The holidays can be really wonderful.

So many things are different now during the holidays than when I was younger. I find that I just coast along and take things as they come. Fortunately for me, I don't have to cook and entertain at my house. My WONDERFUL inlaws have hosted Christmas Eve and Christmas Day at their house for many years. I tried to cook for their family once. Let's just say we won't do it again anytime soon. While I know my strengths, I can also appreciate my shortcomings...

It was our first Christmas without Dad this year too. We all had a very tolerable (actually fun) and stress-free time! I missed hearing his smartass comments and familial inserts. He had this funny language that my sisters and I try to imitate and memorialize. It's so goofy, but it was who we were.

Despite the fun, I had to appreciate the irony of it all:

I went to look for my new bike on Christmas Eve at about 1pm. I ended up back home 30 minutes before we were to be at church for William to sing (4:30) because I a) got bad directions (THANK YOU JOHN) to the bike place and b) had to go to a second bike place. By the end I was DONE with life and ready to go to bed.

Thomas woke up with a fever at 3am on Christmas morning. Not a mild fever, though, it was one of those that requires you to get up out of a deep sleep and get your kid Motrin and stay awake to make sure it worked. Fifths Disease was the culprit and we are still battling it two days later. He's 7. I thought we were done with these pesky diseases.

We woke up Christmas morning and opened gifts. After that, we (I) decided to watch the Nutcracker. Sadly, when William thought the Nutcracker had died after the battle with the mice, he cried like a baby. It took me a while to convince him that the Nutcracker would come back to life. As we were watching, Thomas couldn't stand it anymore and periodically danced like MJ to the rest of the pieces. Needless to say, we didn't finish the ballet, but we had fun- in an unconventional sort of way.

At one point, I was practicing my new holiday song, 'Shingle bells, shingle bells, shingles on my face."

Then, I overheared a conversation between John and Thomas. Thomas was saying that he promised he'd TRY to be good, but didn't promise he'd actually be good. That's been our mantra for the break so far...

At one point, I was listening around the house and realized that John could only use the 'Santa's watching' thing for about 8 more hours. I immediately started looking for things that we could use for the rest of the break, but couldn't come up with anything.

I could probably come up with a few more good stories, but what stole the cake was actually having a white Christmas in Atlanta. Apparently it had been over 100 years since that had happened. The boys, my mom and my sister were overwhelmed with the sight. It truly was beautiful and very special. At one point, one of the boys said that Poppy was making it snow. How true and how beautiful that he was with us, despite being absent.

We hope to have a prosperous and positively eventful 2011.

Boys are so different than girls.

It happens every day. We come in from school, unpack our stuff, and the boys immediately go into the den to play 'Hut, Hut, Hike.' What's that, you ask? Well, if you must know, it's an indoor version of tackle football played in a very small area that usually involves Thomas throwing William's little body to the ground to impede his quest for a touchdown. That act is usually followed by much whining by William, which leads to Thomas allowing him his own touchdown, which is necessary to William deciding to play another down.

I don't understand what compels little boys to be in constant motion and physical contact with one another, but it seems that they are always competing, trying to be first, and one-upping each other. I see such hateful attitudes and unfair behavior sometimes. It reminds me of growing up with siblings myself. Man, we were really tough on each other. It's really strange to see it in your own children.

Even though I don't understand it, it seems to be a very natural and fun way to interact with one another. I must say that I have seen many unsolicited acts of brotherly love during this play and hope that my boys are learning how to be compassionate. They have this great relationship and seem to really like spending quality time together lately, even if it involves throwing each other to the ground.

I am happy they have each other. Long after we are gone, I wish that they will become the best of friends. Family is everything.

Something good will come from diabetes.

It is the eve of the JDRF walk for diabetes. This will be the second year we have participated in William's short five year life.

He was diagnosed at 20 months-a baby still in diapers with no idea why this awful hospital trip was happening to him.

I remember his diagnosis at the pediatrician's office. They checked his blood sugar and came back with a reading of 491. She said, "I'm sorry, sweetie. William is diabetic and needs to go to the emergency room immediately." I was shocked, scared, and full of dread, as the prospect of what was to come loomed. It was every bit as horrible as I imagined it, culminating with the nurses' (plural) inabilities to start an IV on my little boy's small veins. I don't like to remember, but feel that I should document it for his sake.

