Regrets, I've had a few . . .

My husband left for Florida today.  Every January for the past 15 years or so he has gone to a huge conference in Orlando, on-site at Disney World.

When our kids were in grade school and middle school it was hard to try to explain to them why Daddy got to visit Mickey Mouse for 7-10 days and they had to stay home with a crabby mom.  Even when they were old enough to understand that their father was actually working and not going on rides and visiting water parks, it still wasn't an easy sell, although the gifts he brought home helped ease their jealousy a bit.

Last year our youngest child started college.  For the first time in a very long time there was no longer anyone at home who needed me for meals, laundry, or transportation.  Maybe, just maybe I would be able to go to Florida with him.  Imagine how disappointed I was when my husband said that he probably wouldn't be going to the conference that year!   

Over the years I had held down the fort while he was gone, shoveled mountains of snow (because it always snowed while he was away), dealt with major computer issues (one time the desktop monitor died before he even made it to the airport for his flight to Orlando!) and handled hundreds (slight exaggeration) of other major and minor disasters and glitches.

The mishaps of 2008 alone should have earned me a guaranteed spot for the 2010 trip.  In the space of 24 hours our 16 year old rendered one car totally inoperable and broke the driver side power window (resulting in it becoming permanently stuck in the down position) on the other.  As I attempted to arrange a blanket over the open window (after all, it was January, the temperature that night was predicted to reach single digits, and it was snowing) I shut my right thumb in the very heavy door of the Suburban.  *&#@$!!!

Thankfully, circumstances changed and my husband decided to attend the 2010 conference after all.  Even better, we looked over our budget and decided that we could afford for me to go with him.     

I thoroughly enjoyed a week of Florida warmth and Disney World whimsy and wonder!  With the exception of the day I was unable to leave the hotel room due to the ravages of food poisoning (don't ever eat asparagus unless you've prepared it yourself!) I couldn't have asked for a better vacation.

So, it was with no small amount of sadness that I decided to forgo the Florida trip this year.  We had recently enjoyed a trip to San Francisco to celebrate our wedding anniversary, and I couldn't justify spending more money on a return to Disney World.  After I made that decision, a number of unexpected expenses confirmed for me that I had chosen wisely.

Tomorrow the weather at WDW is forecast to be partly cloudy with a high of 76 degrees.  Here in the Midwest/Great Lakes I can look forward to a high of 7 degrees on Thursday and at least three days of snow, with one weatherman predicting our biggest snow of the season.

Do I regret my decision to stay home?  A little bit, but mostly I'm thankful for both of the trips I was able to take last year.  As a life-long Midwesterner, I'm adopting the philosophy of generations of Cubs fans -- wait till next year!

Thankful Thursday

My current Netflix movie is Despicable Me.  I first saw this movie last summer on a beastly hot day when I couldn't stand another minute of the stifling heat of my un-air-conditioned home.  Desperate to cool off, I decided to go to a movie at a nearby multiplex cinema.

I loved the hour and a half that I spent in the blissful cool of the theater and I also loved Despicable Me!  The storyline, animation, music, and vocal talents were great.  I especially liked the subtle humor and "inside" jokes.  Almost all animated films that are marketed toward children include some comedy, either visually or in the dialogue, that sails right over the kids' heads, but has the adults smiling and chuckling.  Despicable Me was no exception.

The protagonist, Gru, has a recurring line for the big moments when he experiences a flash of inspiration -- "light bulb!"  The movie is sophisticated enough that it doesn't resort to the hackneyed Saturday morning cartoon image of an actual bulb lighting up over the character's head.  All Gru has to do is say those words -- "light bulb!" -- and we know exactly what he means and what to look for next.

Like Gru, I've had my share of inspiration, times when an idea seemingly just popped into my head.  But the light bulb moments I've been most thankful for are the ones that have dealt with the illumination of God's Word to me in Scripture.

I can't begin to count the number of times I've read a familiar Bible verse or parable and the light bulb has gone on.  It's almost as if the Holy Spirit flicks a switch that floods my eyes, mind, and heart with a pure, bright light that allows me to see for the first time the message that the Lord has given not only to the world but also, in an amazingly personal way, to me.

