Vacation is what you take when you can’t take what you’ve been taking any longer. – Lion from Wizard of Oz

Time to hang up the Wii remote and put away Super Mario Galaxy 2.  Life starts up again tomorrow.  Eli is back to school.  Marc will be back to the warehouse.  And Brenna and I will resume our weekly juggling of her naps and my availability to take merchant calls.  Add to that dogs who are tired of being cooped up in the house, cats who are constantly seeking out any sunbeam and/or warm spot to claim as their own.  And lets not forget the bills that need to be paid, property taxes that are due, and other financial issues that seem to loom over most every decision we make.

In other words, it’s a return to stress - the every day kind and the not so every day kind.

Often my first reaction to a stressful situation is to overcompensate and overwork to overcome whatever it is.  I am a big  believer in formulating a plan and then working head-down-nose-to-the-grind-stone diligently towards the end goal.  Call it the control freak in me (not out loud, that would be rude), but I find comfort in knowing “the plan” and being able to see clear progress as steps are checked off along the way.  However, there are times when the plan doesn’t seem to be coming together.  Progress can seem slow or even feel as if it’s sliding even further downhill.  When that happens, I tend to hunker down even more.  I withdraw.  I become distant, distracted, and obsessed with finding the solution.  I can become short tempered, resentful of others who appear to be taking things less seriously than I think they should.  I become a grouch (or some other word that ends in ch).

Sometimes though, the best thing I can do is step away, take a breath, and come back to tackle the problem with a clear head. And this weekend (really, the last 2 weeks), I did just that.  I stifled the urge to focus on making lists of steps that needed to be accomplished right this very minute (at least according to my plan) and tried to just breathe.  I thought this would be especially hard since it was also New Year’s weekend.  In years past, I would have been in a serious slump looking at all the things that needed to be done.  I would have then turned drill sergeant-ish and began to bark orders to all those within earshot in an attempt to get us back on track.  And I would have told those same people and myself that I was doing this because I loved each of them and that we had to keep our eyes on our (my self proclaimed) family motto of working now so we can play later.

Replacing important things in your life with work only causes anxiety to build up–not to mention that it takes the joy out of life.  Contrary to my self proclaimed family motto, sometimes in order to get the work done, one has to take some time and play now.

This holiday season has really been like a vacation – or a staycation – for me.  Vacation does not have to mean physically leaving your everyday life and jet setting to the beach. Whatever relaxes you, brings more clarity, or calms your mind during times of stress can certainly be enough to rejuvenate! When logic tells me to quicken my pace and pile on the extra work, yet my heart is reminding me of the meaningful time I am neglecting with family, friends, and myself, it’s time to slow down.

That brings me back to Mario Super Galaxy 2.  If you haven’t played it, it’s a 2 player (3 player the way we play it) Wii game that requires you to work as a team to solve puzzles in order to advance.  I remember being very, very bad at the Nintendo 64 Mario Bros games, but I love this one.  I loved the time we spent working as a team… hearing my son say, “ahh drats!  Don’t worry, we can try again.”  I loved feeling like even though it was “just a game”, somehow we had joined forces and become a super team.  We were unstoppable.  And we managed to laugh a lot.

So, like I said, tomorrow life starts up again, and tonight I will probably lay in bed making lists, but right now, I am relaxed and feeling very connected to my family.  And that’s the first step to solving pretty much all our problems!

What relaxes you, brings more clarity, or calms your mind during times of stress?

Downshifting Sometimes IS the Solution is a post from: Deliberate Legacies

When my brother was born, he had to spend a few extra days at the hospital because he was born with a clubfoot.  When my mother left to go get Corey and bring him home, she told me that she was leaving to get me something she knew I really wanted.  It is said that the look of excitement that shown on my 16 month old face could not have been mistaken for anything else other then sheer delight.

