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!

Thanksgiving between the hash marks

Back in my earlier days, I wished our little family could experience a Thanksgiving tradition like those you see in commercials. You know, where every family member gathered ‘round Grandma’s table year after year. They hugged and kissed as they arrived with delicious food to share. I was envious of the golden-brown turkey served on a beautiful platter. Oh and those pies had such perfectly crimped crusts. Even the dogs got along. Let’s not even start on how perfect the weather was for their backyard football games. But what weighed on my heart the most was they were all together--making memories, growing up and growing old together.

As a college coaching family, that kind of Thanksgiving meal was certainly not ours. It’s not just that our home changes, but so too does the distance from family and friends. So what you might say? We all know Thanksgiving is the fourth Thursday of November, but did you also know it happens to be a crucial Thursday during football season? Oh and by crucial I mean stressful, which typically translates to a 5 a.m.-8 p.m. work day. All the years we spent working at the college level it was the team Thanksgiving Dinner that was our tradition. It was always such an honor to sit down to a delicious meal beside our football families and give thanks for such hard working and dedicated young men and coaches. Only problem was you could not kick off your shoes after that meal, undo the top button of your pants, curl up on your couch to watch a football game whose final score mattered not at all or eat leftovers an hour later. So for those reasons, we have always had a second Thanksgiving meal--ours!

Thanksgiving Day "traffic" at our home.

For years our day kicked off with watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, followed by hours of preparation while we waited for Dad to get home. Why hours of prep for a family of four? Because when he finally did walk through the door he was hardly ever alone. In tow was “our football family.” Players and coaches who were also unable to make it home. The first Thanksgiving meal I prepared could be an episode of "I Love Lucy." It was not just my first Thanksgiving, but one of my first time feeding offensive linemen. I bought the biggest turkey at the store only to realize there was no chance of it fitting in our oven. So back to the store where I exchanged it for two smaller ones. When they did not fit I politely asked my next-door neighbor if they wouldn’t mind cooking it for me. I peeled potatoes and apples for days. I knew I was in over my head as the guys inhaled undercooked biscuits right out from my oven because they were so ridiculously hungry! My poor children ate cereal one year because there was just no food left after the “boys” got plates!

Just one of our many groups of wonderful football families

With years of practice I have fine tuned the meal. I have even tried to make a few of their favorite dishes so it felt a bit more homey for them. Once I attempted Oyster Dressing. Collard Greens were pretty easy to make, just terribly difficult for my family to smell. One holiday after hours of searching for Pigeon Peas and a decent recipe the dog even refused to eat them. If I tell you how many ways and days I tried to create a fluffy and flaky biscuit you would be very disappointed in me. I personally drew the line with frying a turkey, but then unabashedly accepted one each year from our friend Doug. We also devoured Annie’s Michigan Apple Crumb Pie and Pam’s warm Buttered Knot Rolls! All these years taught me:

1. Don’t knock a fried turkey until you’ve tasted one!!

2. No one can ever replace “Momma’s” cooking!

3. Even if your attempt is an epic fail, your effort never is.

4.  There is no such thing as too much food when football players come for dinner. Ever.

I always knew that each “stop” changed who we are, but now I see so too has our family’s Thanksgiving tradition. Players have graduated, coaches switched jobs and neighborhoods changed as does our Thanksgiving. This season we are coaching in the NFL, so our meal this year will ironically be orchestrated around a game that used to mean nothing to us as our team is playing on the road that day. Thanksgiving dinner will not happen until after the team plane lands. Our front lawn will not look like a used truck lot with players vehicles parked everywhere. There will be no pots of Collards, baskets of rolls or a fried turkey present. But win or lose I will make that Apple Crumb Pie … with a perfectly crimped crust!!!

Moral: Take what you love and weave it into your own tapestry.

your truly thankful friend,

A little wish for you: No matter the size of your Thanksgiving table; may you be surrounded by people you respect, your plate runneth over with delicious food and your heart be filled with gratitude!

Searching for solace

These days my neck is achy and sore. You might think this is where I go on and on about how hard I have been working out at the gym. Or that redoing our guest bathroom is quite labor intensive. But no, it’s from leaf peeping. I drive my car and find that I am craning my neck to see all the trees that line the streets. This entire month as my dog and I go on our daily walks I have been looking UP almost the entire time. No worries, my neck will be back to normal soon as most of the leaves have fallen making way for that daunting back-breaking task of raking. Ah, such is the give and take of life.

My helper or supervisor...Cornell!

With all this time devoted to admiring the leaves, it also allows me to focus on another of my obsessions: Trees. I can trace this obsession back to the Pink Lily Magnolia tree in the front yard of our childhood home. I remember looking out our front window watching people slow down to admire her beauty. Some even hopped out of their car to take her picture. This was back in the day when you only had 12/24/36 exposures and not only did we have to buy film, but we paid to have it developed! Taking a photo back then was making a commitment, unlike today where people snap photos of every last thing. I should know as I’m that person who never has enough space in my phone for photos!

Anyway, back to my Magnolia. For just one week out of her entire year she was magnificent. One badly timed frost or snow and she would have to wait an entire year for a chance for her beauty to shine. Her smell was so intoxicating that I attempted to make perfume from her fallen petals for many years. I loved climbing her thick low branches and just laying there still. I always felt safe and protected there, under her crown. I miss my first tree love!

Thanks to our moving coach’s life, I have had the “luxury” of being introduced to many different native trees. In Florida my front yard had Palm trees and the park had Banyon trees. Alabama was scattered with beautiful Grove Magnolias with dark green waxy leaves. But my heart always seems to ache for my favorite New England tree types. So when we moved back in the Northeast, trees played a big part in the house hunting. I remember our new neighborhood was quiet, filled with trees and just perfect for walking Cornell. Our home was nestled along the edge of the woods, which looked to me as if “the woods had her back.” Never once did I give any thought to those trees' leaves needing raking. I could envision birds of all kinds feeding from my many bird feeders. Never imagining the droves of stubborn squirrels and chipmunks who would obliterate them. Doesn’t really matter, it would not have changed my mind one bit!  

