Wednesday, December 31, 2014

Goats, Goals, and Van Gogh . . . Peace OUT, 2014!!!!

Well. . . it's New Year's Eve.

So is this going to be a blog post about reflection and self-improvement? 

. . .honestly, I don't know WHERE I'm gonna go with this one, so I guess we'll just find out together.

It's been a . . . challenging year for me, personally.  Good times and bad, just like for everyone else.  I'd like to think I've learned some things.  I guess we'll see.  =)

So is this going to be a post about resolutions for the new year?


I don't make resolutions.

I used to, but they were almost always the same as everyone else's, the same mundane goals, and as soon as I hit a wall with one (usually around the second week of January) I would end up beating myself up over it for the next several weeks.  Or months. Just depends.

So I'm done with resolutions.  

I do, however, have some GOALS for this new year. . . but I'm keeping most of them to myself.

I also have a few Reminders for Myself, though, and those I would like to share with you.

They're pretty simple, but here they are:


On a regular basis.  

Unplug from the internet.  Unplug from the emails, and the phone, and the tv, and your own growing irritation, and all the NOISE.

Take time to be quiet.  To let your mind wander.  To remember a song that you'd forgotten about.

Hear the sound of your own voice singing.

Sit in the back yard.

Do nothing. . . 

But listen.

Don't Wait.

. . . Can I say that any louder??!?




The one thing we can never get more of is time.

Your children will only be this age ONCE.  


YOU will only be this age ONCE.




So go learn to play the piano.

Look at the people around you, and really SEE them.

If you aren't happy with your life  --  CHANGE IT!!!

Don't wait to be happy.

Don't wait to laugh.

Don't wait to feel loved.

DO.  IT.  NOW.

Read the story, write the book, play the song.

. . . Realize that you ARE the song.

Clock's ticking, people.


About 2 1/2 years ago, I had never painted anything, other than maybe a bedroom wall.  I had some troubles, got in a rough patch with myself, and accidentally rediscovered that I really LIKE to draw.  . . . I just never thought I had much of a talent for it.

But I enjoyed it, so I started drawing.  It was an exercise in meditation, and it allowed me to "put down" some of the anxieties that I was carrying.

And I started doing it almost every day.  Even when I wasn't in the mood.

And one day, even though I was terrified of even touching it, I picked up a paintbrush.  

I had convinced myself that I didn't know HOW to use a paintbrush, and so, for most of my life. . . I hadn't.

And I was completely petrified.  

Of screwing up.  Of really sucking at it.

But I swallowed that fear, and I did it anyway.

Because, by this point in my life, I had stopped trying to convince myself of all the things I COULDN'T do.  

At THIS point in my life, I was busy convincing myself of other things. . . like the belief that trying, failing, and trying again is STRENGTH.  And that fear, no matter how small, is my enemy.

So I was afraid to paint.  I was afraid that I would exert all that time and effort, then look at my finished work and be completely irritated that it hadn't turned out to be good enough.  I was afraid of feeling like a failure, even if only to myself.

It took a while, but the realization finally hit me:




No, I wasn't great.  I was no Van Gogh, and I never would be. Primarily because there was never going to BE another Van Gogh.  

I realized that, while I might not be a mysterious and miraculous little snowflake, I WAS unique.  In that I was me.  And I was the only one of those there was ever going to be.  In all my muffin batter-spattered bathrobe, messy hair, and bags-under-my-eyes mommy glory, I realized that somehow, when I wasn't looking, I was slowly turning into the best (though still QUITE imperfect) possible version of ME.

Now it's been 2+ years, and I am almost at the point where I would feel comfortable calling myself an "artist."  

(Not a GREAT one, mind you, but still. . .)

And that's a huge step for me.

And a huge lesson.


One step at a time.  Take the first one.  Your feet know how to follow each other.

Create something that's never BEEN before.

Use your time wisely.


Be honest both with others, and with yourself.

. . .and I'M learning that learning to do this is an art form in and of itself.

But we all want to live a genuine life, right?

We all want to learn how to focus on what's REALLY important, and shut out all the noise and the distractions and the drama, right??!

I think this starts with honesty.

GENTLE honesty.

