Walmart, December 23, 6:12 p.m.

Walmart on any day, at any hour promises a contrast exercise.  From the Lexus sedans to the Ford Fiestas in its melting-pot parking lot, to the Nine West to slipper clad patrons, it’s a panacea of diversity.  On the eve of Christmas Eve, it’s a circus of dysfunction.  There I was, amid the a sea of people intent on getting their tables and trees ready for the holidays, more than a bit tipsy with anxiety.  I confess that I don’t really like crowds.  Like a sentinel, I patrol my personal space.  I walk on the balls of my feet to protect it, and have perfected the dodge and weave of a good wide receiver.  It’s hard, however, to maintain a space bubble in Walmart in December.

I was there by choice.  Our beloved children have gotten more savvy to the Christmas train in recent years, and we had chosen to defer some stocking-stuffer shopping until the 11th hour to help insulate their surprise and our planning.  Naturally, I regretted the wisdom of this decision before I entered the store.  Though I went in with a mission specific list, alone, and stealth like reconnaissance infantry, I had sweat on my upper lip before the greeter greeted me.

Anyone with heart carves a special place for Walmart greeters this year.  The news story that a centurion greeter was pushed to the ground upon her 100+ year-old keister by an angry shopper who thought she was not moving quickly enough on Black Friday was all over the internet and fresh in my mind.  I took a moment to wish him a Merry Christmas.  This greeter was a senior too, and I confess I lingered to wonder about his safety before I followed his directions to the Entertainment department.

On the walk there, staccato snipets of family dialogue peppered my walk.  I think there is something sinister in the ventilation systems of Walmart stores, some airborne contaminant that makes Mommies especially ill tempered and sweet children sour into vats of tantrums and tears.  Last night was like this on steroids.  There were no jingle bells in the air.  Clenched-jawed parent units scolded child after child, “BE QUIET!”

“I SAID NO!”

“STOP TOUCHING THAT ALREADY!”

“NO!  I TOLD YOU WE WERE NOT BUYING ANY JERKY!”

“NO!  I’M NOT CARRYING YOU!”

I rehearsed exit strategies as I made a detour around the candy aisle.  That was too much to even consider.  I promised myself that the last thing that the children needed was more candy.  A more than cynical veneer had begun to shellack my attitude when a woman approached me from behind.

My first response to unexpected physical contact is generally a flinch and recoil, but I registered in my periphery that it was an older woman just before her arm reached around my shoulder.

“Do you remember me?”  she inquired, brows up and eyes open wide with kindness.  Her smile was an question mark of hope.

She was with a young woman, 12-13 by the looks of her, and I rapidly flipped through my mental Rola-dex the grandmothers that I knew who had adolescent granddaughters.

“No,” I smiled down at her admitting my inability to remember. “Help me, I want to remember,” I promised.

The reconnection that followed read like Jodi Piccoult.  Long story short, she was not a grandmother.  In fact, she is at least 12 years my junior.  She had been my student during my first years of teaching high school just out of college.  In fact, I had been quite fond of her.  She had been a bright, creative, free spirit who had much more talent than self-discipline.  The girl with her was her daughter, 12, the same age as our oldest.  She broke off to ask her daughter if she remembered that crazy teacher that she used to hide from in high school, who used to chase her all over the building to see if she had done her homework, and told her that I was her.  She told her daughter that I did that because I would never give up on her, and that I knew that she could do the work.

I hardly noticed.  I admit I was busy doing the math, trying to figure out how old she was when her daughter was born.

And then, my former student, in front of her child the same age as our oldest, told me that she was terminally ill.

She told me how happy she was to be able to Christmas shop with her daughter as it was likely she would be, “Gone or unable to next year.”

The noise of Walmart ceased.

There was only silent perspective and her voice.

“Thank you,” she said to me, “I’ll never forget how you never gave up on me.”

Sweet Jesus.

I was so rattled that I had to call The Husband, “I don’t even know what’s in the cart,”  I said to him, “but I have to come home.”

“Come home,” was his reply.  “Now.”

He had heard it in my voice.

I was not home long before I shared the story with him.  The Oldest Girl was there, but I had not considered the impact it would have on her.

Silly me.

The Middle Girl came down this morning to report that The Oldest Girl was up writing in her journal and praying late into the night.

She reported this in tones of irritation, not respect.  The Middle Girl’s precious sleep had been interrupted.

Used with permission, this is the letter The Oldest Girl wrote.  She had hoped I would deliver it to my former student, but alas, I lacked the wherewithal to request her contact information.

Dear Former Student, these then are my 10 year-old daughter’s words to you:

“Dear __________,

Hello, I’m <The Oldest Daughter>, <The Mamma>’s daughter.   I’m so sorry, and I have something to share about myself.  When I was really young, I was diagnosed with the coarctation of the aorta, because the doctors didn’t find it until several weeks, there were other complications.  However, the doctors diverted an artery [from my arm to repair my heart], and everything worked out.  I was a healthy, happy baby until another issue arose.  I was three, and my appendix burst in a very severe way, chance of survival were slim.  The doctors did a surgery, however, and it was successful!!  I am ten-years old and still alive.  Lucky?

