Why I Must Be A Native Nebraskan (at heart)

Never in my whole life did I ever wish to live in the state of Nebraska. The thought never even occurred to me that such a thing could ever happen. Zimbabwe, yes. Nebraska, no.

So it's weird that I am firmly convinced that Nebraska is my true homeland. My soul must have been born here, if not my body. I mean, I know my body was born in a small town in Upstate New York so I don't mean that literally. I'm fairly certain I was not adopted or anything because my hands look exactly like my mom's and I'm almost exactly like my dad in some ways it's scary. I think my dad would make a great Nebraskan actually, except that there's no trout stream for fly-fishing. Since I didn't inherit the fly-fishing gene from my dad, Nebraska works out perfectly for me.

I could list the endless benefits of living in this great state, but I am a storyteller at heart so I want to tell you what happened at the grocery store the other day and see if it doesn't just explain it all.

I was at No-Frills. For those of you out of state, the fact that we have a grocery store called No-Frills should just be enough for you to understand my love of this place. I love me a Wegmans now and again, but frankly, I love me a good deal even more than 52 kinds of olives. I digress.

At the check-out line, the lady in line ahead of me noticed that the woman ahead of her left her postage stamps behind. As any normal person would do, she pointed this out to the cashier. However, then she says that the woman is her neighbor and that she would just take the stamps by her house and drop them off to her.

This is exactly something I would do. That's not the weird part. Here's the crazy thing--the cashier said, "OK." And the lady said, "If Mary comes back, tell her that Connie has them."

And Connie walked out of the store with Mary's stamps...at least we hope that's what happened.

I'm watching this whole thing and my inner North Easterner wants to scream, "COME ON! You are not letting that lady walk out of the store with someone else's stamps!" But really, when you think about it, that is the best chance that Mary is going to get her stamps. You know she is going to go crazy turning her purse inside out looking for those babies and she's going to assume that they fell out of her wallet in the parking lot or some silly thing. She's not going back to the store because she won't know they're missing for days. And my inner Nebraskan is screaming, "Yes, take her those stamps--that is the most kind and reasonable thing to do."

I'm sure that stuff like this happens in small towns all across America every day....but this is Omaha...the largest city in the whole dang state. And it makes me love this place and feel at home with my people who do nice stuff for each other and get to know their neighbors and take 'em their postage stamps when they accidentally leave them behind at the market.

I may have mentioned years ago in a blog post that fast food restaurants just recently stopped accepting checks in Nebraska. Checks. This place is precious. Can you feel the trust in humankind?

What I love the most is that I am not a freak here. In Boston, when I collected friends on the public bus, I came to realize that collecting friends on the public bus is weird. Even if those friends live in your neighborhood and you see them every single day at the same time at the same stop. The "normal" thing to do is not make eye contact and never, ever learn their name. I do not have a Boston soul.

In Buffalo, I make an attempt to befriend someone to find out later that I was so stalkerishly friendly that she checked me out with other people before agreeing to a play date. I only know this because we became good enough friends in the end that she felt like she could confess this early suspicion. I do have a bit of a Buffalo soul, at least I left some of my soul there when we left...

....BUT my soul truly came alive in Nebraska where I am not the only one who talks to strangers and enjoys living in naive trust in humankind. Even though being a landlord is the one thing that can sap every ounce of faith you have in people, I stubbornly refuse to give up hope.

Actually, I still might be a freak, but Nebraskans are so nice they'll never tell me so.

How old do you have to be to be sexy?

This question is up for debate at our house because I keep having to remind my 7-year-old that 7-year-olds cannot be sexy and if anyone tells him otherwise that person is wrong....very wrong...on so many levels.

My kids don't live in a bubble so somewhere, somehow they have heard the song, "I'm sexy and I know it," and it turns out that this is an incredibly catchy song. I am kind of crazy neurotic about looking up lyrics to songs before I let them be downloaded for the simple fact that when your 7-year-old starts singing, "I'm sexy and I know it," the world just feels off. I've had to disappoint my kids numerous times by saying, "No, there's stuff in that song that I don't want you singing--even though you have no idea what it means." I can guarantee you that this song does not make the cut even though I'm sure it's a wonderful song. So wonderful that kids sing it on the playground and stuff. Awesome.

