Happy Fun Girl: When Good Girls make the Naughty List...

Happy Fun Girl: When Good Girls make the Naughty List...:                                                                                                                                          ...

When Good Girls make the Naughty List...

                                                                                                                 
                                                                                                   (photo courtesy of msbatman.com)


I blame Santa Claus for my sometimes skewed understanding of God.

We are wooed early on to believe in the magic of Christmas.
We are coaxed into believing in ridiculous things like flying reindeer, tiny elves and talking snowmen.

Sleep is impossible as we lay in bed, anticipating the arrival of the giant jolly fat man who will be delivering toys world wide to every girl and boy.

Every GOOD boy or girl anyway.
Because, you see, we are also taught that the awesomeness of Christmas morning cheer is totally behavior based.

Smart parents start working it around September..."You better be good....." and blah, blah, blah.

Over squeezy grandparents who smell like a mixture of Werther's originals and Bengay jokingly ask, "Well, were you naughty or nice this year?"

Mall Santa's always ask, "And were you a good little girl?", almost accusing, like they already got the lowdown from the snitchy looking, pointy shoed midget at the front of the line.

Don't even even bother checking my list twice.
I can tell you straight up.
I was both.

And I probably just now should have said "little person."
I'm sorry.

And just how good is good enough to make the "Nice" list anyway?
I wonder if Santa grades on a curve?

I remember laying there in bed and wondering if helping the little old lady with her groceries would cancel out hitting my brother with his yellow, metal, Tonka truck?

Almost obsessively, I ran the various possible "Good List Busters" through my head, my heart pounding with each and every new rememberance.

I called my mom a bad name in my head.
But I set the table every night for a month....without even being asked.
That should surely even things up...right?

I laughed with my friends at recess, because they were joking about the underarm fat of one of our teachers, and how they had to duck when she waved them around in class, apparently unaware that they could knock your block off with one flapping swoop.

But I felt bad for that and helped her empty the trash cans and pass out papers all week.
I even silently prayed that they would stop making fun of her.

Because I felt bad.
And I really wanted a Holly Hobby Sewing Machine.

I got coal in my stocking that year.
1978 I think it was.
Coal! In my stocking!!!
Seriously, I did.
I was like the best kid on the whole block but I still got coal.

While everyone else in the family was gawking at their presents under and around the tree, guilty me, was sitting on the edge of our brown and white couch wondering which offense got me the always threatened, but never actually received until now, coal.

I'm pretty sure I know what it was, but I have some discretion and won't mention it here.

One by one, the presents were opened while I silently sat suffering through my hardcore self-examination. One by one, the presents revealed the kind of year I'd had...socks, underwear, clothes....

I sadly opened the last of my gifts, sure that this Christmas would be Etch-a-Sketched in my mind as the Worst Christmas Ever.
And there it was.
The BB gun for girls.

The Holly Hobby Sewing Machine.
Shining black, beauty with the cute little blue sticker on the front.
"I will make dresses and curtains and clothes, and, and....flags like Betsty Ross!" I thought to myself.

My heart still pounds and I get tears in my eyes as I type this because I really wanted one so badly.
And I didn't deserve it.

I'd already decided it had been a pretty crappy year and I did not make the "nice" list.

So, in a nutshell.....I blame Santa Claus and the whole stupid good/bad, naughty/nice philosophy for my jacked up understanding of Jesus.

I always thought that, just like Jolly Old Saint Nick, he based his love for me on my behavior.
And my behavior would surely never win his approval.

But he sent Jesus...as a most amazing gift.
Better than any BB gun, or Holly Hobby Sewing Machine or the latest version of Black Opps....

The true Christmas miracle.
Jesus.

He is the, "Reason for the Season" which I really hate to say because it's so ridiculously cliche'.
But, when said with an old Chinese proverb kind of voice, it's funny.

Try it with me.
"Aaaghhh. Jesus is reason for season."

LOL!
I don't even have to wonder which list I'm going on this year.
I've crossed the line and mocked my saviour. ;)

But I feel pretty confident that I'm still going on the "Nice" list.
And I'm not hanging stockings this year anyway.

Introducing...The Technicolor Dreamer's Scarf!

                                                                                         (photo courtesy of Coldwater Creek)

I'm a dreamer.
Ask my mom.
I always have been.

Maybe that's why I so totally love Joseph.
Bible Joseph.
But not the father of Jesus.