No.  God helped me through it, He is the reason I am alive to write this letter.  He saved me  and He will save you too.  When I was baptized, I felt the Holy Spirit touch me, it was so awesome.  I may still have scars, but they are tiny compared to what God can do.  If you ask Jesus into your heart, if you truly accept Him as your Savior, then whenever you walk across a sandy beach, if you look back, there will be two sets of footprints.  When you look back and see only one, God has not deserted you, He has pick you up and carried you.

I pray that you can accept Jesus into your heart and continue or begin your walk with Christ.

Have Faith,

<The Oldest Girl>”

Sweet Jesus.

I did my best,
it wasn’t much
I couldn’t feel,
so I tried to touch
I’ve told the truth,
I didn’t come to fool you
And even though
It all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah!

Nirvana in NYC

In this season of Light and Life, several of the women I most love hurdle relational transitions and fight for their voices.

The backdrop of the Holidays are an especially deep time to reflect on who we are, where we are, and what we believe.

I lift these women up to Love, and honor their choices to rise and sing, Hallelujah!

Nirvana in NYC

I call freedom.
she anoints me,
a baptism of tears.
Day after day,
I see things many people never will.
Behind Merlin’s dragon,
I ponder,
and prowl,
and prance,
and plan,
pushing holes through its curtained wings.
In other places,
I was not there because you wore a blindfold
which deafened the screams of my tangerine tights.
I strain against your shackles like a run away.
The pinch of society’s pursed lips chaffs
my lips as I intone your rules for me:
“Talk like a lady,”
“Cross your legs,”
“Brush your hair,”
“Never order dessert on a first date,”
and “Always wear clean underwear.”
Me, I invent myself,
“Ain’t I a woman too?”
Mama, we don’t wear hats in church no more
or carry your hand-me-down purses.

I collide with impropriety with abandon-
free to choose from the chaos,
strangled by the strands of choice.
I safety pin
Past,
Present,
Future
and feel no sympathy.
I exercise my demons;
Paradise regained.
I weep Niobe tears,
raining my own lake of relief.
I swim there still on hot days lost.
Energy pounds beneath my skin.
Purple lanterns shine through the mist
and lead me through the labyrinth of  my hidden forest.
I open my eyes to see beyond this nostalgic place
a new world of wonder and truth.
I toss my chains of restriction and grief.
I stand certain that life’s path will lead me.
The sun shines bright in all directions,
to guide my way,
for now my eyes can truly see.
The aura of corruption no longer glistens.
I become one of the majority
and begin my travels beyond known security.

Hallelujah!

Hypocracy on a Stick

Hypocrisy is a funny thing.  I am as big a hypocrite as anybody else, but I had fooled myself into the proud notion that at least I know when I am being a hypocrite.

Ha!

Not so much.

The family has had a tough reentry into our routine since our Thanksgiving road trip, and The husband was out of town on business again last week. The combination of these factors and the holiday chores seeded in me an unanticipated regression.

That is also where the unbidden hypocrisy comes in.

Our oldest is twelve, so we’ve had at least 10 Halloweens where we’ve watched the kids dump out and choose candies over the years. Time after time, year after year, The Husband and I have marveled that their consensus preference is lollipops. Four kids consistently choose lollipops over such bon-bons as Snickers, M&Ms, 100 Grand bars and Milky Ways. In our day, lollipops were the leftover candy. Houses that gave the lollipops were the rip-off stops, doors behind which children must not dwell or dentists lived. The good houses, the generous people,  gave chocolate treats, and preferably more than one. How we could have raised four kids whose go-to candy is lollies always confused me.

Until now.

What began as an innocent strategy to sooth a sore throat, and give the kids a treat on I-95, has turned into a 2-3 lollipop a day habit.  I thought at first it was simply stress, or because I had given up gluten, but The Mamma’s got a Tootsie Pop on her back, and it carries a big stick.

All of a sudden I am like an orally fixated ex-smoker who has to have something in her mouth so that she doesn’t fall off the wagon. It is ridiculous how much I am liking these things, a Pavlovian dog who begins to salivate the moment I unwrap the pop. I appreciate the weight of the candy on the stick as I lift it to my mouth. I sigh as I taste the first sweet tang of cherry on my tongue.  I like sour apple, grape and watermelon too , but cherry is my favorite. It’s even gotten to the point that I  won’t share the red ones with the kids anymore.

What’s wrong with me?

I’ve begun to identify the phases of lollipop consumption like a connoisseur of fine wine.  One of the best stages in the eating of a lollipop process is when it has molded to the shape of your pallets and just kind of hangs there in your mouth like a delicious retainer. That’s the hands-free-yummy-time when you can email or do laundry without ever taking it out of your mouth. Tootsie Pops pack a sweet chocolate kiss in their center better than a prize ring from a box of Cracker Jacks.

Lollipops please even after they are gone.  The stick offers chewing pleasures beyond any flavored toothpick in the country.  First there is the candy coated tip that is more fun to chew than the most delectable of San Francisco buffalo wings.  Once each crunchy, tasty remnant is gone, the dry tip of the stick still remains.  There is something indefinably satisfying about nibbling that to a pulpy mess.

