Gene's Barbecue: Biker's Welcome

A little memory from a trip I took with my parents when my youngest was a baby...

We stopped in Brinkley, Arkansas for lunch. We were sick of fast food, so we found a place called Gene's Barbecue. It looked busy, which was a good sign. The parking lot was full of pickups. My tiny Kia Soectra looked a little out of place.

We walked into the dining room, which was about the size of my kitchen at home. One huge banquet table was filled entirely with men & boys in camouflage. The rest of the diners look pretty normal. As soon as we stepped inside the room went silent. We waited by the door for someone to greet us, seat us, or tell us to go away. None of these things happened, so we just sat down. And waited. And we kept on waiting. The conversations around us were whispered and the other guests kept peeking over at us. I was waiting for the moment when someone would saunter up to our table and say, "We don't too much like strangers 'round these parts." I tried to keep my 4 year old entertained & quiet with the tools at my disposal-- packets of artificial sweetener, ketchup, tabasco, and steak sauce. The baby started fussing and then we got more stares, so I took him out of his seat and held him.

Someone eventually brought us a menu and said they'd be around to take our order soon. We felt encouraged; we had menus! They must be willing to give us food, too. The food sure sounded good. Barbecued pork, fried chicken. Great southern fare.My 4 year old was looking forward to some pancakes and sausage. We waited-- our mouths watering-- for the waitress. She came out of the kitchen and took the order of the diners who came in after us. They were closer to the kitchen. That's probably why she took their order first. Right? And then she commenced to take the orders of everyone who came in after us, walking right past our table in order to do so. We kept saying,"If she doesn't take our order after those guys, let's leave." Finally we just got up and left. And I swear I heard a huge sigh of relief.

As we drove off, my mom pointed to the sign outside. It said "Bikers welcome."

Q & A

The way a mother answers a question:

Kid: "Mom, when was the word quiz invented?"
Mom: "That is a very good question. I don't know. We should go look it up on the Internet."

The way a father answers a question:

Kid: "Dad, when was the word quiz invented?"
Dad: "February 1, 1823. It was invented by George Quiz of Boston, Massachusetts. He was a school teacher. He wanted school to be harder for the kids. Interestingly enough,
he actually did very poorly in school when he was a kid. But he made millions of dollars on his invention & was able to stop teaching school and married a beautiful woman named Poppy, but all of her friends called her 'Pop.' So, for the rest of her life she was known as 'Pop Quiz,' which, incidentally, is where the phrase 'Pop Quiz' came from, which made the Quiz family even wealthier & school even harder for the kids."
Kid: "Wow, Dad, you know everything."
Dad: "I know."

Nebraska, possibilities...endless

All states have slogans they post on signs and literature to hopefully lure people to their state, either as new residents or visitors. But the slogans are too non-specific. In Nebraska the possibilities are endless. I would like to know, before entering the state, some of the things I might expect to happen to me while there. Then I could make a truly informed decision.

Here are some more specific slogans, based on things that actually happened to me in some states I have visited (or lived in):

CALIFORNIA... you could expect to possibly see naked old people on the beach.

UTAH... you might get your credit card and car keys stolen from you by a pedophile.

NEBRASKA... you could possibly gain a couple of pounds.

IOWA... you might accidentally lock your 2-year-old in the car at a rest area.

MISSOURI... you maybe will break your two front teeth in the swimming pool.

INDIANA... you might be asked to dress up as a man for a high school musical.

ILLINOIS... your car could break down on the interstate and you might have to carpool with a drunk lady to a hotel (but in all fairness you might not know she is drunk when you accept the ride).

LOUSIANA... you will experience heartburn.

Christmas Surprise

I think it was the Christmas when I was in 4th grade. I had read the classic Judy Blume coming-of-age story "Are You There God? It's Me, Margaret." Now, some say that story is all about finding God. But to me, at the time, it was all about the training bra. I had noticed some of my friends wearing training bras at school and, because I read that book, I knew I needed one, too. But how could I possibly bring that subject up to my mom? It just was not possible for a kid like me to broach that subject. And so I just hoped. And hoped. And maybe pushed my chest out just a little to show that I had a need for some support. And possibly pulled my shirt a little tighter. But just possibly. Did I recite the mantra, "I must, I must, I must increase my bust?" I'll never tell. But probably not.