Since then, he has endured countless finger pricks, injections, pump change-outs, highs, lows, infections, ketone checks, and hours of fear and pain.

Diabetes is not a death sentence. It is more a life sentence. It never stops and it can never be ignored. It is constant and requires vigilance.

As a parent, I have come to realize that I cannot rest easily unless I know that his blood sugar level is stable. That is something which John and I can control. But what happens when he is in college? An adult on his own? Our fears are real and constant.

There must be something positive that comes from having a child with type 1 diabetes. There has to be.

Self-sabotage is the worst kind.

So, I went to see the doctor yesterday. I was there to see if the medication I am taking is working. While I appreciate him following up with my health, I really don't think I should have to make an appointment with the doctor for another $30 copay, so that he can tell me that he will refill my prescription because I seem ok.

I digress....

At the appointment I had my kids with me...not a great idea, but there was no other choice. After stepping on the scale, I realized that I had gained SEVEN POUNDS in the last month or so. SEVEN POUNDS! I'm not sure I gained that much between ob visit while pregnant with my kids!

Again, I digress...

After the disgust of seeing my weight gain, I had my blood pressure taken. It was in the high-normal range. HIGH NORMAL. Seriously? I gain seven pounds and my bp spikes? I am hoping it was because I had my kids with me and was all hyped up trying to make them behave and because I had gained weight. The doctor rechecked it and it was down a little.

So he asked me to what I attributed the weight gain. I said that I thought maybe it was the higher dose of medication. He asked if I had made any eating or exercise changes. I averted my eyes and said that I had made negative changes in both areas. I countered with the fact that the meds could have caused the weight gain and maybe I should decrease the dosage. He asked me if I felt better. I said that I did. He told me that I had to ask myself if it was worth feeling worse for the chance that the meds caused the weight gain. I really wanted a quick fix, but he forced me to look at the facts.

Yes, I had an incredibly stressful month or so and yes, I had stopped exercising and was eating horribly. Yes, I felt better, but I told him I was so busy that I didn't have time to exercise. He just looked at me and said, "We're all busy." We ARE all busy and there comes a time when we have to take responsibility and make choices for ourselves and follow through with them, no matter how long it takes. I sat back and told him that I needed him to say that, that I needed him not to allow me to make excuses for myself. He told me that I was the one who needed to think that and it was up to me to make healthy decisions for myself.

I don't know what it is. When I wake up in the morning I am full of all of these resolutions for the day. As I work through the day, though, I find my resolve to fulfill those goals weakens. By nighttime, I am self-righteous and feel that I deserve what I want because I have worked so hard. Self-sabotage. Why is it so difficult to stay true to a resolution? It shouldn't be that hard, but it is a constant struggle that I wish would end.

I am currently back on the exercise wagon and ran three plus miles today. I am going to have a nice little chat with myself later tonight...without ice cream or nachos.

L

God knows what He is doing.

