Spring is coming. Look for the daffodils 🌼.

The signs of spring are hard for me to ignore. I have barely been able to contain myself over the past couple weeks as spring begins it's long and slow awakening from hibernation.  As a bona fide warm weather lover, I start looking for the signs right after Christmas...longer days, brighter sunshine, temperatures above the 40s, and specks of green popping through the dirt.

Over the weekend, I noticed daffodils starting to peek through my shabby, winter-worn grass. Then I noticed the buds on my neighbor's tulip tree and the little summer girl in me rejoiced and did back flips up and down the street.  During those mild and sunny days, I rode with my windows down and turned my radio up just a little louder than usual - embracing the sunshine and fresh air.

Today, I started my morning commute with a frown - dismayed by the cloudy sky and next few days' impending forecast of cool winter temperatures and precipitation.  I know that spring is coming. It always does, doesn't it? I know it's still winter. I just don't like going through it. For a moment, I let my mood turn sour - thinking of putting my heavy coat back on tomorrow and unhappy that I can't wear my cute new pink skirt to church and brunch on Sunday.

For a moment, I let myself settle into a funk - ignoring the signs that are still there. I didn't turn on my radio and didn't sing. But then I drove by a house and noticed the yellow heads of daffodils in all their brand new glory. I passed the middle school and saw random blades of green grass sticking out from a sea of brown. If I had let that sour mood overtake me, I would have missed all the reminders. I would have been so focused on winter that I would have missed the dress rehearsal for spring's grand entrance. So I rolled the windows down and embraced the morning's 60 degree air.

See, we get so engulfed by our situations...our right now...what we feel. If we we are not careful, we allow the negative to seep into our very bones. What we think, we are. What is in us, comes out of us. We are not our situation - just merely going through it. Spring is coming, but in order to get to it we must go THROUGH winter.

Don't be fooled. Your situation, your circumstances, your winter...they are all temporary. You must go through them to get to what is next. Go through with expectation, excitement, and readiness - believing, hoping, and trusting in that which is bigger than you.  God? Fate? The Universe?   Right now, your winter coat may be heavy. You may be upset that you have no one (but you) to shovel the snow or de-ice your car. You want to feel the sun on your face and wear flip flops.    Damn it, you want to do back flips!

I know. You are tired of going through.

Today at work I sat staring out the window, watching as the sky grew darker and the wind swirled the leaves and rattled the windows.  Everyone kept talking about the weather.  I guess, for a moment, they forgot too.  Winter is funny like that.  Sometimes you think it's over and you're finally going to get a break. Then it reminds you that it's not over.  You're not done going through it.

As I was leaving work tonight, I rolled down my window to say goodnight to the guard. Warm air hit my face and I noticed it was still almost 70 degrees. I drove away with my window down and saw something that wasn't there this morning. If I had been living in my head and my thoughts, I might have missed it. Instead, I was enjoying the air, the breeze, and the last few moments of light. That's when I saw a few specks of white and yellow on the hill across from the garage...daffodils.  They weren't there last night and I'm pretty sure they weren't there earlier today. There is always hope...proof of life...spring around the corner.

Get your rain jacket ready, rake your garden, and stand in expectation.

Make no mistake about it.

Spring is coming.

This is my son.

This is my son.

I pray that there will never come a day when he is reduced to a hashtag. I pray there will never come a day when he will look down a barrel of a gun or feel its tip pressed against his back while he is splayed on the ground with his empty hands at his side, or standing in a street with his hands in the air, or reaching for his identification. I pray that he won't ever have to feel the panic of knowing that his unpaid ticket, busted taillight, or mere presence in a neighborhood is potentially about to cost him his life. I pray that my son will never die alone on a street while passerby film and some people stand around having a conversation like nothing happened. I pray there will never come a day when some people will use every C on his old report cards, every bad day, every misstep, every mistake to justify why he is dead.

This is my son.

At 11 years old I introduced him to the cold hard truth. I told him that some people would not be able to see anything but the color of his skin and they would be afraid. I introduced him to the dangers that such fear could bring about. At 11 years old. I told him there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing at all. So when he was just 11 years old, I stripped some of my boy's childhood from him. I trampled on his rose colored glasses. I stole some of his innocence. To keep him safe.

This is my son.