As suspected though, there was never a downside to our daily walks. Being creatures of habit-- we walk the same way each day and so too pass the same trees. For almost eleven months we passed a trio of very large, rather unimpressive trees. I respected them for their age, the amount of shade and shelter they provided for many birds--but as for beauty factor, nothing! I pretty much dismissed them until one Spring day. I thought they might look a bit pink to me, but I shook it off as nothing--until it could not be ignored. With each day they grew more and more beautiful, turning into the most gorgeous Cherry Blossom trees I had ever met! Cornell and I spent hours taking pictures and standing under the trees as the petals snowed down. Just like my Magnolia, this was their one week to shine! How had I forgotten that? I actually felt terrible I had been so judgmental.

So as I prepare to rake— I know not long from now snow will take the place of these leaves. So I shall enjoy this arduous task since shoveling snow is no walk in the park either.

Moral: As we all deal with the incomprehensible horror in France, I hope the trees “have our backs” as we as a world struggle to find a “safe place” to be.

your tree loving friend,

A few children's books about trees I love: Of course The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein is on my list, but my other favorite is I Wish to be a Christmas Tree by Colleen Monroe. This book is a beautiful twist on the importance and power of friendship. Pair either of these books with a bird feeder and you are good to go!

Don't tell my husband, but I game plan too.

For every single home game. I too spend time breaking down film. I burn the midnight oil researching my next opponent. I even run a practice or two. Alright, so maybe my film is Pinterest, my research is cookbooks and practice is experimenting with a recipe or two in my kitchen, but it‘s my gameplan.

Long before the season has even begun I focus on our schedule-- a crucial part of my success. I look over the schedule in an attempt to guess which games may be more stressful than others, which have the potential to be a night game and which may involve a bit of bad weather. Even with this preparation life happens--like the dusting of snow the meteorologist called for which will forever be known as “Snow Bowl 2013!” There is just no knowing except that just as a team hopes all tough games are not back to back, that same philosophy should be applied with house guests. I trust you understand, yes?

Me and my girl when we thought it was just going to be a dusting! Thanks for the mittens PB!

So as soon as our football schedule is out for public consumption, so too is the Stoutland Inn. We are fortunate enough to have friends and family who love us enough to plan a weekend around our football schedule. Our booking policy is pretty much on a first come, first serve basis, with the exception of one special weekend in October cleared for my father-in-law. Friends and family call months in advance to be penciled in. Once their flights and time off from work have been secured, their reservation is changed to pen! Maybe not a traditional system, but thanks to my neurotic obsession with my calendar it might as well be written in gold!

A perfect gift from a friend who knows me so well! Thank you CN!

By now our “peeps” fully understand spending a weekend with our family during the season is not for the faint of heart. Those arriving on Saturday must be prepared to endure the college games as well as one lucky guest found out when Auburn ran back the kickoff as time expired to beat Alabama in 2013. Then there is always that 50/50 chance that gameday will not be all the fun and games we had wished, hoped and sometimes even prayed for. Despite wearing my lucky toenail polish and tucking that lucky coin inside my boot, there are just too many factors that cannot be controlled. Our guests respect the clause at the end of the reservation and thankfully still seem willing to take the risk.

“At the Stoutland Inn
we make every preparation possible to ensure our guests feel at home, happy, fed and entertained. All we ask is that you wear team colors, cheer loud and sign the guestbook.”

A celebratory mood after the game cannot be guaranteed.

http://www.inchbyinchbooks.com/allisonsblog/2015/10/20/winning-matters

Once the season’s reservations are finalized my focus shifts to weekly pre-game preparation. Any coach will tell you, no game has ever been won without attention to details. Which rooms need straightening up? Do any guests have food requests or allergies? All flat surfaces need to be cleared off and dusted. Those unrecognizable things in the refrigerator must be removed to make way for new food and drinks! Toilets must be scrubbed and showers shined (or at least hairballs removed). I run the vacuum and tuck fresh flowers all about our home and wait for our guests to arrive.

Game day is all about my clock management. Sometimes it’s more stressful than the days when I used to take my kindergarten class on a field trip!

Minutes before the game begins, I attend to the last few things of my gameplan: I take a deep breath, check for my lucky coin, say a prayer for the safety of both teams and nod to my Angel hoping that my gameplan helps secure a win and a happy night at The Stoutland Inn!
 

Moral: My gameplan helps keep me focused and leaves me with less time to stress—at least that’s the plan!
 

Your game planner,

A little thing I need your help with: I am hoping to write a blog about precious football coaches children. I am looking for football coach’s children’s responses to this question, “Where are you from?” Please email the exact responses to astoutland@aol.com. Grateful for your help my blogging friends!

No, thank you!

I rarely get excited when I go to the mailbox these days since it’s usually filled with mailers, bills and a seemingly friendly spider who’s taken up residence in the back corner! But some days I get lucky and amongst all that “junk” I spot a treasure--a small handwritten envelope. Who could it be from? Which of my friends would take the time to sit down amidst their own chaos with a pen in hand and share how grateful and appreciative they are. Once I make my mental list I gently retrieve the note to investigate. I feel the paper and check out the stamp, and yes the stamp matters. I look to see if I recognize the handwriting without peeking at the return address in the left-hand corner. It’s a moment for me…

Usually I wait some time before I open the note, sort of like waiting until after the birthday dinner to open up the presents. Other times I open the note when I need that little kick of happy during my day. For me, receiving a thank you note really feels just like I am being given a gift; wrapped in paper and tied with a zip code and a stamp on top!

As a young girl I recall thank you notes were a necessity. There were no ifs, ands or buts about it, my sister and I had to write thank you notes for every gift we received. So when I became a mom I played that “card” too. Of course I put my own spin on it--there was no playing, using or spending until a thank you note was in the mail. As you might have suspected with me being a teacher and writer, there were other rules as well. The thank you note had to be heartfelt, longer than three sentences and worthy of the reader’s time. It may surprise you but I never checked or corrected grammar, spelling or punctuation. I felt that helped keep the note authentic and endearing. Oh I know, my poor kids--but to this day, that is a mom rule I am still pretty proud of.

Thanks to a lifetime of thank you notes our family is a bunch of thank you note snobs. I admit that we often times judge the notes that enter our home with our unspoken grading system. The ultimate goal of a thank you note is to make the recipient feel the writer’s gratitude. If the card produces tears--A+. Humor always raises the grade, as does referencing a shared personal moment. If there is never so much as a mention of what the actual gift was--D!  Seriously, don’t even waste a stamp on a note like that!

