A Pretty Good Monday
This is how we spent our Monday.
Can you guess whose house we’re going to for Thanksgiving? We brought Cousin Stomach Bug too, so that just doubles the fun…
Ouch! Yeah, the truth…
Hurts š I value truth. I am not always jazzed about the truth, and I often can’t swallow it very easily. But I do try to be sensitive and open to encounters with it – even when its taste is offensive and bitter.
Monday was one of those days where I had a week’s worth of obligations crammed into one day – all fun stuff that I was excited to do but still just one of those days when life and circumstances and responsibilities ask a lot of you. I am sad to say that I can even sweat the fun stuff. So when I have to go without an interval of collection and reflection during the day, I am a terror. Hence, on these occasions I judiciously limit interaction with others. Unfortunately my fam doesn’t enjoy that option. On Monday the girls and I were a train wreck. We sassed each other; we spoke sharply and negatively; we were eating each other alive. And I just found myself at a complete loss for what to do. The girls weren’t obeying me; they were yelling at each other non-stop, and I was doling out punishments left and right. I was at a loss…
Out of pure desperation, I asked the girls to come sit with me in the floor to pray – during which time I began to cry. If they thought I was nuts, they didn’t say so, but things improved after that. Tuesday was phenomenally better! I praised Carson at bedtime for her improved attitude, and you know what she said to me. She said, “You just needed to get it together and then we would.” Oh, yes she did…
I patiently retracted my compliment, addressed her insubordination, and accepted her apology. But it was not until this morning when I was asking God for the grace and the patience and the forgiveness and the wisdom to parent today that I realized that Carson had nailed me with truth last night. Though her tone and intentions were disrespectful and unappreciated, she was dead on. She spoke truth to me, and I will choose to receive it.
I taught high school long enough to know that on days I walked in with a crummy attitude it was invariably reciprocated by my students. I set the tone for interaction in my classroom. I set the tone for interaction within my family.
That’s not to say that I won’t totally bomb tomorrow, but at least I can come at this issue with a little different perspective.
Ah yeah, sometimes the truth does hurt…
This is what happens when…
Pic o’ treat
my beauties
Our Not So Favorite Things…
Me
- snakes
- chewing gum
- lotion (i really do hate it! there are some that aren’t super greasy, but i can’t stand to feel lubed up.)
- when i really, really, really am excited to eat at a particular restaurant and it is closed; after that kind of disappointment I don’t want to eat at all – and that’s serious
- tomatoes
- scary movies
- picking vegetables from the garden (i know that sounds so lazy and ungrateful but for years i was an indentured servant to my family’s mammoth garden – it was planted in the middle of three intersecting tobacco fields – large! i resolved that i would not marry a man whose family grew a garden and i was dead serious about it)
- having a body chemistry that attracts nations of bugs to feast on my flesh (others around me aren’t nearly as tasty – don’t understand it)
- flying (the whole gravity-defying deal just freaks me out)
- flat shoes (they’re fine on other people, but i am too short and curvy to be that low to the ground)
- trash in my trash cans (someone shared this eccentricity at a Beth Moore conference and i felt so validated)
- reruns
- homework (this is surely recompense for my die-hard belief that students should have homework every night – yes, i know she’s only in the first grade but it’s awful!)
- fat-free salad dressing
- things that don’t end at a good stopping place (like i had to add this one because i couldn’t bear for my list to stop at 14.)
I also interviewed my cute lil’ fam, and this is what they had to say…
Chris
- Georgia Bulldawg red
- playing Baby Jaguar (which is this game he made up with the girls, but they went all nelly-nutcase on him and wanted him to play it every single day as soon as he walked in the door – with absolutely no variation from the script day after day after day after day. a dad can only take so much…)
- CBS news
- crabgrass
- scary movies
- litter (he seriously wants to be a litter patrol officer when he retires – i kid you not!)
- credit cards
- restaurants that serve only instant or flavored tea – we only like it brewed, straight, on the rocks with a healthy dose 0′ sweet n’ low (no aspartame warnings allowed – it’s a vitamin in my book!)
Carson
- collards
- cooked carrots
- washing and combing her hair
- scary movies
- arising at 6:38 each weekday morning
- anything that requires a wait
Campbell
- anytime momma leaves š
- anytime her sister locks her door
- anytime the spotlight hones in on her (see picture post; she doesn’t even like for the three of us to sing Happy Birthday to her on her big day)
- scary movies
- standing in the corner
- replacement blankies (please don’t ever make the mistake of trying to convince her to use another blankie while her 2 real ones are being washed; she will flail about madly – like only a three year-old can – even if she has an accident during the night she prefers to go without cover than to allow a sub)
Hope you noticed my capitalization and punctuation had the night off – quite liberating for the psycho English teacher in me…
Sweet Child of Mine
Campbell’s teacher sent a note home today. I was not surprised. It was her most dreaded day of the school year – picture day! She thinks photogs are creepy, the whole thing is forced, and she is not participating in some concocted charade of gaiety just so I can lamely whip out pictures of my two girls with acquaintances and friends from long ago. She’s not having it! At three years-old, she is not verbal enough to articulate all of that sass, but I know her well enough to know that is exactly what she would say if she could. So, let me introduce you to my Campbell…
and here she is again…
and again… 
She’s a bit like Wilson, the partially-revealed neighbor on Home Improvement.
