Pajama Dresses - Christmas 2013

Ever since I can remember, I’ve loved new pajamas.  Especially at Christmas.  As a kid, I remember how we got to unwrap one present each on Christmas Eve.  It was always a new pair of pajamas, or a nightgown.  I absolutely loved the smell of the new pajamas, and wearing them to bed that night seemed to make Christmas even more magical.  I carried on this tradition with my daughter Nicole as she was growing up, even throughout her college years.  

I now have the tradition of getting my Mom a new 'nightie' for Christmas each year.  That's what she calls it. She looks forward to it.  As a matter of fact, she liked last years’ flannel so much, she wore it the entire day for our family Christmas get-together this year, announcing ‘this is my outfit, I want to be comfortable’.  

I am all for her theory – I wore my matching flannel to Frito’s house this morning for Christmas breakfast and cheer.  I did wear boots, and a coat –so that way, if I did get pulled over by the heat, I wouldn’t look like a total ding-a-ling.  Just a little bit like one.  Hey, my Mom has the right idea – ‘comfort for Christmas’.  I’ve been known to wear my pajamas in public, what’s one more day.

When I was a little girl, around the age five or six, my Grandma made me a quilted bathrobe with matching bootie style slippers.  I still have them, packed away in my cedar chest of treasures.  When Nicole was little, I had her wear it one Christmas, and I took her picture.  It was so adorable, and fun to reminisce about.

Now, as a full-fledged Grandma myself, aka: Oba…………, I have the distinct pleasure of making nightgowns for my little granddaughters each year and sending them to wherever they may be living at the time.  They look forward to receiving them each year, and of course, their Barbie’s like to have matching pajamas.  The girls call them Pajama Dresses, so that is what they are.  Pajama Dresses.  This year I couldn’t decide on fabric, so I made them each two.  A matching cowgirl set since they live in Texas, and another one more specific to their individual personalities.

To see the picture of  little girl grins in those pajama dresses, snuggled into their new slippers, and proudly holding up their Barbie’s, made my heart skip a beat.   And a lump in my throat the size of Texas.   Sealed with a button and a kiss – that about wraps up Christmas for me.  

Thank you God.  Happy Birthday Jesus.  A Christmas miracle.

WEIGHT LOSS – Take 534,657

I read in an Erma Bombeck book how she had lost so much weight over the course of her lifetime, by all mathematical reasoning she should be charm size, hanging off her own bracelet.  I can relate, can you?

As I was waking up this morning this very subject was whirling around and around, and the light bulb went off.  ‘Start with the end in mind’.  Now that’s a new way to think of weight loss – just don’t think about it.  Period.  Think about the end result instead.  I so appreciate these 'ah ha' moments because they take years off the chronic thoughts fogging our brains, and allow some air time.

So if the end result is to maintain a healthy weight, we no longer have to go on a diet.  We no longer have to allow food to rule our lives or every waking thought.  We simply go about our day AS IF.  We live our life AS IF we are at the healthy weight already, doing what that looks like, every day, until one day another light bulb goes off and says “WOW, it worked, I am maintaining a healthy weight”.  And if, in the meantime you have lost poundage, and your clothes are super duper baggy, it simply means it wasn’t healthy for you to hang onto that weight in the first place.  This stuff is crazy cool. 

Our mind is powerful beyond belief, and it lets us boss it around.  So just put awesome ideas and detailed declarations into our mind and watch what happens.  I lay money down it works.  We are in charge by golly.

My friend Frito puts a whole bunch of green stuff in a blender each morning and then uses luncheon plates for her other meals. My friend Coach runs, swims, and bikes a gazillion miles a week and eats like nobody's business (not really but it sounds good).  My friend Karen uses itsy bitsy Barbie Doll cookware for all her meals – that is her secret for maintaining a healthy weight.  So, if you are looking for something to get me for Christmas…………….hint, hint.  Just sayin’

We Have Our Limits

I have been wondering all day about limitations.  