A good lollipop can offer 40 minutes of genuine oral pleasure for 60 calories.

My kids were right all along!

Lollipops are the best!

And The Mamma is one big hypocrite with a stick hanging out of her mouth!

I’ll stand before the Lord of Song,
with nothing on my (cherry red) tongue but Hallelujah!

Operation Poinsettia

Four years ago, in partnership with a beloved, family friend, our families launched Operation Poinsettia.

We began with one simple mission:   Gift people who bless us in relationship, love and/or service with a holiday poinsettia.

The joy of giving these plants over the years has transformed our hearts, families, relationships, holiday traditions and pictures of what is possible during this season of Love.  I’ve come to consider poinsettias symbols of fellowship.  In a field of red, they stand as ready ambassadors of cheer.  White petals connect us to the innocence of possibilities as pink ones splash a blush of whimsy.  Year after year, as we have placed these plants in the hands of beloved family, cherished friends, respected care providers, and strangers, we have seeded memories, shed tears and harvested treasured stories we celebrate.

Such tales have come to be known to us as Poinsettias Stories.  We call each other to swap vignettes.  Each eager conversation begins the same, “I got a story for you,” without a hello or how do you do, as one decants the precious report of an exchange to another.  This year, we established the guideline that these tales should not be swapped while driving, as more than once, our tears have made it difficult to see the road. We each have our own favorite accounts, of course, and retell them to each other year after year.  As Poinsettia Stories have grown, I’ve been encouraged to record some of them to share with others.  In fact, this was the first year that it occurred to us that Operation Poinsettia has become such a key part of how we prepare our hearts and homes for the holidays that it might be a tradition that extends to the next generation.  As such, we thought it might make sense to archive some of this team’s Poinsettia Stories, so that, maybe, one day our own children can share with their own Poinsettia Stories from their childhoods as they create new ones playing it forward together.

With that intention, I share with you one of my favorite Poinsettia Stories:

Operation Poinsettia, Year 1:  Food Lion, December 8, 2006, 10:38 p.m.:

The giddiness of the evenings adventures had waned in the truck.  Having spent the entire evening delivering plants, our four children, 5 months, 4 years, 6 years, and 8 years-old were well past tired. Though it had been a magical night of giving, even Harry Potter himself could not have enchanted a spell to enthuse the over-tired children nestled safely amid blankets with cookie-crumb mustaches in the SUV.

Our procedure had been the same throughout the evening.  In pairs, or all together, the children would take a plant and card up to a recipient’s door with a parent standing by at the end of the driveway or walk.  It was the first Christmas our children were old enough in heart or feet to fully participate in the joy of giving back to others.  They took to it like elves, eager to jump out of the truck, laughing and leaping up to the doors, monitoring who’s turn it was to ring a bell or carry a poinsettia.  The reception of their unexpected visits was universal.  Doors were swung wide, hugs swooped up our children into warm arms, cookies were passed, and, in many cases, prayers shared and tears shed to carve Thanksgiving anew.  Often those poinsettias were the first vestiges of holiday color to blaze hearths or bless homes.  It was a merry night.

The kids were well spent and past ready to get home as we passed Food Lion.  Over the course of the evening, we had given plants both to people we had known and loved for years, and to those we did not know.  We had one poinsettia left for that night’s service, a big, beautiful, white plant.  As we were were about to drive past the store, I remembered a bagging clerk who I had chatted with often over the year.  He was a big, giant of a man himself.  His consistent personality was a constant source of warmth to me.  Usually when in a grocery store, I was with no less than four children, and often as many as eleven.  This man greeted us time after time with big, kind eyes and a genuine smile.  His eyes always shone with Light, and I sensed his that he was grounded in a Truth larger than his formidable 6’3″, 325 pound frame.  I very much wanted to give this man the last poinsettia.

I called, “Just one last stop,” and the kids who were awake, and even The Husband, my most benevolent driver, answered in a chorus of, “Awwww!”  The Husband pointed out that we could not be certain that the man was even working that night which, of course, was true.  However, as The Husband so often does, he read my eyes with love and said, “One last stop!”

We agreed that given the hour, and the neighborhood, the store closest to our home is known by locals as, “The Sketchy Food Lion,” because it serves a diverse intersection of communities, we agreed that The Husband would drive up next to the storefront windows.  This way, the children could see as I walked in and gave the plant, and I could get in and out quickly if the clerk was not working.

I was happy to see him as I crossed the entrance poinsettia in hand.  The registers are close to the doors, and he looked up as I entered.  He looked and beamed his signature smile at me as crossed the store’s threshold.  There were several clerks at other registers and lines of people waiting to purchase their groceries.  True to his indomitable work ethic, he went back to task, bagging items and sharing a word of cheer with the guest he served.

“Excuse me,” I said as I approached his aisle.  The gentle giant looked down at me.

He lifted his head from the boxes of cereal he was about to bag and gazed at me with huge, brown, teacup eyes and said, “May I help you, Ma’am?”  After a beat, recognition amplified the welcome of his warm regard, “No kids tonight?” he added with concern.

