Forgive in Time for Turkey

Forgive in Time for Turkey

"I've really never had a problem with forgiveness. I think of it this way, if I can forgive my dad for abusing me and my mom for abandoning me then I can pretty much forgive anyone for anything. Except... well there are some old friends of ours that I don't think I will ever be able to forgive. My husband forgave them years ago. For some reason he doesn't seem to mind what they did to me, to us, but I can't see how anyone could do what they did. They were supposed to be family and family just doesn't do that sort of thing to each other."


I sat curled up on the other end of the sofa from my dear friend Samantha as we sipped warm mugs of anise herbal tea. Samantha had quite the life story. As a child she was raised by a loving but alcoholic mother who tried to protect her daughter from men by making her look ugly. She instilled in her daughter a belief in God's love, a desire to learn, and a sense of beauty in all things except herself. She taught her daughter beautiful old ballads that the girl would sing to comfort herself during the days when her mother would disappear and the booze took over. Samantha loved her mother but was never able to reconcile the choice her mother made when she took her brothers and left her alone. No, it was worse than alone. Her mother, who tried so hard to keep her from the advances of men, left her with the one man who could hurt her worse than anyone, Samantha's father. A father who remarried an awful, abusive woman. A father who sexually, physically, verbally, and in every other way imaginable, abused his little girl until she reached the age of 16 and went to court to legally remove his rights to hurt her.


Despite all of this, Samantha had grown up to be successful, loving, never giving up on her dreams or the dreams of others, always ready to scoop a needing body into her arms to give the love that she had never been given herself. Knowing all this about my friend I had to find out what could have been so horrific, so evil, so cruel, that she couldn't give these singular friends the same forgiveness that she granted to all the other awful people who had tried to break her down.


"It was years ago. Daniel and I were newly married and trying to start a business together. We had these dear, wonderful friends, Todd and Rainee, and we were like a family. In fact we had made a pact with each other to that very effect. They knew my history and they took me in and told me that they would be the family I never had. And I believed them. Well, the four of us decided to go into buying a house together. We put everything we had into it. We were going to start a business together and run it out of the house. Everything was going just fine, I mean we had some ups and downs but nothing more than anyone should expect. I had a bad bout with my depression, but they had seen my depression before, they knew what to expect. And then, just months after getting the place all put together, they decided that it wasn't going to work, that they couldn't live with us. They bought us out of our half of the house, just like that. Just like that they were able to dump us. And they had the nerve to say they still wanted to be our friends, our family. How could they? Danny forgave them right away and they seem to still want to be friends with us but I can't do it. They seem shocked by my actions. My actions. As if they should be understood and forgiven for what they did. Families don't do that to each other. They don't stab you in the back and leave you out in the cold. I mean, I know my family did, but we weren't a real family. Our friends, and Daniel, and I had promised to be the best family to each other, to be there for each other no matter what. I know you are from a big loving family. They would never do something like that, would they!?!"


I had been listening with sincere concern, thinking up words of comfort, and several mean things I could say about her awful friends, trying to feel her pain and be ready to validate it, until she got to the part about my family. At that moment my pursed and thoughtful lips exploded with a force of ironic laughter that burst from the very depths of my gut. In that split second the concern I felt for her plight was dissolved in a fit of hilarious understanding. As scenes and memories flooded my brain in a matter of milliseconds I saw her mistake. Her big fat mistake. Because Samantha had never had a real family she had built up this ideal image of family life in her mind. She thought that real families never hurt each other, never break each others hearts, are always there for one another and never let you down. Ho boy, was she ever wrong about families.


Seeing the shock at my rude laughter on her face I choked and coughed as I tried desperately to stop that I might explain myself to her. "Oh, Samantha, is that what you really think family is all about? If only you really knew, you would see that your friends were acting just like real families do. You think my family hasn't ever had major fights, backstabbing, even disowning each other at times? Of course we do. We are all human, just because we are family doesn't mean we don't make mistakes and mess up royally on a daily basis."


Samantha stumbled over her words as she tried to grasp what I was saying, "But... you... your family, I mean, you are always... you love your family, you've told me so... how could..."


"Samantha, it all comes down to Thanksgiving."


"What?" I think she was starting to question my sanity and future validity as a friend.


