Words

“Words," he said, "is oh such a twitch-tickling problem to me all my life.” 

Roald Dahl, the BFG. 

The BFG was the first book I read that captured me as a child. It activated my imagination in ways I had never experienced. It was the first book I loved.

I have always loved the BFG. I never quite understood his issue with words but I found it amusing.

Words have always been something I have known as a friend. A companion. 

I am usually quite good with them. 

But this month I just haven't known what to say.
My high school drama teacher passed away surrounded by her amazing family.
She is no longer in pain.
I know she is in a better place....
but I haven't known what to say to her kids.
Not just her students.
But to her biological children who are my family-
who I know are feeling this pain in ways I will never comprehend.
And I don't know what to say.

It is the worst.
Anything I can think of seems cliche or nothing close to comfort.
All I can do is pray.
Then I stumbled upon this from "Accidental Saints"
which is my Lent Book.....

"In times when we have no words, when we don't know what to think because we are feeling too many things all at once, there is always the liturgy, the words of God's people that have rung through the millennia and that can speak on our behalf- words we can borrow for ourselves"

I believe the gospel extends beyond the Bible. Why would God create us to be so creative if those words aren't meant to be as comforting....so  I take comfort in the soothing songs of Rent, Hamilton, and Harry Potter.

I don't know what else to say....I leave you with this from HP.

"You think the dead we loved ever truly leave us? You think that we don’t recall them more clearly than ever in times of great trouble..."

Why Theatre?

I am a high school drama teacher by day.....

twin mom by night.....

this is an essay I wrote about last fall about my amazing theatre teacher.

March is going to be all about Theatre.

Specifically theatre in our schools.

Here is my story :

              It is hard to write about Gail Jones without using a cheesy musical quote. Talking about the woman who set my life on a path that has “changed me for good” goes hand and hand with the art form that brought her into my life. When I was in the 10^th grade my life at home was a living hell. My mother and step father were constantly fighting and the level of tension led me to find any way to escape that environment. I would pull the classic “I’m staying with Jessica” and Jessica would be staying with me and off we would go to a party.

              Then I was cast as Mme Thenardier in Les Miserables. And Gail Jones set the expectation of me to get myself straight and to commit to something productive. I don’t know if she knows to this day that that saved my life. I was surrounded by supportive misfits who became my family. She would stay after school with me so I didn’t have to go home before rehearsal. She placed the responsibility of working on the set, learning my music and creating a character that turned all of my anger and sadness into the laughter of the audience. I specifically remember looking up into the lighting booth on opening night and seeing her smiling face covered in proud tears.

              At that point in time, Gail was the only adult in my life that made me feel like I was worth something. That I could accomplish something and that I had talents. She helped me to find my passion. Years later, when I was beginning to teach high school drama myself she became a rock of support and belief once again. She helped me navigate the terrifying waters of classroom management, production and balancing family time.

              When I was pregnant and Gail told me she was retiring, when I asked if she would be my long term substitute she agreed. She gave up her first 12 weeks of retirement for a former student which I believe shows how big this woman’s heart is. Anyone else would’ve been sipping cocktails on the Hawaiian coast.

Often, I see 10^th grade Mallory in the faces of my students. When I become frustrated I try to remember who I was and how important Gail believing in me was. I remember how important her loving me was. I try to remember her big heart in those moments of frustration and know that this will make me a better teacher. I hope she is still proud of me. I know I am so proud to say I know her.

On the bandwagon.....

Being a parent changes you.

It shifts your whole perspective....

people tell you this.

You think 

"ok...I know".

But you don't know.

One little thing and your mind turns into a tornado of concerns of life and the world and the future and what society is doing to us and would I feel this way if I had daughters and what is really going to happen with this election and is the laundry still going and

(EXPLOSION)

.....

"Maemae- where's Thomas"

Back to reality.

Finish brushing teeth- diaper- lotion- night night.

Think more.

Tonight's one little thing was this

my son requesting to put my make up on.
In the exact order I do
primer (on his belly)
tinted moisturizer
powder
eye shadow.

I obliged because he is literally an angel.
I mean

look at that eye shadow covered forehead.
GORGEOUS RIGHT?

I give no Fs if my boys decide to wear make up or paint their nails or play football or vote for trump ;)

I just want them to be happy people.
Who care about others.
And love themselves.