Sadly, it seems thank you notes are becoming a thing of the past as younger generations are thanking with a text, snapchat, #thank you or email. I suppose it doesn’t really matter just so long as there is a proper thank you, right? Actually, some of my most memorable thank yous happened right on the spot! Many years ago my kids and I ordered six munchkins and when they opened the bag they found over a dozen. The note on the bag read, “Thanks for being so polite.” Or the time the Verizon phone person waived a fee for me saying, “That’s for being so patient and kind.”

But my favorite thank you notes of all might be those received from children after I have visited their school. It might be their crayon artwork that adorns the front. It could be their sentiment filled with “invented” spelling words. Maybe I should be a little worried how their pictures depict me, but I’m not. I’m just tickled pink that they took time out of their jampacked school day to write a few heartfelt sentences that often bring about a tear or two! A+

Heartfelt thank you notes from the children at West Rock Authors Academy in New Haven, Connecticut

Moral: It doesn’t matter how you say thank you--just so long as you do!

thank you for sharing your time with me,

A little thing I did in October: I collected letters from blog readers who nominated schools and businesses for a Kindness Presentation (speaking fees are waived). I received very thoughtful letters--but there was one that surprised me. “I think you would really offer so much to these future teachers. I would love them to hear you share your experiences and writing with them.” So… Congratulations Jackie Chorney! I can hardly wait to meet with your college class next semester!

What was and what is

This morning my dog Cornell and I went for our morning walk. We felt the sun shining bright and a chill in the air. We, or at least I could see dewdrops on the grass as the leaves were slowly falling from the trees. My sweet photography friend has taught me to appreciate lighting, so I did just that!

As you would imagine our walk lasted much longer than anticipated, which gave me time to be, to think, to see and to ponder. I just loved seeing my breath in the air, the rustle of leaves under foot, the acorns and pinecones that littered the ground and oh--the smell of a fireplace! I also happened to notice that many of my neighbors have the same affinity for dolling up their homes for Halloween like me--kind of. There were cornstalks around posts and columns, the obligatory pumpkin piles at doorways and the blooming mums and scarecrows beside mailboxes. BUT some neighbors have taken it to a completely new level with crafted graveyards on their front lawns. Not only are there so many varieties of pumpkins but the carved ones look like they should be on display in a museum rather than on a doorstep. When did Halloween become such an elaborate decorating holiday? 

Was I poor as a child? Did my parents hate Halloween? Or is this can-you-top-this love affair with Halloween a new phenomenon, because we did none of this Halloween fussing. In our house decorating meant caveman-esque carvings in ONE pumpkin illuminated with a waxy candle for the doorstep--and THAT WAS IT! We ran through the neighborhood filling our pillowcase to the top with candy from neighbors and strangers. Our costumes were two parts--a hard plastic mask with elastic bands that so tightly secured to our face that it was not only a sweat trap but  ironically made it very difficult to breathe from those teeny tiny nose holes.The costume portion was made from icky fabric that tied around the back that probably was flammable come to think of it. There were no glow sticks to light our way or parents protecting us, just these three rules… 

1. ONLY GO TO HOMES WITH THE LIGHT ON

2. SAY THANK YOU

3. DO NOT EAT THE APPLES

These days, or should I say nights, every child that rings our bell usually has an entourage. It includes a parent or two in tow, a visiting grandma as well as a costumed dog. These children are lit from head to toe … making it look like the Disney Parade on Main Street. Treats get dropped into decked out personalized buckets as pillowcases have been relegated back to the bed. Oh and these costumes, it’s like having a Pinterest runway leading right to my front door. So, since it is such an extravaganza I follow suit. Of course I have the stash of candy for the kids; but now I have added a pet treat bucket as well! But what I seem to be most appreciated for is my adult beverage bucket! It is filled with water, cider and beer. I figure if you are relegated to traipsing around the neighborhood with your superhero, you should have the option of a trick or treat yourself!  

So this Halloween I will no longer go through the stash of candy under the guise of throwing out skeptically wrapped items, fruit or popcorn balls. There will be no candy trading of Butterfingers for Skittles in my kitchen. But worst of all, there will be no bags of candy for me to raid while they sleep off their sugar coma!!! I suppose a part of me should be grateful, but you know me--there is that bit of sadness for what was and what is. Now our children celebrate Halloween away at college, as it should be. And I am pretty sure they are trick-or-treating from the adult beverage bucket more than the candy one anyway, so there’s that! 

Moral: If people are going to remember you, make if be for a darn nice reason! 

be safe trick-or-treaters,

A little Halloween thing I might still do: We first experienced “The Boo” back during our Michigan State life. Someone left a SAFE mysterious bag filled with goodies, treats on our front porch along with the poem below. There is still plenty of time for you to “haunt” your friends and neighbors! BOO!

Winning matters

As much as I hear people say, “Winning doesn’t matter!”- it does. As a matter of fact it matters a whole bunch in our home. We are a football coach's home. Any home with a coach living in it will agree- when your family’s livelihood depends upon it- winning matters!

The Stoutland family pre-game pic

It is not so much about that winning glow- you know that haze of happiness that envelopes everything as the last seconds tick off the clock. Immediately the stadium just seems friendlier. The drive home can be bumper to bumper traffic and nobody cares. There may be just a bag of stale chips for dinner and everyone is all smiles. The dog gets to be walked out front as opposed to being quietly let out back. My kids can attend their classes and not have to listen to the teacher and fellow students rant on and on!  As for me, well I have a pep in my step and a smile on my face. I can be assured that when I make eye contact with people I pass they will not shake their head in disgust and turn away. My car drives smoother. The sun shines brighter. The people living under my roof are happier. Oh my--even doing laundry is enjoyable. Like I said, a happy haze.

Basking in that happy haze!

Explaining this phenomenon to “non-coaching family” humans can be a challenge--how the outcome of each game taints our lives. Sometimes I am comfortable enough to share true family facts with these folks that they would normally not be privy to. Like how hard it is to see my husband, who puts in seventeen hour days, lose a game. How difficult it is for our children to hear their father and team be verbally bashed on a playground or school bus. Or how much it hurts to listen to the guy at the gas station who notices my bumper sticker proceed to tell me how disgusted he is with the team’s performance and how “clearly” those coaches are not working hard enough.