(You can be honest with someone WITHOUT tearing them a new rectum.  It can be done.  As I said:  "art form.")

Be gently honest with yourself first, and once you get good at that. . . I think it just naturally starts to spill over into the rest of your life.

No one wants to reach the end of their life and think:
"Oh God.  If only I hadn't wasted so much time caring what others thought of me.  If only I hadn't been afraid to TRY.  If ONLY I had said the things I needed to say, and made the changes I needed to make!"

I intend to avoid this at all costs.  And I think it starts with honesty.


Enough said.



Live your life on purpose.

Be better than you were yesterday.


Then do it again.

Give second chances.


Understand that the WORST points of your life, the points where you honestly thought that you could not keep on going. . . are molding you into a freaking warrior.

The points that broke your heart, the moments when you thought you'd never stop crying, and that you COULDN'T go on, because there WAS NO "on" . . . they are tenderizing you.  Making you more compassionate.  Focusing your sight, so that you see the pain of others.  

I'm not gonna lie. . . the hard parts HURT.

But they make you BETTER.

They make it worth it.



I'm a work in progress, and I've made a lot of progress.  . . . And I've still got a LOT more work to do.

Sometimes I see old pictures of myself and I shudder to think who I was then, and how MUCH I had left to learn.  How much I STILL have left to learn.

For example:  I'm a turtle.

I proceed through life at a cautious pace, I never go anywhere without my shell, and I'm fairly deliberate about my words and my actions.

But we're not all turtles.

Some of us are mountain lions.  Some of us are meerkats.

Some of us are old (no matter what our age), and the lessons of life have been carved into us deeply, like a river carves into a mountain.

Some of us are young (no matter what our age), and are sprinting through the neighborhood like a dog that just realized the gate was left open.

And both of these are OKAY.

I'm a turtle.  And it took me a LOOOOONG time to realize that the world is not populated solely with turtles.

Some people have, through time and pain and patience, fostered a great capacity for love, forgiveness, and understanding.

Some others have not.  Not due to some inherent "badness" within them. . . but simply because they haven't made it that far yet.

And it's not my job to decide where anybody else should be.

We are all walking our own path, and I am beginning to fully understand exactly what the means.

It means that I can't expect anyone else to be exactly where I am. They can't expect me to be exactly where they are.

We just have to love each other anyway.

The day you learn to simply ACCEPT the people in your life, AS THEY ARE, is the day you become 835 steps closer to total freedom.

You, my friend, might be a goat.

You tear up my yard, and eat from the garbage can, but you are a FABULOUS FREAKING GOAT, and I will love you in all your goat-y glory.  

I will accept you as you are.  I will not expect more from you than you are capable of giving.  I will love to the greatest of my ability, not yours. 

And I will NOT try to turn you into a zebra.

You can come as you are.  And that's fine.

That's what we're all doing, anyway.

And I've made my peace with it.



**As this will most certainly be my final blog post for this year, I'd like to offer a final thought.

As is often the case with me, my "thoughts" generally come in the form of music.

So here it is:

We live in an amazing time, folks.

It is a beautiful, and tragic, and magically delicious place we have here.

And WE!!!  


I choose to lift mine in song.

Peace and love.

To all of you, and all of yours.


Friday, December 26, 2014

So I Got My First Infinity Scarf, and You've All Been Doing It Wrong =D

Christmas day is over, and today has been a L-A-Z-Y day around our house.

But, while drinking my coffee this morning with a sleepiness so deep that it was close to cold desperation. . . I considered writing a few different blog posts.

There are things I've been meaning to write about, and just haven't gotten around to it yet.

. . . I've been BUSY, okay??


I could write about Christmas, or I could write my eulogy for the late Mr. Ash Ferley, or I've been thinking a lot about a piece on forgiveness, and growing your soul, and blah blah blah.

Frankly, yesterday was FANTASTIC (!!!) . . . but I am TIRED.

And I just wasn't up for anything that deep today.

. . . . . .

Then I remembered that I had some Christmas gifts in a bag that I had yet to put away.

And IN IT. . . were TWO Infinity scarves.

And so, in the spirit of the season. . . of the SEASON, PEOPLE!!!!  . . . I totally blew off everything else I was going to do today (aside from take a nap. . . I managed to fit that in), and had a mini photo shoot in front of my bathroom mirror, trying to figure out different ways to wear an Infinity scarf.

