What I want to write about now isn't really in direct response to something either of them has said, though they both have some thoughtful, interesting, insightful things to say. Rather, their responses actually reminded me of what I was initially thinking about when I first wanted to write about me and my struggle to find a church. I didn't get to it in the first post because what I write here not often thought out completely. I kinda do that as I go along. Plust, I was getting sick (which I now am, officially), so I was pretty much coming in and out of it as I wrote. So, anyway, what I forgot is what follows.

I grew up attending a very traditional Southern Baptist church in suburban Jackson, MS. I loved it. I really did. That might surprise some of you who know my struggles with those kinds of churches as of late and with the SBC in particular. But I really only have good memories of those years. Sure it had its problems (I won't hash them out here; it's beside the point) but the people of that church instilled in me values, theology and a knowledge of God that has shaped who I am today. I was baptised at that church. I attended VBS every summer and dreamed of when I'd get to be in the youth group. My best friend's dad was on staff at the church. It seems like I was there all the time.

Now that church is all but dead, another mostly-empty church building (though this one of more traditional church architecture; it has a steeple and stained glass and everything) in a declining part of town. What happened? Any number of things, probably. I don't know. My family had moved by the time it really had to try to weather some real problems, not the least of which was staying traditional and fundamental in the midst of the changing church culture in America.

But as I think back, that tradition is something that I miss the most.

Every Sunday morning we would close the service by all standing and singing together "The Doxology," which is really just the last verse to another hymn called "Awake, My Soul, and with the Sun." If you were raised in a church like mine (and so many of us were) then you probably know the lyrics already. But if you weren't and, therefore, you don't, I've printed them for you below.

Praise God from Whom all blessings flow;

Praise Him all creatures here below;

Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;

Praise Father, Son and Holy Ghost;

Amen

Every Sunday from as long as I can remember until we moved our church membership when I was in the eighth grade, we sang that song, loud, boisterous and triumphant to the accompaniment of a piano and a huge pipe organ. For the longest time I wasn't even sure what the words were. I never saw them printed or was told where to look in the hymnal. Everyone just seemed to know them and eventually I did too. There was a mystery to it. It felt completely different than anything else I did during the week. It felt more sacred. Older. Other.

Just after Thansgiving we would dedicate a Sunday evening service to the "Hanging of the Greens" where we decorated the church for Christmas and officially began the Advent season that we would celebrate for the following four Sundays. During this service we would decorate two Christmas trees that flanked the pulpit. Only, they weren't called Christmas trees. They were called Chrismon trees because they weren't to be decorated with mere ornaments, but rather with chrismons, symbols from the life of Christ and His Church. You can google "chrismon" if you're completely unfamiliar with what I'm talking about but these would be ornaments in the shapes of shepherd staffs or chalices or mangers or crosses or flames, etc. The list could go on.

I remember there were hundreds of them. There would be tables in the lobby of the sanctuary covered in chrismons. On your way into the service, everyone in attendance would pick one up. And there was an unspoken rule amonst the adults that they were to never take the grapes. You see, all of the chrismons were decorated in white and gold... all, that is, except for the grapes, which were covered in purple and green sequins. These were left for us kids to try to get to first. If you were one of the lucky ones to get a bunch of grapes as your chrismon then you were the shiz.

The highlight of the service (well, the highlight for me and everyone else I knew) was when the pastor would go through the chrismons one at a time, carefully explaining to all present what that particular symbol represented and meant. If he was talking about your chrismon, then it was time for you to go and hang it on one of the two trees. You have no idea how much my knowledge of the story of Jesus was reinforced by hearing about those symbols year after year.

So, why do I bring those two things up? Because, in many ways, they epitomize "tradition" and have all but been abandoned in most modern churches (at least the ones I've visited). I mean, who sings "ye" in a song anymore? Yet they are representative of some of the things I miss the most. Sure, absence makes the heart grow fonder, but the memories I have about my practice of church in those years goes way beyond simple nostalgia.

Now, my problem isn't that I can't find a church that sings the doxology or decorates with chrismons at Christmas. If you remember, the main reason I gave for my recent absence in church attendance was that I have struggled endlessly to find one that I like. Yet when I think back the things that I "liked" are not things that I would be looking for now or that, if I encountered them, I would say that I did like.

My point is that my perspective is skewed. I'm looking for the wrong thing. A lot of us are. Neil's 100% correct. Of course, I hope Jen is too in that we are now far enough removed from the "worship wars" to recognize that thinking it was a war in the first place is ludicrous and that we can now have a greater appreciation for all expression and practice of worship of the one true God.

I wanted to write all this to basically say that I'm wrong. I've been doing it wrong. I want to fix that and do it right. It's just not that easy, though maybe it should be, but I'm working on it.

Though, if the next church I walked in had a table covered in styrofoam grape-bunches decorated with colored sequins it would make my deicision about which church to attend a lot easier.

Of course, I'm really not even that sure about who "you" are. So, since you can't answer me very well anyway, I'm just going to go ahead with this post and deal with the consequences. I mean, this is a blog, right? Not the inquisition. (Though I'm sure it could be.)

It can be really tough for me to go to church. In fact, (moment of confession and transparency here) lately (and I'll let you define "lately") I haven't gone at all. Why? Well, honestly, I don't really like it. There. I said it, and I'm still here. God hasn't struck me down... at least, not yet.

Let me expound on this.

First, there are a number of questions about what it means that I haven't been to church in a while. Does it mean that I don't worship, both individually and coporately? Does it mean that I don't sing hymns or praise songs? Does it mean that I don't pray or meditate or read Scripture or study the Bible with other believers? Does it mean that I don't listen to sermons or give of my money to the greater body of Christ? Does it mean that I don't fellowship with other Christ-followers? Does it mean that I don't celebrate communion? Does it mean that I don't tell others about Jesus? Does it mean that I don't participate actively in the mission of God around the world? Does it mean that I'm not being challenged by saints of greater maturity than my own or that I'm not investing in those who haven't been following the Way as long as I have? Does it mean that I'm not producing spiritual fruit in my life or excercising the gifts with which the Spirit has equipped me? Does it mean that I am not contributing the furthering of God's kingdom? Does it mean that I don't Sabbath? No. It doesn't mean any of those things. In fact, I would argue that I actively engage in all of these activities on just as much a regular basis as I would if I confined my participation in them to weekly church activities that I participated in withouth fail.

Then what does it mean? Well, I don't often go to a particular church building. I don't support the denomination of my local congregation. I don't contribue to my church's budget. I could go on, but you probably get the idea.

Now... so far it probably appears as if I'm going to make a case to validate my lack of church attendance. But I'm not. You see, if you asked me if I think I'm sinning by continuing to participate in the first list while withholding my participation from things that could go in my second list, I would say "yes." Even though I still regularly practice the spiritual and essential aspects of church and just conveniently avoid all the trappings of an institution, I still believe it's sin. I'm not proud of it. I'm no justifying it. I'm just telling you how it is. I hope that there is never a day where George Barna is right and that the "true" Christians are out on the golf course on Sunday mornings while dying congregations stare blankly ahead in their half-empty conference-center-style cathedrals. Firstly, because I sold my golf clubs in a garage sale to rasie money to go to Africa (plus, I suck at it anyway) and secondly, because I don't think that's what God desires.

What am I saying, then? I think God wants me (and you) to go to church. The little "c" kind. Some local congregation, whether it meets in a really nice building or in your neighbor's house.

So, why haven't I been going? Trust me. It would take way longer than you want to read to fully answer that one (most of you have checked out by now anyway and I'm only continuing to type for those of you reading simply for the sake of procrastinating from what you really need to be doing).

The simplest way for me to say it is this: I have had an impossible time trying to find a church that I "like." I realize all of the implications (most of them faulty) that are contained within that statement, but if you want to know the reason. There it is. It ain't pretty.

So, what is it that I have trouble liking? Any number of things. Some of them completely superficial. Like, the style (or lack thereof) of musical worship or that music is the only thing considered to be worship or how the pastor preaches or what he (or she) preaches about or how much money was spent on the building or the lack of "ugly" people in the congregation or... The reality is that if any of us sat down to make a list of all the surface-level things we don't like about certain churches, the list could go on endlessly.

However, the main thing that I have found missing around the 'Ham for me is a church with a theology that I identify with. I don't want to get into attacking particular churches or denominations here (I've done that plenty elsewhere), but I will say that I haven't found one whose beliefs I would say I line up with. And I don't know that that's completely unusual, especially when you get into parts of theology that are based much more on tradition than Biblical exegesis. However, I have a few non-negotiables that for most churches and denominations don't really go together. I would think that they would, but evidently they don't. I recognize I'm being a bit vague on this point, but if you know me, you can figure out what those things are, and if you don't know me, then you'll have to take my word that it is another thing that will take a long time to explain.

Yet, here I am, continuing to sin on the basis of these reasons. And not only that, but I also lack a true community of faith with whom I gather regularly and am never forced to encounter and overcome the differences, failings and trappings of our local churches.

This has all come up lately because of Story. I want to raise Story in a church. I want to be a part of a church that helps me to grow so that I'm a better father and spiritual leader for Story and Liza. I want to be obedient for my own spiritual well being but also as an example to Story, not to mention for the glory of God.

Yet this one thing for me (and I recognize that it's a pretty big thing, especially for someone who's supposedly a spiritual leader and went to seminary for goodness sake) contines to be a real hang-up, and I have no idea what to do about it.

I talk with enough people to know that I'm not alone in this, though I might be an extreme case because I just don't force myself to go. I gave up on that tactic a long time ago.

But I'm looking for the answer. God and I talk a lot about it. A lot. Believe me.

In fact, I'd say that me sitting here and writing this and putting it out there is part of the conversation.

How big a part? I guess that remains to be seen.

In the meantime... I don't know.

Maybe I need to go 'round again.

There are those people who ask me why I don't just start my own (church, that is). The answer to that question is for another post entirely.

So, what?

