot facilitate the changes you know are necessary?

Like it does to me.

From every experience, success or failure, there comes something positive. I think the most positive thing I learned from this experience is that I gave it my best shot. And I failed. And there is no shame in that. It is okay. Some things are just out of my control.

If at the end of the day you still believe in yourself and in what you tried to do, then you can step away with your head held high, knowing that some things, will never change.

And there is freedom in the knowledge that it is time to give up, move on, and find your real place.

In my case, you might even say that in the acceptance of what isn't, is a new understanding of what is. Ideas. Possibilities. Potential. 

And now... well now, the possibilities are endless. There is a certain freedom that comes in the letting go.

If you find yourself stuck in whatever it is, take the time to really examine your place. Are you making the kind of difference you want to make? Is there frustration in the not being able to accomplish what you know should be accomplished?

If so, let it go. And see where the journey takes you.

That is what I intend to do.

And so far, the possibilities have surprised me.

It's been hot around here for the last week. Super hot. Turn-the-air-conditioner-on-at-the-house hot.

For those of you who do not know me all that well, I rarely turn on the air. It costs way too much money to run and I am cheap, plus I like open windows. And I hate being freezing in our basement, where we hang out most often, when the air is on just to make the upstairs bedrooms tolerable.

The air has been on for two straight weeks. That means it has been HOT. (I gotta stop thinking about how big the electric bill is going to be, or it will ruin my vacation.)

I was wishing the hot was going to last throughout our week of vacation, but today we woke up to cool and crisp air.  I am sure most people are saying a really loud hallelujah.

I am just a little sad to see it go. There is sun in that sky though, and I still plan to take advantage of the warm lake water the heat left behind. Yesterday after my walk, I waterskied, wakeboarded, and wakesurfed, then topped it off with some volleyball. Good times.

For this vacation, Mitch and I arrived a night earlier than the rest of the crew. The day we left town it had been so hot, I couldn't wait to get to the water. And as usual it was several degrees cooler here when we stepped out of the car. Or at least that is how it always feels. Big relief. Huge sigh.

I am in my happy place here.

After all the usual unloading, bed making, and assorted grocery unpacking chores, I sat down to finish up some work that came in late in the day. Then all of a sudden I got hot. Like sweat on my upper lip kind of hot... instantly.

Hot flash? (This seems to be happening a lot lately--I go from comfortable to inferno in an instant. So many women have said, "Just wait", about the inevitable hot flashes. Now I can blame the heat, but I am fairly certain that it was only part of the problem.)

Why don't guys have to deal with hot flashes? No fair.

So as I sat at the computer, in the midst of my hot flash, I think, "Hey, there's water out there... and then I hear myself saying Mitch, let's go jump in the lake."

Silence. It's 10:30 pm. It's dark. Oh crap, what was I thinking.

Eeeewww is what I'm sure he's now thinking. My mom just asked me to go skinny dipping.

(I didn't of course, but for a second it felt like I did.)

So, I steel myself for the usual "no" answer...in his you-are-so-lame-mom, tone of voice.

 Instead, he says "Where's my suit?"

Which makes me think, maybe it was the heat and not a hot flash after all :)

Either way I cannot tell you how much fun it was to be in the dark, in the 85+ degree water with Mitch.

Just floating. Chatting. Treading water. Letting the water work its magic and cool us down.
Both of us thinking how lucky we are to have a place on this beautiful lake.

This past year hasn't been full of many great mom/son moments with Mitch. In fact, mostly we just fight. So I will take great moments with him anytime I can get them.

Great time. Great kid. Great memory.

P.S. And just for the record, we were fully suited.

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I’ve been thinking a lot about confidence lately.

Ever wish you could see yourself the way others see you? Like from the outside in?

What do you expect to see when you look in the mirror? Do you think you are going to see your “young” face, the way you feel deep down inside, or do you expect to see the reality? The real you, the face the world sees, the... older you?

Obviously this isn't me and me. But it is my niece, who looks like the "young" version of me.

I have always felt like a little kid deep down inside and I kind of expect that is the way that everyone sees me. A little geeky, a little unsure. (The girl with braces, glasses, the big sticky outie ears and way too bushy of eyebrows.)

So when I look in the mirror I always expect to see that younger me, and all my perceived flaws. The “Zits”, which came on the scene when I was 18, (okay I was a really late bloomer), popped in and have never really gone away. They are so much a part of my life that I have to capitalize their collective name because some have been so big they even have their own names. Anyone remember the one we called Bindi on New Year’s Eve 2010?)

The 2010 Bindi zit. See it? And weird angle too, so I also have a double chin. 
(Probably should not even have posted this pic).

