The Grass May Be Greener

On the way home from work one evening recently, I drove past some of the most beautiful and lush green grass and I found myself thinking, Is that good grass or bad grass? It's so pretty it must be good grass!

Now, I can say with absolute certainty, my momma never told me much of anything about grass other than, "Go get the mower and cut it before your father has a fit!" You see, if it was outside the house, green and growing that was the grass, aka the lawn. And truth be told, our "lawn" wasn't exactly green all the time. Sometimes we had a carpet of beautiful sunny yellow, when the buttercups and dandelions wear blooming.
Their happy little faces beaming up always made me smile and they still do. I would pick handfuls of them for mom and she would dutifully oohh and ahhh and place them on the window sill in little cups of water where they would promptly wilt and die.

After the yellow, the back yard would become a carpet of purple. Violets by the thousands springing upwere everywhere. Some were a dark royal purple and and some a much lighter variety, no one  knows where they came from, but Mom and I enjoyed them while they lasted.

In the fall the yard was burnt orange. Two huge white pines dropped their needles and blanketed the yard. As a girl I would use those needles to make paths and create a sort of floor plan in the yard. I would play for hours in my imaginary house, and come in coated with sap, pine cones in my pockets, pine needles stuck in unusual places. It was great fun, that is until Mom had to scrub off the sticky spots with pine sol.

Anyway, the question of what kind of grass we had never came up. Flash forward a few lifetimes and I'm married for the second time. Hubby and I are sitting on the lawn outside our condo. The lawn isn't much bigger than a postage stamp, but hubby started ripping up large clumps of grass. When he saw the my look of adoration had changed to one that said, "Oh dear, I've married a madman." He explained that he was merely pulling up the "bad grass," the broad bladed grass that wasn't soft and nice under your feet.

I nodded knowingly, and filed that under cute quirks. I admit that I am one of those people that likes to compulsively pick at things and bad grass pulling fit that bill quite nicely. All was fine until our postage stamp looked more like a barren wasteland than a lawn.

It was then that hubby came home with a bag. It was kind of a large bag for such a small yard but I trusted he knew what he was doing, I mean, I didn't even know "bad grass" existed. So, large quantities of Weed Feed and Seed went on the wasteland, followed by daily watering. Soon what little grass we had left was burnt to a crisp. "

"Honey, was that our good gra...?" His look said maybe I should let that question go. Then one bright sunny morning we stepped out the front door and there it was, lots and lots of good grass sprouting up. Now we encountered another problem. You see, living in a condo, we paid "condo fees," part of which goes to lawn cutting. The grounds crew cut all the grass throughout the complex at the same time, which would be fine if our lush thick carpet of good grass didn't stand a good foot higher than all the others. When the condo association came a knockin' we did what any upstanding grass lover would do. We played dumb. 

Soon we moved to a single family home. It had a nice big yard and not too much "bad grass" to speak of, so no pulling was needed. One day the grass was getting a bit high, so I thought would surprise hubby and have the grass cut by the time he came home from work. Little did I know I was about to learn another grass lesson.

Much like the "if it's growing outside the house, it's the lawn," way of thinking I also grew up believing as long as everything is close to the same length that's mowing. So I got out the mower, and with no particular plan of attack I started walking around the yard. I was quite pleased with myself.

When Hubby got home he pulled up, got out, looked around, and with his eyes slightly narrowed, whispered, "What did you do?"

I smiled and said, "I mowed the lawn!"

He shook his head and said, "No."

"Yes I did." Now this was getting a little strange, like when you are at a party and pick up and finish your drink only to find out it was some stranger's drink, and you have the I hope they don't have any strange diseases thought.

It was then that I was educated about cutting grass and making lines. Sometimes the lines are vertical and other times they are horizontal maybe even diagonal, BUT NEVER EVER RANDOM! I was banned from all lawn mowing.

So let this be a lesson to you all, when dating, go on a picnic in a park and casually bring up the topic of grass, you never know where it may lead!

Don't Say I Never Told You.

Lisa

Oh, and for the record, I like multicolored lawns and random patterns better. I still call dandelions flowers, and have yet to meet a weed I didn't like.

Soul Man

Soul ties, lost loves, or the one that got away, whatever you may call it I can tell you it will come back to mess you up in your future relationships. I've thinking about this a lot lately, and I watch some close friends, listened to some very wise counsel. Here is what I have come up with, hopefully it will be helpful in the long run and won't totally mess you up. Oh, and don't worry, no actually names will be used, if you think you recognized yourself, well what can I say? Either, Surprise!  Or sheesh get over yourself, no that isn't you... In either case I most likely will not confirm or deny your suspicions.