12 years of private school, t-ball, church, band, lacrosse, karate, soccer, tutoring, summer camps, cross country, track, volunteering, internships, trips abroad, perfect enunciation, and a $60,000 per year college education.

My husband and I have made many sacrifices to give my son opportunities. But none of it makes him safer. It actually puts him at risk. We have watched over the years as my son fell into the comfortable lull of his life. As he wrapped himself in a false sense of safety and belonging. Every so often, we had to  strip him of that. Remind him. To keep him safe. It feel cruel. Like turning the bright lights on a sleeping person and spraying them with a strong burst of cold water. The truth is cruel, cold, and hard.

This is my son.

He doesn't deserve to die in the street for something that warrants a citation, a fine, a ticket, or worse yet - for doing nothing other than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. The truth is ugly. The truth is that the color of his skin puts him at a greater risk. Whether he sits on the curb like a good boy or whether he resists or questions...none of it matters. It's open season and there's no use in denying it. We've seen the pictures of men - men who aren't black - weapons in hand, being calmed  down, deescalated by officers. We know that Dylan Roof was brought Burger King by officers after walking into a black church and killing 9 people who were there praying. PRAYING. We know that Sandra and Freddy died in police custody.  We know that Trayvon had Skittles and Tamir had a plastic gun.  So I cry for Alton and Philando and countless other men and women. Every time one falls, my cries get louder and stronger. Every time one falls, they fall closer to my son.

I'm scared for him every single day.

This is my son.

Free to be me

For the most part, I take things in stride. I get it from my grandmother and my mother. You could tell them the sky is falling and they would say, "oh no...let's see what we can do about that".

My grandmother, "Mimi", died last year. Her battle with cancer (her third) was pretty hard, but she took it in stride. She drove herself to 20 radiation treatments, tried her best to maintain a positive attitude, and continued smiling right until the end. The year before, she lost her only son to cancer. She sat right there while my mom cared for him - watching her child wither away. I can't imagine. Right before the funeral home came to get my uncle from my mom's house, we told my grandmother she needed to say goodbye. Through his entire ordeal and even through her own sickness that was the only time I saw her cry. She went in and looked at him. She hugged him and sobbed. She looked at us and said, "he's going to be with Grampy (my grandfather) now". She walked away and went to my mom's kitchen, got herself comfy in her favorite chair and said, "I think I'd like some chicken salad".

My mom recently found out that she has cancer. Leave it to her to have some rare form -  neuro endocrine. Surgery is the answer and it will happen in the next couple of weeks. By now she's already made her lists of foods and snacks to keep at her house for my family while we are doctoring her. She's bought new patio furniture for her days of rest and recovery. And she has a list of things that have to get done.

So yeah, I come from the kind of stock that just rolls with the punches. I don't brag about it. That's just the way it is. Sometimes something will happen and a whole army of emotions goes to war inside me. While others are crying or getting angry, I'm thinking..."what's next?", "how do I fix this?", "what's the right thing to say?"...so I usually spring into take charge mode or do nothing - just wait.

I have my moments where I get a little loud or animated (that's when the blood of my father and grandfather kicks in). But I was raised to maintain a ladylike calm and to not act in haste. My grandmother used to say "don't be so loud".  Even when my grandfather died and I tried to get in the bed with him, my grandmother told me to be quiet so as not to wake the other patients in the hospital. My mom told me to calm down and let him have a peaceful journey. They were sitting there like it was an afternoon tea - well maybe not a tea. They were commenting how peaceful he looked, thank God no more pain...blah blah blah. I went in the bathroom and looked at myself.  "Oh no," I thought, "this just won't do". So I got myself together and by the time the next nurse came in we were all having tea (figuratively speaking of course) and comforting the nurse.

Because of this thing I've inherited from two extraordinary women, people tend to freak out when I'm showing anything other than mild forms of sadness, anger, frustration, grief, or any other emotion that makes folks uncomfortable. It drives me nuts! Don't  get me wrong, I appreciate the concern of others - truly I do. But it took me many years to grow to the place where I'm free to be me.

My husband and my kids are very good at "getting it". And even though they don't always understand the things that send me into a tailspin, they mostly sit by in silence watching me spin and then go on about their usual business once they are sure I don't need anything from them.

