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Why writing a book is a lot like life

November 17, 2011 by

I don’t know if I’ve told you, but I’m writing a book.  I might have mentioned it once or twice…or a hundred times.

*cough*self-promoter*cough*

The thing is, I really believe in this book.  I’ve been working on it a long time…and by long time I mean more than a decade.  Oy. I have started and stopped, re-written and tossed.  I have had two characters remain at the core of the novel this entire time.  They are my friends…at least I think they are.  They may hate me since I’ve taken so long to tell their story.

How’s that for deflection?  I’ll blame my ficticious characters for my unfinished novel.

This latest draft, however, is The One.  You know how people always say you’ll “just know” when you meet the person you’re going to marry?  Well, I just knew the second I wrote the first sentence of this version that I had finally tapped into the core of who my characters are.

I found them.

Now, the challenge is to keep them moving and flowing forward in a cohesive manner.

Stephen King, my writing guru, says that when writing a novel you need to get it out as fast as you can.  Don’t stop to make edits, don’t get hung up on the details – just write.  You can go back later and fill in the holes.

I am finding this very difficult, Mr. King.  I see the validity of this and want to follow this advice, but the temptation to edit is powerful.  Because, you see, there are some moments in the book that are wonderful.  I love how they read and the imagery is powerful and I was obviously in the zone when writing.

There are other moments in the book, however, that are worthy of no more than kindling for a chilly night.  The rest of the book falls somewhere in between brilliant and suckalicious.

The problem with having worked on a book this long is I know exactly where I want my characters to go.  For the most part.  Some of them have already surprised me a bit.  But it’s the getting there that is slowing me down.  I’m so impatient to get to the exciting part – the part of the story that I know  – that I’m frustrated with the journey the characters are taking to get there.  I am bogged down in the details.

Life in general is full ofsimilar  ups and downs, isn’t it?  We have moments of excitement – first day of school, graduation, college, wedding day, birth of a child and so on…We live for these moments and anticipate them never really realizing the journey we take to get to those moments is every bit as important.  Those important moments are the peaks and after every peak we must descend for a bit before we reach another milestone.

But don’t we so often find ourselves impatient in the valleys and plateaus of life?  We get bored and frustrated.  We lose sight of the good of right now and only long and hope for the joy of the next big moment.  But we need the valleys and the plateaus.  They are, in fact, what builds…character.

It’s the same with writing a book.  The journey to the peak of each character’s story is so important, but in the anticipation of the big moment, I am impatient.  I’m bogged down in the details and the climb to the big moment feels endless and frustrating.

I just want to get to the good part.

But if I’m willing to relax, take a deep breath and enjoy the process of each step these characters take toward their individual peaks, I may actually learn a little something along the way.  And in the end, the story of their lives will reveal so much more beauty through the toil of their climb to the top.

And yes, as I wrote that sentence I totally started singing this song.

*sigh* I’ll bet Stephen King never busts out with Mily Cirus while he’s writing…

Filed Under: Novel, Random, writing Tagged With: , , , , , ,

My People

November 2, 2011 by

I was fifteen years old the first time I visited the former Soviet Union.  An entire world opened up before me in brilliant technicolor.  Amidst a backdrop of dark clouds, we stepped off the plane and my soul lit up.

“I’m coming back here,” I whispered.  I knew because it was as if I had stepped into a place already familiar to me; a place that had been carved out for me long ago.  I just needed to find it.

Our trip lasted fourteen days, but I fell in love in less than a second.  It wasn’t just the glamor of the foreign trip, though there was a bit of that.  We were only a handful of years removed from the fall of the Iron Curtain and as Americans we were still treated very much like royalty.  But it was more than that.  I felt like I knew those people.  Their language was like the chords of a melody to me and I soaked it up as though I had been ravenously searching for it my entire life.

It was love at first sight.

And I did go back.  I went back the next year and the one after that.  I minored in the language in college and while others in my class moaned and complained about the work, I asked for more.  I met with my professor in the afternoons and had him explain the grammar to me over and over (I still don’t get it).  I bought book after book and in my spare time practiced translating stories.