I have experienced these light bulb moments while listening to sermons, music, or radio ministry broadcasts, as well as in the course of reading and studying the Bible.  And each time it happens, each time that light turns on, it is an incredible feeling to realize that at that very moment God is revealing a specific truth to me, a truth that perhaps I was not ready to receive before this exact time.

I am so thankful for the light bulb moments in my spiritual life.  I am forever grateful that the Lord continues to break through the darkness of my limited understanding, graciously revealing Himself as He brings true life and true light to me!     

My legacy?

Do you ever wonder what sort of legacy you will leave to your children?

Are there days when you wonder if you'll even have a legacy to leave -- if there's anything lasting and worthwhile in your life that your children will have to remember you by when you're gone?

I wonder about the legacy that I'll leave for my kids.  Will they remember the sacrifices that I willingly made for them or will they remember the times I was impatient and selfish?

Will they recall the heart-to-heart talks and my words of wisdom or will their memories consist of sullen silences and words spoken in anger?

Last week my daughter stopped by for a visit.  Over lunch we had a chance to catch up on what's been going on in her busy life.  I was thrilled to spend time with her and sad when, all too soon, she needed to head home.  As I dropped her off at the train, I asked her to text me when she was back at her apartment.

A few hours later she sent me this text: "On the Blue Line I realized how I've inherited my appreciation of men who wear tight jeans from you."

About that legacy thing -- I guess I don't have to wonder any more. 

It's my pleasure!

I had an unusual fast food dining experience this week.  My day had not gone particularly well and I felt like some greasy goodness might lift my mood.

As I walked up to the counter, a number of smiling teenagers were waiting, almost eagerly it seemed, to take my order.  The young woman I approached smiled even bigger when she greeted me and she continued to smile brightly while I decided what I wanted.  I thanked her as she handed me my drink and she replied, "It's my pleasure."

Simultaneously, a smiling young man walked behind her with a tray and called out my first name.  I waved my hand to catch his attention and thanked him as he gave me my food.  He too replied, "It's my pleasure."

When was the last time you heard a teenager say "it's my pleasure"?  Seriously, when was the last time you heard anyone say "it's my pleasure"?  Has it ever happened?  For a moment I wondered if I had been transported to a 2011 version of Stepford, CT that featured adolescents instead of wives.

But these teens were not robotic fast food workers.  They genuinely meant what they said -- I could see the sincerity in their smiles and hear it in their voices.  What a contrast to the majority of sullen fast food workers who appear to be more interested in chatting with their friends than waiting on customers.

"It's my pleasure."

No Chick-fil-A, thank you.  The pleasure was all mine.  : )

Thankful Thursday

It wasn't easy to be thankful today.  In fact it hasn't been easy to be thankful most of this year -- more on that later.

Still, today is Thankful Thursday, and today I am thankful for my electric blanket. 

When my husband and I were married (30 years ago!) we received an electric blanket as a present from my Great-Aunt Evelyn.  On our gift registry I indicated that our bedroom colors would be light blue and brown, so Aunt Evelyn gave us a milk chocolate colored electric blanket, queen size with dual controls.  Actually to describe the color of the blanket as milk chocolate is being generous.  In reality the color was more of a boring medium brown, but it did coordinate with our comforter and sheet sets.

It didn't take long for me to realize the absolute best use for an electric blanket -- warming up the bed for a half an hour or so before slipping between the sheets.  If I'm not warm, I have a hard time falling asleep.  The summer I studied in Ireland I walked around in a state of sleep deprivation.  Ireland, even in summer, is not warm and I was too cheap to use my precious Irish pence to feed the coin-operated electric heater in my chalet (pronounced "shally") at the Y in Sandymount.  I suffered through some chilly, sleepless nights, but at least I had money to buy tea and brown bread at Bewley's on Grafton Street and cider at the pubs -- a girl has to sort out her priorities.  : )

Summers in Illinois are decidedly warmer than those in the Republic of Ireland, and the fact that we live in an un-air-conditioned house ups the warmth factor.  Even so, our electric blanket remains on the bed year round because I never know when I might need it.  And yes, I have turned it on in July and August when the nighttime temperature has dropped below seventy degrees.

Sadly Aunt Evelyn's electric blanket did not survive to see our 30th anniversary.  After over twenty-five years of use and abuse (kids, cats, and forgetfulness in the age before automatic shut-off) one night the warmth of the blanket faded away.

