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!

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!