I’m only now realizing how weird that is…

I went to Ukraine my junior year and lived with my adopted people.  It was the hardest and most wonderful four months of my life.

This has always just seemed natural to me.  It’s felt natural to meet Russians everywhere I went and to befriend them…because they’re my people.  I don’t speak as fluently as I’d like to anymore, but the sound of the language still sets my heart aflight.  It is a melody that I can’t describe and that has only been recently revealed to me as…odd.

When we lived in Texas and I coached at WOGA, I often attended the Russians only parties because why wouldn’t I?  I fit there.  My favorite memories of that time are looking out to the back porch and seeing Lee standing in a circle with all the Russian men as their mouths moved in rhythmic fashion.  When they laughed, he laughed.  When they nodded their heads, he nodded his head.  He had no clue, but he didn’t care.

He’s my people, they’re my people. You remember him kissing the cross, right?

My husband is so good to push me and prod me to keep up my skills in Russian.  There are many times when we are in public and we hear Russian and he immediately introduces me and makes me start speaking.  Sometimes this drives me crazy because it’s uncomfortable and embarrassing and because people look at me like I’m a nut job.

But I’m so grateful for his prodding because he knows me so well.  He knows how much I love and need to accompaniment of Russians.  Without it, I feel a bit lost at times…

When we lived in St. Louis, I never really thought it odd that my children were the only children with two American parents in the Russian school.  It just seemed natural to me that my children should be there.

They’re our people.

Moving down here I have already, again, been blessed to meet and make Russian friends.  As we all gathered around the table on Halloween night, they asked me…

Why?

“Why what?” I asked.

“Why do you speak Russian?”

No one has ever really asked me that question before and I didn’t have an answer.  Because I love it?  I love everything about the culture and the people, the food and the traditions.

Because you’re my people, I wanted to say.  But that sounds odd, so I just shrugged and smiled.

“You are the first American I ever meet,” said the man next to me, “That want to know Russian.  I don’t understand.”

And I don’t either.  I don’t know why God embedded these people so deeply into my soul.  I don’t know why my heart shakes when I hear the language spoken.  I don’t know why I feel at home in a group of Russians.  I don’t know why I long to go back to the country and take my children there so badly that sometimes I physically ache.  I really don’t know why.

I just know I love it.  They are my people and I love them.

Filed Under: Random, Running, Russian Tagged With: , , ,

I Believe

October 28, 2011 by

I’ve got the memory of our amazing trip to Europe on my mind today. The beauty of God’s creation leaves me breathless and in awe. I can’t help but rejoice.

The song is Creation Calls by Brian Doerkson (yes that’s me singing it acapella. I love the song…). The images are all from our trip. Have a blessed weekend everyone.

Oh, and one more thing…GO CARDS!

Filed Under: faith, Random, Travel Tagged With: , , , ,

Yes I’m a Natural Blonde

October 27, 2011 by

“A blonde went to buy a Pizza and after ordering, the assistant asked the blonde if she would like her pizza cut into six pieces or twelve.

“Six please” she said, “I could never eat twelve!”

I have blonde hair and I always have…well, except for a couple of misguided attempts to not have blonde hair.

As I’ve gotten older and had babies, I’ve had to work a little harder and pay a little more to maintain my blonde hair, which has now faded into a rather unfortunate dishwater color.

But I didn’t come here to talk about hair.

Why do we make fun of blondes?  What is it about the light hair that leads us to assume blondes have an inferior sense of common sense?  I mean, we fair headed types are the salt of the Earth, right?  We hide our intellect beneath a mask of gold.

Okay, let’s not judge every blonde on that sweet little girl. Bless her heart…

When I was 15, first learning to drive, my friend Aaron told me that all stop signs that were outlined in white were optional.

“As long as no one else is coming, you can drive right through,” he said with a smile.

Later that week, as my mom and I practiced driving, I buzzed through a stop sign after ensuring that no one else was coming. I was very safety conscious, you see.

“What are you doing?!” My mom screeched, to which I responded with a dramatic eye roll and the sigh that revealed my obvious superior knowledge.

“It’s optional, Mom,” I said. “It was outlined in white.”

*pause*

“Kelli, all stop signs are outlined in white.”

