Nutty Blonde

Shreveport Times Article on Louisiana's Status of Most Obese State

2009-01-10T15:42:00.003-06:00

http://www.shreveporttimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=2009901100313

2008-01-26T09:02:00.000-06:00

California Dreamin'

2008-01-17T06:30:00.000-06:00

My new friends in Merced, CA- Tabatha and Misty!
More pics down here:)

I had an absolute BLAST with the women of Merced, California at Morning Glory Gardens one day retreat! Saundra, Mary, KAthy, the dancing girls; Misty & Tabatha along with Lisa Daggs-Charette and her cutie-petutie daughter; Hannah Montana....uh, I mean Faith. Here are some high points! Enjoy!

Resolutions

2007-12-30T15:07:00.001-06:00

Reaping the punishment of my Christmas Cookie metabolism experiment; you know the one where you see if eating 40 cookies over the course of 2 days really does make your pants any tighter, I laid to rest the pillaged Greenburg Turkey carcass in a terrier-proof zip lock bag. Christmas, indeed, was over for another year. With the calendar flip form December to January, the patina of potential covers the lens of my perception and with bolstered vision, I resolve.

Just what is so captivating about the optimistic thought of being better than we have ever been? Like the would-be aviators of old , I truly believe I am one bicycle attached to a huge set of bat wings away from victory. Perhaps it is self-delusion; like a toddler who promises wholeheartedly to never again brush the dog's teeth only to sneak off and fish the toothbrush out of the trash. Within me dwells a bifurcated nature which truly believes that I am a vehicle designed for greatness....if only I could find the keys.

Is it humanly possible to keep a New Years Resolution? The American Dietetic Association suggests that one set attainable goals which, once reached,should be celebrated. At first, your family may think it strange when you bellow out,"Can I get a whoop-whoop?" while victoriously spiking the empty banana peel into the garbage, but will appreciate this baby-step celebration when they are on the receiving end of such enthusiasm.

Another strategy to resolution success involves accountability. Audaciously tell others your plans, using pride as the fulcrum to forcibly thrust you from habitual lethargy. My favorite examples are those who utilize the Christmas letter for such bold initiatives. Lines like, "This year, we're finally going to get to that storage shed to unearth Mama's casserole dish collection," in the family manifesto are clearly a sprung sack of marbles. No turning back. No turning back.

A third route to avoiding resolution failure is to simply not make any. That's the spirit. Enough of the, "award goes tot he guy in the ring," blah, blah, blah business. No, let's hear it for the prudent fella who passed on getting into the ring because he knows he will never prevail no matter how fervently he commits. He gets to keep two level nostrils for his recompense. The mantra here; You cannot fail if you do not try.

As for me, I still believe. Hope is alive. I catch a glimpse of the woman I am in my mind's eye on my best day in my skinny jeans in a clean house, feeling fabulous. I am prayed-up, patient, witty and wise. My resolutions have all become second nature. I am content beyond compare with a healthy family and dogs who Swiffer their own fur off my stairs. And even though I know my vision will not be my 2008 reality, a girl can still spike her peel and shoot for the stars!

No Family Trip Goes Unpunished

2007-04-14T21:06:00.000-05:00

Chimp Haven is a state-of-the-art Northern Louisisana retirement habitat for chimpanzees who have served the medical research community to improve human health. It is one of the largest groups of adult chimpanzees in the country. All of the male chimps are given vascectomies. This spring it was thrust into the national spotlight when an older female, Teresa, emerged from the woods holding a newborn; Baby Tracy.

