REAL Life in October

I arose this gorgeous Sunday morning to crisp cool Autumn air, then poured a steaming cup of rich coffee into my favorite mug and savored a moment of serenity.  Snuggling into my red comfy chair I gazed onto the flowerbeds in the front.  Feeling an artificial sense of proficiency, I zealously planned to plant mums and decorate with pumpkins and hay bales during the afternoon following church.  Yes, after Sunday brunch, after Madilyn's tennis matches, I would cultivate the garden and adorn my home with welcoming Fall decor.  (Yeah, right!)

Real life:  Actually made it to church, but arrived overdressed.  It's like when an invitation says business casual and everyone else takes that to mean casual.  There IS a difference.  Apparently we missed the invitation that read, athletic casual because we rocked Sunday dress; the congregation wore shorts, t-shirts, pearl snaps?  Of course my husband took this opportunity to lean over and whisper indignantly, "I could have worn my jeans."  Anyway, I'd like to pretend that we are stellar Christians who lead life groups and listen to Hillsong in our cars but in truth this was our first time in church since the beginning of the summer!  (I know...heathens!)  You see, since we moved to the FloMo community we haven't found a church...like pastors haven't walked into our home carrying their flock to minister to us!  I suppose it doesn't work like that...something about SEEK and you shall find.  Guess we'd better do a little more seeking and a little less sleeping.

More real life: We practically jogged out of the sanctuary because Madilyn had to be at her tennis tournament at 1:15 and it was 12:20.  Forget brunch, we managed a drive through at Rosa's.  Scarfing it down, Madi quickly changed clothes and we were out the door headed for the courts.  She played two matches, lost them both, but it's totally fine because she really is improving in skill.  She played tough competitors and I'm so proud of her!

Real life continues: At 4:00 Madilyn, aka diva, reminded me that I promised her I would do her hair this afternoon. Fact: my hairdressing skills work as a blessing and a curse. I rejoice that we don't have to pay for our colors and cuts, but the downside is that I have yet another chore to add to the to-do list for the fam. Luckily, it's a chore that I enjoy.  While applying highlights to her hair I noticed the roots on mine, so while hers was processing I slapped on a medium brown.  Not exactly ultra glam, but it'll do.

The rest of the story: So after church when we were hurrying up the steps to the house (because Matt's side of the garage looks like an episode of hoarders thereby impairing our ability to park the truck inside) our neighbor stopped us to invite us to dinner, yet again.  We haven't been able to commit because our schedule is nuts, but I figured since they keep asking we ought to be decent neighbors and have dinner with them! They seem so sweet and we'd enjoy getting to know them. I pulled out my phone to schedule on iCal, and while checking dates, afore mentioned adorable, braided hair, bo-ho chic, perfect figure, neighbor says, "we eat Paleo so we look forward to grilling lean steaks for y'all." I responded appropriately with a "that's wonderful," and Matt looked completely confounded.  We said goodbye and before the front door was closed, he was asking "what the heck does Paleo mean" and I told him it means we suck at life and they don't.  I explained that it means we eat fajita burritos for lunch and they eat vegetables.  We dessert on chips and queso and they eat blueberries.

Naturally, when I begin thinking of one, I obsess over another, and my mind wandered to the working mom I know who runs every morning at five am and still commutes thirty minutes to work! Meanwhile I have a five minute commute and get out of bed about the time her workout is over.  There is no stopping this envy train once it's rolling, and I visit town after town of people who "are doing it right." I stop in at the station long enough to berate myself for not living life better.  Sure, I jog, until I don't.  I eat healthy, until I stop.  I save money, until I buy. I'm totally organized, until I'm not. I crawl back on the train hoping to find my magical godmother on board who will save me from myself and take me to the land of accomplishment. Wishful thinking goes on until I finally depart arriving at Gratefulness.