"Thanksgiving. We, families, are always hurting each other. Why I could tell you stories just from my own wonderful family that would stand your hair on end. Oh, the ways we've hurt each other! But, because we are family, we have to forgive each other,because we know that every year we are going to have to sit down at that same table on Thanksgiving and face one another. It really is the only reason that families forgive each other for the awful things that we do to one another. You've forgiven your parents because you never have to see them again. And, sure, you can dump your friends and never forgive them, but me? Not me. I have to forgive because I know that I can't escape my family. Eventually I will have to face them for something. Whether it be a wedding, funeral, in court, at Christmas, or over the Thanksgiving turkey, I will have to be in the same room as my family and in order to survive that constant contact I have to forgive them. I mean, sure, something big might happen and it might take me several years to be able to forgive, but eventually I will want to sit at that big turkey table again and I will have to forgive in order to do so."


Samantha sat quietly for several seconds, taking large gulps of her tea, probably to help wash down all that she was trying to digest in such a short moment. Then she said, looking at the floor as if reading a cue card, "I... I guess I have a letter that I need to write." Then her eyes lifted and met mine with a new light of joy in them. "I'm sorry to leave so soon, Liz, but I really need to go. I don't want this to be my mistake any longer than it has to be. Who knows, maybe someday I will want to share Thanksgiving with my friends again, but I need to let them know I forgive them first."


With that she gave me one of her billowy, rose scented hugs and disappeared through my door. I smiled as I watched her go, and then I picked up the phone to call my sister. It was about time I called to apologize for the mean thing I had said to her last year. I hope she forgives me.


Time for another Scribbit WriteAway contest. This time she is giving away a year's supply of Suave products. I'm really hoping to win because I could probably buy a new car for the amount of money I spend on mousse to tame my frizzies every year. The theme is "Thanksgiving brought to you by the letter F." Hurry, you only have till midnight to get your entry in.

Ice Cream Winners

The names are in and the free ice cream winners are (I had my kids yell out random numbers that I assigned to each name):

Richelle
Cellista

Caffienated Cowgirl

Sarah

Leslie (sounds like you could use this)

Ordinary Mom

Lisa

Erin

Cynthia

Lucy Van Pelt

Thanks for playing, and don't forget to send me your mailing address! (lizzyvance at gmail dot com) And, not to pressure you or anything, may I highly suggest you find and try some of these fun flavors of Klondike bars with your coupon. When you click on the individual flavors there is a window where you can type in your zip code and it will tell you the nearest store that carries that flavor. I've actually never had a Klondike Bar before. I'm not sure why... Well I just tried the Heath and Reese's flavors last night and I gotta say, "I think I'm hooked!" But I will post more about this new experience later... I still need to try and find Caramel Pretzel. Heck, I just might try them all... After all, good experimentation require complete thoroughness. =)

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I need your opinion now. I'm new to this whole giveaway business and I need to know, should I have had a longer cut off time for this? I know I sometimes don't get around to blogs as often as I would like and maybe some of you are sad that you didn't get here in time for this? Or do you prefer to know the end result quickly? I've entered several giveaways and then forget which ones I've entered and where because I had to wait weeks to find out who won. Let me know what you think.

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In other news: Sheesh, it is amazing to me how difficult blogging (and everything else) has become now that I have Cheeks. His Parent-Pleasure-Sensor is always set to high and he sounds the alarm anytime I start doing anything that feels even remotely good. I eat, he cries. I read, he cries. I pee, he cries. I sit, he cries. And when he cries I have four little messengers that feel the need to tap me incessantly in order to make sure I know that the baby, laying right next to me, is crying. It makes me want to cry.

Wonder Women

Zoom! Pow! Crash! Zing!

Faster than a speeding bullet, using her sonic-boom voice, zapping everyone with her laser beam eyes, Wonder Woman is on the scene. She grabs one villain by the straps of his overalls, lifting him into the air with one hand, while at the same time extending her stiletto heeled boot to prevent another from running past her. Then she goes in for the kill, lassoing the leader with her rope of truth and asks, "What the heck is going on down here? I asked you guys to watch Dora just one more time with your sister so I could take a shower. Is that too much to ask? How am I supposed to fight crime and save the world today if I can't even take a little shower? Now, put the Dora DVD back in the machine and stop all this fighting!"