Last night my husband sat close by (but not too close) while I sulked, yelled, cried, and stared into space. He tiptoed out while I sat in the dark. I was feeling everything and nothing...work, autism, college tuition, my mother's upcoming surgery, aging...I needed a good cleansing release and I got it.

This morning I woke up feeling great! My husband gave me a quick once over, assessing whether my storm had passed, and we moved on to talk of food and and the rest of the day.

For a long time, I compared myself to others and wondered why I'm so different, so strange, so weird. Then God started sending me equally and wonderfully weird folks to fill my life and I realized weird is good.

And it's good to be free to be ME!

60 and 28

It had not been long since I arrived home from work. I was relaxing a little and toying with the idea of ditching my workout. I was doing double electronics duty playing games on my iPad and halfway following the usual end of day catch up between my my running buddies in our group text when I saw the words "Did you see what happened in Instanbul?" from my friend Juliet. "Yes, very sad," Danielle responded.

"Reading now," I typed. A queasy anxiousness settled in my tummy while I entered "Istanbul" on my iPad.  I did a quick sweep of the first story, skimming the article to get the basics of what happened.  "Suicide bombers" "outside the airport terminal" "chaos" "at least 60 injured" "28 dead"...I stopped reading.

I asked my husband if he'd heard the news about Istanbul And he hadn't  - no surprise there as he'd spent the day nursing his wounds from a tumble he took on Friday.

Anyway, he asked me what happened and I told him.

"Suicide bomber," I said, as I shook my head and made the same clucking sound my mother and grandmother made to show disgust (among other things).

"How many dead?"  he asked.

"60 injured and 28 dead," I responded.

He made a little "humph" sound, shaking his head in the same slow motion I had done earlier, then walked walked away.

Just like that our conversation was over. In seconds.

I picked up my iPad and my phone again and continued what I was doing before.

Then, it hit me.

I recall my grandparents watching the television as the news of terrorist attacks broke. There was no CNN then, no 24 hour news outlets. Every channel stopped their programming to broadcast emergency updates. My grandfather would watch the news so long that my grandmother would get up, clucking and fussing in disgust. She couldn't take watching so much pain and didn't see the point of watching it over and over again. I remember being fixated on the grainy images...Ireland, London, the thrwarted American Airlines hijacking, Saudi Arabia, Israel, Belgium, a second (failed) American Airlines hijack attempt, Italy, Germany, France, Kenya...

I remember shivering in fear - tears spilling down my face no matter how I tried to hold them back. My grandfather reassured me that most of these places were far away. That didn't stop the crying. I was so sad when they showed the kids that lost their parents and the parents that lost their kids. But eventually, and for a few years, I believed my Grampy that those bad things didn't happen here. I held the same false sense of security that many Americans still hold today.

As I grew older and started tuning into the news myself, I became painfully aware of the reality.  The CIA shooting, the first World Trade Center attack, the murders of the women's clinic doctors, Ted Kaczynski's  ( "Unabomber") attacks, the Brooklyn Bridge shooting, Oklahoma, the Olympic bombing, the Jewish Community Center shooting, and the Empire State Building shooting all occurred during my twenties and they all occurred on American soil. I would sit, terrified, watching the news of each of these events unfold with the same disbelief and panic I felt as a kid.

Somewhere along the way, it seems I've been numbed and didn't even realize it. The events happen so fast, so frequently. The media coverage is so immediate. I am no longer surprised by these attacks, no matter where they are. I expect them.  I accept them as part of this cruel cruel world. I pause; I read (skim);  I tune in then tune out; I shake my head; I cluck in disgust; I'm numb.

I don't know how long it took for those horrible people to carry out such a ruthless attack that took lives and changed countless more forever.

 I do know it only took me and my husband less than a minute to discuss it and move on with shakes of our head.

I do know that those people and their families deserve more from me. Not just in Istanbul, but all of them.

So tonight, I'm allowing the anesthesia to wear off, I'm accepting the pain and the fear, and swallowing the waves of nausea that rise up as I look at my daughter and my husband and think of all those people who lost people they love.

I'm pretty sure that going numb is a coping mechanism. I'm pretty sure I'll never be numb again.