All I can really tell you, I guess, is that I'm full of questions on this subject and not a lot of answers. But I am bound and determined to seek out those answers instead of just going with the flow. That doesn't make me righteous or holy or anything... not anymore than my grudging church attendance has in the past. But I hope that it will lead to a better outcome.

In the meantime, does anyone have some golf clubs I can borrow?

I can't speak for all women but the ones I know are not wallflowers.  We know what we want.  We usually know how to get it - with a smile.  And, when backed against a wall, we know how to demand what we need.  Whether it is for ourselves, our children, or anyone for that matter, we will fight for what we think is right. 

How is it then, we very often let ourselves get pushed around?  Why do we completely and totally “wimp out” in minor situations? 

You know what I mean.  How many times have we caved in to sales pressure and purchased something we really did not want because we did not want to say “NO” to some anonymous salesperson?  This is nothing new for me.  I remember this occurring while clothes shopping during my high school days.  I would try something on at the Limited and come out of the dressing room to check the three-way mirror.  No matter what it was or how awful it looked, the salesgirl would always say,

 “Oh…. my…. Gawd, like, that looks amazing on you.  That oversized peach sweater is perfect for your pale complexion and shocking red hair!  And, yes, it is a great idea to add more fabric over your hips, because, like, more material is definitely slimming!”  (Honestly, we are talking about late 1980s – everything looked awful.  Although, I still wish I had held on to some of my overpriced, oversized  “NO” sweaters with the big “NO” buttons.  Does anyone remember those?)  

After being strong-armed by the mature 19-year-old salesgirl, I would take that oversized peach sweater right up to that register and buy it because "she" said I should.

Or, how about years later when I was a total pushover while shopping for make-up at Saks in Bal Harbour.  I happened to be there during a “big event” in which “famous” make-up artists were offering “free” makeovers.  So, this really nice (pushy) make-up artist (salesperson who is good at applying lipstick) offers to show me some tricks (ways to use as many products as possible to create the “natural” look).

Before I know it, I am swept into a tall black chair while "Violet" begins to wipe away all evidence of the "hideous make-up" I applied this morning.  Now, I am sitting there thinking, “my new husband is going to kill me because I am now going to make us late to meet his cousin and his cousin’s wife for dinner not to mention spend about a hundred unnecessary dollars on make-up I really don't need.”  - This was circa 1995, I only had a cellular phone in my car, not portable, so I could not call him from the make-up chair to say I would be late.  In fact, he only had a beeper at that time.  A time when having a beeper in Miami did not mean you were a drug dealer. Oh, I digress yet again.

So, back to the chair at the Trish McEvoy counter.  As the “artist”, Violet, is applying eight different shades of eye shadow and showing me how it just looks like one great color (um, why doesn’t Violet just sell me the “one great color" instead of eight separate ones?), I am mentally calculating how many products she is going to try to get me to buy.  She finally finishes and I am thinking, “okay, I guess I could use some new shadows, some new lipsticks, liners, foundation, mascara, aaaaaahhhhh!”. 

Okay, I had convinced myself I am worth it.  These are the thoughts running through my head, 

“I am a newly married woman, and it wouldn't kill me to update my look with new make-up.   I deserve this.  I work too.  I should not worry about spending money on myself.  I have unique coloring and isn’t it great I happened to be here when this very talented Trish McEvoy artist could take the time to help me?

We are walking to the register and her hands are full of quite a few boxes.  Oh, wait, she is taking out brushes too. I have to buy new brushes?  Aren't good brushes really expensive?   She is saying something about needing good brushes.  No, no, no,  more and more brushes are being put on the counter.  How can I say no to Violet when she has just spent an hour doing my make-up?  She is ringing it up and I don't think it will be that bad.”

$576.52

$576.52!!!!!  That is a car payment.  (This was before I had kids or I would have been thinking – a month of preschool, 27 cases of diapers, 180 bottles of formula, 576 hot wheels cars, 576 slurpees, 190 happy meals toys with the new star wars characters, 198 pairs of earrings for my tween daughter at Claire's, an entire Wii system with all the games and accessories your heart desires…)

So, girls.  Guess what I did.  I stood up straight, looked her in the eye and said, “No…… I will not be putting this on my Saks card today, I will be using American Express.”

Yes, I completely wimped out.  I signed the slip, took my bag and rushed to my car to meet my husband for dinner.  I was totally freaking out that I just spent all that money on MAKE-UP!!!!  The end of the story is pretty predictable – I returned most of it the next week.  I took it back to a different Saks location because of course, I could not face the people at the Bal Harbour counter.

Over the years, it has become one of those funny stories between my husband and I.  Oh, my husband's favorite part of the story is that Violet's sales pitch focused very much on highlighting an important fact about Trish McEvoy.  Her husband is a dermatologist.  Therefore, she MUST know so much about make-up and skincare products.  So, that means that my girlfriend whose husband is a dentist will soon be coming out with her own line of dental floss.

Looking back at what I call the "Trish incident", what I don't find humorous is how I and many other women react in these situations.  Why do we have such difficulty just saying “NO”? 

As you have guessed from my previous entries, I don’t have a hard time speaking my mind.  Yet, like many women, I find myself in these situations every once in a while.   We may be strong, outspoken, confident women in many ways but we still often give in to stupid insignificant things because we don’t want to say “NO”.  Sometimes it is buying something we really don’t want to buy.  Other times, it is being pushed into doing something to please an outsider at a huge inconvenience to our families and ourselves.

We accept a dinner invitation even though we know our husband will be dreading going out with that particular couple because the husband is a complete show-off.  We agree to a play date for our child with little Johnny even when we know our child does not like playing with Johnny - because Johnny is a biter!  Or, we are pressured into joining a committee, which we don’t have the time for. 

Don’t get me wrong.

Don’t read this and walk away with the impression that I believe in living a life of complete selfishness.

Please know, I am more than willing to go out of my way for a good cause.  I am happy to be doing things for others.  Really, ask my close friends, I am a very giving person  (just don’t ask me to give you the last piece of my smart pop kettle corn because if I am going to count the calories for a full 100 calorie bag, I am not giving up one kernel!).  I believe in spreading good deeds in the world and I teach my children to do the same.  I am not advocating selfishness.  Yes, there are always times when it is right to give in and do things we don’t necessarily want to do.   Yes, yes, yes, I do believe those fortunate to be blessed in our lives have a duty to help those less fortunate.   That is a completely different topic.

I would expand on my thoughts of helping others but it could possibly lead into a political discussion.  I have vowed to keep my mouth shut until after November 4.  No matter what I want to say about McCain, Obama & Sarah Palin, I will not.  Okay, I will just say one thing.  Did anyone watch the short-lived Geena Davis show, “Commander in Chief”?  The premise of the show reminds me so much of what is happening now with the election and the possibility of having McCain/Palin in office in 2009.   I will not go into it because I promised not to be political here.  Just look it up. 

Back to the superficial – because we get enough politics as it is.

My point is this.  I am continually shocked at how hard it is to say “NO”.  I think we should all work on thinking twice before agreeing to something for the sake of pleasing someone else.  Usually the person you are worried about pleasing is not really concerned about how it affects you.  In cases like the pushy make-up artist or the salesgirl at Anthropologie, that is pretty straightforward.  It is much better to feel uncomfortable for about a millisecond because you said no to a salesgirl than to waste money on something you don’t really need or want. 

However, when it comes to helping out our friends or organizations we care about, it is a little trickier.   While we do want to help our friends whenever we can or whenever they need it, sometimes it can get in the way of our own family priorities.  In these cases, you really have to consider saying, NO, if it is going to negatively impact your family.

Since I love math, I use math to figure this one out.  My theory is a "greater than / less than" theory (I loved those little alligator signs I learned in first grade).   Here is the how I process the “favor”.    If the amount you are helping your friend exceeds the inconvenience it causes your family, then go for it.  Say yes and feel good about it.

However, if doing something for someone else has a greater negative effect on you or your family, it really is okay to smile politely and just say, “ I am so sorry I am not able to drive across town to take your child home for you because your Tivo is broken and you don’t want to miss today’s Oprah.”

Now that we have covered saying “NO” when we should, someone needs to tell me how to stand up to hairstylists.  Does anyone else chicken out when you know you should ask how much the cut and style is going to be before he begins?  Is there any other business transaction in your life in which you receive a product without agreeing to the price or even know the price ahead of time?  Can you imagine eating a meal at a restaurant before you know the price and then just paying whatever price the server decides to charge you?  Men don’t have this problem because they post the prices on a board at Supercuts!  

Warning: this particular blog entry contains many gender generalizations and may not be appropriate for males ages 35-105.

Recently I met an older successful man and his much younger “trophy wife”. Before I get going, I want to know, who decides she is a trophy and not a battle scar?

All too often we witness this scenario as men experience the somewhat inevitable mid-life crisis. Mid-Life Crisis Man (who will be referred to as MLCM for this blog) initially begins noticing his friends are looking older and some are even developing middle age ailments. Then, he looks in the mirror and sees a few more grey hairs than the day before. Before he knows it, he starts to realize he is facing his own mortality. Both men and women experience this phenomenon. However, in general women react very differently. Women often use this “mid-life awakening” as a wake up call to take a good look within and in the mirror. She decides to take steps to start to take better care of herself. A woman will call her friend to commiserate about the aging process, join a gym, find a new hair stylist, go to Mac and buy a new lipstick color and call it a day.

On the other end of the gender spectrum, many, not all but many men look outside themselves for a means to feel young again. So, MLCM begins to seek his own personal fountain of youth by adding excitement to his life. Some men, opt for the standard issue sports car. Other (and in my opinion more civilized) men decide to reach new physical goals such as running a marathon, competing in a triathlon or doing a 100-mile bike race throughout a small European country. MLCM takes the cliché route – the easier, quicker, drive-through option.