I had to see for myself. How in a chimp retirement habitat against all "fixed,"odds, Teresa, a chimp in her 40's, emerges from the woods a mother with a precious little baby.
Father Conan was tight-lipped about his role in it all, but as we recently discovered in the case of Anna Nicole Smith, the D.N.A. don't lie. That Conan...who knew the old chimp was such a playa?
With Chimp Haven a mere 20 minutes form Shreveport, we counted down the days until the next monthly visitor day. Undaunted by cooler temps, something propelled us to take the chance to catch a glimpse at the unlikely mother and beautiful Baby Tracy. I could readily envision the memory in the making for my children... a page in the scrapbook at the very least. With the ream of banana stickers I needed to use, I anticipated a wonderful family outing...and so close to town!
With snacks secured in my toilet-seat-sized purse and John driving, I surrendered my Volvo's co-pilot position to my son, Jack. With my daughter stationed in the back, my thought was simply to divide and conquer. Despite the best laid seat arrangements, the whining began before all four seat belts clicked. Maggie Lee was struck down with car sickness as Jack begged for instructions on his Game Boy Game.
As we ventured Southward, John asked if I had picked up the directions....you now, the one he was studying as he map quested the address on the computer.
"No." In a flurry of self-wifeousness..."Didn't you have them last?"
(And we wonder why our children ever get combative with each other?)
"I know, I just wondered if you stuck them in your purse." John explained.
A.) Like there was any ROOM left after the Gatorade, Cheese-Its and bloated pretzel-puffs...and
B.) I remain married to occasionally have someone else locate point B on a map and drive me and my offspring there while I turn OFF my brain and relax.
We wandered down unmarked roads, over the river and through the woods, but no chimpanzees we saw. We were lost in Keithville. It was so bad that John asked for directions. Even the Chimp Haven taped message giving the directions on the was a good 5 minutes long. This place was hard for us to find!
If we just would've continued going past the garage sale which I imagine is a monthly event anyway for the folks on 525, we would've been golden. Maggie Lee was seeing yellow triangles at this point and Jack was pleading for home. But with John at the helm, there was no surrender in sight.
In an unprecedented husbandic maneuver, John rolled down his window at a stop sign to ask a gentleman for directions to Chimp Haven. The house behind this man had dismembered plastic rocking horses swinging from chains in the trees and various strains of yard art. Maggie Lee blurted out,"If this is Chimp Haven, it's a RIP OFF!"
The Ernest Hemingway look-alike didn't live here, he explained, but his brother did. Offering nothing but good luck, which we sorely needed, he waved us on.
Completely humbling himself, my husband pulled over at a restaurant / gas station / live crawfish outlet and approached a man for clues to our puzzle.
"O.K. "John calmly stated as he entered the car,"We go past the garage sale and take a left at the 4-way stop. That guy didn't want to give me directions. I thought he didn't speak English because he looked at me & wouldn't answer for the longest time."
"No," I assured him, "he was just taken aback by your asking."
Confident in our new-found knowledge, there was no denying us now. A few minutes later, we spotted the sign for Chimp Haven and soon were inside the outer gates.
Ever feel like Moses?
We exited the car and were cut in half by the wind. Suddenly my admonition for everyone to grab a jacket seemed insufficient; we needed parkas and mittens. For April, it was extremely cold.
Shivering, we followed the stream of visitors and were passed by a group of hay riders being shuttled to the actual park entrance which did not bode well for us. A few hundred yards later, we were there.
Good humor struck us as we strode along; it was a beautiful habitat, it would be great to see that famous chimp we've read so much about in the paper, they did have a make-shift gift shop. Perhaps this was a good idea after all?
The trees broke and before us was a beautiful little river and woods and grass and...and...now where are the chimps?
Suddenly, the "Born-Free" background music echoing in my head screeched to silence. Did these Chimpanzees not KNOW how hard it was for us to get there? All the way from Shreveport? Did they not realize that I stuffed Tums down my daughter like I was feeding quarters into the Harrah's Casino slots just to make it there? That Clyde the orangutan from,"Every Which Way But Loose," is my husband's all-time favorite actor? Apparently not.
Oh, wait, there was one Chimpanzee. All 40 of us huddled desperately around the one pair of binoculars directly in front of him, waiting for our turn to see him shove his stick down the ant mound for food.
I asked an employee if she had seen Baby Tracy. She chuckled at my naivete. "Oh, no! She took the baby inside hours ago!"
"They're clearly more evolved than we are because we still have our kids out here in the cold." John remarked.
Cold and disappointed, we turned toward the parking lot. More than likely, seeing King Kong wrestle the Loch Ness Monster in a "Don't Mess With Texas," T-Shirt wouldn't have justified that journey to my kids. We did land a spot on the hayride and even though we didn't see Teresa or Baby Tracy, The Chimp Haven Staff and Volunteers were as wonderful as they could have been. The surroundings were amazing and if it had been just a few degrees warmer or a little less windy, it truly would have been a great family adventure.
As we left, John spotted a sign. "Oh look, honey, the next visitor's day is Mother's Day!
Now that we know the way, we can just come back." Perhaps I won't spend Mother's Day that way but we definitely will return to take it all in.
And as unpredictable as life may be with its wrong turns and whipping wind, some journeys are simply better watched on the Discovery Channel.

