Back to School and Blogging

It’s safe to say during our time apart I have been pretty busy. Not busy "like a one-armed paper hanger" or anything like that, just busy living life. I have honestly missed “us.” I didn't feel the loneliness in the beginning, kind of enjoyed the writing hiatus. It was becoming a bit of a struggle finding something to write about each week. But, when I caught myself writing inspirational messages on my hard boiled eggs, I knew it was time to blog again. So here we are!

My angel coin story is the perfect way to ease back into our blogging routine. Many years ago I purchased an angel coin for my sweet friend battling breast cancer who lived far from me. I told her that since I couldn't be with her she should keep this angel coin with her and know she was never alone. That coin was always, always with her.  Many years later when she accepted her time here was coming to an end, she gave me back the coin and said “I’ve loved having this angel coin Allison, but now it’s your turn to keep her.”  I too never went anywhere without her angel coin.

Hence began my mission to always have an angel coin handy when my path crossed someone in need. I was careful when doling out my dwindling stash of coins because I could not find a place to buy them anymore. Eventually I was just down to one give away and my special coin. About this same time I went into a local jewelry store as a customer and came out a part-time employee! They were friendly, wonderful, trustworthy, kind-hearted and in desperate need of help.

Early on in my employment one of their regular customers came into the store and it was clear she was struggling with cancer. I quickly ran back to my desk to retrieve my last give away angel and placed it in her hand. That night while closing up the shop, they asked me about the significance of the angel coin. That’s when they offered to make angel coins for me! Now not only are angel coins just a call away, but so are my dear jewelry store friends!

A week ago I found a friend in need, so I handed her my coin. I said, “A special angel is watching over you so you should never feel alone.” The look on the face of someone who receives an angel is worth triple the coin’s weight in gold.

A few days later I ran into my friend at our gym and she said she saw a woman in the locker room who was diagnosed with breast cancer. She wanted to give her angel coin to her but was afraid, since the coin had given her such strength and comfort. But in the end, she handed her coin over to the woman and said to me, “It felt so empowering, and so right giving my angel to her.” And so it continues…

Moral: Giving someone support is a gift that keeps giving!

A little thing you should know: My plan is to share my blog with you when I have something worthy to write about, so until then…

your friend always,

Miss me?

Hello my blog friends, I’ve missed you. It feels like months since I sat down with you. Part of me missed the brainstorming, writing, editing, publishing and connecting thing. Another part of me fully enjoyed the time off. I had no idea how much of my time I spent blogging. Now, before you think I’ve been sitting on a beach somewhere sipping some fruity drink ….

Remember a few weeks ago I told you how that magical Prid Drawing Salve helped remove a splinter of dried grass (yes grass) in my thumb? Well apparently that was only a little portion of it. Two weeks later the rest of it finally came to the surface. It may not look like a big deal to you, but it packed a powerful and painful punch!

You’ll also recall I was struggling to gather and turn in all our tax documents before the looming deadline. Pretty sure you’ll be proud to know I met the deadline with a few days to spare! As sometimes happens—the dread was worse than the actual activity. Afterwards I decided the only way to avoid this mess next tax season was to organize the heck out of it! It’s a proven fact that things color-coded, labeled and tidy will no longer be a problem, right?

Still, with some leftover free time I had blocked out for taxes I convinced myself that painting my wood paneled office would be a great time filler. For a couple of months I have felt my office was dark, dreary and sort of a difficult place for me to write. As always, my sister was eager to help me and so began endless days and nights of office transformation. Four 15-hour days to be exact. I guess I should have dreaded this painting job more than the tax return.

I will not bore you with details of an entire day of sanding and filling holes. Nor will you hear about the two full days we spent priming and painting miles of trim, baseboard, crown moulding, SIX doors and THREE windows ... or the last day spent painting three coats on the paneled walls!!! I chose Sherwin Williams Dover White with a semi-gloss white trim, because I always felt cream and white looked cozy yet crisp side by side. The change was so drastic from all the dark wood I worried it did not feel warm. I could probably hatch eggs in my office with all the brightness now. But as pictures are hung, furniture placed and that beautiful fern plant sits beside my couch, I can feel my office filling with “happy.”

So I am writing this blog at my old desk in my old office, but it all feels brand new to me. Best of all—I feel inspired. This space feels more like who I am, and a place I can start to focus on another dream I’ve had for a very long time. I am going back to story writing. Can’t promise a finished book or anything, but I intend to be working hard at it. I am very excited for this new challenge. So ... my blogs will post up when I have something worthy to write about and the time to share them with you. For those of you that have come to count on my Tuesday morning posts, don’t worry. If you need me, I am always just an email away: astoutland@aol.com!

Always your Tuesday friend,

Moral: Be like a fresh coat of paint-brighten a room when you enter it.

A little thing I’m obsessed with: My office not only had all wood paneling but twelve brass doorknobs. Not being a big fan of brass, I decided I would try to spray them with Rust-oleum Metallic Flat Burnished Amber since replacing them would be over $250.00! Spray painting was not only so easy, but so much fun it was difficult for me to stop! I was like an animal hunting its prey, and my next victims were my ten year old generic black stapler and tape dispenser. Seriously, if it wasn’t nailed down I contemplated spraying it! Once you try it, I know you’ll be thanking me!

My March Madness

March started out like most; a couple of school author visits, filling out a college basketball bracket and searching for my flower bulbs to pop up in my garden. This seemingly typical Spring month quickly twirled into a hot mess. Instead of going on and on about all my troubles and shortcomings I have decided to share little random funny snippets and what I learned from my own March Madness.

My month began with a terrible case of the flu, and no I did not get a flu shot. Honestly every time I heard someone complain about the flu I thought to myself, “Grow up. How bad can it really be?” Well, that thinking might be why I fainted face first at the Admissions desk at Urgent Care. Some may call that karma!

With the tax deadline looming my list of banned activities were long, but weeding while my sweet dog went out to potty was thankfully not one of them! So while he did his business, I did mine. I grabbed a big old handful of dried grass from my front garden and got SPLINTERS! The grass was so dry and sharp it pierced my thumb in two places. So deep and almost invisible was this grass that I could not see it to dig it out! The thought of ending up at Urgent Care twice in one month was unacceptable, so I went to the local pharmacy. There they told me about this little pot of drawing salve that might help. Skeptical but desperate, I took it in my hand. The name alone would have sealed our love affair, but then it actually worked! Madness!

The other night my husband was making dinner while I finished up our taxes. I walked into the kitchen to find him cutting the lobster shell with my “only paper cutting scissors!” I explained to him why that was “madness!" It was clear to me he thought I was the mad one so I said …”Jeff, so then it would be cool if I used your 5-iron to plant my perennials?”

As a football family person often times I plant 100’s of bulbs only to move before they show themselves. For years I swore off planting bulbs, thinking it was a jinx. What madness for me when I got to see all the places I chose to plant crocuses, daffodils, tulips and allium back in the fall! So glad I took that risk and can’t wait to do it all over again this fall!

Madness continued with everything taking precedence over my beloved Barre and Pilates classes … breaking my personal record for "worst ever gym attendance." Good news is that since I lost weight thanks to that flu, I sort of seem to have broken even in that department.

One of the few times I was at the gym I ran into a friend who was wondering about my absence. I began my rehearsed response, “So I worked a whole bunch, had the flu, my dog isn’t feeling well and …” she cut me off and said, “Sounds like you’ve been busy writing a country song!” Yes I guess it did. Hmm, maybe I should? Madness!

So March has passed, basketball brackets can be recycled and hopefully the madness is over.

Moral: Madness can teach some pretty great life lessons too.

Your mad friend,

Two little Spring things I started to do: I’m all about buying reduced Spring baskets with fading flowers and planting those bulbs all around my garden! But, now I am also sprouting veggies on my kitchen counter in preparation for my edible garden. Seriously it’s madness after I make a salad. I place the romaine and celery ends in a 1/2 inch of water. About four days later and it is sprouting!!!