No matter how much we think we want to change it, God's will always shows us the best way. It has been two weeks and three days since my dad's spirit left this earth. Looking back, I can tell you that there were signs that he was ready to go all along our journey to his death.
When he entered the ICU on August 4th, my dad never saw the date on the dry erase board. It was supposed to have been changed every day with the new date and the name of the nurse for the day. It was August 4th and the date on the board was July 22, 2010, which was his 62nd birthday.
After he was transferred to the multiple myeloma floor, he became increasingly uncomfortable. I got really upset and began the process of getting him transferred to hospice as soon as possible. I remember my mom and the pastor of their church saying that my dad locked eyes with my mom and held up his arm and gave the "I love you" sign in sign language. Also noteworthy was that anytime the three of us went to talk to him, tears came out of both sides of his eyes. I'd like to think that was a meaningful gesture instead of a physical response.
The morning he slipped away, my aunt had stayed the night with him, refusing to allow us to stay at the hospital that night because we were so exhausted. The phone rang at our house at 5:48am. I got the phone, but didn't answer because I didn't recognize the name. I went back to bed and the phone rang again two minutes later and it was my uncle's phone. He told me that dad had passed away. I immediately called the number back and got the nurse who was on call that night. My aunt had used the nurse's phone to call us because hers had died. She told us that she called the nurse to have him suctioned and repositioned and as she was closing the door behind the nurse as she was leaving, she heard him take a light breath and he was gone. She said she looked out the window and there was a beautiful pink sunrise in front of her.
We were mourning on our way to the hospital and it had not rained in days. As soon as we left the house, it began to pour angrily. As we neared Little Rock, the rain began to subside and we too, saw the sunrise. I think it is quite fitting that God chose to take him three short hours before his transfer to hospice, which he would have hated.
I have always believed in signs and I am sure that I missed many that I was too upset to see. But the point is that God knew what he wanted for my dad and I am at peace with the events that took place. My dad's death has brought much pain, but has also been a catalyst for new and better relationships with his side of our family, which my dad would have loved. It has also been the blessing and answer for our concern for our mother, who is actually happily beginning a new chapter in her life.
My sisters and I are just sad. We miss him terribly. I am sorry for people who will never know him because he was so good. He was just such a unique person. He was good and kind and had too many lives to count. I don't think I have grieved for him yet. I am consumed with handling matters of his death, my mom, my family, my job. That doesn't leave a lot of time for the grieving process.
I will grieve in my own time and we will all learn something from the last nine years of pain and disappointment. He is happy and with God. He is watching us and laughing at the mess he left at home that the three of us have to sort through and clean up. Somehow, I knew it would happen that way. And I'm ok with it.

To know you are loved eases your pain.

I am overwhelmed by the outpouring of support that our family has received since my dad had his stroke on Tuesday. It was a severe left-sided CVA, which affected the part of his brain that controls speech and language. He is still mostly unresponsive and we are not sure about his prognosis yet.

Initially I wanted to just ask for prayer, but this support has evolved into an amazing testament to what an amazing man my dad is. My sisters, family and I are a united front that has only his best interest at heart. Even though decisions may be tough for us, his well-being is our number one priority.

Please continue to remember him in your prayers by asking God to show us His will, whatever that may be. And know that we are extremely moved by all of the prayers offered to us during this difficult time.

Life is so unpredictable.

I was at work this morning when my sister called and said they thought my dad had a stroke. He was rushed to the hospital and is in the ICU as we speak. I guess I always knew this would happen, but it just kind of stops your breath for a minute when it actually does.

He was diagnosed about nine years ago. At the time, his cancer (myeloma) gave him a life expectancy of about 18 months. Since that time, he has undergone countless rounds of chemo, has had two bone marrow transplants, and has been to the ERs and hospitals around the southeast for various related illnesses. Sadly, he has also witnessed the death of his father, father-in-law, and the unfortunate accident of his wife, which has caused a permanent change in their relationship.

On the other hand, he has seen all of his daughters get married, has known and enjoyed three grandchildren, and has found peace in a slower paced kind of life that has not included dentistry, continuing education, and orthodontia. We all, literally, just returned from a vacation at the beach, one which seemed to be very pleasant for both mom and dad, if not a little stressful for everyone else. He seemed to be in really good spirits and interacted with the kids more than I have ever seen.

So, I'm changing out William's insulin pump tonight. I fill the chamber with insulin, prime the tubing, and get the sterile pads ready. Then, I pull out the old pump site, clean the new area and get ready to stick the needle in his behind. I just had to stop for a minute and realize how unfair this all seems. My son is getting his insulin pump changed out every three days, my dad is unresponsive after a stroke, my mom can't comprehend what is happening and I am about to start a new year of school in a few days, except that I am heading to Arkansas to help make decisions for my parents.

Now, I realize that everyone has their "stuff," but if seems that some people get more "stuff" than others. All of these things that have happened have caused such stress and unhappiness in our lives. Eventually, one has to ask why. I can only say that there has to be a good reason.

My dad is such a good guy. He doesn't deserve this. I'd like to think that I'm a good person too and that the people I love don't deserve these things. William certainly doesn't deserve what he has experienced in his short life.

Maybe I just need to feel sorry for myself for a minute or I need to vent. Maybe I just need to document these feelings so that I remember them when I am old. Whatever my reason for writing right now, there has to be something good that comes from these situations. I don't know what they yet, but there has to be.