Maggie Lee as Junie B. Jones

2007-04-12T22:21:00.001-05:00

Maggie Lee Henson
FBC School Idol Talent Show
Thursday, April 12, 2007

I want to hear YOU tell it

2007-04-10T10:51:00.000-05:00

Ever anxious to reclaim lost time, we moms have mastered the art of transit-cell phone usage. With headsets, speed dial and Starbucks flowing, we're ready. You see us on the road with our 2.3 kids in the back of our S.U.V.'S; each child in a different seat, plugged into video games or watching a DVD while we're on our cell.

Blessed with the God-given ability to multi task which enables us to cook dinner, email, check homework and hot glue a pant hem simultaneously...we are good. It only stands to reason, then, that we would optimize time in traffic, Target or Taco Bell taking care of the details of frenetic lives.

We have a lot to do and even more to remember. Growing up, my mom had 4 numbers in her telephone number and no zip code to remember. Work for my parents' generation had parameters and seldom encroached on my family's time. With technology has come access to our work at any moment, from any remote location. Blurred are the lines between home and work life as we are virtually always available

It seems that time has become my generations' most precious commodity as we seek to strike the balance between achievement and enjoyment. Success and savoring the moment. Freedom from work and freedom that the fruit of our labor provides.

I fear that the art of listening is going the way of the hand-written thank you on Crane's stationary. A wonderful gift to receive, yet one ever-increasingly difficult to muster the energy to give.

I remember being given that gift on a bike ride with my dad. We rode to Maplewood Square; me on my lime-green, 70's Sears bike, him on some black 10-speed with Robin Hood logo, I can see in my mind's eye. Somehow, we got on the subject of fairy tales. He mentioned the Three Little Pigs and because he was an incredible story-teller, I begged for his version once more.

"No, Jinny, this time I want to hear YOU tell it."

It was perhaps my first audience and as I glanced back at him periodically, I was amazed by the deep sense of pleasure which shone in his eyes. I probably mixed up the hay and stick pigs, skipped a vital detail or two and had the wolf going to Baskin Robbins for ice cream in-between, but I told the story and he listened, truly listened to me.

He was so amused by me, my voice. My cadence. Everything about him reflected a deep acceptance even though my steering was stilted and my blond hair a mess. I could feel his love for me in the way he listened. I remember that ride and wonder if my children will have similar stories to tell about my lavish, unscheduled attention or if the haste has robbed my children of what they need the most.

More than three decades have passed since our bike ride. Even though many years have passed, what remains is the the feeling that I have something worth saying. It certainly has not sprung up in me by accident. It grew from the seed of attention planted, nurtured and carefully tended.

Today as I consider the loss of those interested ears five years ago, I am inspired and challenged to give the gift of undivided attention to my own story-tellers. Mainly, I regret that he cannot hear the tales his love has inspired in me and ultimately in them.

Jinny Henson, Comedienne

2007-03-21T07:25:00.001-05:00

2007

The Walmartization of Church

2006-10-31T09:18:00.000-06:00

There has been some dialogue over the ‘taking over,” of communities by the expanding mega churches of this world and the subsequent eradication of Mom & Pop churches. I say instead of the churches echoing marketing strategies of Wal Mart, why not just make the natural transition and have a church say between the Gherkins and Cheetos IN the local Wal Mart?

It is an idea whose time has come, really. One-stop shoppers going in for the bundling philosophy have flocked to a McDonald’s / Texaco where all oil needs can be feted. Why not church and the finest retailer in America? Who wouldn’t love to get that spiritual charge while having the tires rotated and eyes examined?

Dave Harrell, long time Wal Mart enthusiast puts it best, “I would just LOVE to tick church off my list while I check out the latest lures. Shoot, you can already get you a haircut and take the kids for a stint in the arcade. Church is ‘bout near the only thang left Wal Mart DON’T provide.”

A strong argument for such a union is the charisma which young, sexy pastors like Ed Young has. He has single-handedly brought back the pearl snap shirt available in every Wal Mart in the country. Like the Kathie Lee brand so famous in the 90’s Wal Mart could easily capitalize on Ed’s good looks and rock star following, bringing him under the name brand tent currently championed by that pesky Mary Kate and Ashley.

Rick Warren, albeit a little lower on the Hottie Scale, still has an immense following which could be leveraged to an even grander proportion. While Wal Mart has sold truckloads of Purpose Driven Books, now the retail giant is considering expansion into a line of Purpose Driven snack foods as well as Purpose Driven Pepsi, allowing followers to even drink with a purpose which answers the question, WWJD? “What would Jesus Drink?