(I'm late to the party, I know.  It has been previously established in this blog that I do NOT have the faintest CLUE about fashion.)

However, from what I can tell. . . you've all been doing it very, VERY wrong.

Pose #1:  The Basic Draped-Shoulder.

I liked this one.  As a lady who appreciates having her shoulders covered, but is not a huge fan of long sleeves, I found this to be a winner.

Also, the low front loop makes a great pocket for holding snacks or whatever.

Pose #2:  The Head-Covered Chin-Bow

Not a favorite.

A little too Star Trek-y, but not in the good way.

Zero stars.

Pose #3:  The Snuggly-Neck

A bit basic, in my opinion, but I would wear it.

My neck was fabulously warm.  Once I got past the sensation that I was slowly being strangled.  By really soft hands.

Pose #4:  Definitely Trekked Out

. . . TOO Trek-y??


Maybe just a *smidge* too Trek-y.

Pose #5:  Yeah.  This feels *right*

Yep.  I feel like I probably should've dressed like this every day of my life so far.

Pose #6:  The Frickin Goddess




I'd like to introduce you to how I'll be dressing from now on.

Hope you enjoyed this brief tutorial on how to properly wear your scarf.



Monday, December 1, 2014

Sickness, Compassion, and a Change of Perspective

. . .you wanna talk about the Walking Dead?

Because I AM the walking dead today.


Good gravy, that was a LOOOOONG night.

To put it briefly:  my son is sick.

I mean, sick-as-a-dog sick.

We woke up yesterday morning at the beach, ready to head home from our Thanksgiving getaway with The Pawpaw and Lon.  Nothing too remarkable, (aside from the completely remarkable act of being at the beach at Thanksgiving, which was a first for me) but a good time was had by all, and we were more than grateful for the chance to get away, clear our heads, and just relax for a few days.  By Sunday morning, though, we were wide awake, and ready to see the motley crew of pirates that we call "family" once again.

So we all piled back into the car, settled in for a few hours of driving, and began to slowly make our way back north.

It was a long ride.

Slightly longer than usual, because Took got sick on the way back.

He started feeling bad about 3 hours away from home.

Threw up in his car seat about 2 hours away from home.

Seemed to feel a little better after that, and by about lunchtime, we found ourselves parked in our own driveway once again, and really, REALLY happy to see several different boys spilling from our front door to welcome us back home.

It was nice.

(Aside from the fact that I was returning to a home where Ash Ferley, my dear friend and feline companion for the past 15 years, was no longer in residence.  I knew he was gone.  I knew he had lived a good, LONG, life for a cat, and I knew that HE had known he was loved.  But still. . . walking in and seeing only one cat food bowl in the kitchen. . .
But that is a different story for a different day.

So we got all our stuff in, said our goodbyes to The Pawpaw and Lon, and saw the eldest Spawn off as well, as he had to get back to school and prior obligations, and had only stayed long enough to say hello to Took and I as we got home.

Took and Pad ran and played and fought and played and battled and played and generally just had a grand ole time together.  It was a good thing to see.

And about the time nightfall hit, after Pad had gone back home, of course Took's fever came right along with it.

By 6:30, he was barking like a dog and burning up.  I gave him some children's Tylenol, got him plenty of juice, and let him sack out in our bed and watch cartoons (surrounded by a virtual army of stuffed babies).

At 9:00, we took him up to bed.  Read a story, put assorted babies in their respective watch-posts on the bed, and, by the time I was halfway through the second lullaby, he was already out of it. Asleep, partially fever-delirious, and mumbling and moaning in his sleep.

Too late to call the doctor. . . so of course I called my mom.

She told me the things to watch out for, assured me that a fever is good sign, as it means his body is fighting off infection, and just generally made ME feel better.

At 10:30 he could have another dose of Tylenol, and that was when I instructed his Daddy to carry him downstairs and put him on a pallet in the floor in our room.  (Because his mom is getting older, and her back sucks.  And there was no way I could sleep on the floor in his room.  And I wasn't letting him just burn up with a fever all night long.  A pallet in our room was the obvious choice.)

