Today was my birthday.  When I was little I looked forward to my cake (from the same bakery my parents used since my birth and I would use for my wedding 35 years later.)  One year I had a rollerskating party and I thought it was the greatest.  I had my Jordache jeans, my pink Polo shirt, and I can say without conceit I was the best roller skater around.  I will never know how much my parents sacrificed to give me that party.  But I do know our little girl is growing up vastly different than I.  What I want her to know, more than anything, is that everything she has is a PRIVILEGE — versus a right.  To have a party is not a given — it is special and requires money.  Every year since our daughter has been born I have written on her invitations, “Your presence will be her presents!”  She has not liked that recently and has questioned me as to why we buy gifts for other kids’ parties but she cannot have any for her own.  I hope I am not being too harsh.  I just want her to know that she doesn’t need more stuff to feel she has had a good birthday.  Only one parent has told me she thought it was great, and she had her child bring a homemade gift as their present.  I will confess her favorite present was from my friend Angela who bought her Mulan and Li Shang as a birthday present.  Angela happens to be one of the most thoughtful, caring friends I have.  But what if she did not have the money to buy them for my daughter?  Would that make her daughter any less of a friend?  Of course not.  I doubt our family knows it, but for years we have planned and sacrificed to try and buy them nice gifts.  I have come to realize there are people fortunate enough not to need anything.  As I have grown older I have made the realization that peoples’ presence are the real presents.  The Canadian-born American motivational public speaker Brian Tracy said, “The greatest gift that you can give to others is the the gift of unconditional love and acceptance.”  Oh, how LONG it has taken me to realize this!  Perhaps I was spoiled because I grew up always knowing I had that from my parents.  Not everyone is so lucky.  Today I celebrated my birthday with the two people whom I love the most in all the world.  It used to be my parents, but now they are both shining in light perpetual in the glory of the Lord.  God, in his graciousness, has given me my husband and my precious miracle daughter to celebrate with.  It would seem that for me three is a magic number.

October has always been my favorite month.  My birthday falls in this month, my father’s was this month, and now my daughter shares his birthday — one of the greatest joys of my life.  And, in Texas, it’s State Fair time.  I don’t know what it is — there’s just something about the fair.  It only comes once a year and since I was a child I used to love touring the museums and going through all the Art Deco buildings.  We never had money to spend on the midway but my parents and I made the most of the fair when I was growing up.  We toured everything there was to see and learn about.  Now I fear we’re spoiling our little one.  Playing a few games on the midway makes me feel incredibly guilty, simply because we never had money to blow when I was a kid.  But guess what?  I’m pretty good and I win something every year.  And then there are the rides.  My parents always made sure I had the money to ride but tickets were precious.  Now we have as many tickets as we would like and I don’t want our little one thinking that is no big deal.  They cost money and are not to be taken for granted.  I guess in a way I’m glad she doesn’t get it and in another I very much need for her to understand.  This year we rode a few rides and I told her she needed to choose carefully.  And, for the first time, we all rode the Texas Star (the Ferris wheel) as a family.  It was the tallest Ferris wheel in North America from 1985 until 2013.  We waited until dark go on the midway and I have always thought the rides are SO much cooler at night.  When I was little it was all rock that blared through the speakers; now it’s all rap.  But it never fails — whenever I ride this one “scary” ride I literally feel I’m back in junior high with my hair spray painted red and blue, wearing my Def Leppard shirt.  It is literally like being transported back in time.  And, just like when I was a girl, if I am honest it still makes me giddy when I get an extra ride — now with my daughter!  I would like to believe I’ve still got it.  This was the same ride I used to ride with my mother while my father stood and watched us; just as Burk stood watching us this night.  William Shakespeare, often regarded as the greatest writer in the English language, said, “It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves.”  For me growing up, the fair was a break from problems and a chance to believe that anything was possible.  I want our little one to have that same giddiness and sheer joy but without the worry.  I know my parents wanted the same for me.  It is a time for frivolity and fun.  You won’t be sorry;  if you get the chance, come and visit the great State Fair of Texas.