Super heroes are made every day by radioactive slime, the bite of a bug, random mutation, ancient/alien lineage, the possession of a powerful artifact, or by the very natural melding of genetic materials in a body which creates new life. Some scientists theorize that the combining, splitting, and specializing of atoms that happens in a woman's womb during gestation must 'cause the abnormalities or, as some like to call them, "gifts" that often manifest in the human female species after giving birth. Specialized hearing, "voice of death," rearward visual capabilities, lie detection sensory, and an uncanny ability to stop tears of others are just a handful of known post-natal abilities that we have on record.

At first governments were concerned that such unique abilities might pose a threat to regular civilians. Talks were being held to argue the need for contraceptives and sterilization methods to prevent the rampant spread of these phenomena. These measures were deemed unnecessary upon further study of the situation. It soon became obvious that these super humans came with their own set backs, a natural Kryptonite, if you will. It was found that, along with the super powers, these women also developed super inhibitors such as morbid paranoia: a fear of fatal catastrophes harming their loved ones at all times, hyperbolated guilt: an unfounded belief that self satisfaction can only be had at the cost of vital comfort to their loved ones, and bad body image: a feeling that they could never go out in public wearing the skin tight spandex that all super hero costumes are made of causing them to wear sweat pants which aren't conducive to flying or telepathic travel.

Despite these hold backs, Wonder Women everywhere continue to amaze and astound their children and husbands on a daily basis with their amazing feats of knowing it all and being able to fix almost anything.

Wonder Women, where ever you are, what ever you are doing, we salute you!

This is my last minute, bounce baby on my knee, as I type one handed entry into Scribbit's WriteAway contest. The theme is Wonder Woman. =)

Ah ha!

Michal from Relishing Motherhood is having a writing contest. She has graciously extended the due date for procrastinators like me (though I think childbirth is a purty good excuse to use this time).

The Topic: An Ah-ha Moment of Motherhood. Tell about a time when something really clicked for you and you saw motherhood in a new way. Or when you felt enlightenment in regards to your role as a mother or how you should handle a situation in your family. Or when you had an epiphany about your own mother.

Calling On Mom

"Hi, mom? It's Liz. I'm just calling to, once again, apologize. Remember all the times I complained about the haircuts you gave the boys when we were little? Yeah, I always just assumed you didn't know what hair was supposed to look like. Now I know that the "concentration camp" haircut is the only kind you can give a squirming 3 year old boy. I'm sorry!"

"Hi, mom, it's me again. You were SO right. Life isn't fair, and it never can be no matter how hard I try. I was sure that I could prove you wrong when it was my turn to be a parent. I now realize that the only thing I can give my kids is that same piece of knowledge, "Life isn't fair." Sorry, mom."

"Moooooom, she hates me! Was I this mean to you when I was six? If I was, I'm sorry."

"Mom, how did you keep the boys from killing each other, or keep yourself from killing them?"

"MOM, HOW DID YOU DO THIS WITHOUT GOING COMPLETELY INSANE???"

As a child I dismissed much of my mother's actions as those of the bizarre alien race of "parents." I figured she just didn't understand kids and so I tried to be patient with her. As a teen I learned that mom was good at listening to my problems but was annoyed that she never seemed to have the "right" solution. When I first moved away from home I considered myself as finally being free from her silliness. I could now rise above my mother and show her how life was supposed to be lived. Even in the early years of marriage I considered myself wiser and smarter than my mom, secretly hoping she was watching my good example. Yes, I was vain, vain and stupid. But then a funny thing happened. I had kids.

Now I constantly seek out my mother's holy wisdom. I am forever asking forgiveness for the vain ideas of my naive past. Suddenly my mother is my anchor, my guide, and my friend in this twisted world called parenting. Now I realize that I am doomed to seem silly, stupid, irrational, and useless to my children for many years. I understand now that my only hope to see true respect in their eyes is to wait for them to have children of their own. When they do I will wait by the phone for that wonderful day when they call to say, "Mom, you were right," to say, "I'm sorry," or call to ask me for help. Until then, I'll just call my mommy, because she understands.

No Turning Back

The following is my entry into Scribbit's Write-Away contest for June. I have this nasty penchant for sumbitting my entries too close to the deadline, and this one is no exception. The deadline is tomorrow, so if you want to enter too, get typing! The theme this month is "Going places."

No Turning Back

Oh great, Patti is going to be sick. She better not barf. I can't believe she still won't give me the window seat, she isn't even going to look out. She looks green.

"Ha ha ha ha, hey girl, your friend looks like she is going to puke! Ha ha ha!"