A last second update: Congratulations to Villanova University on becoming the 2016 College Basketball National Champions and securing my basketball bracket win too! MADNESS continues...

'Tis the season

I am not a gambling gal--but if I were, this is exactly the kind of bet I should have put all my marbles on. Not only would I have not lost a single bet, but may easily have tripled my lot. Thanks to the last 27 years of practice I have under my belt this type of bet is what Vegas refers to as a “lock."  Here we are closely edging towards the end of March and I am right where I always am--panicking.

Don’t worry friends--I am not exactly requesting you to “talk me off the ledge,” for this is a job that must be done on my own. I had approximately 365 days to prepare for this looming deadline. Twelve months to keep things organized, so this task would be easy-peasey. Instead--the deadline is closing in, my throat is filling with bile, my chest with doom and I am feeling a bit more paralyzed with each passing day.

This task is not even physically taxing. There is no need to train or even qualify for that matter. I will not break a sweat, pull a hammy or tear my meniscus. No weather to endure--as a matter of fact this task will eventually be accomplished in the comfort of my own home where I have indoor plumbing, running water, stocked fridge and endless coffee at my fingertips.

You must be wondering what the actual task is that I dread so?  It’s so distasteful to me that it seems all things are more worthy of my time than this particular task. Yes, I can hear my mind say, “Live your life Allison, this task can wait! You have months until the deadline, what are you so worried about? It’ll get done!”  So in just these past few weeks I’ve done exactly that. I have raked out three rather large garden beds, scrubbed our algae covered water feature and replanted all window boxes and planters. I cleaned the entire basement including our daughter’s bedroom. With just 18 days until this deadline still today you could find me on the roof blowing leaves from the eaves and gutters!

The Von Trapp family singing in The Sound of Music

But just as the Von Trapp family knew when it was the right time to leave Austria … I too recognize it is now time for me too.

“So long, farewell

Auf Wiedersehen, adieu

Adieu, adieu

To you and you and you.”

The above photo represents the very reason why I must say goodbye to you for the next few weeks. This is my tax cabinet. For the last 365 days I have tossed every single paper I felt was somehow related to our 2015 taxes. Also amongst all those financial papers are other papers I hid when people came to visit or just stopped by. This cabinet represents my disdain for numbers, math and calculations. It harkens back to every math problem I never understood.

So until I finish this job I will not allow myself to blog, bake, craft, garden or paint!!!  Just maybe this will be the incentive I need to help me stay focused as I unload, sort, highlight, tally, organize and finally ship off my return to our taxman. Yes, all this fuss and angst and I don’t even do our taxes … I am just responsible for gathering up all the numbers and documents to mail to our dear tax accountant who has the patience of a saint.

Off in the distance I hear someone saying, “Allison, put your big girl panties on!” Maybe that is just what I need, but first I’m going to give Olivia Pope a ring. Maybe she will “handle this” for me?

Moral: Postponing any unpleasant task seems to only make the misery last longer.

Your challenged friend,

A little thing I do: I know enough about me to know I need many dangling carrots for this task to be accomplished. Not the edible kinds, the kinds that will keep me focused and on task. I’ve decided my carrot will be a massage. Once April 15th comes and goes … I will hopefully be cleansing my body and mind of all toxins--I mean numbers!

Facing Little Fears (which to me aren’t so little)

This past weekend I grew up just a little bit more. I took on a personal fear that usually renders me sick to my stomach and has on occasion changed my plans entirely. I drove into New York City all by myself. Well, okay … I wasn’t exactly alone, our sweet dog Cornell was my traveling companion, but he wasn’t about to help read the map in a pinch! If I am being totally honest, those that know me also know I’ve been driving into the city alone for some time now. Every single time I have driven into NYC I travel the exact same way so there is somewhat of a comfort level in it for me. This means that I have learned to brave the Lincoln Tunnel from New Jersey to Manhattan Island. I breathe slowly and deeply while I under water white-knuckle drive looking for any signs of leaks … like that does any good in calming me down?  

Pop Artist Ed Heck's art was on display while picking up a bagel and cream cheese for the ride home... win-win!

With the annual New York City St. Patrick’s Day Parade this past week, luck of the Irish was not on my side. It was highly recommended I should avoid the midtown area completely. The advice made complete sense but meant I had to go A DIFFERENT WAY! I don’t know about you, but I don’t like change much at all. It automatically places me in some kind of a slow boiling sort of semi-panic state. I handle situations best when I remember physically doing them. The moment my scaredy cat brain caught wind of this change it began campaigning for canceling my trip. A battle between my brain and heart was beginning to take shape. Fear was starting to paralyze me, but this trip was our Annual Sibling Reunion. A rare chance for Philadelphia me, my New York City sister and our two Chicago brothers to hang out together and yes--we really do love each other!

The siblings: Tommy, Karen, Michael, Allison and Cornell!

There was still plenty of time to win this war since my heart was determined not to lose. So I pulled out my old fashioned atlas and started mapping out my new route. The success of this plan entailed traveling over the double decker George Washington Bridge, another one of my fears. UGH! Do I drive on the upper level so if the bridge should collapse then I am on top of the heap? Or do I drive on the lower level so I won’t go flying right off the top of the bridge if someone sideswipes me?

Long blog short, I did it--and it wasn’t nearly as bad as my mind made it out to be. I traveled with the visual picture etched in my mind and knew my plan. I opted for the lower level, since I can’t swim anyway so what’s really the difference? Not only did the drive go off without a hitch, but I even found a parking spot on my sister’s street!!!  So the reward for my bravery was a weekend filled with wonderful sibling time, seeing an “old” friend, meeting a few new friends and sneaking in a quick visit with my cousin to boot. We ate delicious food, reminisced and laughed a whole bunch. But if you know anything about a trip to see my sister, it is never complete without painting a room for her.

Thanks for always having my back my "old" NYC friend and Blog Editor; Mike Johnson! 

So if you happened to catch a glimpse of me and Cornell driving home holding our breath through the LIncoln Tunnel, those few strands of gray you saw were actually wisps of Valspar Meteor Dust paint in my hair.  Who cares though, we were the happy, proud and the cocky winners!

A peak at Karen's freshly painted NYC kitchen!

Moral: Arm yourself with techniques and thoughts that help you win your personal battles.

Your brave friend,

A little craft I like to do: As a proud 36-year AAA member I alway pick up complimentary Triptiks and maps for every new road trip. My neurotic mind likes to know what is coming up ahead while the teacher in me appreciates the facts and history of the towns we will be passing by. Instead of recycling them, I reuse and craft the most perfectly personalized gifts for weddings, showers or housewarming gifts. Choose 4 cities for the receiver(s) ... birthplace, college town, honeymoon or first home. Go to hardware/tile store to pick out tiles of your choice; I use  4 X 4 tumbled marble tiles that cost about .75 each. Cut each city so it fits on top of the tile. Careful tearing gives a cool finished edge too. Next adhere map cuttings with four coats of Mod Podge, drying in between each coat. Back each tile with either a thin cork self-adhesive backing or place one little rubber foot in each corner. Tie with a ribbon and gift away!

Personalized Map Coasters: Step by Step

On the road again....

In elementary schools across our country, March’s Reading Month kicked off with a birthday celebration to honor one of the finest children’s authors of all time, Dr. Seuss. I have loved the silliness, repetition and illustrations of his books since I was a young girl. However, it was not until I was an adult that I fully comprehended the magnitude of his deep and powerful messages.

As a kindergarten teacher I spent weeks reading his books. The Butter Battle Book gave me the perfect opportunity to discuss how a silly disagreement can turn into an enormous, foolish fight. The Sneetches encouraged a discussion about accepting others that are different than yourself. My all time favorite still is Horton Hears a Who illustrating perfectly how every single person matters, no matter how small!!!!  If only Dr. Seuss were here to make sense of this unbelievably mystifying—and often comical—Presidential election.