On Christmas morning my mom gave me a present and told me I might want to open it separately, without everyone watching. I thought, "Could it be? No way! I never even told her. How could she have known? Maybe she read that book, too." And I carefully peeled the paper away to display my new.... training bra! I was excited and embarrassed all at once. I quickly stuffed it under a pillow on the couch so my brothers wouldn't see it, which of course was a terrible hiding place and one of them found it later. Brothers. I should write a post about brothers sometime.

Anyway, funny that a training bra should be one of the most memorable Christmas presents for me. I guess what's most memorable is that my mom figured it out. Maybe she read the book, too.

On Productivity

There are two household chores I hate with an extra dose of vengeance: washing dishes and scrubbing the master bathroom. As I was avoiding both today it occurred to me that avoiding those two jobs makes me, strangely, more productive. I use a no holds barred approach in my campaign to procrastinate doing those two duties. By the end of the day I will look around to see the wash done, beds made, iPod charged, bills paid, sharing time lesson for Sunday planned, blog updated, the flower beds weeded, letters written, errands run, children's hair cut, newspapers read and recycled, stories read, baths given, and everyone tucked in on time (or close to it).

But those two rooms will still look like a homeless person set up camp in them (no offense to homeless people. They are not generally known for their cleanliness, but I'm sure there are some who are quite tidy).

If I hired someone to do those jobs for me, then would my entire house finally be clean? I doubt it. Knowing I have those hateful chores to do is my source of power. That thought drives me to clean everything else in my house, to catch up on the odds and ends sort of jobs for school and church, to write blog posts which otherwise may never have been written, and so much more. I must do the dreaded tasks, eventually (it will be late at night when all my other excuses are gone), and I will, but I have to go into it knowing that I will have do them again. And so the next day the cycle will begin again until I find I have, somehow, cleaned my entire house without even planning to do so. And then I will have to give in and scrub that massive shower and gigantic tub-- again (bigger is not always better, friends) and I must rinse those dang dishes so my family can eat tomorrow (they always insist on eating, don't they?). I wish it could be easier. But I don't feel hopeful that I will ever become someone other than the sort of person I am now. Maybe I will improve in some areas, but I don't think I will ever stop procrastinating chores I hate to do. If you disapprove, well, you are more than welcome to show up at my house with a sponge and a can of scrubbing bubbles. But don't let me know you're coming or nothing else will ever happen around here.

Amy's Fitness Plan

(originally posted in 2009)

Just like a lot of you out there, I'm really hoping to end 2009 with a skinnier waistline than I had at the end of 2008. I don't have a gym membership right now, so I'm trying to figure out how to shed the extra pounds. I've had to be creative. I came up with a plan that I think you all should try. But when you do it, make sure you give me credit. Don't try to pass it off as your own idea. The only thing I still have to do is find out how many calories are burned while doing the following activities from a fairly typical week:

Jump up and down and flap arms to stay warm while filling the car with gas.

Make 2 extra trips up & down the stairs at night because 1.you forgot the baby monitor and 2. forgot to take your birth control (if you do this, make sure you don't remember both in the same trip, because that's fewer calories burned).

Maybe an extra trip up & down the stairs because you forgot that your pajamas were in the dryer still (don't fold your laundry & put it away all at once right after the dryer buzzes; make sure you have to go fetch each item piecemeal. More calories. Always think calories. Never efficiency).

Go outside, bring the trash can into the garage, and walk back into the house.

Go back outside, get the mail you forgot to get when you brought the trash can inside, walk back into the house with the mail.

Go back outside, pick up the newspaper you forgot to get when you brought the trash can inside & forgot again when you got the mail. The newspaper could be anywhere, so make sure you check your neighbor's front yard, the sidewalk in front of their house, the curb in front of the neighbor's house, or the middle of the street (also in front of the neighbor's house). But don't bother checking your own driveway or sidewalk or yard; that hardly ever happens. Then go back into the house.