Stupid drunk man, why doesn't his wife make him shut up? Oops, maybe he is handicapped, or on a special medication. Still, that lady should tell him to stop laughing at us, it isn't Patti's fault she is sick.

"Lizzy, I'm going to be sitting back here with your dad and Bugga. Can you help Ben with Joseph?"

"Sure mom. Joseph, buckle up. Hey, Ben, wanna trade seats? I want to sit near the window."

Ben takes one look at Patti, another out his window, and quickly shakes his head. Darn! Anna has her earphones on and I swear she isn't looking at me on purpose.

"Ha ha ha! Haven't you ever flown on a plane before?

I put my head back and close my eyes, trying to ignore everything around me. I'll just ignore Patti, and that stupid laughing man. I'll ignore the fact that we are leaving New York and all the friends I've made. I'll just ignore the fact that dad is getting worse and that I'm worried about him making this flight. If I just close my eyes none of this will be real for just a moment. It feels so good to ignore..."

Rrrrruuummbbbbblllllleeeeeee. The plane is taking off. I continue ignoring everything, even that obnoxious man, but I open my eyes to look past Patti and out the window. Here we go! Going to Idaho, back where we started, back to family, back to an easier place for mom to be a single mother, back to the place where there is a cemetary plot, next to Grandma, waiting for dad. There will be new adventures, new friends, a new landscape, and new problems. I'm excited, scared, and numb. I always wanted to travel, but this isn't traveling, really. This is survival, and that is different. We aren't just leaving a place, or people, we are leaving a way of life, and things are never going to be the same, ever again. This is a one way ticket for our family. The trip will continue and each of us will take many different paths, but none of us can go back to where we were and ever have it be the same. Maybe if I explained all this to the laughing man he wouldn't laugh so hard...

Hear Ye, Hear Ye

I am the judge! Well at least for the month of May thanks to Michelle at Scribbit. When I first started blogging and found Scribbit I knelt in front of my computer and did the Wayne's World "I'm not worthy" kowtow, so I'm sure you can imagine how honored I feel to have been asked to judge one of her fabulous WriteAway contests. I love this contest because it's about more than just getting free stuff, it is about writing. Don't most of us bloggers start blogging with a desire to improve our writing, and to possibly be discovered by some super publisher and offered a million bucks to write a book about our diaper escapades and trying to feel sexy with baby puke running down our back and dinner on the stove? Or is that just me?

This month's contest theme is shoes. I love simple subject themes because it means you can do so much more with it. Like a verbal Rorschach test, we get to see what one word means to you. Because I'm not entering I don't have to worry about trying to make a coherent piece of writing and get to be lazy and just do a list. Here's what comes to mind when I hear the word, "Shoes."

1. Saturday evenings polishing my church shoes with dad. He had these great shoe polish bottles that had little sponges on the tops of them that us kids could use. We would polish our shoes while we watched him shine his the old fashioned way, right down to the spit shine. I loved it when he would let me take the rag to buff the toes of his big black dress shoes. Just seeing a little round tin of Kiwi shoe polish makes me lovingly think of dad.

2. The fake black Converse style shoes with the metallic star painted on the side. Man I was so HOT in those things! I'm so glad my parents and sisters never told me what a dork I was back then. Ignorance really is bliss, that is until you are watching home videos with your boyfriend and suddenly realize how NOT hot you were.

3. I sit in church and stare at women in stiletto heels and just wonder, "How on earth do they stay up in those things?" I am even more amazed at the pregnant woman, holding a baby on her hip, that still manages to wear those things and not trip. I'll just stick to my 2 inch thick Dr. Martin soles, thank you very much.

4. I have a lizard tattoo on my foot and when I wear the right shoes all you can see is its curly tail and I love that.

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5. Baby booties are so cute, but they are never as cute as baby feet, so I don't buy very many baby booties.

6. Shoe shopping with kids... This is on my top ten list of tortures I must endure, and its right up there with going to the dentist and talking to Bobter (and that's all I'm sayin' 'cause for all I know he might read this blog and I'd be in big trouble).

7. My feet would scare a pedicurist. I'm not big on shoes so I'm barefoot most of the time. I also have a toenail picking problem. This means that my feet are wide, dirty, calloused, I have cracks all over my heels, have little to no toenails, and often am missing my pinky toenail all together. Some things are not meant to be painted cherry red, and my toenails are one of those things.

