This is the Life: A Blue Collar Housewife

Before I begin, you must understand.
Understand that I am grateful.
Understand that I have a bursting, uncontainable amount of respect for my husband.
Understand that I adore that man, that I see him not only as my best friend, but as the provider for me and our home. We do not make it easily. But we make it, because of him.

And so, I begin.


This is the life of a blue collar housewife.

My mom stayed home with all five of us kiddos until the youngest was in third grade. My dad was a deacon and an editor for the Catholic newspaper in town, and his income was just enough to get by, with a few lovely perks along the way.

Somehow, on a tiny income - tiny by social standards for a family of seven - we had fabulous birthdays, Christmases, and even trips to NYC, Disneyland, and Michigan along the way. We ate homecooked meals, shopped at thrift stores, drove used and paid-for cars, and didn't live excessively.

We were poor. And we were happy.
So, knowing that one could be both poor and happy, the decision for me to stay home when we welcomed our second child was not terribly terrifying.

I always worked. From the time I was 16 and could drive, I worked. I worked through high school, and through college (and through dropping out of college, then re-enrolling, then dropping out, then re-enrolling, then graduating). I have a degree. I have a love for the service industry. I have the desire and drive to work.

But, more than that, I have the desire to raise my children. (Most of the time. I can't lie and say that it's all daisies. There have been many, MANY days where I've yearned for a "real" job and the perks of a paycheck.)

At the time Aidan was born, I had a good job. I was the Training Event Coordinator for the Office of Dispute Resolution for the county. And I really, really liked it. It wasn't the highest paying job, but it was fulfilling.

We talked about me staying home, but I was unsure as to whether I wanted to, and whether it was actually even possible. At the time my husband worked at TNT Fireworks' warehouse. He operated a fork lift, delivered firework stands all over the state, loaded trucks of fireworks, restored broken-down stands, installed area lighting. He did a little of everything, at an hourly wage.

Then, my son was born. And little by little, life (aka God) proved that it was possible.

I still had my job, and went in a few hours here and there, but because my son was born with a terrible umbilical hernia, I felt very uneasy about leaving him. I couldn't put him in daycare. What if it ruptured? What if he wasn't monitored carefully? What if, what if, what if?

And so, I quit my job. It wasn't really my intention, but it became clear that I wasn't going back any time soon.

There we were. My hardworking husband, our two children, and me, a blue collar housewife.

Somehow (aka God), everything worked out, and I have been a stay at home mom for four years now. We have three children, and I'm home with the younger two.

My husband works hard.
He has a different job now, but he's still not salary.
He works with his hands.
He drives a tractor or a loader.
He has found himself at times standing waist-deep in a cow poop lagoon. (To clarify, not for fun. He works with cattle.)
He comes home smelling of sweat and composted manure.
His hands are calloused.
His arms and face and neck are dark. (But that's it. The rest of him rarely sees sun.)
He is strong.
Very strong.

Surprising to corporate America, some men don't want to sit behind a desk.
Their desire to put on plaid khakis and commune on a golf course is low. (Though I bet my husband would love it if he actually gave it a shot.)
They don't care about ties and shiny shoes, fast cars and Rolex watches. (I lied. He does want a nice car. More for me than him. And he wants a motorcycle. He IS a man, after all.)


Some, some men are actually content to be blue collar.
Enter my husband.
He is incredibly smart.
His intuition and wit are unmatched.
He can use any tool, operate any machine, fix anything... without ever having used or operated or fixed it before.
He has to move, to work, to DO.
He has to think on the spot, operate machinery, use his hands and his feet.
He can't put on a suit and sit.
He has moved up, but he will never be white collar.
He strives for higher level management, and someday ownership of some sort.
But he'll never be white collar.
And that's okay, because he's my blue collar man.
And I love him. I'm proud of him. I respect him.
He is... amazing.

So, what does it mean? And why do you care?

Because society has lost it's respect for homemakers.
Society has told women that if you don't work a "man's" job, if you're not able to support yourself, if you stand barefoot in the kitchen, somehow it diminishes your worth.
Society has told us that we can only afford to have one, maybe two or 2.5 children.
Society tells us that we cannot afford to be a one-income family.
It has duped us into believing that both parents working, while limiting family size, is the only route to success.
It has led us to believe that only the wealthy can be homemakers, and that the job of housewife isn't near as fun if you don't have the money to do things. (Thank you, Real Housewives series.)

If this is the case, how are we so happy?

We do not travel. Our vacations generally consist of staying with family members or an occasional hotel night stay.
We don't drive nice cars. In fact, they're less than nice. But they work.
My nails are bitten (bad habit, I know!), and not manicured.
My feet are not pedicured.
My hair gets a salon cut once a year.
We are renters. (Though we will buy eventually, we're kind of gypsies and haven't found the place, yet.)
Our furniture is mismatched, and our appliances are not stainless steel.
We don't have cable. Or a big TV.
If he can't get off work, my husband watches the kids' performances and Christmas programs on video. (That's the part that gets me most, I think.)
We don't have much.