There are Angels Among Us

A few months ago, I noticed my neighbors across the street getting ready for a party. I watched the moon bounce go up and countless preparations busily being made.  The next day, Sarah and I returned home and the party was in full swing. Sarah took a few long looks at the moon bounce and all the festivities, while I held her hand tight and brought her and my groceries inside. As I put groceries away and cleaned the kitchen, I glanced out of the window every few minutes. I saw kids running all over the place and I noticed that the family giving the party had invited their neighbors - a new family with 5 kids. Everyone looked like they we're having such a great time.

I felt the tears springing to my eyes before I could even think about it. I wished Sarah had been invited. As I sat there fighting the tears, I gave myself a good fussing. I and myself actually had a serious chat. "They don't know us like that, why would they invite us?" "Well they know us enough to let my husband help them shovel snow." "They can clearly see that Sarah is older, why would they invite her." "They don't know she has autism and that she's probably developmentally closer to the age of their kids".  On and on I went until I'd had enough of my own carrying on. All the frustrations and fears and yes - even a little anger boiled to the surface as I closed my kitchen blinds and kept on cleaning. I tried to get to the bottom of my feelings and calm myself down. But a mother...well a mother is a mother and sometimes there is just no rationality when it comes to a mother and her child. So, I figured the best thing to do was to ride the feelings out, and eventually I sat down to do what I usually do when I get all worked up. No I didn't have a glass of wine or cry on my husband's shoulder for hours complaining about the unfairness of life. I wrote.

I wrote a long post on Facebook about autism acceptance and how much my life had changed - how much my social life had changed. I felt better after getting it off my chest. Tons of people responded, but I think only a few really GOT it. Two of those people were my friends Mary and Bridget. They both asked what I was waiting for, when was I coming to visit. They both said Sarah was welcome in their homes and their families. They both meant it.

That day I started making plans to take Sarah on a road trip to New England to see a friend I hadn't seen in 14 years and a friend I had never laid eyes on (more on that another time). Within a day or so, we had the plans worked out. We would go in August. I would drive with Sarah. They both said they were thrilled that I was coming. I was excited. I was elated. I was scared.

The trip would be Sarah's longest car ride. I would be by myself. She's getting bigger - how would we manage the restrooms? When we went in together, would she try to run out? Would she cry? And what about staying in two different homes with people she had never seen? How would she manage? How would I manage? How would they manage? All these thoughts ran through the back of my mind, but I pushed them aside and started counting the days.

As the trip drew near, I really started to panic. I asked my hubby if he could manage to join us
halfway through the trip. Forget the fact that he was traveling heavily. I thought I might be physically
and mentally worn thin doing it on my own.

Finally, early on a Thursday morning in August, Sarah and I started our big adventure. What happened over the next few days was nothing short of wonderful (I'll get to the details of the trip in another post). My friends are angels. I'm convinced. No, not perfect beings who do no wrong and sing praises to God all day. My friends are arms wide open, homes wide open, roll with the punches, accept you as you are, love you as you are, no big deal, my home is your home type of gals. Being with them was one of those rare blessings that God gives you - those rare moments when you know that He is giving you peek into heaven through the kindness, generosity and love of others. We didn't do anything extra special during the days of my trip, but they will forever be ingrained in my memory as some of the most special days of my life. I don't know if I will ever find the words to tell those two angels how much that trip meant to me. I still get teary-eyed thinking about it. So, you'll have to wait a little longer to read about the details of our trip.

Swim, Bike, Run: Part1

It seemed like a really good idea at the time, I swear it did. But that was almost a year ago. You see, then I was still high off of my triumphant training and glorious finish at my second half marathon. OK, let me state up front that I didn't place or anything, but I trained well and finished strong!

Anyway, after my cousin and friend completed a sprint triathlon I got to thinking that I should do one. After all, my running partner and I had already decided to do our first (and only) marathon in December 2014.  So, I figured why not make 2 huge goals and go for it. Forget that I hadn't ridden a bike since I was a kid, nor did I own one. Forget that I had never done more than play in the open water. It all seemed so far away. The end of the year came and I started doing Zumba and lifting a little weights - getting my strength up for the tasks ahead.  Still, the magnitude of what I planned to do hadn't hit me.