For example, how many straws does it really take to break the camel’s back?  What if you had a herd of camels?  Does that mean you never have to worry about breaking any backs because there are plenty of backs to go around?  What about the last straw?  Is it really the last straw, or can you get more straws somehow? 

How about enough being enough?  When is enough really enough?  Or should we just say enough already?

If you’d had your fill, does that mean you will not be doled out any more fill?  Is this a guarantee?  So if you’ve had your fill and you make it a known fact – who’s to say you won’t get any more?  Who do we give this information to?  What happens if you get too much fill?  Where does it go?  Is it fattening?  What if it leaks out your eyes?  If the filling leaks out your eyes does that mean you are making room for more filling?  Perhaps this is what enough is enough is all about.

So, then, when would you throw in the towel?  Would it be after the camels’ back breaks, or after we’ve had enough already?  I think going to fly a kite is a much better option -- Lord willin' and the crick don't rise.   

Or we could opt out of camels altogether and go for the lucky strikes.

Walkin' The Dog

Daisy is bi-lingual.  She speaks people and dog.  

She is a one hundred pound dog packed into a two and a half pound Yorkie body.  Smarter than a whip, and all the coy cuteness a dog could muster.

Not really clear on who owns who, but Daisy lives with my cousin Laurie in Boling Brook.  I called Laurie recently to ask how she’s doing on her first million.  We laughed (just like we always do).  When I asked how Daisy was doing with her new trick ‘falling over dead’, she pointed out how it would be nice to speak two languages like Daisy.  Which got me thinking.  Laurie speaks two languages also.  She definitely speaks people, and if it wasn’t for her dog talk, Daisy would not know every trick in the book.  Plus, Laurie speaks a tiny bit polish, and she is a plant whisperer on the side.  She is selling herself short on communication skills. 

Daisy can do every dog trick known to man.  And guess who taught her?  Laurie.  She does all the regular stuff like sit, speak, roll over, and play dead, but she also dances a twirl, tilts her head, and more.  Plus, she doesn’t demand a treat every single time, which is pretty cool.  Currently she is learning to fall over dead when Laurie makes a fist and points her finger and says BANG!  Apparently Daisy is hearing the word ‘bang’ as ‘lay’.  So every time she hears ‘lay’ – she falls over.  I don’t think she is mistaken at all.  I am convinced she is hearing it in a third language – which would be ‘cat’.

Speaking of tricks, a year ago my cousin decides how much Daisy would like a few little babies of her own.  The next thing you know, Daisy is at the groomer, wearing barrettes, and her cutest dresses, and Laurie is making ‘play dates’ with boy yorkies all over town.  No kidding.  And no, there are no babies that resulted in this wild endeavor.

A few months ago Laurie and Daisy came for a long weekend visit.  It was a camping trip for Daisy, as she brought her own tent and all the gear.  She loves camping.  And if she really loves you, she will give you a hug.  This is just part of her personality, not a trick she has to be told to perform.  Seriously, like a human style hug, complete with the head tilt, on the shoulder, arms around the neck, and adoring eyes looking up into yours.  And this just doesn’t happen for every Tom, Dick, or Harry either – she really has to love you. 

I have declared her the Duchess of Boling Brook.  She has the wardrobe, and delicate, ladylike personality to pull it off, complete with a willing owner to escort her to all the celebrity events.

Did I mention……..Daisy is also an Elvis fan.

Mad Dog 20/20

If you are old enough to know what Mad Dog 20/20 is, you know it can kill ya.  I should have died a couple of times.  Because I didn’t learn the first time, I am pretty sure I asked God to take me the second time.  He didn’t.  I had a lesson to learn.  Actually, I had several to learn, and not just about the effects of alcohol.  Well, the big ones definitely involved alcohol.  I do know I stopped drinking MD 20/20.  I switched to other equally intoxicating elixirs of one sort or another.  Many more years of throwing ‘em back, and prayers followed.  

