What they don't know & Other lies we tell

I will not deny the fact that I lie on occasion.  I try to make myself feel better at night by rationalizing my motives.  Typically my lies are to protect people.  Sure, the person in question is often myself, but that is not the point.  My point, if I even have one, is that lies do serve a purpose.  The infamous "they" that I would like to track down and tie to a kitchen chair, say "the truth shall set you free".   I am not sure people are paying attention to who needs to be set free when they actually tell the truth though.

I lie to my kids. " Honey, Incredible Pizza is not open right now", when in fact, this is just my way of getting out of having to take them to the indoor carnival of hell.  Of course they are open; they are open all the time, even in the middle of the night while I have nightmares about going there.

I lie to my friends.  I know I know.  If I can't be honest with them, then what can I expect in return.  Well frankly, I do not want to know if those jeans make me look fat!  I don't tell my friends what I think they want to hear, I tell them things that make them feel good about themselves.

I lie to my clients (not you though:).  Don't worry!  I can spin this in my favor too.  I would much rather under promise and over deliver so this is really not lying but setting the right expectation.

I lie to myself, about a lot of things.  Denial manifests itself in many forms; my mother being my current affliction.  I knew she was sick even before the phone call.  Looking back, all the signs pointed to a place I did not want to visit again.  When she was formally diagnosed, I ignored the fact that it sounded bad.  Being an enabler of sorts, my mother did not help matters by leaving out some "minor" details of her condition.

After lying to herself for 30 or more years about the effects of smoking, Mom is now in her second year of treatment.  She has begun to ration details of her condition to us like food stamps in an attempt to prevent us from gorging ourselves.  The whole thing reminds me of that scene from A Few Good Men. "I want the truth? You can't handle the truth!"  I realize she does not want to be a statistic, or focus on how many years she may or may not have left.  I also realize, though, that we all need to be realistic; the controlling planner in me needs to know what to expect.  Under promise, over deliver.

Cancer is the worst kind of thief.  It does not hide itself like a coward; cancer is brazen with it's movement and leaves us cold and vulnerable in it's wake.  It moves in the daylight and does not stop until it gets what it wants from you.  What it takes is far more than it ever sets out to gain.

As a mother, I try to imagine what I would tell my children in Mom's position.  No matter how old my children get, I want to protect them from harm.  Sure, life happens, but why can't I do my part to prevent pain when I can?  As a wife, would I say to my husband "hey babe, it's not lookin so good".  Would I want my friends to feel sorry for me as my hair falls out and I lose my energy?  Like my mother, I would not want my life, and that of others, to be consumed by my illness.

If there is a moral here, it is this: What we don't know really doesn't hurt us.

What they don't know & Other lies we tell

I will not deny the fact that I lie on occasion.  I try to make myself feel better at night by rationalizing my motives.  Typically my lies are to protect people.  Sure, the person in question is often myself, but that is not the point.  My point, if I even have one, is that lies do serve a purpose.  The infamous "they" that I would like to track down and tie to a kitchen chair, say "the truth shall set you free".   I am not sure people are paying attention to who needs to be set free when they actually tell the truth though.

I lie to my kids. " Honey, Incredible Pizza is not open right now", when in fact, this is just my way of getting out of having to take them to the indoor carnival of hell.  Of course they are open; they are open all the time, even in the middle of the night while I have nightmares about going there.

I lie to my friends.  I know I know.  If I can't be honest with them, then what can I expect in return.  Well frankly, I do not want to know if those jeans make me look fat!  I don't tell my friends what I think they want to hear, I tell them things that make them feel good about themselves.

I lie to my clients (not you though:).  Don't worry!  I can spin this in my favor too.  I would much rather under promise and over deliver so this is really not lying but setting the right expectation.

I lie to myself, about a lot of things.  Denial manifests itself in many forms; my mother being my current affliction.  I knew she was sick even before the phone call.  Looking back, all the signs pointed to a place I did not want to visit again.  When she was formally diagnosed, I ignored the fact that it sounded bad.  Being an enabler of sorts, my mother did not help matters by leaving out some "minor" details of her condition.

After lying to herself for 30 or more years about the effects of smoking, Mom is now in her second year of treatment.  She has begun to ration details of her condition to us like food stamps in an attempt to prevent us from gorging ourselves.  The whole thing reminds me of that scene from A Few Good Men. "I want the truth? You can't handle the truth!"  I realize she does not want to be a statistic, or focus on how many years she may or may not have left.  I also realize, though, that we all need to be realistic; the controlling planner in me needs to know what to expect.  Under promise, over deliver.