At first we thought we could tough it out, but the cold reality was we were spoiled.  Even my husband who usually falls asleep as soon as his head touches the pillow missed that welcoming warmth.  It wasn't long before I was scouring the department stores, discount stores, and big-box home stores looking for an affordable replacement -- affordable being the key word.  Clearly the cost of an electric blanket had skyrocketed since Aunt Evelyn purchased ours in 1980!  Finally I found a blanket that was affordable and reasonably fashionable in an attractive shade of sage green (no more light blue and brown bedroom).

So tonight, when the temperature is predicted to hover around zero, I am very, very thankful for my electric blanket.  : )     

Define "lifetime"

Let me start off by saying that I have absolutely nothing against the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer, Susan G. Komen for the Cure, or any other group that is dedicated to finding a cure for breast cancer.  I am glad that there are individuals and organizations that tirelessly advocate for increased funding for breast cancer research.  I applaud the practical and compassionate support that these groups provide for women (and men) who are living with breast cancer and their families that are affected by their illness.  Undoubtedly many lives have been saved because of the work these organizations do to promote breast health and cancer awareness.

What I can't get on board with is one of the tag lines in some of the television advertising associated with the 3-day walks -- "because everyone deserves a lifetime."

I know what the point is behind the phrase.  I agree that it's not fair that a 34 year old mother of two toddlers is diagnosed with breast cancer.  It's not fair that a 57 year old woman who just found out that she is going to be a grandmother for the first time should have to worry if she'll live long enough to hold her precious grandchild.  Breast cancer isn't fair.  It's not fair at 22 and it's not fair at 82.  Advances in diagnosis and treatment mean that if it's detected early enough, breast cancer isn't necessarily a death sentence, but it definitely brings fear and uncertainty, disfigurement and disruption into the lives of the women that are afflicted with it.

Yet every time I hear that phrase, I want to yell at my television "define lifetime!"  The American Heritage Stedman's Medical Dictionary defines lifetime as "the period of time during which an individual is alive."  Nowhere in this definition, or any other definition that I checked, is there a specified amount of time that constitutes a lifetime -- no minimum and no maximum.

None of us have any guarantee as to the amount of time we will live on this earth.  Even if the phrase was worded "because everyone deserves a full lifetime" it still wouldn't be accurate.  The reality is that for some people a lifetime, a full lifetime, is 63 years, for some it's 15 years and sadly for some it's only a matter of days or even hours.  This isn't a reality that we willing embrace, but it's the reality that we are faced with nonetheless.

Psalm 139 gives us the true understanding of the definition of a lifetime.  David beautifully describes the work of God's hand in the creation of every human being -- we are fearfully and wonderfully made by the One who knows us from our very beginning!  The Creator who knits all of our delicate and intricate parts together in our mother's womb also determines the span of our life.  David writes, "Every day of my life was recorded in your book.  Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed."  Before we draw our first breath, while we are still cradled in the darkness of the womb, the Lord has already established the length of our life.

I respectfully decline to claim the lifetime that the limited knowledge of this world tells me I "deserve."  My lifetime has been decided for me by the One who knows me best, God who fashioned me and gave me life.  As His creation, the number of my years on this earth have nothing to do with what I think I deserve, but rather they have everything to do with what He desires.  And so I place my trust in the Ancient of Days to wisely determine the number of my days.  By His mercy and grace may He enable me to live all the days that He gives me to the fullest.                

Woo Hoo!

Today is an important day, a hopeful day for anyone who dislikes winter.  During the news this evening, the weatherman said that, as of today, meteorological winter is halfway over!  What an encouragement to think that if winter were a week, we are sitting down to lunch at noon on Wednesday -- yay!

Now at this point, the scientific purists in the audience are raising their hands and asking "what about astronomical winter?"  Well, what about it?

I know that when the beginning of March rolls around and there's still snow on the ground and the thought of wearing flip flops would only be contemplated by someone who is comfortable with frostbite, I will be bitterly disappointed.  But where I live, people won't be venturing out in short sleeves and capris on March 20th either.