Maybe because I'm so drawn to his amazing story, is the reason I am so ridiculously in love with this scarf that I call, "The Joseph & His Technicolor Dream Scarf," or, "The Scarf of Many Colors."

Sweet dreams are made of these! Who am I to disagree?

Watch a free instructional video on 8 ways to tie a scarf!!.

And for the sake of Christmas cheer and keeping every one safe and sound, please buy one for everybody and not just the favored one of the family.

Jealous fits over God given dreams, or fabulous cozy scarves, is not a pretty picture during the holidays.

I get Joseph.
Although, where he tends to run from trouble, I run straight into it.

Seriously, right about now I could use a good dream interpretation hook up.
And by good I mean, better than the baker got.

I've had some pretty crazy dreams over the years.

One of the strangest and most frightening was back in first grade, when I dreamt that I walked out to our family car, opened the door, climbed into the driver's seat and sat on my mother's head, squishing it into a million bloody pieces all over the place, flat as a pancake.

And just as the family dog started to lick it up, I woke up.
Crying my eyes out!
I wonder if she remembers me telling her about that?
Let me just tell you, at 6....that was scary stuff!

I also used to have, "Teeth Crumbling in my My Mouth" dreams, where all my teeth would just start disintegrating one by one while I was trying to have a conversation with someone.

Frequently I would also have, "I Just Drove Off the Unfinished Portion of the Freeway into MidAir Dream."
(You can actually see what the Hollywood version of this might look like in, "This Means War." )

Don't get me started.
It all feels a little nightmarish, really.

One of the most vivid and unbelievable dreams I've ever had happened over a decade ago, about a year after my divorce.

Tossing and turning in the middle of the night, I dreamt I saw my ex-husband sitting on what looked like a park bench or something, playing guitar.

It was a beautiful song with a haunting melody and one that I'd never heard him play before.
After all, he was a drummer.
Who usually just, well....beats it.

The scene, I mean.

Anyway, I woke up with this very distinct, incredible melody stuck in my head.
Finally, near the end of the next day, still unable to shake it, I called him up.
At the time, he was embracing his "Philadephia Freedom" in Pennsylvania after leaving the marriage the year before.

"Hey, I had the weirdest dream last night about you sitting on a park bench and playing a new song. Have you written a new song lately?"

"Actually," he said, "I was working on one last night...on a bench....at the bus station. Huh. I guess I better grab my guitar. Hold on a minute."

I could hear him set the phone down as he went to retrieve the guitar.
The Most Loved/Most Hated guitar in the world.
This was the baby blue strat that made it out of the pawn shop when my wedding ring didn't.

I hated that guitar.
I'd rather have just beat him over the head with it.
Who walks out on their very own nine month old daughter?

And their crazy, "Why Can't You Just Get a Job, I'll Run You Over with My Car, Slash Your Tires and Throw Lamps at Your Head.....beloved wife?"

Whatever.
I'm sure now, 14 years later, it was probably for the best.

He came back to the phone, "Are you ready?"
"Sure."

There were just a few moments of silence and with the strum of the first chord, I started to cry.
It was indeed the exact same melody I'd had in my head since waking up the night before.
Chills went through my body.
I dropped the phone and dropped to the side of the bed.
What else was there to say?

How is it that possible that umpteen states away, I dreamt of the exact song he'd written?
I can't even begin to try and interpret the purpose of that.
Hello, Joseph?
The mysterious melody has now faded from my mind, pretty much the same way many of the imagined promises have over the years.

But then randomly, Aerosmith pops into my head.
"Dream On..Dream on...Dream until your dreams come true...."

Some dreams I've had in my heart since I was just five years old.
Dreams that I don't share with anyone.
Dreams that sound crazy.
I leave those in the hands of God.
And yell at my steering wheel while driving that I'm not really seeing it....

Lately, I keep dreaming of a wedding.

And as much as I really do long to see the bridegroom, I keep waking up just before the ending.

(Maybe I should stop hitting the fridge at midnight like it's a wedding banquet feast.)

Ecclesiastes 5 says, "A dream comes when there are many cares, and many words mark the speech of a fool."

Interestingly, this fool has lost her voice for the last several days.
Can I get a little interpretation here please?

On second thought, I think I'll just skip the cryptic, bird brain feasting extravaganza and pray I get one of these fabulous scarves for Christmas....

Note to Santa...There are several colors to choose from and I prefer the multi-colored shown above.

Happy Fun Girl: The Incredible Push-Up, or the Incredible Uplifter...