Okay, so look – I could see where one might want to blame that error in judgment on my hair color, but I prefer to blame it on youth. And on the fact that my friend Aaron was a terrible practical joker.

That same year I went on my first trip to the former Soviet Union, to Minsk, Belarus. One day, while speaking with a classroom of students about American traditions, I tried to explain Thanksgiving.

“Thanksgiving,” I began, “is when Americans gather together to…um…you know…celebrate the pilgrims…uh…like, landing on Earth.”

And I moved on, completely unaware of the fact that our trip leaders were in the back of the room clutching their sides, they were laughing so hard.

Okay, so fifteen was a bad year for me. But it wasn’t my hair…I swear it!

I was in college, riding in the back of a friend’s car as she stopped for gas. “Cars are the strangest things,” I told her when she got back in the car. “I think the gas tank in my car must expand and shrink with the weather because sometimes it costs $25.00 to fill up my tank and other times it only costs $19 or $20.”

*pause*

“Um,” she said politely, because she was very kind, “that’s probably because gas prices fluctuate, not the size of your tank.”

Okay, so I was older at the time, but my hair wasn’t a factor in that little faux pas.

We visited a church a couple of weeks ago. At the end of the service, the pastor brought up two people who would soon be leaving on short term mission trips. Pointing to the gentleman the pastor said, “And this young man will be leaving on Monday for the Amazon where he and a team of others will be traveling to a remote area to help hand-dig a brand, new well.”

I looked at Lee and whispered, “They’re going to dig a well with their hands? How is that possible?”

*pause*

“Well, I assume they’ll probably have shovels,” he said, his eyes dancing.

“Oooohhh,” I whispered. “That makes more sense. I was picturing them on their hands and knees, scooping the dirt like dogs.”

And then we lost it. Inappropriate laughter through the pastor’s closing prayer and a quick and hasty exit so we wouldn’t have to look anyone in the eye.

*sigh*

Let’s not use the moniker “dumb blonde,” m’kay? I like to gently refer to those times as blonde moments…

Filed Under: funny stuff that happens, Lee, Random Tagged With: , , ,

How Baylor Football Changed Me Forever

October 16, 2011 by

It was 1999 and I was a senior walking beneath the cloud of new love.  I didn’t have a ring on it yet, but it was only a matter of time (weeks, to be exact).  We were headed to yet another Baylor Bears football game where we would talk and visit and only occasionally check the field to measure just how badly we were losing.

My time at Baylor will not be remembered for great football…

At some point during this particularly overcast and chilly day, the pace of the game changed.  Baylor was winning. It was a thrill almost entirely unknown to me since I had spent most of my four years at the school accepting defeat with grace.

The crowd was electric.  The score was 24-21 against UNLV and there were 20 seconds left in the game.  Baylor had the ball at the 8 yard line.  This was our time – the day to rejoice.  All they had to do was down the ball.  Just put down a knee.  So easy.  So very, very easy.

Until…

Wait.  What’s that?  Why are they? Wait…huh?

“A two point conversion!  What are they doing running a two point conversion!” My husband to be roared as the Rebels’ Kevin Thomas scooped up the fumbled ball and began making a dash down the field.

I had no idea what a two point conversion was or what on Earth had just gone down, but from the look on Lee’s face, I knew I needed to be horrified.  I wanted to shout at the field with him, make my protest known at this mysterious call.  But I could do no more than clutch my head in my hands, my mouth open in a horrified stare, no sound permitted to escape.

And as the clock ticked down to zero, the entire stadium watched in stunned silence as Thomas ran the ball into the end zone for a 99-yard touchdown to win the game.

I almost cried.  I don’t even care about football that much, but that day…I nearly cried.  And since then, I have never been the same.

I’m not a great sports fan to begin with.  Games make me a nervous wreck.  If I care about one of the teams in play, I find myself jumpy, fidgety and nervous.  But when my team does begin to win, I feel a sudden onslaught of sympathy for the opposing team and I want them to at least not lose badly.  But if my team starts to lose I get all jumpy and jittery and I start to talk loud and fast and…

Don’t get me started on how uptight I get when I don’t care about either one of the teams.  I alternate between total exhilaration for the winning team and utter sympathy for the losing team.  I’m like a sports crazed Sybil.