Yet, we have everything we need, and more.

We have fun and cheap vacations - we go to concerts, the zoo, the beach.
We never go hungry. I make every meal, and make sure my family eats fun food, and healthy food, and tries new foods.
We go out to eat, even. Usually once a week after Mass.
I dress pretty nice. My clothes are not designer, but I know how to shop for killer deals.
If I just HAVE to get my nails done, I do.
Our children always have the money to pay for class trips or buy their friends a birthday gift.
Our home is nice and well-stocked. It is peaceful and homey, serene and comfortable.
Birthdays and Christmases are never lacking.
We even get to go on dates, and pay for a babysitter. My husband and I go for sushi. My daughter and I go to the Nutcracker. Dates may not be often, but they do happen more often than you'd think.
I get to go to Hobby Lobby to get craft supplies and make things. (And, if I could just get enough cash together, could actually make that a side job to bring in a little extra income. Someday!)

Yes, we have debt (student loans). We'll pay it off when our kids are older and I go back to work.
Yes, sometimes the fear of what bills we can pay when sets in. But I do not believe is this a blue-collar problem. I believe that, no matter what, money is ALWAYS a stress factor.
Yes, I go stir crazy. I'm an adult, and if I can't figure out cures for stir-craziness, I'm lame, and it's my own fault.
Yes, my kids drive me crazy from time to time. They're children. And I'd trade one thousand hours of them driving me crazy for one moment of seeing them take their first bite of food, or first step, or first trip to the potty, or be there for the first tears after girls were mean at school.

And so, here I am, a blue collar housewife, living a really, really good life.
It's not always easy, but who's is?

I believe that many work because they're afraid that they can't make it.
But here I am, here we are, proof that it's possible.
And oh! is it possible! And worth it!

Being at home takes sacrifice. And partnership.
It takes a husband who is willing to work really, really hard, and miss out on some things in order to provide.
It takes patience on my part, and sometimes loneliness and tears. (I do believe every wife experiences this - regardless of what her husband does.)
It takes knowing that you are not wealthy, and you will not be for a long time, if ever.
It takes buying cheap shampoo and driving old cars.
It takes - THIS IS THE KICKER - putting aside your feminist pride, and being submissive, grateful, and DEPENDENT on your spouse. And trusting and praying that he pulls through.
It takes loving and supporting and respecting him - even, no, especially when he fails.
It takes shopping clearance.
It takes knowing that you may never have your dream house, or nice cars, or the newest phone.
It takes NEVER COMPARING your life to others - ESPECIALLY other housewives. There will always be those who can afford luxuries. YOU are NOT them. It takes understanding that THAT IS OKAY, and life - raising children - is not a competition. It takes knowing and loving and embracing these housewives, too, regardless of whether you can afford to do everything they can. (Remember, all mothers are in it together!)

More importantly, it takes realizing that the ministry of raising your children is the most important ministry on earth.
It takes realizing that no amount of wealth or material things can replace the few short years that your babies are little.
It takes humility, and the strength to say "we can't afford that right now."
It takes having pride in who we are.
It takes character and humor! (Humor is probably one of the more important things in this mix.)

I wouldn't trade my life as a blue collar housewife.
I dream of stilettos and New York City lights, visiting Broadway and a tiny flat in Manhattan.(Insert eye roll from my dad here.)
I dream of opening an art gallery and restaurant.
I dream of publishing a novel, or a dozen. (Which is something that I get to work on at home.)
I have many, many dreams. And most may never happen. But that's okay, because it's my job to enjoy my life, and be grateful for it... and work to mold my children into people who will make THEIR dreams come true!

I'm here to say be proud of your life as a blue collar housewife.
Because you're making it, against all the odds that society has stacked against you.
Enjoy it. Live it. And be grateful for it.

Adios.



Disclaimer: I do not care to hear what you have to say about families whose mothers work. I know these families, and I love them. I know you have to do what you have to do, and what is best for everyone. This post is not about two-parent or single parent or double-income families. It is SOLELY about my being a blue-collar housewife. If you want to comment on two-income families, or single parents, or whatever, then write your own blog and comment on it there. :) Peace!

That Evil Elf on the Shelf

Meet Whimsey, our Elf on the Shelf. 

This is last year, when the first night he showed
up he brought the kids their own tiny
Christmas tree and ornaments.
He's not all bad.

Two Christmases ago, I gave in. Annie was 7. She wanted an elf. Badly. I thought about it, then, on a 'whim" I bought one. All $30 of him. We named him Whimsey. And this is his third year in our house.

I brought him home conflicted. You see, I was raised in a home where my parents never "did" Santa. We never did "North Pole" or reindeer. We never did elves. Our home was filled with traditions, but elves were not one.

Advent Tradition

We had an Advent wreath, and a felt calendar that my mom made. It was made up of 24 pockets, one for each day in December before Christmas. I remember waiting, with eager anticipation, every day to do the Adevent wreath. Not for the prayers. Not because I knew we were going to sing "O Come, o come, Emmanuel." Not because we got to light and blow out a candle (or two or three). I waited... for the candy.