“Sir,” I began unexpectedly choked with tears.  I cleared my throat and began again, “Sir, this is for you.”  I handed him the white poinsettia with the innocent hope of a child.

He arced his brow in surprise as a smile painted his face bright like Christmas tree lights.  When he reached down to accept the plant his huge and tender hands dwarfed, I said, “This is for you, Sir, because of the consistency of your heart and service.  Every time I have been in this store and you have been working, you have greeted me with a smile.  You have been kind to my children, and time after time, shared a good word or encouraging nod.  That is a rare and precious thing.  I appreciate your kindness and want you to know how much I recognize your service.”

He looked at me as tears slid down his sweet face and began to open his mouth in response.

Before he could utter a word, the entire store errutped in an ovation of applause and cheers.  Fellow workers called out, “That’s right!”  and “That’s John.”  The manager on duty came over to shake his hand, but clasped his shoulder instead.

This kind, giant of a man had begun to sob.  He choked out through a tear flooded face, “No one’s ever given me a flower before.”

“Merry Christmas, John,” I said.

His eyes shone as he looked down at me, cradling his plant like a newborn.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Thank you, John.” I replied as he walked away, bear arms encircling his white flowers, to take a quick breath.

People continued to clap as I left the store.

When I returned to the truck, tears were on The Husband’s face also.  All the kids were up, faces bright, eyes alight with the joy of what they had seen.

“Wow!” the boy exclaimed as his eyes met my own.

Wow.

The six of us knew with certainty in that moment, from the source of Love itself that has grown deeper over the years, that Operation Poinsettia is a call over our hearts and lives.

Quite simply, we rejoice and dwell in its possibilities.

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah!

Top 10 Things Not Mentioned in This Year’s Christmas Letter

So my mom was here last night, and she’s a big fan of the Christmas letter.  We can always tell when she is about to pen hers, because she calls for a family photo with the urgency of a trauma surgeon, “I need a digital image of your entire family stat!”  It’s often a three call, two email process.  As I am the world’s most horrible daughter, she usually has to remind me at least once to get on task.  Once I finally send the shot, she will follow with an email to ask some obscure context question I have yet been trained to include in the photo’s caption.  “Where did “The Middle Girl,” get that pink sweater she is wearing?  Why is the boy squinting, did he have a headache?”  My honest answer, “I haven’t got a clue,” doesn’t please her, so I have learned to take creative license.  “He just got sneezed on by a wasp,” or “He heard a squirrel cry.”

My mom writes a perky letter each year; she puts a lot of effort into it and is proud of her results.  She includes pictures of each family and crows about the grandbabies.  She publishes highlights from her year’s travels and extends her holiday wishes.  All the pictures frame smiling faces.  Some even sport a sunburned nose or two.  All the stories are positive quips about laudable outcomes.

It’s not just my mom that writes such letters.  It’s become something of a social icon.  The Christmas letter markets families like an end cap cereal display in Super Walmarts.  A bit like a commercial for feminine products, Christmas letters never show the stain on white pants.  All this got me thinking about what people don’t include in Christmas letters…

Top 10 Things Not Mentioned in This Year’s Christmas Letter

10.  My daughter brought Ex-lax laden brownies to cheerleading try-outs to eliminate the competition.

9.  I pretended to have food poisoning to get out of the school’s annual Silent Auction.

8.  My husband paid a teacher to take and tank the SAT under a rival student’s name to get our precious baby a better class ranking.

7.  I regularly search the homes of my pet sitting clients for hidden unmentionables.

6.  My son got arrested for spray painting a yak at the city zoo.

5.  Our baby got expelled from school for repeated incidents of public lewdness and intoxication.

4.  I stalk clowns.

3.  I accidentally hit Reply All and inadvertently told my son’s entire middle school class how grateful I was to my husband for a hot date the night before.

2.  The Homeowners Association sent us a letter stating that there were numerous neighborhood complaints about my shrill screaming.

1.  We don’t want to write this stupid Christmas letter anymore than you want to read it!

Heck, were any of the above topics the content matter, maybe such holiday epistles would be worth reading, cheesy grin pictures and all!

I did my best, it wasn’t much
I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you
And even though
It all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah!

Mamma Realities Survey

1. Please select from the list below the description that best fits your domestic situation:

a.  Having as much fun as chicken have teeth.
b. Bobbing for apples and having a party!
c. Pressing into each other come what may.

2. Marital Status:

a. It’s complicated.
b. Newlywed!
c. Married.

3. Number of children in your home:

a. 6
b. 2 perfect angels!
c. >2<6

4. Age:

a. Mind your own damn business.
b. 26!
c. I’ve discovered that my real measurements have nothing to do with numbers or statistics.

5. Weight:

a. I know where you live. I know where your children go to school.
b. 104 pounds!
c. I’ve discovered that my real measurements have nothing to do with numbers or statistics.

6. Household income:

a. Don’t make me slap you.
b. Over $100K
c. We have enough, and know how to be creative and careful.

7. How many times per month do you do something fun and just for yourself?

a. 0 (And the answer would be the same if you had asked me times per YEAR.)
b. 4
c. At least 1, and sometimes 2.