For years I washed my face with Dial soap, then used rubbing alcohol to dry out my oily face even more, then I slathered on the big blobs of white Clearasil. (I know you are cringing right now, I am, too). But that is what I did. I thought that drying out my face would stop those zits from coming. Little did I know, it really had the opposite effect. Drying out your skin encourages it to produce more oil to soften it up, thus leading to the clogs in the pores and the inevitable blemishes.

I didn’t know. No one told me this back then. There was no Internet to google answers from and in my family we didn’t use makeup, so there were no visits to salons for facials or skincare consulting. I did what I thought was logical. Dry up that oil.

Someone set me straight in my early 30’s, post pregnancy and still slathering on the Clearasil. My little sister had a do-it-yourself facial party with products for sale. (She’s 13 years younger than me, and she is the only girl in our family to wear any makeup other than mascara).

So my other sister Shelly and I, were forced to attend this party which on a good day I would hate to go to. (Events like this make me super conscious of my lack of beauty knowledge and I feel extremely inadequate.) But this day was made even worse by the fact that for some unknown reason, I had huge hangover. I had little kids, what the heck was I even doing drinking at all?

Since I was a bit fuzzy to begin with, and since I had never let anyone touch my face for a facial, after all I had my special drying out routine, I was making sure to listen to the party leader so I did not screw up and create more of a zitty mess on my face.

Very carefully I followed her directions about applying the green facial mask everywhere on my face except the tender area around my eyes. Then, as I waited the required amount of time for it to dry, I looked up to see how Shelly was faring.

You can only imagine my shock when I saw that she had done exactly the opposite of what the lady said.

She now had green rings around ONLY her eyes, like a raccoon. Yep, you can’t make stuff like this up.

Pretty sure at that point I screeched…..noooooooooo….and everyone in the room looked at me like I was a little nuts, after all I had been pretty quiet, hangover and all.

I pointed in horror at my doofus of a sister. The party lady rushed over to calmly tell her to get it off, get it off now!

Yeah, go ahead and laugh, we still do. Another legendary Shelly story.

Eventually a friend of a friend who sold Mary Kay products explained to me that I needed a soap designed for faces. And I needed to moisturize. What? Really? Add more oil to my already oily face? Who knew?

So I tried it. And after a while things got a bit better. Not one to change up my beauty routine for years on end in case it might make things worse, I relied on this Mary Kay face soap for another decade and a half. In fact, I changed it up only slightly over the years to add in some moisturizer with anti-aging properties. Pretty smart of me, eh?

But to be honest, my face still never felt…well, confident.

That is, not until I attended the Gleek Retreat Blogging Conference in May, and Therapon Skin Health was one of the sponsors. I tried a Therapon mini facial and I fell in love.

With my own face.

The way it feels, the way it glows. (Okay so maybe I am exaggerating a little about the glowing) but you know what… since it feels to me, like it glows, it gives me more confidence.

I’ll admit I was a little scared to try the complimentary mini facial at the conference…I had not allowed anyone, until that day, to touch my face. And I was nervous she’d take one look at my skin, cringe, and yell at me for all the abuse I have given it over the years. But she didn’t. She was awesome. She gently applied the products and after a quick mini facial my face felt better than it had ever felt. Even as that little kid. 

I could not stop touching it.

Three days later after using the free samples she supplied, I was scared NOT to buy the system for fear my face would never feel that good again.

Sold. Only three days after trying it. It is easy, quick and makes my face feel fantastic. Wish I would have discovered it years ago!

I am normally not a product reviewer, but I asked if I could do this review in exchange for another set of the Theraderm Skin Renewal System to take to my cottage. (The hauling it back and forth from home to the cottage every weekend was getting a bit old). 

And woo hoo, Christina from Therapon agreed.

The Theraderm Skin Renewal System is worth every penny I spent on it. Not only for how great my face feels, but also for the confidence I now have in my own face. I encourage you to give your face, old or young-- whichever you see in that mirror, some Therapon Skin Health love.

Check out the Therapon Skin Renewal System on their website at: www.Therapon.com

Why is it that I can never give my concentration to one single thing at a time anymore?

It’s frustrating.

The other day someone said that it is impossible to multi-task, it just means you take longer to accomplish less. I had to disagree. I usually get a lot done in the most efficient means possible. (Like when I “watch” tv, I am usually also doing something else at the same time… paying bills, doing my nails, folding clothes, crafting with paper, looking through recipes, writing a blogpost) well, you get the idea.

But I kind of miss the days of getting totally absorbed in one specific task.

I spent the weekend with a 2 year old. When she plays, she plays. She might get slightly distracted by a dog racing by in the sand or a loud boat cruising past on the water… but she’s pretty focused on the task at hand.

I, however, am not.