After the birthday festivities some schools continue the celebration by inviting an author to speak to their students about the writing process. That’s where I come in. Among other things I am a children’s author … and I love nothing more than speaking to a group of wide-eyed budding writers. I talk about my life and all the life experiences I have had that brought me to where I am today. On occasion I get the good fortune to share the adult version of my life with teachers, and remind them of the importance of their job and it’s life-altering affect on their students.

Lucky me—I have had a few school engagements this month. Just the thought of packing for a school visit trip makes me giddy. My husbands career and it’s constant moving potential made it a challenge for me to continue my career as a teacher. Plus, once we had a family we decided I should stay home and take care of our two children. So, 20 years ago traveling alone and sleeping in hotels was a perfect fit for my heart and life. I would fill my suitcase with all the magazines I never had time to read and treat myself to a brand new sleeping mask that I would leave on all night without a care. These days escaping a home filled with children is no longer a thing. Neither is sleeping in a hotel alone since “empty-nest” has me home alone most of the time. Thankfully unread magazines no longer fill my bag as there are far more important items I cannot travel without. First being my personal portable fan just in case the daily pills I take to ease my hot flashes are not working. My makeup bag is chock full of anti-wrinkle creams, eye brightening concealer stick and my faithful teaser comb to add volume to my drooping hair! These times may be a changing, but the happiness and satisfaction from these trips remains, and in many ways, is heightened.

All the packing aside, as a new dear friend was dropping me off at the train station, she said, “ Try to take it easy, two schools in just two full days sounds draining!” I smiled back and replied, ”No worries, I’m like a car with no gas pulling into a gas station to fill up!” Of course, truth be told, I am absolutely drained after spending two entire school days sharing stories about my life, my struggles, my accomplishments … but mostly I am inevitably revitalized, rejuvenated and “happied” too.

Moral: Find what fills up your tank and get yourself to your local “gas station!”

your lucky author friend,

A little person I met: At the end of the school day a sweet little fourth grade girl walked up to me and told me that meeting me was the best day of her life so far. She said, “ I understand how you felt being bullied in second grade.” After we hugged she looked into my eyes and said, “I’m not scared anymore after your words, I feel brave now.” ….and just like that my tank runneth over!

One of the little thank you letters I received from another sweet child I met.

What exactly is a Friendship Brunch anyway?

I get this question a lot. The conversation pretty much goes something like this:

Invited Friend: “So, what are you selling at this party?”

Me: “Nothing!”

IF: “Then why are you having it? I mean, what is the occasion?”

Me: “No occasion, just my way of thanking people who have been a friend to me.”

IF: “Why have I never heard of anything like this before? Where did you learn about this? Where were you living in at the time? Probably down South, right?”

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Thank you Theresa for this beautiful picture!

It’s a fair question- how did this tradition begin? Best I can figure is it was born in Michigan out of a desire and need. As a football family we tend to move quite a bit and every single time we must make new friends and navigate a new world. With my husband embedded in the football world/office from the moment we arrive, I am left to “handle” everything else. The Friendship Brunch gave me that perfect chance to thank the gals who befriended me; said a simple “hello” to the “new girl;” let me borrow sugar or an egg in a pinch; shared the names of the best babysitters, hairstylists and doctors in town or guided me as to which teachers to request and included me in the longstanding neighborhood playgroup. These are just a few of the kind-hearted women that make up a guest list chock full of amazing people from all parts of my daily life.

Thanks Lisa for this picture!

This tradition has ebbed and flowed over time. Some years I abandoned the Brunch. Not because I didn’t meet wonderful friends that year, but because I was simply too busy keeping my own head above water. One year I decided each guest could bring a friend, because some friends just felt more comfortable that way—the more the merrier. Those that bring a friend along may walk in as a stranger but always leave as my new friend! I’ve also added an optional grab bag gift. Guests may bring a $5.00 gift and take one as they leave. Oh, and there is now “The Guest Chalkboard” signed by each attendee. It hangs on my bathroom wall, sort of like happy graffiti that I get to take with me when I move.

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Thank you Annie for the perfect heart gift! And Lisa for the picture!

The sole purpose of the Friendship Brunch is to show how thankful I am to the people who helped make my family's transition to a new world smoother. Everything I do is so they fully comprehend just how much their kindness is appreciated and matters. When they leave my home there should be not a single doubt how grateful I am they stepped out of their very own comfortable world to comfort me.

Since I was raised to show people I care by feeding them, I make all the food myself. So, yes I prepare for days. My dear home even gets a deep cleaning because, afterall, it is only fair that she looks her personal best, too. All the while I am prepping and cleaning, I reminisce. I harken back to past Brunches in other football lands. I think of the wonderful ladies who I had the utmost pleasure of meeting and then calling my friend. These friends may not walk through my front door but always have a place in my heart-always!

One gym, one football and one "new" friend! Picture courtesy of Lisa, again!

My reward for all this fuss is watching my home literally fill with the best of the best. I spend my time hugging each old and new friend as they arrive. I mingle and “matchmake.” I love watching my worlds collide. Seeing a neighbor chatting with a football friend thrills me. I’m not surprised anymore when a gym friend realizes she was in kindergarten with my sweet next-door neighbor! For me it’s just like watching really good quality ingredients I’ve picked up at many different shoppes come together and make a delicious pot of soup. I highly suggest you give a Friendship Brunch a go, it will not disappoint!

Moral: Choose your friends carefully for they determine the flavor and richness of your life.

your brunch friend,

A little thing I do: The recipes I use are often from friends who cannot be present. So when I label the food I place their name on it—and now they are kind of present too! And as promised, here are this year’s two of the top requested recipes.
 

I don’t belong in this generation

I’m not big into plastic water bottles or even those reusable Earth conscience bottles either. If I am going to drink water at all then please give me a regular glass with ice and tap water. Not only do I think it tastes better that way but it just makes more sense to me.

Mug from new neighbor friend Susie and Happy glass from my "old" neighbor friend Sharon!

I like writing letters on real paper with a blue Bic pen. I like folding the paper, sliding it into an envelope and placing a stamp on the corner. I like the way my handwriting changes depending on my mood. Now, this doesn’t mean that you won't catch me sending an email or a text, but nothing can replace an old-fashioned letter for me.

I like when there were just two kinds of orange juice to choose from; pulp or without. I don’t have an hour to determine if the carton of oj i’m holding has calcium, is non-acidic, no sugar added or organic. And that goes for you too, toothpaste. All these options are confusing and inevitably lead to me bringing home the wrong one.

And while we are at it I like real butter, milk and sugar. All these non-fat, low-fat, artificial sweetened products are reduced from what was genuine. If I’m going to eat a cookie, I want one real cookie as opposed to 5 altered ones. I’ve learned to drink coffee with milk rather than with Splenda and fat-free creamer. I’m not preaching--just sharing what feels right for my heart and head.

I kind of miss the days when there was one family phone on the kitchen wall. I should have seen this love affair/obsession with a phone coming by my very own reaction to getting a pink princess phone on my 13th birthday. I laid on my green shag rug talking endlessly to my best friend about nothing and everything until someone else in my home needed the phone. Wait for it … then I had to hang up!!! Nowadays everyone under our roof has their very own phone, well except for our dog, Cornell, that is.

Seems as if our family is not alone. As I walk through daily life everyone seems to be talking, texting or snapchatting to someone who is not present. Rare is the person you make eye contact with, throw them a friendly smile or share idle chit-chat. Or maybe it is me on my phone looking down and missing it all. It’s really sad that the person standing right in front of you gets ignored while a person far away gets rewarded. Quite the irony of technology that was supposed to keep us better connected. In my mind, it often has had just the opposite effect.