I’m not one of those cool girls who yells at the TV and high fives when the football dude runs the ball into the end zone.  Oh no.  I’m the chick in the corner nervously biting her nails and gorging herself on little hot dogs slathered in barbeque sauce straight from the crock pot.  I’m the girl pretending not to care because if she pays attention to the game too closely she might have a nervous breakdown.

The St. Louis Cardinals are currently playing Game 6 of the NLCS Championship against the Milwaukee Brewers.  I haven’t watched much of the series for two reasons:

1.) We don’t have cable so watching isn’t that easy.  Lee has taken the kids to Chili’s to watch several of the games.  I went with them once, but the rest of the time I declined because if given the option to be alone in my house for a couple of hours, I’m going to say yes.  Sorry Red Birds, I love ya, but…

2.) It makes me crazy.  C-to the-RAZY.  I want the Cardinals to win and I can’t stand the pressure.  I can’t stand it. As we speak, Lee has the game on the radio and we’re listening to the game on ESPN.  And this, friends, is next to torture.  TORTURE. Because the noise of the crowd is intensified over the radio and the announcer’s voices keep going up in decibels and sweet-mother-of-all-that’s-holy-I-NEED-A-DRINK.

So Cardinals, I hope you win.  I really do.  And if you make it to the Series, I will watch as often as I can mooch a TV screen.  But I will watch through my fingers, I will pace, I will likely chew off all my nails and I’ll probably leave the room now and again to take a deep breath.

By the end of the Series, I will probably have an ulcer.  Don’t worry, though, I won’t blame you.

I blame the Baylor Bears.

*Disclaimer: I love Baylor University.  My four years there were by far the best of my life and I would do them all again in a heartbeat.  Except that one game.  I would skip that game if I got a do-over…

Image Credit

Filed Under: Family, Random, Sports Tagged With: , , ,

This Week

October 12, 2011 by

– This week I refinished Tia’s furniture with the help of my St. Louis neighbor turned Florida bestie, Carol.  It was brown, now it’s white.  I’ll share pictures once I have her room all put together.  All I can say is I had tons of fun decorating a little girl’s room for the very first time.

– This week I began a strict eating regiment in an effort to finally kick those last ten baby pounds to the curb.

– This week I drank lots of green tea.  Lots and lots of green tea.

– This week I spent less time on the computer and more time just being still.

– This week I prayed some very specific prayers and love the expectation as I await the outcome.

– This week I missed my friends in St. Louis.  A lot.

– This week I had dinner with new friends here in Tampa.

– This week I wrote a new post for 5 Minutes for Mom on parenting.

– This week I’ve fallen into more than one of the traps I wrote about in the aforementioned 5 Minutes for Mom post.  *sigh*

– This week I got really, really lost.

– This week I was grateful for the GPS on my fancy pants phone.

– This week I was glad I got lost because I passed some really lovely areas that I’d like to go back and visit…if I can find them.

– This week I got my 4 frillion pictures and frame semi-organized.  They’re not on the walls, yet, but at least they’re not in the middle of the floor, right?

– This week I realized just how much I love my CoffeeMate Peppermint Mocha creamer when I couldn’t use it in my coffee.

– This week I did not paint Landon’s room like I said I would.  It’s still just primed.  Poor kid.  Has a Mama who’s a craptastic painter.

– This week I cried once.

– This week I laughed a lot.

– This week I took pictures of the moon.

– This week I wished I was a better photographer so I could capture just how awesome the moon was as it rose over the trees.

– This week I also got a quick shot of a half moon.

– This week I wrote more on my novel.

– This week I asked for humility.  Less of me, more of Him.

– This week I have been really tired.

– This week I say good-bye to my parents as they fly off to London for another month.  Methinks they enjoy being empty-nesters.

– This week has been a good week.

And how is your week going?

Filed Under: faith, Family, Florida, Random Tagged With: , , , ,

Who’s got time to be addicted?

September 26, 2011 by

"There's another new social networking site that I'm supposed to join?!"

So here it is, friends.  I am struggling with the rat race that has become social media and there is one reason for it:

I don’t flipping have time.