There were five pieces of chocolate or taffy candy (you know the one - the delicious peppermint taffy that is white with red edges and a green tree in the center) in the pocket of the corresponding day. I wanted to be the one to get the candy out! I wanted to be the one to distribute it to my four siblings! I wanted to EAT. CANDY.

This is a tradition I carry on in my home today with my three children. We gather around the Advent wreath. We light the candle(s) for the week. We pray, and we sing O Come, o come, Emmanuel. And my children wait patiently because they know, at the end, they will get a piece of candy out of my homemade felt calendar. It is a beautiful tradition, and one I honor and respect and LOVE about my Catholic Christian home.

And, I know my kids want to do the Advent wreath because of the candy. As they grow older, this will change. They will begin to revere, to understand, to respect (or, God forbid, reject) the reason, the meaning, the purpose. But for now, they will associate Advent with being sweet. And I'm okay with that.

Santa Claus

My parents didn't "do" Santa. They never confirmed nor denied that he (he as in the fat man in a red coat with a flying sleigh and reindeer) existed. They made sure to make certain we knew that "Santa Claus" is a translation of "Saint Nicolas," the saint after whom the tradition of Santa was formed. We never had presents from Santa. Christmas morning each of us had a gift from Saint Nicolas. And one from Baby Jesus.

I carry that tradition on, too. I don't confirm or deny the red man. I've never told my kids that he does or doesn't exist - though I don't lie to my kids. If they ask, straight out, I either evade the truth or give it to them. But I don't ever say that Santa and the North Pole are real. Way I see it, I can't expect them to never lie to me if I lie to them.

That being said, I let them take pictures with the man in the suit when we do "Breakfast with Santa." I let them believe in magic. When they ask, I say something to the effect of "Saint Nicolas was a good man. And he is a living saint in Heaven. He gave to the poor, and I love the magic that stories of him bring to the Christmas season." (except for last year's debacle when I explained that the "magic" Santa isn't real, but Saint Nicolas is. Yeah, that ended in major tears for my eldest, and a complete retraction of what I'd said. Don't judge.)

Evil Elf

But Oh! have I heard comments and read blogs about the notorious "Elf on the Shelf." I've seen different versions - I almost added the Christmas Angel to be Whimsey's friend last year, but then Advent was here, and time and money were not. Thought about it this year, then decided, nah. A Christmas Angel or an elf... it doesn't matter. In truth, I almost added the Christmas Angel because I felt like I'd be deemed less holy or less Christian or less Catholic if I only had our elf.

I read blogs from women that hate the elf because he's creepy (I'll give her that. He is a little creepy at night), or they doesn't feel like messing up and cleaning up - and because kids should have good behavior regardless of whether an elf is watching. Touche.

I read a blog from a Catholic blogger that is totally opposed to letting the little guy in her house because he doesn't encompass anything Catholic OR Christian.

I read blogs from several Catholics and other Christians that say they don't do the elf thing, but will incorporate something similar and more Christian. I think that is a brilliant idea. (In particular, I LOVE the Kindness Elves. Plus, they're way cuter than Whimsey.)
Others can't decide if they want the elf or not.


I was almost jealous when I read this blog, about Wisemen Adventures - where the wisemen try to find Baby Jesus. So fun! Why did I think of that?! But my kids are already attached to Whimsey, so to replace him now would take some careful measures. I think I'll use this wisemen adventure after Christmas, when Whimsey is gone, in the 12 days of Christmas between Christmas Day and Epiphany, to help aid in the joy of Epiphany.  


I understand all those views. And I agree with all of them.

And in all that reading, guess what conclusion I reached? My elf doesn't make my home less Christian. It doesn't make us less Catholic. It isn't good. It isn't bad.  It's just an elf, and we each get to decide which traditions we'll bring into our homes.

Our little guy brings just one more piece of added "WHIMSEY" to our home during the Advent season. We don't focus on the fact that "he's watching and will tell Santa if you're being bad or good." In fact, I've never told my kids that. He doesn't teach my kids how to misbehave. He isn't their "you'd better be good or else" fear factor (which is the main opposition I've found from parents). I don't tell them that he's watching their moves. I don't really tell them anything, actually.

He's just... fun.

Fun Elf

In my home, we do make a point to add Christian Catholic faith in with our little guy. He writes things like "I can't believe it's already time to prepare for Jesus' birthday" and "Happy Advent" and "Honor your father and mother (and siblings)" on his mirror notes and paper letters. He "asks" the kids to pray for him at Holy Mass.

But, even with all that... the elf is just fun!

It is fun for me to find new hiding places. It is fun for me to see thier faces when they discover he threw a "toilet paper party" in the bathroom, and all his little toy friends attended. It is fun for me to dye the milk green and dump out the laundry basket. He's not mean. He's mischevious.

