Bacon Goodness

Last night as I was preparing dinner, I discovered that
BACON + NEEDY PRESCHOOLER + FACEBOOKING MOMMA= amazing light effect.

Here's how this evening went down: It was 4pm. The sun was beginning its ridiculously early descent into the horizon, spilling sharp shards of light across the walls. My blond haired preschooler, previously known as "Eve",  turned into a Gremlin like she does every day at 4pm, demanding dinner and snacks and cookies and treats.

I mentally linked arms with all the other mothers of the world enduring the witching hour. To the uninitiated, the "witching hour" is the period of time when supernatural creatures have their greatest power. So by default when you refuse to give food, undivided attention or cookies to someone who is less than 6 years of age, they will use their power and it will most certainly be used AGAINST you.

I didn't have any wine that night. A single glass of wine is usually my "go to" comfort of choice to drown out the unnecessary squalling of my wee one. A little wine helps with the Little Whine. Go ahead, laugh.

But there was no wine to be had.

So I made bacon.

I didn't make bacon to replace the wine, but if I may say, chomping happily on a smoked meat during witching hour produces some really amazing endorphins... ESPECIALLY if you tell your children, "No, you may not have any bacon," and then hypocritically sneak some yourself. It's an adrenaline rush.

My smaller counterpart, however, would not be distracted from her original mission: to create an "anti-ambiance"...

... so I fled to go Facebooking in the office.

I should not have fled because... because I left some bacon on the stovetop and had forgotten how quickly that thin sliced meat likes to char. Happily Facebooking for a few minutes, I stopped suddenly. My "mommysense" was tingling... THE BACON! I bolted out of the office and entered a smoky fog in my kitchen. My fire alarm began to chirp and then squeal as if I stepped on its tail.

When the smoke died down and the alarm silenced, I saw this scene. (See photo.) "Am I in heaven?" I thought. But then I saw the pile of laundry and knew that I wasn't. Stripes of sun flirted with bacon fog. My humble Christmas tree took on an aura of other-worldliness. I swear I heard "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" but then I realized that the only heralding in my house was coming from a spry almost-4 year old.

I smiled, took some pics and fed the squaller. I gave her bread. She quieted down and I redeemed the evening by making the rest of the packaged bacon into a perfect golden brown.

All was right in the world.

Not Math

Dear Morgan,

You love drawing, writing stories and playing "store" with your sister.
But you hate math.

You love showing compassion to people, decorating your room with art and listening to music.
As long as it isn't math.

Even though you rock the reading at school and act clowny at home, nothing can change your mind.
About math.

I know that right now it makes no sense to you. From your vantage point, there is nothing emotional or creative about mathematics. But hear me out. You're going to want to know this when:

Some guy asks you out to coffee and you're not sure if he's paying or not. When he whips out a bill that is greater or smaller than the amount, you'll get an idea. That's math.

When a sleepy-eyed cashier doesn't see that the item you bought was actually on sale, you can kindly and deftly bring it to their attention.

When you're counting the days to Christmas. Or homecoming. Or graduation.

When you make your first cake all by yourself (from scratch). Half cups of sugar. Whole cups of flour. That's math. It's also science, but let's just focus on the math part.

When you decide to start a little cottage industry business. And suddenly your twinkly, swirly, sparkly dream needs addition and multiplication in order to make the best decision for your business to grow... Well, there's math again.

There are times when you will have the ability to use math, but you shouldn't.

When you are up in the night nursing your newborn and your bleary eyes see 2:13AM blinking on the digital clock, it's okay to take note, but it won't make you feel better to calculate how many hours of sleep you might get. Plus, it's spotty at best. Don't do the math then.

When you see a friend in need who asks for a couple bucks, just give it to them. Don't expect it back. It's best to keep your friendship.

When your heart is broken because of all the hours you have sunk into a project or a person or a thought that didn't work at all like you expected. Math really won't help there, either.

Here's what I predict: One magical day, all your strengths and weaknesses are going to bond together such that you won't even KNOW which ones are your strengths and weaknesses anymore. You'll be so adept at math and science and art and friend-making that you'll have to scratch your head to remember WHY you hated math in the first place.

And on that day, I want you to call me from your spaceship phone. As you count the stars and galaxies. As you count the beautiful friends surrounding you. And as you count the miles from home, I want you to smile and tell me, "Mom, I don't hate math."

The View from Here

When you go to a public place and don't know where you are, it's always a relief to see a large, backlit map in the middle of said public place and that little red triangle which reads "You are Here".

It doesn't say "You are lost."
It doesn't say "You really messed up."
It doesn't even say, "Are you really going to wear that?"

It simply lets you know, "You are here."

Unemployment is a lot like that sticker. There is a vague feeling of unrest, always checking the map to see where we're supposed to be headed. And when we repeatedly ask God, "Where are we going?" the answer is often, "You are here."

There are several rules to unemployment. Nobody tells you these rules; you have to figure them out on your own.

1. Every day is Monday. And every day is Friday.
Every day feels like a combination of studying for a big exam and having an enormous, unplanned day-long vacation. Exams are okay when you know that there is a semester's end in sight. And vacays are more fun when you feel a sense of control. For instance: Knowing that you actually planned the vacation for a set period of time and knowing that your employer was paying for that vacation. But when each day feels like both, it's okay to feel confused. That's natural.

2. It's Important to Have Goals.
It may not seem like much, but if you let your sense of enthusiasm atrophy,  you're bound to look flabby during interviews. So do things that drive you. Do day long projects for which you can only eat lunch in 5 minutes because you're SO busy. Clean an entire basement. Read the longest novel you can find, the one you usually use as a door stop during summer winds. Do something-- anything-- to remind yourself what it feels like to be employed, to be busy. That way, when you arrive at an interview there will be a flush of life pulsing through your face showing yourself to be healthy, motivated and strong.

3. Face the Worst, Hope for the Best.
I have a friend who says that when you face the very worst that can happen and realize that God is STILL there, there is no place for fear. So face the worst. Think about it. Have a rough plan. But then lift all your cares to God, being thankful for his love for you. God loves to give good gifts to his children.

Do not worry about tomorrow. Worry does not improve you or your situation. If you feel fear creeping into your mind, remind yourself of the prayer that Jesus taught us, the one which told us to ask for our daily bread. We do not live in tomorrows, only todays.

Then smile. After all, "You are here."

Ode to Age

Somewhere in life... probably when I turned 35, I decided that I didn't need to fight for significance anymore.

I didn't need to fight to be prettiest. Or smartest. Or most funny. Or most talented designer. Or most domestic.

I just said, "Enough."

I took an inventory of what was important to me, of what made my colors sing strongest.

I embraced my strengths and weaknesses.
I laid down my weapons of anger and said, "Well, others may choose that path, but not me." I took hate's energy and started sewing aprons and potholders. Hate became joy. And color.

I acknowledged my losses, my unknown babies, and I fought for joy in their name. There's no better way to honor the life of a loved one than to live as brilliantly as possible.

I stopped thinking "What will people think" and I just said, "I want to do this, to put this color here, to make this shape, to say this word. I want to be this person."

The path has been kind of winding... I thought I wanted to sew but then I realized that what I really enjoyed was being around beautiful fabric designs and beautiful people. Bold designs. Pure designs. Kind people. True people.

I don't want to be the person who puts down other designers. I want to be encouraging and real. Truthful and celebratory. God knows how thirsty this world is for truth and kindness and life-giving colors.

So I do it. I delight. And I'm thankful for my fellow journey takers.