For a while little Sadie and I played on the beach with a wagon, then a boogie board (she thinks it was a surf board), and then a watering can. We moved from one task to another, spending time on each one. I’m not even 100% sure she was the one who changed tasks, maybe I did, getting bored, wanting to move to another spot located more in the sun, or maybe it was Sadie deciding she'd had her fill of the game. Whatever the reason we moved on to something new, I admired the way she focused on the task at hand. While we played with the watering can, we totally played with the watering can.

It was the same little routine every time. We hold the can under water, watching it bubble as it fills. She says “up” indicating I should lift her onto the dock, then she pours the water out to “wash” the dock (making all the drier lighter areas turn dark with the water), until the can is empty. Then we repeat it all again. The same way each time. Over and over and over.

Why can’t I do that? Why am I always changing it up? Trying to do more in less time? I wonder if I am missing some of the important things in life that are smack dab in front of me because I am always looking ahead and thinking about what I should do next, or what I need to get done.

In some ways I want to be like little Sadie. I want to focus totally on the task at hand. I want to feel less scattered. I want to play with abandon, like she does. I want to play like I mean it.

Heck if I want to hop hop for an hour, I should just be able to hop hop away. But I don’t do that. I never do. I feel guilty taking the time just for me. When the heck did I stop playing? Was it when I became a mother? Was it when I grew up? Did I just give up on time for myself?

All I know is that I am ready for some play time. Some time for me. Some time to focus on the task at hand. Because maybe, just maybe, focusing on the task at hand…might actually allow my mind to clear, the endless to do list to erase, and the future to come into focus.

It’s time for me to take a lesson from my weekend with little Sadie, and just play.

When is the last time you played like you meant it?

Are you a person who has embarrassing moments? Do you share them?

I do. (And I usually just share with family and close friends...but this time I thought I'd share one with all of you).

This story is old. Years old. It happened early in my paper career when I was a twenty something--wore short, tight skirts and carried a briefcase. Remember those....no, not short skirts, briefcases. Hardly anyone carries them anymore, they are way too "old school."

Somewhere in the early 90's I was calling on a local University's graphic design department. (I sell paper, for those of you who haven't read my earlier posts) and I am what is called a specification rep. So my job is to work with anyone who designs with paper. I show samples, educate them about new papers, and help designers select the right paper for their job.

On this particular day I was updating this University's cabinet and showing a new promotion to the two male, older designers in the communications department. I cruise in in my short skirt, carrying my briefcase and the newest paper promotion. My first order of business was to update their cabinet. This action required that I pull out a form from my briefcase to use in checking off what they need replaced. No problem.

Or so I thought.

Little did I know that along with the form I pulled out, something else fell from my briefcase. Onto the floor in the middle of the room. Right there where everyone could see it.

Yep, you guessed it. A pantiliner.

Unused of course, but very obviously a feminine protection product. (Hey, a girl's gotta be prepared).

In the adjoining room while I updated the cabinet, I made small talk with the guys over my shoulder oblivious to the pantiliner on that floor. Finishing, I walked out into the main room and in mid sentence saw it lying there.

Face up. The only thing on the floor. Holy obvious. And there was little old me with the two older guys, no other girls anywhere to be seen. No chance this came from anyone but me.

In horror I realized three things simultaneously. #1) OMG that is a pantiliner on the floor.  #2) OMG that is my pantiliner on the floor. And #3) OMG they know it is my pantiliner on the floor.

Craaaaaaaaaap!

So I did what any normal totally embarrassed girl in a skirt would do, I ignored it.

Yep, walked right by it as if it wasn't there. Heck no, there is no elephant in this room.

My face was surely red, my heart was beating way faster than normal, and of course, I had sweat pits.

But I plowed forward.

It might have been okay to just keep them focused on the new promotion I was showing, but then someone else came to the doorway of their little area with a question, and since that darn pantiliner was the only thing on the floor, nothing else was remotely close to it, they had to have noticed.

But they too, did not acknowledge that elephant in the room. So I just kept going and sweating. And I am positive I didn't say what I had rehearsed saying about the new promotion, because my mind was concentrating on what I was going to do next... how was I going to get that thing out of there. Gracefully. Quietly. Without actually having to acknowledge it?

Seeing as how leaving it there for them to pick up later was NOT an option, I did the only thing I could. I  finished my presentation, said my goodbyes, picked up my briefcase, bent down and snatched it up---an excellent scoop and squish move into my hand, and left the office. Quickly. Sweating all the way out.

Telling myself it was possible they never noticed.

Pretty sure they laughed about it all day, heck maybe even all week.

For the record, I soon stopped carrying the briefcase (and the just in case protection.)

There you have it, one of my most embarrassing moments e-v-e-r!