Again, notice the pure inefficiency. That's the key to my fitness plan: inefficiency. And forgetfulness.

Stomp up the stairs to shut 5-year-old's bedroom door since he won't settle down to sleep. Then stomp back downstairs, ignoring his crying.

Vacuum house, then vacuum again a couple of days later just to get 5-year-old (who is terrified of the vacuum because he thinks the vacuum will suck up his books & toys) to pick up his room & playroom. And if you're feeling really mean, you could get him to pick up your bedroom as well.

Walk upstairs to get baby from crib because he's definitely not going to sleep. Walk back up 5 minutes later because, yep, he's definitely ready for a nap.

I'm still working on my diet plan. I need to find one that allows me to eat a brownie for breakfast. I just haven't found it yet.

"Practically Imperfect In Every Way"

I was recently reading a blog whose author claimed to be "practically imperfect in every way." When I saw that claim I was excited. I thought, "Oh, good, someone like me!" But the first post I saw was a recipe for something I could never make, complete with a professional-looking photo of said meal that I could never take in my wildest dreams (you should see my photos; they're terrible). And the next few posts followed suit.

I admit I enjoyed some of the posts on the blog (they were funny) and the recipes looked delicious. And of course there's nothing wrong with being good at cooking and photography (I wish I were). BUT I really began to hate this woman and all she stood for. What is with all of the women of the world claiming to be imperfect (which of course we all ARE imperfect) yet when we have a chance to share part of ourselves we decide to only display those parts of us which look pretty close to perfect? It's the old joke about cleaning the house and then when the guests arrive apologizing for the mess.

I'm guilty of this, too. I claim to have a dirty house (and, actually, I do, just ask my family) but if I take a picture I make sure my kids are NOT standing in front of my cluttered desk. And if I invite friends over I clean the house before they come over until it looks like nobody lives in it. I don't allow anyone outside my immediate family to see how I really live (they would probably be pretty disgusted).

The problem is we read blogs or look at pictures on Facebook and we all start to get a complex about ourselves. We think we're the only ones who have dirty houses or yell at our kids or have acne or feel fat or feel sad or feel lonely even when we're surrounded by people or have kids who misbehave or kids who wear their shirts backwards and their shoes on the wrong feet. 

I remember a long time ago a friend of mine just shaking her head in complete bewilderment over the fact that she had actually yelled at her kids once. ONCE. Maybe she really was that perfect or maybe she didn't want me to know the truth. I want to know the truth (up to a point, of course). I don't want to know how anyone's sex life is (please keep THAT private, thank you very much).  But I do want to know if my friends struggle. I want to know for selfish reasons (it makes me feel normal) and I want to know because then I can be a better friend. I can maybe HELP my friend.

We don't want to admit we have a hard time and we don't want to accept help. But I LOVE it when I can help a friend out in a pinch. There is no better feeling than knowing I made someone else's day a little easier. Even if my own day was pretty much awful it will immediately feel better if I can help someone.

I also LOVE knowing a friend trusts me enough to be honest with me about who she really is and what she struggles with because her imperfections are as much a part of her as her strengths are.

We're not doing our friends any favors by hiding our imperfections from them. Let's resist the urge to pretend we're perfect. Let's let our friends visit without cleaning up our houses (this is the hardest for me). Let's take pictures of kids with food on their faces (that's what they look like most the time anyway, let's admit it). Let's admit those things that are hard for us or admit when we're having a hard day. Let's allow people to help us.  Let's stop trying live a catalog family life or we'll all discover someday all we have are catalog family friendships, all superficial and glossy but never real or deep or meaningful. And I don't want to live in a catalog.

I Want to Be Me

I was recently tormenting myself by going over an incident in my past when I opened my mouth and made a fool of myself.  Cheeks flushed, I thought about the fact I never will make that mistake now that I have learned to keep that part of myself hidden. And then I stopped and thought how sad it is I felt I had to learn to hide a part of myself from the world because I thought they would not approve (and I was probably right). Although there is a refining process we should all go through in this life, where we become the best version of ourselves, nobody should have to pretend to be someone else entirely in order to have acceptance and friendship.