Running in weather with a heat index of 105 is good stress relief.

I have entered a time in my life when stress is at the forefront of most major events in my life. It seems that the older I get, the more I am plagued with situations I can't control and that pain me to experience. Even vacations, which are planned to "get away from it all and relax," tend to offer a few minor or major traumas that make vacations a little less than relaxing.

Take kids, for example. Travelling with children today is a recipe for stress. Going on vacation without your significant other with said children is just plain scary. I think I am used to sharing the burden of being a mom with a husband who is a hands-on dad and always makes my job easier...well usually. When by myself, I am more irritable, concerned for their well-being, and I can't really let myself unwind, especially with William. His illness is not urgent or terminal, but it is constant and it is so hard to be constantly watchful by myself when I'm used to sharing the load.

So, I got home today after leaving Fripp at 7am to get the boys home early enough to spend time with John after being gone for a week. Once home, I couldn't relax and kept pacing the house. So, I decided a run was in order. Maybe not the smartest idea at 2:30pm on one of the hottest days in July, but I really needed to run, sweat, and expend energy.

About halfway through the run/walk (because who am I kidding? It was 100 today,) I felt this huge surge of emotions and energy leaving my body. I walked harder and sweated more. It felt good and when I got home, I was fine.

I say all of this to recognize that I have had many, many, many big stressors in my life, some at a young age. To identify a way to relieve some of what is physiological, as well as psychological has been very helpful in my quest to come to terms with unfair situations.

I think if I were to be still for too long, I would explode.

Panty lines happen to good people.

I didn't know which topic I would discuss today. It was a toss-up between panty lines and inconsiderate people. While I was trying to decide, I was watching an episode of SVU and one of the witnesses didn't remember a woman's face, but he remembered her panty line because she had a nice $#@. So...there it was. The topic du jour was decided.

Ahhh, panty lines. Never has there been a more obvious social faux pas. Really, though, there is no excuse. That's why we have friends.

Take a normal woman who goes to work. She is somewhat socially conscious and is mildly fashionable. Heck, she might not give a hill of beans about fashion. So, our woman puts on a really cute top, a cute pair of pants and fabulous shoes. Sadly, though, when she walks away, you can tell the size, cut, and color of her underwear. The whole outfit is effectively ruined. Does she know? Is she hoping no one can tell? Surely she knows.

Now, I realize that this topic might seem incredibly shallow. It probably is. But, can you honestly tell me that you haven't noticed someone walking in front of you with a huge panty line? I'm not talking size here either, because there are all sizes of women and they are all beautiful in their own ways. But even then, do we want to see their underwear?

I must confess that I'm not totally innocent in this situation. I, believe it or not, am guilty of going out of my home knowingly having a somewhat obvious panty line. I was the woman who was hoping that my outfit choice did not give away the fact that I had gained a few pounds and therefore, my pants were a little tight; hence, my panty line. I know, I know. It's tragic, but panty lines happen to good people, too.

That's why we should always depend on our friends. You tell that size 2 friend that she should not go out in pants that show her whale tail. You tell that size 12 friend that she really should not wear those tightish linen pants that fit last season, but clearly not this season. You especially tell that teenager that she can't go out of the house with her visible thong above her incredibly tight jeans.

We should look out for each other and unite against panty lines. They can be prevented so that we protect the integrity of our girlfriends.

L

We don't have time for our elderly.

I took Thomas today to see Mr. Quinn's body and pay our respects to Mrs. Quinn. Mrs. Quinn is absolutely devastated and honestly does not know what to do, but has been at the funeral home day in and day out to greet everyone who takes the time to come and visit her beloved husband.

It was difficult for Thomas, I could tell. He was very quiet and clung close to me. Mrs. Quinn did everything she could to make him comfortable. She lit incense for us and let us talk to his picture. Then he led us to Mr. Quinn. He was laid out in his uniform with all the things that he loved nestled around him. His extra pairs of glasses because he was always losing them, Sharpies because he would only write with them, Thin Mints, Jolly Ranchers, and bundles of 100 dollar bills. We paid our respects and were ushered into the kitchen where one of Mrs. Quinn's sisters insisted, "We are all family and you will stay and eat with us."