Care to share yours?

Take your step, because it is never too late.

We all face roadblocks, disappointments, and situations that feel out of our control. But my question to you is...is it really out of our control? Or, do you just need to learn to maneuver your way around the roadblocks?

You might be stronger than you think! Your action and reactions to different situations show your true inner strength.

I met up with a friend I hadn't seen or spoken to for maybe 20+ years this past 4th of July weekend. How is that even possible that I haven't seen her in so long?

I was astonished (and quite pleased) to learn that a few years back at the age of 45 she decided to return to school and become a lawyer. A lawyer! Holy cow. She told the story of not only being the oldest person in her law class, but of discovering the boy who had taken her daughter to the high school prom years earlier, was also in that class. It made me smile. And, it made me think.

Laugh with your whole heart.

While I consider myself young at heart (aka I do not think I am grown up enough to be almost 49) this weekend I came face to face with the reality that I am indeed, not young anymore. A beach volleyball game was in the process of starting up, and one of the kids shouted out, oldies vs. youngies. Cool, I thought, and in my mind automatically aligned myself with the youngies. Big mistake. Not only was I clearly not a "youngie" anymore, as Mike pointed out, I was actually the 3rd oldest player on the court.

Back to my friend... she worked as a paralegal for years, and as her children grew older and eventually left the nest,  she realized she was no longer happy simply making corrections to other people's legal documents. So she took a leap of faith and decided to enroll in law school. She did this knowing her new path would likely mean she'd be one of the oldest, if not the oldest student in her class. And acknowledging that it would take a lot of time, hard work and money to achieve her goal.

How brave is that? She took a chance on herself.

Make a wish.

Many women around my age, myself included, could use a little of that bravery in daring to take a step  toward our dreams. It makes me a little in awe of her. She's a grandmother now, a wife, a mother and a lawyer and she loves what she is doing. That is so fantastic. It makes me really proud when I hear stories of women who do something about the situation they find themselves in when the children grow up and no longer need the same things from "mom". It is a crucial time for us 40 somethings when we re-evaluate who we are, who we want to be, and decide what it means to be happy, whole, and complete. The strongest women dare to make those changes and take the leaps of faith.

This also makes me think about younger women I know. Those who find themselves in situations where they think the easiest solution is to just give in to their lot in life, to accept who they are, how they grew up, and relinquish control over what happens next. As if they have no choice, no option. As if... they cannot break the cycle and become their own person.

Women are strong by nature. The power is yours to make your life what you want it to be. No life is ever perfect, in fact I'd guess that nothing is ever perfect; not timing, nor circumstance. But I do believe that women have the strength to accomplish anything, and my old friend is a perfect example of that.

Be happy.

If you find yourself in a tough spot, or even if you are just feeling restless, take a look inside. Listen to your inner voice. It will usually tell you what you need to hear. Trust it. And don't be afraid to make a change. What is the worst that can happen? If you make a mistake, then go on and fix it by making another change. Continuing to do what you know is not the right thing, and not following your heart or your gut, helps no one. However, admitting you were wrong, takes guts. Taking a chance and making changes, takes strength.

Life is all about making choices, some good, some bad, and learning from them. It is a series of steps: forward, backward, sometimes sideways and then hopefully, forward again. Those steps will lead you to the place you were always meant to go.

So ask yourself, what do I want out of life?  Is it time to take a step? Associate yourself with those who will help you reach your goals, and use them for moral support and to help you stay on track. If you need help, ask for it. It also might be a good time to "clean your closet" and get rid of those people who are  holding you back as well.

Even a little foot can take a big step.

Life is short, but remember there is still time. You can do it! Whatever it is...

And so can I.

Mike's 50th birthday was a blast. There was plenty of good food, friends, family, a keg of Sam Adams and two cakes!

He's lost 20 pounds in the last few months to be sure he still looks good at 50!

Not even 50 candles and he still needed a little help blowing them all out.

Best present of the night, a handmade dinosaur teeth necklace from my niece.

She could barely keep her present a surprise.She was so proud!

As you can see he wore it all night, even during karaoke.

Shameless plug for one of his favorite beers.

His actual birthday was followed by a trip to Lansing to see U-2 in concert at Spartan Stadium with Alec. What could be better for a 50th birthday party weekend?

And then it was back to reality. He got the mail.

In it, was his AARP card. (It used to stand for American Association of Retired Persons but now says it is a membership organization leading positive social change and delivering value to people age 50 and over through information, advocacy and service.) Sounds like a politically correct way to say "Hey, now that you are old..." to me. Oh man, a birthday card would have been so much nicer.

Anyway I think he looks pretty darn cute for any age!

Let me ask you a question....which do you consider yourself, someone who sees things in black and white or a person who sees in shades of gray?