Now, I would be a big fat liar if I did not share a few of the new fangled things I feel are pretty darn spectacular. Like facetime. which allows me to see my family members who live far away. Or the ultrasound that reassured us all was good inside my pregnant belly just a few 21 years ago. I love that I can send a "thinking about you" text or email to someone in another state or country and they miraculously receive it within seconds! I love how my Sunpass let’s me glide through toll booths without stopping. Playing a game of Word Chums with my bestie who lives in another state to pass the time while I wait at an appointment is delightful. So is reading a restaurant review before making a reservation. I can even listen to any song at anytime with the swipe of my finger on my smartphone. Just the other day I learned how to add a video snippet to my blog with youtube … another super cool advancement in technology that I embrace.

So as you can see, it is a real struggle for me to balance the temptation of this generation with my old-fashioned self. I try to BE in the moment, silence my phone to minimize disruptions from those in my presence. Instead of trolling through facebook with free time, I sit and color in one of my many adult coloring books. I bake cakes from scratch with  buttercream frosting and hope to just eat a teensy-tiny sliver slice. Maybe what I really need is an app to help me balance my life?

Moral: Being in the present, after all, is a present in itself. Let’s not miss it!

your balancing friend,

A little, but big thing I do: Pardon the tardiness of my blog this week but I hosted my first Philadelphia Friendship Brunch yesterday and I am pooped both physically and emotionally. I have so much to share...blog, recipes and photos to follow next week!

Oh I wonder

At 52 years of age I am still trying to figure me out. I remember thinking by the time I hit my fifties there would be almost nothing I did not comprehend. I mean afterall, I’ve had 50 years to figure it out. Isn’t this the time in my life Oprah referred to as the “I finally get it” age? Yet, here I am still baffled by my own self--still.

Why is it when I am lost, I inevitably drive faster? Is it because I think the faster I drive the quicker I will no longer be lost?

Why do I get so incredibly angry at myself when I get sick? I might as well be walking around with a big “FAILURE” sign taped to my forehead!

Why do I spend months researching a project, weeks locating just the right materials at the perfect cost and then cannot find a few hours to tie up all the loose ends to finish the job?

Why do I eat like a bird all day long, but then eat like an animal at night? Is it because I think it is dark and so no one can see me? Or that I am rewarding myself? WHAT?!

Why must I travel miles out of my way to spend 2 cents less for a gallon for gas? Anyone can see I spend far more on the extra distance than on savings!

Why can’t I yet successfully food shop for an entire week without always needing to swing by the supermarket for a forgotten item or two or three?

How is it I have a jam-packed gift closet, but never seem to have the right gift for the right person?

Why do I treat myself so poorly, but wouldn’t consider treating others close to that same way?

Why do I love to be alone, but am such a people person?

Why am I so disgruntled when the car in front of me let’s a waiting car merge in when I was planning on being that person?

Why must I always wait until the last possible minute to finish a task and then with a few minutes left just throw caution to the wind and altogether stop trying? Is it because if I give up then I think I won’t feel like I’ve failed?

Why do I carefully select and purchase eye creams to diminish puffiness and wrinkles, but then fail to put them on every single night? That’s sure to help the issue!

Why do I still believe I can drink a cup of coffee after 3 p.m. and not be affected by it … every single time?

But the biggest mystery about me is my tendency to inevitably clam up when something sad occurs in my life. The moment my heart feels sadness it sounds off an ALARM! The severity of the sadness determines the number of barriers I put in place. I liken this shutting down process to a weekly TV detective show I enjoyed as a young child called “Get Smart.” Each week the show began with the bumbling secret agent Maxwell Smart proceeding through a secret passage to get to his office. It’s a series of … oh hell, cue the clip since the visual is far better than any word description I might come up with!

Anyway, that’s just what I do--literally close my doors. I let most of my calls go to voicemail. I prefer responding to requests via text or email. My goal is to avoid the inevitable questions heading my way regarding said sadness from people who care. Good, bad or ugly it’s both me and baffling!

Moral: Acceptance is the first step towards change.

Your struggling 52-year-old friend,

Another little thing about me: Why is it for the second room renovation in two years the items that actually inspired me in the first place are not part of either finished project? Ironically, the inspiration for both my kitchen and half bathroom were a pair of antique metal door hinges. I guess I’ll just hold onto them and see what they inspire me to do next!

I finally managed to tie up almost every single loose end and could not love it any more!

Will the real meaning of Valentine's Day please stand up?

In case you live in a hole, Valentine’s Day is just a few days away. All these reminders only make me long for my teaching days. Oh how I loved when my students transformed old shoe boxes into beautiful valentine card mailboxes. Printed class lists were sent home as homework, yes homework. Each child was responsible for writing each and every classmate's name on their cards. Yes, the rule was either you gave a card to everyone or to no one. My goal was simple. Everyone would leave feeling loved, which if I’m being honest was my goal everyday!

My job as an inner-city teacher was often filled with sadness. Yet it provided me with a daily reminder that my “tough” life paled in comparison to the little children who spent their weekdays with me. At five years of age some of these children faced challenges I had never even thought of until they entered my life. Some came to school hungry, unkempt and exhausted but no matter always found it in them to love me. So I did all I could to make sure they knew I loved them right back. I kept donated clothing in my teacher closet at the ready, the school district provided breakfast and lunch, and when desperately needed I called a family friend who was a dentist. That is why at least on Valentine’s Day there would never be tears in my classroom, just a day of everyone feeling loved.

Plus I never really appreciated all the fuss and pressure this holiday created and still don’t some 20 years later. I always wondered why just one day? Why the focus on romantic love? Why not for all your friends, just like in kindergarten? And so I began my Friendship Brunch tradition. A day I invite all my friends to my home for a chance to take care of them. An opportunity to say thank you. A snippet of time carved out of our busy lives to let them know how much I appreciate their kindness and just how important they are to my daily life.

This chalkboard is signed by all the friends who attended my Friendship Brunch In Tuscaloosa, Alabama. Roll Tide Friends!

You wonder how I accomplish this monstrous task? Well first and foremost, all my friends do not live even remotely close by, so sadly most are not able to make the trip. This football life I live has given me the very best of friends, but they are scattered across the USA. So the number of attending friends is quite manageable. As such, I spoil those in attendance with food, drink and as much laughter as we can stand. I create an invitation, clean my home, create a menu, shop, cook, create, bake and voila--DONE! But don’t get all mushy on me now. After all, it’s not all sweet intentions—there is a whole vein of selfishness going on here.

See, I consider myself a collector and like all collectors we like to show off our collections. The Friendship Brunch is the perfect opportunity for me to showcase a collection I have been working on since I was 2 1/2 years old. This invaluable collection is not stamps, rocks or Beanie Babies ... it’s friends! I have found these treasures everywhere I go and I mean everywhere. And yet, sometimes treasures actually find me instead. No matter how a treasure becomes part of my collection, I am compelled to care for them, keep them safe from harm and appreciate their beauty, value and worth. Some of my treasures are relatively new acquisitions while others I have loved for almost my entire life. With each of our moves I carefully pack them up and mark the box HANDLE WITH CARE. Sadly, but realistically, some treasures do not survive the move. For whatever reason you are just not always meant to keep a particular treasure for your entire lifetime, but can only appreciate their presence for the time you are given.

So yup, I collect friends. And undoubtedly have the most amazing collection. And I don’t even need a greeting-card holiday for it.

Moral: Treasures are in the eye of the collector!

your collecting friend,

A little invitation of your own: Since my blog is an extension of me, and your comments, shares and likes make me happy then you are friends of mine too and deserve an invite. All I ask in return is that you please make certain to RSVP so I can have a bowl of soup and a scone waiting for you!  

The politics of politics

Please, can someone explain to me what the heck is going on? My goodness, when did running for President become reality television? TV coverage can be found all day, any day and at any time. From the moment candidates throw their name into the ring, nothing is off limits and anyone remotely associated with them becomes fair game. Any morsel, the more controversial the better, is repeated 100,000,000 different ways by 100,000,000 different people. I understand and appreciate our right to freedom of speech in the United States of America, but I think it’s high time it be renamed Respectful Freedom of Speech.

