Seriously?

Dear BJ's Wholesale Club,

I totally respect your request that I don't park in a particular spot because it's reserved for handicapped people. That is a noble and honorable request. I can even kind of understand why you would reserve a parking spot for carpool and vanpool. And I especially understand why you would save parking spots for mothers with infants. While not a mother myself, I have gone shopping with infants and it is no small feat. However, this is just ridiculous.

How do you even know how fuel efficient my car is?! You don't. I will park where I want. Or my mother will since I don't drive. . .


Sincerely,

Graduation

Sometimes there are no words to express the intense emotions that you experience. So I will not attempt to wax brilliant tonight. I’ll simply say – I’m so proud.

Keep on singing,

I'm a Party Animal . . .

. . .a pity party animal that is. I complain. A lot. Even things that I tend to miss when I don’t have to do them, become fodder for my complaining spirit. There’s a negative spin that can be put on everything. It’s all too easy to do. Instead of being thankful I can afford school, I complain about having to attend. Instead of being happy that I don’t have to go away to college, I lament the troubles of living with your parents and having to follow their (not at all strict) rules. Instead of rejoicing in the fact that I even have a boyfriend, I bemoan the fact that I only get to see him about every four weeks. Complain, complain, complain.

The problem is that while I identified this as a flaw in my character, I don’t know how to address it. I don’t do it consciously. It’s not like a start everyday thinking, “now how can I make this the worst day ever?” It just happens. And when I notice it, I try to spin it back to the positive. But sometimes I don’t notice until much later, too much later to backtrack and put a positive spin on the words I’ve already spilled for others to hear. I hate listening to people complain. I’m the first one to point out the positives in their life so that they can stop feeling sorry for themselves. But I can’t seem to do this for myself.

When I have so much to be thankful for, why do I allow myself to complain about the trivial? Sometimes when I write, the process of “getting it out” leads me to an answer. Not this time. I don’t know how yet, but this has got to stop.

Keep on singing,

The Best Years of Your Life

As I neared college age, everyone always told me that college would be "the best years of your life." Although I would be lying if I said the past year hadn't been good, it wasn't college that made it so. I'm enjoying these years, but I'd like them to go by quite a bit faster because I've known what I wanted since I was three. And college isn't it.

Today is Mother's Day. My Facebook newsfeed has been filled with children wishing their moms a happy day, husband's praising their wife's mothering skills, and mother's rejoicing in their children. That's what I want. Because when these moms look back, they remember college fondly, but the best memories are of their husband and children. A friend on Facebook put it best, the three greatest events in my life, the ones I couldn't imagine life without - salvation, my marriage, my children.

So happy Mother's Day!! To my mom who rocks! To all the mothers who know their children are God's miracles! To the women who have no children of their own yet share their extra love with those who need it!

And to those who can't wait to be mothers saying "these are the best years of my life!"

Her children rise up and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her: "Many women have done excellently, but you surpass them all." Charm is deceitful, and beauty is vain, but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised.

Keep on singing,

Royal Wedding

I admit it. I woke up at 4:30 in the morning to watch the royal wedding. I mostly did it because my mom told me that she got up and watched Prince Charles and Princess Diana’s wedding with her mother, and how could I not feel guilty for saying no after that? But to be honest, I was really excited to see Katharine’s dress, and not just because it was a “royal” wedding dress. I just like wedding dresses. Period. It’s a very good thing that I don’t have cable television because I would spend all of my spare time (and a lot of time that isn’t “spare”) watching those dumb wedding shows like Say Yes to the Dress and My Fair Wedding. Because I, like many females, am obsessed with weddings. I am obsessed not with my own possible future wedding (though that’s a big part of it!) but with any wedding. Because a wedding has everything that a true girly-girl loves – an excuse to dress up, flowers, music, good food, love.
Someone tweeted “The Royal Wedding: it's like a Steve Jobs Keynote, but for girls...” I found this to be so true. Yes, I think the ipad is really cool. No, I do not want to tune in to listen to Steve Jobs’ presentation about it. But I have lots of male friends who would! Yes, I think the royal wedding is cool. Yes, I will get up at 4:30 in the morning to watch it. But I have lots of male friends (I think all of them) who wouldn’t!
So, yes, I’m one of those girls who already has her wedding dress picked out, knows what color and style dress she wants her bridesmaids to wear, has the flowers picked out, and a mother who has decided what photographer we’re going to use. Yes, I’m obsessed. But it makes me smile.

Keep on singing,

Hello

Well look who finally decided to show up??

It's spring!

In NYC.

It's sunny.

And colorful.

And wonderful.

And fragrant.

And I love it.

Keep on singing,

Embarrassing? Yes. But Also Comforing.

It rarely happens anymore. Something about the combination of being daddy’s little girl and at the same time an almost “grown-up” has severely decreased the number of times I fight with my dad. In fact, this hardly counts as a fight. But he did make me cry. It was just one of those mornings. You know, the ones where nothing has gone terribly wrong but nothing has gone terribly right either? A morning that starts with tears at the edges of your eyes just waiting to spill over. All it takes is one, little phrase. “Goodness, no one is appreciative around here.”

He didn’t even mean it. He didn’t even remember saying it. But the jab struck the kink in my cheerful armor, and the tears that had been waiting to spill over began to flow. He didn’t notice (I didn’t really expect or want him to). But I turned quickly away hoping that if I continued on with my day the tears would stop. But there was a flaw in my plan.

Continuing on with my day meant going downstairs and seeing my mother. When asked what was wrong, I quickly explained but tried not to dwell on it. And I succeeded. By the time I walked out my front door to head to work, I had completely forgotten that a mere hour ago I had tears streaming down my face.

I work in for the Education Department of Nyack College Manhattan Campus. I love my job. I love my boss. I love having an excuse to spend five hours in the education lab people watching and chatting with college friends. I was having a good day. When my phone rang and the caller ID showed home, I answered with a cheery hello. “What’s up, daddy?” “Well,” he began hesitantly, “your mother says I made you cry this morning.”

Oh no. I had forgotten. I didn’t want to think about this now. “What?” I replied in a voice several octaves higher than normal. I quickly walked out of the lab to have some “privacy” for my phone call. I put privacy in quotes because what I apparently forgot at that moment is that the education lab has a wall of windows looking out into the hallway I had just walked to for “privacy.” I was proud of myself. I managed to get through the whole let’s-fix-this conversation without raising my voice or bursting into tears. But apparently I wasn’t as stone-faced as I thought. This probably has something to do with the fact that I did get a little teary and I’m rather expressive with my hand motions. . .

A walked back into the ed lab to be greeted by my two male friends questioning, “Are you okay? Was that your boyfriend?” I’m pretty sure if I’ve ever blushed, I was blushing then. “No, that was my dad, and I’ll be fine.” I replied quickly. “Oh, good. At first we were rooting for you to tell him off, but then we could tell you were upset. We were prepared to take care of it if you needed us too.”

Wow. It was one of those moments were you wish you could melt into the carpet. I was so embarrassed. Besides the fact that even if it had been my boyfriend he’s two hours away so what would they have done. . . But it was strangely comforting too. I haven’t made many close friends in college. But in the education department we are family. And apparently family does really stick together.

Keep on singing,