MLCM finds a new woman. Compared to his current wife who is middle-aged like himself, the new woman will Be More Beautiful Of course. (for ease of storytelling, we will refer to the new woman as BMBO). He falsely believes the best way EXCITEMENT can be found is by having a new much younger woman in his life. Of course BMBO is more exciting than the woman he has shared a bed with for 20 years. New is always exciting because it is unknown. BMBO most likely does not have children or anyone she needs to take care of other than herself. BMBO is able to focus all her energy and attention on MLCM. BMBO does not need to ask MLCM if he remembered to call the insurance adjuster about the water damage from last week's storm. She does not expect him to know how to load a dishwasher. She certainly does not ask him to put away the laundry. BMBO is a vacation.

On top of everything, MLCM thinks to himself,

“WOW, with BMBO on my arm, I am the envy of all the guys in my poker group.”

This, my friends, is up for debate. I have seen this situation a few times in my life and have a different opinion. I have heard the conversations between other men in discussing MLCM’s new BMBO. They may pat him on the back and say “good going man.” However, amongst the civilized crowd, the talk is very different. I have heard much more, “is he out of his mind?” talk from other men. Forgive me for being crude but pretty much the consensus seems to be,

“There are women you sleep with and women you have relationships with.” (Okay, I gave you the PG-13 version of what the statement really is. I just couldn’t be that crude and say the real saying.)

My parents did not raise a fool. I am not a dummy. It is possible the men I know are just saying that about BMBO to impress me and sound civilized. (It is pretty much a given that I fall into the latter group as do the many women I am fortunate to have in my life. Don’t get me wrong. Just because we are the women men marry, we can still be attractive. All my friends are beautiful and many of us even have the same brand of implants as women in the other group.)

Back to my point. Even though all my friends’ husbands claim they think MLCM is an idiot for giving up his current life to jump into bed with a former playmate, they could be full of it. It is possible that these men are fooling me. Maybe they all are throwing victory parties for the men who find themselves a “trophy”. It could be a whole secret society only known to women with IQs below …… again, I am trying so hard not to be catty in this blog but it is hard.

Here is where the larger problem lies. After MLCM has had his period of excitement with his former playmate, even she will become routine. BMBO is eventually going to want him to call the insurance adjuster, empty the dishwasher and put away his laundry. Once the newness with her wears off, he is back to where he started. He discovers that women who are “hot” can be just as big of nags as any other woman. So, he gets off the rollercoaster ride of excitement he experienced with the BMBO, he looks at her and realizes, he is in the same place he was with his wife. Only now, that rollercoaster has left a path of destruction, which not only affected him but also hurt many other people in his life.

The big question.

Was it really worth it? Was the sex that great? Was BMBO really that wild and exciting in bed that it was worth destroying many people’s lives in the process? I will go out on a limb (because I am not a middle-aged man and have only witnessed this as a third party) and make my assumption. One type of MLCM will acknowledge it is a mistake. I would compare it to eating an entire Toojay’s Killer Chocolate cake. It would be great while you were doing it but afterwards you are going to spend a lot of time paying for that small burst of enjoyment. You will definitely question if it was worth it. However, there is another type of MLCM who will never see it as anything but his time to enjoy life. He spent the earlier years helping everyone else out and now this is “his turn”. He was entitled to do something completely for himself. MLCM never acknowledges his time with BMBO was not only about him. He never is able to see how it affected those around him. He may slightly acknowledge the hurt he caused his former wife. However, he feels it is owed to him because he feels he gave her many great years prior to his adventure with the BMBO. He will never acknowledge his adventure affected his children as he feels it was only between him and his wife. Human beings have a tremendous capacity for rationalization when they want something.

There is another theory though. Maybe this type of MLCM does know deep down what a huge colossal mistake he made. Possibly deep down he knows that it was an enormous misstep. He knows if he ever dared to acknowledge the destruction he brought into his life and that of the people he does love, he could not cope with living with this. So he denies it even to himself in order to protect his psyche from the pain.

Yeah right. Who am I kidding? He is still so hypnotized by the BMBO’s sexual abilities, he is not thinking of much else. This can be summed up with a quote from one of my favorite comedians, Robin Williams. He says this, “See, the problem is that God gives men a brain and a penis, and only enough blood to run one at a time.”

Moving on. I am a big believer that you do not complain about something without offering a solution. I offer you a possibility ( and it is only slightly tongue-in-cheek).

Let’s offer husbands a “mid life rumspringa”

In case you don’t know what a rumspringa is, here is a quick explanation.

Rumspringa: (Pennsylvania Dutch translation “running around”) is an Amish rite of passage, which begins at age 16. Amish teens are given a year to explore the modern world before they decide whether or not to commit themselves to the Amish life or leave it for the freedom of modern life.

Maybe that is all a man really needs - a little time off to clear his head and realize how great he has it at home. So, let's do it. Let’s give him a year to run around. Give hubby a year to explore the single world before he decides whether to commit the second half of his life to being married. He can sow his middle-aged oats. Get it out of his system. Set him off with a big kiss, a suitcase and a case of condoms. You can give him a comprehensive STD check at the end of the year. At the conclusion of his rumspringa, if he chooses to, let him come back home and keep your fingers crossed he learned some new tricks during his year off. If he decides not to come back, don’t worry, the private investigator you hired to track him during his rumspringa has some great pictures for your divorce attorney to use at trial. You will get a kick-butt settlement.

To be fair, all of us wives get to have a pretty amazing year as well. We will get to do anything we want that year. Oh, I can quickly make my list of what my year will include:

• One weekend a month, I will take a girls’ trip to either NYC or Canyon Ranch Spa
• I will complete all the house decorating I have been putting off because “now is not a good time” to do those things
• My toilet seat will stay down for an entire year
• There will be no Cuban-bread crumbs to clean up from the counter or kitchen floor all year
• I can wake up in the middle of the night and turn on the lights and watch anything I want on TV as loud as I want without worrying about waking up my husband
• No football, basketball or any sports games will be screened in my home all year
• I will only go to restaurants I want to go to and see movies I want to see
• All my conversations with my husband will be over the phone, which is great because he communicates better via phone than in person
• Not even a mention of in-laws for an entire year
• Most importantly, of course, a couple fun rendezvous for myself as well – I have already made my list and I think Rob Lowe is going to be single after his sexual harassment suit goes to trial. Mr. Lowe, call me. (If Rob Lowe cannot fulfill his duties, I will be taking applications for the position)

Wow, I could go on and on. This is starting to feel like a really great idea. I am going to have to work out the kinks before I present this to my husband. If he takes the kids for the weekends, I think I will even offer to find the first BMBO for him myself. Any takers? My husband is cute, smart and funny.

Whatever your thoughts are on this, I want to hear them. Would you go for this? What would your year include? What rules if any would we have to give our husbands (such as, who is off limits)?

Let’s hear it girls. Leave your comments openly or anonymously.

No matter how many times it happens, I am always surprised.

In many women, very often there is an insecurity just under the surface waiting to pop up.  It is there.  You may not see it but it is definitely there.  You may have never known it was there or maybe you did but you have forgotten.  It may not appear for months at a time or even years.  Yet, it is sitting there waiting.  It is barely buried under the superficial day-to-day interactions.

Are you following me yet?  I am talking about that “button”.  It is the hot spot issue for someone that is always present but often ignored.  For some people, it may be just a small insecurity they carry around.  For others, it could be a traumatic event, which has marked them for life.

Let me give you a simple example by sharing an incident, which just recently occurred.  I had a disagreement with my friend “Jackie”.  When I began writing this blog, Jackie felt it was her responsibility to tell me what I should write about and what would appeal to readers.  She did not understand I am writing this for fun and as a way to vent (as I am doing now).  She sent me four separate emails telling me what subjects she felt should be featured in my blog (and if you are wondering, no, she is not a writer herself).  Unfortunately, the last email she sent was delivered to my blackberry while I was in the middle of the usual dinnertime chaos with my family and I was so TOTALLY AND COMPLETELY, NOT IN THE MOOD TO BE BOSSED AROUND!  So, let’s just say, I sent her a very nice but direct email telling her that while I valued our friendship, I was very confused as to why she felt it was her place to judge my writing or my life for that matter.  I think I ended the email with this statement,

“At some point in the future, I may decide to write a novel and when I do, I would expect this direction from an editor.  However, you are not my editor, you are my friend and I just wanted to share something fun with you.”

Well, my email did not go over to well with her.  That was not the surprise.  The surprise was the direction she took the disagreement.    She wrote back that she was shocked and hurt by my email but that most importantly (and this is a direct quote), she stated, “I'm not a score keeper or someone looking at what you wear or put in your house.”

Let me just reiterate that nowhere in my previous email to her – or in any of our previous conversations EVER – did I mention our homes, clothing or any material possessions for that matter.  However, this is where she took the issue.  It became about money.    She took a conversation about judging my writing or behavior and made it into comparing what she and I have.  Even more shocking is that I always thought Jackie was one of the most down to earth people I have ever known.  We never discussed finances or the sizes or contents of our homes.

With Jackie, her insecurities about money were just under the surface.  The minute there was a disagreement about anything – even something completely unrelated– it led back to money.

With other friends, it may be insecurities about how their husbands treat them or the behavior of their children.   Whatever it is, these issues sit there lurking.  They are just waiting to surface with the slightest nudging.

I know I have a button too.  For me, it is definitely my food issues.  My husband learned this the hard way many years ago.  During our initial visits to the Cheesecake Factory restaurant when the meals were brought to the table, my husband would always make a big deal about how “huge” the portions are.  Yes, I know they are huge but I don’t need him to tell me that.  So, of course, once someone mentions how big the portion is, I start mentally calculating how much I can actually eat without looking like a pig.  Is he saying I shouldn't be eating all this?  Do you think the waiter is thinking the same thing too?  Is the skinny bitch in the next booth judging me too?  ...  Okay, okay, I never claimed I am a girl without issues!