Until a few years ago I was very much a black and white person, (almost a little too much so), and then something happened to me. Not sure if it was the wisdom I acquired throughout the years, or just that perspective finally made an appearance in me. Either way, I am glad for the extra compassion, sympathy and understanding this shift has brought to my life.

There is, however, one thing that I remain very much black and white on: my responsibility as a mother.

And for that matter, what I believe is the responsibility of every woman who becomes a mother, you have got to show up.  It is not an option to simply phone it in or "check out" of mothering when the going gets tough. I've seen the effect on children when this happens, and it isn't pretty. It is a future killer. For the kids who's parents don't show up for them, and for their kids, and for future generations of kids.

I would venture a guess that what is wrong with many of today's troubled youth, is a lack of any real parenting. And I fear the root of the problem goes back farther into the family tree than their own parents. We need to do something to stop this trend. Where have all the real mother's gone? I wish I knew the answer/solution to that question.

I have to admit, parenting is often times a thankless job while you are in the midst of it. Because I am a mother, I can speak only about how difficult it is to do this half of the parenting equation. Ever heard the term fun sucker? That's me. I've been called that by my children, and it's probably thought about me even more often.

It's okay. It's in the job description and I agreed to it when I took on the job.

While I believe it is a great thing to have your kids like you, it is not your job to be their friend! Your job is to be their parent. The voice of reason, the conscience, the meanie, for Pete's sake. Mom's need to be consistent, to say "no" and to mean "no" while somehow making sure to silently communicate to your child that you are in it for the long haul, and no amount of attitude is going to make you leave this job.

Think about it... friendships are fickle and can change over time, over events, over arguments. Being a mother, on the other hand, means having your child's back always, no matter the event, the argument, or the time elapsed. Your relationship may change, but your job description does not. It is to give unconditional love, guidance and support. You are supposed to say what needs to be said, whether it makes your child happy with you, or not.

I am far from being a perfect mother. Maybe there is no such thing. But I am tired of seeing so many mother's falling down on the job. Allowing your children's basic needs to take a backseat to your own selfishness, is a tragedy. How many times have you heard someone say, "I'm doing the best I can", but you see them continue on with their selfish addictive behavior? Allowing this behavior to happen over and over again is a travesty.

I have come to believe that a person has a hard time accepting and acknowledging real love later in their life, if they were not given the basic love they deserved as a child. It remains an elusive thing to them, something they are always on the lookout for, always reaching for, almost to the point of missing the real love that is right under their nose.

Unconditional love gives a child an unseen (sometimes unknown) strength. The knowledge and feeling that they are loved, no matter what, in spite of making mistakes, is key to their sense of self. I have learned that you can love someone who is not your own, as much as you love your own, but because that unconditional love was missing in their growing up years, that love is not understood. Instead of accepting the love for what it is, love, there is always a tendency to question it. To doubt it. To back away from it. What they truly want is to experience that love from their own mother, even if, time after time, there is huge disappointment when it does not happen.

I get the "why" a child wants this. But that doesn't make me any less sad/mad about having to watch it continue to happen to people I care about. To watch a child's eyes fill with the dawning realization that it is happening to them again, that something else is once again more important to their mother's than they are. I can almost hear the silent cry....Maybe this time if my mom loves me, then everything else will be all right.

Can a mother who's addictive needs have come before the needs of her children for over twenty years, ever change? I am a realist. So, I think not. So then be a real mother and do the right thing....let them go. Before it is too late, let them go to someone else who will love them like they should be loved. Give them to a family who will put their needs first. Stop pulling them back into your world with the promise of your love, then asking to borrow money for food, or rent or bus money. Your children don't want "candy and chips" or "an X-box gaming system" --because they need a bed and some real food in the refrigerator more. No doubt the gaming system, like the i-pod and game boy which came before it, will be pawned  for cash in a week anyway. Those material goods are just "things". The real "things" your children need are love, attention, discipline, and to be led by example. Not to be shown an awful lesson in "what not to do", or a "what I don't want to become."

When bad mothers continue their selfish reign over the children who love them,  I know what does not change, the effect it has on those children. The underlying message that comes through to them is that they are not important enough, or special enough to be loved more than the alcohol or drugs or whatever addiction it is that has a hold on their mother. And so throughout everything... every decision, every choice, every opportunity the child will eventually face, the question of whether or not they are good enough, comes into play. They will question real love continuously and doubt their ability to reciprocate love. They will question their ability to be a good mother themselves, and will wonder, "Will I too, check out, when times get tough?"

I know this because I am experiencing it first hand right now. I have fallen in love with a child who lived her life without the mother she needed most. And I now know what it is like to love someone as your own, who has not yet learned to love themselves. They constantly crave love and affirmation from the one person they should have gotten it from automatically and unconditionally in the first place, their mother, the one person who is incapable of giving it.