Then, things got real. I mean really real. I took a tri swim class and realized I had a lot of work to do. But I wasn't deterred, I was determined. I carried on with my swimming through the winter, wearing sweats and flip flops with socks to the gym at ungodly hours. Winter and that stupid polar vortex finally gave way to spring and I kept up with my weights, Zumba and light running schedule. It happened suddenly, but I woke up and it was June - time to start following my triathlon plan. I bought a bike.  I had to cut Zumba, take a break from my run coordinator duties with my local Black Girls Run group, and focus on the schedule. Easier said than done because the schedule consisted of 6-7 workouts a week. Juggling that training with the rest of my life and work was really difficult. 

I'm convinced that God himself caused my early September triathlon to be cancelled. It gave me a perfect reprieve and a pretty good excuse to slack in my training from the end of July through the end of August. I had three vacations during that time and though I exercised, it was nowhere close to the intensity called for in my schedule. 

Then I woke up and it was September. Marathon training has begun and my triathlon is one month away (surely you didn't think I quit just because one event was cancelled). Training is back in full swing and I must admit (right here on this blog that no one reads) that I am scared out of my mind. I went out for an open water swim in a local river this week. The problem was I was terrified to go all the way OUT into the river - in water I could stand in! Don't get me wrong, after much whining I finally went out and swam. But I didn't go far and I didn't swim very long. Since then I have been asking myself why in God's name I signed up for this crap. I mean really! I may lie to everyone and say I'm 31, but I just turned 44 and I have nothing to prove. This athlete adventure was supposed to be about building my strength, relieving a little stress, and having fun. News flash: being scared is not fun! 

In spite of the voices in my head telling me I'm wacko, off my rocker and completely cray-cray (as the kids say), I'm continuing this journey. I headed to the pool tonight to see if I could manage the 
distance. I did 750 meters nonstop (no touching the wall or putting feet down). It's the same distance 
of my triathlon swim - almost 1/2 mile. And though I feel like I was tied to a horse (OK maybe a dog) and dragged for a 1/2 mile, I finished. 

Tomorrow I have to run 10 miles at the crack of dawn with a partner who has a bad foot - the same partner I ran through a storm with last week. Not just a storm but thunder and lightning that crept up on us during our last 2.5 miles - running out in the middle of nowhere! Somehow, somewhere, there's a little glimmer of hope and encouragement in the back of my mind. It's there and I can just barely reach it. It's telling that part of me that's shaking in my boots (and my swimsuit) that I'm one bad chick. You know - a she beast, an iron girl, a bad mother runner. I went from wobbling on a bike to riding 37 miles. I may be a slow runner but I'm faster than last year. I can swim 30 lengths of the pool without stopping. 

If I can catch that little glimmer and hold on to it, I think I just may get in that water in one month 
and swim, doggie paddle, and cry my way to my bike then pedal, huff and puff to my run then jog, shuffle and run my way to the finish.  Stay tuned...

Are you there? It's me, Kelly.

You've heard it all before..."I'm going to do better with my blogging"..."I'm going to check in more..." Blah blah blah I know, you are sick and tired of me!

Well here I am. Quite frankly I'm begging to come back and for someone to listen.  See my Facebook posts are getting longer and longer and I'm not sure anyone really gives a hoot. Actually, I've got quite a few things to get off my chest.

So...today it begins. Put your reading glasses on!

Let Your Light Shine

Have you ever been in a movie theater and someone opened a door or turned on their cell phone? That room is pitch black, but that little light somehow pierces the dark and makes its way to your eyes.  Sometimes the clouds disappear and the moon shines so brightly that I wake up thinking dawn has come.  You can try to hide light, but it always shines through darkness. Sometimes it's just a tiny glimmer, but it's there nonetheless.

It's the same way with the light inside of you.  No matter how dark it is, your light is there. You can't turn it off if you want to. It's your gift. It might be your smile or your laugh. It could be your personality or your patience. Or maybe it's your willingness to help others. Whatever it is, it is God's gift to you.  The funny thing is, your light will annoy some people - just like a cell phone in a dark movie theater, and you may be tempted to try to dim your light.  

Ever had someone dislike you because of your smile, your cheerfulness, your positive attitude, or your thoughtful ways? Don't take it personally. It's not really you they dislike, it's your light.  You see misery (or darkness) loves company (more darkness).  Darkness tries very hard to dampen any light it comes in contact with. But if you pay close attention, you will notice that light always prevails over darkness. If there is any light around, it will always shine through. 