When my mother returned later with a bundle of “something I really wanted”, I came running to the door.  “Puppy!  Puppy!  Puppy!” I shouted as I stopped before my mother and the bundle.  My mother leaned down to show me what was wiggling inside that blanket.  I peered inside anxiously awaiting my first glimpse of the puppy I had so longed for.  There, peering back at me or perhaps at nothing at all was a pink furless Corey.  “Puppy?” I asked timidly.  “No, no puppy.  This is your new little brother, Corey.” This announcement prompted me to shriek out loud as I took off running for my bed where I spent time crying over the disappointment of not getting a puppy – the one thing I had really wanted.

How funny children are.  My little heart had been set on “something that I had really wanted” which surely everyone had to have known was a puppy.  How could I have known that at age 37 I would be sitting here thinking about how very lucky I am to have a little brother?

Corey and I have never enjoyed a “typical” relationship.  Growing up, we seemed to both exist in a state of hell that only we could see and understand since no one seemed that keen to step in and rescue us.  But no matter how bad things were, the one thing that Corey and I knew deep down was that it was us against the world.  We were a team even if there were times when we had no idea how to function as a team.

Eventually, Corey and I grew up and moved away from that environment and into situations where we had more control.  Sometimes we made bad choices and sometimes we chose wisely.  The one thing that was always constant was that I was his big sister, he was my little brother, and we loved each other no matter what choices the other made.

Now, as we both crossed over that mid-30s marker, have settled down in our married lives, become parents and grown into adulthood, it’s amazing how close we are.  What is also amazing is to have had the opportunity to go along for the ride, watching Corey grow into the man he’s become, and to share in the vision of the man he wants to be.  Over the years I have watched as my brother went from scared child to rebellious teenager; from know-it-all young adult to maturing, productive man, loving husband, caring father.  It has been a truly amazing transformation, and I am privileged to be a part of his life and growth as a person.

The little brother that I once saw as a pink, furless “puppy” has grown into a self assured man who questions life, seeks out answers, strives for improvement, shows compassion to those around him even though it was something he, himself, was rarely shown while growing up.  I have come to know and admire Corey for his willingness to change the things he can change, and his constant struggle to let go of the things which he has no control over in the first place.  I continue to be in awe of his talents.  Even though Corey has lots of “excuses” he could use to write off certain behavior, he is chosen to take responsibility for his own actions.  I have seen him turn into a loving husband and a wonderful uncle.  Most importantly, I have seen my brother go from being my great disappointment to my kid brother to being my dear friend and loving brother.

I am proud of Corey.  I am proud of who he is and of who he’s striving to become.  He is my brother – the something I may not have thought I really wanted, but the one thing I’d never give up now.

Happy Birthday, Little Brother! is a post from: Deliberate Legacies

My husband’s birthday was July 1st and while I threw together a very impromptu dinner (“Haystacks”) and bought him a really cute cake (from the clearance rack at Wal-Mart… cute AND 40% off!), I never properly expressed just how thankful I am that he’s a part of my life.

Dear Marc,

Hey babe!  Hope you slept well last night despite the three or four times I “nudged” you so that you’d roll over and stop snoring.  I did feel bad the first time I nudged you because it was my fault that you had stayed up so late – you were trying to help me find an image to go with yesterday’s blog post – so I waited a good 5 minutes before nudging you a second time.  It was the longest 5 minutes of my life, but totally worth it in appreciation of all that you do for me.

I know that you have been worried about a lot of things lately:  the discovery that you only have one kidney, while it makes a great joke, is concerning because of what it could mean, our finances, gathering up and sorting through all the items in the barn that we plan to sell including your prized Landcruiser and many of your clocks, and all the while still trying to be an engaging dad to our children and a loving husband to me.

I know that your love language is pretty much a tie between words of affirmation and physical touch, and I am sorry that I’ve neither had the time nor made the time to really speak to you in either language lately.  And even though the saying goes, “It’s the thought that counts…”, in marriage, I know that just the thought(s) alone are not enough (until you hone your psychic abilities more, that is).  And I forgive you for looking so surprised the other day when I announced that the baby was sleeping in her pack-n-play and we had a good 30 minutes to bring sexy back.   I know I said it in practical mode tone of voice, but sometimes my switch gets stuck in the on position… just view it as a challenge!

