I've been reading all kinds of blogs during this "Snowpocolypse 2011" and I have to say that the green-eyed monster has reared its ugly mug a time or two. I see all these precious stay at home moms/entrepreneurs/stylish crafty people and I confess, I wish that was my life sometimes. They have loads of blog traffic, ads & sponsors, cute DIY projects and monthly giveaways (I can't even afford to have a GET-away, much less a GIVE-away!)
In all of this, I have continued to come back to the thought that the Lord has made me uniquely...not to be like someone else, but to write and create from what I know; to write/create from my heart. After reminding myself of that, I managed to give ol' green-eyes the snow-boot.
So, since I'm too lame to host my own stuff, I'm gonna link you to a giveaway from another cute gal's blog (and selfishly, blogging about it enters me for a chance to win one of my favorite designer's poppy-licious flowers--look, I said my motives were selfish, all right?!)
Thanks for those who read my thoughts...even if it is only 4 of you. You are cherished all the same.
Here's the link to the AWESOME Emersonmade Giveaway via Samantha Cabrera
Showing posts with label life lesson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label life lesson. Show all posts
Friday, February 04, 2011
Sunday, December 05, 2010
Sandy in the Swing
When I was in elementary school, there was this sweet friend of mine named Sandy. Now, I call her a sweet friend, but I have the sneaking suspicion that she took pity on me and let me tag along. I don't say that to sound pathetic, I just now see it through adult eyes and can interpret her actions through my lens of experience. You get the point...
Sandy was well-loved by all. Girls wanted to be her and boys wanted to be with her. Yes, even 3rd grade boys knew a good thing when they saw it. But, the funny part is that she wasn't super-cute. She was...average, but with tiny, buck teeth. But she had it all: money, confidence, sass, etc. and even the teachers loved her. Where am I going with this?
I wanted to know Sandy. Being on the periphery was not enough for me. If I couldn't BE her, I wanted to be right next to her. Even if it meant that I was more like her sidekick. Her shadow. I remember the day I went to get my hair cut in a bob--JUST LIKE SANDY--I told my mom, despite warnings that curly hair (mine) and straight hair (Sandy's) were two very different animals. And hey, it was the 80's...bobs were in, right? Wrong. I felt so luxurious as he chopped off my hair and razored it. He even straightened it to look JUST LIKE SANDY. Then I went home. You know how you always feel that you can never style it like they do in the salon? Well, that saying is a massive understatement in this here 'got-my-hair-cut-like-Sandy's-but-it-looks-more-like-Annies' story. The sun'll come out tomorrow indeed...and shine itself down on yo' fro that your mom warned you about. I didn't want to go to school--I didn't even want to look in a mirror (thus beginning a long, tumultuous relationship with my curls, but that's another story for another day).
Who cares about your 3rd grade hair anyway, Katie? You're 32. What gives?
The other day, I was having a little breakdown in front of my sister, so we prayed and asked the Lord where these intense feelings were coming from. Why was I so distraught over such a seemingly meaningless exchange? What came to mind was Sandy. A memory of her on the swings. I waited in line for her to get off her swing, so that I could have a turn. And finally, she did. She was OVER the swings. Her paparazzi asked, "what's next?" and she moved on to the slides. I jumped in the swing, but instead of enjoying it, I felt like I had just copied her. Like a SHADOW. I hate feeling like a shadow. Plus, the admirers had all deserted the area. So, I followed her to the slide...and you can guess what happened next, can't you? You bet. I turned into her shadow, always being mildly satisfied with her leftovers, but always hating myself for not getting there first. Ah, the beginning of female competition. yuck. What the Lord spoke to me in that memory was that I kept waiting for SANDY'S swing (talent, money, voice, personality) when I should've grabbed my OWN swing right next to her. If I swing my swing and stop competing with the Sandy's of the world (you know who I'm referring to: [insert that girl's name here]), I will not only glorify the One who gave me the talents & personality, but probably enjoy myself in the process. Plus, I would've saved myself the torture of a curly bob and even channeled 'The Birth of Venus' as a 3rd grader.
I was planning to write this blog last week when it happened, but so much has kept me from writing publicly lately. This very story is why...and then I happened upon Lauren Chandler's blog last night. I read one about 'Constructive Criticism' and found the courage to write again. I don't know Lauren, but after reading her writing, I sure do like her. And not in an 'I've-found-a-new-Sandy-at-32' way, I promise.
Her May 2007 blog 'Constructive Criticism' (in case you want to read it from the source)
Sandy was well-loved by all. Girls wanted to be her and boys wanted to be with her. Yes, even 3rd grade boys knew a good thing when they saw it. But, the funny part is that she wasn't super-cute. She was...average, but with tiny, buck teeth. But she had it all: money, confidence, sass, etc. and even the teachers loved her. Where am I going with this?
I wanted to know Sandy. Being on the periphery was not enough for me. If I couldn't BE her, I wanted to be right next to her. Even if it meant that I was more like her sidekick. Her shadow. I remember the day I went to get my hair cut in a bob--JUST LIKE SANDY--I told my mom, despite warnings that curly hair (mine) and straight hair (Sandy's) were two very different animals. And hey, it was the 80's...bobs were in, right? Wrong. I felt so luxurious as he chopped off my hair and razored it. He even straightened it to look JUST LIKE SANDY. Then I went home. You know how you always feel that you can never style it like they do in the salon? Well, that saying is a massive understatement in this here 'got-my-hair-cut-like-Sandy's-but-it-looks-more-like-Annies' story. The sun'll come out tomorrow indeed...and shine itself down on yo' fro that your mom warned you about. I didn't want to go to school--I didn't even want to look in a mirror (thus beginning a long, tumultuous relationship with my curls, but that's another story for another day).