I love blogging.  This here little space of mine is where I often times work out what’s swirling around inside my head and heart.  I don’t organize and plan my posts ahead of time.  Maybe I should, but that’s not really how my brain operates.  I process my emotions through the melodic clicking of the keyboard.  It’s where my heart flows.  And you want to know what?

Sometimes I don’t share everything I write.

Sometimes the emotions are too raw…too personal.  But many times I can’t voice my heart unless I’m writing it out.  So blogging?  I totally get it.

Everything else?  Exhausts me.

Amber from Crappy Pictures wrote about why being a mom makes her suck at Twitter. Through my tears of laughter I’m pretty sure I uttered a hearty “Amen” or two as I read her post.  I can’t get into Twitter.  My posts usually go like this:  “I’m baaaaaack. How’s everyone doing to tonight? #finallybackontwitter”

No one will respond to this tweet, of course, because no one knows me on Twitter.  And because, unless I’m writing an article that needs to be promoted for someone else, I usually only tweet about once everyone two weeks.

Because that’s all I have time for.

I mean, I guess I could check my twitter stream a little more every day and try to converse, but I never really know how to converse with Twitter followers without feeling like a creepy cyber-stalker.

I like Facebook…because I get it.  I know most of the people on Facebook and they know me.  I can post something on Facebook and come back hours later and respond to any comments, whereas with Twitter it seems you need to respond right away or else you’re like the rude neighbor who walks away mid-conversation and never returns.

The frustrating part in all of this is that marketers and others who may want to hire your services in social networking or online writing often look at how wide your impact is, and part of that is your activity on Twitter.  They also look at how many Facebook friends you have, how many people are reading your blog, how many comments you get and what kind of toilet paper you use.

Hmph.

It starts to feel like a nasty competition and in the midst of all the running, I can easily lose focus on why I’m doing what I’m doing.  I’m writing because I love it. I’m writing because I’m good at it.  I’m writing because I believe it is a form of praise, an offering back of that which I have been given.

I’m writing because it’s fun.  Trying to keep up with the pack detracts from that and every once in awhile I have to tighten the reigns and remember what life is all about.  And with so much to keep up with, it helps to simply unplug every once in awhile.

Part of the online madness stems from the fact that there is just so dang much to keep up with anymore.  Now there’s Instagram, which sounds totally fun…if you have an iphone, which I don’t so I’m off the hook with that one.  No temptation!  Guh-lory!

There’s also StreamZoo and Google Plus and LinkedIn (yes, I know I have several invitations to Link up on LinkedIn, but I can’t remember my password so there’s a good chance I’m never going to accept those invitations for which I hereby sincerely apologize), and a whole host of other networking sites that are cropping up and my head just exploded.

I just want to make my kids a sandwich.

And write.

And maybe, just maybe, keep up with the constant flow of online craziness so that in a few years when my son comes prancing in the door and announces he wants to open up a ShowMyLifeToTheWorld account, I’ll know what it is and whether or not I want him partaking.

I’m trying to stay cool, folks!  I mean, aside from my rockin’ minivan, I’ve got very little left with which to garner cool points.

So here it is, social media overwhelms me. Sometimes it’s just too much.

What are your thoughts?

Filed Under: Blogging, Random, things I don't need to hear, writing Tagged With: , , ,

Buried Alive

September 25, 2011 by

I’m writing this from beneath a mountain of boxes.  I managed to carve a path from the kids’ rooms to my own where I have prepared a bed on the floor for the first to wake up scared and hightail it this way.

I thought packing boxes was overwhelming, but unpacking them raising the bar of crazy to a whole new level.  I think I made a dent today.  I can see the kitchen counter and I found the table top later this afternoon.  It was a glorious sight.

In lieu of the fact that I have nothing remotely interesting or witty to say, I’m going to send you over to my friend Wendy. You might remember her as the woman who gave me the greatest writer’s getaway ever earlier this year.  Now it’s time I gave you all a proper introduction.

Wendy is a mother of three rough and tumble boys and she just may have the best Mom of Boys blog on the world wide web. Wendy is always an inspiration to me not only because she’s talented and filled with a depth of wisdom and grace that constantly challenges me to dig deeper.  Wendy is also an inspiration because she’s real.  She doesn’t pretend to have it all together.  She’s just…authentic.  And I love that about her.