Just last week one of my children asked me when it was going to start to warm up.  I stifled the urge to laugh maniacally and said probably sometime in May.  When I saw how sad she looked, I regretted having answered so truthfully so I backtracked and said that there would probably be a few warm days in April.  She's nineteen and has lived in the Midwest all her life -- how has the harsh reality of our long, brutal winters escaped her?  I guess that hope does spring eternal (no pun intended).

So whether I adhere to meteorological winter or astronomical winter I guess it really doesn't matter.  March 1st will arrive and it will be cold and gray, and then March 20th will arrive and it will still be cold and gray.

For my own sanity, I choose to look forward to the end of meteorological winter.  It's sort of like what Steve said to Stella in The Italian Job, "Whatever helps you sleep at night sweetheart."

Thankful Thursday

A number of bloggers have theme days -- Meatless Monday for food blogs, Wordless Wednesday for people that have DSLR cameras and take amazing photos, Five Questions for Friday or Friday Faves -- I'm sure there are lots of other options that I haven't run across yet. 

I've decided to go with Thankful Thursday.  I love alliteration (maybe I should have said I adore alliteration) so Thankful Thursday appeals to me.  If I had that fab DSLR I could have picked Thirsty Thursday and taken pictures of luscious cocktails and included the recipes.  Perhaps another time.  : )  

I take a lot of things for granted, so Thankful Thursday will be an opportunity to consciously single out one thing each week for which I am especially thankful. 

You would think for the inaugural Thankful Thursday I would pick something monumental and profound, but you would be wrong.  Although I am immensely grateful for my parents, my husband and children, Jesus' love for me and His atoning sacrifice that paid for my sins, and so much more, on this first Thankful Thursday I am thankful for e-mail.

It is hard to remember how I navigated my life before the advent of personal computers and the internet.  When my oldest child left for college, I naturally wanted to keep in touch with her . . . every day.  I realized that it probably was unreasonable, and also uber-controlling, to expect her to call me on a daily basis.  But it wasn't asking too much (was it?) to ask her to shoot me a quick e-mail each day, just to let me know she was still alive. While I absolutely knew that my daughter was exactly where God wanted her to be, I wanted (needed) to know what she was doing in that God-appointed place.  Thankfully my daughter didn't have a problem with writing a brief e-mail filled with undoubtedly edited accounts of the minutiae of her college life.  Seven years later we still e-mail frequently, although no longer every day.

As my other children started college, they respectfully resisted my desire to keep in touch with a daily e-mail.  The intervening years have brought about increased technology, and cell phones are the preferred method of communication for these students.  One child will go for days at a time without a word and then there will be a phone call or a flurry of texts.  Another is more apt to call in between classes or text late at night.  The main thing is that there is communication.  I continue to e-mail them and they respond in the methods that they prefer.

When I think back to my own college experience, I don't know how my mother managed.  I called home once a week on Sunday evening and wrote letters every now and then.  She was basically in the dark as to what was going on in my life.  I'm sure she wondered, worried, and prayed a lot. 

I guess if I had to depend on my kids to make the time to write a letter, find a stamp, and then manage to mail it (without misplacing it in their dorm room or losing it on the way to the mailbox), I probably would be as clueless as my mom was.  And conversely, if my kids had to rely on me to write them the old-fashioned way, they would probably be pretty out of the loop as well.

E-mail is so easy, so quick, so accessible -- and I am so thankful for it.  : ) 

What's in a name?

I probably would have started a blog sooner if I could have decided on a name.  Naming my blog wasn't quite as monumental as naming my children, but it was right up there.  Even though I knew it would be relatively easy to change the name of the blog (as compared to the complexity involved in changing the name of a child), I still wanted to get it right on the first try.  So, I agonized, thought I had made a decision several times, and then agonized some more.

At one point I was pretty sold on It's Not About Me.  Usually a fair amount of a blog is about the blogger -- her life, job, hobbies, thoughts -- but I don't want my blog to be totally self-centered.  Not that anything is wrong with that.  I read several blogs with that focus and I enjoy them.  I just hope that my blog will present more than a glimpse into my little world.  

Finally I decided on (ab)normal.  The title incorporates my initials and the fact that I always write them in lowercase.  I also like the play between normal and abnormal -- the tension between being just like everyone else and being different (in good and bad ways). 

(ab)normal . . . I like it.  : )