Happy Fun Girl: The Incredible Push-Up, or the Incredible Uplifter...:                                                                                             (photo courtesy of Victoria's Secret ;)...

The Incredible Push-Up, or the Incredible Uplifter?

                                                                                            (photo courtesy of Victoria's Secret ;)


 #472...Of Stupid Things I've Said.

"Just tighten that strap up a little."
Ugh.
As soon as I said it, I knew it sounded better in my head.

Recently, I've taken a part time job at a women's clothing store.
And since I've asked God to guard my mouth today..I'm just going to leave it at that and not go off on an awkward situation that presented itself a few weeks ago.
Again...it's a women's clothing store.

Moving along, 'cause I'm too tempted to rant.

I love this job.
Helping people shop and spend money that is not mine.
Re-hearing my mouth probably cross the line.
Yikes.

A beautiful woman in her, mmhh? maybe mid 50's, was trying on one of my most favorite shirts in the store. It's a super cute bat wing, with sheer sleeves and a very figure flattering type of cut.

But she wasn't happy with the way it was looking in the front.
Neither was her husband.
It does look best with a gorgeous necklace of some sort, but I understood the problem immediately.


Having just had the same problem last week, I was ready to share my great words of wisdom and make both their day.
Both of their days?
Anyway, so I say, "Just tighten up that strap a little."

"Oh. It adjusts?" she said, looking at the shoulder of the shirt.
"Well, not the shirt, but your undergarment. Just adjust the strap a little and lift them back up," I said smiling sweetly.

The deadpan expression hinted that I'd said too much.
Undergarment is a tactful way to say that, right?

So I tried to explain, "Sometimes we forget, and the straps stretch out. It's amazing how uplifting it can be to just do a little 'adjusting'. I had to do mine just the other day and it makes a world of difference."

I was still smiling sweetly, she was.....not so much.
The voice inside of me said, "Dear God...shut up already."

Now, that whole scene has been in my head for two days straight.
And God just loves to teach me lessons in my lameness.
So, as I was driving and reflecting on my overly personal, didn't mean any harm, really I was trying to help comment, I got to thinking about making some adjustments in my own life.

I've been feeling a little emotionally in the raw.
And physically sagging in my life...and my bra.
And my spirit.

Most days I try to be encouraging and uplifting.
I was trying to be "uplifting" that day.
Really, I was.

She was a beautiful, beautiful woman and I was just sharing a girlie reminder.
One middle aged woman to another.

Sometimes less is more.
And maybe this is an area where I could use some adjusting.

Less caffeine, less yapping, less complaining, less trying to figure things out for myself and just more trusting perhaps. Less sarcasm, less food, less tv, less loathing.

And then, because I'm only semi-sane on some days...I thought that Victoria Secret really screwed things up with their whole Push Up bra.
It should have been called something, like "The Uplifter".
'Cause that sounds a whole lot more encouraging and nice than a Push Up!
I despise push ups, but I'd like to be lifted.

We all like to receive a little encouragement every now and then.
And fortunately, I had the opportunity to hear Max Lucado speak the past two weeks.
I've seen him on tv and read many of his books, but I'd never actually seen him in person.
Until last Sunday.

Let me just tell you.
Max Lucado is like the Mr. Rogers for Jesus.
He is very calming.
And in cool wire rim glasses, much more attractive.

In the "Garden of My Mind", weeds sprout up. (click the link..)

But seriously, something about that man just radiates peace and love.
I just finished his new book, "Grace", and unlike the unfortunate thunder blunders I speak,
his words were just what I needed to hear, right when I needed to hear them.

I'm not going to give away the details, but there is a story that Max tells in this book, that had me saying, "Okay, Max...I love you! Thank you soooo much for that! Thank you for your honesty and sincerity and thank you for sharing something so personal with those of us who really screw up our little Jesus walks. Thank you for helping me feel less unworthy!"

Thank you Max, for reminding me of God's Grace.
Buy the book.
Amazing story after story, the undeniable presence of God's love is all over the pages.
It's not super churchy, it's just super powerful.

One of the things that he said has stuck with me all week, and as I've let it really set in, it's helping me tremendously.

 "Trust God's hold on you, more than your hold on God."
"Trust God's hold on you, more than your hold on God."

I typed it twice on purpose.

I'm going to make a few adjustments, and trust that, better than my bra straps, he will hold me up.

"Be Lifted Up".