My Princess Evening

I have a very nice life.  I am content with how things are, but let's be honest -- things are simple.  My days are trips to WalMart, swiffering dog hair and laundry.  I love when the grocery store has a BOGO sale on something I use, and while we aren't going wanting, I know *exactly* when payday is, and I plan things accordingly. We have a good life, but it's not a glamorous existence.

This weekend was the annual office Christmas party at hubby's work.  They do a big, fancy, no-holds-barred bash every year.  It's at the Hilton Downtown, in the ballroom, and they encourage employees to get a room and stay overnight.  They offer us a substantial corporate discount and most people stay.  We do.  

I already knew what I was going to wear, a silver floor-length evening gown but everything else was up for debate.  I decided I wanted to do something special with my hair, but had no idea what.  Thanks to dedicated friends and Pinterest, the unanimous decision was made that I needed this:

I 

I showed the stylist this picture and she came up with this:

I was very, very pleased. I hadn't come with a comb or a clip or anything, but she had a string of silver beads she wound into the 'do ... very, very nice!!

I had my gown, my Princess hair, silver glitter nails and jingle bell earrings. I was set!

We got to the hotel around 3:00, plenty of time to check in and get settled before having to get ready.  Because of the excessive amounts of travel Hubby had done this past year he had accumulated enough points for an Executive Upgrade.  Well, if you *insist*!  We got an upgraded room, access to the Executive Lounge, and various complimentary upgrades.  Wow!  We got to the room ...

and the first thing I noticed was the REAL coffee pot with REAL coffee mugs and REAL creamer (not that powdered junk) and complimentary water bottles

Then I opened the closet.  Robes!  Thick, fancy, luxurious robes!

And free slippers!

The view from our window was nice -- downtown Houston isn't the most spectacular of things but it was nice:

We were next to Discovery Green

and if you looked around the corner, you could see the Toyota Center

We unpacked (I put on the freebie slippers!) and I started to throw myself on the bed, but I remembered my Princess Hair.  She used a bunch of bobby pins and a bunch of hair spray, but I didn't want to risk it.  I made Hubby roll around on the bed, tho, and he declared it plush. 

We then went down to the lobby to look at the decorations. (I debated going down in my freebie slippers, but since this wasn't Walmart, I thought I shouldn't LOL).  They had a huge, life-sized sculpture (?) made out of chocolate.  It smelled so good I almost wept. 

We then wandered to the ballroom to see the decorations, but we were met by Hotel Manager who was very, very polite and very, very apologetic ... but the ballroom was off limits.  

So we went back to the room.  Since we had time to kill I flipped thru the Room Service menu.  Dear Heavens. 

We stuck with the complimentary water bottles!!!

We did wander over to the Executive Lounge for complimentary hors d'oeuvres and sodas.

And then it was time to get ready.  I was already sporting my Princess Hair and my makeup was minimal so all I really had to do was get dressed.

I brought these shoes

but discovered that I couldn't walk to the end of the hallway without looking like a drunken newborn calf, so I wore my backup pair of shoes

By this time, the ballroom had been transformed into an elegant sea of black and white:

There were 3,000 people there, luckily Hubby's peeps had staked a claim on a table.  What a fun, lively bunch of people!   I felt like I had known them for years!!

They opened the doors to the buffet -- there were five identical stations, one had salads and fruit, one had warm side dishes (potatoes, risotto, grilled veggies, etc), one had meats (chicken, salmon) and one was desserts. 

They also had carving stations for roast beef (those were WILDLY popular, I myself went back twice) but the true objects of lust were the shrimp towers:

After we ate, we danced, we chatted, we laughed, we drank, we talked, we took some obligatory selfies

And one picture of us coming off the dance floor

And before we realized it, three hours had passed. 

Oh!  See that ring?  It was an early Christmas gift from Hubby:

In an adjacent ballroom, they had set up a casino and given us $3,000 play money but the tables were all so crowded we never got a chance to gamble. So we went back to the buffet stations and ate more!!

We have been SO lucky to find a wonderful dog sitter who comes to our house and lets Killer outside while we are gone, she texted me pictures. Poor Shadow, looks so traumatized and abused LOL!