But the way Fletcher looked at himself after he put make up on broke my heart.
He looked at himself like
"yes. now I look good"
If I had a daughter I would probably be doubley upset.

He learned that look of self satisfaction after make up from someone.
He learned it from me.
(explosion)
What kind of men am I raising?
Men who expect women to fulfill a standard?
Why do I feel like I have to look an certain way when I want them to grow up in a world where it doesn't matter?

((I mean....
I went to a women's college))

So I am going to slowly ditch my make up (I mean I will keep it around because who doesn't love some glitter and a smoky eye). But I want my boys to grow up loving a woman who is flawed and tries her best to be what God intended her to be.

So that one day they will find and love someone who loves them for their flaws (and vice versa) so they will truly love themselves. And then turn that love back to God.

We are not perfect.
But we are perfect in his sight.

So I am jumping on the no make up bandwagon.
For myself.
For my boys.
And for their future partners.
(and cause I like saving money)

"Momming" Out........or how I am still a dirty rotten feminist.

I am a nerd.

I mean....really.

I love obsessing over and researching things.

I am currently reading/listening and watching three different Harry Potters with the same passion I had when I first encountered them.

I will also go down an internet wormhole in 2.5 seconds flat if a tv show (and by tv show I mean Criminal Minds) says something I don't know a lot about. 

So....."momming' out for me is the same as nerding out but mom stuff.

It started simple enough.

My mom sends me a video of Finley throwing a ball which basically makes me think he will be a MLB pitcher (cause I mean my kid is so talented and perfect).

So I text my old baseball student and ask when we can start little league.

Because I am now that mom.

I find out little league is possible at age 3 where I live.

SCORE! 

The boys will be hitting balls with sticks Easter 2017.

but then.

I remember I am a fine arts person.

I don't know anything about sports.

But. Ok. I want my kids to be well rounded.

I start bugging my old students about dance.

I find promising 3 year old classes for fall 2016.

Then I look at the dress code..................

.....................................

......................................................

....................................................................................

one school totally has a male dress code...................................................................................................................................................................................................................

the other acts as if only girls will come with "bows" and "leopard print" .

rage fills me.

the rage that would fill me in college when my sorority sisters and I would be debating things and raging against the man and the machine.

FIRST 

I am mad that my sons are being discriminated against because dance is a "girls thing". What is their dresscode? If I try to put a bow in Finley's hair he will bite me. Fletch would be cool.

I go into anger for my boys that may love dance or girly things. I want them to be whoever they are and for the world to hold them in their arms and love them 

LIKE JESUS DOES.

THEN 

I am mad that women are held to specific roles. 

Because it is a mans world.

But how am I supposed to raise feminists when they are expected to only wear blue and throw balls?

When it is weird that Fin wants the pink cup?

When it is weird that Fletcher wants to put on make up like his mom?

Why is it weird when a girl wants to play with trains?

Why do we have these stereotypes?

WHY DID I THINK TO SIGN THEM UP FOR BASEBALL FIRST?

Why can't the girls wear a t-shirt and black jazz pants and the boys wear a leotard and pink tights?

Why are women still letting their husbands tell them how to vote?

?

And I have no answers. 

The only answer I have is to make my children try everything.

And then to encourage them to pursue what they love and makes them happy.

No. Matter. What. 

Like- if you love math....cool.....

if you love boys............cool........

if you love girls..............cool.....

Just be happy.

Be a good person.

Love others.

(but please dont vote for trump)

ok...I side tracked a little

I just want them to grow up in a place where they can be nerds, or jocks, or queers or whatever and still

feel 

loved.

Not just by their mom.

What's God got to do with it?

"There is room, there is room there is room

at the table....at the table....

there is room....at the table"

This was the song at the Montreat Youth conference the year I attended. Myself and many other Presbyterian youth from all over gathered at a the beautiful campus of Montreat and explored this theme. I can't remember what summer it was. Or if I went to Montreat more than once but I know it defined for me my high school faith journey. There was room at the table for everyone. This was what I believed. In my small group I confirmed this telling my own story (bad babysitter stuff) and telling me that "God will heal all your wounds and will make you whole- he still loves you". In the setting of Montreat this was amazing. Making sandwiches and making large beds with all the other youth were also part of our daily fellowship. I also distinctly remember visiting a non denominational church and our leaders telling us to breathe in the experience.