Thanks for reading today’s blog.  I have missed writing and of course the feedback from everyone.  However, I definitely am looking forward to having all three of my kids back in school next week and actually being able to think!  Once I have a bit of quiet time to myself, I love being able to put the thoughts together into a blog.  I wish all of you a wonderful weekend with lots of sunshine and no storms. 

Then I realized I needed to take a step back and really think about what getting older means to me.

I can just say that “take a step back” should be my motto in life. Whenever, I am able to take that step back and look at things a bit clearer, life is much more enjoyable. Sometimes it is as simple as taking a step back from the negative behavior my child is engaging in. In this situation, I take a deep breath, count to a billion, look around the aisle at Target and realize my child is actually one of many children having a tantrum because he does not understand why he cannot have the newest Hot Wheels set this very minute. You see, by taking that step back, I realize this crazy moment is very temporary. This is just five minutes out of the day in which I want to send him on the next shuttle to outer space. I am then able to acknowledge that the majority of the time, I really enjoy him as well as the rest of my crew and I feel blessed to have such amazing kids. Other times I have had to step back and take a good look at my life and realize I need to let little things go.

In any case, taking that step back and forgetting about the vanity all women have about our appearance, I realize how much I love getting older. Although I still am about five seasons shy of 40 years old, I am starting to really embrace the idea of being older. I finally feel like a real adult – well, most of the time.
I am encountering many great things about being older and looking at life from a more emotionally mature perspective. For me, one of the most satisfying is finally gaining the ability to de-clutter my relationships with other women. I have been able to get to a point in which I rarely waste my time with friendships that drag me down emotionally. In doing this, I have been able to focus on the wonderful women I do have surrounding me.
I am thankful for my circle of amazing girlfriends.
I have written quite a few blogs, which talk about the not-so-wonderful women I come across in my daily life. Now it is time to mention the positive women in my life.
I am incredibly blessed. I have spent years and years weeding through friendships, which were not always very healthy. In the past, I was determined to give certain undeserving women a chance (and another and another). Somehow, I have finally landed in the midst of a wonderful group of women. Now, don’t get me wrong, we all have our “things”. Starting with myself, we all have at least half a dozen strange little idiosyncrasies that could drive anyone crazy. (I am so tempted to give examples. However, if I do even list a few of the nutty things my girlfriends do, I will spend the next week responding to email inquiries from my friends asking “were you talking about me?”)
As I get older and my kids get older, there are so many things we have to do and there is a lot less time for the things we want to do. I have to prioritize my time in order to get everything done and I am less tolerant of things that waste my time. In my younger years, I was very guilty of spending too much time worrying about the social drama (“she said I did this”, “this one said this about you” etc…). I thought it would just stop on its own. I thought women would get to an age in which the junior high cattiness would end and everyone would just grow up. Unfortunately, I was wrong. Recently, I came to the conclusion that there are probably women in retirement homes sitting in wheelchairs, attached to their oxygen tanks that still manage to blackball other women from the newest Mah Jong group.
So I knew it was up to me to stop it in my life. I am done. I am done with the nonsense of some (not all) women. I am done with women who want to bring others down. It does not make sense to me. Some women act as if it is a “zero sum game”. What I mean by this is that I often think that some women feel if you are going to be happy, it will take away from their happiness. On the other extreme, there are the women who swarm to women to try to feed off their lives. By this, I mean the phenomenon in which women want to be friends with someone because of how much money her husband makes, how expensive her clothes are or how big her house may be. This is the funniest one in my opinion. Unless your friend is going to lend you her designer clothes or throw your child’s B’nai Mitzvah in her backyard, why do you care what she has?
Okay, I need to stop myself from the negative rant. The point I am making is that I used to accept these things in other women and try to still maintain a friendship.  Thankfully, I have come to this conclusion.

Life it too short to have bitchy friends.

Yes, I know we have so many other things to worry about in our lives that to some this may seem trivial. It is not for me. It is just another piece in the puzzle. In the midst of all the chaos in my life, it is important to know I have a network of wonderful women who support me in different ways.   It may be as simple as a friend to keep me company at the gym or help me pick out a new color for my walls. On another day, I may need a friend to help me get through a crisis. No matter what it may be, I can count on my girlfriends.
So that is my new way of approaching friendships. Of course, I can still be tolerant of the silly stuff. I know none of us are perfect. Yet, I have decided to set my boundaries and stick to them. I encourage you to do the same.

De-clutter your emotional life.

I am encouraging you to take your own step back and look at all the wonderful girlfriends you have in your life. Be thankful for the ones you have which are solid, healthy friendships. Then, take another moment to ask yourself if there is anyone in your life who needs to be let go. It does not have to be drastic. It could be a slow and gradual parting. However, if you find you have allowed someone into your life who is somehow draining you, maybe it is time to say goodbye. Don’t allow someone to bring foolish negative energy into your life. In an ideal world, we could sit down with this person and put it all on the table and hope to work things out and keep the friendship. However, here on Earth, I do not believe that is really an option if the overall friendship not a healthy one. It may be best to cut your losses.
I have found there are too many good people in the world to waste time with the bad ones!

Now go write an email telling one of your dearest friends how much you appreciate her!  And, the next time the "drainer" friend calls, let the machine pick up.
Have a great weekend.

“I can still recall our last summer.”

I had to start with that because I have Mamma Mia music in my head.  However, the summer I am thinking of was not last summer.  It was 30 summers ago – wow, I don’t feel that old.  During the summer of 1978, two wonderful things happened in my life.  I saw the movie Grease in the theater for the very first time and I met my very first crush, Evan.  (I usually change names at this point but I have previously mentioned him by name, so I might as well be honest about his identity here.  Really, I would hope he is not going to sue me for slander for telling the world about my ridiculous crush from 30 years ago.  There must be more embarrassing things in his life other than the fact that a crazy obsessed redhead was completely and utterly in love with him at the age of 9!  I still can’t believe in an age of facebook, I don’t know where he is now.)

In any case, back to the crush.   I would imagine most women remember their first crush.

Admit it, at this very moment, I know you are picturing your first head-over-heels-boy-crazy-crush.

Obviously, when I think of mine, he is in the form of a curly-dark-haired little boy who could move around that infamous Miami skating rink in his speed skates like nobody’s business.  (The irony is that my youngest son looks very much like Evan did when I met him.) It is funny to remember how crazy I was about him at such a young age.  And, at the same time, I cannot imagine my twelve-year-old daughter could possibly have such strong feelings for a boy right now in her young life - yet, I am sure she does.

So the crushes began with Evan and didn’t stop.  Even now I can think of all the boys I was obsessed with from age 9 to 19.  It was wonderful to grow up in the age before *69 and caller id.  As young girls, we could call boys just to hear them answer the phone.  Then, we would hang up as quickly as we could.  If our crush did not answer the phone, we would gather our friends together and ride our bikes to where he lived, hoping to get a glimpse of him playing outside.  And, if we didn’t see him then, we would count the minutes until we got to walk past him in the halls at school.  Our parents could never have understood how our happiness consisted entirely on whether or not that adorable boy noticed us that day.

As a teenager, I was entirely consumed by my crushes.  I am surprised I even had time to take my college SAT or fill out my application to the University of Florida.  I had a great social life in high school but I was too busy worrying about whether “he” would ever like me to just relax and enjoy my teen years.  It was crazy and ridiculous.  I know not all girls take this to the extreme that I did.  However, even if most women carry out their crushes in a healthier way, I still think a large part of the young female population is still obsessed with thoughts of some boy.

After many one-way crushes and a couple of serious relationships in college, I was fortunate to meet my husband at the young age of 23. I was immediately smitten with him.  My days revolved around speaking to him, when I would see him again and wondering if he truly felt as strongly for me as I felt for him.  Obviously, it worked out and we have been together for fifteen years and still counting. 

But, here is the question.  This is where I am a bit stumped.  Like I mentioned, as a little girl all I ever wanted was a real life boy to “like” me, to hold my hand, to think I was special.  I could not have imagined anything could ever be more important than boys.

Now I am a grown woman – well, at least I am a “Mam" according to the young bag boys at Publix – and I wonder when exactly that goal was put aside.  As women, when does that change occur? How do we get from worshipping the ground he walks on to wanting to strangle him for dropping breadcrumbs on the ground he walks on?  That is my big dilemma.  I can still remember hearing Aaron Neville sing “Don’t take away my heaven” and getting goose bumps thinking of my relationship with my wonderful new boyfriend (now my husband).  Currently, I think of our relationship when I hear the song “I’m a bitch” by Meredith Brooks. 

Is this a well known but unspoken part of the transformation from woman to mother?

Is there an instant transformation that happens when we give birth to our children?  Maybe this is an un-disclosed side effect of the drug Pitocin which is in our IV during delivery of our babies?  Is it possible, the drug manufacturers don’t want us to know that after one small dose of Pitocin, we may suddenly have strange reactions to our husband’s behavior.  There should be a warning pamphlet given to us

 side effects of this drug include but are not limited to the following:

• wanting to scream at your husband for the smallest infraction such as leaving a wet towel on the bathroom floor or putting the small forks in the spot where the big forks are supposed to go
• having a complete and utter full-blown-tantrum because your husband spilled out your Coke Zero Vanilla before you finished that last sip
• experiencing random and unexpected feelings of disgust for your husband because of the way he breathes, chews, walks, cuts his food (or for absolutely no reason at all)
• and in the most severe cases, being under the illusion that your husband is the only imperfect man in the universe and everyone else’s husband is not only perfect but also able to correctly load and unload a dishwasher

Or maybe it is not the Pitocin at all.  Maybe it is just a gradual journey from point A (our hearts beating a little faster when we hear his voice on the other end the phone line) to point B ( being too engrossed in today’s Oprah to acknowledge he just came home from work).  If we did a Mapquest for directions from point A to point B, these are just a few of the roads and highways we would have to travel. 