Loosen Up!
I spend SOOO MUUUUCH TIIIIME ALLLL YEAR correcting my kids, yelling at them, making them stay in line and do chores and trying to teach them how to be PERFECT. And, at the end of the year, I just need to be SILLY! In some weird way, this elf is a little reminder to ME to have FUN. To keep my kids children. That a little mischief never hurt anyone. Whimsey helps me let go of my anal OCD, and just let them be kids, and let me have fun putting curiosity and joy on their faces.

Lessons Learned

This stupid elf is a reminder to them (and this lesson is one that I have used several times) that, even when we mess up, we're loved anyway. They see my reaction to Whimsey's mischief. When "he's made a mess", I act disappointed. And then, I say "It's ok. Kids will be kids, and elves will be elves. But you're helping me clean this mess up, because he's YOUR elf..." He's always welcome back. Even last year when he toilet-papered the Christmas tree. No matter the mess, Whimsey is welcome in our home. He's like an example of the prodigal son.. only red, with big eyes and a pointy hat, or something. Okay, maybe that's a stupid analogy, but you get my drift.

Whimsey helps reinforce what I try to teach my kids all the time -  that we love no matter what mistakes and messes are made. We get a clean slate every day. Kind of an important lesson during Advent, as we spend a month in preparation for the coming of our Lord, who died so that, no matter what mistakes and messes are made, we can still experience the joy of the Lord, and the unending celebration in Heaven, because he wipes our slate clean.

That stupid elf reminds us to be CHILDlike... that Advent is a time of fun and joy, and eager anticipation for the birth of Jesus (Whimsey wears a party hat on Christmas Eve. This year, I think he'll leave a gift for baby Jesus. Or possibly have a birthday party for him, with all his "friends" - Barbies, dinosaurs, Little People.).

Whimsey doesn't take the Christ or meaning out of Christmas. He adds to it. And, though he makes a big mess out of some things, he sure does add some fun to my kids' Advent season.

Secular Schmecular

Just like I'll never stop giving my kids candy with the Advent wreath, just like I'll never stop letting my kids Easter egg hunt, just like I'll never stop letting them distribute letters and candy on Saint Valentine's Day, I'll also let Whimsey stick around for as long as their little hearts desire. Because these things help bring added joy and whimsey into these holidays for little minds that are being developed into understanding the TRUE reason for these holidays is Christ and His holy saints... but they are NOT detracting from it.

My children know that Christmas is the celebration of the birth of Jesus. Whimsey doesn't take that away; that creepy little elf adds to the excitement. Just like my children know that Easter is the celebration of His resurrection, and hunting Easter eggs (and looking at that creepy bunny - I'm opposed to the Easter bunny simply for creep factor) adds to the fun of THAT day.

As our children get older, the WORLD will try to suck out their youthful innocence. It will attempt to zap their joy and wonder. The WORLD will kill Whimsey. So, before then, I'll let them have all the fun and believe in all the magic they can. Because they're only little for a little while. And, when they're grown, I am confident that no elf, having one or not having one, is going to form their character.

In the end, regardless of whether you are Christian or Catholic, or neither, I could care less if there is an elf on your shelf. I don't judge your traditions (but I might if they require anything with blood or potions). I don't care if you are Christian, Catholic or not, and you don't incorporate Jesus or Advent AT ALL into your elf tradition. Because, fact of the matter is, it is YOUR tradition.

Please be mindful of the fact that Advent is a time to prepare for Christ Mass, aka Christmas, and respect and honor the birth of Jesus, the Son of God. And that's all.

And, for the sake of all things children, HAVE FUN!



P.S. As far as figuring out whether or not to feel guilty about this elf, I'm over it.

We're all striving for holiness. And until you pray without ceasing, live on only what the Book requires of you, rid your home of anything secular, go to confession at least once a year - but probably more like once a week, have read the entire Bible front to back and back again, have the perfect marriage, never yell at your kids, never spend money on trivial things, never gossip, don't watch or read anything immoral or secular, tithe on a constant basis, do not have pride, anger, lust, envy, gluttony, avarice, or sloth in your life or in your heart... oh, I could go on and on, you don't get to say anything about my elf.

I am ALL ABOUT striving for holiness in every way you know how. And if having an elf on your shelf is going to make you less holy, of COURSE don't get one! But for those of us who do, don't get "holier than thou" on me.

There are MUCH bigger fish to fry. Call me out on my lack of confession, on my overreaction to my kids' behavior, my wandering mind during Mass, the fact that half the time I totally take for granted the mystery and true magic of the Holy Eucharist. Tell me that I should pray more, keep my house cleaner, serve my husband better, strive harder to be a Proverbs 31 woman, get my unhealthy bodily temple in shape. Hold me accountable for my sin. Help rise me up to be holier, better, more loving. Help me laugh more, love more, DO more for my fellow man. 

But, for Pete's sake, leave the elf alone.

Welcome back, Whimsey! Don't do anything toooo bad this year!

One I Love: Rachael

I don't know how common it is in life to be friends with someone longer than you haven't been friends with someone. 

I met my best friend when I was 12. We hated each other that first few months of sixth grade. She thought I was annoying and I thought she was mean. Funny thing? I was annoying, and she was mean. At least we were to each other. 