Who in their right mind would even think of wanting to be the President of the United States in these times? Hmm, now that’s something to ponder. As a young child I believed and was taught the President of the United States was a big deal, the biggest job in all the land and for certain the one that mattered most to our country. It seemed all candidates had morals, ideals, intelligence and were level-headed. Elections happened every four years and TV advertisements aired just a few months prior. The elected President was sworn in, moved into the White House, served the American people and were treated with respect. It was their job to keep us safe as a nation, a people and a country. Or so I remembered.

I am always happy to be in our nations capital!

I wondered if maybe I’ve gotten the presidential past all wrong. So, I googled it and was reminded of a few things. For instance, that fateful day in November when our 35th President John F. Kennedy was assassinated while riding in a car. President Richard Nixon's impeachment during the Watergate Scandal. We elected movie star Ronald Reagan as our 40th President. Then there were the incredibly disrespectful and immoral “actions” of our 42nd President, Bill Clinton.

Today’s media are not lacking material to “report” on. There is “The Donald”, at least that’s what we called him when I was growing up. He's a successful real estate mogul with the misfortune of really bad hair. He owns fancy hotels across the world and starred in a very successful reality show, “The Apprentice.” To top things off he was recently endorsed by fellow reality star and former vice presidential candidate Sarah Palin. I mean seriously, you just can’t make this stuff up. There is Hillary Rodham Clinton, wife of aforementioned 42nd president. This coupled with questions about how she handled emails along with the horror at Benghazi has the press in a feeding frenzy. Another candidate is a retired neurosurgeon with zero experience in politics. So the media has its hands full as do the late-night talk show hosts.

These days I can’t believe my eyes and ears. As Donald Trump makes derogatory remarks about disabled people, women and his fellow candidates, other candidates are said to be blatantly lying to the American people. As a teacher and parent, I am sick to my stomach. When did it become okay in our country to be so mean and disrespectful to others in a public forum? How can we be expected to teach our little ones to speak with respect when a few of the people running for President spew such ugliness? How do we expect a child not to interrupt someone while they are speaking when grown adults who should know better continually do so. Every child knows it’s wrong to bully someone, yet when a candidate bullies another it makes national headlines. Sure the debates may have been more entertaining than in the past, but at what cost?

So maybe I should throw my name in the ring. As strange as it may be I’ve been thinking up my presidential platform for a long time now. Welfare checks would only be issued if their children attend school regularly. Animal testing would be performed on the humans who abuse animals, not the innocent animals. Hours of community service ordered for people who leave their garage sale signs up on trees and poles long after the sale has ended. Oh, and for those who throw their trash out of their cars, they’ll be held responsible for cleaning up all the highways and byways in our great land until they are spic and span! 

All our signs picked up after our Multi-Family Yard Sale!

But then again, I’d be part of all that unwanted media coverage. Perhaps the reason we have the “choices” we do this time around is that the really smart people are being, well, really smart.

Moral: Be careful what you wish for because it might actually come true.

respectfully yours,

No snowmen for me this snowstorm

Nor will there be piles of soggy clothing to dry and wash and dry and wash. No boots strewn at the front and back doors. The sleds won’t leave the garage. Not one birthday party canceled or sports events postponed. I will not make endless cups of hot cocoa with those tiny marshmallows floating on top. Carrots will be used for soup and not noses! The kids are not home.

"Where are my brother and sister? "

No worries though folks, my hot cocoa cup is half full. There will still be a pot of homemade soup or stew on the stove. Our backyard birds can eat suet and seed all day long without being interrupted by kids. Steaming coffee will be at the ready. The fireplace will be roaring all day long. Our backyard will have that untouched snow covering that I always loved so much before it got trampled upon by our children! In the past it was usually just the outside of our home that was quiet, now it’s the inside as well.

This cardinal was sitting right outside my office window while I was blogging!

As I sit, ponder and write I am reminded of my snow childhood. We grew up in the Northeast where snowstorms were a regular occurrence. Maybe it was because I was a child, but we did not spend hours watching Special News Reports for days leading up to the potential threat of a snowstorm. It was mentioned the last five minutes of our nightly news broadcast during the weather segment. Snow was just part of our everyday winter life—it snowed and we went about our business. I don’t know, but it seems people get so caught up in the drama news shows create and #Blizzard2016 is the perfect example.

Why must everyone be encouraged to run to the store and stock up on bread, milk and eggs? Has no one ever lived without these three items for 24 hours before? In all my lifetime I have never seen reports of people dying during a snowstorm because they had no eggs! While I’m at it, why do they report endless news segments on people shopping for salt and shovels? It just befuddles me. It’s just frozen H2O.

As a kid, the best part of a big snowstorm was always the potential for school being canceled. When I tell my kids I walked two miles to school in a blizzard I was not kidding! I remember turning on my radio and listening while some man read every local school name and whether it was delayed or canceled. I tell you those thirty-some minutes were very educational. I learned alphabetizing thanks to the order they rattled them off. I knew the geography of my hometown since districts close by that were read earlier than ours were indicators of whether I should start getting out of my warm bed! Most especially I learned how to wait for information. Today’s children, and it is not their fault, get tweets about school closings directly from their school … no waiting! Everything seems so immediate these days.

But some snow days pack enough punch to slow folks down. People can’t jump in their cars to run endless errands. Kids extra-curricular activities are canceled. People hunker down and just be. Families have time to play outside, watch favorite movies inside and relax together. Neighbors gather at the end of their driveways and chat. I remember when my sister and I were younger we were expected to help shovel. Don’t tell my mom but even though I secretly loved to shovel fresh snow, once we were done shoveling, we would take our sled (with metal blades mind you) down to the store parking lot. We sled until we could no longer feel our toes. Ahh, to be young again.

Yup...as you can tell by the quality--this is a real deal picture of me and my sister a few years back!

So even though nowadays when I shovel my back is breaking and my arms cramp up I still get that Peaceful Easy Feeling! (A respectful nod to Glenn Frey!) Something about being in the cold air and fresh snow still makes me really happy. A deep breath of cold clean air as snowflakes fall on my nose still mystifies me. So hey--just maybe I’ll put down the shovel for a bit and build a tiny snowgirl for my bird friends out back!

Moral: Sometimes being forced to slow down can be a really enjoyable thing.

Your friend,

A little gift for y’all: For many years now I have been making and sometimes shipping my special homemade hot cocoa mix to people I love and appreciate. So thanks to the snowstorm, I am gifting my recipe to each one of you. This recipe fills about six pint sized mason jars. The perfect amount to keep a few and share a few!

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes

With 2016 in full swing, it’s now time for another favorite thing of mine. Ladies and Gentlemen … it’s Calendar Time. Time to sit with a warm cup of coffee and reminisce. I thumb through my tattered 2015 calendar and take a close look at everything. I notice doctors appointments, lunch dates, planned treasured trips as well as the last-minute getaways. I take into account all the babies born and the people who are gone. Even though I know the outcomes all too well, I can’t help but recall how our football season played out from week to week. I see the weekends “The Stoutland Inn” was booked with friends and family and remember the day our daughter graduated high school as well as the date we became Empty-Nesters.

As my hands run over each date I recall one of my most favorite songs, titled  Seasons of Love. The song asks us how we measure our 525,600 minutes, which is equivalent to one year. “In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee? In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife?” These words are imprinted on my heart because I use them as a guide for grading how I lived my last year. Did I reach out to everyone I love for their birthday? Did I make time for those I truly love or was I so busy doing “important” stuff? Did I take the time to appreciate a sunset or sit under a blanket of stars? Did I really make the most out of each one of those 525,600 minutes?