• “I’ve been home with a sick kid all day while you get to go to work and be around other adults”  Boulevard
• “I am so jealous you get to drive to work BY YOURSELF and listen to whatever Sirius station you want to in your car without having to worry about the lyrics on the songs”  Avenue
• “Why don’t your parents want an active role in their grandkids’ lives?” Expressway (this road is also sometimes called “let’s just agree both sets of our parents are nuts”  Expressway)
• “Don’t you think I am prettier than her?”  Street
• “Why does your mother have a picture of your ex-girlfriend’s family on her mantel”?  Court
• “I have had children climbing on top of me all day and now that it is nighttime and they are finally asleep, I just want to pass out”  Interstate

There is good news though.  As your kids get older, you have a chance to breathe and discover there are actually new roads being built that can get us back to point A.  These are the roads I have discovered are currently under construction:

• “I really appreciate how hard he works so that I can have this wonderful life at home with my kids” Avenue
• “All it takes is for him to have a small health scare and you realize how much you appreciate him” Drive
• “He really is still that same adorable, sweet guy who treats me better than anyone ever has in my life” Court
• “It is a gift to live with your best friend whom you can trust to tell you the truth when you need to know if your jeans are truly too tight on your thighs”  Boulevard
• “Stop complaining that he puts the kids clothes away in the wrong closets.  You should be thankful he is doing laundry at all since most men don’t even know the difference between laundry detergent and dishwashing liquid”  Overpass
• and, my favorite one, “He finally knows after so many years where we keep the extra toilet paper in the house”  Expressway

I do think it is unfortunate the “boy craziness” is wasted on young girls.  I would love to be able to recapture that obsession for just one moment since I now do have a living breathing man who likes me just as much as I like him.  And yes, part of traveling the path from young girl, to wife to mother includes losing the butterflies we used to get just at the site of him.  However, I have discovered, we get new gifts that are better and more meaningful than the butterflies.  In the midst of traveling these bumpy roads, we get to enjoy so much more.

It is so corny and cliché but I have to say this.  Joking aside, it is obvious that having kids re-directs some of our attention from our love for our husbands to taking care of our children.  Yet, I cannot imagine you could find even one mom who would be willing to give up that experience. 

In my case, I can tell you the following.  There is no doubt the beautiful young girl and two adorable boys - who are right now waiting for me to finish this blog so we can go have an exciting day of lunch and bowling – are absolutely and completely worth every road I have to travel in my own journey.

Now, as I like to do lately, I ask you to tell me about the roads you have traveled so far in your relationships.  Are you currently still at point A (like my newly married cousin) or point B (I will not say who I know is at point B but you know who you are)? 

What roads have you been on to get you where you are?

Please share…… 

Would the world be a better place if we were absolutely honest 100% of the time?  I am not sure.

Anyone who knows me well knows the one thing I hate more than anything in the world is DISHONESTY (“people who are so blinded by their own personal opinion that they can’t ever see another view” runs a close second). 

That said, I have to admit I am not completely honest all of the time.  I guess it is because I do have a filter.  What I mean is, I have the intelligence and maturity to know I don’t always need to tell everyone what I honestly think at all times – though sometimes my filter has a power-outage and I say much more than I should. Luckily though, for myself (and my husband), the majority of the time, my filter is working properly.

Here is the big HOWEVER.  Sometimes, I wish someone would be willing to state the truth and get it out there.  In these cases, no one is brave enough to be honest because no one wants to be the bad guy.

Sometimes it is as simple as telling a friend that he smells or has bad breath.  You know it would be helpful if you told him.  Yet, you are too embarrassed to let him know.   Your embarrassment in telling him would be so much less than the embarrassment for him to be walking around smelling like a sewer.  (excuse me while I insert my own public service announcement: regular flossing can curb the bad breath problem).

The most obvious and life-altering “not saying the truth” event in my life was the time when someone (if you read my earlier blogs, you know who I am talking about)  close to me was having an extra-marital affair.  The innocent spouse was not the only one who suffered from these events yet, no one cared enough to get involved.  Everyone looked the other way.  Not one person wanted to get his hands dirty.  Even though the affair was obvious to everyone, no one felt it was his place to interfere.  Not even his closest friends would say “What the hell are you doing?”  Who knows if it would or would not have made a difference in the outcome but I still look back and I am amazed that not one person had the balls to speak up.

Currently, I am experiencing a non-life-altering but still annoying “not speaking the truth” situation.  Since it is summertime, my children are having many more play dates than typical.  While I love to have other children over and usually it is quite pleasant and painless, I am trying to find a way to minimize the “adult play date” segment of the date.  If you are the parent of a child old enough for a drop-off play date,  you know exactly what I am talking about.

Let me set the scene.

I have already had a long day with my own children as well as someone else’s child in my home (or at the pool, beach, movies, bowling alley, Magic Kingdom, etc…).  When the other parent arrives to pick up her child (which is typically at least 30 minutes past the designated pick-up time), there is the obligatory visit. 

I need to interject a point here for I fear, if I do not, my innocent children may not have another play date until we have a Jewish-African-American-Lesbian-Woman serving as our President.  I really do like most (not all -I can’t lie) parents of my children’s peers.  Remember we are talking about extended parental visits after I have had a long day entertaining at least 4 children (my 3 plus the visitor).

Okay, so it is late, I am trying to get dinner on the table but need to wait until the other child leaves (also note: I have most likely invited the child to stay for dinner but he cannot stay for whatever reason – allergies, dietary restrictions, he only eats one type of organic-all-natural-chicken nuggets that his mom has to special order from the Netherlands for him….).  At this point, it is way past our regular dinnertime.  The mom finally arrives to pick up her child.  Now remember, if I ran into this woman at a school event, she would talk to me for a maximum of two minutes until someone more interesting arrived.  However, now I am standing in my family room trying to be polite.  I am making never-ending small talk with her while also trying to explain to my 5 year old that he does not need 11 fudgesicles before dinner – even if they are very small.  I am flabbergasted because even with all the madness around me, the woman continues to speak.  She is continuing her monologue describing her upcoming 27-day trip around the world.  Just when I think she is done, she continues and now tells me about her husband’s new promotion, the vacation condo they have just purchased in Telluride and the four-hour spinning class she attends on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

All the while, “the truth” is bubbling inside me to the surface.  I am desperately trying to think of a way to politely tell her to “please, please, please, I beg you.  Please leave so I can feed my family dinner” – but I don’t.  Oh, and of course, since my child and her child see that we are still talking, they suddenly have newfound interest in playing together.  Let’s not forget that for the hour before the mom arrived, my child and the other child were bored out of their minds and could not agree whether they should play Super Smash Brothers Brawl on the Wii or Super Mario Galaxy on their DS – so they did nothing but complain they were bored.  Yet, now they have decided to put their bathing suits on and jump in the pool.  I am now thinking, “I need to do something or I am never going to get my kids fed in time to get them in bed, shower and get my new blog written before the new episode of Swingtown airs.” 
Finally, a miracle occurs, her husband calls her on her cell phone and asks when she is coming home for dinner.  She has to employ coercive tactics to get her son out of my pool but she finally makes her long overdue exit.

So, I pose the question again.  Why is this so hard?  I am an outspoken honest woman.  Yet, I have not yet found a way to stop this from happening.  And since I don’t want to be rude, I am not able to say, “I think it is time for you to leave.” 

Wow, that was a huge digression from our original topic of telling the truth.  Time to wrap this up.

Whether it is telling someone they need better hygiene products, a more honest spouse or a quicker exit from my house, I have a hard time telling people what I think about their behavior.

I find it much easier to tell you the truth about myself.  That said, I might as well list some things right now:

Here I go.......

• I love my husband but sometimes I want to strangle him just because he gets crumbs from his morning Cuban bread all over my kitchen.
• I love my kids yet sometimes want to lock myself in a room and watch re-runs of Law & Order instead of playing with the newest Hot Wheels monster jam toy.
• Now that I wear a thong to the gym, I am constantly worried I may have a hole in my yoga pants and the person behind me will discover I have the whitest tush in all of Central Florida.
• When I am on the elliptical at the gym,  I can’t help myself but stare at the gorgeous young blonde guy who – although an adult -  is probably young enough to be my son.
• I get a bit of pleasure in knowing that many of the girls who endlessly teased me for being a redhead, now spend an enormous amount of money trying to get their hair the same shade as my natural color.
• I love watching The View a little too much and truly believe I could hold my own if I had a seat at the table.
• I waste an enormous amount of personal effort trying to “win over” women who clearly don’t like me – even when I really don’t like them either.  (Note to self: goal to accomplish before you turn 40 – “stop being so concerned with what other people think of you”)
• While I am currently back down to a comfortable size 6, I spent about 3 years eating everything I wanted and gained a ridiculous amount of weight.  As the number on the scale was climbing up and up, I knew I could not blame it on my slow metabolism.  It was the cheeseburgers I had for lunch not the genes passed on from my parents.  ( If my mother is reading this, I bet she is thrilled there is something I don’t blame her for.)
• I like to think I finally have a healthy relationship with food – but does anyone?

Wow, this is fun, I think I will keep going…

• I love facebook because I can post current pictures and not-so-secretly  I hope the boys who didn’t give me the time of day in high school can see I did grow up to look better than I did at age 16!
• I love getting comments on the blog and find it exciting when friends, acquaintances or strangers tell me I entertained them.
• My cousin made me a facebook fan page but I only have 16 members and feel silly.  (If you want to make me feel better, you can use this link and join :)  http://www.facebook.com/pages/A-Crazy-Redhead/21849151916
• I get a little too much guilty pleasure knowing that the same guys who wore “no fat chicks” t-shirts in high school are the ones who showed up to the 20-year reunion fat and bald.
• When I was in England the summer after college, a beautiful black woman tried to pick me up.  I should have been flattered but stupidly, I was so freaked out that she got the gay vibe from me.  I sometimes wonder if I missed out on a fun experience.
• When I was in third grade, another child told me that marijuana was illegal and I responded, “No, it’s not!  My parents smoke it.” Yes, that was the truth and you will just have to wait for future blogs to hear about that part of my childhood.
• I am currently feeling incredibly guilty because I just spent way too much time writing this blog instead of interacting with my children who are now watching a marathon of the show Wizards of Waverly Place.
• And the last one for today, I still hold out some small ounce of hope that one day I really will get my dinner date with Rob Lowe.  Honestly though, I know I won’t even enjoy myself because I will spend the whole evening worried I have something in my teeth or bad breath and no one told me. 