I am one of the lucky ones. My mom did exactly what she was supposed to do. She was my mom. She didn't try to be my friend. She led by example, she had expectations for me, she showed up. That's not to say we didn't fight along the way, and there were times that I, being the oldest, took the brunt of a few hard parenting lessons learned....but, throughout it all, I knew she put me first. She loved me. She cared enough to put me in my place when I was wrong, to ground me if I needed it, to pinch that incredibly sensitive part of my underarm when I mouthed off, and to say "no" when it was required, all of which made me the person I am today.

Is it bad that I want to shout out to the bad mothers of the world? Wake up. Stop the madness. Stop the cycle. Break the chain. Do something for your children this time. Do the right thing. Let them go.

Take it from someone who once lived completely in the black and white and then took a leap of faith into the gray....If you come across a child in need, reach out to them. Who knows what one kind word, or action, could set in motion. It could be life changing for the both of you.

I know it is for me.

Big Star Lake Pontoon Cruise, Summer 2010

My husband turns 50 this Saturday. In honor of this momentous occasion, I thought I would share 50 of the reasons why I love him.

Kidding. I'm kidding!  Seriously, I wouldn't do that to you.

But I would like to go on record as saying there are probably MORE than 50 reasons why this guy is my best friend and still the love of my life. 

Even after knowing him for 31 years. He is that awesome.

It feels like only yesterday a young Mike and Terri wrote sweet love notes to each other about growing old together (okay so maybe I wrote a few more than he did) and promised to love each other through the good and bad times. At that time, neither of us were aware of how fast time would fly by, and how quickly we'd be turning a milestone number like 50.

I don't even want to tell you what I thought 50 would feel like, it sounded so ancient.

Who knew that in the blink of an eye we'd no longer be thinking about growing old together, we'd actually have to acknowledge that we've arrived there?

At o-l-d. Together. And way the heck too fast.

Wasn't it only yesterday we were in college?  

Mike's hair has been gray for quite a while, he even had a little white patch at age 19 on his temple when I first met him. It just kind of ...spread out over time, until he became almost all gray. (I'll share a little secret, I think he is actually even more handsome as a gray.)

I've got gray hair, too. My stylist felt bad about plucking a big gross curly one out today when she cut my hair. (Little does she know I tweeze my grays all the time, especially the ones at my temples.)  I have done that for a while now, but I don't tell her that because she thinks it makes more grow! I never believed her, but now that gray hairs are sprouting wildly out of weird places, almost daily, I may have changed my mind.

I can no longer keep up with the plucking. And I've sworn to never dye my hair. This could get ugly. Fast.

Life happens so fast. Life with children happens even faster. Wonder if life when your children grow up and move out will be the same speed, or if it might slow down some?

Several conversations I've had lately with friends have reminded me of the fact that although I am not prepared to be this old...I do not have a moment of hesitation about who I am traveling through this journey to o-l-d with. That part of my life is solid.

I do not worry about waking up one day and thinking that Mike and I have nothing in common. I worry more that we won't have time to do all the things we planned on doing before we get too old.

They say age is just a number. And this time it happens to be the big 5-0 for Mike.

Good thing we are both still young at heart. 

Happy Birthday, sweetheart. I love you!

P.S. I think I'll start that list of 50 things I love about him now...since I have no gift planned. Oops.

I subscribe to the Daily OM and yesterday, once again, the email I received reached out and grabbed me. How do they do that? It feels sometimes like they write to me. Maybe that is the way it is supposed to feel, that they write for the average struggling middle aged person (me).  All I know is that it often gives me goosebumps.

I'll admit it. I've been a doubter for a few weeks. A doubter in myself. Since I am not used to feeling this way, I have been in a huge funk. It all started when I let someone else's comments about me, and actions towards me, get under my skin and affect my self confidence. In case you are new here, or haven't figured this out, it did not affect me  in a good way. While I may never be convinced that this person wasn't intentionally trying to make me feel this way, I can choose to recognize my own worth and attempt to move past this. Or, make a change.

Either way, thank you Daily OM for once again begin completely relevant to me! Click here if you'd like to sign up for the Daily OM yourself. It's free. It's fantastic.
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Daily OM: Staying Afloat amidst the Spin

Taking Things Personally

Try not to take everything personally, things that people say and do don’t always have anything to do with you.

Every time you interact with others, you have the choice to listen to, acknowledge, and let go of their words, or you can take what they are saying personally. Taking things personally is often the result of perceiving a person’s actions or words as an affront or slight. In order to take something personally, you must read negative intent in an individual’s words or actions. But what people do and say has no bearing upon you and is usually based on their own experiences, emotions, and perceptions. If you attempt to take what they do or say personally, you may end up feeling hurt without reason.