After a few more dances, a few more glasses of wine, a few more trips to the buffet tables and LOTS of laughter and good times, it was time for the Princess Evening to end.

The view at night was nicer:

I was sorry for the evening to end -- it was magical.  I truly felt like a pampered and indulged Princess.

We did linger over coffee and newspapers in the morning (in the Executive Lounge), but the Princess Hair was gone and I was back in Capri pants. It wasn't the same. This is all that's left of my Princess Hair -- 

Except for the memories. Everyone deserves an occasional evening of luxury and glamour, and every woman deserves to be treated as if she were a cherished Princess. 

Next week, it'll be WalMart and laundry and BOGO sales on cheese again, but I'll always remember being indulged and cherished.

After all, I *did* bring home the free slippers, and I can wear them any darn time I want to!  

Change

Change. Not one of my favorite things. I like consistency, routine, tradition, sameness. I always listen with some confusion when people talk about what the menu is going to be for Thanksgiving or Christmas dinner. I keep thinking, "What is there to think about?  The menu is the same that it's always been for the past 25 years ... and that's the way it should be!"  I like familiarity. I drive a 10 year old car that has over 100,000 miles on it because, in large part, I like my car.  I like knowing the idiosyncrasies of my car and I like the feeling of familiarity in sliding behind the wheel.  

I don't rearrange furniture, I don't paint the walls.  I've had the same haircut for a decade.  I'm comfortable with routine.

I have two friends right now who are both in the midst of major moves -- not just selling/buying a new home and moving, but a new job, school, church ... huge changes. I have another friend who just moved, locally, but she also quit her job to be a full time mommy to her two little ones. New house, new neighborhood, new career path.  All three of these families are eager and excited for this new phase of their lives. 

I can't relate.

The thought of new and different, of change, terrifies me.  Even if it isn't a huge, life altering change, I don't really see the need to change things up just for the sake of changing things up.  My husband doesn't agree, and we often have ... discussions ... about his need to see and do new things and my complete resistance.  To him, jumping in the car and heading out to explore a nature trail he read about in the paper is a fine idea.  To me, it's fraught with disaster and peril.  

I have a child who is just like her daddy.  She went off to college without a backwards glance -- she just knew college was going to be an adventure and she was going to love it, and sure enough, that has been her reality.

My other child joined the military -- obviously he is content with change and with not setting down roots and permanence!   

So there I am, the lone wolf in the family. I cling to my routine and my consistency. I like ... I NEED ... to know what today, tomorrow, next week will hold. I like unpacking the Christmas things and seeing the same old, same old.  I like knowing my morning coffee will be in my favorite Pooh mug, I like being able to walk thru the living room in the dark, knowing where every stick of furniture is. 

I really, really love the things in my house that have been passed down from generations now in Heaven, I almost get weepy when I hang ornaments that have been on a Newsom Christmas Tree for over 60 years, or I get out a gravy boat that has sat on a Newsom a Thanksgiving table since before my children were born.

I don't understand people who face change with excitement and enthusiasm.  I am a bit jealous of them, for I think they probably go through life a bit less stressed than I do, but it's just not in my genes. 

I'm trying, I'm working on it -- but deep down, I'm not comfortable with it.  

I have to make changes in little, incremental steps. We just rearranged the living room, and while I will admit it looks better, I'm still not comfortable with it.

I'm wondering what this Christmas will be like. All my children will be home (Hooray!  Thank you, God!) but I'm wondering if I'll be able to see them as adults or will I revert to "mom-ing" them, because that's what I'm comfortable with?  I know how to "mom" young children, I'm not quite sure how to treat grown children.  

To those people who can relate to what I'm saying, I'd love to hear words of wisdom.  To those who can't relate, please be understanding. Don't judge or expect great, huge changes -- and please understand why, if you use *my* morning Pooh mug for your coffee, I might just have a breakdown.

I like my routine, my comfort zone, my rituals. It works for me. But I also acknowledge that it can be restrictive and can stop me from fully experiencing life. For example, I *want* to get a dramatic new haircut -- really, really badly -- but the thought of actually DOING it is scary.  So I keep throwing my hair back in a ponytail.  It's comfortable.  It's secure. It's ... safe. 