We've all probably felt pressure to conform our inner selves to what's acceptable. The problem is there are messages being drilled into our brains from the beginning of our consciousness until the day we day that pressure us to feel like what we are isn't good enough.

SPEAK UP

If you are a quiet or shy person you can probably relate to how I'm feeling. I'm naturally very shy but I wouldn't exactly call myself quiet. Once I feel comfortable around someone I have no trouble talking. The trouble comes with getting someone to stick around long enough to get me feeling comfortable enough to convince them I'm not as boring as I seem at face value. But in the meantime I'm constantly attacked with propaganda from the extroverts of society who can't understand that being shy is not a bad thing.

My high school Geometry teacher gave me a C in Citizenship because I didn't talk in class enough. Her reasoning was that I wasn't doing well on the tests and so I should have been asking more questions. But I don't learn that way and I certainly wouldn't have know what question to ask. How about this one: "Can you explain ALL of Geometry to me? I don't get it." So instead of finding a way to reach me she punished me for being shy with a bad grade. The next year when I took Algebra II and my teacher sat down one on one with me after school to help me understand the subject better I received the highest score on the final. THAT is how I operate. I need time to let things simmer and I need to not be put on the spot in front of an entire class. One of those teachers understood that people are not all the same AND, what's better, she was okay with it. I wish I had gone back and told that Geometry teacher how wrong her approach had been, but that kind of thing is not my strength, as you can imagine.

DON'T BE SO NICE

Speaking my mind is not something I'm good at in general. I don't like to hurt feelings. So many people over the course of my life have told me that I should just stop being so nice and just tell people exactly what I'm thinking. I'm told my approach is passive aggressive. But personally I would prefer to be guilty of the occasional passive aggressive approach than to be guilty of actual aggressiveness. The brutally honest people of the world have hurt my feelings enough for me to not want to be the one making someone feel that way. There are plenty of people in this world who will tell a person exactly what they're thinking; I think there should be some of us who will be kind and gentle.

I don't pretend I always properly apply my approach. Sometimes I have been guilty of lying to protect someone's feelings. I don't think I should lie and I'm not going to justify it. BUT I also don't see why I should have to say something unkind or harsh when I can easily pass on the same message in a gentler way.

There are situations in which I have had to grit my teeth and be brutally honest. In various leadership positions throughout my life I often have had to be that person. But I want it to be the exception rather than the rule. I don't want people to think I'm trying to hide my true feelings from them just to be considered "nice." Rather, I want them to know that whether I agree with them or not, whether I am happy with their choices or not that I will not treat them harshly or unkindly.

DON'T GET TOO EXCITED

I think part of being kind is letting someone know I'm happy to see them. In the aforementioned situation in which I made a fool of myself it was because I was too openly excited about something or other. You know when you're a little girl and you walk around holding hands with your best friend and squeal when you see her coming your way? But when you get older you have to act all cool as if it's all the same to you whether your friends come or go? At least that's what I observed and tried to mimic. It seems like the older we get the more pretending we do. Shouldn't it be the other way around??

I like people and I want to be excited to see them if I run into them at the grocery store or even just in the hallway at church. And if someone invites me to spend time with them I don't like to turn them down because I love spending time with my friends any chance I can get. And I won't squeal like a little girl, but I don't want to pretend I'm not excited. I am. I am shy and I can be socially awkward, but I will brave society so I can be with the people who are important to me. And I will usually have fun once I get comfortable with my surroundings, as long as I am surrounded by people who will let me be myself.

All my life people have tried to tell me who I should be because they think it will be "easier" for me. And in some ways being like everyone else seems easier, but what would really make my life easier is to feel people love me the way I am, even if I have room to improve. A lot of people seem to think everyone should be like them and I think everyone should be like themselves. The best version of themselves, of course, and I am still working on becoming that person.