Who cares about your 3rd grade hair anyway, Katie? You're 32. What gives?
The other day, I was having a little breakdown in front of my sister, so we prayed and asked the Lord where these intense feelings were coming from. Why was I so distraught over such a seemingly meaningless exchange? What came to mind was Sandy. A memory of her on the swings. I waited in line for her to get off her swing, so that I could have a turn. And finally, she did. She was OVER the swings. Her paparazzi asked, "what's next?" and she moved on to the slides. I jumped in the swing, but instead of enjoying it, I felt like I had just copied her. Like a SHADOW. I hate feeling like a shadow. Plus, the admirers had all deserted the area. So, I followed her to the slide...and you can guess what happened next, can't you? You bet. I turned into her shadow, always being mildly satisfied with her leftovers, but always hating myself for not getting there first. Ah, the beginning of female competition. yuck. What the Lord spoke to me in that memory was that I kept waiting for SANDY'S swing (talent, money, voice, personality) when I should've grabbed my OWN swing right next to her. If I swing my swing and stop competing with the Sandy's of the world (you know who I'm referring to: [insert that girl's name here]), I will not only glorify the One who gave me the talents & personality, but probably enjoy myself in the process. Plus, I would've saved myself the torture of a curly bob and even channeled 'The Birth of Venus' as a 3rd grader.
I was planning to write this blog last week when it happened, but so much has kept me from writing publicly lately. This very story is why...and then I happened upon Lauren Chandler's blog last night. I read one about 'Constructive Criticism' and found the courage to write again. I don't know Lauren, but after reading her writing, I sure do like her. And not in an 'I've-found-a-new-Sandy-at-32' way, I promise.
Her May 2007 blog 'Constructive Criticism' (in case you want to read it from the source)
Thursday, March 08, 2007
I Wanna Ride the Stickhorse
Why, you ask? It was something that I was thinking about during our Kindergarten Rodeo Day last Friday. It is interesting how everything you need to know you REALLY did learn in Kindergarten (or should've...).
We had 6 super sweet rodeo stations including: potato sack races, pin the star on the sheriff, sidewalk chalk/bathroom break, lasso the chair, horshoes, and stickhorse relay. My kids were wicked excited--with the emphasis on wicked--and we were off to have a load o' fun, at the expense of my energy and vocals.
While we were at the stickhorse relay, I learned a major life lesson. About 4 or 5 kids were standing in the back of the line peering over to the next station, lassoing, but they had been the same ones who strained to watch the stickhorse relay while doing potato sack relay. Only, they never got to experience the stickhorse because of their "forward thinking". And, whadduyah know, they didn't get to enjoy lassoing because they were already playing with the sidewalk chalk in their minds--and so on...
About 2 or 3 kids were timidly watching the stickhorse relay and when prompted, said, "No, I'll just watch--I feel silly/scared..." They never experienced the fun because of fear.
Then, the rest of the class went buck wild on the stickhorse. They participated the fake head right off of the horse. Poor guy had to be taped on three times due to extreme enthusiasm. Some kids even slapped their imaginary horse as if they truly BELIEVED it would help them "ride faster" (not realizing that it was their tiny legs that brought them around the tree and back). I realized then how often I am the kid in the back, checking out what could be better in the future--only, I'm missing out everytime because there is always a "future" something. Then I questioned how often I was the fearful one who watched others participate, while growing ripe with jealousy and thoughts such as, "If only I had this or that, THEN I could...(you fill in the blank)."
What I really want to be is the group in the races who neither noticed anyone else nor cared of the future events--they sold out to the moment. All there; present. I wanna ride the stickhorse...
We had 6 super sweet rodeo stations including: potato sack races, pin the star on the sheriff, sidewalk chalk/bathroom break, lasso the chair, horshoes, and stickhorse relay. My kids were wicked excited--with the emphasis on wicked--and we were off to have a load o' fun, at the expense of my energy and vocals.
While we were at the stickhorse relay, I learned a major life lesson. About 4 or 5 kids were standing in the back of the line peering over to the next station, lassoing, but they had been the same ones who strained to watch the stickhorse relay while doing potato sack relay. Only, they never got to experience the stickhorse because of their "forward thinking". And, whadduyah know, they didn't get to enjoy lassoing because they were already playing with the sidewalk chalk in their minds--and so on...
About 2 or 3 kids were timidly watching the stickhorse relay and when prompted, said, "No, I'll just watch--I feel silly/scared..." They never experienced the fun because of fear.
Then, the rest of the class went buck wild on the stickhorse. They participated the fake head right off of the horse. Poor guy had to be taped on three times due to extreme enthusiasm. Some kids even slapped their imaginary horse as if they truly BELIEVED it would help them "ride faster" (not realizing that it was their tiny legs that brought them around the tree and back). I realized then how often I am the kid in the back, checking out what could be better in the future--only, I'm missing out everytime because there is always a "future" something. Then I questioned how often I was the fearful one who watched others participate, while growing ripe with jealousy and thoughts such as, "If only I had this or that, THEN I could...(you fill in the blank)."
What I really want to be is the group in the races who neither noticed anyone else nor cared of the future events--they sold out to the moment. All there; present. I wanna ride the stickhorse...
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