I'm really curious as to what it'll be like once the (grown, adult) kids are here.  That'll be a test.  Maybe if I pass with flying colors, I'll get a haircut!  And who knows?  Maybe, one day, a new car?  

Ah, change. Little, baby steps. 

Things I've Lost Lately

I need to start this by saying I don't live in a ginormous McMansion house. I love my house, it's perfect for us and it's just the size we, as Empty Nesters, need. But it's not the kind of house where there are multiple places things can hide. My kitchen is especially space-challenged.  I am the one who puts away the dishes the majority of times and I know where everything goes -- pretty much where everything HAS to go in order for things to fit.

I have three 9x13 Pyrex baking dishes.  One of them comes with a special cover and a heat/cold pack and an insulated carrying case.  I keep it, and the accessories, in the bottom of my hutch. It's not for daily use, it's the dish I use to bring food to friends or to church, etc.  The two "everyday" Pyrex dishes -- that I use all the time -- I keep under the cabinet with all my other pots and pans.  Right now, there is only one under there.  Where is the other one?  Who knows!  How can a 9x13 Pyrex casserole dish just disappear??  I know I didn't take it somewhere, because I don't use my "everyday" casserole dishes for that, and my portable one, with the carry case and the insert, is where it should be.  Somewhere, in this house, is a 9x13 Pyrex casserole dish -- and that's a BIG thing you'd think I'd not lose. 

Our silverware is another mystery. We have a set of everyday silverware. We have eight knives, eight forks, eight tablespoons, eight dessert forks and ... three teaspoons. THREE. Actually, it's worse. A while back, I went to Walmart and bought a pack of eight teaspoons. Just teaspoons. They don't exactly match the rest of our silverware, but it's close enough. We are now down to three. So the original eight have turned up missing as have five of the replacements. And it's only the small spoons. What?  Why?  Where are my spoons going?  And why don't the knives or forks ever go missing?

I have five chopping boards. One is HUGE, and glass, and I hate it. We got it because it was large enough to hold an entire turkey or a big roast, but the board doesn't have a lipped edge, so if you use it to carve meat, the juices run off the edge and puddle on the counter. And it won't fit in the dishwasher so you have to hand wash it, but it barely fits in the sink.  That hideous, hateful chopping board I can find easily. I also have an itty-bitty chopping board that barely is bigger than an onion.  Useless, in my opinion, but I know where that one is (above the oven, right next to Boardzilla).  The other three are the perfect size, perfect weight, perfect design ... and I can find one.  One!  Now, seriously, how can two chopping boards disappear?  I've looked in every cabinet, closet, drawer, shelf -- my kitchen isn't that big!  Where ARE they?  And why is it the perfect boards are missing, yet Boardzilla is still holding court in my cabinet, mocking me every time I open the cabinet door?

I have one necklace I wear daily, one bracelet and one pair of earrings.  That's it, that's the only jewelry I wear on a daily basis (excluding my wedding ring that I never take off).  I always take off the bracelet, necklace and earrings and put them, all together, in a little dish I keep on my nightstand (ok, it's an ashtray I stole from a hotel, back in the day when hotels had ashtrays LOL, but it was a fancy hotel and it's a nice ashtray!).  I do that every night. A week ago or so, the necklace wasn't there.  My bracelet and earrings were, but no necklace.  I tore the house apart -- looked behind everything, under everything -- I've had my husband look ... it's gone. 

Maybe it's partying with my Pyrex baking dish and my teaspoons. 

The necklace I can understand. It's small, it has probably fallen done behind something or underneath something ... jewelry is easy to misplace. But a 9x13 baking dish?  Two chopping boards?  13 teaspoons?  Those didn't fall behind my nightstand.  That defies my understanding.

I don't even mind so much the big stuff, I can easily replace the spoons, the baking dish, the chopping boards. The necklace, tho, that I do grieve. It was a gift from my daughter and I've worn it every day for years and years. I still look for that, daily, because I desperately want to find it. 

I just don't know how things -- BIG things, odd things -- go missing.  

This rate, I'm going to have to add "my sanity / my mind" to Things I've Lost Lately.  

If anyone wants to come over and help me look for a missing necklace, I'd be glad to thank you with a gift of The Worlds Largest and Most Useless Chopping Board.  That monstrosity refuses to get lost.  