Take first love, not the kind when you are in first grade and stare deeply into each others eyes over your bologna sandwiches. I mean the kind that happens when he walks into the room and it seems like the air changes, your heart pounds and all you know is, it absolutely important that you get this person to stay awhile so you can get to know them. 

If your first love is not the person you are with now, then chances are something dreadful happened. This is where the problems come in, because it will invariably leave room for "what ifs," or "if onlys." So lets look at one circumstance that is often a first love killer, unrequited love. Unrequited love is sure to come back to bite you, in the form of a "what if." What if he loved me back? What if I actually told him how I felt? What would life be like if we were together now? Is it really much of a stretch to see that this line of think is poison to any current relationship.

I find that past love, especially a love that could have been, or one that I very much wanted to be, becomes a distraction when pressure and hard times hit in my current relationship. But I am telling you that it isn't harmless fantasy as the world at large would have you believe. It starts with memories, then the mind being what it is, will expand on what really happened to create it's own reality. Soon comparisons will creep in. How can a real live person ever hope to compare to the one you have built up in your mind? He can't.

I found myself in this pressure cooker for years. because no one could live up to the passion and dreams I had built around my dream lover. Time and distance had separated us but he was always waiting in the wings in my memory, waiting for the first sign of trouble in my current relationship. Then out he would slip and it was all down hill from there.

It sounds crazy doesn't it? But I am telling you, that these entanglements will trip you up for years if you let them. For me, it only lasted about 22 years. That's right, 22 years of secrets, comparisons, longing for someone who was not only out of reach, but I had no idea where to even look! That, my friends, is a lot of wasted time. I  think I am finally free. You see, a lot happens in 22 years. People change, but people in memories don't seem to develop the way they do in real life. When life meets fantasy, and you take an honest look at it, the picture isn't so pretty.

So that knight in armor waiting on his steed to whisk me off? Well I found out his armour isn't at all shiny and that steed is more like a broke down nag. My "hero" more or less spit on the beliefs I value most in life. Which tells me, my hero is no hero after all, better to stay and fight for life I have now.

So how about you? What is tying you down? Are you ready to break out the army knife and cut the ties that are keeping you bound?

Don't Say I Didn't Tell You.

 Lisa

I Don't Want To Nit Pick

No, really, I do not want to nit pick any more. As in, never again in a million years! Have you ever used that trite little phrase? Nit picking, who ever really thinks about the true meaning, the origins of nit picking? In my vocabulary it merely meant someone who was overly focused on the details of a matter. So focused, they become a nuisance.

Well, I am here to tell you I have discovered the origins of this term, and honey, it ain't pretty. It all started with a bit of itching. Nothing too unusually really, but I decided to take a closer look. To my horror I found teeny, tiny, shadowy, fiends scurrying about my little one's head. And upon closer inspection, what looked like dandruff, was actually eggs attached to her hair!

Lice, singular form: Louse, a term I reserved for the not so lovely people in my life (admittedly I usually reserve the term for males.... sorry). I can now tell you, make sure the person you are calling a louse truly deserves the title. This parasite is repulsive, its tenacious, and just when you think you are rid of it for good, it rears its ugly little head again.

All this brings us back to nit picking. A female louse lays about 200 eggs called nits, which she attaches to the hair shaft with a strong natural "glue" that is about the consistency and strength of super glue! After special lice killing shampoo, you are supposed to use this gel to comb the nits out with a fine tooth comb. This is the point where I develop a tic and a slightly maniacal laugh. You see, hair gel does not dissolve super glue! Not to mention I have yet to find a comb "fine" enough to scrape these little suckers off her hair. And I must not fail to mention that over the years lice have built up a resistance to the chemicals in the so called killer shampoo. Secretly I think they drink the stuff and laugh it up in little lice bars while waiting for some hot looking lady louse to show up so they can lay 200 or so nits and drive me stark raving mad.....

Ahem. Excuse me. It seems, I got a bit carried away. These things tend to happen when one goes from fairly educated, normal daily life to sitting behind your children chimp-like, picking small creatures from their hair. No longer do I gently caress their heads, no, my fingers now are entwined in their long locks in a primal hunt. It's me or the bugs, and frankly I'm not sure who is going to win this one.

So pass me a banana and Don't Say I Didn't Tell You...

Lisa

Changing My Name

Well it has happened. Not that I haven't seen this coming for a very long time. No, I've seen little indications here and there, signs along the road if you will, but I chose to ignore them. Well this car came to a screeching halt at the edge of a cliff this morning. There is just no more denying the truth.