I want you to know that even though I am on edge – a bit more worried about things than I usually am – that I do know that together we are a pretty dyn-o-mite team, and there is nothing we can’t conquer so long as we do it together.  Besides, who else would love our quirks?  And even though you aren’t a big fan of musicals, even you’ve gotta admit that we go together like rama lama lama ka dinga da dinga dong… remembered forever… as shoobop sha wadda wadda yippity boom de boom… chang chang changity chang shoobop… that’s the way it should be, wha oooh, yeah!

I love watching the way you make being a dad look so easy… when we know it’s not (at least not all the time).  It is exhausting at times being the parents of a 5 year old boy and a 5 month old baby girl, but you never complain.  Your patience, goodness, generosity, strength of character, and caring make you THE BEST daddy our children could ever have.

Knowing that you will be here day after day for me and for our family fills me with hope and happiness – even if I sometimes hide it under grumpiness, worry, and my ever present “practical mode” personality.  I am truly blessed to have found such a perfect partner… a perfect daddy for our children… a best friend. 

I love you.

Your wife,

Thankful Tuesday – Dinga de Dinga Dong is a post from: Deliberate Legacies

Summer officially began June 21.  Tell us the story of a favorite summertime memory!

Growing up, we didn’t take family vacations.  We didn’t share family meals.  We weren’t reminded to brush our teeth before bed or prompted to say our prayers.  We walked on eggshells… a lot.  Keep quiet and out of site – that was our motto, our creed, our slim hope of getting through the day without being yelled at or beaten or worse.

Summertime was our “big escape”.  No school for my brother meant fewer trips up to the nursing home where my mother worked to help out where I was needed.  The moment the sun came up, my brother and I were out the door, and we didn’t come back until long after the sun had gone down.  Most of the summers of my youth just blend together – nothing out of the ordinary for our already out of the ordinary young lives… most of them, but not all…

I cannot tell you how old we were, my brother and I, the summer my mom informed us that we were going to go stay with my grandparents.   My grandparents lived right across the street from my great-grandparents, so it was sure to be a summer filled with old people and whatever it was that old people did.

One of the things those “old people” did was garden.  When we arrived, we were told not to chase the frogs that were in and around the yard, the gardens, and the flower beds.  Frogs, we were told, were good to have around because they ate bugs… lots and lots of bugs.

After a particularly hard rain, my brother and I ventured out to the park behind my grandparent’s trailer.  To our amazement, beneath the slide was a HUGE puddle, and in that puddle was hundreds of tadpoles (ok, we didn’t really count them but it sure seemed like hundreds).  Yes, tadpoles… baby frogs.  Frogs eat bugs, remember, and were therefore good.  My brother and I were about to make my grandparents SUPER happy and rid their gardens and flower beds of bugs F-O-R-E-V-E-R!!

Our only concern was where to keep the tadpoles until they grew into frogs.  That puddle wasn’t going to last long in the Texas-triple-digits-summer temps.  Light bulb moment!!  Another thing these “old people” did was fish…so much fishing, in fact, that they had their own minnow tank.  (For those of you not familiar with a minnow tank, think large, metal wash tub about 4 feet long and 3 feet deep.)

After what seemed like endless trips back and forth from the slide to the minnow tank and back again, we got all the tadpoles transferred over.  As the days went by, we heard Pappaw mention to Mammaw several times that the minnow tank didn’t seem to have as many minnows in it as it should.  Not wanting to spoil the surprise, my brother and I would just giggle and run off to see if we could see any new frogs jumping around.

Then it happened!  FROGS!  Honestly it was like how I imagined the plague mentioned in the Bible to be.  One could hardly walk without stepping on a frog.  Their little dog was in heaven chasing them around.  When we saw Mammaw that day, we were beaming – 100 watts!  “Surprise!  Now you won’t have any pesky bugs!!”  We proceeded to tell the entire story of our painstaking efforts.  Mammaw was not as happy as we had thought she’d be.   Thus, we spent the next few weeks across the street with our great-grandparents.