“There is a certain Christocentrism in the yellow smiley face logo. An aura that says, “Come in, we love you just the way you are with your bad dye jobs and painted-on pinky toe nails. Come roam our aisles and put back large briskets in the shoe aisle when you change your mind. It’s okay.” Theologian Fred West says” The numbers are undeniable and what a phenomenal infrastructure!”

While some may be alarmed by the trend there are many true believers out there on the cusp waiting to come to Wal Mart just as they are. (End)

Must Love Books

2006-05-20T21:59:00.000-05:00

My husband is a bibliophile. Don't warn the neighbors...It means book lover....BOOK.
We had a small dryer fire earlier this spring and he knew the children were safe at school. The first words out of his mouth when I told him the fire trucks were there were, "Don't let them wet down my books! You will see me cry if they do that."
Each book is a treasure to him, a new adventure, a significant memory or a bread crumb of intellectual meandering. He is a thinker.
I was always told that we seek to marry people like our fathers. Soulishly John and my father favor; both kind, funny, strong. But I got my dad's sanguine back-slapping gene while my husband is more...prone to cry over damp books. Far from reclusive, he loves people. He just doesn't value the spotlight.
What he does value is life. So much that it overwhelms me. From the 28 cent goldfish from Wal Mart to the garden he strategically nurtures to his books, they all matter. I'm less concerned. If the fish kick off, big whoop. If the dog's pursuit of a robin means a shredded hosta, we can always replace it. I have taken my father's admonition about not sweating the small stuff to an outrageous degree.
We never lack for entertainment. I steal his new books before he is done and he wheels back in the driveway to reclaim his booty. I kidnap them, lose his place and write in them. I know I am a Barbarian in his pristine literary world. Pretty typical of our union; I scramble willy-nilly with arms flailing akimbo next to his perfectly-measured stride.
My Bibliophile is not perfect. Even now I can see glimpses of navy blue sock lint in his big toe and hear the sniffs from his allergies. But I am fascinated by the way he values life. And books.

Shoes For Orphan Souls

2006-05-03T09:06:00.000-05:00

This past Monday night, I traveled to Longview, Texas for a Magnificent Mondays Banquet at First Baptist Church.
The style show was fun (those East Texas Women KNOW how to dress, now) and I did comedy & spoke but the BEST part was the emphasis on a mission project; Shoes for Orphan Souls through Buckner Baptist Benevolencies.
What I love to see is the church acting like Jesus! Passionate about this project, their goal as a church is 500 pairs of shoes. They have a gift-card insert for Mother's and Father's Day where you can provide a much needed pair of shoes to honor your mother or father. GREAT IDEA!
It reminded me of my amazing mother-in-law, Shirley Henson, who asked for this gift at Christmas many years ago; a gift for an angel-tree child. She is in heaven now but we still pick angel-tree children each year in her honor.
By skipping one dinner out, your family can sponsor a World Vision child or make a donation to rescue a precious young girl from the horrific sex trade they are sold into by desperate parents.
I was trying to answer my daughter's questions about why such horrible conditions exist but there is no explanation. But, we do have wonderful agencies in place to help the innocents and may all of us who have so much do just a little to help those with nothing.
So, let's celebrate and laugh and enjoy ourselves and eat our chicken salad and watch style shows, but let's also have our focus always be helping the least of these.

YORKTOWN LADIES SING THIS SONG

2006-05-01T10:33:00.000-05:00

Doo-Daa, Doo-Daa!
I was in Rockport, Texas, this past weekend with the most fun women I have met in a great while;
The ladies from Yorktown Baptist Church!
From 7 hour tour around Corpus :) given so graciously by pastor's wife Suzy Lea to the Luau, we could not have had any more fun. What a blast!
God was so good to us all.
I met a HILARIOUS, talented & passionate singer, Lindsey Kane. Check out her website; www.Lindseykane.com
Off to Longview to another group of fun women.
I love my life!

Tennis, Anyone?