I remember waking in the middle of the night not long ago and asking my husband why it was so light.  It turns out my neighbors had left on a small light on their back porch. It's funny how that small light wreaked havoc on my sleepy, dreamy darkness.  So it is with the light inside of you.  Let it shine and I guarantee that someone will see it. Oh, I know some people want you to turn your light off because it bothers them. They'd rather sit in darkness.  But you really don't have a choice in the matter. Your gift of light was given to you so you could let it shine.

Run On!

Every time my son and  I pass someone running we yell out, "run on!" By a short stretch of my own imagination, I am a runner. But my son is a real runner - the kind who runs races every week and puts in 20 to 30 miles of practice.  As I watched him progress in running, I realized that it's pretty tough to keep going. Running can also be pretty lonely - especially when it's cold or dark. So, his first year of running for high school, I would tell him to, "Run On!"  Then we started saying it to other runners.  Every time I think of those words, I think of people who are running on (literally and figuratively). 

 It's so easy to adopt a woe is me attitude - to feel hopeless and that your situation is unbearable. But when I really look around me, people are going through some serious stuff and still running on. On Wednesday, I went to meet up with one of my running groups. I didn't really feel up to it.  My knee had been protesting all day and I was tired.  I ran next to a lady I had never met. She had been battling bronchitis and had not been to the group in a little while.  She said she had just "gotten over" her bronchitis, but I could still hear the heavy raspiness in her voice and she would cough every few minutes while we were running.  Her name was Dawn and she ran nonstop for 3.1 miles with a  huge smile on her face when we finished. I ran  next to her the entire time because she was so encouraging to me and I wanted to encourage her by giving her a mental RUN ON. I told that old nagging knee of mine to shut up and deal with it. If that lady could run while struggling to breathe, surely I could RUN ON too! So we chatted and ran the entire time and finished strong (well if not strong, alive and well)!



For every single problem or worry I have, I can think of a way things could be worse.  Sometimes, we get so caught up in our own stuff, that we don't take the time to recognize the pain, suffering and problems of those around us.  Take the time to tell someone to RUN ON. Give a hug, send a card, offer a smile or words of encouragement.  You'd be surprised at how much smaller your problems become when you take just a moment to focus on someone else!

RUN ON!

Free to be Kelly!

On Friday, we had to do a little office moving.  So, I wore jeans to work for the first time in the 3 plus years I have been at this job.  I figured I could throw on a blazer to dress them up.  I love this blazer I got during my birthday shopping spree - $49 Talbots.com! I am wearing my favorite belt. It makes me feel good. I got it from bodenusa.com.    But this post is not about what I am wearing - I am not a fashionista by a long shot!  This post is about being free to be me!


  It started gradually...first, I stopped trying to follow the rules for what colors went together, what patterns went together and all that business.  One of my close friends has always hated how I dress - too colorful, too haphazard. LOL - she is a fashion diva and I cannot keep up!  I started wearing the things I loved (whether it was "in style" or not).  Then I let my relaxed hair go and started cutting it shorter and shorter (people are still mad about that one).  This summer, I started wearing shorts in public again after more than 10 years of hiding my legs! Then I just went ahead and cut my hair the rest of the way, just because I wanted to see what it would look like and what it would feel like. It feels free - even though I think I may do something different this winter. But being free to be me means more than what I am wearing or how I look. It means I don't set my standards according to what other people think. If I feel good about it, and I think God is alright with it, then I go for it!


  At 42 years old, I am finally beginning to be OK with just me. I am who I am and what I am.  A few years ago, I would have never put my picture on a blog.  I could give a laundry list of the things I wish were different. The things I can change, I am working on. The other stuff - well I can't do anything about it and I am finally accepting that.  I am just me. And finally, I feel free to be Kelly! Do not conform to the standards of the world. Have a higher purpose and follow a higher power. Feel free to be you! It feels pretty darn good!

The Sock Basket

Ever wonder what happens to the socks when they go through the laundry? I mean you know they are all paired off when you start washing clothes. Where do they go? Is there a monster in the dryer? Well, we keep a basket near the dryer and throw all the lonely single socks in there. We throw them in there until the basket is overflowing with socks - literally.