After a wonderful victory!

Sure we coaches families can fake a smile as we pass you in the school pick up line. We have been known to even encourage a disgruntled fan while standing in line at the grocery store. So often everyone in our family makes the choice to take the high road when we “hear” things we would rather not. Just a few weeks ago my daughter called me from college “Mom, I almost got a nose bleed in class this morning. Not from sitting in the last row of my lecture hall but because I took such a high road!”

But truth be told, the most exhausting part of losing for me is responding to people. Of course I avoid all news reporters and the like. We never get the local paper and my radio stays tuned to 70’s on 7. From the post office to the bank, people are everywhere! They are kind hearted people who find themselves in a pretty uncomfortable place. Just knowing they care enough to say they are sorry about the outcome of the game, means the world. They do their best, and it’s so appreciated- but you try having that conversation ten times a day. So, I chose to hunker down for all of us… and venture out a little bit at a time.

Ah but there are those others and here is what I wish I could just once be able to say to them:

Moron #1: Hope the game plan this weekend is better than last weeks?

Allison: “Oh my bad, please give me your address and I’ll be sure to have my husband send a copy for your approval!”

Doofus #2: Who will your starting quarterback be?

Allison: Hmm, that’s a good question. Let me ask my husband that question with the five minutes I see him each week and I’ll call you with the answer, sound good jack#%*?

Brainless Idiot #3: Why didn’t they run the ball more?

Allison: “Because they threw it! Oh, I had no idea you are blind-- I'm so sorry!”

Super fan 101: Tell your husband that he ruined my week.

Allison: Here is his number, I double dog dare you to call him directly!

So of course just as I would not say any of those things, nor would I turn around and tell those incredibly rude, loud outspoken lazy "fans" sitting around me to shut their ugly trap. Instead, I say nothing and begin my ascent…

Moral: If you have nothing nice to say, say nothing at all!

your “winning” friend, 

A little quiet thing I do sometimes: Since I am a teacher at heart, I often give that silent teacher glare stare in the direction of an inappropriate fan. Most times it works like a charm!

Never, say never!

A few Saturdays back I did something I never thought I could—I went to a matinee  movie on a College Game Day! My sweet neighbor friend and her two adorable children wanted to take me to a movie. “We think this movie screams you!” they said. Honestly, the concept of going to a movie while my friends and football families were stressing through their football games felt quite awkward and uncomfortable. Yet, with both my kids away at college and my husband in another state preparing for his game on Sunday I accepted their kind invitation.

They could not have been more right, Pixar’s movie Inside Out screams ME! If you have yet to see this movie, then I really, really, really suggest you make it a TOP priority. It is the best and most relatable movie I have seen in years. It is chock full of emotions--literally. So, before you read any farther, consider this your spoiler alert! A pre-teen girl Riley’s five emotions: Joy, Sadness, Anger, Fear and Disgust are personified. The movie goes from birth to current day as she emotionally maneuvers growing up and her family’s move. As a football coach’s wife I cried for the upheaval the move caused. As a mother I cackled out loud at the emotions that ran through Riley’s mother’s mind. As a teacher I was floored at the endless teaching opportunities it presented. As an empty nester I just cried.

The cast of emotions in Pixar's Inside Out

Almost three weeks later and I still find myself thinking thoughts directly related to this movie. It has honestly altered how my mind thinks about how my feelings actually work. How this 94-minute movie was able to validate and explain feelings I have struggled with my whole lifetime is mind boggling. For example: I have always tended to steer clear of delving into my feelings which I believed was a protective mechanism to avoid feeling sad. This movie completely illustrated and helped me handle what has been going on in my mind since, well, forever!

A poignant and telling moment between Joy and Sadness!

So then of course I started thinking about my feelings lately. I guess you could say I have been feeling this sense of uneasiness which I had swept under my carpet. Now don’t go getting worried and call my mother--but I may have lost my Purpose.

If Purpose had a starring role in this movie she would be silver, since Purpose is bright. She is determined, inquisitive with deliberate, genuine and honest with her speech. Her goal each day is to make a difference in the world around her. She brightens the lives of both friends and strangers alike. She always has a sharpened pencil and pad of paper handy, to take notes and right down her thoughts! I am ashamed to say this, but it wasn’t until a recent school visit that I was aware that my silver gal pal had been missing for quite a while.

You see, I did an Author Visit at a school about a month ago and the moment I looked into the eyes of those children I felt her warm silver glow in my heart. She filled my eyes with her vision and tears. We were reunited and it was the best day ever. We laughed and cried as we shared our triumphs, challenges and honest stories with everyone in that school. We touched the lives of every student and teacher we possibly could--even leaving a piece of our heart with them at the end of the school day!

As I got on the train heading home, I realized Purpose did not come back with me. I felt that emptiness again. And then it occurred to me--I need to do more of what I believe I was placed on this Earth to do. I must find a way to share my life stories about my life trials and tribulations as a children’s author, mother, wife, daughter, friend, dog owner, crafter and football family member. With school budgets as tight as ever, schools do not have the funds for “extras.” which makes this a bit more challenging. So I have taken a page out of my very own book, What Can I do Today? and came up with a plan.

With October being referred to as Kindness Month I thought it’s the perfect time to donate a few Kind-Hearted Presentations. What is a Kind-Hearted Presentation you ask? It is a real presentation minus the speaking fees so a place that might not have been able to afford my visit now can!!! Here is where you come in: If you know of a worthy school, business organization or Club please send me an email (astoutland@aol.com) explaining why you nominated them, including details and of course your contact information. As I see it--it’s a win-win for all!

Moral: Not only is it far better to give than receive-- it feels far better too!

your friend in search of her purpose,

A new little thing we are giving a go: We have added an email subscriber button below for the many of you that have requested to be notified of a new blog through your email in addition to our weekly Facebook post. We cannot guarantee this will be "perfect"--but will guarantee we are going to try our best!