These days I am hardly a drinking woman.  But I am mad.  About nothing in-particular, just if it involves people.  I feel like I should join a boxing team.  I quit smoking almost seven years ago to be healthier for my grandchildren.  When I think back – this is when the madness began (that I am aware of).  Something about not smoking caused a knee jerk reaction for going into immediate menopause, which then snowballed into not having a taste for alcohol, which led to snippy snappy, eye rolling, bite your head off, tough crap stuff.  And crying.  Well maybe it’s not that bad.  It’s just a crap shoot.  

I wonder if there is a way to go back to drinking and smoking.  Is that the cure for madness?  People that drink seem really happy.  The world seems to roll off their shoulders.  They are always gathering and celebrating something.  The risk of drinking alcohol, along with the idea of praying for my life on the bathroom floor just doesn’t appeal to me these days.  Smoking is not such a concern, as I can hardly fathom the thought of a cigarette in my mouth.  

I thought it might be a good idea to seek professional help for this madness, but I lost my job which means no more insurance, so that settles that idea.  I have a friend whom I normally talk lifes’ crazy junk with, but now she’s mad too.  Throw that idea out the window.  See what I mean – it’s maddening.  I can totally relate to Maxine the comic.  

The way I see it; my vision being 20/20 with glasses on; all this madness is just a phase.  To be on the safe side though, I am going to check into a rabies shot.

Skipping Stones

Not sure who came up with the saying ‘roll with the flow’, but I am guessing it is part of the instruction manual you get with a canoe.  And, as we know, canoeing is perfectly fun and games until someone tips the canoe.   I have gone canoeing three times in my life.  

Another saying; ‘three times the charm’ is a lie and I am letting you know this ahead of time in case you hadn’t heard it before.  The first time I went canoeing with a husband and my daughter.  She was eight at the time, and eight year old girls would rather die than live through the embarrassment of their parents.  Except me, I was never embarrassed by my parents until I was well into my forties, but that is an entirely different subject.  So, back to my first canoe trip, it was twenty three years ago, and we were tagging along with a brothers’ annual work event.  

I was not too excited about the idea of a canoe trip, but I wanted to roll with the flow – so that is what you do.  You go along with everybody else.  If I knew ahead of time my husband was not a canoe guy, I would NOT have went along.  But for the sake of looking good, and rolling with the flow, I went.  And though we never tipped over, which was my biggest fear, we missed our ‘get off here to catch your bus ride back’ stop.  Yep, that was us.  And about one mile down river, it dawned on us.  Rather than get off at the next stop point, we panicked and jumped out of the canoe and proceeded with the upstream battle of pulling the canoe on foot, for over a mile, in the muck and slippery rocks to the stop point we originally missed.  My daughter laid down flat in the canoe – she was mortified by us.  And of course, we were mortified too. 

Canoe trip number two was with the other husband.  He knew how afraid I was of tipping over in a moving river.  He was privy to the first canoe trip fiasco and promised to take good care of me if I went on the trip with his family.  So of course I believed him.  He really thought my story was funny so he shared it, and was then talked into pulling the funny prank of tipping me over on purpose.  And he did.  I lost my glasses in the river, had a panic attack, found my bent up glasses, and got mad and cried.  Here, here for rolling with the flow.  

This brings me to canoe trip number three with my boyfriend at the time.  We went with our card club.  Simply put, he is good at navigating any type of watercraft.  So I trusted him, completely.  We never tipped.  Though a bit short on charm along with sun burnt thighs, it was a successful roll with the flow day.

As I walked the shoreline of a Lake Michigan beach recently I found several flat pieces of stone that had washed to shore.  I thought about how they got their shape after being tossed around in the water, perhaps for years, grinding with the sand and other rocks; floating and tossing about, then washing up to shore. The flat rocks nestled into the beach shore are almost like an invitation to be picked up and tossed back in.  So I tossed a few, and as I watched them dance across the water before making the plunge back in, I realized how I am more of a ‘skipping stone’ than a ‘go with the flow’ person.  .   

The circumstances and experiences in our lives are what shape us into who we are, much like the water and sand shape the stones.  Always uniquely and beautifully shaped, dancing across the water, plunging in, and rolling in with the surf to greet our new opportunities, learning what works for us, and what doesn't, never apologizing for who we are, but just being.