I'm not perfect, and if I'm honest no-one is...not even Mr. and Mrs. Paleo.  I remind my myself that even though we might not yet be the best versions of ourselves, our family has been blessed beyond measure.  No, I can't do it all (like write this blog as often as I'd like) or BE it all but I can remember to say thank you to the Divine who has lent me the minutes to create the moments.

The purpose:  Living each day better than yesterday and showing love to the travelers along the journey.

Tonight the front porch lacks pumpkins and hay bales, but my heart holds all the happy memories of Autumn's past, the perfect and the not-so perfect.  I'm grateful for the seasons, no matter whether they're decorated or not.

~Truly, Cinderella

The Maddis @ The Lake House-Hilarious!

Bags draped across our shoulders while the dog raced past our feet, bypassing the house to drink from cool lake water; we headed straight for the bedrooms, unloaded our bags and then shucked off clothes replaced by attire more fitting for the day: swimsuits.  The psychedelic wallpaper and green shag carpet catapult visitors through a time warp back into the easygoing sixties, where moms were still housewives, dads took two consecutive weeks vacation, and life generally moved at a slower pace.  Last weekend our crew had a wonderful time at the lake, Possum Kingdom.  The best part of a weekender on the water is that we were able to completely clear our minds and focus simply on spending time together.  No work, no stress.  Our dear friends Harold and Cheryl T., who are like a bonus set of parents to Matt and I, invited us over for our annual lake trip.  We cruised on the pontoon, zipped atop waves on the sea-doos, tubed, skied, and then floated.  At night we played board games and ate ice cream.  Ah, why can't summer last forever? 

Out of all the fun we had, my most memorable moment was a conversation I had with the girls, the Maddis.  Matt and I laugh at their zany antics ALL the time!  They are smart girls, but WOW, they have some blond moments!  Don't believe me? (Well, if you know them you believe me!) Check out this video in which they answer questions over history, geography, and current events.  Get ready to laugh!

                                        https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I_7daw5lZ2U


~Mother Hubbard [AKA Cinderella (the middle-class, thirty-something, working-mom Cindey)]

Poppin' Tags

photo courtesy of http://portable.tv

  Poppin' Tags. Macklemore coined the phrase, but Matt Hubbard personifies thrift shop livin' luxury.  After the recent populism resurgence, second hand shopping is "in" again, and genuine thrift shoppers not only buy bargains but get things for free: dumpster divin' style!  Yep, my husband LIVES to find "gently used" items discarded near (occasionally lying atop) the receptacle  bin.  Although I don't get the same thrill from the sport as Matt, I have been an accessory to thrifting. 

     The first time we thrifted together was while looking for a Halloween costume. I wanted to dress Matt as Roger Sterling (Mad Men) but we didn't have the right clothes for him to wear at my house (he was still living in Dallas at the time).  So off we went to find befitting dress clothes for the nineteen sixties.  First stop, Goodwill.  We found a couple of dress pants, black and grey-both under $10! With googly eyes Matt said, "These are nice slacks!  I can't believe they're so cheap!"  He wore those pants and not just to the party.  

     I too enjoy the bargain shopping. I've bought numerous items.  What usually happens is that I shop charitable second hand stores for an event; costume or themed party, ugly Christmas sweater party, spirit days at school, but then I end up finding a great pair of capris I can't live without or a bright, springy shirt that's perfect for a Saturday morning in April.  However, I draw the line at trashcan hunting.  Matt does not.

     When we lived in Lubbock, he was constantly dragging in "finds" from the alley similar to that of a dog hauling in a dead bird.  "Look at this lamp?" he'd say, displaying his new find or "can you believe someone threw away this bike?  Looks like new!" he'd exclaim.  However, as he tinkered with the lamp disappointment would sit down beside him.  And in short time the "find" took a trip back to the dumpster. 

    After moving to DFW this past summer, his "neighborhood" expanded, a trash-diggers wonderland. Upon moving in he stumbled across a "Sander! Brand new!  Still in the Box!" next to the dumsters! (The sander currently resides in our garage and we're really not sure if operable.) 
 