So I started calculating … yes, Allison Jo Stoutland did some math! Since it’s not exactly my strong suit I should forewarn that all the numbers that follow should be taken with several grains of salt. As it turns out there are just 1,440 minutes in a day of which I sleep away approximately 420. Oh, and let’s subtract 15 minutes for getting up to use the bathroom throughout the night. In the perfect world I use another 120 minutes commuting to the gym and exercising. I blog an average of 60 minutes a day. Minus 60 for a shower and another 40 walking sweet Cornell. Meal prep and eating only gobble up 75 minutes now that the kids are at college. I imagine I spend about 75 minutes on errands and another 90 minutes trying to figure out what I forgot I was doing or looking for! If my math is right, that means each day I live here on Earth there are approximately 500 minutes left to make matter. Precious minutes I can purposefully choose for good and not whittle away. Wow!

So … while actually crafting this blog it has become super apparent to me that this year I will fill up my 2016 calendar with not just birthdays, appointments and football games, but with the things I choose to do with my extra 500 minutes each day. I see this plan has all the makings of a resolution, which hardly ever bodes well for me, but I’m going to give it a go anyway. The worst that can happen is I don’t fill in every single day. Not so terrible, right?

Moral: Life may be more meaningful if we choose carefully how we spend those precious extra minutes.

A little thing I love: You might have gathered I take my calendar quite seriously. This harmless obsession began when I taught kindergarten. We started and finished each day gathered in a circle in front of our monthly calendar! We learned so much about life, weather, current events and important holidays. We celebrated our classmates birthdays and honored the birthdays of those who came so very long before us. Hence why my calendar is such a dear possession of mine. I use every writing utensil in our home to fill in each day. I color coordinate and highlight when necessary. And above all else--everyone in my home knows it is heavily frowned upon for anyone other than me to write on it.  Yes I know I have an issue--but it's not hurting anyone!

Rookie Mistake

A few weeks ago a friend invited me to her Annual Lasagna Party. She had been sharing stories about this “party” with me for about a year now and I could tell she absolutely loved it. Still not feeling much like socializing these days, I had a plethora of excuses in my hip pocket at the ready. That is until another neighbor gently nudged me enough that I put on some public clothes and ventured out for a glass of “friendly” wine and some dinner too!

As the host poured what felt like an “Olivia Pope” glass of red wine I wondered if he thought I looked like I needed it. Regardless, I settled in and chatted with the other people in the room. It wasn’t long before I realized I was attending a party filled with people who had a past in common. “Rookie mistake” I mumbled to myself as I gulped down some wine. As their kids filed in one by one my heart sank. I was amongst families who grew up together in this neighborhood we now call home. These “kids” who were home from college all attended pre-school together. There were jokes only they understood. There were references that slipped by me, but I smiled nonetheless. When I tell you these people are awesome—well, that’s an understatement. They were friendly, inclusive and kind. They shared stories of the past with me that made me laugh but at the same time made me want to cry. It was never their intention to make me feel like an outsider, but alas, that is what my heart felt.

As life tends to happens for me, I am lobbed a situation to help me re-evaluate. The chance to carefully ponder my gut thoughts. This lob has me rethinking how our football life keeps each of us always wondering about our future. The notion that we are never really certain when we will be packing up for a new place to call home. The realization that when our kids come home from college they do not have their childhood friends to reminisce with. There is the chance our family may always feel like we are on the outside looking in.

Yet here is the silver lining. This life has handed our family some of the best experiences and most wonderful opportunities. To date our history incorporates six states, two time zones, nine places we call home and seven teams we’ve loved. We have the most wonderful friends scattered across much of the USA. There is more than one neighborhood we can go back to visit and feel right at home. Our food palette is so broad that we admit to being food snobs! Let’s not forget about all the amazing football games and consequent playoffs and Bowl trips we have attended, appreciated and thoroughly enjoyed! Oh yeah, and then there were the back-to-back national championships!

I know life is all about trade offs and this particular one seems much clearer for me now. Our family may not gather each January for lasagna, but every game we play seems to have a friend or two lurking on the opponents sidelines. This is where football families meet up and reminisce. While others look on and wonder how opponents can hug it out before a game, we share history. Football families stretch across state borders. This bond survives time zones, miles, years and yes -- rivalries too. One group of family football children display their understanding of this golden rule by asking their Mom this question before they watch a football game on television, “Mom, do we have friends on either team?” Then they determine who they plan to root for.

The Judge Family children determine who they root for based on friendships!

Moral: Sometimes the closest friends you have are the ones that are farthest from you.

A little thing I know: Our hearts are filled with dear friends from all the places we have coached scattered across the USA like confetti after a win. We treasure these friendships, think of them fondly but don’t always speak or see each other. But when we do it is like no time has passed by. Football friends for life!

Jake and Jerret have been friends for 12 years and now are Sigma Nu fraternity brothers at The University of Alabama!

Madi & Ward! Football coaches kids taking care of other football coaches kids...happening all the time!

Folks, this is your captain...we are experiencing some turbulence

Many times this news from the flight deck results in a holding pattern. If it’s based on weather conditions then it’s usually not a total surprise. With a minimum of four years of schooling, meteorologists keep us well informed by researching, studying fronts, temperatures and conditions. These men and women review the facts to predict forecasts that help determine whether or not the public need take cover, hunker down in a safe place or keep our eyes on the skies. It is a job they take very seriously.

My favorite weatherman of all times!!!  THE SAM CHAMPION!

There is another job that is eerily similar--sports reporters, announcers, commentators, writers and radio personalities. These people also spend their time researching, studying fronts, climates and current conditions. These men and women keep the public informed on the pulse of the sports world. They spend endless hours discussing, predicting and reporting the facts as they see them. Their breadth of knowledge is not limited by a degree, but by time on the job. There are few topics off limits, few topics they haven’t covered and rarely do they find themselves without an opinion. This is their job and they also take it very seriously.

Sometimes, however, they forget that they’re talking about human beings—human beings with families and livelihoods seemingly always at risk. Yes, the rewards can be great at times, but it comes with a cost—nearly constant uncertainty and certainly constant scrutiny. I learned that one day long ago while listening to sports radio and I looked into the rearview mirror only to see one of my children crying. Now I choose to neither listen, watch or read it. Instead my job now is to focus on us.

The family!

Our family is in a holding pattern over the great city of Philadelphia. Things are uncertain. The dictionary definition of a holding pattern is “a state of waiting or suspended activity or progress.” Yeah that pretty much sums it up.  “Our plane” is filled with our football family. Seated beside the owners, front office employees, players and coaches are devoted spouses, football children of all ages, new and old friends and all those blissfully unaware faithful family pets. This particular holding pattern does more than determine whether or not someone will get home on time or make their connecting flight. Oh no, this one affects little league teams, neighborhoods, book clubs, classroom rosters, friendships and the real estate market. The fallout will not just be felt in Philadelphia, but in other parts of the country too.

The City of "Brotherly Love!"

Honestly, this is the time of year when there is some uncertainty with most employed in the football profession. So, if you find yourself seated in a “holding pattern,” here is my heartfelt advice to you.

1. Tightly secure your seat belt and those who are seated around you.

2. Holding patterns will always be a part of life so have some type of a plan.

3. People watch and search for strength at times like these, so providing it will be helpful to everyone involved.

4. Finally, it is what it is. It really is that simple. Worrying will not change A THING, it will only steal now from you.

Moral: Do not waste your time with the "what ifs," do your very best to focus on the “what ares."

Your friend,

A few little shocking things: My first born son has turned 21! How it has been twenty-one years since I became a mom for the first time is a mind blower, seems an impossibility and quite the shocker-doodle. He was my first best craft I ever made! Happy Birthday to my house renovating partner and look alike … be safe and please continue making wise decisions always, love, mom

The second shocker-doodle is that Jake, with a little bit of help from me, completed the fire pit in just a few days time. After a couple trips to the rock quarry and a few hours of placing stones we now have a great place to spend “s’more” quality family time together! See what I did there?