Later, we went back for the demonstration and were approached by one of Mrs. Quinn's brothers. He said that he was one of 10 kids in their family. Nine of them lived in Atlanta to "surround their mother." The other sibling was still in Vietnam. The other elderly relatives at the funeral were treated with the utmost respect.

Flashback a few weeks ago. I took the boys to meet a man whom I have known all my life. He and his wife were role models in our church and I remember them being present for most major events in my life, my sisters' lives, and other young people in our church's lives. Many years ago they sold their home and moved to an assisted living home. His wife died a few years back and I thought he had as well. He seemed old even when I was a teenager.

I took the boys to visit him. Surely he would remember me and would like a welcome reprieve from what I would assume was just another day. He was there and we were led to his room. He was asleep on a small bed in the corner of a double room and looked exactly the same, except with a little more unruly hair and less one front tooth. He was awakened by the nurse and was disoriented. I tried to talk to him, but he couldn't see well or hear. I wrote my name on a legal pad and showed it to him and for a moment, there was the recognition of my face. I tried introducing the boys to him, but he wasn't able to comprehend what was happening. We left there with many questions and I left sad.

I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't that. How could this man who had been so constant in my life be a little old man in a nursing home? Why was he there? What do I want for my family and myself when we are in that situation?

We are so busy. Our lives don't allow for the slow deterioration of a life that is ending. We have our work, our kids' sports, our own commitments.

It was just hard. Seeing Mr. Gannaway, seeing Mrs. Quinn mourn the loss of her love, and trying to explain these hard life lessons to two little boys who look to mom and dad to answer hard questions. Because there will be hard times that they will experience. Sooner, rather than later.

So, I will humble myself and ensure that I make the most of the time I have with those I love. I will try to help make the right decisions for them, not what is the most convenient or cost-effective. And I will try to make time for those to whom we should be seeking for guidance in how to live a good life. They are the ones who have the advice and the stories and the knowledge.

L

I don't like acrylic nails.

I don't know why I don't like acrylic nails. Isn't that sad? Clearly there is a market for them and many women love them, but I don't. Maybe it's because it is very obvious that they are not real. Maybe it's because I have had them once and know what it involves to keep them looking nice or maybe it's because people seem to get them for major events and then let them go. For whatever reason, it seems a colossal waste of time and money to pay for something that is going to need constant care and repeat treatments.

Speaking of repeat treaments, waxing is something that I like and I can't figure out why I hold it to a higher standard than acrylic nails. I guess I would rather not have a unibrow or eyebrows with tons of stray hairs underneath than to have beautiful fingernails.

Being a woman in this society is so tiring. If you're not worrying about your nails, then you're worrying about your eyebrows. If not your eyebrows, then it's your toes. If not your toes, then it's your hair. Don't even get me started on the amount of money one could spend on hair care: Especially when I have recently realized my hair is not a light brown-blondish anymore.

I used to have the lightest hair, eyebrows and eyelashes. Throughout the years, my hair has become darker, but my need to maintain my hair color has not wained. So what do I get? I get great highlights on the front of my head and really dark hair (my true hair) in the back. Maybe I should go to full foils and jack my price at the salon up 25% more. I think not.

Secretly, though, I really just want to be myself. I think I will keep waxing my eyebrows, getting my hair cut, and getting pedicures because it makes me happy. As for my nails, any money I spend on them will be negated the next day due to my tendancy to be a clumsy oaf. I think I will become a natural brunette, instead of an obviously highlighted blond, and I will try to remember that there is still a place for beauty on the inside.

I will give in to coloring my grays a subtle brunette, though. That will be acceptable.

L

Kids deal with death in really weird ways.

"Boys, we need to tell you something." said John at 7am this morning. "Mr. Quinn passed away last night. He is up in heaven and won't be able to teach you karate anymore."

Silence. Silence. (Then, a little eye rubbing by William. Thomas was still processing.)

"Are you guys ok? William? Thomas?"

"I'm ok. So...I don't get to go to karate anymore." said William.

"Yeah, I'm ok. I'm just trying to be strong and brave. Can I have an email address?" asked Thomas.