A higher duty

This week my mind, heart and blog are filled with my latest obsession … Pope Francis. Being of Jewish faith, one might think I am a rather unlikely “Pope Groupie." It began the very first time I heard this man speak. Pope Francis’ speech was soft but his message was strong. He spoke of his humble beginnings, the importance of family, his need for living simply and implored us to be kind to those less fortunate. He fully understood the magnitude of his new role and the importance it had on the world. He closed that speech as he does so many to this day with a simple and genuine request, “I ask all of you to pray for me.” And so began my obsession.

After a few months of friendly “stalking”, I realized we not only live by so many of the same principles, but speak the same language too—kindness. Most of what he said I have been believing all my life. It wasn’t long before I found myself wishing to be his friend because he simply makes my heart happy. The moment I heard he was coming to Philadelphia, I dreamt I would invite him for lunch and make him my special tuna sandwich; simple yet delicious. We would sit and eat while I shared these thoughts with him.

• Thank you for making a conscience effort to live modestly. In a world that seems all too consumed with material possessions, you chose to live in the simple Vatican guesthouse rather than the Papal residence. You prefer to travel in a small black Fiat rather than a limousine.

• You have demonstrated to the world that looking into the eyes of another human being matters.

• I loved your thoughts about schools:
  “...School is a second home. This is not only important for you, but also for your families. School then ends up being one big family. One where, together with our mothers and fathers, our grandparents, our teachers and friends, we learn to help one another, to share our good qualities, to give the best of ourselves, to work as a team and to pursue our dreams.”

• Your explanation of moving was spot on:
  “...I know that it is not easy to have to move and find a new home, new neighbors and new friends. It is not easy.
  At the beginning it can be hard, right? Often you have to learn a new language, adjust to a new culture, even a new climate. There is so much to learn! And not just at school. The good thing is that we also make new friends, we meet people who open doors for us, who are kind to us. They offer us friendship and understanding, and they try to help us not to feel like strangers. To feel at home. How nice it is to feel that.”

• I was so touched how you described the family:
  “The family remains the basic unit of society and the first school in which children learn the human, spiritual and moral values which enable them to be a beacon of goodness, integrity and justice in our communities.”

• You nailed it regarding bullying and compassion:
  “Human dignity is the same for all human beings: when I trample on the dignity of another, I am trampling on my own.”

• YES! YES! YES!
  “We all have the duty to do good.” and “A little bit of mercy makes the world less cold and more just.”

• Watching you embrace people of all walks of life, colors, shapes, sizes and capabilities always makes me cry and gently reminds me to be more accepting of others.

Pope Francis requested to stop his motorcade to get out and bless Michael Keating.

Ahh, but of course he has no time for lunch with me during his once in a lifetime visit to Philadelphia. Our city has shut down the highways and bridges to vehicular traffic. Schools are closed. Confused nine-year-old Ivy even asked her Mom, “Is Pope the name of a hurricane?” I get that. Even I have done the hunkering down thing. I cannot peel myself from the endless television coverage—even turning up the volume of his televised church service.

What I know is that he is one man, just one little 78-year-old man that seems to be changing this world one smile, one word and one kind deed at a time. If he can, then why can’t we? After all, is it not our duty?

Moral: The Pope’s actions speak louder than his very own words: “Keep smiling and help bring joy to everyone you meet.”

your incredibly moved friend, 

A little thing I wish to say to Pope Francis: Thank you for making this world a happier place one smile, one word and one kind deed at a time!

Being sick actually makes me sick

I hate being sick. When I get sick or anyone I feel responsible for gets sick, I become furious with myself. I feel as if I have failed. Failed to wash hands properly. Forgotten to wipe down a doorknob before walking out. Did not take cover fast enough when that rude person in line at the grocery store sneezed all over the place! Perturbed about too many late nights in a row! Just plain aggravated.

Not sure what came first, being a semi-germaphobe or despising being sick. It doesn't quite matter because either way I admit that I am one of “those people.”

One of the first things I taught my kids was to NEVER, EVER TOUCH THE PUBLIC TOILET SEAT, FLUSHER OR THOSE FILTHY KNOBS! They learned to flush with a push of their foot, turn the knob with the paper towel you used to dry your washed hands with, which is different from the paper towel you used to turn the water on with. Yeah, I’m that mom!

We are that family that looks like we are going into ER surgery in the public bathroom with our hands up and all! Yes, I have been known to spray a mist of Original-scented Lysol whenever my kids came home from school during the cold and flu season. We rarely use those despicably germy handrails. I have even concocted a special potion taken at the first sign of “trouble.”

So, when I got sick a few weeks back I went into combat mode. I sprayed the entire house with Lysol, washed all sheets in hot water, ingested enough potion for a family of four, went to bed early and drank endless mugs of ginger tea with my friend’s home-crafted honey. After a week of coughing--which led to little sleep for my husband as well as myself-- he was certain I had pneumonia. Can't have that during football season, so he called one of the team doctors. The conversation went something like this:

Husband: Hey Doc, my wife is coughing.

Doctor: Ummm, Allison, are you running a fever?

Allison: Nope

Husband: Yes you are!!! You have hot flashes all the time!

Allison: That is not a fever Jeff, that’s called Menopause!

Doctor: (a moment of silence) Allison, hydrate, take a cough suppressant and call if you worsen.

I pressed on… hydrating, coughing and flashing. With a much anticipated and planned School Author visit right around the corner I thought I should make sure I was not contagious. So off to the Clinic I went. After endless questions and vitals, it seemed I had a virus that would have to run its course--but that I was not contagious. I should drink plenty of fluids and take cough syrup. She left me with my personally computer-generated printouts to read while she picked up my prescriptions. The first printout was entitled: You are Overweight. WHAT? I had to look at it again to make sure I read it properly. It explained that my BMI (Body Mass Index) was some number that did not fall into the healthy category. It went on to explain how I could benefit from eating less. Oh and how I should work out with some regularity, really? Isn’t that why I was here in the first place! Tell me something I don’t already know you stupid $%*@# machine!!!

And so, with a few doses of heavily medicated cough syrup I was able to bank some much needed restful sleep, broke free from my home and spoke to the students at West Rock Author’s Academy. Oh and about that printout… I ate it!

Moral: Embrace your crazy!

Your semi-germaphobe friend,

A little thing I want to share with you: My potion works 99% of the time for me and those I share it with. These companies do not know me, pay me, sponsor or own me! Just sharing this with you out of the kindness, cleanliness and healthiness of my heart!