"Birth" day reflections from the birthday girl

The time for tinsel is over and now comes the time of truth--for me anyway. The new year falls ever so close to my birthday so I sort of get slam dunked into taking a magnifying glass to my life. Good news is my mind and heart only feel obligated to take a good long, hard look at myself once a year. It’s my annual gut check, if you will. A time to focus on what I have accomplished, what I may have done wrong and what I clearly did right!

As far back as I can remember my “birth” day has always made me think. It really is pretty amazing there is a day designated to celebrate your entrance into the world. If you are fortunate people will take a moment out of their own day on yours. For fifty-plus years these wishes came in the form of birthday cards or calls. Nowadays, they “hit me up” (I’m still so cool at 52) with a text, snapchat or Facebook message. This year my family organized a 22-minute homemade video overflowing with messages from some of the people who love me. As expected, it hit all my emotions. It was my “It’s a Wonderful Life” moment, confirming for me what I always believed: That “No man is a failure who has friends.”

Back to “birth” day thinking … without getting into the nitty gritty, shouldn’t the day actually be a celebration for the two who made it all possible? My mom and dad biologically made me, therefore it should be theirs to celebrate as well. To celebrate that I am determined and hardworking like my mom. For them to clink glasses that I love nature and cooking like my dad. To chat about how fortunate I am to be handed down my mother’s youthful skin. Even to discuss the idea that my long legs probably came from my dad’s side. They both provided a very comfortable and safe growing up for my sister and me. As the saying goes though, it takes a village and I learned from others as well. My second-grade teacher sparked my love of writing. It was my mother’s friend who began my affinity for crafting. It was my aunt and uncle who taught me the art of generosity and entertaining. So my birthday is a day for them to celebrate as well.

Much of who I am is unquestionably due to the friends I have made in my lifetime. Ultimately, they have taught me the importance and joy of true friendship. Each and every single person I call friend, which encompasses family too, have contributed to my being. Who I am. How I think. What I see and feel. Why I live. Whether they are lifetime friends or recent “acquisitions,” each friend betters me. I learned this important lesson as a very young girl while reading my book of Aesop’s Fables.

The Donkey and his Purchaser

A man wished to purchase a Donkey, and he decided to give the animal a test before buying him. He took the Donkey home and put him in the field with his other Donkeys. The new Donkey strayed from the others to join the one that was the laziest and the biggest eater of them all.  Seeing this, the man led him back to his owner. When the owner asked how he could have tested the Donkey in such a short time, the man answered, “I didn’t even need to see how he worked.  I knew he would be just like the one he chose to be his friend.”

Moral: A man is known by the company he keeps.

So as my 51st year comes to an end, let me say a huge thank you to those who have helped mold me, better me, and even reshape my thinking at times. I have enjoyed the shared drinks and meals as well as the times we have crafted together. I am grateful for those who have traveled with or to me and to all for loving me!

Moral: Friends are not decided by proximity in miles but in heart.

your "birthday girl" friend,

A little new project I’m working on: With Jake home from college it is apparent that my son has the same affinity for redoing that I do. He has spearheaded a new project … a fire pit built into our back brick patio! So, here are a few pictures from the Stoutland Inn.

A “nice, Jewish girl’s” love of Christmas

As promised to you almost one year ago, I will always keep it real. It is with that spirit I confess I had an entirely different blog written, edited and set to go yesterday at 7:30 am. I wrote it with my weekly deadline in mind, not my heart. It was good-ish, but as my dear, sweet and always honest editor pointed out to me … “It was not my favorite.” He was right, something was missing … me! So here I sit amongst the presents I still have left to wrap starting all over!

This blog will post just before Christmas and I feel compelled to capture the essence and magic of the holiday season. The irony is that I am a nice jewish girl. A girl raised by jewish parents who divorced and then dated and/or married Christmas celebrating people. I remember falling madly in love with my first tiny little tree with blinking multi-colored lights. I was 10 years old and so began my obsession with twinkle lights and Christmas. About that time I started babysitting for an ever-growing Irish Catholic family on Christmas Eve. Long after we read “T'was the Night before Christmas" and when all the children were tucked into bed, Santa’s ringing sleigh bells could be heard from down the street. Watching those children peer out their windows is what ultimately sealed the Christmas deal for me!

Back in those days “It’s a Wonderful Life” was always on television. I think I watched it a record 12 times one year, hence why it is still my number one holiday tradition! So the tradition continued last night while baking cookies with my daughter and friend. Some 40 years later I still cried. Some might think it dark and a bit depressing. I agree that parts are, but I would counter so is life. Each year when George realizes all those men on the transport died because he wasn’t there to save Harry, I weep. As all the townspeople arrive at George’s home at his hour of need, I cry. When George’s brother arrives to toast, “To my big brother George, the richest man in town!” I sob. The power and depth of the many messages in that movie are what have molded me Christmas after Christmas. I not only gather strength and purpose from them, but they are crucial to my being.

Clarence Odbody, AS2 talking to George Bailey in "It's a Wonderful Life"

So you can only imagine my reaction when the very first night I met my husband and we watched this movie together and both quoted lines in unison. I just knew it must be a sign he was the guy for me! This guy and I are married 23 years now. We don’t live in the Granville House, but it’s a wonderful life. Our holiday traditions incorporate our changing football life, and Santa always magically finds us—even when we were staying at a hotel for a Bowl game. In Michigan we traditionally traipsed through the woods with dear friends in search of that “perfect” Christmas tree. In Florida that “perfect” tree was found at Publix while food shopping. Our gingerbread decorating contest—complete with judging and bragging rights—happens annually. And no matter our address, each and every Christmas as we hang our ornaments on our tree there is always a treasured memory to go along with every single one.

Look closely you will find two of my favorite ornaments: Jake and Madi's first pair of sneakers!

Moral: “No man is a failure who has friends!” Clarence Odbody excerpt from “It’s a Wonderful Life”

merry everything,

A little bit about friends: One of our biggest concerns as football family parents was that our children might not experience the joy and comfort of lifelong friendships. A boy who started out as our son’s hockey teammate 15 years ago is now arguably not just a best friend to both our son and daughter, but we consider him our “other son” as well. With all the moves our children have endured, he is their one constant. His parents have embraced his week-long visits to us no matter where we live. He is everything you hope your child to find in a friend; supportive, accountable, thoughtful, empathetic and fun to be around. Oh and he can craft the most beautiful bushes you’ll ever see from candy spearmint leaves too!

Collin and Jake... my boys!

Collin and Madi

How hard can it be?

Starting this guest bathroom renovation a few weeks ago seemed like a great idea, even though a few people warned me. Surely I would be able to handle the holidays while managing this project since our bathroom is just a modest 25 square feet. We’re just going to gut, tile, nail some wood on the wall and put a sink in. Fast forward one very productive week and the only white on the few Christmas decorations I've found time to put up is a dusting of plaster as opposed to my favorite manufactured snowflakes. I’ve spent more time shopping at Home Depot than the local gift shoppes. So yeah, if a screwdriver is under your tree, you now know why!

The floor is in!

Come to think of it, this same rationale of plowing straight ahead relates to many things in my life. Take marriage for example. You find the person of your dreams to love, respect, listen to and live happily ever after with, right? If Cinderella managed it, why couldn’t I? How hard can marriage be? Quite hard actually, especially if you are committed to staying together. No wonder there was never a Cinderella 2!

Holding Jeff's hand...

Then there is parenthood. With my kindergarten teaching background I poo poo’ed how hard it would be for me since I had been a “mom” to 27 children by myself. Plus, there wouldn’t be so many humans in this world if it were that hard, would there? It seems I was wrong here, too.  Parenthood never stops. It is the most exhausting and demanding job of all time. Your heart overflows with more emotions than you can fathom while your mind explodes with what if’s and the like. There is nothing easy about it, but nothing as rewarding either.