8. Which best describes your nutrition plan?

a. Cheetoes and Shiraz
b. Vegan
c. I don’t know, but it’s gotta be quick, easy and yummy.

9. Which best describes your exercise program?

a. Couch, coffee and Camels.
b. 3 Spin classes a week, 3 weight resistance sessions with personal trainer, and run inbetween 12-20 miles per week.
c. Move more than I eat.

10. Which life issue concerns you most?

a. Crippling Credit Card debt.
b. Spiritual/Personal Wellness
c. Balance

11. When is the last time you went to the bathroom alone?

a. 1995
b. Yesterday
c. I can’t remember.

12. Of what are you most afraid?

a. The children will never move out.
b. Stretch marks.
c. Not having enough resources to serve my children equally well.

13. About what are you passionate?

a. Control
b. My husband!
c. Sleep

14. Do you participate in any groups or clubs that do not involve your children?

a. I don’t participate in any groups or clubs period.
b. Of course!
c. I can’t remember.

15. How would you describe your present emotional state?

a. Like sand under a contact lens.
b. Majestic.
c. Uneven with periods of partial forgetfulness.

If you answered mostly As:

You are in need of some serious attitude rehydration. Clearly, anger has seeped into your green tea and your choking on the bitter dregs. Consider a spa day to rejuvinate the Spririt, mind and body. Nourish the relationships in your life with Light, Love and attention before your attitude makes you lose them. Count your blessings. Rehearse solutionas, not problems, and get your arse off your shoulders.

If you answered mostly Bs:

You either never burp, fart or swear, or you are in denial deeper than the Nile, baby. No one is that perfect. Get over yourself.

If you answered mostly Cs:

You are a Mamma warrior who chooses to rise and lift her voice in Hallelujah. You go, sister!

Hallelujah, Hallelujah,
Hallelujah, Hallelujah,
Hallelujah, Hallelujah,
Hallelujah, Hallelujah!

Familyslide Preparedness and Prevention for Holiday Stressed Families

As detailed in Landslide Preparedness and Prevention for Oceanside Residents, “In Southern California, heavy rain events have the potential to cause devastating landslides. The City of Oceanside has initiated an education program called Landslide Preparedness and Prevention for Oceanside residents.”  As property owners are responsible to protect the stability of their residences and businesses, The City of Oceanside has launched a prevention program to urge the local residents to learn how to safeguard their real estate.  These resources include links to documents, fact sheets, practical advice and resource agencies that may assist their efforts.

I am plenty jealous.  I  would love a list of links, docutments, fact sheets, practical advice and resource agencies that might assist my efforts to protect my family during this stressed out season of festive angst.  My family does not reside in Southern California, but I am The Mamma who is charged with the protection and stability of my family.  The Emergency Broadcast System has posted our home under a Familyslide Watch.  A Watch means that conditions are likely to produce an actual Familyslide.  Familyslides, and I don’t mean like those fun and wild perks found at Great Wolf Lodge, are a threat to family serenity and holiday communion.  We are in a season of heavy stress that has the potential to cause familyslides as devastating to relationships as landslides are to homes.  As such, we join other similarly situated Mammas to monitor in case any of the following indicators occur over the upcoming holiday season:

1.)  Changing familyscaping patterns such as not serving alcohol at the obligatory family meal where the resident sister alcoholic always gets trashed and makes off color remarks (especially the comments where her verbal runoff covers you or your children in jealous sewage), event juggling (make triage list of obligatory functions and stick to it exclusively), small slides, flows, or progressively leaning dynamics (cover as many lapses in judgement- your own and your children with Grace as you can.  ‘Tis not the season to micromanage, ’tis the season to survive).

2.)  Avoid all outside relational contact that stuck or jammed for the first time.  Choose to be with people who make you laugh, agree Ben & Jerry pint size containers of Cherry Garcia ice cream really are single servings, and concur that Chinese take-out is a festive Christmas Eve dinner tradition.

3.)  Beware any new cracks in the plaster, tile, brick, or foundations of your self-control.  If you are like me, you’re wound a little tight around the bobbin these days.  I like to think of it as attitude caulk.  Like today, at my son’s fencing tournament, when the crowd literally gasped at the bad calls of the ref that cost my son the match not one, but two times.  I remembered, hey, not only am I in public, but I am well boiled dry in terms of personal resources.  I only strangled him and got a black card in the dark recesses of my mind.  I metaphorically caulked my mouth shut.  It’s amazing how I can fill the cracks in my emotional plaster and give my psychic tile a face lift by simply shutting up.  If ever there were a time to know that my perceptions might be off, the sprint to Christmas after an exhausting Thanksgiving road trip is the time.

4.)  If your outside walls, walkways, or stairs begin to pull away from the family building, in other words, if you are having that run-away from home fantasy again, be of good cheer.  Such projection means you actually haven’t lost your mind.  And though you don’t get to dye your hair black, hitch hike cross country and join a motorcycle club to enjoy all that boot and leather goodness, neither are you broken, damaged or impaired.  It’s simply as normal as the tree lights all not working, or the tree falling down, or the kids sneaking the bag of red and green M&Ms up to their rooms.  Stay put, and next time you’re at Food Lion, they have a buy one get one free going on holiday M&Ms right now!