Slow down, people

Why pumpkin when we have yet to apple? It seems we are forgetting all about the apple! This is the time to buy a quart of freshly pressed apple cider. A chance to pick apples off the tree and make homemade applesauce. Isn’t it true an apple a day keeps the doctor away? Or how ‘bout you are the apple of my eye? Have you ever sliced an apple across its waist and seen the star inside? Or eaten a fresh apple slice dipped in local honey for good luck? Or made an apple pie from scratch? Look what we would be missing!!!

Regardless of the reason, I will admit to kind of loving that the world seems to have embraced celebrating the seasons and holidays. It’s just the skipping of holidays that upsets me.

Maybe it’s the kindergarten teacher in my heart and that “Calendar Time” was crucial to our day. But, each and every month has something wonderful to be celebrated. Either holidays, birthdays, scents or foods that should not be missed. It just makes me so sad that somehow our All-American holiday Thanksgiving seems to have taken a backseat to Christmas. Retailers seem to be taking more calendar time and shelf space to sell December holiday merchandise. I understand their retail dilemma, and sometimes I do appreciate being able to get a jumpstart on my monthly crafting projects. But how does a store in the USA go straight from Halloween without pausing to give thanks with a clear conscience? It seems to me that more and more stores are displaying holiday merchandise WAY TOO SOON! I mean really, it is barely Labor Day and two entire rows are dedicated to Christmas???? For heaven’s sake, my daughter told me she saw a Christmas commercial this past weekend on TV! REALLY, three months early????

It may seem odd that I have a need to honor each month, but I just cannot help myself. I pull out my buckets of holiday and seasonal tchotchkes  ( choch-kas ) the first of each month, and not a day early! It is the Allison unwritten rule in our home … never shall decorations be displayed prior to the first of its month. It is a hard rule I hold myself to but I manage, except for the December melee of course! Once Thanksgiving has passed and I awaken from my food coma, I do indeed begin the changing of the guard because I just cannot help myself.

This past Labor Day weekend my daughter came home from college for the night and I broke my very own rule. She requested fall time food for her dorm and I obliged. After all, it was not going to be in my home, right? And I cannot lie, I REALLY enjoyed the house smelling like Fall, but composed myself when I wanted to switch my room scenters to my favorite fall scent! She took back to school two of our favorite Fall-time foods: Butternut Squash Soup and Pumpkin Bread.

Now--I am going to share my Butternut Squash Soup recipe with you, but I highly suggest you wait until October to make! If you cannot wait, then add apple instead of pear and then THE rule has really not been broken!

Moral:  The apple taught me that there is a star within each of us! Excerpt from Reach for the Sky.

your monthly celebrating friend,

A little question for y'all: What is your favorite fall treat?

The Big Apple

This week I am writing my blog while parked in my car in New York City. Our dog, Cornell, and I are waiting for my sister to get home from work to do a bedroom makeover. Since we could not find a park bench, which seems so wrong in Manhattan, we are sitting in our car with the windows down. He is people/dog watching and I am blogging.

As I watch him watch others I giggle to myself because sometimes I really do believe I can read his mind. Other dogs owners no doubt understand. Unless a treat is involved-- I believe Cornell speaks with a Scottish accent that is slow and deliberate. It has an Eeyore-esque quality about it.

We actually share a lot of the same traits. He’s more kind than intelligent, never met a stranger he didn’t like, does just about anything for a treat and enjoys the stuffing out of a good nap. We both love schedule, can’t miss a meal and like a few ice cubes in our water. We feel it is our responsibility to comfort someone when they are sad. Cornell and I both strut when we get a good grooming and hide when we don’t. We both love, love, love our friends, family and cherish our walks.

Yes we do. Each morning before Cornell can inhale his breakfast I pour myself a cup of coffee. We head out on our morning walk to meet up with our neighborhood friends. Not long ago these “friends” used to be strangers to the both of us, but now we can’t think of a better way to start our day! The dogs share treats, tall grass, sticks and sniffs while the humans chat about EVERYTHING else.

Actually, the friends, family and walks are all true but not sure about all that other stuff. No, this isn’t Allison. It’s me, Cornell. Yeah, that’s right—thought you would like to hear my side of the story. My Mom is good but gets so easily sidetracked while writing. First, why do you call this the Big Apple when I haven’t seen a single apple anywhere. And I actually think my Aunt concocted this redo idea just to help my mom stay busy while she deals with this empty nest thing people keep asking her about. Honestly, maybe she just needs a swift kick in the bahookie (that’s Scottish for tush). First they pushed the bed I was lying on and everything else into the middle of room, which looked hideous. Next those two spent an hour or so sticking bright blue tape all over the room in a very uncreative fashion. Finally they stood precariously upon very tall ladders painting the walls from sage green to a lavender white. Here is a picture of me very hard at work—supervising which led me to coorie doon (that’s Scottish for nestling down to sleep)!

I can tell you this, New York City walks are very different from our quiet country walks. They are filled with dogs for miles, horns beeping, bustling crosswalks, so many speeding and dangerous yellow cars and bits of food on the sidewalk. It seems New Yorkers are more resistant to my charm due to the lack of attention I received—oh well, their loss! There is very little soft grass which baffled me, until I saw a fellow canine use the concrete—ah maybe that is why they call this place the concrete jungle?

Early one morning my mom and I ventured to Central Park and boy was that a treat. Smells, trees and grass galore. Tunnels to meander through, bridges to prance across and countless bikers and joggers to avoid! I could have stayed for hours but noooo, we had to get back to move all the furniture pretty much right back to where it was when we arrived. At least they removed all that blue tape I told them looked grannda (Scottish for ugly)! Honestly we could have just snuggled instead of all this fuss!

Well, we (Yes, we!!) finished in three days flat. For our drive home they bought iced coffees for themselves and a water for me. As we navigated through the Lincoln Tunnel (never saw Abraham either), I was hoping my brother and sister would be waiting for me when I got there. I ran inside and the house was empty and very, very silent. Guess this empty nest thing is a bigger deal than I had first thought.

Moral: If you help another while keeping yourself busy, it really is a win-win!