Cancer is the worst kind of thief.  It does not hide itself like a coward; cancer is brazen with it's movement and leaves us cold and vulnerable in it's wake.  It moves in the daylight and does not stop until it gets what it wants from you.  What it takes is far more than it ever sets out to gain.

As a mother, I try to imagine what I would tell my children in Mom's position.  No matter how old my children get, I want to protect them from harm.  Sure, life happens, but why can't I do my part to prevent pain when I can?  As a wife, would I say to my husband "hey babe, it's not lookin so good".  Would I want my friends to feel sorry for me as my hair falls out and I lose my energy?  Like my mother, I would not want my life, and that of others, to be consumed by my illness.

If there is a moral here, it is this: What we don't know really doesn't hurt us.

Wet N Wild Wednesdays

I was hooked the first time I saw the sign at one of our local clubs.  Not only was I impressed by the fact that this type of business has found a way to differentiate itself from their competition, but each week I am curious what is on sale at the dollar store that week.

The last time I drove by, Creme Corn was the featured menu item.  This week, in true Ozarks fashion, we have smashed taters and gravy.  I find myself driving out of my way at times just to see what patrons have to look forward to upon their next visit.  I plan on keeping an eye on the situation in hopes that the cooks get a little more creative.  I am kind of tired of seeing things that sound like left overs from the local lunch rooms.  If those lunch ladies knew where their left overs were going!

Exactly Why I Should Not Even Wear Underwear

Stop me if you have heard this before.  I say that for two reasons: (1) My real world friends and imaginary friends have begun to collide, so I may have told you this before. (2) More importantly, I pray this has happened to at least one other person so it will sound familiar to you.

The boys and I are running around town the other day running errands. Little Man congratulated me from the back between stops and says “Mommy, you have been so good today I think you deserve a coffee”. I smile at the idea that positive reinforcement must be having an effect on the boy and point the car in the direction of my favorite drive through coffee establishment. Little Man then adds “and brother and I get chocolate milk”. I rarely deny either boy anything; partially because I am a sucker and the other because frankly, he was so darn persuasive.

I pull up to the little white noise box and place my order; my coffee and two milks. To my surprise, this is the only time the guy behind the box does not offer me one of his luscious tarts. Although I am slightly disappointed and wonder if he was able to see through the microphone, I proceed to get my fix. My little coffee boy toy pops his head out of the window and provides my total due with a large smile on his face; a smirk almost. He then offers me one of his luscious tarts. As my ego is repairing itself, I decline and hand him the amount due. At this time, the boys are being their normal silly selves; singing along to the radio and dancing. As I pull away from the window, I turn to hand the boys their drinks and notice the cause of the smirk and the offer I was just given.

The Babe. Wearing my underwear. On his head.

All I could do was laugh. I guess some static cling hide the little surprise in his shirt and I did not notice it when I helped him dress. Or, the conspiracy theorist in me thinks my boys are already geniuses and know how to embarrass mommy. This wouldn’t happen if I didn’t wear underwear.

If You Want to Walk on Water

You have to get out of the boat.

Fear is a powerful emotion.  It drives us to do things we may not want to do; just   things we may need.  Fear can also starve us from growing as individuals. One of my biggest fears is that of failure.  I have such high expectations of myself that there are times I do not even try to succeed in fear of failing.  I would rather not try so I can avoid not being perfect at something.  Golf happens to be something I would love to play more often but hate the fact that I am not constant.  Brad tries to tell me this is just part of the game but I have decided to stick to driving the cart, locating the beverage cart, and commentary.

In the past, fear has stopped me from potential personal growth as well.  You see, I love people but I have trust issues.  For the sake of keeping this "brief" let's chalk it up to something way back in the day that I can explain later.  This particular experience had a lasting effect on me.  This relationship impacted my romantic relationships as I grew up as well as my friendships.   Although you may not see it on the cover, the book does not tell the whole story inside.  You have to read between the lines.

I do not like to be in situations that make me vulnerable.  With that said, you can imagine why some may say I have "control" issues.  My rational is that if I am the vulnerable one in a scenario, I am not in control.