5.)  If you’re slowly developing widening cracks appearing on the ground or pavement of your attitude, it’s time to take a break.  That you just read this and spit all over the screen in disbelief is a tell tale sign you need one.  Cancel one event.  No one likes the cookies that come home in an exchange any way.  Stop.  Put on a movie and hug your kids.  Take off your bra.  Stay in.  Reduce let’s you recycle Christmas spirit and patience.

6.)  If stress is breaking underground communication lines, re. you’re snapping at your children, and blaming your husband and flushing your perspective, it’s time to re-evaluate priorities.  In fact, it’s the perfect time for actually getting that gingerbread kit out of the box and making banshee with icing in the kitchen with the kids.  Smack peppermints, nibble gumdrops and see the sweet delight of their frosting mustaches.

Were you to disregard these preparedness prevention guidelines, in the midst of a familyslide, you may notice;

Water may break through ground surfaces in unusual forms… tears on your kids cheeks, moisture in The Husband’s eyes, potty puddle from puppy.

Relational fences and retaining walls may expand and shut your heart away from the people you most love.

Faint rumbling sounds of regret may increase in volume in the foundation of your soul.

The ground may slope downward and may begin shifting in directions under your feet causing you to trip on your own tongue, strangle in the trap of your own schedule and throw you to the ground.

Unusual sounds, such as hope cracking or brittle boulders knocking together in your heart like castanets, may indicate Spiritual debris.

Collapsed esteem, mud slinging, fallen regard for consequences, and other indications of possible deterioration may be seen when taking a big breath and/or when you pause to laugh at yourself. (Embankments along high expectation sides are particularly susceptible to familyslides.)

I confess I am in a dervish of a maternalslide.  I am bringing in the sandbags in my attempt to keep the splash off my kids and their holidays.  I’ve had a stress headache every day for over three weeks.  I feel like I have a helmet of fog over my forehead and that everything is just a little bit blurry, though I am drug-free except for caffeine.  My memory is more shot than a deer on hood.  I’ve stopped eating gluten, have abstained from drinking alcohol of any kind, and have increased the intake of my fresh fruit and vegetables.  I exercise six times a week and floss daily.  I am doing everything I can do in my own strength.

Still, however, I am a millimeter away from familyslide.

As such, I realize neither my sense of humor, nor a gingerbread house is enough to shift my house upon a rock.

It is time again to recognize that I omitted the one event I can’t cancel without consequence of my peace.

It is time to pray.

Rejoice, Immanuel.

Prince of Peace!

Hallelujah, Hallelujah,
Hallelujah, Hallelujah,
Hallelujah, Hallelujah,
Hallelujah, Hallelujah!

Counterclaim: The Mamma Vrs. The Boy, The Middle Girl and Baby Girl

In response to the legal action initiated by The Boy, The Middle Girl, and Baby Girl in Stepford SUV Bubble Explosion, The Mamma files a counterclaim:

SUPERIOR COURT LAWFUL AUTHORITY

1      THE MAMMA                              )  Matter no.  1-4-1000-18
2      0 Good Can Come From This Lane         )
3      Optimum, Hope  14411                   )
4      Republic of Maternal Entropy           )
5      Authority.representation/proper        )
6                                             )
7                                             )
8                                             )
9                                             )
10                                            )
11  PEOPLE OF THE STATE OF THE HOUSE
12                                            )
13           THE MAMMA                        )
14                                            )
15              Vs.                           )
16                                            )
17                                            )
18  THE BOY, THE MIDDLE GIRL, BABY GIRL       )
19                                            )
20   Defendents                               )                        -
21                                            )
22           THE MAMMA
23                                            )
24       Counter Plaintiff                    )
25                                            )
26            Vs.                             )
27                                            )
28  SUPERIOR COURT OF PATERNAL ENTROPY        )
29  SUPERIOR COURT OF DOMESTIC RELATIONS      )          COUNTER CLAIM
30  COUNTY OF FAMILY HARMONY, AL, The Boy,    )             Exhibits;
31  The Middle Girl, and Baby Girl,           )

COUNTERCLAIM

SUMMARY

I, THE MAMMA, one of the people of Optimum, in this court of record claim that the SUPERIOR COURT OF PATERNAL ENTROPY, THE SUPERIOR COURT OF DOMESTIC RELATIONS, THE COUNTY OF FAMILY HARMONY, AL, The Boy, The Middle Girl, and Baby Girl have trespassed upon me, the above named being party to my being falsely accused, slandering my name, and having no jurisdiction over me to impugn my community standing and good reputation as a Mamma defender who wants to rise up and sing Hallelujah.  I am overstressed and under resourced in the running of our home, and my claim shall be held to a lesser standard than that of an attorney who is not hope-deprived.  I claim damages of h100,000 (one hundred thousand hugs) from each flesh and blood party and p1,000,000 (one million pardons) from each corporation, for my injury as outlined in my counterclaim:

That I did NOT knowingly or unknowingly cause emotional hardship to The Boy.  At no time was he held hostage or denied the basic needs of food, water, exercise and sleep while in my care.  That I am most certainly not responsible for the worst afternoon of his entire life or its subsequent features.

