WWJDFPBP? (What WOULD Jesus Do with a Fried Pickle and Boiled Peanut?)

It's no secret that I'm not fond of the south. I've been here just over 2 years now, and it's more clear now than ever that I'll never completely like it here or fit in for that matter. And I'm ok with that.

First of all, I'm WAY too opinionated for a woman in the south. The plumber who'd never seen a man, let alone, "his wifey," follow him into an attic to check on his work thought so. The toothless mechanic (I'm not exaggerating here, he had one tooth) who I followed into the repair bay to examine the improperly installed brake pads thought so. And every mother at my daughter's community preschool who overheard my complaints about their insistence that Hostess cakes or some deep-fried object qualifies as a healthy and nutritious snack thought so. I'm just too damned loud and opinionated for these people. And I'm ok with that.

Second, I have yet to, "find Jesus and accept him as my Lord and Savior." I do not pray and go directly to my Bible without passing go or collecting 200 dollars every time I have to make the smallest decision like what length of skirt to wear. I do not proudly display a, "WWJD?" wrist band and spend hours meditating on the course of action that a man, dead 2,000 + years who wouldn't have the slightest clue how to navigate the modern world anyway, might choose. I can figure out what the, "right thing to do," is for myself. And I'm ok with that.

And third, I cannot accept the excuse of regional dialect for poor grammar. "Ya'll" is NOT a word. And it is not cute. And any combination of, "you," and, "all," however abbreviated, when referring to a group of people, is not the optimum choice of words either. I will not be, "gittin' to," somewhere, nor will I be, "fixin'," to do anything. If I fix anything, it will likely be in my home and result in months of inconvenient displacement and thousands of dollars in repairs. And while I'm not ok with the never ending home repair, I am ok with good grammar.

And I do not agree that frying a pickle makes it more edible. Furthermore, boiling peanuts does not make them tastier. It just makes them water-logged and frighteningly translucent. Some things were not meant to be fried or boiled. And I'm ok with that.

See the thing is, I've spent the last 2 years of my life in revolt. I've been fighting an existence that, at least for the time being, is my reality; an existence that I, as one loud, odd, and opinionated person, am powerless to change. So, rather than resent my current cultural geography in life, I'm learning to celebrate it....in all it's awkward glory. I'm on the outside of their churches and their fish frys and their craft fairs and their scrapbooking clubs. And rather than waste my time and energy voicing my disgust, I'm going to be content to be the girl on the outside for a while. I'm going to find peace in my place. And frankly, I'm ok with that.

Shaky Ground

Do you ever feel like you should be asking for help, but you're not sure for what?

I'm there. And it's uncomfortable. Those who know me know that it's not like me to be so unsure....so overwhelmed....so lost. And I know that I need help getting out of this funk, I'm just not sure what kind, or how to ask.

And so, days progress into weeks and so on....and I continue to wipe and clean and read and teach and whatever else it is I know that I'm supposed to do for all of them. But inside me, this anxiety grows....an anxiety that my life is passing me by. I'm losing my days to groceries and renovations and junk mail and potty training and schedules.

And every time I think life is handing me a lifeline, it always turns out to be just another fruitless path riddled with obligation and regret.

It's been 5 months since I've been here. In that time, I've watched my foundation literally crumble. The house has been torn apart from the ground up with the discovery of one building disaster after another. And the list continues to grow with today's discovery. Despite our desperate attempts to repair and renovate, it no longer feels like a "home."

I've watched my daughter fall apart at the seams time and time again, helpless to do anything for her little crumbling spirit. And while she harnesses the exuberant energy of youth to recover from her anxiety attacks, my own resilience crumbles a little each time with the knowledge that this roller coaster ride we're on is far from over and the damage it has done is yet to be seen.

I've watched shadows of past hurts flash across this screen, reminders of the one missed step between me and his faltering vows.

My body is rejecting this life. New ailments cropping up. Infectious parts having demanded the attention of surgery and time that I did not have to spare.