Somehow, we got over that, and by seventh grade we clung to each other and never let go. Her acne and my chubbiness made for some pretty serious clinging at times. We were a couple of dorks who didn't care what people thought (at least, we didn't show it... I'm pretty sure we spent hours caring over the phone or in tears at points). We stood up for ourselves, stood up against the cheerleaders who tended to give us hell from time to time, stood up to teachers who treated us unjustly, and had a heck of a lot of laughs.

When she got detention, I would intentionally get detention. Because you don't let your friend go down alone.

When she was in Ag, I joined Ag. (Then, I left. Because I could NOT hang in that class. You know we had to watch a pig get castrated?! EW! I was a pretty good welder, though...)

I WISH I knew what was happening on this phone call.

Over the years, we only grew closer. 

And then, a full page or two in my Senior Scrapbook became
devoted to her and our other best gal, Trina!

And today, she's still my best friend. 

I've made other best friends over the years (a couple come immediately to mind, and they'll get their own blog dedication soon), and I love and cherish those special friendships.  

You know you're good friends with someone when you have a picture like this laying around.
I love her whole family!

But Rachael... she is my sister. (Not my actual sister, Rachel. THAT was confusing growing up. We ended up referring to them as "Sister" and "Friend." Like, to the point where it was "Jessica! Friend is on the phone!")

True friends have your most hideous photos. They occasionally use them as blackmail.
But they never post the picture on social media, without distorting them first, because they're true friends like that.

We know each other's souls. We know each other's mistakes and each other's questionable records (psssh, not like EITHER of us even HAVE one! WHATever)... 

We spent thousands of hours on the phone (her was that cool see-through one, and she had her "OWN LINE" which was a BIIIG deal), until we could drive. Then, the world was our oyster. 

Prom after party. We were the only ones from our school there, because that's how we rolled.

She's the one who told me I wasn't fat when I had run-ins with cruel kids who called me fat and "blob." I was the one who reminded her that she was pretty when she was taking a medicine that made her skin dry out in patches. 

A true friend joins whatever extracurricular activities you're in, so you can miss school on the same days.

We were the most amazing duo for many years. Superheros, really. And, the rare times that we still get together, we are still the most awesome duo in the room.

Because chunky shoes were "in." And so was my bedazzled Caddy shirt and rose-colored shades.
Whatever. We ROCKED that club every Thursday.

True friends know your "ugly face."

Strengths, vulnerabilities, mistakes, first loves and second loves and third loves, fears, joys, family issues and pet histories... we know it all.

True friends know and love your dog as much as you do. Miss you, Marley!

We had a secret language at one point in our life, and another where we spelled out all the words, and another when we just made up words and were awesome at creating paragraphs that we understood but no one else could.

And another language... "Rach, grab that thing and put it on the thing by the other thing. Then put the thing in that thing on the thing." Yep, we could even decipher that. Probably still could.

 

A true friend will HAUL BUTT to your house to get your National Honor Society collar, almost missing the graduation ceremony, because you forgot it.
You're welcome. :)
(Yes, this picture is us, speeding down a country road to make it to graduation on time.
Because that is how we roll.)

When I broke my foot, she was my chauffeur. 

I believe this was when I almost got in a fight at Sonic (for mouthing off), and she sped off for me.
Thanks, friend. THAT would have been messy...

We were roommates to each other (first in the dorms, then I was the girl on the couch, then I was the girl on the couch again, then we had a house together), and counselors for each other a zillion times. 

Cheers-ing to a clean house. 35th Street. Memories flood in!

We disagreed and argued, and I probably cried but she probably didn't because I'm lame like that... but nothing broke us. 

 

We were also quite crafty and could probably run a multi-billion dollar industry
if either of us could ever stay focused on anything!

We were partners in crime and in tye-dying my couch with Kool-Aid packets. 

(Rachael, if you have that picture, you'd better get it to me asap.)

We talked on the phone and texted, laughing, from rooms on opposite sides of the hallway when a boy wouldn't leave our house and slipped a note under her door because he couldn't get over how beautiful she is. WEIRDO!!!

A true friend helps you clean ashes out of your eyes when you spit in an ash tray like an IDIOT...
even if she DOES think your pain is hilarious.

She sat with me when I was 21 and pregnant. And she loves my "leetle" like her own family. 

This may or may not have been seconds before she dropped baby food and
may or may not have spewed vulgarities at my baby shower. BWAHAHAHAHAH

She lived across the sidewalk from me in one of our many ghetto housing units, and Annie surprised her with a "happy birthday." (Jeff put that together!)

Waiting to say happy birthday to Aunt Rachael!

She supported me when I got engaged to a boy I'd been dating six weeks, and she stood by me when life seemed to be falling apart. 

When I screwed up worse than I ever had, in my entire life, and I was having a literal mental breakdown, SHE is the one I called. And she dropped what she was doing, and came to me. She listened, she loved me, with no judgement. 