With love,

Cornell and Allison

Star Light, Star Bright

All my life, any chance I get, I make a wish. Pennies in wishing wells, candles in churches, four-leaf clovers and wish-balls. My first recollection of wishing happened upon a star. I can still remember as a little girl eagerly awaiting that first twinkle so I could close my eyes and make my precious wish. I recall wishing my parents would let me paint my bedroom magenta. Wishing with all my might that I would get my “period” like all my other friends. I used up a ton of wishes on hoping to be “asked out” or for the phone to ring. Oh, and all the wishes spent on passing all those exams.

As I have gotten older (and possibly wiser) my wishes have changed. Now I wish for things like cures for cancer, healing friends who have broken hearts, slowing down time, keeping my children safe at college while ridding the world of senseless violence. Oh, and an end to my $%#*& hot flashes!

I treasure each annual wishing tradition as well. Everyone knows about the birthday cake wish, but in our home we also get a cutting the cake wish too! The magical Leprechaun wish only happens on St. Patrick’s Day, when you find a trace of his gold dust! Oh and the Angel wish when we place her atop our Christmas tree.

My theory is you can never have too many wishes … ever! Which might explain why some of these wishing opportunities might seem odd to you. Yes, I may be guilty of possibly dreaming a few of them up, like the Train Wish. When we lived in Michigan it was a common aggravation to be driving along and then see those red train crossing lights flash and we'd have to come to a complete stop and wait. So, if we happened to be that first “lucky” car that had to stop, everyone in the car got to make a wish! Problem solved!

As a football coach's wife/mom, there are not enough stars in the sky for all the wishes I have. Either hoping to sell our home or find the perfect new home. For the kids to make new friends on that first day of school or to find someone who can properly cut and more importantly color my hair. To find a trustworthy babysitter and, of course, let’s not get fired and please can we WIN!

Call me crazy, but desperate times sometimes call for desperate measures. My husband was working in Florida as we were living apart, struggling for months to sell our home in a plummeting Michigan real estate market. I’d done it all; left warm homemade treats for every showing, placed St. Christopher in our front yard, Feng Shuied the heck out of our home-- but nothing. So when a dear friend suggested we enlist the help of magical fairies we did just that! My kids and I bought a white bird cage and decorated it with dollhouse furniture. We then wrote them a note about helping us find the perfect family to buy and care for our home so we could move and be a family again. We closed their door and then placed the home high above the cabinet in our laundry room so others might not well … think we were crazy. The very next day we had a nice family make a reasonable offer. When I went to say “thank you” to the fairies their door was wide open. And no, there is no way the kids could have possibly climbed up there. And yes the fairies move with us—every single time!

Credit goes out to my daughter for turning her precious Polly Pockets into fairies, many, many years ago!

Moral: Keeping your mind open presents all kinds of different options.

your wishing friend,

A little thing I wish I had done: I wish I had kept a Wish Journal for my children. It would have been so simple. Each night either I would write their wish down or they would if they could. What a wonderful way to capture their journey from child to adulthood.

Bathroom Redo Update: I have decided to cover the wall behind our toilet with my favorite wood of all time--pallet wood! So if you can’t find me, I’m just driving around town hunting for free pallets.

Finding Inspiration

When I travel to schools and share stories of my life as a children's author I get asked a whole bunch of questions. That part of my visit is sometimes my favorite because as you know, kids say the darndest things, right? But one question I always get asked is, “Do you ever run out of things to write about?”  

My response is always the same. I have been writing since second grade and have not run out of topics yet! Some may wonder how that is possible. It’s quite simple for me since I consider myself an emotional writer--my writing is best when I simply write what I feel. That means I am inspired to write just about all the time: when I am sad, baffled, anxious, disgusted, happy, incensed or hurt.

I am so fortunate to have recognized at just seven years of age just how therapeutic writing was for me. Never having been one to talk about my feelings, putting my thoughts and feelings down on paper worked perfectly. I now possess a box full of filled up journals that I move with me from house to house! And since I am now a weekly blogger it is for sure a win-win; you get a blog and I almost always feel better!

In addition to writing when I am in flux, I also “busy" myself. Many times you will find me busy in my kitchen under a cloud of flour dust. But I have found that the bigger the “issue”--the bigger the project I need to throw myself into. As a regular blog reading friend you know I am in need of a pretty big project right about now. So it seems the perfect time for that half-bath renovation I have been putting off, right?

Now, don’t go thinking I am just redoing the bathroom for sanity sake. This bathroom has structural challenges as well as plumbing issues. You haven’t forgotten about them now, have you? For example, when the toilet overflows we discovered that it drips through a hole in the floor which then drips ever so slowly directly above my daughter’s bed! Inside those boards seems now to be the perfect place for little tiny black flies (sort of cute) to breed and call home. Then there is the issue of size. We often have rather large (okay, very large) football players over to our home and they hardly fit inside our guest bath--which poses an entirely different sort of problem.

So, as a person who moves depending on the win and loss column, every redo must increase the resale value of our home. Along with that I must also be inspired. Usually that inspiration starts with a random piece. There is usually absolutely no rhyme or reason, except that the “piece” speaks to my heart. I thought I would sort of bring you along on this therapy redo as my bathroom and I progress. I am not sure how the blogging and redo will partner just yet, but I do know I will have plenty of time to figure it all out.

Here are my inspiration pieces, in no particular order.

The collection of "pieces" that speak to my heart!

1. I found this doorknob four seasons ago (FYI: Football people count years in seasons, not years) at an Antique Store near Birmingham, Alabama for about $8. My friend and I attached it to a cut of old pallet wood I had lying around my garage.

2. I snatched up these old hinges for $4 each at The Golden Nugget Flea Market in New Jersey about three seasons ago.

3. I fell head over heels for this old fashioned letter slot thingy for $15. No idea yet what “business” it has in a bathroom, but I will keep you posted!

Moral: Finding what helps you personally to handle, deal, live and move through a personal struggle is time worth spending.

your emotional writer friend,

A little thing for you to know: With summer winding down and my emotions winding up I am officially back to my weekly Tuesday blogging. As a public service of sorts, please share with me any subjects, questions, recipes or topics you’d like to see me tackle. I still strive for my blog to fill a need within each one of us-- either beneficial, informative, humorous, eye-opening or heartwarming! Take your pick!

It's Just Around the Bend My Friends...