Just don't ask for a spoon with which to stir your coffee.  I only have three, and they are probably all in the dishwasher. At least I know where my dishwasher is -- for now, at least LOL!  

Bathrobe and Oreos Monday

I read a blog of a rather well-known person; she has thousands of followers and has been on TV / radio.  She is an amazing cook and her recipes are to-die for. She is also relentlessly upbeat and cheery and perky.  She posts things on Facebook like, "I woke up this morning, blessed and filled with joy -- I decided to find joy in my life, and now I wake up happy, choosing to be happy every single second of every single day."

I'm not a total, doom-and-gloom pessimist, but I do have my Eeyore moments. I read things like that, and my first thought is, "I declare shenanigans!"  While I agree that our happiness, or lack thereof, can be driven by our own attitude, I refuse to believe there are people who are perpetually upbeat and perky. 24/7/365.  Forever and ever, amen.  Until death do us part.  That's just ... unrealistic.

I also know people on the other end of the spectrum, folks who are perpetual Debbie Downers, who can suck the joy out of any situation and who are NEVER happy.  My husband and I talk about one such person, saying if she were to find a hundred dollar bill, she'd complain it wasn't $500.  She can find the down side, the negative, in any situation.

As with Perpetually Perky, I think Debbie Downers are play acting.  I don't believe people are truly deliriously joyful every single second of every single day, nor do I think being happy is just a "choice"; just as I don't think being Negative Nellie is just "how someone is".

Sometimes, life sucks. Sometimes, it's a burden and a drudge and a heartache. Sometimes, just getting out of bed and showered is a monumental success. I have days like that -- I assume we all do. Thankfully, those days are few and far between, and they're usually short-lived; and when whatever crisis that triggered it has passed, I'm back to my old self.  But I get tired of hearing that happiness is a "choice" and that we need to just *decide* to be happy.  

What's so wrong with, for legitimate reasons and for short periods of time, being in a pissy, "feeling sorry for myself" mood? 

I'm not talking about those folks who have built a home on the shores of the Pity Pond and can't go five minutes without dipping their toes in the water ... those people tire me out.  I wouldn't want to be forever walking around with a rain cloud over my head, but just as unrealistic are the "life is wonderful because I choose to greet each morning with a hug and a kiss" people.

I have had great heartache in my life -- AS HAVE WE ALL.  My specific heartaches may be mine alone, but we all share similar stories:  the loved ones we've buried too soon; the hurts and betrayals of those who were supposed to never do that; the anguish of loss that leaves us curled up in the fetal position, unable to even speak.  I've also had unimaginable joys in my life -- AS HAVE WE ALL.  My specific joys may be mine alone, but we all share similar stories:  the babies we've held, so overcome with love that all we can do is weep in wonder; the feeling of astonishment when you look down the aisle and you see someone who loves you with an intensity and passion that you know it's a forever-love; the beauty of a perfect sunset and the realization that God Himself did that, just for me!

But those sorrows and joys aren't the day-to-day moments. The day-to-day joys are smaller:  a perfect cup of coffee, a "thinking of you, let's have lunch" text from a friend, a favorite song on Pandora bringing back a forgotten memory that makes you smile. 

And sometimes, the day-to-day stresses, while small, can pile up.  And up.  And up.

When I have good thing followed by good thing followed by good thing, my natural inclination is to be happy (duh).  No one condemns me for that, it's natural and normal and expected.

But when life is one of those "Let's crap on Sandra" phases, and stuff piles ... and up ... and up ... my natural inclination is to NOT be happy (duh, part II).  That's natural and normal and expected.  

I'm not talking a full-blown, "let's medicate her" depressive episode (yet, I reserve that option for later, tho) but some days I want to -- NEED TO -- spend the day in my jammies, feeling sorry for myself.  Tomorrow, I'll tackle the budget, the overdue electric bill, the broken washing machine, whatever ... but in my opinion, a short-lived swim in the Pity Pond can be good for what ails ya.