8. I love to have my feet tickled. It doesn't tickle me, it just feels really good.

9. My husband tickled my feet and it was one of the first things I ever loved about him.

10. I store my shoes in an old wooden pie carrying crate that my father stole from the Navy shipping yard back when he was in the Navy. Target will never sell anything that cool.

Edited to add (how could I forget this one?): #11. My mom's leather, or leather like, knee high boots. I think she has had them just as long or longer than she has had me. They have made me realize the fluctuations of fashion as some years they were SO embarrassing, and other years I would sneak them to wear to school. They were the first, and only one of the few, expensive things she ever bought for herself and they are still going strong even after being worn almost every Sunday in winter for all these years. Mom, I want you to give me the boots when you die. Ok?

So, what do you think when you hear the word, "Shoes"? I can't wait to read all the entries!

Pleasant Unexpected Surprise

I know, I know. I am grounded and not supposed to be here yet. "Because I'm the mommy, that's why!" Well, I have to check my email every night so that I don't miss an appointment or make someone mad at me. Last night I received a very pleasant surprise. I was picked as 2nd runner up to the winning entry of Scribbit's Write-Away contest this month. I'm very happy and a bit embarrassed. I whipped my entry out in 20 minutes in order to make the deadline and right after sending it I of course found many mistakes. And to think I'm always telling my brother to read, reread, have someone else read, and then someone else, and then read it again yourself before you consider any written assignment to be done. Ah well, too late now. Thank you, Melissa, for overlooking my mistakes and for liking my entry enough to notice it. Thank you, Scribbit , for holding such a wonderful contest and for giving me this button to add to my sidebar (I know I've been given the button before but I was too new to blogging to understand how to put it in my sidebar).

Now, I'm going to turn off the computer and get back to my grounding before the kids see me. I don't want to give them any ammunition for the next time they are grounded. =)

The Next Twenty Years

The Next Twenty Years

(Written as an entry in Scribbit's writeaway contest.)

Like a hand reaching out in the darkness my future reaches out before me. I can choose to sit in a corner and wait till someone turns on the light, I can panic and stumble around the room screaming for help, or I can calmly take one slow step after another until my hand makes contact with something solid, something to guide me just a little further towards the switch. I choose to calmly move forward. New obstacles in life are like unexpected items on the floor. Sometimes they are painful and quick, like a stepping on a small Lego with my bare foot. Some are more dangerous like a sharp table corner that can bruise or even trip. Some could be fatal, like an open stairwell. Still, I choose to move forward, but with care. I make contact with a wall and use it to guide me. It makes the trip easier. But then the wall is gone for a time and I'm left to search again.

None of us knows what the future holds for us. Even those with the best beginnings can have the hardest endings. Goals are set, plans are made, dreams are dreamed, yet reality holds our fate in it's fickle hands. Death is around any corner, failure is possible with every foot step, and heartache keeps the time. Yet still, I choose to move forward, hand outstretched and feet sliding slowly along the floor. At one point I feel a hand take mine and together we search the darkness. We are still blind but no longer alone. If I fall he will catch me, if I get scared he will hold me, and I will do the same for him. It is better and we continue to move forward. Then little hands pull on my clothing and soon I realize that I am no longer free to move as fast. I now have a little train of children following me in the darkness. I yell out warnings of upcoming objects to save them from the pain I feel. Sometimes they listen, sometimes they don't and we must stop to make it better. It is a slow process and I often wonder why I bother. Why don't we just give up and learn to live in the darkness? Yet, occasionally there are bits of light that seep through the cracks, not enough to see by, but enough to fill us all with hope as the light reveals just a bit of color in our world. So, we make a game of it, seeing how long we can go without injury, play guessing games with the objects we find, taking pleasure in each new experience, and laughing about the past obstacles.

Our dream is a world filled with light. Our goal is a place without shadow. The detours are endless, the pain is always there, but the hope, the adventure, and the possibilities are the reward. I still make my plans, set my goals, and dream my wild dreams, but I don't depend on them because I know that walls are found in unexpected places, hands are lost in the dark, and sometimes we must stop to help one another or we just need to rest. So the plans change, the goals are reviewed and renewed, and the dreams are still dreamed. We choose to move forward.

And The Calories Go To...

Dirty Chocolate Giveaway results are in. Cookie just finished reading all the entries and here is what she says:

The entries ranged from endearing to outright educational. And the winner is....