I plotted revenge when her heart was broken by a boy. I may or may not have carried out said revenge from time to time, at least in my head. 

I can't talk about most of our memories because we were the craziest people I've ever met. But MAN, did we have fun! And we only reaped the consequences SOME of the time, which is a pretty good ratio...

Hanging out with my Leetle.

We were so smart, and so funny, and so beautiful. We're still so smart and so funny and so beautiful. And though life causes us to be too busy, or too far... she's the best friend a girl could ask for, and I'd hate to go the rest of my life without telling her just how much I love her! 

We are soul sisters. She IS my sister! I like to think I'm the sister she never had. The prettier, smarter, funnier sister.

Just kidding. She's prettier. And probably smarter in some areas. But I'm pretty funny, so I'll take claim to that. 

She let me borrow clothes and was the one who kept me in the loop with bars and friends and new friends and new music. I kept tabs on her keys and knew when to tell her not to rip her hair out. Oh, and kept the creeps away from her, which was sometimes a hard job considering she was always the exotic red-head at the bar.

I think we've been to like 100,000 concerts together.
A true friend dances like crazy with you at all those concerts!

Cheers to best friends, to lifelong friends, to friends who know all the stupid and idiotic and illegal and life-threatening and impulsive and wrong things you've done... but love you anyway. Cheers to friends who let you talk however you want, but hold you accountable for your choices. Cheers to friends who listen to you cry over and over and over and over again about a guy, and tell you what they think, but still love you and support your relationship anyway. 


 Cheers to friends who never tire of hoping for happiness for you, who never get jealous about anything you do or have done, but only want success for you and will cheer you on every step until you reach it. 

Cheers to my best friend, who is all those things and more. 

Because we cool like that.

Rach is getting married in one month from today. And my heart bursts with happiness for her and the lucky guy who snagged her. She's going to make a helluva bride, and I pray for them and their marriage every day. 

LYLAS, Rachael Michelle. Yours is one of the only birthdays I have memorized, which you know is kind of a big deal. :)

18, 19, 20

November 18 – A body part. (Draw a discreet "Thank you" sign - a word, a heart, a cross, a TY, something - on or near that body part today. Whenever you see it, give thanks for it today. I would steer clear of making marks on your face, however....)

November 19 – Something non-living. (Random add-on: At the end of your post today, write a sentence about the item you're grateful for in your refrigerator at this moment.)

November 20 – An animal. 

 

Yeah, embarrassing that I can't keep up with my own blog! Heere we go. :) 

18: My feet. And I'm drawing "THANK YOU" on them today, and every time I see it, I'm going to thank God that I have them, and that they work! 

19: Rainbows. They're such an amazing display in nature. I stand in awe when I see one. Every. Single. Time. 

Soy sauce and Sriracha. Peanut veggie stirfry would never be the same without it. 

20: Thank God for puppies. My Jake and Marbles probably don't get NEAR enough attention, but I LOVE THEM! They're my buddies, and my back yard wouldn't be the same without them! 

The end. :)

Thankfullness and Excuses

Well, it's been a busy couple weeks. Aaaand, right before things got REALLY busy, my computer crashed. 

Okay, well, it didn't really CRASH, so much as the power cord fizzled out. So, easy fix. Amazon apparently doesn't ship power cords to my town (?!?!?!), so I ordered one from my folks' house and had it shipped there so they could mail it to me. Long story short, I'm back and back to blogging. 

So, now that my explanations are out of the way, I've got some catching up to do! 

November 7 – A song that, whenever you hear it, makes you grateful for something. 

 

Gorillaz's Clint Eastwood. It reminds me of a time in my life when things were incredibly easy and fun! Memories of my besties, Rach and Trina, in their house on 32nd Street (where I was "the girl on the couch" - I even had drawers for my things in the bathroom), and all the friends and fun that accompanied those late teen/early 20s years.  I'm so grateful that I have such fun memories!

It also just makes me want to wear shades and dance.

November 8 – A family member. What is something that person does that makes your life better or easier?

My sister is my best friend, and she's my advice giver, my rant listener, my "go for it" giver, and the only one to whom I've sent my entire novel in progress for review. (Other than my novel partner in crime, Christy Jones! Holla!) She is the ultimate friend, and I'm so blessed that she also happens to be my sister...

November 11 – A freedom that you have that people in other parts of the world may not. Whatever it is, do it today, and give thanks to God that you can do it!

I can blog. I can say whatever I wish, whenever I wish. And I don't fear being arrested and put to death. I can write. And speak in public. And vote. And birth children, and get married, and cook, and shop, and drive. I can be anything I want to be. And that is a lot of freedom. Proud to be American!

November 12 – The person that taught you to drive.

I took care of this one on Facebook...

Today, I'm grateful to my dad and Darth for teaching me to drive. And Coach Rob. That had to be a scary job! The people and things we take for granted... what a blessing to have the freedom to drive where and when we want and need!

November 13 – Something that you see that makes you grateful for eye sight.

Sunrise. Sunset. Rainbow. Sky. Clouds. Thunderclouds. Lightening.
Everything beautiful that God made that would turn our faces UP toward him!