I wonder, do those "greet every sunrise with a hug and kiss" people really, truly believe that?  I'm grateful for the blessings I have, I have a pretty darn good life filled with amazing things and moments and people.  It's not a perfect life, but it's pretty terrific and I wouldn't change much about it even if I could, but there are times when it gets tiring ("it" being the piddly junk that litters our life:  budgets that work on paper but not in reality, cars that inexplicably flash the Check Engine Light, rude people in WalMart, family members who say/do the ONE THING that makes your brain explode).  And when that piles up, I don't want to greet the day with a cheery song.  I want to stay in bed, read stupid books and  eat cookies.

Do the Perpetually Perky people of the world ever feel that way?  And is it healthy to never ever just say, "Oh, screw it.  I'm going back to bed"?  

I would bet that Perpetually Perky's husband and kids might tell of a time or two when she moped around in her bathrobe, eating Oreos.  And in my book, that's ok.   I'd actually feel more able to relate to her Greet The Sunrise With a Hug and Kiss philosophy if I knew she was human and, every few months, had a Bathrobe and Oreos Monday. 

So to both the Perpetual Debbie Downers and the Perpetually Perky Pollyannas, I think you're full of it. No one (excluding certain patients diagnosed with psychological issues, and who are currently unmedicated) can, or should be, on one end of the spectrum or the other. I do find the simple  joy in little things -- but I also, at times, get overwhelmed and need to lick my wounds.  And guess what?  I think that's perfectly normal.

Now, morning people?  Y'all are just weird. :)

Unconditional Love

My mother and I had a contentious relationship while I was growing up.  I was a great disappointment to her, and she was quick to let me know that.  When I was 19, it came to a head and I was told to leave.  I did.  We then went almost 10 years without speaking.  Literally not a word, not a bit of communication, nothing.  When I was 29, we attempted a reconciliation but it was strained and awkward and didn't last but maybe a year before she told me she was right the first time and that I was more trouble than I was worth.  I didn't add enough to her life to make a relationship with me to be worth her while, and she thought it best if we resumed the non-relationship we had before.  I am now 49, so it's been 20 years since I've laid eyes on my mother or heard her voice or had any communication, at all, with her.  Every so often, I google her name with the word "obituary" just to make sure she hasn't died, but that's it.  That's the relationship we have. 

I say this, not to point fingers or cast blame or garner sympathy or pity.  I actually go months, even years, without really thinking about the bizarreness that is our relationship.  I've had 30 years of this, so it seems almost normal by now.  

Last week I, as no doubt have you, heard about a 15 year old boy in Florida named Davion Only.  He was born when his mother was in prison and he has spent his whole life in foster care.  About a year ago, he googled his mothers name and found out she had died in prison.  (That part stopped me cold -- other people use Google to see if their mother is dead?) He then decided to change his life.  The dream he had of his mother getting off drugs, getting out of prison, getting him out of foster care and finally being a family was over. He got serious about school, got serious about his health, took control of his emotions and his behavior and changed his life.

He then went to a church in Florida, stood before the congregation and said, "My name is Davion, and I’ve been in foster care since I was born. ... I know God hasn’t given up on me. So I’m not giving up either."  He asked to be adopted. The story, if you don't know it, will break your heart.  All he wants is someone to love him, forever and unconditionally.

http://abcnews.go.com/US/florida-orphan-davion-pleads-family-love-die/t/story?id=20601005&ref=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.google.com%2F

I heard about his story, and I wept.  I literally broke down.  How sad, how pitiful, how terrible, that this precious child is so desperate for a family, for someone to love him.  I was lucky, in that while my mother didn't want me, I had someone who did.  I had someone who married me, gave me his name and his family and then, eventually, a family of our own.  I was, hands down, in a better place than Davion is now.  

But on another level, Davion and I are the same. Davion is all of us, for we all want someone to love us, forever and unconditionally.  Most people have that in their parents.  I hope and pray that my children know that unconditional love from me. My heart aches for Davion, though.  I want to wrap my arms around him and whisper to him that I love him, that God loves him and that he is a valued and precious soul.  He is worthy of love and deserves that unconditional, forever acceptance and security.

I am 49 years old, and my heart still aches from the knowledge that my mother -- the one person who is supposed to love me unconditionally -- found me more trouble than I was worth and that she could let 30 years (and two perfect grandchildren) slip out of her life so casually. I struggled (struggle -- present tense!) with the concept of God's unconditional love for me.  There must be something fundamentally and intrinsically wrong with me if my own mother could toss me aside so effortlessly.  Surely God will, one day, find the flaw in me that makes me unlovable. 