Another summer we journeyed on a Mission Trip to Washington DC on a train and were basically Irish in the back and almost got kicked off for taking ice. This experience was amazing. I remember searching for a "Yes!" shirt with V.Rey because we were obsessed with "Sisterhood of the traveling pants". These Presbytery events were my lifeblood. A family beyond my theatre family that saved me.

My youth group held a grand total of two. My BFF V.Rey and I represented the First Presbyterian Church of Cleveland GA. And we loved it. We went to all the Presbytery events and even joined the Youth Council and climbed the ranks to being co-moderators (basically co presidents) my senior year. I loved it. I was passionate about God and I loved the different people I met in the Presbytery- I mean we had a pastor named Buddha, a man who wore kilts and we called "goat man" and we had a communist with IBS. It was amazing world of diversity and healthy discussions and love of faith.

Then someone tried to start a GSA at my high school and God became intrinsically and inexplicably linked to hate. I remember hearing a certain church was coming to our town and I remember V.Rey and I calling them on speaker and trying to give them a piece of our (mainly V.Rey's) mind. They were the most close minded Christians I had ever met. I felt like my whole town was going crazy over some students who were trying to create a place of love and support. I remember my drama teacher telling me I needed to take a stand with those students but I was so so afraid. So I didn't until the storm blew over but my world of faith was rocked.

Fast forward to college....I attended a small women's college in Gainesville (looking at YOU BRENAU). And I entered a pageant where I had to have a platform. I chose equal rights for LGBT individuals because of my high school experience. I remember people saying "I didn't know she was a lesbian" and feeling like an outcast from the other Christians at the school. People I really connected with and loved and cared about were atheists or agnostics and I felt like that may be where I belonged.
A place that loved people no matter what which Christians had proven to me that they did not do.

I abandoned the church with glee.
I am spiritual but not religious.
All of that bunk we buy into while we are "finding ourselves".
So I didn't pray for years. I just loved people.
But something was missing.

So I started singing at my boyfriend's (now husband's) church job.  Because every choir needs more sassy altos.
And it made it better and worse.
One pastor vibed with me.
The other did not.
I would make eye contact with Brandon during some sermons and have to remember to bite my tongue. I would leave every Sunday feeling like "Why don't these people get it- this is why I am not a Christian anymore".

Once a week.

Then we got engaged....and I knew we had to find a church. I felt it.
There was a small Presbyterian church near where we lived that accepted all people and preached loved. We felt like that would be our church home. We reached out and were granted marriage counseling and to be married there.
WE LOVE THE PASTOR.
He helped us prepare for the stakes of marriage and our wedding was everything it needed to be (including my high school pastor) and we felt like maybe that could be our home.
But we visited and it was not right.
Bob was perfect but the members were not what we expected.
I was turned off again.
We would see the man that married us and I would feel guilty and he would say
"I don't do guilt- you have to come back when it is right for you".

And I would feel guilty and crawl into a hole.
Rinse and repeat. Year after year.
Until...
until....
I got pregnant with twins.

Nothing to make you think about life but children.
We were honored to be the Godparents of one of the most amazing little boys on earth.
And his baptism was the Easter I was pregnant at a gorgeous little Episcopal Church
(God is not subtle in his signs- RESURRECTION).
So we went to the service.
And even though I had to leave because I thought I might heat stroke.....
I felt at home.
The service was just what I needed.
Later I Googled Episcopalians and found out we were on the same page.
Brandon and I said "That could be our home".
But pregnancy takes a toll.
And twin newborns do even more.
So we waited until we felt like we had a handle on parenting (after spring break)...
we decided "April 20th we will start attending".
The Monday (April 14th) of that week Fr. Scott Kidd posted a message about needing a youth leader.

God was saying "go forth".
So I did.
I messaged Scott.
We started attending and earnestly wanted to be a part of the church regardless of whether we became the youth leaders or not.
We baptized our boys.
We were confirmed.
We found our tribe.
God led us there.
Our marriage is better.
Our family is better.
My life is better.