2006-03-18T17:08:00.000-06:00

My family and I spent Spring Break in Houston this year. OK, not exactly Hawaii, but my Mom lives there and we rarely get back to see her. With ministry, the kids being in school and sports we just don't get down Houston often. It's much easier for her to come see us which she is happy to do.
We cristened the new waterpark, Schlitterbahn, in Galveston and ate out at all of the hometown restaurants of my youth.
My brother, Ted and his wife, Kelly, joined us and brought the 4 kids. Attempting to be the cool aunt, (note: never a good idea,) I took my kids and two nephews up to the park along with half of the Walmart Sporting Goods section. We rode skateboards, lugged tennis raquets and Jack even brought his baseball gear. It looked like The Grapes of Wrath and we were only going to stay 45 minutes.
We get to the park and my scooter-riders rode around the paved sidewalk while Aunt Jinny forged a more direct route to the tennis courts.
Just an autobiographical note; I am no tennis player. My memories of tennis include watching my brothers and parents play while I looked on with my powder-blue Wilson raquet & cover (tre 70's.)
I did unfurl the raquet once and wound up in tears because my foolish father refused to hit the ball precisely to me. He didn't get this sport at all.
What possesed me to pick up the raquet escapes me. Maybe because my sister-in-law who has had arthritis for 20 years runs half marathons has something to do with it? Hey, I had seen Wimbledon, these kids are too short to slam me, bring it on. So, I begin to volley. Suddenly my kids and two nephews were on the opposite side. Ever-conscious of my feelings, my precious daughter said, "I'll be on your team, Mommy!"
"Great!" I exclaimed and continued one by one to aim in the general direction of my three miniature partners. The little buggers hustled but I gave them little with which to work.
Then, something magical happened: a volley actually began. Who knew if it was the sugar rush the Shipley Doughnuts provided or just dumb luck, but we actually wacked it over the chain-link net several times.
Back and forth in ecstatic rhythm, we looked on in awe. A beautiful lob came right to me and I got in position to return it.
I didn't cover the basics of "calling" the return when two people go for the same ball. Maggie Lee, anxious to get in on the game swung full boar and knocked me square in the left eye.
My daughter is my carbon copy in many regards. She has all of my good stuff and little of my many negative traits, except when it comes to sports.
I have been known to remove enormous chunks of earth when I golf and have actually broken an arm in the bowling alley by humming a ball full force when the sweeper swung down to reset the ball. What we lack in skill we make up for with sheer brute strength. We go hard, fast and inaccurately. I mean, we don't do things half way.
I dropped to the ground clutching my left eye. It throbbed and when my blood dripped to the ground it startled me. As vascular as the head region is, the small gash left me looking like an extra from Texas Chainsaw Massacre who spent too much time in the special effects trailer.
My kids, screaming and afraid, blurted out last words like, "I love you, Mommy," and wept in terror.
"You've got to calm down." I said and asked them collect the myriad of sports paraphanelia while I ambled toward my Mom's house. I applied pressure to keep the flow down and prayed I'd make it home before I passed out. I paused as we crossed the street to play crossing guard. Even disabled, no one was going to get pegged by a Hummer on my watch.
A man crossed on the other side and said, "Are you ok? Do I need to call 911? Can I help you?"
"Oh, no, just a tennis accident." You know when you say something and as it falls from your lips you know you sound rediculous? Maybe if I were limping or holding an elbow but who leaves the tennis court with a fountainous head wound? That would be me.
I was totally embarassed at this point and knew that the scene was Mother Hubbard meets Grey's Anatomy. I walked down the familiar street hoping no one would recognize me. Seeing as though I covered 78% of my face and had 30 children with me...who would ever recognize me?
With the home in sight I gave it a lunge and knew I was safe. Just the sight of my mommy made me cry. I guess some things never change.
My husband, ever the calm problem-solver, brought me Advil and a wash cloth. You definately want John in an emergency. It's irritating, frankly, to have someone who never panicks, screams or goes into a tirade. What's his deal?
I found a chair and gradually calmed down from the blunt head trauma. I assured my daughter that accidents happen and recalled several of my own including a mail box casualty the first day I had my drivers liscence which took me two attempts to ascertain.
Then, acting like the blood loss had made me more loopy than normal, I quoted my funny friend, Carey Dyer; 'Does everyone see yellow triangles?"
I awoke this morning with a black left eye...a great look for Christian Comedianne...but the swelling has receeded and I feel much better.
My left eyebrow looks more like a Shepherd's crook with the laceration hooking down toward my eye. It will heal before long and I will be fine.
It will be a while before I attempt to be athletic. I'll stick to vacuming and leave the tennis to soemone more qualified than I.

Why Jesus wants our child-like faith

2006-03-07T11:25:00.000-06:00

It hit me as I was driving home from a Speech Tournament last Saturday Night with my 9-year old, her best friend; Samantha and her mom why Jesus requested that we have child-like faith in Him.
Susan asked, "Girls, when the judges were calling out 6th place, 5th place, 4th place and 3rd place, were you getting nervous that you hadn't won?"
"No," my daughter quipped, "I knew we would be either first or second. Our team did such a good job."
Through my daughter's glass-half-full perspective I rememebered: children really DO believe anything is possible. As we grow older and wiser, we see the Dillard's Santa's beard fall off and something within us dies.