My heart breaks to think that Davion aches to find that same acceptance and unconditional love.  It is a universal human need, and it is so vital and important that the scars from not having it can last a lifetime.

So far, there have been thousands of inquiries about Davion.   He will find his forever home.  I found mine.  But what about all the other wounded souls who don't know they are loved?  

I have no answers. I have tears of empathy, and I have compassion and understanding and I have a heart that aches -- but what to DO with that?  What do we do for all the Davions (and the Sandras) who don't have a mothers love?

I'm praying on it.  Maybe out of Davion's courage and bravery, things will change, not just for him but for ALL the Davions out there. 

Texas RenFest

When I was a teenager, my friends and I would go to the Texas Renaissance Festival each Fall.  We would all pile into someone's car, drive the 80 miles outside of Houston and spend the day walking thru the woods, pretending we were M'lady and debating if it was worth $8 for a flowered headpiece. It was weird and wild and fun. 

The RenFest is now in its 39th year.  This weekend, Husband and I went. 

It was ... odd.  We knew folks dressed up, and we expected that.  We knew some of the costumes were skimpy, we expected that. However, we saw more cleavage, both male and female, than either one of us expected.  The number of shirtless men was staggering, and 99% of those guys needed to put a shirt on.  Man-boobs, everywhere we looked.  I did appreciate the people who dressed up, but the number of women who thought a bikini top and a henna-painted abdomen was "being in costume" just about equalled the man-boobs group.  There was one Viking, wearing nothing but a horned Viking hat and an itty-bitty loin cloth -- I can't imagine his "costume" was authentic. We also saw one guy in leather, being led around by his girlfriend via a chain attached to his nose.  Umm -- BDSM in Medieval Europe?  

We thought getting there at 9:00 a.m., as the gates opened, might lessen the freak show / alcohol factor, and it might have -- but the things we saw at 9:00 a.m. were surprising enough.   

Once we stopped gawking at all the boobs, the chain mail body suits, the leather bondage outfits and the strategically painted henna body art, we decided to check out the grounds themselves. 

There were things to see and do that did NOT involve beer, leather or boobage-exposure so we sought those things out.  I was going to buy a flower wreath, but they were $15 and I was too cheap.  

We did go to the petting zoo, where I saw a baby llama

and the Momma-Llama (yeah, I had to do that LOL)

There were also camels and elephants

We saw jugglers, both swords and fire, 

And, of course, jousting

There were so many artisans -- we enjoyed the glass blower the most.

Then it started to rain.  And rain.  And rain.  (Note the muddy jousting field in that last photo).

When the rain stopped, we'd dash out, get Something-On-A-Stick, and run back under another shelter while eating our sausage / steak / turkey leg / banana.

It kept raining. That green?  Heavy, heavy rain.

We figured we had seen everything we wanted to (and much that we didn't want to!) and it was getting muddier and wetter, so we headed home.

Am I glad we went?  Yes.  Do I want to go back?  Probably not.  It was just a bit too ... free spirited ... for my taste.  It was fun, tho, and it was awfully nice getting to do something fun with my husband. We walked around, holding hands, giggling at the oddness and eating fair food.  We enjoyed the shows, the animals, the artisans -- and we even enjoyed the people watching.  

I'm glad we went, but I'm equally glad the weather didn't cooperate so that we could leave early without feeling like we were old-school fuddy-duddies.  We are old-school fuddy-duddies, but I don't want to FEEL like we are. :)

Now I've got two weeks to plan our next EOFO, which are going to have to be on Saturdays, as I've got a commitment every Friday at 1:45 pm to mentor a kindergartener.  But that's ok, it's the doing something with someone I love that's important, not the day of the week I do it.

The goal is to keep me from falling into a rut, and to stop us from getting bored -- and I think looking at boobage and leather-clad BDSM participants, while jugglers toss flaming swords at each other and knights joust in the mud all in front of llamas and camels and elephants ... WITH a ginormous turkey leg in hand -- that would count as "not boring"!