Her PaPa had a great idea. I think I’m going to start a photo album for her school pictures. In place of the picture I will slide in the note from her teacher each year. This is Campbell in 3K; this is Campbell in 4K, etc… Because believe you me (Chris hates when I bust out ole’ timey verbage), the day will come when she reams me for the insufficient photographic documentation of her childhood. I’m preparing myself…
Just consider this post Exhibit 45 to be used in my defense…
Seasons
Puzzled.
The other day Campbell and I saw a tractor driving on the road. She was fascinated by that and wanted to know where it was going and what it was going to do when it arrived. I explained that it was probably going to a field to get the ground ready to grow some crops. “Crops?” she asked.
“Yes, crops are foods grown on a farm like corn and beans.”
“Crops?” she asked again.
“Yes, farmers grow crops.”
“Like for your feet?”
?
And then it occured to me that she was saying Crocs. No wonder she kept asking…
House of Style
My submission for the September Style issue of She Magazine:
I like brown ā and black ā even when theyāre not really āin.ā In fact, I have so many brown t-shirts that my friend started calling me Brownie (Get it? My nameās Cookieā¦.Brownie, uh, anywayā¦). I think that makes me predictable and boring – not stylish. I am symmetrical; I like to match. I like to super match. Iād love to be hip and get my nose pierced, but Iām just not. On a good day, I might throw on one of my four favorite pairs of jeans, chunky heels, a t-shirt (yep, brown or black), a sizeable belt and maybe a jacket or vest. I always wear the same shade of the same brand of lipstick (Spice Sachet, thank you very much) regardless of the season, and I use the same purse well into the wrong season. Contrary to the wardrobe rules of my fashion-forward spouse, if an article of clothing has short sleeves it is spring, summer, and fall attire here in South Carolina. If there are long sleeves, it is a winter garment; I donāt care what color it is! I think the issue is more a lack of creativity than a lack of courage, but my style is more than my unimaginative apparel.
An ice-cold 20 ounce Diet Pepsi is my style. Zumba at the gym is my style. Jack Johnson, fresh air, a good book, good friends, good food, a nap, and laughter are my style. I can wear them well.
Carson, on the other hand, takes seriously her sense of fashion as a six year-old. She creates ensembles in which all color groups are well represented, and they inflame my matching sensitivities. I do my best to allow and encourage her expression whenever possible, but she is aware that our styles are different. In fact, we were recently shopping in the shoe department in Target. We struck up a conversation with the nicest sales associate, and I was conveying my disbelief at the resurrection of jelly shoes. Who knew that even they, the most grievous of fashion offenses, would enjoy a new day? The sales lady proceeded to enlighten us on the current trends as reported by one of the morning shows; matching was no longer cool. O horrors, I thought. Apparently it is much more chic to couple different colors and complementary textures. As we wrapped up the morning show recap and parted company, Carson looked up at me with a justified expression and said, āSee, Momma, thatās my style!ā I had to give it to her, so ā as it turns out ā my daughter is fashion-forward too. She describes her style as funky and comfortable, and she is in to bling and dazzle and sparkle and shimmer and glitter and glow and pink. She owns ninety-seven tubes of lip gloss (not really) and has far more purses than I do.
Junie B. Jones is her style. Stuffed animals and The Magic Schoolbus are her style. Chick-Fil-A, a dance tune, her cousin ā Lily, any surprise, Kit, and playing school are her style. They are part of her groove.
Campbell, as a three year-old, is not too focused on fashion yet. But she has had one shoe preoccupation: her clearance Target-version UGG boots. During the cooler months she wore them with everything, even dresses. During the summer she has sported them with cut-off jean shorts that were too short a long time ago and a Mickey Mouse t-shirt. Our morning decisions revolve around whether sheās feeling one ponytail or two that day. She has shown some minor interest in piercing her ears, but her parents are implementing stalling tactics for the next couple of years on that one.
Cuddling with her two favorite blankies is her style. Dora and her ladybug umbrella and big-girl cups and popcorn are her style. She digs cutting with (safe) scissors, and she can rock some corn on the cob. Her favorite things are her finest accessories.
Now the husband brings some highly contested fashion regulations that I often balk. I treasure his opinion, but Iām not sure I trust his rules. I take them with the proverbial grain of salt. He creates uniforms within his clothing options that he cycles through every week. Once a shirt is married to a pair of shorts, there is little chance a different grouping will occur in the future. Chris prizes his Olukai flip-flops, his cheap but current jeans, and his clubbinā shirts (even though we donāt club). He was voted Best Dressed in his high school class; maybe I should reconsider my dismissal of his advice.
Clemson football is his style. Edging our driveway and encouraging our grass are his style. Good running shoes, bodies of water, pineapple casserole, and old school headbands are his style. They suit him.
So, there it is. Thereās not that much style in our house; at least not in the way we dress. Who knows, maybe the year of brown will roll around again before too long. Weāre a fairly predictable pack of Cawthons, each with our own quirks and preferences. High fashion or not, thatās just how we rollā¦
Get ‘er done!
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