Read this book...Switch

I really should have been a sociologist or psychologist because I love this stuff. Human behavior is fascinating to me, especially when brilliantly communicated through stories as Dan and Chip Heath do in their second best seller Stick: How to Change When Change is Hard.

Here's the premise--Everyone has a rational side and an emotional side. Merely appealing to the rational side is not enough to make lasting change (think health--we know eating healthy and exercising are important, but why don't we do it?"). Turns out, our emotional side is like an elephant--strong, powerful and hard to steer. Our rational side is like an elephant rider--great at giving direction and seemingly in charge, but easily exhausted and completely powerless when the elephant has ideas of its own.

The 3 keys to change are:

1. Direct the rider

2. Motivate the elephant

3. Shape the path

The studies in the book are fascinating. They open with a study at a movie theatre. Moviegoers were given buckets of stale popcorn of different sizes that were weighed before and after the movie. Turns out, people with bigger buckets of popcorn eat more. So if you don't want to eat as much, use a smaller container. This is an example of shaping the path.

Filled with stories and examples of why change works in some cases and doesn't work in others, this book will challenge how you think about your own behavior and give you practical ideas to make changes in your life.

If you live in the Omaha area, this is our next book club selection. We will be discussing it for the April 5th meeting at 7pm at the Panera on 72nd St. in Papillion.

The FAILURE Files: Do NOT try this recipe!

Juice Pulp Muffins:

4 cups fruit pulp

1 cup sesame or olive oil

3 eggs

1 cup honey

3 cups whole grain flour

1 T baking soda

1 t nutmeg, cinnamon or spice of choice

1 t vanilla

Mix fruit pulp with honey, eggs, vanilla & oil. Add dry ingredients. Pour into muffin tins (greased). Bake 45 minutes at 350 degrees.

Some efforts to be frugal turn into a flop. I found this recipe online for rescuing juice pulp from your juicer. Since we love making fresh juice, I thought this would be a great idea. I still think it might be, which is why I actually included the recipe I don't think you should try. What you shouldn't try is making this muffins with...

GRAPEFRUIT PULP!!!

Oh they smelled soooo gooooood. I wanted them to be yummy, but no, they were terrible. Awful. Disgusting even.

I made my friend try one and she actually spit it out!!! I gave some to my neighbor who eats everything with a warning that he may lose faith in my cooking skills. I have not heard back.

Now I know. I don't think grapefruit pulp can be repurposed. It is trash. You should not eat trash...even disguised in muffins. (You wouldn't put poop in muffins. See, there I go again?!)

This little muffin experiment is one of my many, many, many failures in this life. It's not a terribly important one, although honey is kind of expensive and I used a whole cup of it only to dump the entire batch in the trash. Ugh. I'm thinking of the failures that have cost a whole lot more than that.

But you know what is great about failure? I get to try again with more experience. If failure is not an option then neither is success. If I have failed then at least I've done something.

It is way more fun to succeed, but I can honestly say that every failure, even the costly, painful ones, have changed me in ways that I would not exchange for all the success in the world. I'm not making that up. I am way less of a jerk now than I was 5 years ago, 10 years ago, 20 years ago. If you think I'm a jerk now, just be glad you didn't know me back then!!

The other great thing about failure is that you can warn your friends. So don't try this recipe with grapefruit pulp--it will be a waste of time and honey!

You're welcome.

Mystery Puddle

I have this friend who has been motivating me to tackle the clutter and mystery puddles in my home. Every day she emails a task to complete with before and after pictures from her own home. If you need a friend like this, I will share her with you. I could never be this friend because I can't manage to do much of anything every single day for months at a time. I've barely completed half of the list and I'm OK with that. Something is better than nothing.

One of this week's challenges was to clean the fridge. This is was an excellent week for me to do it because I used up my grocery money a week before the month was over so by Wednesday there was almost no food in there. Ketchup and celery anyone? Mmmm. What I discovered when I finally juiced all of those oranges and grapefruit that were getting kind of wrinkly in the "crisper" drawer was that I had a couple of puddles of some unknown substances at the bottom of the fridge. From the way they were all dried up, I'm sure they've been there a really long time. One was definitely meat juice and the other was something super sticky.

Why am I telling you this?

I'm not sure.

Maybe it's because I revel in gross things. My little sister claims that I purposely try to weave the word "poop" into every conversation. It's not true. Sometimes, like on Sunday when I was being interviewed at our church's annual meeting, I accidentally talk about "pee." I can be really, super inappropriate without even trying.

Maybe it's because I want to prove that I have done something productive with my life. My goal to blog every day has obviously fallen by the wayside so what have I been doing all this time? What do I do all day when my kids are at school and I'm "working" from home? Sometimes I'm unearthing marvels of science in my very own appliances. Do I have a fabulous life or what?

Maybe I'm being philosophical and I just want to show that sometimes you clean out one area of your life only to uncover something even worse lurking below. My shriveling grapefruit were covering up the really gross stuff. As long as they were there, I could ignore the puddles. It took a close friend and a really tight grocery budget to get me to the place where I couldn't look the other way any longer. But now that I've done it, I feel so clean and so free!

Let's go there. I feel that way about my heart. So often it's a mess. I long to be clean and free on the inside, but sometimes I don't want to reveal the mess underneath. It's too painful. I'm thankful for friends who listen to me and let me process in my own way and tell me the truth and help me to live in the freedom that is mine because Jesus lives in me. I need to let that wash over me a little bit right now.

Ripping it open a little bit. What is it about my children that just wrecks me? I was feeling in such a great place until one of my kids started melting down and not behaving how I would choose for him to behave. I put myself in a situation that I thought I could control and guess what? I couldn't. Can you believe that? I cannot control my child's wayward mouth. The insanity is thinking that I can when I clearly can barely control my own!! Poop. See? Just had to work it in.

I leave you with the one Word that leaves me with hope:

"Search me Lord and know my heart. Try me and know my thoughts. See if there be any grievous way in me and lead me in the way everlasting." Psalm 139:23-24

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