That is why God gave me children; to once more see life from the perspective of what COULD BE
and be reminded of His crazy, non-sensical love which makes the impossible possible.

Fabulous February

2006-03-06T08:37:00.000-06:00

Like Willy, I've been on the road again. Except for his penchant for braids and other questionable lifestyle choices, Willy and I are two peas in a pod. OK, maybe....not so much.

BUT, I have been traveling a lot. I performed with two of the most hilarious guys out there; Tim Hawkins and Leland Klassen at The Ultimate Comedy Theater in Minneapolis and hung out with 12 other Christian Comediannes in Nashville. Chonda Pierce was so gracious to open her new home to me & my comedy sistahs from all over the country!There are some hilarious women out there.

Aside from the manna-like abundant provision of Girl Scout Cookies and tons of laughter, Kay DeKalb Smith taught from a neat little book, Red Sea Rules. What a great time of hearing how other people live the Jesus life. Calvin Miller has said that humans have story- shaped minds and I agree. I was blessed to hear other people's stories.

Feel free to leave your story here. It could just make an impact god has for you to make!

Unconditional Love

2006-02-08T21:51:00.000-06:00

This is a love letter written to my daughter. It's what I want her to know. Through my faltering love I see a glimpse of God's perfect love for me and know that it doesn't make sense but He is Father crazy about you and me.

I wanted you to understand,
I think you have mis-heard.
When I tuck you in at night,
and fill you with my words.

I say how proud I am to have,
A girl so bright and sweet,
Your excellent report card,
Sure knocks me off my feet.

And, oh how your eyes sparkle,
Your smile lights up a room!
Your spirit beams as brightly
As a Carolina moon.

Your tenderness to others,
Is rare with folks these days.
I brag upon your kindness,
And all your loving ways.

Your taste in clothes is stellar,
Your acting skills immense,
But would I care tomorrow
If you lost that fashion sense?

If your lengthy hair just vanished,
If your hazel eyes went bland,
If you saw a mean kid throw a punch,
And didn't take a stand.

If you failed each and every test,
And your teacher cursed, "Why try?"
If you were less than average,
And all you did was cry.

If all these bad things happened,
This part I hope you'd guess;
To me you'd be as beautiful,
And in my eyes the best.

It's fun to try your hardest,
For hard work brings rewards,
But that doesn't make me love you,
Nor does it make The Lord.

You'll see as you get older,
And then you sure will know,
It's not what your child does or says,
That makes you love them so.

You are NOT what you do, my love,
They are different as can be,
They're easy to get confused at times,
But love knows differently.

I love you, little person,
Just the way you are.
You need not bring me presents,
Nor play me your guitar.

You couldn't be more wonderful,
No matter what you do,
The thing I'm most in love with,
Is that God made you, you.

So, try new things with gusto,
And fail and fail again,
Just in the ring attempting,
Itself, indeed's a win.

2006-02-04T23:38:00.000-06:00

Here is a video of my son Jack getting baptized by his pastor/dad--John.

I love you so much, little cake, I bought you twice.

2006-01-27T09:22:00.000-06:00

I finished filling out the permission slip for the field trip and had 5 minutes before I was due to help in my daughter's 3rd grade classroom. John had an important phone conference that night and since I was teaching my night course at Dallas Baptist University, Jack needed a ride to Boy Scouts.

As I'm getting off the phone with Amy, making arrangements for Jack, she says, " Sure, Steve can take him. By the way,how did your cake for tonight turn out?"
Stunned, I asked, 'Cake? What cake?"
"Oh, you didn't hear? They all bring homemade cakes and auction them off as a fundraiser."

Revelations like those are the stuff of every working mother's nightmare. Instantly you see your child's face swirling down a lollipop-looking funnel crying, saying, "I was the only one, I was the only one, the only Boy Scout without a ca-a-a-a-a-ke," as the perfect mothers look on and laugh in an evil, "whoo-whoo-whoo---haaa" way with green faces and flames shooting out of every orifice.

Think. Think. I concluded the call, changed clothes for class that night and sensing I would need an extra swipe of Mitchum, hit my armpits another lick. I raced to the store asking myself one question: What would Rachel Ray do? Angel food cake: check. Chocolate chips: check. Every conceivable gummy object in the candy aisle: check. I knew this grocery store field trip would make me late to help my daughter's class but I had no choice.