But the floors are laid. The walls are freshly spackled and painted. The cracks are sealed. The joints are reinforced. And the check is in the mail.

Why then do I feel like I'm on such shaky ground?

I am plagued by viruses. The first of which claimed my body causing me pain and ringing in both ears, a pressure in my neck akin to the sensation of a blood pressure cuff being inflated around it, high blood pressure, and general malaise. The second claimed my computer for over 3 weeks. Together, they claimed my motivation, inspiration, and general good cheer.

Armed with new anti-viral software, a reformatted hard drive, and a round of nuclear antibiotics aimed at erradicating the plethora of secondary bacterial infections which ensued, I found myself back in the blogosphere, but wearily so (as the physical symptoms of ringing, pain, and pressure have yet to subside).

In my viral-imposed hiatus from the internet, I discoverd something. And one of my fellow bloggers articulated the same idea quite well. I have been hanging out in the virtual world in a feeble attempt to avoid some things in the real one. And we all know that avoidance and denial can only go on so long before karma, life, or the great schemer kicks you in the ass and shouts, "Wake up!"

So, I've got some real living to do for awhile that may keep me from visiting here as regularly as I'd like to. But I'll try to keep every one posted on the comings and goings of the "peanuts." And rest assured, I am still reading fellow bloggers. I find inspiration, motivation, and hope in your posts, and will chime in from time to time to tell you so. But as far as my own blogging goes, I've reached a crossroads where in the face of some fairly important issues needing desperate attention, it seems too trivial to report on the banalities of every day life.

But I'll be back. I always am. Until then dear readers....until then.

On the Eighth Day of Christmas....

....I turned 34.

In honor of this momentous day (at least in my mom's and my life), I bring you:

The Pros and Cons of a Birthday 5 Days Before Christmas...

Pro: So many twinkle lights that you almost feel like they've been put there just for you.
Con: So many twinkle lights that you ALMOST feel like they've been put there just for you.

Pro: The decorations are beautiful.
Con: The decorations have absolutely NOTHING to do with you or your birthday.

Pro: It's usually pretty easy to find yourself off of work or school because you were taking vacation anyway.
Con: All of your friends are also on vacation, usually in another part of the country, and so no one is available to help you celebrate.

Pro: All those tasty cookies.
Con: So many cookies that no one wants cake.

Pro: It's your birthday and aren't all birthdays good no matter when they are.
Con: It's also Jesus' birthday.
(Picture me here holding out my hands, one on each side, moving them up and down like a scale, saying, "Jesus' birthday," while moving one up, and "Danielle's birthday," while simultaneously moving the other down. It think you get the point here.)

Pro: Presnts.
Con: All of them are combination birthday/Christmas presents and are wrapped in Christmas paper.

Pro: Birthday money.
Con: All of it spent on other people's Christmas presents.

Pro: The sweet cards.
Con: They all read, "Hey Christmas baby....."

And I wonder why I've always had a love/hate relationship with this holiday.

Moral of the story....plan your conception activities so the kid is born sometime between February and November, NOT around Christmas. Or, at least if it is, have the sensitivity of my mother (who's birthday is tomorrow and also suffered the misfortunes of a Christmas birthday growing up) and make sure to go ABOVE and BEYOND in making it feel like a separate, special occasion, even down to stealing and re-wrapping your friends presents in birthday paper. Thanks mom. The mani/pedi/latte/lunch was great!

I'm chock full of sugary, buttercreamy goodness. And now I'm off to indulge in a bath with my new smelly bath stuff in my nice clean (thanks Doug) tub, while listening to my new i-thingy.

Hello 34, I'm Danielle.

On the Seventh Day of Christmas...

....I drove ALL OVER town looking for a doll house.

Yes, Emma decided she wanted a doll house for Christmas just two days ago. And I have not had an opportunity to shop for one until tonight.

It was ugly people. Ugly. Everything I hate about the Christmas season encapsulated in one crazy 35 mile trip around town to 3 different stores looking for a doll house.

And I didn't even get the one I wanted.