Help Needed

Dear Family and Friends, 

This letter below is from my aunt, a native of Guatemala, who now lives in Tennessee (she is married to my mom's youngest brother). She has been organizing medical missions to Peru for about the last five years and now would like to take one to her home country in Guatemala. 

I would like to as your help in spreading the word for her, especially to medical professionals. She is looking for volunteers who can afford to pay their own way. Thanks so much for your help in sharing this letter. Miriam's contact information is included if you have more questions.

"Dear Family and Friends,

I have been planning the first medical mission to Guatemala, which will be held at the Santiago Medical Clinic in the peaceful Mayan town of Solola. We are looking for volunteers to build a team of medical professionals and non-medical support staff to help the underserved population of my beautiful Guatemala. We are thinking of a name for the mission, which right now we are calling "Love in Action."

Unfortunately, I do not have a date set yet, but to avoid the rainy season I am looking for a week in March or April 2013. Please let me know if there is a week in these months that would be best for you.

We want medical professionals of all levels, including physicians, surgeons, pre-med and biology students, nurses, pharmacists, dentists, and ophthalmologists to provide medical care at the clinic. If you are not a medical professional, or you have a non-medical family member that wants to travel with you, do not worry—I will put you to work. We are developing a list of potential workshops for the non-medical volunteers to lead, such as basic health and hygiene habits, Spanish literacy, English skills, domestic abuse prevention and parenting classes, sexual health and STD counseling. We also always need volunteers to watch and entertain the children while their parents receive medical treatment. If you have any additional thoughts on a class or workshop that you would enjoy leading, please let me know. Also, you do not need to speak Spanish to help! 

My plan is to have us work hard four days in Solola and then leave a few days for travel around the beautiful countryside in Guatemala. Solola is easily accessible to the beautiful lake of Atitlan, and we will pass through the colonial city of Antigua as well. There are also many other nearby beautiful locations, and I am attaching some pictures.

Finally, I do not know the total cost to each volunteer yet, but I am giving you a very rough estimate. This is not a final estimate, but an amount you can use to plan on whether this trip would be affordable for you or not. Of course, you have a few months before the trip, so there is time to save up! 

Very, rough estimate:

Airfare:

From Atlanta $550 round trip

From Florida $450.00 round trip

From SLC $750 round trip

From LAX $550 round trip

Hotel about $50 per night per person (based on two person per room) breakfast included in the hotel

Lunch and dinner about $20 per day

Transportation while in Guatemala about $100.

We have lots of planning to do, so please let me know if you want to be added to the list of volunteers!

I hope to hear from all of you.
If you want to call me the best time to do it is after 7 pm EST or on the weekends
Love you !
Miriam Lemon
706-280-7862"

Mommy Hypochondriasis

I think I have this disease.

Symptoms: Overuse of household sanitizing sprays. For example, when husband is sick, patient may spray everything he touches with Lysol until patient can taste Lysol when she's eating her lunch. When passing through the cold & flu section of the store, patient may hold breath. When coming into contact with any sick person, patient may sanitize hands until they're dry & unnattractive. Also, after coming into contact with a sick person, patient may imagine they have the same symptoms as said sick person. For example, when husband has a cold, patient may immediately begin experiencing sore throat, fever, and weakness that may or may not be caused by actual virus. Patient also may be terrible nurse to the sick, as patient may not wish to take temperatures, administer medicine, or generally console the sick. Instead, the patient may wish to be in different county than sick person.

Causes: Though there is considerable debate concerning the causes of this disorder, most professionals think it is probably caused by motherhood. Mothers who have had sick, whiney children do not want to deal with them again and mothers who have cared for sick children while sick themselves never want to be sick again. Thus, they may begin to take drastic measures to avoid illness in all its forms until it becomes an obsession, though some may call it an artform.

Treatments: The best cure for this disorder is for the patient to actually get sick. They become much less obsessive when sick and even feel a sort of relief at not having to avoid the illness anymore. This is why most patients are never cured, because they avoid the cure with such dedication.