Kids really have strange ways of coping with loss or the thought of loss. I really expected my kids to break down at the prospect of not seeing Mr. Quinn again. He was such a positive and respectful man. We know of so many kids whose lives were improved because of his influence. I could see William growing up with him as a mentor and earning his black belt.

When I think of the loss that so many children are going to feel because he is not here, it makes me want to cry. He was very good with boys who were difficult and with children whose parents had a hard time parenting. He taught self-respect and self-esteem by modeling those behaviors and talking to kids about self-defense. He didn't tolerate disrespectful behavior and no one questioned that he had the best interest of all kids in his heart.

"Can I have an email address?" really isn't the best way to deal with the loss of a role model. But really, has Thomas had to lose a role model? Does he realize the impact that Mr. Quinn's death will make on countless children and adults alike? The answer is no. He hasn't dealt with loss and he doesn't understand. I think I am thankful that the first real loss my boys are being dealt has been met with somewhat standoffish behavior. It's like they really don't know how to behave. By being supportive and encouraging them to talk about their feelings, I think we are making our boys' journey into losing important people in their lives a little smoother.

We wrote cards to Mr. Quinn today and took them to AK Karate and taped them on the board. We will go to class and hear what his loved ones have to say to help us all deal with his loss. John and I will go and view his body and pay respects and the boys will participate in a class tribute to Mr. Quinn on Wednesday. After that, we will begin the process of questioning and remembering and applying what was learned at his death to the boys' future experiences.

Honestly, though, we are more upset about the loss of a man who could teach our children how to become better men. Clearly, there are fewer and fewer of them.

I hope Mr. Quinn is looking down on us and realizing what a wonderful inspiration he was.

L

Kids need to feel shame.

We took the kids to Taco Mac for dinner with our good friends tonight. We have two boys and they have two girls. After the kids finished their dinner, they became restless, so we gave them each a dollar and allowed them to go to the video game room. After a little peace and quiet, my friend went to the bathroom. When she came out, the kids were talking quietly and looking guilty.

After probing them, we found out that one of our kids was told by a random kid to tell the waitress that he lost his money in a machine so he could get free quarters to give back to her, even though he didn't lose his money in the first place. Said child, being impulsive and somewhat of a risk-taker, did it. What's worse is that his decision almost made one of our other children do the same thing, except that she was caught before she had the chance.

Many tears later, we finished our mother and father to son conversation (lecture) establishing why what he did was wrong. We finished with promises that it won't happen again and even had a little role playing session with both boys in the event that it does happen again...which it will.

I asked him, "Did you feel shame?" He replied, "Yes," with tears in his eyes. I said, "Good. You need to feel shame. You need to feel how bad that feels and identify with it so that you never want to feel it again."

I don't think that we allow our children to feel these very fundamental bad feelings that help shape who we will be. We want to protect our children from others and from themselves. If you don't know what shame is, how do you know you don't want to feel it? If you always have a parent making excuses for your behavior or blaming it on someone else, how do you learn to take responsibility for your own actions? While it may sound mean that I said those things to my son, I believe that he will think twice about his behavior when he is put into a difficult situation.

Trying to instill in your child that it is important to be strong and stand up for what you believe is really hard. There will be so many situations that both of my children will encounter as they grow. I only hope that we have given them the tools to choose the right path.

L

Spending the night at a hotel with your husband 10 miles from your home is totally worth the money.

John Lowman turned 41 today. Congrats to my husband, who will always be 6.5 years old than me.

When asked what he wanted for his birthday, John replied the usual, "a sweet card from the boys." So....I booked a hotel room in Dunwoody and made reservations at the restaurant where we became engaged about 11 years ago. The sitter was arranged and we were off on our adventure. John had no idea where we were going or what we were doing.

We pulled up to the hotel and I opened the trunk, where he found his dress clothes and our packed bag. We went for a short swim and then to the restaurant for a YUMMY dinner. After dinner, we sat on oversized couches and talked about the last 12 years.

We retired to our room late and spent the night in the luxury of a kidless room and surprisingly soft and comfy bed to both our liking. The best part was rolling over at 8:30, not having had to get up to get breakfasts for two rugrats and check W's BG and give insulin (Stephanie, you will now be written into our will!).

