31 days

31 days UNFILTERED - early

Day 20 I inherited this freakish gene from my Grandpa Hollywood. It's in my blood, my sister's blood, my mom's blood, and my aunt's blood.

We are always early.

I don't know. It just happens. And if it doesn't happen, I experience excruciating anxiety. Being late makes me angry, foul-mouthed, grumpy and reckless.

A friend once said that her often running late habit involves a lot of yelling and screaming. I told her that so does my habit of running early.

And so today, as I rushed my girls out the door to get Harper to school, fussing at them to hurry up, we're gonna be late (a lie), put your shoes on, to the van, girls - I said to the van, stop your dilly-dallying, hustle, come on, we gotta go, we finally were on the road and the clock assured me that we would be right on time, if not a minute early, for the beginning of the ten minute window we are given to drop off our preschooler.

Phew.

As I pulled into the school, I became confused as I noticed that not a single car was in the parking lot. Surely we weren't that early.

Surely we weren't.

Unless of course I was getting my daughter to school for Wednesday. Because apparently girlfriend ain't got no school today or tomorrow.

And apparently I missed that minor detail when I was hyper-focused on more pressing things like being on time.

And this, my friends, is such a perfect illustration of my life these days. Sure, the bulletin board in the laundry room proudly displays all the school calendars and activities, neatly hanging in a row. The papers that come home from school daily are filed tidy in a folder. I am organized. Except I'm very very very scatter-brained. The calendars on display are never glanced at (whose got time for that?) The papers in the folders are never read (must they really send home so many at one time?) And so while I do a mighty fine job of cracking the whip to get us where we thought we needed to be, I'm frantic and flailing when it comes to, oh, I don't know, keeping track of the days of the week.

But my on-time gene never goes off the clock. And so though today we were on time for no school, at least the backpack is already packed and in the van ready for Wednesday. And that makes my hurry-up-and-wait dance a mad party.

31 days UNFILTERED - school

Day 19 The number one question I've been asked since we moved out to the sticks is, "What about the schools?"

And this remains the toughest question for me to answer.

Our new school district is small, rural, and simple. The athletic and extracurricular options are minimal and the state school report card is fairly decent but not quite exceptional. Because there are dozens of school districts in the surrounding area, our school district is only slightly above average in comparison.

At least on paper, anyway.

So when folks ask me about the schools, I think what they really want to ask is, "Are you concerned that you are making a decision to live in a school district that can't offer your children the academic rigor of some of the surrounding districts?"

And that's a fair question. We live in a highly competitive world, and in order to keep up, kids must stay ahead of the competition.

And the fact is that compared to our school district, some schools are better positioned to crank out a lot more kids who are better able to compete.

Why wouldn't a parent enroll their child in a school that boasts near perfect school report card scores if that parent is able to do so?

Well, that brings me to my answer, the answer to the question that is so difficult to answer.

The truth is, my concern for my child's education pales in comparison to my concern for my child's character.

Yes, high educational standards are well and good. I won't argue that for a second. However what matters even more to me than how my children are excelling academically is how they are developing personally, socially, emotionally and spiritually. Essentially, I care more about WHO my children are becoming than I do about WHAT they become.

Please don't misinterpret what I'm saying. I have nothing against schools that place a high value on academics. Heck, that's what schools are designed to do, in most cases. If my child excels in a highly competitive academic environment - holy cow, that's awesome. But if it's at the expense of his or her ability to engage the world and people, I'm a lot less impressed.

I actually don't care a whole lot about raising intelligent kids.

Which may sound crazy because I am constantly telling my kids, "You are so smart."

I tell them they are smart when they stop and think about a decision rather than acting flippantly. I tell them they are smart when they are faced with a challenge and they press in rather than give up. I tell them they are smart when they try a new way to solve a problem when other ways haven't worked.