The other day, I asked my teenager to go through the sock basket. We kind of take turns sorting the socks, looking for complete pairs, throwing out holey ones, etc.  If we don't find a mate, we just throw the sock back in there hoping that one day we will find it.  Nobody wants to do the sorting (which is why the basket gets so full). I am not sure why we don't want to do it. It's not a big deal really.  Just dump the socks on the rug or the sofa while you're watching TV and get it done. So the teenage boy is doing this task and it's taking FOREVER. Not because it's tedious, but because he doesn't want to do it. He found my favorite pink footie socks - the ones I used to call my lucky bowling socks (yay).  He also found a few pairs of his sister's socks, but he is dragging the whole thing out and making a mountain out of a mole hill.  Not only is he dragging it out, but he has a bad attitude about it.  No, it's not a big deal but he just doesn't want to do it. My husband and I smile at each other behind his back and choose to ignore the attitude.

The sock basket duty has me thinking though.  I'm thinking about the figurative sock baskets in my life. The places where I let little things pile up - like sending the check to the charity organization that I let talk me into a donation.  I mean I pledged (probably shouldn't have but the guy was so darn charming on the phone), then I got the envelope in the mail, then I started getting reminder calls - EVERY DAY. What's the big deal about writing the check? I am not sure - would just rather write it for anything else at the moment.  There are other things in my sock basket too - like the friend I haven't spoken to in a long while and intend to call (soon), or the weeds I keep meaning to pull, or the refrigerator I should clean out, or the closet in the basement that needs organizing.  I find a dozen things to do instead.  But just like my real sock basket, the more I let things pile up, the bigger they become.

Today, I am committing to going through all my sock baskets to see what's in them. If there's something that doesn't fit into my life, I need to let it go.  I might find a few surprises though - like something that makes me feel good, or more importantly, something that makes someone else feel good.

What's in your sock basket?

29...13 times removed

So, it's my birthday.

Lessons I have learned in my 29 years :-)

1) It's rarely THAT serious

2) My body is older than I  feel - I have to take care of it

3) My mother was right when she said always put some money away

4) What doesn't kill me really will make me stronger (at least mentally)

5) I really don't care if my purse and my shoes don't match

6) Putting off something I really want to do because I am worried something else MIGHT happen is just   plain stupid
    (Don't wait to go back to school because you MIGHT get pregnant soon)
    (Don't wait to get pregnant because you MIGHT get a new job soon)
    (Don't wait to go on vacation because you MIGHT get a new house)

7) Marriage is like a sprained ankle. If you don't take care of it, it will turn into something really bad!

8) Giving to others really does bring me more joy than receiving from others

9) Being open minded has resulted in some of the most wonderful friendships with people I didn't even think I would like

10) A friend who is too busy to see me or call is still my friend

11) A friend who turns their back on me based on what someone else said, was never a friend

12) Work will still be there in the morning

13) Being satisfied with OK nets average results

14) I shouldn't be embarrassed by wanting and expecting the best

15) Sometimes the best response is no response. I do not have to dignify ignorance with a response.

16) Unforgiveness (that's not really a word is it?) is toxic

17) I have no idea what most people are going through beyond closed doors

18) The cure for procrastination is to get started right now

19) I don't need half the junk I am holding onto, and I feel better as soon as I let go of it

20) It's OK to be different

21) Things look more manageable after a full night of sleep

22) Pausing to think before acting (even when it seems an immediate answer is necessary) can prevent a lifetime of regret

23) Children don't stay children for very long - have fun with them

24) Family isn't always blood related

25) 2 glasses of wine are enough

26) Sometimes I have to be prepared to scrap the entire plan and head in a different direction (like it or not)

27) Just when I think it's over, I realize it's just a turn in the road

28) I am beautiful!

29) Without God, I am nothing

Enjoy my birthday! It's a good day. 
 

I'm Back!