So, girls, now it is your turn

Do you feel the same as I do on any of the above topics?  Do you have your own opinions you want to share?  You can be anonymous if you want.

Leave a comment with a “truth” you want/need to share.

Most recently in our creative team meeting we were working on the session that focuses on Joshua 1:1-9 that's commonly referred to as "The Calling of Joshua" or "Joshua's Commission." These are the verses where God tells Joshua three different times to be strong and courageous.

We spent a good bit of time discussing the nature of courage and just what constituted a courageous act. I won't get into all of that here. A lot of the conversation was driven by Taylor, so maybe he'll write something about it. But I was just thinking about it lately and thinking about it in relation to God basically telling Joshua to get off his butt and get going doing what He had called him to do.

Makes you think.

Hmmm...

Are we being courageous?

Quickly, can you name a friend who was once very much a big part your life but is not anymore?  If so, I imagine the end of that friendship was not pretty, right?  Was it a bad breakup – and don’t kid yourself, friend breakups can be harder and more painful than romantic breakups?  Like most people do, do you harbor bad feelings about that former friend?  I used to.  However, at this point in my life, I have decided to look at those friendships as blessings no matter how toxic they were.

While it is common to have a friendship fizzle out at some point, unfortunately, I have had a few friendships that ended a bit more dramatically than a simple parting of ways.

For years, I would look back with anger when thinking of what they “did to me” in the friendship.  However, when I was able to realize I was accountable for at least some of the unpleasantness that occurred, I could make peace with the memory of the friendship.  That was the point in which I realized that my former friend had indeed given me a great gift. 

You also may realize each of these very crazy un-healthy friendships have brought something wonderful to your life.  Some gifts may have been small and others huge.  One friend may have turned you on to your daily non-fat-half-caff-mochachino fix.  Or, maybe she was the first one to introduce you to the song For Good from Wicked the Musical.  While another friend might have helped you learn things about yourself you never realized before.

One notable educational relationship drama took place my freshman year in college and featured Gus in the starring role  (as you may have guessed,  names have been changed to protect innocent).  It was overall just a platonic friendship but I fell for him the moment he walked up to me and said, “You have the most gorgeous hair I have ever seen in my life.” 

Please excuse this interruption to the original blog BUT, I must insert a mini-blog within the blog. 

mini blog:  the gay boyfriend

I had to pause the other blog discussion for one moment.  Are you thinking, “most heterosexual men do not attempt to pick up a woman by asking about hair products.”  Yes, Gus was the rite of passage most women have in their lives - the gay boyfriend.  When I met him, Gus was in the closet.  However, the doors to the closet were wide open and you could see his legs and feet sticking out behind the shirts.  I just chose to ignore what was right in front of me. 

Obviously, there is no judgment here that Gus indeed was and is gay.  I only wish I would have known that back then.  I have always felt like an idiot for not realizing that obvious minor detail.  Our friendship would have been much less stressful because we never would have “tried dating.”  If I had known then, we would probably still be as close as we were back then.  I should have known I was prancing into a Will & Grace scenario at “gorgeous hair”.  If not there, I should have definitely known when he introduced me to the music of The Cure, Morrisey, New Order and ABC.  When he taught me how to contour my cheeks with blush, I just accepted it was something all guys learned in modeling class (oh yeah, he was a model).  And lastly, when I saw him kissing another guy about 5 feet away from where I sat, I assumed my brain was just fuzzy from an evening filled with Boone’s Farm wine.  To fulfill my fantasy of denial, I decided I must have hallucinated that event.

In any case, I spent almost a year trying to be “just friends” while trying to squash my romantic  feelings for him.  Looking back to those college days, I realize no matter how hard I may have tried, without the Y chromosome in my DNA, there was nothing I could have done to make him fall for me as hard as I fell for him.

I write about Gus because I know most women can relate to this.  If you poll random women on the street,  I am willing to bet a very large percentage of women have a gay boyfriend in their past.  I am also confident that looking back the woman is kicking herself for not realizing she could never ever, no matter how hard she tried, no matter how beautiful or charming or skinny she was, she could never have made him fall for her the way she fell for him.

now back to our original blog already in progress

Unfortunately,  Gus and I had an ugly falling out.  We stopped being friends when I started dating my first “real boyfriend” - a real-live heterosexual man (can I call him a man if he was only 21 years old).  For years, I had such bad feelings about my “friend breakup” with Gus.  With time, memories of the bad stuff faded away and the good memories are what appeared at the surface.  I was able to see that Gus helped me come out of my shell for the first time in my life.  He helped me transform myself in so many ways.  He introduced me to great music and expanded my cultural palette.  We had such amazing times cruising around town together.  He and I went “clubbing” on South Beach before the editors of People magazine even knew Ocean Drive existed.

Going back to the hair comment (which by the way, is really the first thing he ever said to me).  He helped me let go of being an awkward little redhead girl and pointed me in the direction of enjoying my uniqueness. It was Gus who opened the door for me to enjoy being a redhead. In addition to everything else he may have brought to my life, I have to thank him mostly for that. (Before Gus, I spent my days longing for two things:  Rob Lowe and Marcia Brady stick straight blonde hair.  Currently, I spend my days longing for three things:  Rob Lowe, Marcia Cross stick straight red hair and peace in my  house.)

As one more example, I have to mention my former friend Hedy.  You can guess - her name is not really Hedy.  However, that is the name of Jennifer Jason Leigh’s character in the movie Single White Female.  My husband always referred to her as single white female because he is convinced the screenplay is based on her life - Hedy even became a redhead at one point in our friendship.  Yes, I know you are thinking, “Wow, she has some pretty bad taste in friends.”  Really, I don’t – I was just a bit too forgiving.

In the past, I would force myself to overlook really big huge ginormous flaws in people in the name of acceptance.  Now I realize acceptance is only supposed to go so far.  It took me quite a few years to realize  acceptance is about “getting over it” when a girlfriend forgets to call you on your birthday because she is dealing with her own plate full of issues on that day.  Now I know, acceptance is not about “getting over it” when you discover your girlfriend planned a night out with the girls “on your birthday” and “forgot” to invite you to go out with the girls!  That is pretty much the kind of monkey business I dealt with for a few years with Hedy.  Without going into boring long drawn out details, I will just say that Hedy attempted to sabotage my life in a manner which would make Erica Kane proud!

I admit I was relieved when the Hedy years had passed and she moved away and was completely out of my life.  At that point, I was able to be thankful for having her in my life.   When she was not pre-occupied with schemes to break up my marriage, she was actually a really fun girl to be around.  She was witty and clever and well read.  She helped me discover the witty and clever parts of my personality even if I am not as well read. (Can I consider myself well read if I have indeed read all of Jennifer Weiner’s books as well as Candace Bushnell’s collection? ) Seriously though, it was a very difficult relationship but I am still able to see what she did bring to the table. 

Maybe Hedy was the biggest lesson of all.  If someone that incredibly toxic in my life was able to leave a positive mark, then it should be easy to find the benefits to other relationships gone awry.  It definitely makes life lighter and more fun to let go of the anger we hold towards the people who we think have “done us wrong.”  So, instead I offer you another option.  Find that one good thing that person brought to your life and put the rest of the file in the trash on your mental hard-drive.

I do have to confess I am still trying to figure out what positive lessons my first college roommate was supposed to bring into my life.  That is one that even has me stumped! 

As you can guess from the title, I have new boobs.   Well, that is not entirely true.  I still have my original ones, only better.  On a sunny beautiful glorious day this past April, a very talented plastic surgeon altered, positioned, reshaped and only slightly, very slightly augmented them to become the breasts I had only previously dreamed of having. The best part of this that I am sitting at my iMac typing sans brassiere and everything is still in place.  In other words, even though I am leaning forward to type, the only body parts touching my keyboard are my fingers.  Pre-surgery, my incredibly relaxed breasts would have been in the way.  (note:  I use the term relaxed and not sag.  I learned from my research that the medical term is relaxation of the breast.   In learning this, one of my girlfriends exclaimed, “If I am so relaxed why am I always so stressed out?”)

So, after announcing to the blog-world I recently switched to thongs, my plastic surgery proclamation should not shock you.

This is my story of giving myself “the-stereotypical-almost-40-year-old-woman-surgery”.  I joined the lift & implant club.  Oh yes, it is a club.  We pay dues, have a secret handshake and attend monthly meetings.

Why am I so open about this? 

In my life, humor trumps discretion and the entire experience has been a very funny one.  Also, I would rather tell you things about myself than have the whispers behind my back.   I would hope I look different or it was a waste of time, money, itching, discomfort and many bags of frozen peas.   The idea a woman might hide the fact she had breast enhancement surgery is very funny.   Seriously, isn’t the point of the entire ordeal that you now have noticeably perkier breasts?

Why did I do it?

The short answer is obvious.  I wanted better breasts. The slightly longer answer is a bit of a “mid-life awakening.”  I would not say “mid-life crisis” because that implies destructive behavior as a means of fighting the idea I am aging.   Like many women who devote a huge chunk of life to the mommy-phase, last year I experienced a very startling moment of walking past a mirror and not recognizing the person I saw.  Right after that shock comes the mental lightning bolt of “wait a minute, somebody needs to take care of me.”  And, as is typical in my house, if “somebody” needs to do something, that somebody can only be one person – ME!

I started looking in the mirror and not just when I was flossing.  I really looked in the mirror and realized the clock was ticking and the excuses were running out. 