I am stepping out of my comfort zone this weekend; or should I say, stepping out of the boat.  I do not expect to walk on water at first, but I do expect to be changed.  I was recruited to be a volunteer mentor at the Boys and Girls Town of Missouri Changing Prisms retreat. This is the description of the event from the website:

Changing Prisms is a two-day, task-oriented workshop that provides the young women of Boys & Girls Town with an opportunity to work side-by-side with women who are successful in both their business and personal lives. Throughout the workshop the mentors provide support by sharing personal life-changing experiences, help the girls identify anxieties that keep them from being successful in their endeavors and work with them to establish goals that are realistic for them individually.

Mentors and licensed therapists lead 40 girls as they work in small groups to complete a variety of diverse activities that are both intellectually and physically challenging. Because of the intensity of these tasks, the young women experience immediate gratification, improving their confidence and self-esteem and developing positive coping and social skills.

To put it lightly, I am petrified.  I know I am going to get more out of this than I think I can ever give to these young woman.  I am honored to even be considered a mentor for the cause.  I have no idea what to expect.  My fear this time is exciting, yet rather than immobilizing me, it is motivating me.  I fear if I do not go, what will I miss.


To move out of our comfort zones, we must face our fears.  When the disciples saw Jesus walking on the lake, they were terrified. ‘It’s a ghost,’ they said, and cried out in fear” (v. 26). They were crossing the lake. The wind was blowing. They looked up and saw somebody walking on the water. They were scared! Peter had to deal with his fear to get out of the boat. The boat was his comfort zone. The rough water might have made him uncomfortable, but he had been in rough water before. He had never seen anyone walk on water.  When Peter stepped out of the boat, he stepped out of his comfort zone. I wonder what his first step looked like when he put his foot onto the water. His heart must have been pounding! He had to face his fear to step onto the water. Peter did pretty well for a few steps. He was actually walking on the water! Peter was walking toward Jesus. Then he took his eyes off Jesus, and his
fear started to get the best of him. He noticed the wind, and as his faith gave way to fear, Peter started to sink.  When faith gives way to fear, we always start to sink. To move out of our comfort zone, we must  face our fears. Fear will keep us in a circle of what is predictable and comfortable.  If there is something you fear, face it. Stop running from it. Walk toward it.

First I have a two hour drive...then I will walk.

Wet N Wild Wednesdays

One (yes, there are many even for a town our size) of our local "gentlemen" establishments offers weekly themed entertainment.  As I was driving by yesterday, I noticed that this week's  dollar store special was Cream Corn.  Most minds might find themselves wandering to a visualization of participants sloppin around in a tub, but all I could think was that would be the night I would use a vacation day; imagine the places the little kernels would be at the end of the night.  Oh, that is the point?

Didn't See This Coming

It is funny what my "big city" friends and family think of my Midwestern town. To hear them talk, you would think the boys would have to scribble on chalk boards at school rather than with pencil and paper. Hubs took my dad golfing and watched my father's expression change as he drove into the golf community of choice for the afternoon; "what do these people do for a living?" he asked in astonishment. I guess he thought we were just a bunch of hillbillies down here. Mind you, I feel the same way at times but it is kind of like that old saying; "I can talk about my mama but you better not" or something like that.

My little town is kind of a secret treasure. Good schools, good cost of living, plenty of rivers to float and lakes full of fish, it is easy to get around, and extremely family friendly. Funny thing is, I could not stand this place back in my college days. Perception is reality and my priorities, and this town, were different at the time.

I did not start out as a small town girl. Born in Charlotte and raised in Kansas City, I was accustomed to long commutes, big universities, and lots of cultural entertainment. Moving around the country over the last twelve years has afforded me the privilege to live in coastal cities, New England Burroughs, charming southern suburbs, and the occasional Midwestern armpit.

Hubs and I drove up to Kansas City last week to meet with a client. What used to be a miserable three hour drive, has become a not-so-mind-numbing two and a half hour commute to the big city. The visit afforded us the opportunity to visit hub's brother and have drinks with an old friend.

To my surprise, I was not prepared for what else the trip gave me; an overwhelming sense of contentment with my current city of residence.

I did not recognize what had happened until we returned home the next day. As I drove to pick up the boys from school, I was reminded my commute was maybe ten minutes, and that it takes me no more than 15-20 minutes to get anywhere of interest on a daily basis. I would not change my childhood or where I grew up for anything. My time in the city of my youth made me realize how happy I am that we chose our current city for my boys to grow physically and mentally.

Don't get me wrong, I get nostalgic for my former life on the coast. I long for Autumn days shopping on the Plaza in Kansas City. I miss driving through the Blue Ridge Mountains on a whim. Those are all great places for me to take my boys on vacation; I may stick it out here for a while. Who knew this gypsy would settle down?