Wonder Years: Rosy Heaven (Cookie says: Very unique, very true, GREAT JOB!) -I had to laugh though, because as she was reading this she scrunched up her nose and said, "SPINACH?!?!?!" I had to assure her that I had had strawberries in spinach salad before and it was very good.

Here are the other entries (with Cookie's comments in parenthesis):

An Ordinary Mom: The Cookie's Out Of The Jar (I liked it. It was funny. And I also say that, Yes, they do teach a lot more in Kindergarten than expected.)

Scribbit: Pad Thai Is a Beautiful Thing (Trying new recipes can be a big flop and I think you were brave for trying this.)

The Bitter Ball: A Favorite Day In Kazakhstan (I can't believe you actually ate that stuff!)

Chocolate After Supper: The Day The Ice Cream Didn't Melt (I wish my mom did that!)

What About Mom?: Pizza, Pizza, Calzone (Very interesting recipes.)

Thanks to all who entered. As Cookie was reading I heard outbursts of "No way!" and "Hmmm," and "Yum!" and a few giggles too.

Sounds That Scare Me

Sounds That Scare Me

It was a typical night, all the babies were asleep and I had finished making my nightly rounds, turning off lights and checking the door locks. Three children were sleeping down stairs and the baby was across the hall from our room in her nursery. I tend to have trouble sleeping but this night I quickly fell into a restful slumber. Some time later I woke with a start. Lifting my head up, I wondered what time it was. It was so dark outside it could have been anywhere from midnight to 3 in the morning. I lie back down and am almost asleep again when I hear a grinding noise. I jump quickly out of bed because I know that sound, it is the sound of a chair being moved across the kitchen floor. My 3 year old son has a habit of waking up in the middle of the night and he is not the kind of boy you want playing in a kitchen with knives at night. I rush into the kitchen, fully awake now, only to find it empty. Sure that my son has run back to bed I chase downstairs to catch him, only he isn't awake. He is peacefully slumbering in his bed. Now my heart starts to race. If it wasn't him, who was it? Instantly I have images of menacing men hiding in my childrens' rooms. Wishing I had a baseball bat, and running into each bedroom, I check the kids, then I check each of their closets and make sure all the windows are still locked before running upstairs. The baby is upstairs so I take the steps two at a time. Who ever it is had better not go near my baby! I am unarmed but I don't bother about this because I am a mother ready to defend her babies to the death. As I rush to check the front door I see my husband in the corner of my eye as he sleepily shuffles to the bathroom. Why isn't this man loading a gun or strangling some masked man right now?

Yawning he drawls, "What are you doing?"
"Check the baby, check the baby!"
"A-what?" He asks as I'm checking more window locks and he scratches his belly.
"I heard a noise, didn't you hear that noise?"
"You mean when I passed gas? I was wondering why you jumped out of bed so fast. It wasn't that bad. You mean you..."

He spares a second or two to chuckle sleepily at my shocked face before closing the bathroom door on me. Before going back to bed I yell through the door, "Noises like that need to come with a warning!"

I still get spooked by unidentified noises, but now I make my husband wake up and help me label the sound before rushing out of bed in the late, dark, night.

This has been submitted to Scribbit's October Write-Away Contest. The theme this month is "Thing that scare me."

Scribbit Write-Away Entry (Late as usual)

Things have been a bit hectic over here with the start of homeschool and potty training so I haven't had much time to write or blog. This is why I am going to "cheat" and recycle an old post for the Write-Away contest that was created and is hosted by Michelle of Scribbit. The grand prize is a purse that Michelle hand crafted herself (She sells them here). Wish me luck!

