Interruptions

I am learning sometimes the dream has to wait.
Be put on hold.
Go on a bathroom break.
Clock out for ten minutes. Or maybe even ten days.
Life interrupts.
Or rather, people do. People we love.
Our tribe. Our family. Our friends.
Life is never neat. And no matter how many to-do lists I have or how many items I cross off, it's never as organized as I try to make it either.
I write.
And when I am not writing I am thinking about writing. Feelings become describable and words become life. It's all I can do to scribble them down in my notebook or record it in my iphone as a barely deciphered "note' before I forget. And let's be honest, Siri doesn't get it ya'll. All the updates in the world hasn't fixed the words lost in translation just yet.

Even as I try to write this, my computer has shut down, restarted, and begun to download Windows 10.
Mid-type. Three consonants in.
Interruptions.

(sigh)

I am inspired as much as the next person by all the affirming slogans and handmade signs reminding us to, Be You!, Follow your Happy, and Just Write.
I hang these on my walls,(a lot you guys. Instagram is taking ALL MY MONEY) and would gladly purchase all the buttons and totes and stickers in my feed, if that would make them all come true.
But can I be real here?
For just a sec?

I can't do that all the time. Even if it's penciled in. Even if it's important.

And I'll tell you why.

My husband is going gangbusters in his business. And watching him swells my heart and make me wish for a set of pom-poms. That's how stinkin' proud I am.
But guess what it means?
Long nights in the office for him.
Dinner clean up and dishes for me. (or better known as - No writing.)
I have a daughter who is moving out in ONE DAY (sob sob just kidding. I'm happy. But then I'm sobbing too so basically I'm a mess), and if she has a story to tell or if she just wants to sit on the couch and Friends it out - I'm down. Like James Brown. I'm going to sit on that couch with her and not move. Because guess what folks?
The season of Sammi is coming to an end. I know it. She knows it.
The adulting that has started knows it, and once we adult we can't kid again. Not in the same way.
So I'm soaking it up. Every sigh. Every MOM. Every scare as I walk out of the bathroom and she throws the embarrassment up on Snapchat. Every frustration with the utility company and every excitement of a room that almost sits empty.
Next week it will be Jeff's new office. A restart of something we can't even grasp.
But this week,
this week,
it is being hallowed out.
Just like me.

I sat in the middle of her floor after we sold her bed and I tried hard not to cry.

There's always something. I know. I'm pounding this out on my lunch hour instead of walking. So there's that. My writing is done but my exercise and fresh air is taking the hit.
It's ok. One thing is always going to cancel out another.

So here's what I am saying ...
Be You.
Follow your Happy.
Just Write.

But know that some days your happy is going to look different than you expected. It's not going to be written on your list or located in your calendar.
I think these can be some of the best kinds of happy though. Interruptions are God things. It's when He redirects us.
It's when he whispers, "oh no .. you think that's THE most important thing but THIS is...."
I think we can miss it though. I know I can.
I miss it in the midst of my guilt.
The constant chatter.
"You didn't work out. You didn't write. You didn't get the laundry done. You forgot stamps. You need more eggs. You didn't write the card. You didn't call your friend. You didn't spend enough time with Jacob."


and on and on and on and on.

There's a name for this radio station friends. I'll share it with you another day. Just know,
you are not alone,
AND,
turn the station off.

We are all doing the best we can.
Some days I am going to bang out twenty pages of my book.
Other days I'm going to stare at my outline for hours without writing one word. (hellooooo all last week!)

Some days,
you are going to get to each thing on your list. You'll feel accomplished and stretch hard to pat yourself on the back.
Other days,
you are going to wonder who hijacked your life.

But then you'll realize,

it's everyone you really love.

And all the things that make your Happy.

XO

Orchids and Calle Lillies

I have mercifully discovered Pinterest can turn the average mama into a florist, a caterer, an entertainer, and a wedding coordinator.
Well, Pinterest, You Tube, Hobby Lobby, and about five million dollars.