So yesterday when I once again reminded my 7-year-old that he is not and cannot be sexy, Roy (my 9-year-old) asked, "How old do you have to be to be sexy?"

Great question.

Let's ask the furnace repair man.

Tim, the furnace repair man, voted for 18.

Seems reasonable enough. That's probably the correct answer.

I asked Bo when he got home and his answer was 35. After further discussion however, we decided that 35 is probably on the way downhill on the sexy meter. (Although it's kind of nice to know that he thinks I'm sexy at 35.) Then he started to say something about reaching puberty around 15 and that's when sexiness kicks in. Holy cow, I had to put an end to that theory right there. I made it clear that they will not be sexy at age 15. Sheesh Bo, what are you thinking?

In the end, we didn't exactly answer the question other than to say that you have to be an adult and that they do not need to be worried about it for a long time.

This is the world we live in people. Lord help me! No really, Lord, please help me every day navigate these treacherous parenting waters.

James 1:5 "If any of you lacks wisdom, he should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to him."

I love book reports: The Language of Flowers

I remember hating book reports back in the day, but now I love telling people about great books I've read. Not being graded helps take the pressure off. Choosing what books I get to read also helps. (Nothing like being forced to read a book and then forced to write about why someone else should read it. Writing, "You should read this book if you are forced to," never wins points.)

OK so here's my book report, which will be short because I don't want to spoil it for you.

The Language of Flowers by Vanessa Diffenbaugh is a moving novel about a girl who ages out of state care and makes her way in life. As you get to know Victoria as an "adult," the author transports us back to her past to fill in the history of why she is planting a garden in a public park and choosing homelessness instead of heeding the advice of her state assigned social worker to get a job to pay her rent in the transitional housing provided by the state.

It's obvious from the beginning that Victoria has endured enough pain and abuse to permanently sear her ability to trust anyone, and yet there is a faint glimmer of evidence that someone along the line loved her and taught her the beautiful language of flowers, the one thing that speaks meaning to her and gives vent to her buried emotional pain. As the author uncovers her past, the depth of understanding and compassion grows for this strange girl who is a creative genius with no ability to conform to normal social conventions. It takes someone who can see through the exterior and recognize the genius inside, allowing Victoria to exercise her gift without prodding into her strange behavior, to bring healing and reconciliation.

That's all I'm going to say about the plot because I truly can't give it away. Here's how this book impacted me personally. First, it is truly disturbing to realize how destructive it is to a human soul to be raised without love. Not to excuse personal responsibility, but this author showed in a personal way how impossible it is for someone to know how to love without ever having experienced it. It's also sad that there comes a point where someone can't experience it without sabotaging it because they have been so broken time and time again. I'm grateful that she also showed that there is always hope and that love wins out in the end.

We've considered becoming foster parents at some point and this book simultaneously inspired and terrified me. As idealistic as I am that love can conquer all, this novel reveals that albeit true that love and reconciliation is possible, the process could be extremely long, painful and ugly. That's where I rest in the truth that when God calls someone to something difficult that He will also give them the grace to walk through the hard things.

One surprising thing that moved me in this book was the language of flowers itself. I am not a flower person. Years ago I told Bo not to waste his money on them because I really don't care about them. However, I absolutely love the idea of flowers conveying secret messages and that each flower is tied to some meaning. See, I am a word person, not necessarily a visual beauty person. So, I may just become a flower person after all, but first I'll have to invest in a Victorian era flower dictionary.

Give it a read and let me know what you think.

Another TV / Video Games Come to Jesus Moment for our Family

Every so often, our family gets so sucked into our screens that we forget what on earth we are supposed to be doing in life. I don't blame my children. They learned it from watching me, not to mention that my job as a parent is to steer them in the right direction. You can bet that if they are getting away with something it's because I am letting them.

