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.

New Year Reboot

Yes, I make New Year's Resolutions. Every year. More than one actually, but they are all the same resolution really. Conventional wisdom says that you should just focus on one thing because you are more likely to stick with it. You can count on me to buck convention. I don't care what works. I want to pretend that this year I will finally become the well-organized, disciplined, productive, healthy, physically fit, highly spiritual, well-read, debt-free, immaculate housekeeper and basically perfect person I've always wanted to be.

Don't laugh.

So I sit down and write down goals. Our church has this thing called the Personal Growth Plan and I used to have to write one every year because I was on staff. Here's a link to it, if you want to see the example:

http://www.cccomaha.org/resources/docs/newsfeed/PGP2012.pdf

So I write down all kinds of stuff on there about how great I'm going to be at the end of the year.

By the end of the year, I pretty much feel like a complete failure because I'm not really how I imagined. BUT...then I look at my Personal Growth Plan from last year and realize that I actually did some of that stuff.

Let me give you an example. A few weeks ago I put all of our financial accounts in to Quicken (because we have some financial goals we need to work on so add that to my list). When I looked at our liability column I felt completely crushed and defeated. I started to think that those student loans will never go away. But then I went back to my Personal Growth Plan and one of our goals last year was to sell off our rental properties in Buffalo. By the amazing grace of God, we did. Gone. All of them sold, which is another story altogether. We didn't focus on paying down debt because we realized that we first needed to cut our losses and stop the bleeding. Then I think back to how much time and energy it took to accomplish this from afar. The phone calls, the stress, the spending half of our vacation to Buffalo working, the drama all took their toll. Now that it's over, we can move on and tackle other financial goals.

So I start the New Year hopeful.

Two years ago I committed to develop the habit of memorizing scripture in my Personal Growth Plan. For the first 6 months of the year I did nothing. Then I remembered that I had wanted to do this so I asked my mentor if she would help me--basically by giving me a weekly deadline so I would force myself to do it because while I don't seem to mind letting myself down, I really don't like letting other people down. I know, I really should have more respect for myself, but I'm just being honest about how I roll. I need lots of accountability or I will completely derail.

So this wicked smaaahht lady starts memorizing a few verses every week with me and now, a year and a half later, I feel amazed at what we've accomplished. Not that I want to be a walking Bible Dictionary, but I can tell you that this has become one of the best spiritual disciplines for helping me change. It's like God's voice infiltrating my soul. God's voice is waaaaay better than mine, let me tell you. If you really knew what my voice said half the time you'd really support my decision to replace that with something better.

There's some stuff on there that didn't even come close to happening. I started out great, but something happened and I fell off the track. Like exercising 10 minutes/day. It sounded so easy. Only 10 minutes a day! I was terrible about doing this. So I look at that and realize that exercising at home is a losing battle for me. I'm too distractible and can think of a million other things to do besides exercise. This year I joined a gym and had been going until the whole foot mole thing. (And by the way I feel like CRAP when I don't exercise so I'm motivated to start back up as soon as I can!)

I like to think of my New Year's Resolutions as an annual reboot. I like to start fresh and go hard after all of my goals all at once. The beauty of this for me is that I'm kind of an all-or-nothing person so let's say I only pick one thing. Let's call that thing "exercise." And let's say that something happens like I have stitches on the bottom of my foot and can't exercise for 10-14 days. If that was my only resolution I would be done. I would probably wallow in my failure and give up right then and there. (I was kind of sad and despondent for a few days, but that also could have been my period talking.)

Instead, I shift gears and work on other things like my goal of writing regularly and my goal of extreme grocery savings, which included reorganizing my pantry so that I know what we have and get better at using things up, and my goal of reading through the Bible in a Year, and my goal of calling my grandmas regularly.

Now that I think about it, if I ever get to the end of the year and feel satisfied that I have arrived, it's probably time to check out of this place and go live in glory. So for now I'm satisfied to be in process and achieving small victories and figuring out what my purpose is this year and even just today. So go ahead and reboot with me...we'll probably crash sometime this year, but maybe a few of our files will be recovered and we'll still have something to work with.