Our great-grand parents were as different from each other as night and day.  My great-grandfather, Truitt, was fun, caring, and a great story teller.  My great-grandmother, Virginia, was controlling, no-nonsense, and, well, not all that grandmotherly.

As I mentioned before, summertime in southern Texas means months of triple digit temperatures.  It was during the summer months that my grandmother slept outside on the screened in porch.  Grandpa preferred the total darkness of his back room bedroom.  My brother and I took turns sleeping with each great-grandparent.  On the nights that I slept with Grandpa, he would tell me stories – large, wondrous, imaginative stories.  I loved those stories and would drift off some time during each one and dream of far-away places and grand adventures.

Then there were nights with Grandma… Grandma had one thing on her bedside table – a clock radio (and I am talking about the old clock radio where the numbers flipped over one by one.)  Grandma liked to listen to a station that played late night murder mysteries and other spine thrilling radio programs.  “Liked to listen to” might be a stretch.  Grandma fell asleep quickly without much chit chat, but I would lay there and listen to the programs and watch as the numbers flipped by slowly.  The shows scared the daylights out of me with their creaking doors and clop clop of shoes, and yet, I couldn’t NOT listen.  The next morning, Grandma always complained that I gritted my teeth (something Grandpa never mentioned).  I am sure it was those radio programs!

That summer was magical in that it was probably THE must uneventful summer of our youth.  I remember laying in the grass (after the frogs had hopped to other yards), watching the fireflies, and just smiling for no real reason at all.

Tadpoles, Mystery Radio, and Fireflies = Magic! is a post from: Deliberate Legacies

It’s human nature to want to fit in… to belong… to experience closeness with others.  Not only do we want to belong to a group, but we also want to believe we are special, important, and a valued part of that group.  Being “connected” makes us feel good about ourselves, helps to pull us through tough times, and gives meaning to our lives.  There is strength in numbers, and being connected to a social support system helps us to build immunities against outside forces that can hurt us.

These connections also guide and shape our behavior and our choices in life because they provide a safe, comfortable, and predictable “home” within which to live.  When we are a part of something larger than ourselves – a family, a school, a sports team, a church, a neighborhood community, online support group, Facebook, etc. – we’re better able to satisfy our basic needs of wanting to belong, be valued, and be understood.

In my ideal mind, families provide a sense of belonging and connection that no other group can match.  Families are about caring, loving, accepting, and providing long-term commitment to each other.  That’s not to say that families don’t fight or have disagreements, because they do, even in my ideal mind… but they use those experiences as a way to grow and learn more about each other.  I firmly believe that when a family decides to be deliberate in their purpose – to be strong, joyful, and caring – they become a safe port for us to navigate to when life gets stormy… and trust me, life gets stormy.

I didn’t grow up with a family that was deliberate in their purpose… it was sort of a fend for yourself environment at best.  Even after I was removed from my biological family unit and placed into foster care, I maintained a weariness that I approached each relationship with that inevitably tainted it.  I still needed to belong… wanted to belong…but I never could find a place where I felt being me was good enough… and trust me, I searched in all kinds of places for something or someone who would fill that void… which more often than not, only left me feeling even less connected and more ashamed of the depths to which I was willing to sink in order to find it.

Now, at 36 years old, I know that it’s important to provide a deliberate sense of family for my children AND to make them feel as if they are an important, contributing part of our unit.  If I don’t, they will look for “surrogate” family groups outside of the home.  Maybe they would be luckier than I was, but I don’t want to chance it.  For years – pretty much my entire 20s – I was adrift… floating aimlessly… never fully trusting, but always seeking something more.

No matter how old we get, we never outgrow the need to belong, to feel needed, or to be important in someone else’s life.  We never stop craving hugs, words of praise, or other forms of appreciation (whatever your “love language” might be).  I want my family to be that safe place for me, for my husband, for my children.  I want it because I need it.  I want it because I love them, and I want them to know that love, feel that love, and never doubt that love even though there will be times of conflict ( Lord, give me strength come their teenage years), disappointment (in their choices and mine), and some serious eye rolling.

Why is family important to you?

Why is “Family” so Important? is a post from: Deliberate Legacies