Making Room For Real Growth

I don't have a green thumb, by any stretch of the imagination. I bring in stray plants that follow me home and I beg, plead, and promise, "I'll water it everyday, I'll fertilize it, I'll re-pot it when it gets too big, I promise! Pleeeeease let me keep it". In about 5 weeks I have a brown twig sticking up out of a little pot of moldy mud. My main gardening fault is that I have no stomach for the butchery that is required. I plant my little row of carrot seeds and happily watch their little green shoots popping up from the ground. Then I read on the back of the seed packet that I'm supposed to "thin" them out (which means pulling up and killing more than half of my new little babies that I worked so hard to plant). I can never bring myself to pull those innocent little shoots that hold so much potential. I leave them there, hoping that the seed packet was just joking, and give them lots of water. After about a month I still have a pretty little row of green shoots, but they seem to have stopped growing. In reality I have actually prevented every single one of my precious green shoots from reaching their potential and might as well not have planted a single one to begin with. I also have the same issues with "pinching back". I started to buy the pre-grown tomato plants from Home Depot so I wouldn't have to suffer the death of young shoots. But the instruction card tells me that I must "pinch off several inches" from the top of my beautiful plant. I look at my strong looking tomato plant and I reason to myself, I can't pinch it, what if I kill it? I'm sure the first wild tomato plant wasn't "pinched back" and it survived. So I allow my plant to grow without limits, I will not be responsible for holding this energetic plant back in life. It grows to amazing heights and I am proud that I broke the social mores of gardening. It grows, and grows, and yet there is only one tiny tomato on my behemoth bush, and it never turns red. Covering my face with my hands, I weep because what I thought was plant freedom was really just undirected and unused energy going to waste. So, after all the useless deaths, and wasted fertilizer, have I learned my lesson? I have been growing an avocado tree (you know, where you stick toothpicks in an avocado seed and stick it in water) and it is actually getting somewhere! I did research on how to grow them this time. I got to the dreaded part of "pinching back" new growth and... I put it off (it still makes me queasy, I know I'll never be a plant surgeon in this life), and put it off a little more. Then, just a few days ago, I took a deep breath, placed my fingernails around the top of my lovely, fragile plant, gave a little moan of apology, and pinched. I almost feinted. Every day I have watched my plant, waiting for the amputation to cause gangrene and then the death of my little guy. To my amazement, my plant suddenly has leaves! It had grown "leaves" before but they were supper tiny and are just barely noticeable going up the stem, but the two tiny leaves under the amputation just started growing, and fast! I am starting to realize that sometimes we have to cut back in order to have the energy to really produce anything of real worth. I am starting to look at my own life and I am seeing many areas of my life that maybe need pinching back, or thinning out. Am I choking myself, or expending useless energy, when I could be producing valuable fruit? Well, watch out world, Lizzy has her gardening gloves on and a pair of pruning shears and she is ready to GROW!

Top Ten

An Ordinary Mom is hosting an awesome giveaway and today is the very last day to participate. (How is that for procrastination? I'm tellin' ya, I am the best at putting things off to the last minute). At first I was all excited because I love free stuff, but then I remembered that we just had our last stroller burning party because angel #4 had grown out of the whole "stroller thing," so I decided not to enter. But then I saw something hilarious while out running errands in the Supervan. There was a comically shaped middle aged man pushing a pug dog around in a stroller!!! My children thought I had lost it, yet again, as I was snorting, chuckling, and mumbling spurts of, "Gives new meaning.... HA!" , "Yeah, you're, 'Walking your dog'... Hee heee." And, "Wouldn't want precious puppy to get tired... BA!" Ok, so it had been a long day and I probably enjoyed that little scene far more than was healthy; but it got me thinking: What other uses might I find for the ultra fancy Chicco Ct0.1 Stroller? Here is my top ten list:

1. For pushing around a dog when you go for "walks". After all, it is called, "Going for a stroll around the park." (Ok, I'm still laughing about that man and his pug).

2. And because of the Ct0.1's awesome reclining seat feature I am not limited to just small dogs. I could push around an anorexic St. Bernard or even a medium size goat.

3. For carting groceries around. Think about it, you wouldn't have to worry about the bothersome task of returning the cart or getting yelled at for leaving it in the middle of the parking lot. Just fold it and throw it in the car (just watch out for the eggs!)

4. Give it to the kids and tell them it is the go cart they keep begging you for. I'm sure that with all the Ct0.1's safety features it should be perfectly safe for kids to push each other down the Smith's very steep and very curvy driveway in.

5. Park it next to the treadmill for extra laundry draping space.

6. Give it away at the next baby shower so you can make all the other guests look like cheapwads for only giving blankets and onesies.

7. If your granny is small enough you can give it to her and tell her it is a walker/wheelchair combo. She might even put you back in her will for such a thoughtful gift.

8. Train your children to push YOU around in it while you go window shopping in the mall. Hey, turnabout is fair play.

9. Give it to your son on his 16th birthday. After all, he only wrote "Cool new wheels" on his birthday wish list.

10. Bring it home and put it in your living room. When your husband, or boyfriend, asks why it is there just give him a shy smile. After he is done having a heart attack you can all have a good laugh over your funny joke.

With all these great non-baby uses who wouldn't want to enter this contest?