I admitted I couldn’t call it baby weight if the “baby” rides a bike without training wheels, has mastered the song “Rock You Like a Hurricane” on Guitar Hero and can program his own “Phineas and Ferb” season pass on the family room Tivo.

That was it.  I needed to do something.  Time to take charge of my almost-middle-aged body.  I came to a decision.  In addition to all the minutia of maintaining a household and keeping a husband and three kids well cared for, I forced myself to find a way to direct at least some of my energy towards my own physical well-being.

In other words, I stopped eating the leftover bagel bites and got my tush to the gym on a regular basis.  (Let’s be honest, it was not just leftover bagel bites, it was really any leftover food made with bread, cheese, flour, chocolate, butter, sugar ……. okay any leftovers, any food, anything not moving – except Jell-O, that moves and I ate that too.)  I think you get the point. I finally got inspired to eat better and start running again.  (At this point, I must insert a plug for one of my favorite running songs ever, Queen’s  “Fat Bottomed Girls”.  It is a very inspirational song to run to.  Not only does it have fantastic rhythm, you just have to hear a man say “fat bottomed girls” out loud and that is all the inspiration you need to want to run off the 410-calorie sausage biscuit you wolfed down for breakfast).

There is just one problem.  Once the weight came off my post baby (well, really post babies) body, there is a sad realization.  After breast skin has been stretched, it does not snap back to where it used to be - or, in my case where it unfortunately never was in the first place. I never had perky breasts pre-baby so don’t ask me why in the world I thought they would magically appear later in life.  And yes, Victoria’s Secret makes some wonderful bras with great lift.  However, that does not help you when you run into your cute male neighbors while you are taking out the garbage in your pajamas at 6 in the morning.  Nor do those bras do anything for you when you are wearing nothing but a paper gown at your yearly GYN appt and attempting to have an intelligent discussion with your Doctor while simultaneously trying to non-chalantly hoist your breasts into place.  Most importantly, those overpriced water-filled uplifting bras don’t work well under all the fabulous gowns I want to purchase for the upcoming B’nai Mitzvah seasons.

Joking aside, I will admit I do not take the idea of being cut open very lightly.  I have seen too many graphic Nip/Tuck scenes to be completely comfortable with the idea.  I also cringed at the thought of something going wrong with the procedure.  I imagined my husband telling  our children, “Mommy really just wanted to be able to wear a halter top.”  However, I definitely had breast envy when I would see my girlfriends who did have the surgery.  The idea of being able to wear a tank top with only a shelf bra was more exciting (and unrealistic) to me than a completely solar powered McMansion!  I would come home from seeing “my friends with the great boobs” and stand in front of the mirror adjusting my breasts to where I thought they should be.  So, I thought about it.  And, I thought about it and I thought about it. And then, one day I asked my husband what he thought.  Some may say he does have a vested interest in the state of my breasts as well.

My unsuspecting husband was so completely walking into a landmine.  How can a husband answer the following question in any way and be right? 

“Do you think I should get a boob job?”

Honestly, there is no good way to answer.  He really can’t say, “That is a wonderful idea.  I have been meaning to tell you that you remind me of my favorite childhood toy, the slinky.” If that is his response, he is going to be in trouble for a long long time.  However, if he is not supportive, that is not great either.  My husband actually did pretty well.  He calmly and without great emotion said, “ I think that would be okay.”  Brilliant!

So, then the research begins.  In just a few short weeks, I spent more time online looking at women’s breasts than Peter Cook did during his 10-year-marriage to Christie Brinkley.   This is an unintentional tip to men out there who want to look at porn without getting raked over the coals by your current wife’s future divorce attorney.   Go ahead and google “breast augmentation”.  The photo galleries on the plastic surgeons’ sites include more naked breasts than even Hugh Hefner has seen in his 187 years at the playboy mansion.

Before I even walked into a doctor’s office, I was well educated in the different types of lifts, implant sizes, suture styles and incisions.  I learned about saline implants and the new improved and supposedly safe silicone implants.  I read information about placing the implant over the muscle or under the muscle.   In my research,  I have seen breasts of all ages, sizes, shapes and stretch levels.  By the way, the scariest pictures are the before pictures of women who had “bad implants” and need them fixed.  I never even knew someone could get “bad implants”.  I thought you just make a small incision, stuff the sac in and sew it up.  I should not have assumed breast augmentation surgery is similar to Martha Stewart’s thanksgiving turkey recipe in which you just slide your hand between the skin and the meat, insert the glob of butter and close up the bird.  Wouldn’t you think performing boob jobs would be similar?  Unfortunately for these lopsided boobed women, there is definitely a way to mess up breast augmentation.  Let’s just say one breast was pointing Northeast and the other Southwest.  Incidentally, every “bad surgery before” had the same caption, “patient originally underwent cosmetic surgery during a trip to Costa Rica.”  I intend no disrespect to the Costa Rican medical professionals BUT, if I decide to travel to Costa Rica, the only sacs I will bring back will be filled with coffee beans, not saline.

Aside from online research, there were at least a few women I know whom I could ask directly – okay, maybe just a little bit more than a few.   It would be fair to say that the ten-mile radius around my home contains more saline than most hospital emergency rooms.  But, there is a small problem.  Even someone as outspoken as myself cannot just walk up to another woman and ask about her experience with breast enhancement surgery.   Instead, I would casually mention I was considering the surgery.  In most cases, the woman with the great boobs would then volunteer her story and the name and number of her plastic surgeon.  However, there are always a few of these women who will look at you with shock and pretend she never even knew this type of surgery existed.  Meanwhile, her huge implants are bursting out of her shirt and up to her shoulders.  In general, though I got the best information from my close friends who have had the surgery.  They were wonderful.  They prepared me with the information the doctor does not tell you (this blog is getting a bit long so I will go into all the “after surgery” fun stuff separately.)

And finally, the last detail to attempt to work out before that fateful consultation with the surgeon is part of a great debate.  There are many debates in women’s lives.  Working v. Non-Working moms, private schools v. public schools, Obama v. McCain, pro-choice v. pro-life, shaving v. waxing, acrylic nails v. natural nails, clay courts v. hard courts……. You get the picture.  However, I discovered one more in my research.  Do I get the breast lift alone or get implants as well?   

Once the decision is made to have the surgery, there is still much fun to be had.  I will continue this on my next entry.  Right now, I need to go slather on some Vitamin E and Palmer’s cocoa butter and do my implant exercises before I go to bed for the night.  Oh yes girls, once you have them, you must do your exercises daily. 

There is much more I want to share about this journey so please check back in with me later in the week.   I vow to find the time to write more even if it means having to bribe my children with a new Wii game.  If you don’t hear from me ever again, you can assume our Wii has broken and all H-E-double-hockey-sticks has broken loose in my home.

Since my last blog was devoted to the male celebrities I long to lock-lips with, I thought I would devote this one to the women I want to kiss.  Not really, I just put that in there for your husband who is reading this over your shoulder right now.  I don’t want this to be considered purely a chick read!

Once again, I will start over.

Since my last blog was all about the men I would like to kiss, I started thinking about all the great movie smooching I have seen in my life.  There are so many of them (and my brain is a bit fried because I do have a tribe of three children who are not in school or camp right now).  Again, there are so many great climatic kiss scenes in movies that if I even tried to list them, I would probably think of only the fluff ones from all my favorite 1980s movies.  One that immediately comes to mind is the great kissing scene in Top Gun when Maverick rides his motorcycle to go see Kelly McGillis’s character (I just looked up her name on my favorite site for actor info, IMDB.com and found out her character’s name was Charlie.  Does anyone else remember that?  I thought I knew that movie by heart but would not have answered that correctly on millionaire – I think I would still have lost at the 50/50.  However, who can blame me?  I was 17 and just spent 110 minutes watching Tom Cruise BCJE – before couch jumping era- and Val Kilmer on the same big screen, how in the world could I be expected to even notice there were women in the film? )

I would love to impress you with my film knowledge and refer to some incredible scene in an obscure Katherine Hepburn film.  However, I grew up in Miami before it was the great cultural playground it is now.  I was not exposed to The Arts in my youth. And in my adulthood, I am kind of busy with little things like trying to figure out how to raise my tribe to be honest, culturally aware, well-read, non-judgmental, charitable human beings who during their time here will contribute great things to this earth.  Not sure if I am doing such a great job because the only goal they all three have at this moment is to figure out how to surpass the next level on Super Mario Party 8 on their Wii system. 

Again and again and again, I digress.

The point is that the best, most enjoyable, most satisfying kissing scenes are usually the ones at the very end of the movie, culminating the 100-minute journey the viewer has just taken with the leads of the film.  The viewer gets what we really want, a happy ending (and not the Larry David kind either).

The film ends in complete and utter romantic perfection…

Think of the scene at the end of Sixteen Candles (I warned you I would only reference 80s movies) in which Molly Ringwald’s character, Sam, finally gets her birthday cake.  Oh, I loved that scene when she is sitting not at, but on the dining room table.  After seeing that movie, every girl at my high school had at least one date which involved having dinner on the dining room table. (disclaimer:  I only dreamed of that date, as I never dated in high school.  I didn’t even go to prom because the guy who was going to be my platonic date left me a drunken message one week before prom letting me know he would not go with me.  Oh, but I am sooooo over that May 9, 1987 phone message left at 11:27 pm. One incident that helped me “get over that” was running into that guy at a South Beach club post-college in my skinny jeans and flashing my new engagement ring as I said hello. Ha!  Issues, me? Never. )

In any case, I am absolutely convinced Sixteen Candles is one of the reasons the name “Jake” is one of the most popular names on any playground in any city in this country.  We all sat in the theater with our big permed hair in scrunchies wearing our Stagelight make-up, oversized NO sweaters and leggings while we watched that scene when “Jake” kisses Sam over the candles of the cake.  And, in that very moment, we decided that the most perfect boy in the world would be named Jake.  Not I though.  I am way too level headed to name after a movie character.  Instead my “perfect boy” name came from a gorgeous guy my brother went to high school with.  (I do google him once in a while to try to find a current picture.  He is a successful builder in Miami but darn it, he doesn’t have any pictures on his site.  Guess I will keep waiting for him to join facebook.)