But in the midst of my Christmas rage at yet another rude shopper who used their cart as a battering ram in order to shove past me in a vain attempt to grab at the last of some plastic, piece of crap that their kid just had to have, I realized that I had truly been initiated as a parent in the midst of the Christmas season.

I used to watch news reports about parents like me, swearing that I'd never get so caught up in the crazies that I'd drive all over town, cutting people off, honking my horn, pushing people out of my way, sprinting down store aisles (and yes, I did all of those things tonight)....just....for....a....toy. But it's Emma. My little Emmers. And I want so badly to see her face light up on Christmas morning when she comes downstairs and sees her coveted doll house containing a "Belle" doll lounging comfortably on the chaise lounge. And now she will. And my heart is smiling for her.

As for not getting the one I want, well, I'm tempted to pull another crazy parent stunt and set this one up for Christmas, only to return it when the other one becomes available.

Have I lost my mind? It's a doll house.

Oh...and if you see an Imaginarium Cozy Country Doll House lying around your local Toys R Us, let me know. Apparently I'm willing to drive pretty far.

My neighbor on You Tube...

...check him out. Mullet and all.
Seriously, this is just too close to home right now.

On the Sixth Day of Christmas...

...I got my mother-in-law.

For those of you that are cringing, stop. My mother-in-law is actually one of the coolest people I know, and I respect and admire her so much. She's funny, witty, smart, very well put together, classy, down to earth, real, and all with a great sense of style. And she and I have always had a great relationship. We get each other. Same sarcastic sense of humor. Similar tastes. And like her, I am very practical.

Anyway, yesterday afternoon, I received a birthday card from her, and after reading the front cover, I put it down and immediately called her up laughing hysterically.

It read,

"My son is very lucky to have you as his wife..."

Now I wasn't laughing because I disagree with this sentiment. Quite the contrary. I think Doug and I are both lucky. After a rocky start to our marriage, we have both grown together in a most unexpected and complimentary way. And I know that we are both lucky to have the other in our lives. But when your mother-in-law sends you a card that says so....well, that's not only atypical, unexpected and phone call-worthy, but blog-worthy.

Anyway, I called her up to thank her for the card and let her know what a kick I'd gotten out of it before I'd even opened it. As per usual, we chatted for about 20 or 30 minutes updating one another on the goings-on of our lives, had a few good laughs, and bid farewell until next time.

And then, this morning, in the midst of making fruit salad for preschool, constructing teacher presents, dressing two children, dressing myself, and going shopping all before 9am, I stopped to read the inside.

I wasn't prepared. At all.

The card reads,

"My son is very lucky to have you for his wife....
....and I am just as fortunate to have you in my life."

Yup. I started crying here. You see, my mother-in-law and I share one very important quality in common. We both HATE those sappy, overly emotional, sing-songy cards, yet we're both inclined to send the sentimental variety. Problem is, it's hard to find one that sounds sincere without also sounding trite and schmaltzy. So, I know that, like myself, she took great care in picking out a card that said just what she wanted to say and really meant it.

And as far as I'm concerned, she hit the nail on the head. This was one of those, "You had me at hello," Jerry McGuire moments.

The card went on to say, (and yes, it went on....as if that first part wasn't enough)

"You're more to me than a daughter-in-law,
you've also been a friend,
and I hope this year will bring you love
and happiness without end."

And with that, I was reduced to a blubbering mess. Emma asked me, "Mommy, why are you so sad."

To which I responded, "I'm not crying because I'm sad baby, I'm crying because Nanny sent me a beautiful card and it made me happy."

And after listening to so many of my friends regale me with stories about what a pain in the ass their mothers-in-law are, and how they are often riddled with self-doubt and brought to tears by these seemingly tyrannical women, I thought, "how lucky am I."

I too have cried over my mother-in-law. But the only tears she brings to my eyes are tears of joy, and disappointment that she's so far away.

I miss you Nan. I miss our weekly visits and chats over coffee. Thanks for the beautiful card. It was perfect.