Got the medicine in him (through some QUITE vocal protests), patted him down with a cool, wet rag.  Settled him into his pallet. And I crawled back onto the bed to wait.

15 minutes after Tylenol, I checked him.  He was starting to cool down.

Back onto the bed.

30 minutes after Tylenol, I checked him again.  He was almost a normal temperature again.  Thank everything that's holy.

I set my alarm for 3 a.m. (when he could have his next dose of medicine), and settled in to sleep for a few hours.

3 a.m. comes, and I turn off my alarm.  Lie there in bed for a moment, trying to figure out the best way to wake him up. . . and he suddenly sits BOLT upright, and starts throwing up.

Wow.  Timing this perfect is both a blessing, and a curse.

Cleaned him up, cleaned up his pallet, got more Tylenol in him (which I did NOT think he would keep down, but he did), patted him down with a cool, wet cloth again, and finally settled back in to sleep.

His next dose would be at 7 a.m. 

I knew I would NOT be needing an alarm in order to be awake for that one.

And so it goes, that at 7 we woke.  He was burning up again, but no more vomiting.  Got him moved comfortably to the couch, where he has been until this very moment, watching cartoons and being not-so-secretly thrilled at the prospect of having "all the juice you want, today."

And every time I walk over and press my hand on his back, or his forehead, to check him, he says:  "Mama, I fine.  I promise.  I fine, Mama."


I think he's finally starting to MAYBE shake it.


But today is most certainly going to be a day filled with ungodly amounts of juice, and crackers, and time spent piled up in bed (or on the couch) playing quietly and watching cartoons.

And, because I am me, and my mind is always always always over-thinking, and working overtime for absolutely NO extra pay. . . something occurs to me.

First off, yep.  I'm really tired today.  My back is killing me, and I got almost no sleep.  But I'll make it.  That's what coffee is FOR. And honestly, considering the long night we had. . . I could feel a LOT worse.

But what I'm thinking about. . . what has already brought a tear to my eye this morning. . . is THIS:

How many people do I know, people that I judge for one reason or another, people that maybe I look at as being "hard". . . that have NEVER had anyone take care of them this way?



As recently as Christmas last year, when I was just stupidly, stop-your-life-and-do-nothing-for-two-weeks sick with pneumonia, my own mother has had me take up residence in her house, spewing germs everywhere, while she took care of me 'round the clock.

I mean, Set-your-alarm-and-get-up-at-2-a.m.-to-give-me-medicine grade care-taking.

She has always done this.

Whenever I was very ill, any time I have ever been really sick, and couldn't take care of myself, she has done this.

And apparently. . . who knew?  It stuck.


In light of recent events, both in my own personal life and in the media, I have found myself mentally griping about selfishness lately.

I have become angry about it.  (And honestly. . . I rarely get angry.  I get upset a lot.  I get sad.  I get my feelings hurt.  But I hardly ever get "angry."  But lately I have really felt myself get angry about people that I viewed as "selfish."  People that always put their own needs first, and never gave a second thought to anyone else's comfort.  
. . . They really pissed me off.)

As recently as yesterday, I was griping about it.

"I am totally DONE with selfish people," I said to my husband.

And I felt very justified in my anger, at threats and complaints both real and virtual.

And I should've known better.

I really should have.

But I felt JUSTIFIED, you see.  Because selfish people are SELFISH.  And it's OKAY to be angry at people like that.

I forgot rule #1, which is:

ANY time you feel like it's "okay" to feel hatefully toward, or have angry feelings toward, a certain group of people, any time you start to feel that that is JUSTIFIED. . . THAT is when you are coming dangerously close to being completely, totally lost.

Change your perspective, and quick, because you're in dangerous waters.

So I took my own, STELLAR advice, and I looked at the situation again.

Those people that I thought of as selfish, as being "hard", or cynical. . . what WERE they being, exactly?

Yes, some of them WERE selfish.  

. . . but WHY were they so selfish?

Could it be because of something so simple as they had never HAD anyone to take care of them?  Could it be that maybe they became selfish because they never had anyone in their corner, and they figured that if they were going to get taken care of, they were just going to have to do it themselves?


. . . Nothing like a little change in your point of view to COMPLETELY screw up a perfectly justified "mad."