November 14 – A stranger. We have encounters with strangers every day, but occasionally one stands out. Who has impacted your life and will probably never know it?

There are a lot of little strangers that impact my life. I look at their pictures sometimes, when I can stomach feeling the longing that it creates in my heart. The faces of the children in the foster care system grow my heart. They grow my love. They grow my compassion. They make me want to do more, to do better, to make my life and home available for them. I'm grateful for their distant smiles. They grow my prayer life, as I pray to someday be a mother to some of them! I'd take them all if I could.

November 15 – A friend in your neighborhood or area.  (Invite that person to dinner at your house.)

My neighbor, across the street, moved in three days after we did. Their daughter is around A1's age, and they're good friends. The momma has been a Godsend to me in this town where I have made very few friends. She reminds me to take it easy, to not worry so much about things that don't matter (her phrase is "no worries." I've started using it pretty frequently.), reminds me that very few things actually matter, and has been the best neighbor I've ever had! So blessed that God put us together to face this new land together. :)

Much love! So happy to be back in the blogosphere!
Jeska

November 6: Maria

November 6: A friend at church or a club you attend.

Moving to a new town and dipping my toes into a new church was scary. I didn't want to do it.

But God is good, and He provides.

My new church hosts some really great people. They are happy to see new faces, and are open to our presence and our gifts. I've met some good people already. But one stands out.

Maria, today I am thankful for you! I thank God that you're my age, have toddlers, and above all else, are fun to talk to and sit around with - even spontaneously or when my house is a mess.

I already love your precious kiddos, and I look forward to building our friendship. God bless you and your family, my new friend!





I can't end without giving props to my St. Joseph church family. I love you, I misssssss yooooou, and I'll forever be grateful for the roles you all played in my life and the life and growth of my family. Christy Jones, you were the first, but you'll get your own blog eventually. The rest of my lovely ladies and their husbands... you all helped change our life into something special! Love you!

November 5: Milestones

November 5: An experience you've had that made you appreciate being alive.

Every "first" my children experience makes me grateful for living.
First breath,
first cry,
first laugh,
first step,
first book read,
first day of school,
first hurt feeling,
first crush,
every first, and every first to come...

I am thankful that I'm here to experience those firsts. And I pray I will never stop delighting in the thousands of firsts, but only being grateful for another day with the most precious crew I know.

November 4: Alice

November 4: A person at work, past or present.

When I started back to college in 2007 it was at a strange time in my life. Geoff and I were separated at the time, and though we were working on it, we had a ways to go. It was a big decision to go back to finish, but I knew between the support of Jeff and my family and friends (Amanda Leonard - shout out to your role in this! I don't know if I'd have gone back without your encouragement and friendship!) I could make it happen.

I looked for a job on campus and was hired in the Deposits office as a student assistant. My boss was a sweet lady named Alice.

I worked with an insane crew. There were four student assistants, and we were literally crazy. We laughed all day. We made jokes. We pulled pranks on people that came in to make deposits. One day we set up a "confession booth" in the corner cubicle in our tiny office, and called it Real World: University Deposits. We brought a video camera and took turns making outrageous and stupid "confessions."

And, feet away, tucked in her little office, was Alice. She let us play and have fun (though occasionally had to tell us to STOP!). She was the mother to a group of weird and sometimes obnoxious (but always pretty hilarious) teenagers. Well, except me. I was not a teen. I was like 25. Aaaaanyway...

Alice doesn't realize it, but she fostered me at a time when I was experiencing immense growth and change. She played a really, really important role. She let me be young. She let me have fun. She gave me a place where great memories were made. She hosted the Christmas party at her house, and she let us wear hats and sombreros and bring goodies on our birthdays.

Most importantly, she trusted me, even though my background check might have had something sketchy on it.

She put up with more, and with more patience, than any boss I've ever had. And I needed that... to just be a college kid.

Today, Alice, I am thankful for you. God bless you and your family!

November 1: Le Roy

November 1 – A family member. (If you want, mail a letter to that person today, just for the fun of it. Even if you live in the same house!)



Today, I am thankful for my father. 

He is an infinite source of wisdom and prayer for me and so many other people. 
He keeps me in the loop, and tells me when I've stepped too far. 

He has given me and my family a sense of humor, taught us to laugh through turmoil and hard times, to bring darkness into the light, to find joy and fulfillment in simplicity. He formed us to be educated, to never accept being wrong, to learn and read and know all we can about everything. 

He taught me to take pictures. He taught me that, in order to create memories,
PEOPLE have to be in the pictures. Had he not put me in front of this monument,
it would have just been another Google image of the Statue of Liberty.
Putting me in front of it made it a MEMORY.

He is the wisest and most incredible, giving man I know.
And I love him.

Thank you, Dad, for being the best example of a father I've ever met. 

Thank you for making me a master shoulder-massager.

Thank you for supplying wisdom that I've been able to use, and pass on, hundreds of times. 