I am allergic to cinnamon and bleach.  People seem to feel so sorry for me that I’m allergic to cinnamon.  Trust me; it’s no hardship when it causes you violent migraines that can last for days.  Or, if ingested, it can cause an outbreak that makes the mange look appealing.  I have learned that if I smell either one of them to run as if the plague were after me.  It turns out that my little one got my cinnamon allergy at least.  I TOLD someone I feared she might be allergic but they gave her cinnamon applesauce anyway.  My little two and a half year old (at the time) had a wickedly red, itchy stomach for days and she can still remember it.  So she knows to avoid it.  SOMEhow she got a hold of something with cinnamon and she ate it anyway.  Her face promptly broke out in a bumpy red rash that looked progressively worse as the day wore on.  I got a call from the school nurse asking permission to put some cortisone cream on it.  I told her she could put whatever she deemed necessary on her face to get it under control.  As fate would have it, my little one was up for a modeling audition the next day.  As we were standing in line I tried not to stare with horror at the massive red bumps around her lips.  “It looks bad,” she proclaimed.  Not wanting to lie, I just said that by now she knows what cinnamon looks and smells like and to just stay away from it in the future.  I could tell she was feeling self-conscious and that’s when I made the decision to bring her into a make-up store while we were just waiting around.  “We’re going in here for ME?!” she asked with no small amount of incredulity.  I let her know in no uncertain terms I did not approve of her wearing make-up.  This, however, was to cover up a bad rash on her face and I told her that in this case it was acceptable.  You can see by this picture she was so thrilled to be there!  I used to listen to my father complain that my mother never wore lipstick until he went off to Korea.  I love that he loved her just the way she was.  To me natural beauty always shines though.  The American singer Tina Turner said:

“My greatest beauty secret is being happy with myself.  I don’t use special creams or treatments – I’ll use a little bit of everything.  It’s a mistake to think you are what you put on yourself.  I believe that a lot of how you look is to do with how you feel about yourself and your life.  Happiness is the greatest beauty secret.”

I wish for my little one to understand the key to happiness in all things lies within.

When I was a kid I remember my mother taking me to this woman’s house who had a pool.  She was a certified swim instructor but I remember not liking her very much.  Two things really stand out in my mind.  The first was I remember a sign she had that said, “We don’t swim in our toilet, so please don’t pee pee in our pool.”  The second was far more traumatizing:  I remember that in order to pass I had to swim all the way down to the drain.  I can still feel the grip she held on my small wrist as she pulled us both all the way down to the bottom.  My father had polio as a child and never learned to swim, so it was especially important to him that I learn.  My mother loved to swim but with her red hair and fair skin she really needed to stay out of the sun.  For years after that I was terrified to go underwater and, if truth be told, I am still afraid to even snorkel — much less scuba dive.  I consider myself to be a good swimmer and was on the swim team in both junior high and high school.  But that feeling of being underwater and fearing when you will finally rise to the surface has never left me.  When I had my little girl the vital importance of learning how to swim had long been ingrained upon me.  But things and times are very different now.  They have indoor pools and different swim classes going in different lanes.  In the school my little one attended each kid got a check once they’d mastered a certain skill.  I feel she could save her own life now, after passing this particular class, but still I want her to be a stronger swimmer.  So she will continue to swim once a week to build stamina and really learn the different styles.  I snapped this picture of her when she graduated at a significant level.  She was so proud holding all her ribbons.  The British philosopher Alan Watts once said:

“To have faith is to trust yourself to the water.  When you swim you don’t grab hold of the water, because if you do you will sink and drown.  Instead you relax, and float.”

It seems that so many things in life one is not simply able to grab hold of … instead one must relax, and float.