Likewise, that I did NOT violate The Middle Girl’s Third grade liberties or fail to implement safety improvements following the last family road trip.  The Middle Girl clearly seeks to malign my name in a desperate effort to avoid long division.

Futhermore, that I did NOT injure the pride of Baby Girl.  Medical documentation proves she did NOT sustain retinal damage and could have complied with AR reading quiz review requirements pursuant to family expectation.  I ipso facto can NOT be held liable for public humiliation experienced by my child when a parental loci was in charge of her lunch.

Finally, THE SUPERIOR COURT OF DOMESTIC RELATIONS, THE COUNTY OF FAMILY HARMONY, AL impeached me with faulty testimony of overtired minors who actually love THE MAMMA and are unable to function, deliver homework, complete laundry, or maintain public health in the home without me.  Any judicial record that indicates otherwise clearly colludes with immature parties who cannot do better until they know better, until they are sovereigns without subjects and independent unto themselves.

The damages can be satisfied pre-trail as a settlement wherein a heartfelt family meeting is held and Grace is served like high tea.  Expedited trail dates are available were the parties agreed to have Starbucks Skinny Vanilla Lattes and raspberry scones available forthwith.

And even though
It all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah!

Email Etiquette Rules for Outraged Parents

A recent rash of semi-hysterical emails that Cc’d all the parents of The Middle Girl’s third grade class prompted my rehearsal of some common sense email etiquette tips for parents.

The trigger email of the series was penned by a well meaning, but emotional Mommy that wanted to understand why her son had become ill three times since October, and thought it might make grand sense if the other parents took their kiddos in for testing whether or not they were symptomatic.  The word “carrier” was used.  Naturally, this prompted enthusiastic responses from both sides of the sick bed.  Parents did not want their own child singled out because they had been ill, while others did not want their child to undergo unnecessary medical procedures.  Each exchange of the series was replied to all.

In all seriousness, before I begin my spoof of the day, Email Etiquette Rules for Outraged Parents, may I sincerely assert that time and research has proved two universal truths about email.  First, it is better to never, ever send an email to any one for any reason when angry.  A cool off period always aids reflection, and flame emails sent cannot be taken back.  There is NO DELETE KEY once that puppy has taken up residence in another account’s doghouse… and then you’re the one in the kennel.  Secondly, it is rarely helpful,  or even advisable to REPLY ALL.  In the vast majority of email communications, your response may be sufficiently rendered directly to the original or most recent sender.  Finally, nothing can understate the fact that EMAIL IS NOT PRIVATE!  Once you send an email, it can be forwarded and/or printed to any party without your knowledge, and certainly without your permission.

That is what happened in this case among The Middle Girl’s class parent community.  Nothing makes genuinely sane and loving people more situationally crazy than the righteous defense of their kids.  You mix the unconditional love of a Mamma Bear protecting her cub with partial information emotionally communicated to twenty other equally fallible parents similarly devoted to the own kids in the same classroom community, and it’s like Kryptonite.  Even Super Man gets the vapors in such a scene.  As a result, good people got mad and hurt.  Reputations were dented and egos were bruised.  It was messy, sad and avoidable.  REPLY ALL is a quick way to SUPER SIZE woe.

So again, I am going to kid soon.  What will follow in Email Etiquette Rules for Outraged Parents is PARODY.  I am sincere, however, when I testify email can be a communication tool that can bite back bigger bitter than a rabid badger.   You know that old woodworker adage, “Measure twice, cut once?”  I think email’s version is “Read twice, send once, and if angry, don’t send at all.”

On a lighter note, time to infuse some levity into this whole scene, so, as promised:

Email Etiquette Rules for Outraged Parents

1. Don’t send anything you don’t want Xeroxed 1000 times and stuck under every windshield of your child’s school parking lot.  (Faculty AND student.)

2. Avoid using REPLY ALL option.  Think about it, do you really want to scream in stereo?  Every email sent to school stakeholders adds or detracts from your family brand at that school.  You don’t want IRREGULAR as your family label!

3. Less is always more when you are angry.  Use as few words as possible.  Avoid profanity.  Profanity never translates in email and you can’t help your kids if you come across like a drunk that tossed too many at your first cousin’s open bar karaoke night .

4. Speaking of imbibing… don’t drink and email.  No good can come of it.  1-95 has signs warning against Intextication on billboards.  You cannot offer good tips to your kid’s school when tipsy.

5. Write in a clear and non-threatening manner.  You can’t help your kid if you’re in the local lockup or subject to a restraining order.  State your point briefly, clearly and as positively as possible.  See Rule #3.  Less is Always More.

6. Remember that emails may be forwarded without your knowledge or consent.  This is a literal as well as a figurative transfer.  Write email in such a way that the reader will not forward his response all over the head, psyche, grade or freedom of your kid.  If there is any possibility that what you wrote in your email can do more harm to your kid, don’t, for the love of .com, send it!