This, of course, took every BIT of wind out of my Angry Sails.

Pffffttttttt.  Gone.

And, once again, I find myself feeling very grateful for my mother. And for ALL the people that have sacrificed their own wishes, and their own comfort, to take care of ME over the years.

I think of all the people I know, that maybe never had anyone to care for them, to "tend" them when they were sick, and what lessons that would invariably impart.  And my heart aches for them.

And then I think of all the people I know, quietly going about their lives and taking care of everyone they know and love, in any and every way that they can.

And my heart swells again.

And so I'd just like to throw this out there:

To every mother/father/step-parent/auntie/cousin/friend that's ever set their alarm to an ungodly hour of morning, just to give that needed dose of medicine,

To every one of you that has the capacity, and the heart, and the willingness, to put yourself on the back-burner for a moment, and take care of those that really need it,

To every one that has ever made the choice to be caring, and decided that you could sleep later,

Your sleepless nights were not in vain.

By taking care of others, by momentarily putting yourself last, you have passed on to the next generation a level of compassion that is sorely needed in this world.

By caring for others, you've taught them.

THIS is how we take care of the people we love.

THIS is how we show that we care.

If compassion is a learned skill, that can be honed like any other, then it is people like this that pass it on to the next generation.

It is a skill that I will pass on to my son.  

I will make sure of it.

. . . 

. . . what better legacy could there possibly BE??


Today I am grateful for the people in my life who have shown me how to practice the art of compassion.

And I have decided to pass it on, and be that example for others.

I am grateful for the ability to change my point of view, and to see things from a different direction, even if it means I then have to change my thinking on a subject, or, God forbid, admit I was wrong.

I'm grateful that I was brought up to believe that admitting you were wrong, even if it is only to yourself, is a sign of strength, not weakness.

Grateful for a million things, and a day.


"I know my call 
despite my faults and 
despite my growing fears."

Monday, November 17, 2014

Dean Winchester's Got NOTHING On Me =D


It has been one helluva hectic weekend.  To say the least.

I picked up Padawan from school on Friday, and this weekend happened to be the weekend of his Pele All-Stars Soccer Tournament.  

Which, #1:  Hooray, Padawan!!!  =D  

. . . and #2:  Soccer games all freaking weekend long.  

Two games on Saturday, one at 9:45, one at 2:00 p.m., and a game on Sunday morning at 8:45.

Unfortunately for our household, this caused a little. . . snag.

Pad's mom emailed me a couple of weeks ago, letting me know that his tournament would be this weekend (gave me PLENTY of notice, to her credit), and that it would be his weekend to be with us.  The snag arrived on Friday, however, which is when we actually received the SCHEDULE for the games.  I glanced over it.

Okay. . . gotta be at the field at 9:45 on Saturday morning. . . and then have to be back on the field for game #2 at 2:00 p.m. . . . 

. . . and right about then is when I heard Took let out a huge bout of dog-barkingly harsh coughs from the den.


I checked his forehead.  Slight fever.  Clammy.  Runny nose, sniffles, that "look" around the eyes. . .


So I checked the weather report for Saturday.  Temps between 37 and 50-ish degrees.

I repeat:  Uh-oh.

So I quickly ran through my options in my head:  Took was fighting off a cold, and I couldn't risk him almost certainly getting sicker by sitting out in the cold weather all day long on Saturday. So get a babysitter for Took, while I took Pad to his game?  Not happening.

Let him stay with his dad while I took Pad?  Nope.  Mister was working nights all weekend, and would either be at work, or sleeping in preparation for work.

I looked hard at my options.  They were slim.

So, with no other solutions within my grasp, I sent Pad's mom an email, and apprised her of my situation.  Basically, I said this:

Hi.  Look, I'm sorry, but this is what's going on:  Took is sick.  Mister is working all weekend, I don't have a babysitter, and I cannot in good conscience keep Took out in the cold weather all day on Saturday.  Our options, as I see them, are this:  Either switch weekends that we get Padawan, let me meet you at the field on Saturday morning and leave him with you, then pick him up after the last game is over, or skip it altogether.