This blog post on Family Values inspired me to think about our own core values as a family and how we instill those in our kids.  Part two challenged me to make the establishment of our Family Values as something special and fun for the kids.

After reading those posts, I guarantee you’ll want to add Wendy to your blog roll.

So while you head off to be encouraged and blessed, I’m going to start digging out from under a few more boxes.  It appears that our possessions multiplied inside the PODS.

Good times…

 

Filed Under: faith, Florida, Moving, Random Tagged With: , , ,

Imagination, Creativity and Flying like a Bird

September 20, 2011 by

What do you think it’s like to be a bird?

I think it must be thrilling.

Just once I’d like to feel the rush of flying, of spreading the wings and gliding on the wisp of the wind.  If I were to be a bird, though, I can’t decide where I’d like to rest my feathers.  Would I be a mountain bird, coasting from mountain top to mountain top, the valleys and peaks soaring below in harmonious rhythm?  If I were to be a mountain bird, I’d like to be one in Austria for I don’t think you will find more beautiful formations in all the world.

 

Hallstatt, Austria where one year ago today we stood atop this mountain and I longed for the freedom of flight.

But, I fear the frigid winter air would be too much for me…even as a mountain bird.  So perhaps I would be better suited as an island bird.  What must it be to glide above the crystal blue waters of the Caribbean, the warm, salty air whipping over me as I coast left to right.  If I were to be an island bird, I’d like to reside over Spanish Wells, Bahamas.  Because I think that God shines His Grace upon that island in extra measures.

These are things I think about.

There are some days…many days…when I wish I could unplug from it all.  I dream of a secret garden where I could escape and get lost in the dreams of my mind.  I would wander the twisted flowers and gnarled tree trunks with only the soft padding of my feet in the grass as company.  I would lose myself in the romance of the soft setting, dreaming up far off lands where anything is possible.  My imagination would no longer be dictated and diluted but would be free to run, to fly.

I would be the bird, the free spirit who never grows up, the romantic who throws her arms around her sweaty man with abandon.

These are things I think about.

This week, the kids and I are telling stories – making them up.  We are digging into the recesses of our minds where imagination waits to be stirred.  Robots come to life and trees dance in the breeze.  The grass is purple and streams are made of chocolate.  Grand adventures lie around every corner and over every bridge.  Sometimes, when the oldest is telling his story, Bigfoot makes an appearance.  And tornados.  It’s very exciting.

When the girl tells her stories, they almost always involve a talking unicorn.  It is magical.

When the youngest tells his stories they almost always include the words “booty” and “toot.”  It’s hysterical.

Imagination is the best way to see one of the greatest traits of God Himself – creativity. For inside the mind’s eye, the creativity of the Creator indwells each one of us with the ability to see a little beyond that which is before us.  Mathematicians see formulas that take us to the moon.  Scientists see developments that allow us to see life from a different spectrum.  Poets allow us to hear nature through the fluidity of their pens.  Musicians discover harmonies that speak to our souls and take us beyond the present.

Imagination is where the Creator left His greatest imprint on us…His Image Bearers.

It is inside the recesses of our minds that God gave us a grand bit of Himself.  After all, He had the greatest imagination of them all.  And when we open kids up to this process of creativity, we let them truly come alive.  The challenge is to quiet the Earth around us.  And what a challenge it is.

Would that I could lose myself inside imagination every day where life is not confined to only that which I know but is instead wide open, limitless in reach.  Technology has dulled my imagination, and even that of my children.  But it’s always there, imagination, waiting to be tapped and used.  Imagination leads us into some place new and unknown.

Where I can fly.


These are things I think about.

Filed Under: faith, Family, Homeschool, Kids, Motherhood, Random, writing Tagged With: , , , , ,

Me them then…or is it them me now?

September 15, 2011 by

I engaged in a bit of retail therapy yesterday.  After a day on the battleground called motherhood, I escaped for a few hours into the Mecca of all home furnishing stores.  Did you know the power that four simple little letters can wield?