All that being said, we love our family. We love the time we spend together. We even love the hustle-bustle of having two kids in school doing multiple sports at one time.

But there is something to be said about going back to the beginning and taking time to enjoy the company of the man with whom I chose to spend my life. He is funny, respectful, fun, interesting, and is still the person with whom I would choose to spend most of my time.

Everyone should shell out the extra money and have dinner, drinks, and a night with no responsibilities. It's amazing what it can do for a 12 year old relationship.

Happy Birthday, Hunty. I love you.

L

Sting is phenomenal.

I went a little nutso on iTunes today and downloaded $25 worth of Sting songs. The entire 'Fields of Gold' cd is fantastic, as is the holiday album I didn't know about that I now own. "Shape of my Heart" and "I'm so Happy that I Can't Stop Crying" were two I had forgotten and I happily spent the day reacquainting myself with them.

There is one song that I found on his new album, 'Symphonicities.' Clearly it is an older song, but I had never heard it. "Why Should I Cry for You" is performed by Sting with a symphonic accompaniment. It is amazing. Such a beautiful, simple song taken to another level with the added harmonies and rich sounds of a symphony.

I have always loved Sting. One of my favorite songs is "They Dance Alone." The sax soloist parallels Sting's voice and its haunting sound echoes the somber message of the song, which is that women are left alone when their fathers, brothers, husbands, and sons die in war.


A few years ago, I realized how diverse Sting is after I listened to a few of his more artistic, to say the least, songs.

"Fill her up" How does an artist blend country, gospel, pop, and jazz into one song and make it work?

(cheesy video. Couldn't get a live version that I liked)

"Tomorrow We'll See" Sting has become a transvestite hooker in this song. I don't know why, but it just works.

(again, cheesy video, but I'm certain there wasn't an MTV one for this)

"Ghost Story" Everytime I hear this song, I am overcome with emotion and can't sing the end.


I have never heard an artist who is more diverse, more comfortable in his skin, more humble, and more talented. Maybe he shouldn't have split from the Police. I know what they had was amazing, but what he has done since is nothing short of brilliance. His looks aren't so bad either.

I am so sad that I didn't suck it up and go hear him when he was in ATL a few weeks ago. I know that I will have to make it a life goal to hear him live. Maybe he'll see me and decide he can't live without me.

For the record, I have a huge red burn below my right eyebrow. I hope it disappears soon. I am anticipating the many stares and well-wishes from anyone and everyone who sees me.

L

Some things are better left to be done in the beauty salon.

Today, I decided it would be a good idea to wax my eyebrows and give myself a pedicure.

I had already bought the supplies thinking that I would save the fam a little money by doing all necessary "beauty management" at home. I figured that on average, waxing and pedicures cost about $40 a month. Surely, if I spent close to $100 on all of the supplies, in the long run I would save money...

Well, I heated the wax, got out the applicator, and applied the wax to my eyebrow. I had done this at home once before and had no problem at all. I even got the arch right. This time, however, was a little different. I don't know if the wax wasn't hot enough or if I didn't let it get dry on my brow, but I ended up with wax on my eyelash and a huge red irritated spot below both eyes. There are still stray hairs that won't come out and when I put on the post-waxing cooling gel, it stung so bad I had to wipe it off.

All this to say, some things are better left to the professionals. I am good at many things, but not this. Furthermore, who am I to deny some sweet woman the $30 it costs to take away my unibrow and give me peace? I figure that I'm stimulating the economy by continuing to pay for these services.

I know that waxing and pedicures are vain. Women spend so much money and time on themselves that they sometime fail to see their own inner beauty. However, there is something to be said for a perfectly arched brow and nice looking toes. I'm not talking about a boob job, just a little grooming here and there. If anything, it gives us a break from our busy lives and makes us feel like women. In a houseful of boys, I really need that.

As for the pedicure, I am off to my favorite nail place now...

L

My first post

I have toyed with the idea of writing a blog for several years now. I have been saving my ramblings, thoughts, and comments to my phone's notes page and also on the FB notes page as a draft.

I don't know if I have a lot to say, but I think for me, it will be interesting to look back on myself at the age of 34 and see where my mind was.

We'll see how it goes.

L