If you are tempted to take a comment or action personally, creating some distance between yourself and the other person can help you. Try to determine what is at the root of your feelings. Ask yourself if the other person’s words or actions are just reinforcing some insecurity within you or if you can really be sure that an offense was intended. You may even want to ask them what they meant. Finally, put yourself in the other person’s shoes. Instead of taking their words as the truth, or as a personal affront, remember that whatever was said or done is based on their opinion and is more reflective of what is going on inside of them, rather than having anything to do with you. You may have been an easy target for someone having a bad day, and their comments may have been offered with no ill intentions.

When you recognize that what anyone says or does doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with you, you will no longer feel hurt or attacked. While it’s easy to take things personally, you should never let anyone’s perceptions or actions affect how you see yourself or your worth. Your life is personal to you, and it is up to you to influence your own value and sense of well-being.

I attempted to be part of my first ever bloghop today. (Leave it to me to mess up the ever important link though.) Gheesh! Can you say dork?

So on the list below... my When I Grow Up Blogpost #18 (is the mistake--it goes nowhere), #26 is the correct one. I was super excited to try this link up, because it will hopefully turn me on to some blogs by women over 45 --- and maybe direct some new readers my way! I'd like to find women in my age group who blog about similar perspectives, and experiences more in tune with what is currently happening in my life. I love to read about the exploits of little ones, it reminds me of so many happy times, but truthfully, I could use some advice from others dealing with cranky teens.

I'm feeling just a little bit like an old timer. Check out some of these blogs. There is still time for you to add your blog to the list. (If not this week, then next!)

http://www.linkytools.com/basic_linky_include.aspx?id=94285

I began this "post" several years ago when my Grandpa Bobby was still with us, but failing fast. For a while there he was in and out of the hospital, and although pretty "with it" mentally, his body was beginning to give up the fight. He later passed away on October 1, 2009 at the age of 97. 

My Grandpa Bobby, in better times, still going strong on his 93rd birthday!

My 95 year old grandpa dreams of fishing, how cool is that? My grandpa awoke in his hospital bed, on Easter weekend, and told us of his dream.

“I can remember the place I wanted to fish (the pier in Holland), the rod I wanted to use to catch those fish, and the bait I’d need…but when I wake up I realize it was all a dream. My daughters made me give up those rods long ago and my fishing license has probably expired, so when I do go again it will be like starting all over."

This thought occurs to him as lays in the hospital bed hooked up to an IV to give his body strength while we wait on word from recent tests to see which part of his failing body is the cause of his recent visit.

It's apparent to me that he won't be doing anymore fishing, ever, yet he talks like it is a real possibility. Like driving, or living on his own are also possibilities. He hasn't driven for years of course, we had to take away his keys and his vehicle long ago. He lives in a nursing home so we had to limit the amount of money he carries in his wallet as well.  Something that makes him unhappy when he informs us that it is not enough money to buy anything, if he needs to go out.

He doesn't, of course, go out, nor could he. And he is wanting for nothing material, as my Aunt and my Mom make sure he gets what he needs, and more. But that is not the point, is it?

It must be so hard to give up that control.

What he is really asking for is, of course,  control. Control over his brain, his memory, his body, his life. I don't think I ever realized what growing really old will be like, until I watched someone else struggle through it. Back in my high school years I spent a lot of time volunteering at nursing homes, and I saw physically what it did to a body and to a person's memory, but because I only knew those people when they were already old, it didn't sink in that one day this would happen to those I love. And I would see first hand the changes, the frustrations, the struggles they would go through. Since I knew my Grandpa when he was strong, healthy and full of life, I didn't realize this growing old process would make me feel so guilty for having to sit by and watch it happen to someone I love.

My grandpa was big on going to the dentist--a luxury not everyone saved money for in that day and age---but, he always did. It wasn't really a luxury in his eyes, it was a necessity. Always proud of his teeth, when it became apparent in the last year of his life that no amount of dental work was going to keep his teeth in his mouth, he had to have felt embarrassed. His teeth simply gave up the good fight, crumbled, broke and fell out. His strong legs which had carried him proudly for many many years to fish on that pier, also had stopped working like he wanted. They stopped supporting him like they'd always done. How can you not become frustrated when that happens to you?

I'm sure he still felt like they would do, could do, what he wanted, until he tried. Which he did, time and time again, he wouldn't ask for assistance, and time and time again he fell in the bathroom, out of bed, his legs would just give out.

It had to be so hard.