I don't want my kids to think that smart equates to high IQ. Because the truth is, there will always be more intelligent kids. Always. But there will always ever be only one Henry. One Harper. One Greta. And I want my kids to be confident in who they were made to be regardless of their grades, test scores, and class rank.

As for our new district, I have sat at the board of education meetings, the PTO meetings and across from my son's principal, and there is no doubt that these leaders have a vested interest in my son for who he is, not for who they want to make him for the sake of performance on standardized tests.

And so our new school district, while not the cream of the crop academically, it is beautifully fit for our family and our values. The school climate is superb. The district community is second to none. The staff is melt-my-heart divine.

And if I do say so myself, choosing it makes us pretty darn smart.

31 days UNFILTERED - forgot

Day 17 (not really) & Day 18 (kind of) For the first time I forgot about the challenge. I went an entire day (yesterday) without remembering that I committed to blogging daily. And by the grace of God my forgetfulness was a result of the kind of day that fills you up and over the brim, relationships that do the heart good.

In other words, I was so busy living, that I forgot to blog about it.

And so today is Day 18 of the challenge, although it's only the 17th time I've blogged. And tomorrow I'm gonna jump right back in at Day 19 and leave the not really Day 17 and kind of Day 18 behind in the all-the-feelings memory bank, still basking in the goodness of love.

31 days UNFILTERED - barf

Day 16 What's worse than coming home to discover that your dog ate a whole lotta Halloween candy (including the wrappers)? Knowing that sometime in the next 24 hours, most of it is gonna come back up. Worse yet, a good chunk of those 24 hours are sleeping hours. Which means that there's a very good chance I will be awakened from my coveted REMs to a dog barfing on the carpet.

NIGHTMARE.

I wish that in moments like these the phrase, "If I don't laugh, I'll cry," were true.

Instead of laughing or crying, I'm simply asking questions that would make the PETA people target my house with their bizarre nude picketing.

But hey, I kept my latte soy today, so you're welcome, PETA.

31 days UNFILTERED - messages

Day 15 For your enjoyment.

These are the kinds of messages I receive from my sister:

"So I was driving by your old neighborhood, and I saw that they are redoing that Wendy's. It's going to be closed during the renovation. It's really a good thing that you moved when you did. I don't know what you would have done."

(She speaks truth.)

"Well, Hans' animal portrait was rescheduled because of the weather. It's probably a good thing. This gives him more time to get ready - lose some weight, get Botox . . . "

(She really has a point here.)

"You have to check out these Spanx leggings. They come up so high. They make me really excited to wear maternity clothes some day."

(The only problem with maternity clothes is that you are pregnant when you wear them, canceling out the comfort factor. But I'll just let her figure that out when the time comes.)

(And the time better come, ya hear me. I want to be an aunt. I want a turn. Tonight Morg called and asked to talk to Greta and I said, "No, I don't want Greta near me. Call tomorrow." And Morgan said, "How about I try next week." Motherhood has worn me down, people. I want to be the aunt for once. Is that too much to ask?)

Until then, I thank God for my sister who keeps me sane with her hilarious messages. Laughter does this momma good.

31 days UNFILTERED - meow

Day 14 For all y'all who were afraid that our recent acquisition of two cats (that turned into one cat that then turned into three cats) would turn me into a cat lady . . .

Today I bought the cats a cat house. And we placed it prominently on the front porch.

All that to say, I think y'all might be right.

It's getting a little bit cat happy up in here (and this is coming from the gal who once searched for a bumper sticker that said, "Can't find your cat? Look under my tire.")

Don't ever tell me people can't change.

31 days UNFILTERED - falsies

Day 13 It all started with a quandary. I want long eyelashes but I don't want to wear mascara. It's not the mascara itself that I'm opposed to. It's the daily ritual, wax-on-wax-off, that I despise. And I'm not even talking about the time it takes to put mascara on and take it off. It's a ridiculously quick process, I know. It's that no matter what, I have to embrace sometimes having dark circles around my eyes from smudgy mascara and/or remove the mascara with a product such as make-up remover in addition to the face cleanser that is already a part of my routine. And inevitably I forget that I am wearing mascara and rub my eyes. I'm just getting too darn old to pull off the smokey eye at 10am while running to Walmart to pick up diapers.