Darn, I am already exhausted from this blog and I have not even made the point I wanted to make yet.  So, here is my point.

After that breath-taking kiss, do Harry and Sally really live Happily Ever After?

I used to believe that.  I thought once Wesley kissed Buttercup in The Princess Bride, the rest of their life would be a fairytale. You know, Buttercup was brilliant as she was smart enough to fall in love with the boy who answered every request with “as you wish”.  Wouldn’t it be wonderful if our husbands did that? 

Honey, please put take out the garbage, for me.
As you wish.
Sweetie, please pick up the dry cleaning on your way home, for me.
As you wish.
Darling, please pick up little Jakey from baseball practice, for me.
As you wish.
Pumpkin, please bring home that cute guy from Abercrombie, for me.
As you wish.
Honey bun, please bring home that new Louis Vuitton Miroir Alma GM, for me.
As you wish.

I think “as you wish” could be the marital version of “Dayenu”.  (a big apology to any reader who has never been to a Passover Seder, as that will not make sense to you.) 

It is just that I think it is a disservice to us as young girls to be led to think it really is “happily ever after”.  I think the truth is a bit more “mostly happy unless of course you are totally PMS-ing or he uses your very expensive hair shampoo to wash the dog or he has the nerve to actually agree with you that those pants indeed 'do make your butt look big' or especially, if his mother comes to visit.”

Don’t get me wrong.  I love being married.  All I have to do is listen to my friends, Taylor and Victoria, on Cosmo Radio in the morning.  Their daily dilemmas describe how tough it is to be a single woman right now.   Those girls on Sirius absolutely help me appreciate my husband more and more.  The idea of having to be single and in “cougar mode” at this point in my life makes me completely nauseous. Truly, I just don't ever want to have to shave my legs that much again!

I wish only that I was prepared for the reality of marriage.  Although, I don’t expect the Hollywood movie writers to show Brad annoying Angie because he chews his cereal too loud or Tom angry with Rita because she leaves little balls of floss on the counter.  That certainly would not be entertaining.  It is not that I want to see it in a movie; I just want a little truth in advertising. 

I want to leave you with this thought.  Next time a movie ends with an unbelievably romantic kiss, imagine Don Pardo narrating a disclaimer during the credits like they do in pharmaceutical commercials. 

This is how I imagine his narrative:

 “Bridget Jones and Mark Darcy will indeed have moments including happily ever after, but they will also experience the following symptoms:

fatigue, annoying habits, difficult in-laws, money debates, criticism, stonewalling, passive aggressiveness, loss of appetite, gain of appetite, nausea, swelling of the abdomen (especially for 9 months after a romantic evening such as the one in the end of this movie), mortgage payments, students loans, etc….”

Before I say TTFN (as my tween would say), I must go back to our conversation about Top Gun one more time.  While I did drool over Tom Cruise circa 'tighty whities' in Risky Business, as far as Top Gun goes, I was always a bit more of an 'Ice Man' girl myself.  How about you?

Random old story from my life: 

My college boyfriend re-broke up with me after I was already married to my husband – and NO, there was no affair involved.  This happened over ten years ago but I have always wanted to write about it because it is so funny to me when looking back.  My college boyfriend (I will refer to him as CB for storytelling purposes) and I kept in touch and remained friends long after we realized a life together was not in the cards for us.  (In fact, CB and I are still friends.  At least I think we are unless he reads this blog.)

Anyway, we would maybe chat once in a while and catch each other up with our lives.  (I don’t think there was any emailing involved because it was before everyone had an email account).  So, one day, CB invites me to go to lunch so we can “talk”.  I know red flags are supposed to go up and alarms should ring if a man ever says he needs to “talk”.  However, I really did not think much of it because, um, we had not seen each other naked in a long long long time.

So, we meet in a neutral place at some Mexican chain off I-95.  The waiter has just dropped off our fried hydrogenated oil crisps and salsa and tries to get us to order some sugary icy alcoholic beverage (okay, must interrupt here with a question – who is ordering frozen drinks at a Chevy’s at 11:30am on a work day?)  Okay, so I think CB might have had some big news or something to tell me.  I think it had something to do with finding his soul mate and planning some big event involving tuxedoes, flowers, stepping on a glass and a Rabbi.  I don’t know, I don’t have a great memory and that part is a little fuzzy. 

I have a hard time with details.  All I remember is this part.  Once his bean burrito, extra cheese, extra jalapeno peppers is put down in front of him, he blurts out, “We can’t be friends anymore.” Basically, the story was that his “soul mate” had some issues with us being friends.  It made her uncomfortable. So that was it.  It was years later when the absurdity of this hit me. 

CB update: I did meet his wife years later and she is very lovely.  CB & his wife have two beautiful children and live in suburbia (not the same suburb I live in though it looks very much the same). 

Sometimes I wonder if he has been back to that Chevy’s for another bean burrito.  CB, why don’t you give me a call and let me know!

If you are like me, you probably have many different looks.  You have the date night out with the hubby look – super cute overpriced jeans paired with a top from Anthropologie or Bloomies, hair blown out nicely and freshly applied make-up.  Next, you have the out with the girlfriends for lunch look – which could include any of the following:  yoga wear or maybe a slightly sweaty tennis outfit - because like me, you have picked up tennis as a hobby solely due to the fact the outfits are just so darn cute or maybe,  it is capris & a tank with your chocolate brown Havaianas Sandals with minimal make-up.  And of course there is the driving the kids to school look – Victoria Secret's PINK t-shirt, yoga pants which have never seen the inside of a yoga studio, optional bra, whatever flip flops you have nearest to the door and the make-up you were too tired to take off the previous night. 

There are of course a few more looks: 

• going to a black tie school fundraiser or B'nai Mitzvah look
• meeting the new moms at your child’s open house at school look
• and lastly there is the going to see that old high school friend whom I haven’t seen in a really long time and I want her to notice how much better I look than last time we saw each other - even though she will never ever ever EVER acknowledge improvement or compliment me look (oops, another blog entirely)

So you get my point.  No matter how attractive or un-attractive we think we are, within our overall self-image we have our own personal scale of measurement. One our worst day, we are our own personal "1" and on our best day, a "10".  For example, my "1" is the way I probably looked for the first six weeks of my baby’s life but I was smart enough to never look in the mirror during that time. And my "10" is the way I look when Luis, the fabulous stylist, blows out my hair movie-star-style.

Now think about this.  Isn’t it amazing how differently we are treated based on where we fall on that scale on a given day?  I am the same woman with the same body and the same personality yet the world reacts differently to me.  I get a lot more help from the bag boy at Publix when I am having a “cute” day than when I am having a “rushed out of the house and didn’t put myself together just to grab some 2% milk for my coffee” day.  It is a very hard thing to have to admit but no matter what we try to believe – physical looks do matter. 

I have a very hard time accepting this.  I have a pre-pubescent daughter.  I want her to believe that it is what she has on the inside that really matters.  I want to tell her – and myself – that being a really good person, being honest and kind and generous, and of course FUNNY, is all she needs to get everything she wants in this world.  Unfortunately, I have to admit to myself that is just not true in the world we live in.

People are going to assess you on a first impression which is based solely on your appearance at the moment.  Unfortunately, we cannot hand over a bio package to every new person we meet.  However, wouldn’t it be great if we could?  It would go something like this:

CR:  Hi, I am Crazy Redhead.  Nice to meet you.

New Person:  Hello, may I see your bio? 

So, then I could hand over the bio package, which would include, among other things:

• my current psychological profile
• my fbi file (just kidding - or not)
• letters of references from my friends who can vouch for my sparkling personality
• my wedding picture (because even 13 years later, I still love my currently out of style big poofy sleeved wedding dress)
• a letter from my preschool teacher, Mrs. Matheson (because I was the only one she trusted to bring home the guinea pig for the weekend)
• a drawing my youngest child has done of me (because he thinks I am the most beautiful girl in the world)
• a recording of my sister singing (it wouldn’t really help me but I am always impressed with my sister’s voice.  It is not fair that she got to be beautiful and talented and gets to be a natural redhead but still have olive skin and therefore can get a tan)

must insert private note to my little sister here – everyone else reading needs to skip this next line –

“Does this public declaration of your many attributes finally make up for my television debut in 1975 when I told the host on the Skipper Chuck show that you were 'a pain in the butt'?”

 Okay, everyone else can continue reading here:

I guess I made the point.  When we first meet someone, there is not much to go on besides our appearance.  It isn’t right but we do it.  I try very hard to not fall into that “book by the cover” cliché but I will also try not to judge you for doing the same.  It is just part of the society we live in. As Howard Jones so rhymically put it in 1985,  “No one is to blame.”

Lastly, we have taken a bit of a “long and winding road” (sorry, I can’t help myself with the corny song references today) to get to my point.  Here is my belief:  You are not setting the women’s movement back just because you typically apply a fresh coat of lipstick right before pulling into the service drive of the Lincoln dealership.  If one coat of Mac’s Twig lipstick is all it takes to get your politically incorrect SUV serviced a little quicker, then “knock yourself out baby”!

 Just remember this lesson the next time you find yourself needing some extra help navigating the aisles of Home Depot, trying to find the right size hinges for your daughter’s complicated science project, and go ahead and apply a bit of mascara first.  Just so you know, my favorite is Maybelline Full 'N Soft Mascara, Brownish Black.

It works for me everytime!

Have a great weekend.  Thanks for joining me the inaugural week of this fun journey.  Remember to check in with the Crazy Redhead on Monday for another adventure in the life of a 30ish/40ish suburban woman. (If you have not already done so, you can click the link in the right column of this page, to subscribe to receive an email alert of my new entries. )