     Next while at the Marcus tennis center, he found a lunchbox lying ever so slightly at the top of the trash can. "Did you see this?" he said, holding up the fabric tote as I walked up.  I told him I had seen it and wondered why someone had thrown it away.  Unlike him, I didn't investigate further. "There isn't a spot on it. It's perfectly clean inside." Eyes dancing, he said to me, "Haven't you wanted a new lunch pail to take to school?"  I happily took the lunchbox and admittedly, use it every day. 

     Finally, just last week he wheeled in a Swiss Gear Rolling Briefcase in black.  "It smells a little like gasoline, but I think the odor comes from being stored inside someone's garage." He began fixing the problem.  And in case you ever need to "fix such a problem" here is how: 

1. Stuff gain fabric dryer sheets into the zippered pockets.  
2. Remove and repeat until smell dissipates.  

    He took it with him to Florida last week and reports that it's fully functional, holding all three of his laptops (2 for work and 1 for play- a hoarder's blog to follow) and other work materials. The girls teased him about it to which he replied, "One man's trash is another man's come up."  He has taken Macklemore's words to heart.


Truly, Cinderella

The Personal Blog: A Literary Selfie

     My seventh grade daughter bounded into my classroom today and told me, "Mom, I'm an awesome actress!  I'm definitely going to Broadway!"

     To which I responded, "Humility Madilyn, humility.  Narcissistic much?" She laughed and then I followed up by saying, "Of course you're wonderful!  Tell me what happened today."

     We live in a time of unadulterated vanity.  The Kardashian culture.  "Don't tell me how wonderful I am, because I'm going to tell you first," mentality. Scores of teenage girls post duck-faced selfies, no longer restricted to Sundays instead they post most every day of the week. I know the cardio habits of a stranger (the woman who FB befriended me after I met her at a conference) because of her copious status updates regarding her cross-fit morning workouts. And while I must admit I'm jealous, I'm not jealous enough to go to cross-fit myself!  Another friend tweets the benefits of a gluten free diet, and although I've dipped my toe into this growing fad, I've yet to submerge fully.  A friend from the past brags about the newest piece of ocean front property she's purchased because she is "so blessed by God!" I guess that means I'm not.  Instagram, Twitter, and Facebook have created the new social world in which we live, full of self-promotion.  But we can't blame social media for all our ills—we, the players control the information.  Clearly society craves the ability to connect, not limited to friends, family, and neighbors.  We desire intimacy, even with those whom which we lost physical contact with long ago, and in turn we share ourselves.  For some time now I've objected to this new obsession maintaining that self-effacing propriety breeds respectable women and men, and humanity is doomed, our lives devoid of authentic human interaction if we don't stop.

     However, today I recant.  How can I judge?  I'm just as guilty.  I post irrelevant status updates and glamorous vacation pictures too.  I'm guilty of choosing the perfect picture displaying my best to upload.  And why?  The answer is why not?

     As with anything else newly introduced, we learn how to maneuver and self-monitor.  We learn that it's rude to surf endless Insta images and tweets when enjoying family dinner. We learn that trivialities throughout the course of the day don't always require historical documentation.  Although finding "your dog asleep under the bed" might merit a patient nod and smile, quite possibly even a like from the social landscape to show that we can all relate.  We're staying in touch, and though naysayers claim, “it’s the end of communication" I beg to differ.  It's new and most people inherently dislike change.  They forget to find the good.  

     Allow me a few more words, the perfect anecdote. A best friend of mine recently had a baby. Her husband wanted to post pictures of their adorable, infant son, but anguished over doing so. My friend asked him, "why?" He replied that he didn't want seem like a braggart.  She replied by saying, "If there were ever a time to post pictures, pictures of our newborn son, the time is now."  Excellent point. 