Thank you for teaching me to speak the truth, in love. Always. To be gentle when effective, and to bang it in when facing something stubborn.

Thank you for teaching us what agape love really means, and showing what it is to love someone with no strings attached, simply because we are called to love. 

Thank you for loving my husband, and for never giving up
praying for the love and life we share.

Thank you for choosing to live a life of gospel simplicity, so that none of us thrive on the material, but know that we could make it if all things in our lives were stripped from our hands. 

Thank you for teaching us the Gospel, and for pulling us out of bed for morning prayers every morning - even when we hated you for it. Thank you for letting us sleep in and skip morning prayer during summer, even though you and mom were faithful to keep it going.

Thank you for being playful.

Thank you for making us love each other, even when one of us screwed up.

Thank you for letting mom be the one to overrule you, so that we didn't lose respect for you, and so that we gained respect for her. 

Thank you for working with mom to show us the value of every human life. Thank you for teaching us what justice means. Thank you for planting a little seed in my heart that has grown into an incredible passion and drive to save the innocent unborn. 

Thank you for putting music in our bones! And for letting Adam put that bus in your back yard.
Though the bus thanks should probably go to Mom...

Thank you for not giving up on me when I made bad decision, after bad decision, after bad decision. 



Thank you for praying with me, and for me, when I needed it. I don't know how many dads, when facing a hurt child, would say "let's pray." And then actually pray.

Thank you for allowing me to make mistakes, and loving me when I faced negative consequences, even when those consequences were exactly what you knew were coming. 

Thank you for supporting me with unceasing prayer. 

Thank you for this dance.

Thank you for calling me at dawn when you've woken up with me on your mind, to tell me what prayers were answered in your sleep. You've never been wrong.

Thank you for Loyalty, Texas. I don't believe anyone who has ever stepped foot in Loyalty needs any explanation for that thanks.

Thank you for having an incredible taste in music, and for allowing our childhood home to be one of jive and beat.

Thank you for being there on our birthdays.

And for helping blow out candles.
And for teaching that sad birthday song that everyone loves and
thinks is hilarious, after they realize it's not REALLY meant to be depressing...

Thank you for never giving false compliments and for never encouraging us to do things in which you knew we honestly were never going to excel.

Thank you for telling us the truth. Always. 

Thank you for encouraging me to finish college.
And for posing for this picture so it looks like some
sort of important conversation is taking place.

Thank you for encouraging us when we were on the right track, but for never filling us with a sense of false pride. We all work harder, and do better, for it. 

Thank you for letting me wear that, even though it was tragic.
And thank you for telling me that men would not appreciate me
for my mind if I'm wearing slutty clothes. You're right.

Thank you for being the best preacher I know. You get through to those that no one else reaches. You beat them with words, and they never forget it. In a good way. Your sermons and acronyms have been some of the best prayer tools that many people will ever have. SEEDS. LUCKY CHARMS. PALE GAS. ACTS.

Thank you for memories like this.

Thank you for being a comic artist. And for having really cool writing. You made sister and I the best locker-tag makers SHS ever saw.
 

Thank you for being someone that someone would want to be for Halloween. Twice.
(Eric and Cory were both Leroy, two different years! This one is Cory as Leroy.
And Geoff as Cory...)

Thank you for never letting a misspelled word pass, even if it was a simple scrawl on a post-it or a greeting card. (Though I have to admit there were many times I didn't let you read a paper, because I didn't want to have to rewrite it five times. Though I kept some from you, the ones you edited made me the writer and editor and proofreader I am today.)

Thank you for loving your grandbabies, and for welcoming more and more and more.
Thank you for not being a pushover grandpa, and for giving your grandchildren
lessons they need. Thank you for being stern when they need it,
but for being playful and musical so they have those memories of you.

Thank you for giving away cars, and food, and money, when we all know we didn't have cars, or food, or money to spare. You gave them anyway, and we learned that, even if you don't have cars, or food, or money to spare, you give anyway, and God provides. 

Thank you for getting me a cheap guitar and teaching me G, C, and D.
Thank you for gifting me with a beautiful 12-string when you realized that I'd finally,
after many years, actually learned to play a little.
Thank you for encouraging me to play the djembe. I wouldn't be the same without that drum.

Thank you for teaching me that it is important to do everything I do RIGHT. The FIRST TIME. Thank you for making me realize that even something as simple as a flyer for a school function, or a poster board stating burrito prices, should be legible from feet away.

Thank you for being strong for mom when she fought the battle for and of her life.
Thank you for making her laugh, for keeping her singing,
for being her "Big Nurse"
and for seeing her beauty with or without her wigs.

Thank you for showing us what trust, true trust in God is. Thank you for putting a face on faith. God never failed you. If I could learn to trust Him even a portion of how you and mom trust Him...

Most importantly, thank you for loving my mother. 

You lucked out on that catch, Dad.

Thank you, God, for giving me and my siblings such a phenomenal dad, and for somehow leading my mother to fall for him. We're the most blessed group of kids in the universe. 

Thank you for being the head of all of this.
What a legacy you will leave. <3