Lately, the iPod touch has been something I dream about flushing down the toilet one night while everyone is sleeping because we have been having so many fights about it. It is driving. me. crazy. So instead of screaming my fool head off, Bo and I issued this manifesto and required signatures upon reading. They are now posted where I can be reminded that my job is not to make my kids happy, but to teach them how to be functional human beings. This letter really isn't for them, it's for me.

I have to laugh a little because we gave this to them on Valentine's Day. True love is not always gushy. Sometimes love has to get tough. Enjoy!

Dear Roy and Rex,

Video Games and TV are a fun way to relax after our work is done. We want to practice good habits that will allow us to be happy and productive people in life. If we are too tired to work, then we should rest our eyes and bodies in bed or curl up with a good book. Watching TV and playing video games is not truly restful. You can watch TV or play video games when your work is done. Here is the definition of “my work is done”:

· Homework done (This includes practicing challenge words or any extra school work that is assigned.)

· Room Clean

· Bed Made

· Clean Clothes Put Away

· Dishwasher Unloaded

· Trash Out

· Recycling Cleaned Out

· Living room picked up

· 15 minutes of reading done

· One extra chore done and checked off your chart

· Ask mom what she needs help with

· When weather is nice—play outside!!!

If you’ve finished all of the above, then YES, you may relax with a TV show or video game.

Remember—TV is not a right--it is a privilege. You are in training for real life. If you sit around and watch TV/play video games all day, you will not have money to eat, nor will you make something of yourself. We want what’s best for you, not necessarily what you feel like doing in the moment. We love you that much!

Love,

Mom & Dad

Memo to Vacating Residents: Leaving cleaning products behind does not mean your apartment is clean

I've noticed a pattern over the course of turning over apartments for the past 3+ years. Some people leave cleaning products behind in lieu of actually cleaning their apartments. I'm not sure why this is exactly, but I'd like to offer a few theories I've been working on, usually while cleaning said dirty apartments.

Theory #1: They hope I won't notice how dirty the apartment is because I'll be so excited about all the free cleaning supplies.

Response: While I do love free cleaning supplies, I am not blind....or stupid. I think everyone here knows that I am the one who does the cleaning so even though I don't get paid extra when the place is really dirty, I'm still going to write it down on the check-out sheet. If you don't want to clean it, you are going to pay for it.

Theory #2: They know they apartment is dirty and I'm going to need those cleanings supplies after they're gone.

Response: I really want to believe that people are nice and thoughtful so I came up with this theory so that I can live in my "give everyone the benefit of the doubt" bubble.

Theory #3: Moving took way longer than they thought because they had no idea how much crap they had and they ran out of time to clean.

Response: This has happened to me. I have the best intentions, but moving is one of the most exhausting life experiences ever. Two times I have had friends offer to do all the cleaning after we left the state. This is one of those gifts that humbles you to the core because there is no way you could ever repay those people. I made the promise to pay it forward. I've only ever done it out of the goodness of my heart a couple of times, but since this is part of my job I just remember those times and consider my service a continuation of paying it forward. Also, it makes me sad for them that they don't have friends to help them move and clean like I do.

Theory #4: A misguided belief that the cleaning supplies themselves will magically come alive and do the cleaning for them.

Response: You've watched Fantasia one too many times. Actually, I secretly hold this belief. Sometimes I get the vacuum cleaner out of the closet and put it in the middle of the living room hoping that it will magically start working on its own. The closest this have ever come to happening is when my husband gets the hint and starts vacuuming without me mentioning it. The worst is when he gets sick of looking at it after several days and just puts it away without using it first. Then I get all upset because, "I was going to use that." And he's like, "Really, it's been sitting there for 3 days." And I'm like, "Yeah, but I really was going to get around to it and that vacuum sitting there was my reminder." (As if all the gross stuff accumulating on our unforgiving apartment-grade carpet is not reminder enough.) And he's like, "Whatever, I'm tired of tripping over it." And I know he's right so I shut up then because I really wasn't going to vacuum.

Those are all of the theories I've come up with so far. Please feel free to submit your own.