I can feel it in the air. If my life had a Weather app it would read something like this: Storm Warning. These next few weeks will be unpredictable. Conditions are perfect for drastic highs and lows. Take time to prepare; gather tissues, hugs and memories. Hunker down, stock your home with favorite foods and activities to last these next few weeks. It should clear out soon.

This Life Advisory should not be a surprise to me. In fact, I’ve been preparing for it for some 20-something years. Actually 45 years if you count the years I dreamt of being a mom. Readying for the day the children I have poured my heart and soul into both leave home for college.

It seems so cruel we spend their lifetime preparing them to be independent enough to leave us. No more holding hands when crossing the street. No more cutting their food into non-chokable pieces. No more crazy schedules of after-school activities. No more making school lunches.

My daughter's daily salad for school lunch... done!

There are, of course positives. There always are. I will not have to memorize multiplication tables ever again. I will not “help” with any more ridiculous Science Fair projects. I have attended my last Open House alone. No more hopeless requests to clean bedrooms. The endless laundry will come to a screeching halt. Dinners will be for two now, actually for one since I am a football coach's wife … just for one.

I am a little ashamed to admit it, but there were days when I wished for this day. Like the days I never got out of my pajamas because I was just so exhausted from listening to my baby cry while I practiced that Sleep Dr’s technique! There were times I hid in the bathroom for a sliver of privacy. I recall desperately craving a shower that lasted long enough to actually be able to shave my legs. For goodness sake, I attended any and all home parties just for some adult conversation.

I heard, but apparently did not heed all those comments from people who saw me with my little ones,  “Cherish these times--they’ll be grown up before you know it!” I remember thinking to myself then, “HA! They have no idea!” Now, I understand that you were just trying to warn me. You were then where I find myself now.

I have many friends who are ahead of me in the Life curve. I watch them carefully to see how they fare. I ask careful questions and take copious notes. They say I will be fine after the first few weeks. And I have had some practice as my son has been away at school for two years now. A few say I will just love it, “It will be a time for you.” There are others who think parenting just gets harder because our children are not within our grasp. And then there are those who urge me to be patient because this is the necessary step for me to receive grandchildren-- which are apparently the greatest gift in all the land!

I will really be fine, since there really is no other choice. I am truly happy that all my hard work and our life experiences have made this moment possible. My children are ready. They are eager to live independently. See the world. Meet new people. Get an education. Have a crazy good time. All I ask is they be safe. Look both ways before crossing. Choose the best kind of people to keep company with. Listen to your gut. Attend classes and take notes. While walking through campus, LOOK up--not down at your phone. Focus on eating healthy, but eat. Wash your hands often. Please call home. Oh and one last thing--have the time of your life.

Waiting on clearer skies,

Moral: Cherish these times--they’ll be grown up before you know it!

A little thing you should understand about me: I chose to write my blog in first person mostly because it’s always me sharing my feelings, thoughts, and issues. Of course, I do not believe in any way that I alone have raised, lost sleep, struggled or will be sad when both of our children leave for college! It’s for sure a “we”--but I write in “me!”

It Takes a Village to Change a Village

I was introduced to an amazing man while visiting Barcelona this summer. He is not your typical European gentleman. He was not dressed in fine linens. His hair was not coiffed, nor his nails neatly manicured. Rather than strut like most in this city, he shuffled. Some even called him a gruff old man, but that gruff old man confirmed for me a few very important things I believe deep down inside of my soul.

The first is to never judge others. To watch this man pass by, one might think he were homeless and might even struggle with a bit of a mental disability--when in reality he was a genius architect. Those eyes saw the world like no others. I like to think I would have sat on a park bench with this man, who despite the endless loud critics, created buildings, neighborhoods and a park the likes the world had never seen before. We would meet at a cafe and talk about the 40 years he spent crafting La Sagrada Familia, the most beautiful basilica in quite possibly the entire world. He would tell me about the team of talented folks and friends who helped bring his “crazy” vision into a reality. Which supports my second belief; all things are possible with the help and support of others. While so many criticized him, there were enough who believed in his vision and chose to get on board!

While I was standing within the walls of his creation I was simply overwhelmed by his unique interpretation of the world. Call me crazy, but being a kindergarten teacher I couldn't help but notice that his work reminded me a tiny bit of Dr. Seuss, Roald Dahl sprinkled with a touch of Mr. Walt Disney himself. I wondered if they too had been so moved by this very same man? This really got me wonderin—which then got me reading.

Just a small portion of the La Sagrada Familia Ceiling.

I started with his childhood and it turned out his mother homeschooled him in his younger years because he was a very sickly boy. Their classrooms were the gardens and parks in the neighborhood. She spent hours sharing her knowledge and love of nature with her son. My heart burst with this information since I too spent endless hours sharing my amazement of flowers and appreciation of nature with my children back in the day. This fascination of nature led to his desire to study architecture. It seemed that in all of his creations there is a nod to nature, as well as to his mother and teachers. Hence, the columns that hold up the La Sagrada Familia ceiling resemble tree trunks that grow towards the sky with branches and leaves. Window panes and iron gates resemble honeycomb. Stairwells are fashioned to look just like a snail shell. There are even sprigs of lavender constructed as though they grow from the rooftop high above the very schools he received his secondary education in!  

The snail shell I happily walked down.

This confirms my third belief; that people are not just responsible for creating human beings, but for developing their heart, mind and soul. Parents are the first artists to mold children followed closely by teachers, neighbors, doctors, friends, coaches, family and often even strangers—each with the common goal of helping to develop a person who betters our world.

This amazing man's name is Antoni Gaudi. He is long gone, but his legacy is visited by more than 2.8 million people every year. He died tragically in 1926 before La Sagrada Familia was completed. Since that time it has been the mission of humans he never met to complete his dream--being funded solely by people just like me. People who flock from near and far and buy a ticket to witness with their very own eyes what a unique man was able to accomplish with the love of a mother, an education and the support of a few good humans.

Antoni’s new friend,

Moral: We each have a responsibility to do our part so that when we leave this world it is a better place!

A little song I love: Kristin Chenoweth sings the song, I Was Here that perfectly and beautifully explains my fourth belief. Please take a moment to grab a tissue and take a listen! The world certainly knows my new “old” friend Antoni was here. http://bit.ly/1KgogXR