So I tried falsies. False eyelashes, that is. Basically a strip of someone else's real hair knotted together to form a row of lashes that I then glued onto my eyelid. With cement-grade glue. Because we false-eyelash wearing gals don't mess.

I'm not totally sure how or why I thought this was a good idea. My sister, who is incredibly hip and pretty and magazine-cover worthy on so many levels, she pulls off the fake eyelash thing like nobody's business. For her, it's just the next step after putting on deodorant and before glossing her lips. Effortless and lovely and all the things that I soon learned are not ever going to be a part of my fake eyelash experience.

My experience went like this.

I spent almost one whole hour attempting to glue the falsies to everything but my eyelids. I had glue in my eyeball, in my eyebrows, and in my hair. Did I mention that my fingers became affixed together with eyelash glue? I never back down from a challenge.

The entire process was made all the more encouraging when I went downstairs and received this reaction from my usually adoring husband, "Oh. Wow. What happened?" I thought that was a tad harsh, but I was so late for where I needed to be, having spent an extra hour getting ready, that I grabbed my keys and was on my way without thinking much of how I might appear to the general public.

As soon as I was driving, my appearance was the least of my concerns. Try driving with somebody else's hair glued to your eyes. Now is probably a good time to apologize to the squirrel that did not run out in front of me but I hit anyway because I was driving on the sidewalk. Just nevermind.

I soon realized how shocking my appearance was when I arrived at my destination, and rather than being greeted with, "Oh, hey, Ali, you look pretty today," I received a lot of, "Hi. Um, so, like, what's different?" and "Ali, I think there's something on your face," and the real confidence booster, when my friend took her hand and made a motion like she was casting a spell to my face and said, "What is going on here?"

I guess you could say I rocked those eyelashes.

Kind of like a clown rocks a red ball on his nose.

Except my lashes didn't squeak.

Needless to say, I peeled those suckers off my face as soon as I got back home. They took a couple layers of eyelid skin off with them, but at least I can now drive like the rest of the sober population.

And all the squirrels rejoice.

31 days UNFILTERED - songbird

What a coincidence. I published the following post exactly one year ago. It is absolutely fitting given that this morning I woke up to learn that this beautiful young girl is a Nobel Peace Prize winner.
Her hijab glows persimmon. Her voice, soft yet firm as the fruit.
Her years young, her spirit rich, a caged bird sings and her name a song.
A collective breath heard across the heart of nations as she answers, “If you hit a Talib with your shoe, then there would be no difference between you and the Talib. You must not treat others with cruelty and that much harshly, you must fight others through peace and through dialogue and through education. I would tell him how important education is and that I would even want education for your children as well. That’s what I want to tell you, now do what you want.”
Peace, her song. The voice of the silenced, a generation of women raped, slaved, burned, flogged. Brutality stifles hope.
A young teen, the songbird girl determines to have her hope song heard. Taliban determine her dead, a gunshot to her head as she rides the school bus home.
“They thought that the bullet would silence us, but they failed,” her peace message grows stronger with each threat to her life.
Her attack leaves her crooked smiled and warrior spirited and a weapon in her mouth.
Peace.
When a young Pakistan girl breathes peace to all, souls tilt heavy toward her like flowers to the sun.
We crave to be soothed, salve to violence and murder. Balm to broken and beaten. Life to empty. Peace we all crave.
A deer pants for water, and a soul for Shalom.
When the time comes to award peace prizes we root for the songbird girl whose innocence is a melody of peace.
Because we don’t want war and machine guns and chemical blasts to be the answer. What we really yearn for is rest for our soul.
As the songbird girl inspires peace without borders, I find hope in the One who has been singing this song all along.