I arrived at Maggie Lee's school a few minutes late. I was present, in body only, as my mind tried to determine how early I would have to leave to actually throw this project together. There is nothing like the feeling of arriving late and having to leave early to make you feel like a real boob. I apologized to the other mom, explaining that we had a cake to make and her face went sheet-white. Turns out I wasn't the only surprised scout-mom on the block.

I got home, headed straight for the microwave and in one swift movement threw the chocolate chips in the microwave, opened the angel food cake with my teeth and extracted the 7 bags of gummy objects from the grocery sack. I am woman, hear me roar.

The chocolate melted, I positioned our cake in the store-bought box and ripped open the accoutrements like I was civil war hero slashing the enemy's throats in hand-to-hand combat.
The microwave dinged, I gave it one stir and plopped the cocoa coating over the cake.

I had Jack at the ready, armed with decorations. He placed the worms perfectly but then they slid down the molten river of fudge into the nether regions of the center hole. I dug in with both hands to rescue the little buggers and inadvertently smeared opaque coating all over their once-translucent little bodies. Snap! IF I COULD ONLY CURSE.

"Good enough!" I declared it and sprinted out the door, screeching off to my first class fully nauseated yet sparkling with a tiny twinge of pride.

I taught class with an air of, "I've been in the library researching all day." If they could have only seen me juggling gummy worms minutes before, I doubt they would've stuck around for the lecture. With class behind me, I headed for home. I walked through the door and was disappointed that my Boy Scout wasn't home, yet. I was anxious to see what his creation had fetched.

An hour later, he walked up to the house with a box which looked oddly familiar. Jack had a sheepish look on his face. I was mortified that they had somehow not auctioned off his cake. Steve looked even more sheepish. He said, "Well, he wasn't sitting next to me...he apparently bid on his own cake. He uh, bought his own cake. It was $22.00, you can pay it anytime."

"Oh, that's fine. Thank you for taking him, Steve." I said as Steve returned to his car.

"Are you mad, Mom?" Jack asked me as he walked in the door.

I laughed hysterically as I shook my head.

"I'm glad you liked your cake so much, son." I said.

'Yea, there was this other guy who wanted it but I wanted it more."

Then sprang to mind the sentimental story of the boy's homemade boat which he set free down a stream and lost, only to see in a store window a week later. As the tired story goes, he buys it, looks at it lovingly and says, "Little boat, I love you so much. I made you once and then I bought you. I really bought you twice."

As my little boy devoured our hastily-constructed creation, I doubt anything so poetic was wafting through his 7 year old mind. I just hoped he enjoyed that piece of angel-food cake which by my estimation cost about $8.75.

Twenty Questions

2006-01-21T22:21:00.000-06:00

There is a game I play with my 9 and 7-year-old. I first played the game my Freshman year at Baylor.

It was Collins Dorm in the wee hours of the morning and Old Testament, Exam Two, loomed 7 hours in the distance. There is a certain beauty in knowing you only have to memorize information and regurgitate it once. So much for higher level thinking skills. Minds numb from a cookie dough hangover, Betsy and I decided a study break was in order.

"Twenty questions?" She asked as the closing of my $80.00 textbook made a loud thud. She threw out the first one; "If you had only one day left to live, how would you spend it?"

As I fully reclined on my bed, my back burned from its' two-hour 90-degree pose
"Hm...I thought. Just one day? How would I spend it?" I pondered. Maybe it was the junk carbs talkin', but I came up with sky diving down a volcano in Hawaii, being serenaded by a very cute boy who had written original songs about how great I was, a trip up the Eiffel Tower for dinner and dessert on a gondola in Italy. It's my perfect day, who cares if it makes no sense? Step off.

For a few moments I was transported into another world. This world was ions removed from Bedouin Tribes and the JEDP theory like I would be grilled on in a few hours. My perfect day had nothing to do with time lines or nomadic people. No, that would've been my professor's perfect day if he were sleep-deprived in that dorm room at 2 a.m. answering our goofy questions. Now, wouldn't that have made The Baylor Lariat?

Twenty questions gave me a buzz then and it still does. As marriage has schooled me, however, not everyone revels in it. I've tried to drag my husband into participating and discovered an important fact: men don't highly regard the act of full emotional disclosure in a group setting. They get beaten for less. Since we women don't know how we feel about something until we hear ourselves discuss it, for us it's a horse of a different color. Or, camel of a different color if you are a Bedouin.