Really??? 3 years since I blogged. Well I have been busy and I don't think anyone was reading my blog anyway. So here I am - turning 42 tomorrow. I literally woke up this morning and thought, "I am going to start blogging again." What have I been up to? A little of everything. I got a new job - YAY! I am officially a government mule now. Guess what? I love it!! My hair is gone (I got it cut off), I started running, and I wore shorts this summer for the first time in about 12 years. This means that either I am getting older and have stopped caring about what other people think, or that I am really starting to like the way I look, or a little of both. So, here I am. I have changed a bit. Funny how you don't realize you are aging until you have really AGED. :-)

People tell me they like the way I put together all sorts of colors that one wouldn't normally put together. You might not be able to tell from the picture, but this jacket has red stripes in it - hence my red shoes. Let me tell you a secret, I have no clue what I am doing. I mix my clothing out of necessity. 5 years ago, I wouldn't dare to mix some of the colors and patterns I wear now. However, spending all of my money on a my kids and a house remodel, and starting to really think about the future (retirement), has really changed how I spend on myself. So, I just take the same old pieces and wear them with something different. Every now and then I buy a new piece and add it into the mix. OK, in the interest of full disclosure I will say that I just went on a SUPER internet shopping spree. I NEVER do that. My treat to myself (trying hard not to think of the total damage). Plus, I shopped during Maryland's tax-free week. Everything I purchased online was TAX FREE and of course I took advantage of free shipping deals and all kinds of online coupons. I will post a pic of all the clearance and sale priced goodies I found as soon as all my packages arrive. I will be back, and it won't be 3 years from now.

Ta ta for now!

~Kelly

WORK

I try to maintain an attitude of gratitude about my job. I love working with the students (most), I love seeing them make it to graduation and then hearing of their accomplishments in the workplace. I love it when they get into grad school and then send me their report cards with straight A's (yes, they do this). The love stops there.

I know in tough economic times, I should be grateful to have a job that pays an OK salary and has benefits. Most days I feel like my brain is going to mush - that's why I started taking classes again. The job I do could truly be done by someone with no degree. You don't need a lot of education or training, just a fair amount of intelligence and a little more common sense. This is the second time I have worked for someone who has a ton of professionals under them but feel the need to have their hand on every single little task that is required of those professionals. No creativity is allowed or even expected. When someone does try to break the mold and come up with an idea (usually me) it is quickly and flatly rejected. It's beyond micro management. I believe it's also a form of fear. For some, I guess it can be a little stressful or intimidating when the people who work for them have a multitude of knowledge that rivals or exceeds their own.

Once you reach the top, I think your job is to look at the big picture and allow the people you hire to focus on the little details and the implementation of all of your hard work and planning. That's just my opinion. One thing I do know is that when God blesses me with another opportunity, I am going to seriously interview the prospective employer. I need something that is a good fit. I feel brain dead here!

Banging my head

Today I wanted to bang my head on the wall. Nothing is particularly wrong. I just felt frustrated, misunderstood, not able to get my point across, not able to get what I wanted or do what I wanted.

For that moment, I understood autism and what it's like to have something to say but the person you want to say it to doesn't understand.

For the most part, my daughter is happy in her world but I want with all my heart for her to be here - in our world.

A Sister in the White House

I was in DC on Friday night, and there was just excitement in the air. There were so many people from all over. Every club and hotel we drove by werePACKED. The club were Sean played was still packed at 3:15 AM!

I was in awe as I watched the inaugural activities on TV yesterday. Now I don't know our President and First Lady, but they seem so genuine. Everything was done with class and style, but their personalities came shining through.

I like what Beyonce said in an interview they did with her after signing for the Obamas' dance, "they make me want to be better". That's how I feel, so today I got up and put on a special outfit. All eyes are on the black power couple, what they're wearing, how they're dancing...
It's time for me to "step up my game"

The Jet Setter

Sean was in Amsterdam Friday, toronto last night, and he plays in DC tonight. Everyone thinks his job is glamorous, fun and exciting. It's really tiring work. He landed in Toronto after an 8 hour flight from London, just 1 hour before he had to play. Tonight, he'll get in around 8 and then head to DC at 11. He says it's snowing in Toronto (nothing unusual there). Just keep your fingers crossed that he'll make it home.

Hello

Well, I decided to add a new blog because the other kind of morphed into a daily discussion of autism and the gluten free casein free diet. I figured I would focus on that and perhaps help someone else, so I opened it to the public. Of course, you are free to read it and see how Sarah is doing on the diet. Just look on the bottom right hand side of this blog and there's a link to the other blog which is called "Waffles, Cereal and Yogurt".

This is my private blog where I will post all kinds of random thoughts, rants and raves about my life.