Deep breath... I sound like my mother. There. I said it. It's not pretty, but there it is. This morning was filled with a barrage of "Mom?" "Mommy?" "Momma?" and the dreaded Mooooommmmmyyyy!!!!" which sounds very much like a dying siren. I actually said the words, no, said isn't quite right, more like growled the words, "I AM CHANGING MY NAME AND I'M NOT TELLING YOU WHAT IT IS!"

But I have to tell you, my youngest, knocked the wind out of my sails, she had a retort that was much wittier than anything I ever said to my mom when presented with that line (which was often as I recall). She looked up and said in her chipper little voice, "That's okay, I'll still call you Mommy." Admittedly, I had to laugh.

But it doesn't stop there, I'm sad to say. Ah, there are more and more "momisms" being uttered around here these days. See the thing is, I thought my mother had lost a few marbles when she said some of these gems. Now not only am I saying them I understand why she said them! Perhaps I should look into getting a grant and studying the effects of motherhood on sanity.

Take the other night for example. Now for the most part, anyone who knows me well, will tell you I am a touchy-feely, affectionate, cuddly person. However, after an entire day with my girls, sitting down on the couch with the family to watch a show and being covered in small people (and a hairy dog) was not my idea of a good time. I gently tried to remove children, only to discover them attaching to my hips, and leaning over me. Oh and the dog has now given me a pair of fur pants from the knees down.

And then it happened, "I don't want to be hampered!" I yelled and jumped up narrowly missing the large furry dog rug at my feet. My little ones looked confused and one said, "we aren't putting dirty clothes on you." My husband just shakes his head and says, "They just want to be close to you." I snort and think Says the guy who gets to sit in cube by himself all day!

So here it is, someday when you least expect it, you are going to sound like one (or both because Pop you don't get off scot-free) of your parents. And chances are, it isn't going to be pretty. I have even said the dreaded "stop that crying or I'll give you something to cry about." Now I can say with some certainty that I was warned about this and I just thought I would never succumb to such nonsense. SURPRISE!


Don't Say I Didn't Tell You,

Lisa

What's In a Name?

So, what didn't my Momma tell me? Apparently a whole lot of interesting tidbits about the future. I don't think it was because she wanted to keep me in the dark, rather, I think that all mothers secretly fear that if they inform the future generation of the reality that awaits them, perhaps there will be zero population growth. What a tragic thing that would be! After all, I am sure I've read somewhere, that grandchildren are God's reward for not killing your kids. Let's all sip some Chai and think about that for awhile. Or better yet, just sip the Chai.



Now here I am setting myself up as the whistler blower, risking it all ( including future grandchildren) to set you straight. Because, dang, I had no idea growing up would end up like this! So if in the course of one of these blog installments, it suddenly ends mid sentence with a mysterious argggghhhhh, you dear reader, will know there has been a maternal uprising that has set forth to silence me.



Now before I go on, let me just say, I am a Momma. I have five kids living under my roof, and truly, I'm not sure if anything I have to tell them is going to make a bit of difference in the long run. It doesn't matter how shocking the truth is (or isn't), it's really just the nature of the beasts. I'm fairly certain it was the same when I was their age. Oh sure, I'd like to think I hung on every word from my parents' mouths as if they were the sage wisdom from above. But who am I kidding? And what about you? Let's get real for a minute, and if you and I were asked to jot down five pieces of wisdom that our parents gave us, could we do it? I'm not talking about the "Look both ways when you cross the street." kind of advice (but that is good, don't quit on that one) I'm talking the kind of thing that pops back in your mind when you are at a crossroads in your life.



See that, is what I'm talking about, one of the things you are going to wish you knew when you get older is, "Whoa! I have to make decisions that have a major impact on me and other people, and there is no course on how to make the right decision every time." And these cute little "do over" movies just throw that in your face! Tell me you don't have days that you don't wonder what if... I had these books when I was a kid, (shocker I was bookish kinda girl, among other things), they were choose your own adventure books. Instead of reading straight through you would make choices and go to different pages to see how the story turned out.



I loved these kind books, I could read the book over and over and not get bored because it was always changing. However, I eventually got to a point where I would peek ahead and figure out how I wanted the story to end and work backwards through the choices until I knew all the turns to make to get it to come out right. But life doesn't hand us that script and we don't get those options. We end up winging it and hoping for the best.



Kind of like this blog really, a decision to write, I'm sure there will be plenty more decisions about the subject matter. All I can really be sure of is there will be toes getting stepped on, whose toes is any one's guess, most likely my own a great deal of the time. After all, confession is good for the soul, and being able to laugh at yourself is a great blessing. But I'll save that for another time.

Don't Say I Didn't Tell You....