And, so, this game that used to provide an escapist study break is one I now play with my kids. When the pressure is on and 98% of my questions are 'Why did you leave your left shoe at Andy's?" "Where is that permission slip?" or "Can you prove you brushed your teeth by breathing on me?" we play it. As a parent, you serve as the boundary to funnel your kids in the right direction. Sometimes you feel like a NASCAR track. Tracks can get beaten up and you can too, emotionally, if you don't take an occasional nag break.

We've done twenty questions long enough now that my 9-year-old, Maggie Lee, likes to come up with her own. It's amazing what you can learn from a person's questions and hers are always fascinating. For a transcendent moment we are on level ground. I am in the racecar there with my kids, laughing all the way.

'What kind of earring would you be?" she asks.

I respond, "The one in Oprah's head so I could meet all of the interesting people she does. Or Bono's. No, does he even have an earring? OK, Oprah. Final answer."

She thinks my answers are funny. They hold their own against any crazy question she can dish out. Jack just thinks any reference to Oprah is humorous. In fact, he likes saying Oprah just for the way it makes his mouth move, especially when you hold the "ah." Go ahead and try it. It's ok.

Amid homework, T-ball and gymnastics, we take a few minutes to rest and enjoy each other. I am not concerned with any cheese-wad teachable moment but rather simply listening to the wheels turn inside my children's minds. These brief moments are a post-it note for me, a marked reminder of how fleeting these ticking-away days are.

Through this preposterous, hypothetical game one's mind is opened to "what if?" The paint brush is in your hand, no rules attached, and you can string scenarios together to your exact specification. We enter into a world where nothing is too silly, no answer is too candid and no time is more well-spent.

I don't get to choose the moments my children will remember forever but as I mentally record their precious giggles, I know this silly game is something their mother will certainly never forget.

Just leave the wrinkles there, pal

2006-01-20T09:17:00.000-06:00

I am 36. I grew up in Houston, Texas, was on the Maplewood Marlins' swim team and spent all day from May to early September in my backyard pool. We had no sunscreen besides zinc oxide; a goopy, clown-white, caulk-like substance used only once the nose was a 3rd-degree scabbed-over carrot.

I got wrinkles. I worked hard for them; crows' feet, laugh lines, age spots, dimple creases. They're there. My hands shock me in their appearance, as well. Like a baby with extra dough, my wrists are wrinkled now, too. Even the underpart which I know never got any uv-a or uv-b rays.

I am a comedian and not a supermodel so it's no big whoop. You could have 5 chins and a mullet but funny is no respector of appearances. ie; Carrot Top.

It had come time for new headshots for my promotional material. I contacted a great photographer here in Dallas and a week later, set out for my noon appointment. On the way there I got lost, got a ticket and was so frustrated, I cried all of my makeup off. I arrived at the studio and the photog says,"You may want to redo that makeup."

To which I replied, "I didn't bring any makeup."

Despite my emotional trauma and lack of makeup, I decided to forge ahead and leave the results to The Lord. He cares about headshots, you know. What can I say? My theology is completely practical.

The photographer seemed pleasantly surprised with the outcome as we reviewed the frames by computer.
"Ok, let's decide which ones we like and go from there." he said.
Not knowing if, "going from there," meant slapping the image on a coffe mug or burning them, I nodded in ignorant agreement.

We made our selections, then he emoted,
"Let's do the magic." He selected one photograph and with a click of his mouse he erased my smile lines, my tiny chin mole, my crows' feet and made my teeth neon white.

"What a beautiful person," I thought, "who is she?" She wasn't the college me, she looked different than that. The face was fuller and the eyes, wiser. No, she was a different person altogether. She was an uber-jinny and I was filled equally with admiration and disdain for her. At that moment, I was a bald man being offered a really great wig.

In a self-startling turn of events, I looked at the photographer and said,
"You can just leave the wrinkles."

"What? You want these just the way you are? Well, here, I can feather it really lightly so that you get some of the character but still look better." he compromised.

"No, I'm good."

And I felt good. I was truly amazed at my choice. Come to find out, I was pretty attached to my tiny chin mole and my rakey-looking forehead when my eyes flew wide open. Like that hilarious little blonde host on, 'Queer Eye for the Staright Guy' always says, "Who knew?"

Maybe, as my husband postulates, it's just way too much Oprah-intake, but, I had come to 'own' my wrinkles. I have surely looked much younger, much more glamorous and much thinner in my lifetime but oddly enough I had never been more content with my own imperfections.

2005-05-10T07:51:00.000-05:00

Encouragement for moms

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