In summers when I was a kid my father went to work and my mother used to tell me not to come home until the lights came on.  I ran wild with total freedom and yet safety.  I played tetherball, I scaled the monkey bars, I rode my Big Wheel absolutely EVERYWHERE, I climbed our apartments’ fence and walked along the top of its six foot length like a squirrel.  We lived across the street from a giant field of wildflowers and I would pick some for dinner every night, leaving tons to spare.  I played in trees and I caught cicadas (and let them go.)  We made mud pies, and played “hot lava.”  Looking back I was a real tomboy and I was the only girl in our rough and tumble pack.  But it was OK.  Summers smelled of freshly mown grass and were full of endless possibility.  I grew up so much on my own then, being allowed to roam freely.  Dear God my parents didn’t always know where I was AND I was left in the car (willingly) while they went in the grocery store!  They just rolled down the windows and I played with my toys.  If my child did practically any of the things I have mentioned fondly they would surely call Child Protective Services.  That is sad in many ways.  I developed a sense of independence and confidence in those “alone” times.  Now helicopter parents are everywhere and, if they aren’t, they often get reported.  I suppose I was lucky in that nothing bad ever happened to me.  I have since learned to question everyone — from the ice cream man (if he even still comes around) to people working in our home — with a suspicious eye.  I had a friend who was an attorney tell me the most dangerous place for young boys to be was at the bathroom in the mall — with their mothers right outside the door.  Times are simply not what they used to be.  Hence, I suppose, the advent of “play dates.”  Kids can no longer play freely so dates have to be scheduled.  Rather than use this as free babysitting time, Burk and I have always viewed it as a family time with another family.  So the kids can watch a movie in the other room while the adults talk.  In that respect, we don’t mind play dates.  In fact, we actually look forward to them.  We know the kids are safe and we get some time to speak with grown-ups.  I came in from our porch and snapped this sweet pic of our little one and her oldest friend sitting on the floor, eating berries, and giggling.  I remember all too well what it was like to escape the yolk of parental tyranny.  So I pretended not to notice them as I got all of us parents another drink.  Nia Vardalos, the Canadian-American actor of Greek descent, most notable for her Academy Award-nominated film My Big Fat Greek Wedding, said:

“My favorite part of any playdate comes later when I get to carry my exhausted and sleeping daughter to the car.  Is there anything more trusting than a sleeping child completely and utterly leaning into your body?”

That IS one of the best parts of a play date — a thoroughly passed out kiddo.

Some time ago I decided to switch to mostly using my husband’s things.  I realized I had already been commandeering his undershirts for years, and then I took to using his shaving cream.  It costs WAY less than womens’ and it works much better.  Recently Burk came home with a new two pack of shaving cream and when I pressed the top I was thrilled to see it was this deep dark blue — my favorite color.  Our little one came in (because I never have any privacy,) saw the color, and exclaimed “COOL!”  “It really is,” I said, grinning.  So I wrote it out on my leg, to her delight.  “Mama, you should blog about it” she said.  And so here we are.  When the mundane turns unexpected it is a little burst of joy.  It’s just shaving cream, but it went from having a manly kind of scent and ick looking color to smelling crisp and coming out in this glorious shade of blue.  The English poet and theologian Samuel Taylor Coleridge once said:

“The happiness of life is made up of minute fractions — the little soon forgotten charities of a kiss or smile, a kind look, a heartfelt compliment, and the countless infinitesimal of pleasurable and genial feeling.”

So yes, dark blue shaving cream made me very excited and happy today.  I will always try to seize joy and happiness wherever I may find it; time is too precious not to.  I hope to possibly share some of that joy and happiness with others when I am able.  Sometimes it’s the little things.

I am still behind on my posts, but today I saw something that made me smile.  As I was standing there smiling broadly, fortunately the car’s owner came up.  I then proceeded to ask if it was OK to take a picture and she graciously consented.  The first thing that comes to my mind still when I think of false eyelashes is the iconic television star Lucille Ball and her show I Love Lucy.  Lucille Ball is a woman whom I have always admired.  She was beautiful, but she was not afraid to laugh at herself.  She joked about coloring her hair and wearing false eyelashes and made hilarious faces.  Her show to me remains nearly timeless even after over 65 years.  So here I was looking at this car, grinning, and I asked the woman why she decided to put eyelashes on it.  “So my son would not want to drive it,” she quipped dryly and I found myself laughing out loud.  “And does he still?” I asked.  “Yes,” she replied.  “I even tried to put something on the back to embarrass him,” she said as she pointed out pink high heels and pearls encasing her license plate.  I remember not driving a car until my twenties and not caring WHAT Daddy had; at least I could drive!  So it was no surprise to me her measures were not really deterrents.  I thought the whole thing was hilarious!  Lucille Ball herself once said, “I’d rather regret the things I’ve done than regret the things I haven’t done.”  This woman driving around town with the giant, silly eyelashes on her car seemed to me to have that kind of pluck.  I want to take more chances with my life and loosen up.  When I was younger I cared so very much about what others thought.  I find it very freeing now that I don’t nearly as much.  So here’s to Lucy who, for me, started it all, and to fun women who have cars with eyelashes.  And here’s to having tried more things with no regrets.