IKEA.

Say it slow.  Let it roll off the tongue.

I-K-E-A.

I rolled a cart through the golden aisles, little fairies giggling and blowing pixie dust on me as I danced past.  When I entered the showroom, a beam of light appeared from nowhere casting an ethereal glow across the cheap, yet terribly stylish, furnishings.

I actually think walking through there made a few of my wrinkles disappear.

I found something I loved in every room.  I bought Christmas presents for Tia and resisted the urge to grab the arm of the woman in yellow beside me and shake it in excited glee.  Oh the organizational wonderment to behold!

I ate Swedish meatballs in the silence of my reverie, all while visually digesting the wonderment that stood before me.  It was like being at the spa, only no strangers were touching me and it didn’t require the sacrifice of my first born to afford it.

I left with a few treasures in my basket and a considerable amount of satisfaction at how much I got for the amount.  I piled my treasures in the back of my (smokin’ hot) minivan and off we drive toward the glowing orange orb in the sky.

It was as beautiful an evening as one 30-something could possibly experience.

As I made my way down the road, I slowed to a stop at a red light (always a good idea).  I glanced in my side mirror to see a truck in the lane to my left stopping next to the car that was directly behind me.  Inside the rusted truck were two girls who didn’t look old enough to be wearing makeup, much less operating a vehicle.  They motioned wildly at the older gentleman in the car next to them so he rolled down his window.

“Hey there, Grandpa,” the girl in the passenger seat yelled, smacking her gum with the force of a perturbed cow.  “You’re pretty cute.”  Head thrown back.  *giggle, giggle, giggle*

The poor old man shook his head and rolled his window back up.  The girls drove forward and pulled up alongside me.  I had my window down and the radio blasted all the current Christian hits of today. I bobbed my head up and down to the beat and drummed my fingers on the side of the car.  I rarely drive with the windows down these days, but last night was so perfect I couldn’t resist.

Giggle tweeny bopper looked my way and I tried to ignore.

“Hey,” she called, still giggling uncontrollably.  It was the silly giggle that reveals complete and total immaturity.  I turned her way and smiled.

“Hey,” I said back with a grin.  “How are you guys doing tonight?”

The driver laughed.  I briefly contemplated asking her to give me proof that she was indeed old enough to drive.  “We are, like, so. great.”  She said.  Her words were emphasized with two smacks of her Hubba Bubba.  Whoa…they were doing great.

“So what are you up to?” Giggly asked. And just then the light turned green and the line of cars began to slowly move.  I waved as the Silly Mobile pulled forward with a squeal – was it the tires or the girls?

And then I laughed. It was the knowing laugh that completely solidifies you as a full blown grown up.

The total lack of respect for others aside, those girls reminded me a little bit of myself.  I remembered the day that my best friend Lindsey and I, also both barely legal to drive, made the trek from our house to a friend’s out in the sticks of St. Louis.  We had the windows down and our music blaring and we hung our heads and arms out the windows laughing uncontrollably and altogether reveling in our youth.

Life was a joyride.  It was a wind in your hair, laugh at the world adventure.  We were silly and crazy and completely free of the responsibility of adulthood.  There weren’t children or husbands or mortgages or bills.

I can honestly say that at that moment in my life, the very last thing I wanted to spend my hard earned money on was a kitchen scrub brush and a watering can.

Home furnishings weren’t exciting.  Freedom was exciting.  The wind whipping by as we headed to the Lake was exciting.  Life was a grand adventure just at the tip of our fingers.  And as those girls peeled out, shrieking with laughter at…um, nothing…I shook my head.  They are me back then.

And as I glanced at the IKEA bag glimmering in the evening sun next to me, I let out another laugh.  I am them now…or not long from now.  The wind still whips through my hair and my music is still loud.  Only, more often than not, the music is sung by talking vegetables and my minivan is loaded with practical things like kitchen scrub brushes and watering cans…and place mats.  Really, really cute place mats.

Life is still an adventure, isn’t it?  I think it might even be a little more grand.

Someday those silly little girls will understand.

Filed Under: Florida, funny stuff that happens, Life, Minivans, Motherhood, Random Tagged With: , , ,
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