If my memory serves me correctly I recall thinking teaching was going to be a pretty simple job as well. I not only loved  being with kids, but the job was 8-3 with nights, weekends and summers off. Never once did I take into account the hours preparing before and after my students were in class. Nothing easy about those mandated graduate classes and homework after a long day of teaching or during those “free” summers.

This blog thing applies as well. I shook my head at how silly I thought people were when they warned me about the challenges of writing a weekly blog. “People, writing is my therapy”, was my mantra! The writing part is easy for me but the challenge of conjuring up a topic worthy of 700 words and your time … well, not so much. So a big thank you to my daughter for "taking the load" last week with her heartfelt blog. To say I was so proud is a really big understatement!

Clearly I have a strong tendency to underestimate the difficulty and depth of situations. Topped with a foolish process of disqualifying the advice of others and failing to heed their warnings. Maybe now I will slow my roll and contemplate that I just might not KNOW IT ALL and understand I can benefit from embracing the blood, sweat and tears of others who care enough to share with me.

Moral: Much smarter to listen when someone speaks than to just hear!

your listening friend,

A little update on our bathroom renovation: The concrete countertop I was planning takes far more time to cure than we have. So I then spent hours walking through a factory of endless slabs of gorgeous marble and granite in search of that perfect piece … nothing! That night I tossed and turned thinking of other options until I finally just gave up and went downstairs to start my day... at 4 a.m! As I switched on the light there was the answer I was searching for. Sitting upon our beverage center was the Flagstone step I bought at the rock quarry a few years back. After a few calls and some research I learned a step like that could indeed be transformed into our bathroom counter. Not only was it just what I had been looking for, but it was half the cost of the marble. Winner, winner chicken dinner!

The massive granite and marble warehouse!

SHOUT OUT TO DREW for this beautiful custom built vanity to hold up the step countertop!!!! 

To the boy next door, thank you for breaking my heart

So many of you may know me as the little blonde-haired girl who was always attached to the hip of her mother, Allison. Others may know me as Madi, the girl who is still attached to the hip of her mother, Allison. Since my mom has overwhelmed herself with renovating the bathroom, I took it upon myself to lend a hand and entertain you all this week. I am a freshman at Millersville University (which may make some of you feel old...Sorry!) which means I stay up until 3:30 in the morning writing stuff like this! After almost a year of thinking about it, I finally got myself to sit down and write this letter. This may seem cliche to some, but anyone who has ever been or is going through a breakup will know exactly what I am talking about. I wish a year ago I had a letter like this to read and reassure me I would be fine. And to the girl or guy who may be going through a breakup, chin up! It really will get better—I promise! 

For so long I've thought about how I should say this. How I should word it. How do you possibly address the person who made you so happy for so long yet inflicted so much pain.

At first I couldn't breathe. I am strongly convinced having a broken heart is actually an illness. My restless nights and empty stomach grieved over what went wrong. My mind replayed every last detail trying to figure out what happened. I never quite understood what was so wrong with me that you couldn’t say it to my face. What could possibly make you stop loving me so quickly when I loved you so much. I was convinced the feeling would never leave. The pit in my stomach that wouldn't let me eat would be permanent and the bags under my eyes were my brand new accessory.

Then I started to hate. I admit I may have burned many of your things. The sweatshirts made for a great fire. I deleted your number and blocked you every way possible, even from my heart. I removed your face from my room as well as my memory... and now I can hardly picture you. I rearranged my room so it was like you were never there and ditched my bed for weeks because it had the smallest, very faintest smell of you. I cursed anyone wearing Black Polo cologne, and if he played baseball, well, he was just as bad as you.

I went for a rebound, then quickly realized it wouldn't fix the heart you had so “kindly” broken. It was brought to my attention a broken heart could not be mended by trying to love again. My heart had to be carefully sewn, super-glued and duct-taped back together before it could be capable of loving again.

I started to learn. Learn that I didn't do anything wrong. That I wasn't ugly and fat, or a disappointment or a let down, not an annoyance or an idiot. I realized that all humans have flaws, including me. But my flaws made me perfect, unique and special in all the ways you lacked to see. Or if by chance you saw them, lacked to acknowledge. I learned not to judge myself based on the way you treated me, because in the end I was worth much more than that.

I am beautiful and kind. I go out of my way to make people smile who I don't even know. I'm a phone call away for anyone in need. I'm a walking billboard for acceptance and as loyal as a dog. I did nothing wrong and I did not deserve how I was treated. You taught me exactly what to avoid and what I deserve. I deserve someone who respects me enough to be honest. Who thinks of me as a priority. Someone who calls me on my birthday.

Thank you for making me aware of my worth and forcing me to build myself back up. Without you breaking my heart, I would have never been able to craft up the one I have now. Becoming the type of person that not only loves everyone around her, but finally is able to love herself again too.

Sincerely,

The girl you strengthened

A little thing I would like to share: As my dad always says, “No man is an island, he must draw his strength from others.” Here are my others, or at least the ones I could find pictures of.

Losing is for the Birds

Regardless of whether it comes as a shock or felt imminent for sometime … it begins to creep in like a fog. I try to push it away, out of my mind and silence this darkness. I make deals. I think happy rainbow thoughts. I come up with scenarios that will miraculously turn my frown upside down. I begin to question everything? I busy myself with tedious, mundane projects to occupy myself and feel in control of something, anything. But the fog still rolls in. It slowly and methodically envelops everything in its path with a coat of gray.

I am referring to losing a game but of course I am well aware that my words could very easily be referencing so many other things in life. When I re-read this first paragraph it immediately reminded me of a life-altering time when my dear friend battled breast cancer. So please know as I proceed I am by no means belittling any other of life’s gray struggles, but rather am fully aware they share a commonality--the goal of hoping, struggling and praying to avoid the dense gray fog.

Thanksgiving has come and gone and the holidays are now in full swing. It’s finally the time when I allow myself to decorate our home for the holidays. So why do I find myself wrapped in gray fog? As you know by now we are a football family and I am a coach’s wife and right now things aren’t great. Our team was supposed to be good—some even said very good, but we are struggling. Until we right our ship...this is where we are.

The irony here for me is that I actually love the color gray. You will find that gray is 45 percent of my wardrobe. The rooms in our home could complete an entire color wheel of this hue. I have at least eight different gray nail polish bottles lined up on my windowsill. I am drawn to the warmth and depth of this color, except when it covers the sun.

For me the color gray is slow and quiet. A time for thinking, pondering and contemplation. Rethinking me. Reassessing my values. Questioning why I have taken some things for granted. Wondering if I should have handled or done certain things differently. Somehow when we lose a football game, I feel that I share some of the responsibility. Could it be my actions are to blame? Was I less than my best and therefore did not deserve the happiness a win brings?  

Clearly this is nuts, since I have nothing whatsoever to do with the actual outcome of any game. Could decisions I made in haste that may have unintentionally hurt others be the culprit? Or those times when I silently played judge and jury? I am ashamed to admit it, but winning does change me a bit. I not only feel a bit cocky but there is a slight air about me. It’s this false sense of confidence that goads me into taking things for granted. Winning sadly enables me to feel a bit better than the next person and move with a laissez faire attitude. This is a true flaw of mine and now seems as good a time as any to correct it.

So I shall choose to believe that “Gray” has a positive purpose for me and my life. I will try to just be. I will let saner minds prevail and not take blame nor place it. I will be kinder not just to others, but to me as well. There will be less judging and more empathy going on in my heart and mind. I will take the time to think before I even think, let alone speak. I will strive to smile more, even in defeat. In other words, I shall use this time as a tool to better my self, my mind and my heart.

Moral: “Gray” should not get the best of us, but help to better us!

your foggy friend,

A little thing I do when I am gray: I busy myself … and so this is the PERFECT time to begin the half-bath renovation. After endless hours of Pinterest pinning, trips to tile stores, stone quarries, lumber yards and hardware stores there is a gameplan. There will be one reclaimed wood wall, a brick floor and a concrete countertop...as of today! I shall take pics as we go along as long as my phone cooperates!