     Naysayers have forgotten the good.  Good like: world events are unveiled instantaneously and doesn't that create accountability? Good like: I'm able to watch my baby cousins grow in real time even though they live hundreds of miles away.  Good like: I'm able to share moments, like my daughter's high school graduation, my youngest daughter's talent shows, my husband's quirky stories, my step-daughter's un-braced teeth with all those who might want to celebrate with me.  In turn, I want to know about your life, too.  To quote Veronica Roth, we live for the moments "that don't suck" and during the other times our hearts break together because this is our new community.

     As of today, I'm crossing back over to the dark side.  I will kiss the pool of water and listen for Echo to return.  And here is why: my life, much like yours, is filled with fantastic, bizarre stories that cannot be kept secret anymore.  The stories wiggle and writhe, scratching at my fingertips begging to be told, but time and again I quiet them because I haven't wanted to appear ostentatious sharing brazen family tales.  I write for myself, but haven't written to you.  Today, the book is opened.  The secret is out.  

     After marrying Matt in 2010, I still feel like I'm living inside a fairytale remembered, a slightly dysfunctional blended-family fairytale, but none-the-less, a fairytale in which I'm the queen!  I invite you to join our journey. 

Truly, Cinderella 

A day in the life of...

  My friends and I share a joke that my family should have a reality t.v. show, and yet again today's occurrences proved to be another example fit for an episode on TLC. 
   After a great summer, I've gone back to work, teacher in-service, and when the alarm sounds at 6:00 a.m. my body goes into auto pilot:  bathroom, coffee, makeup, hair, pill, and clothes--in that order.  Daily, I take hormonal therapy, which is usually on my nightstand, but while Matt was out of town this week,  I'd placed the bottle on his nightstand.   So, I did what I always do and popped my pill, without bothering to look at the color or shape before placing it into my mouth.  After dressing and gathering up my bag, the room began to spin.  My initial thought was that the spinning was due to lack of dinner or breakfast, but after grabbing a breakfast bar the problem only worsened.  I knew that I couldn't drive, and I called my husband to take me to work.
    Once inside the car, my words began to slur and my sweet Matt helped me assess the problem.
    "Did you take anything this morning?"  he asked.
    "No, just my hormone pill."  I answered.
    "Where was the bottle?"
    "On your nightstand." 
     "Marsi, the only bottle on mine is my Ambien.  Did you take my Ambien?"
     "Oh my God!!  I think did."
     "Did you not notice it wasn't your pill?  Did you take a whole one?"
     "Yes, I took a whole one; I thought it was mine."
     "Holy shit!  I take a half when I need to sleep.  And it's the good stuff; the CR will knock a person out.  You're not going to work today."
     "I can make it.  I'm not teaching, so I can just sit."
     "I don't think it's a good idea, but call one of your friends out here.  You'll need help to walk into the building."
    I texted a fellow teacher to come out to the car, and after taking one glance at me she asked if I was drunk.  I attempted to stand-up and I fell against the passenger side door.
     "I caaan make ittt.  I'llll jus nap insi-de my chairrr." I slurred.
    Laughing, Katie said, "Nope.  You need to go home and sleep this one off.  I'll tell one of the principals what happened.
    "Okay."  I surrendered and requested McDonald's on the way home.  Matt protested on account of a conference call, but my munchies and persistent pleas won him over.  
    However, people don't eat when taking a sleep aid--they want to sleep.  And if there isn't a warning on the bottle there should be:  Don't eat after taking pill.  I ate half my sandwich but it later ended up on my bedroom floor....partially digested.  That too, my poor husband had to clean up.
    I have such wonderful caring people in my life.  Not only my husband, but also my friends.  Later in the morning Katie texted me from the school to check on me, and this is what I replied:
    Not s secret,  Yout kidding l! Procrdursl recr? Nubrs!  Crazy  
The English department got a good laugh decoding that one! What was that I said about kind, caring friends.  ;)   Just another day in the life...

Truly,
~Cinderella