She was not happy.  I was changing plans at the last minute (through no fault of my own, but still), and she was annoyed about it.  She had already made plans for Saturday afternoon.  She told me that I could go to the first game, then kill some time, eat some lunch, get the kids indoors somewhere, and wait until the second game.

I responded to this with basically my original statement.  Took was sick, the weather was cold, and I really only had three options.  She could pick whichever one suited her best.

She was not happy about that.

She said she felt like I was being condescending and combative and hard to work with, and she felt like my giving her "three options, you pick one" was just generally a kind of pissy thing to do.

I felt like she was being snippy with me, and she felt like I was being pissy with her.

We were both right.

Mother/step-mother interactions can be a delicate thing, and balances must be maintained.

So I looked at my own actions and words, 
took a deep breath, and sent her another email.

In it, I said this:

I'm sorry.

If I've been combative, pissy, or condescending -- I'm sorry.

It was not my intention to make you feel that way.  You DID give me notice of this event in advance, and we've always had a good working relationship, and it is something that I'm very grateful for.  However, my son is sick.  I'm sorry.  I couldn't have foreseen that, any more than I could have foreseen that the weather was going to be cold this weekend.  I don't have many options, and I'm just trying to find a workable solution. These are the options, as I see them.

Long story short?  I met her at the field on Saturday morning and dropped Pad off with her, with plans to pick him up after his last game was over.  This still meant that I would be making two full trips back and forth to Liberty Park, but it beat having Took out in the weather all day, feeling poorly, and with no nap.

When I dropped Pad off with her, I thanked her.  For helping me out.  We hugged.  I looked her in the eye and said that I appreciated her understanding, and her changing her plans to help me.

And then she said the strangest thing.  She said:  

"You're more assertive than I am.  I'm glad we have the kind of relationship where we can talk to each other about what's going on, get irritated at each other sometimes, and then move on and get over it without any drama."

Even though it was freezing outside, and I was just ready to get my baby back home, it was a really good moment.

Also. . . I've never been called "assertive" before.


And there's probably good reason for that:  I never was.

I've always been very go-with-the-flow, and absolutely can't stand confrontation.  I HATE confrontation.  I would totally kick confrontation's butt, if I could.  

That's how non-confrontational I am.

But THAT day. . . that day I WAS assertive.  Not ugly, not rude, just. . . assertive.  Just "I've run into a snag, and this is what I can do.  I'm sorry for any inconvenience, but this is just the way it is."

In the past, this would NOT have been my way.

I've always been the person that would let pretty much anything slide, so that the OTHER person could be more comfortable.  I would worry about myself later.  That's the way I've always been.

But now. . . now I'm getting older.

And I'm thinking a lot.  (I'm ALWAYS thinking.  OVER-thinking.  . . .it makes for a lot of headaches, but sometimes it is worth it.)

And most of my ruminations have brought me to this:

I still don't want to hurt any one's feelings.  EVER.

(NOT because I'm just this really kind, Super #1 Saint-person, but because it HURTS me to hurt others.  I lie awake at night and think about it.  Every night.  Things I did in second grade that still plague me.  And I have NO desire to add one more thing to that list of regretted hateful words.)

And so, due to this intense desire to never inflict pain on another, my habit USED to be to just put MY needs and feelings on the back burner, and worry about myself later.

But THIS issue, THIS weekend, was NOT about me.  It was about my son.

Sooooo. . . SURPRISE!  Hello, Assertive Dani!!

But this newly-uncovered assertion is not entirely about my son, and protecting him.  It is also about TEACHING HIM.

More to the point:  Teaching him to do something that I am still learning to do, which is:  Being kind and respectful to others, while still speaking my own truth.

Let me say it again.


It is not always an easy thing to do. . .


I watch, and read, a lot of sci-fi.  And lots and lots of fantasy stories.  There are books in every corner of our house.  On every nightstand and table, on shelves, in baskets, stacked 3 feet-high in closets, and uncountable bins full of them in the garage.  

I would READILY wager that our home library out-books any home in our neighborhood by at LEAST 50.  Seriously.  I'll take all comers.  And I.  WILL.  BEAT.  YOU.  DOWN.

I read for enjoyment, and I read to my son at night.  Every night. Because I love the written word, and I long to pass that love on to him, and because I love the time together at the end of every day, and because I feel that there are many, MANY stories that he NEEDS to hear.