I finished my daughter's bridal bouquet yesterday morning at 7am. My bed had become the most comfy of craft centers; tape, ribbon, scissors, pliers, pins, wire, with a side table of coffee and an ipad of Friends. When I put the final pin in place, I held up the bouquet in some kind of fanatical awe. I basically felt like I had managed world peace all on my own.
Or at least avoided the mother-lode of melt-downs.
Until I saw the ONE flower.
Again.
This flower ya'll.
I have battled it for three days.
Three.
No matter where I placed it or how I bent it, it would fit into place, a perfect match with all the other flowers, and two minutes later, it would twist again, just enough to be obviously different.
Just enough to drive me crazy.

In my last post I talked about the pressure of wanting to make everything perfect in this wedding, which is so laughable because how does anyone who is imperfect (and oh the list of imperfections!) create something perfect? Exactly.

Have you ever made a bouquet?
Until now, me either. I am not crafty. I do not have an "eye" for these things. My gift is to rely on my talented friends, which unfortunately, was not an option this time around.
For better or for worse, I was on my own.
So I did what anyone this decade would do and I You Tube'd it.

Each video I watched, showed to gather three flowers at a time, then tape. Three more, then tape. Add another three, and then tape some more. This is what keeps the flowers in place and enables you to add to the bouquet without all the flowers slipping through your fingers and onto the floor. It helps it hold its shape.

My problem flower was somewhere at the beginning. I couldn't take it out unless I wanted to start over.
For the fourth time.

I stared at this flower; eyes narrowed, contemplating how I could rip the bloom out and be done with it. Make like the Queen of Hearts and, "Off with her head!"

Instead, I kept going. I was so close. My adhesive covered fingers ached for the finish.
Maybe if I taped enough, if I added more flowers, if I squeezed it tighter, it would be forced to stay in its place.


My chest is tight and I am fighting back tears,
right this second,
as I type.

I am on the couch, slippered feet crossed on the ottoman, headphones on listening to Coldplay, pillow on my lap, computer on top of pillow, and about 45 minutes ago, I told my family, "I've got to write."
Typically when I write, I hide out in my room, hunkered down for at least an hour with the door closed.
But my in-laws are sleeping in my room; hence the headphones on the couch so I can block out my son, who is watching Dragon BallZ, and my husband who is working from the yoga mat laid out on the floor in front of me, (my daughter called him an oxymoron for doing this and I just about died laughing), and my daughter who is doing her make-up while watching something ridiculous from her ipad.

I knew I had to write. I could feel it in my fingers, the push of words, but honestly ya'll, I had something completely different in mind.

Something about the rehearsal and how I tried not to cry from this joy I have never felt before.
Something about motherhood and how for the first time in a long time, I am standing at a precipice of complete unknowns and my emotions are tumbling around inside me like a dryer full of exploding rainbows.
Something about the dinner I hosted at my home last night for the wedding party and all the family,and it was nerve-wracking and incredibly perfect at the same time.
Something like that.
Nothing about bouquets.

But you know, the heart lets out what wants to be free, what wants to be known.

In a beautiful bouquet of orchids and calle lillies, all perfectly aligned and in place, there is just one.
One that will not conform.
One that will not be adapt.
One that will not be twisted and turned and molded and plied, into something it is not.
It will not look right when it wants to look left.
It will not bend when it wants to stand straight.

It will not look like the others. It will be what it is.
And nothing I do will change it.

And now I am still trying not to cry because my mother-in-law is up and talking to Jeff and I'm still in my headphones,
writingwritingwriting,
and I don't want her to look at me weird and think I am weird, but honestly, I am caring less with each letter that gets punched out.

I should be more like that flower.
We all should.
And it is so fitting that it is my daughter's bouquet, her wedding bouquet. It is so fitting that it is her.

She is in the service. She knows all about conformity and adapting and doing what she is told.

And she does what is required of her. This is her job, her actions.

But her spirit, all the stuff inside of her that beats and moves and loves,
it does not bend when she'd rather stand straight,
it does not look right if she wants to look left,
it is not twisted and turned and molded and plied, into something she is not.

She is as brave as this flower.
Simply by being what she is and refusing all she is not.

I want to be this brave too.

XO