7. Don’t forward hoaxes.  If you don’t know or cannot prove the assertions of your text, do not transmit them to a stakeholder in your child’s school community.  It just makes you look a little hysterical and a lot ignorant.  Email is not talk radio, people, it’s not anonymously phoning in and getting it all off your chest time, it’s on the record and it has teeth that can bite back.

8. DON”T SHOUT.  In email, writing in all caps is considered shouting.  If you feel the need to hit the all caps key as you compose an email, this is like a Star Trek moment on the bridge, RED ALERT!  This is an email you probably should not send at all, and certainly not without a 12-24 hour cooling off period.

9. By all means, PHONE A FRIEND.  Get a tone check from a spouse or trusted friend.  Make it an accountability partnership.  Promise each other that you are going to act as one another’s SPAM filters.  Make a commitment to each other that you will honestly tell each other if your email makes you sound like a flaming ass.  That’s what friends do!  We tell each other when we’ve got lipstick on our teeth.  No one wants to look like an ass or have red delicious canines.

10. Cool off, cool down and walk away.  Flame emails usually hurt people.  Set a time limit you will honor for all emotional emails, 12 hours-one week.  Abraham Lincoln did this with letters.  He put letters aside in his desk drawer and rarely sent letters that communicated anger or criticism.  His legendary honesty was balanced by judgment.  Remember that it is difficult for people to be on your kid’s side if they are pissed at you as a parent.

Baby I have been here before
I know this room, I’ve walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew you.
I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch
Love is not a victory march
It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah!

Stepford SUV Bubble Explosion

This article is about a family culture accident in 2010.  For information regarding why we ever chose to procreate, see Younger and Even More Stupid than 1 Day, 4 Kids, 1000 Miles and 18 Hours.

Explosions

On November 30, 2010, the day after a family’s freakish road trip home from a sister’s wedding in Boca Grande, an emotive fire and series of psychic explosions occurred among the four children, who had been held hostage in their family vehicle for 18 straight hours without once uttering a plea for food, water, rest, or help from passing motorists or employees at area gas stations on the family’s route.

The explosions occurred within a family unit, area schools and a family home and resulted in the discomfort and anxiety of innocent bystanders, who knew the family before the incidents.  According to a report issued after the accidents, actions taken or not taken led to overstraining of childish impulses through suspended animation, traveling backward in time and the subsequent overpressurisation and pressure relief. Adolescent and pre-adolescent flow to the bottleneck of traffic overwhelmed the children, resulting in excess fatigue and resentment to carry over out of the top of their self-control, flowing onto the backs of those with whom they share relationship, accumulating squarely on the shoulders of The Mamma, causing a maternal cloud, which was ignited by The Husband’s frequent travel as the entire family machine kept running without a brain. The report identified numerous failings in judgment, risk management, family management, Stepford culture within the SUV, rest breaks, nutrition, and general health and sleep.

Aftermath & Legal action

The string of relational blasts began when The Boy entered in the SUV in the driver pick up line after school on Monday afternoon at approximately 3:24 p.m., throwing anger at The Mamma and injuring the ear space of more than 6 other children present.  The Mamma was charged with criminal violations of kidnapping and child endangerment laws and has been subject to lawsuits from The Boy’s teachers. The Boy then slapped The Mamma with an emotional hardship claim, asserting that she was most certainly responsible for the worst afternoon of his entire life.  Attempts at mediation proved unsuccessful as The Boy was too traumatized to talk about it.

The second explosion occurred Tuesday night with a then-record crying jag of The Middle Girl for hundreds of Third Grade violations, and subsequently imposing so much make-up homework that she had missed during the family trip that she was emotionally scarred.  The Middle Girl asserted both an independent suit against The Mamma claiming that she had failed to implement safety improvements following the last family road trip, and joined a class action suit with The Boy to insure that she would never, ever have to travel with The Mamma again.

The third explosion hit Wednesday morning as the fractured family commuted to school.  Baby Girl spontaneously erupted in response to her AR reading book and refused to review for her quiz.  She claimed that she had read so much while trapped in the car on I 95 that she sustained retinal damage.  She took her injured pride with her into the building where she proceeded to throw pencil hand grips under the table during Morning Work time and touching another child’s snack.  Baby Girl was isolated during lunch and had to eat with her back to the rest of the class.  Baby Girl has also filed a lawsuit against The Mamma claiming emotional damage that led to public humiliation with mixed emotional fitures.

At last estimate, The Mamma is being sued for the second-largest class action suit again one parent since May 28, 1988.  Were the Mamma to be found liable in all of these cases, she would have to pay upwards of $38 million in fines and damages.

The Mamma Resigns

The Mamma attempted to retire early amid the various problems plaguing her family since the 1 Day, 4 Kids, 1000 Miles & 18 Hour mind-numbing cruise.  A confidential source close to The Husband disclosed that her plea to resign was rejected.  The Mamma was remanded to her home to honor and serve her family as matriarch for the rest of her life.

I did my best, it wasn’t much
I couldn’t feel, so I tried to touch
I’ve told the truth, I didn’t come to fool you
And even though
It all went wrong
I’ll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah!

Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah, Hallelujah
Hallelujah!