My head is FULL TO THE BRIM (!) with tales of brave knights, of heroes and heroines who stood up for what they believed in.  Of people who didn't feel that they were big enough to make any difference (I'm looking at you, hobbits), but somehow found the courage to do what had to be done.  Stories of people who did what was RIGHT.  Even when it was HARD.  And it was, almost always, very, very hard.

My son will know of the ways of the Jedi.  He will know of Prince Caspian, and the battles of Narnia.  He will be told of a land called Terabithia, and he will learn of the courage of a small group of hobbits.

He will know, because I will teach him.

And WHY will I teach him?

Because the world is flawed.  Because darkness is real, and a handful of light is the only thing that will push it back.  He will know because he already loves Spiderman, and even Spiderman lives by a CODE.

He will learn because it is IMPORTANT. 

His father and I chose his name with care, and his first name was selected because it means "noble."

Heroes are revered.

They are on lunchboxes, and backpacks, and on the tv in our den almost constantly.  They are revered because they are selfless, and because they are brave.

And don't we all want to be a hero??

Don't we all want to be Harry Potter, or Luke Skywalker, or Dean Winchester?

(I'll just answer this one for you:
We DO all want to be Dean Winchester.  
We.  Just.  DO.)

But there's a big difference between living in the pages of Middle Earth, and living in reality.  

We all would LIKE to think that, should the opportunity arise, we would charge the Sith without a second thought for our own well-being, and singlehandedly save the galaxy.

But. . . how many times in our ACTUAL lives are we given the opportunity to do such a thing?

I mean, oh YEAH, the galaxy NEEDS saving.  For SURE.  But what am *I* supposed to do about it??  I'm just a stay at home mom.  

I've yet to learn how to kick-box, I don't even OWN a cross-bow (though it IS on my Christmas list), and, if given a lightsaber, I would probably only succeed at (nearly-instantly) cutting off my other arm.  (Or, at the very least, a large chunk of hair.  And I like my hair.)

So what is one to do?


And my solution, my personal solution that doesn't involve anyone but myself, and that I am not preaching to anyone because we all have to follow our own paths and what-not, and who am I to be giving advice??  You might be a villain.  It might be your calling. I can't question that.

You follow your star, you magnificent villain.  Dean and I will be there to gank your butt in about half an hour.  =)

I digress.  

My solution:  I'm going to look.  I'm going to LOOK for ways to be brave.  

I'm going to live my life ON PURPOSE, and I'm going to actively SEEK OUT ways to be brave, and noble, and true.

Because the way I see it, if you're not ready for the tiny quests. . . then you'll never get called upon to go on the really BIG ones.

And wouldn't that be a shame?  To never know how MUCH you could've done?

So consider this your call to arms.

Consider yourself selected.

I'm not a hero.  I'm a plain old, boring, regular person.  

And yet, somehow, I'M the one doing the calling.

I'm calling you, and I'm calling myself.

This is our only life.

You can sit in your hobbit-hole, and read your maps and smoke your Longbottom Leaf (tempting), or you can seek out ways to make the world more good and green.

I'm calling you.

To be kind, but speak your truth.

To be respectful, but stand your ground.

To FIND what you believe in.  Then FIGHT for it.

Protect the innocent.

Help those that need it.

Choose to live nobly.

Choose your own code.

Then LIVE by it.

Not because you're answering to anybody else. . . but because you're answering to YOURSELF.

Say what needs to be said.

FIGHT against injustice.  Because there's too MUCH of it, and too few swords held against it.

Live your life on purpose, and CREATE your meaning.  

Every day.

Choose for yourself.

Lend a hand, have some hope,
grab a sword.

This is OUR time.  These are OUR lives.  And time is passing. Too quickly.  Make your choice.

It's not going to be easy.  

It's not SUPPOSED to be.

But the opportunity is there.

Suck it up, and walk where wise men fear to tread.

. . . and the scary parts?  The mundane things that you're afraid to do, the anxious-little-eating-at-yous that don't really want to do?

Now. . . I'm learning to see them for what they ARE.

They're my opportunity.  They're my chance.  

And yours.

To be BRAVE.