I fear it will be so hard for me when that time comes. I'd like to think that I will be a bit more resigned a bit more understanding that this is the way of life, and death. But then again, maybe I won't. Maybe some part of my brain will keep thinking that I can still do all the things I want to do. As if my sheer determination will make it happen.

After all, right now in life I am telling myself that I can do whatever I want, be whatever I want to be still. My daily mantra is that I can deal with change and have already been trying to deal with giving up some control.

Maybe we are just setting ourselves up for failure and disappointment. To belive that we can do anything we set our mind to. What part about aging---is fun? Nothing. But the end of life is out there waiting for all of us. Not being a huge procrastinator, I rarely think in the wish I would have or I should have..... being a realist probably gets me into more trouble. As in, wish I would have dared to try this, or wish I hadn't been too embarrassed to try that.

I'm working on training my mind to be open to all the possibilities sitting in front of me right now. Because I realize later, those possibilities will slowly be taken from me. My plan for the future, if I have any say in it, is to grow old gracefully. With very few wish-I-would-have's. And many many good memories to dream about.

When I think of all the things my Grandpa could have dreamed of at his age, I am really glad he dreamt of fishing.

Rest in peace Bobby. You are missed.

...and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.

The Rolland Family Home (aka The Cascades Guest House) in the early morning.

The Christmas poem came to mind as I waited in the quiet dawn this morning for my ride to the Montreal airport. I was sitting on the steps at the guest house of the Cascades Paper Mill in St. Jerome, Quebec. Oddly enough, I was the first one scheduled to leave, and probably the last one who really wanted to go. When I had booked the flight months ago, I was assuming that I would be anxious to get back to my family after having been gone, and that I wouldn't want to linger, so why not leave early?

What's funny is that this time, I found myself wanting the visit to be longer. And that is truly a first!

You see, while I have attended many mill specification seminars in my 23 years in paper, I have never attended one that has affected me quite like this. I came away with the expected additional knowledge of the mill, the excitement of knowing what promotions and products are to come, and the bonus of getting away from the office for a few days. But what I didn't expect to come away with, was The Paperdolls.

It may make more sense to some of you to know that my job is part of a dying breed, most specification reps have been eliminated from the paper merchant mix. Or their job functions have switched to outside sales. I am one of the fortunate, or maybe unfortunate ones, who have remained a true specification rep over time. But this is a lonely venture. Sometimes I feel like an island. We are few and far between and  it is not possible for specification reps in a geographical area to be able to communicate with one another. To share ideas and strategies. And there really is no one else in my company who does what I do.

It has always been that way---generally anyone close enough to connect with, who does what I do, is a competitor and not someone who I can bounce ideas off of.

I was fortunate enough to have been selected to attend this first ever Specification Seminar at  the Cascades Mill this week. And since it has been a good long while since I have done one of these (or have even been asked), I agreed to go. But what I did not expect from this, was to come away with a family.

I assumed that I would be touring the mill, giving opinions, learning what was to come from the mill people, and all of that did happen, but what I really got was an instant family. One who understands my frustrations, my challenges, my passion, heck, even my job! That in itself, is nothing short of awesome.

But the bonus is that these women are all around my age, and have been doing the same job that I have done for nearly as long as I have. It's been 23 straight years for me, some have been doing this for almost that long, others have taken time of to raise families or to try other things, but they've all ended up back at paper.

The combined experience and expertise of this group is almost beyond my comprehension.  And the common denominator is that we all love paper.

Instant friends. Instant support group. All with different backgrounds, families, interests and yet somehow all the same. Kindred spirits.

I did not expect to meet 6 other women who I instantly loved. While each of us have our differences, we are all of similar personality. All opinionated. All strong. All fantastic women.

Such treasures. Such a blessing for me when I needed their affirmation and support the most.

Thank you Paperdolls for having my back. For making me feel intelligent, important, well spoken, and especially for inspiring me....to be like you. I care about keeping paper in the mix. And you my lovelies, just confirmed for me, that I absolutely do know what I am talking about, that my opinions do matter and that I do have a valid viewpoint.

I wish that we had had more time together. You are good for my soul and I sense that I could learn a lot from you all. Luckily, this is the age of instant communication, and I promise we will stay in touch.

I hope The Paperdolls cross paths again--maybe this time for another passion of mine--karaoke, and wine and the ever loud conversations that seem to happen when we are all in the same room. But if not, the connection has been made. The bond has been cemented. I will never forget you.

For a person who isn't much of a traveler, my international trip to the Cascades Paper Mill was the easiest trip I have taken yet. Paperdolls... with all your beauty of body, mind and spirit, can I just say.....you ROCK!

The 7 Paperdolls (L to R)

 Beth (aka, Paper woman), Tina, Kim, Karla, Kathleen, Mimi and Me