Found this quote and had to add it:

‎"I am not what I ought to be. I am not what I want to be. I am not what I hope to be. But still, I am not what I used to be. And by the grace of God, I am what I am."
... John Newton (1725-1807)

When English Sounds Like Chinese

One of my biggest fears about raising kids in Nebraska is that they would grow up to be racist. It drives me crazy when people refer to anyone from a South American country as "Mexican." I think my Nebraskan brother-in-law used to say stuff like that just to ruffle my feathers, but because of his antics I became completely convinced that a long stay in this homogenous white-bread country would result in ignorance.

Here's where this fear originates. I grew up in homogenous white-bread rural New York. I had almost no exposure to anyone of a difference race or ethnic heritage besides my Peruvian cousins who came to visit every few years. Even then, I was so ignorant that I thought Peruvians look Asian (because their mom has Japanese roots). It's not that I wanted to be racist, I was just totally in the dark, which led to one of the most embarrassing questions I've ever asked in my life.

When I got to college I lived on a floor of a dorm called McLlu, which stands for the Multi-cultural Living Learning Unit. This was a special living community that you had to apply to live in. Well, that year, it turned out, no one applied to live there so the RA's made phone calls to incoming freshman to see if we wanted to live in McLlu. The reason we all said yes is that living on West Campus was supposedly the best so opting in to this dorm was a way to jump the lottery system and guarantee a spot on this coveted green.

I'm not sure how they selected people to call and ask about this living arrangement, but it seemed to me that they picked out weird names and went from there. None of us was particularly gung-ho about everyone living in harmony together regardless of race, country of origin or sexual identity. We were just kids away from home for the first time trying to make friends.

One of my first friends was a magnetic guy from New York named Aravind. I had never heard this name before so I had no idea what kind of name it was. Aravind was brown and had a weird name and being from New York I couldn't pinpoint his heritage by asking the question "Where are you from?." So in the spirit of embracing our multi-culturalness I asked him, "What are you?" (This is not the embarrassing question...just wait for it.) He said, "Indian."

I knew about Indians because I grew up a few miles from the Indian Reservation, but I knew enough to know that it wasn't cool to call yourself an Indian anymore...you were "Native American." So to show my cultural sensitivity I asked the clarifying question, "Oh, like Native American?"

"No," he replied ever so graciously, "like from India, Indian."

My face went beet red. I was totally mortified and embarrassed. I had never before in my life met anyone of Indian descent and I had just made it known that I was a cultural ignoramus. Aravind, being the gentleman that he was, excused my stupidity and we remained friends. If he were still alive I would ask him if he remembered this conversation and we would probably have a good laugh about it.

That conversation fuels my desire to spare my children the embarrassment of accidental racism...or cultural insensitivity...or making weird assumptions about people's heritage because of skin color.

As it turns out, I really can't spare them because it must be some kind of human nature thing or some weird curiosity thing that they inherited from me. They are guilty of making assumptions despite my best efforts to help them grow up a little more informed than I was.

Yesterday, I took them to the dermatologist who is very American sounding with obvious Asian roots. She talks a mile-a-minute and reminds me of my fast-talking younger sister in a way. Well, they didn't say or ask anything embarrassing in her hearing, but at home one of the kids said that she talked so fast she sounded Chinese.

What?!

"She did not sound Chinese!" I defended.

"Well," he backpedaled, "she sounded like she had an accent."

OK, if you spoke to this woman on the phone, you would not detect an accent. I mean, maybe she didn't grow up in Nebraska, the accent-less capital of the world as identified by West Communications, but other than being a fast-talker I could not begin to identify any accent whatsoever.

So I'm pretty sure that my kids just thought that she looked like she should have an accent. What is up with that?!?

It's not that I don't want my kids to be curious, it's just that I don't want them to offend anyone or make assumptions about people that aren't true (like she speaks Chinese because she looks Asian). I'm not quite sure how to teach that concept, other than to just say, "Just because someone looks Asian does not mean they speak Chinese." I want to teach them how to ask honest questions without offending.

So my friends with weird names or brown skin, please teach me how to teach this to my children in a way that does not offend you. It's too late for me to remove my giant foot from my mouth, but maybe they still have a chance.