That is what God has to do with it.
Reaching his hand in and leading you to people who believe the same way and love the same way as you.
And that is enough.
HE is enough.
Amen

An Open Letter To The Restaurants Of The World

Dear Restaurant,

I have worked in you. I have been a hostess/waitress. I understand the logistics of seating sections and fairness blah blah blah. I get it.

But I have twin toddlers.

SO.... when we come to you in our distressed mode I would like a little common courtesy and decency. I promise you I will tip you 30%. I know we are a nightmare. I have planned for this dinner extensively. I have toys they have never seen, snacks up my butt and sippy cups full of drinks and my phone loaded with apps to try and keep them appeased. But for the LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD IN THE WORLD can you please do these few little things

1. DO NOT SIT US IN A SMALL ROOM WITH OLDER COUPLES (I am looking at you Fudpuckers), SIT US IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROOM (seriously more people will be hit with toys and or food), OR SIT US CLOSE TO THE KITCHEN. All of these things are going to disturb all of your customers and waiters. Put us in the corner booth. Please. The mafia booth. Or if you have a party room put us there. I will pay the extra.

2. BRING US NAPKINS. All of them. I have baby wipes but they are not enough.

3. MEXICAN RESTAURANTS KEEP THE CHIPS COMING. Toddlers cannot breathe if they are not snacking. Other restaurants....give me all your bread and crackers and appetizers. I will pay. Please. They are insane and don't want their new toys or snacks I brought.

4. MAKE ME ORDER FOOD WHEN YOU TAKE OUR DRINK ORDERS. We cannot be here longer than 45 mins. After 45 minutes they will turn into Gremlins regardless of nap time, lunch eaten or sedatives given.

5. JUST BRING THE CHECK WHEN YOU BRING THE FOOD. Because at any minute I am going to need to GTFO ASAP because Finley has cut Fletcher with a knife or Fletcher has bitten Finley or I am having a nervous breakdown.  I will tip you.

6. PUT IN A CHANGING TABLE! I have changed poopy diapers on too many floors to count. And I am not trying to take my boys to some five-star restaurant. Usually, we just want pizza or Mexican food.

7. PLEASE remember we are people. People who do not want to be stuck at home eating some frozen meal or forced to cook while toddlers attack us like raptors. We know we are the worst. We feel guilt. But we also want to see the outside world. When the zombie apocalypse comes we will be stuck at home enough.

8.  KEEP THE MARGARITAS/ALCOHOL coming. I will sober up when I smell the wrath of the quesadilla/beans in 15 minutes. But I want to be a college student for .25 seconds.

9. KNOW THAT I APPRECIATE YOU. I know when you see our table with two highchairs you want to clock out for an extended smoke break/potty break/just leave because you don't want to deal with it. I will vacuum and sweep if you bring me the tools.

10. BE PATIENT. They are little people who are a roller coaster of emotions. They are learning how to survive in the world. The restaurant is a new and exciting but scary place for them. You can make it our break it. Regardless I will tip you  well because I know we are a nightmare. But if you slip me some extra bread- I will slip you an extra 5% (including my 2 margaritas).

XOXO

Me
(and parents of toddlers everywhere)

D.O for the B.O

Let's talk about.....body odor 

BABY.

Let's talk about you and me and how we sweat and stink.

In high school/college/all my life

I was the girl buying the intense stuff.
Basically medical grade without the prescription. 

I remember the armpits of my shirts hardening and becoming basically non fabric because of the intense deodorant I used.

HOWEVER....tons of articles/stuff the internet told me made me think this deodorant will kill me.

Being a mom makes you reevaluate this stuff...

my awesome mother in law (I seriously ADORE her)

Bought me some awesome deodorant

 for Christmas that was 100% natural AND ACTUALLY FREAKING WORKED

And I LOVED IT. 

Trying to live healthier right?

Boo got on board and it was gone....then I tried a more expensive version

Worked ok....felt a little stinker......

THEN I FOUND DOTERRA!!!

and thought....why the heck don't we make our own deodorant....

I went on a Pinterest rage and found this  amazing recipe! 

AND IT WORKS. 

And it cost way less than 8.99 for us to make TWO jars of it. 

We used lemon grass and melaleuca oils for the scent/oil.

It was humid as heck today and I am not stinky.

It works, y'all!