Velcro or Laces

Seems like a simple question but if I am asked this question (not like it's a common debate) I will say "Laces. Definitely laces."

In an ever progressing world where we all seem to try to do things that will save time and be more convenient or efficient, the Velcro shoe was the best invention since, dare I say it, the remote control TV. Sure it was great. Parents didn't need to stop progress during their morning rush to get the kids ready for school and themselves to work, children had a sense of accomplishment to be able to dress themselves, and no more looking for the lost lace that the dog pulled out of the shoe during a game of tug-o-war. Velcro was fast and easy. Anyone could secure almost anything they wanted to. I think we all fell a little bit in love with Velcro. Before long most every child I knew did not know how to tie shoes or a bow of any kind because their shoes used Velcro not laces. I remember feeling that the universe was not quite right the first time I had to show a ten year old how to tie a bow.

But probably the main reason that I'm a laces over Velcro gal is based on a car ride home with my step- children. It was winter and it had been raining for what seemed to be like weeks. This particular night the rain was working with the wind to create quite a lot of excitement on the highway. We were about 15 minutes from home when an especially strong gust of wind side swiped us and whipped my window wipers back causing one of them to bend 180' the opposite way. I pulled the car over and jump out to bend the wiper back to position but in so doing, the wiper broke off. Frustrated I climbed back into our SUV and sat there feeling defeated with rain dripping off my hair and face as if I were still standing outside of the vehicle. The kids looked at me like, "So now what? How are you going to fix it?" I strummed my fingers on the steering wheel and looked blankly in front of me at the injured wiper. I knew driving home without wipers was out of the question. Too dangerous with the sheets of rain still falling. The wind alone made it a struggle to keep on the road. I started opening all the compartments in the car to see what I might be able to use or inspire me. As I fumble around I must have been sharing my thoughts out loud because the kids started listing off options like bungle cords or rope. Good ideas but not something I typically carry around. Gosh, if I only had some twine or a cord. Then it came..."Tevin, do you by chance have your basketball shoes on?"

"yes," he replied.

"Would you be willing to...?" He knew what I was thinking.

"Oh, yeah, my laces!"

"Want to sacrifice it?"

"Sure!" He was now a very excited 9 year old knowing he helped to 'save' us.

That was that. I took his shoe lace and pushed my way back out into the gusty rain storm to tie the wiper on with a shoe lace. The three of us drove home safely, feeling pretty proud of ourselves for having thought of such a "McGuyver" move and thankful that sport shoes don't come with Velcro. That lace lasted for three more days before I was able to get a replacement wiper.

So, Laces definitely laces.

How to render a Step-mother speechless

So I was sitting next to my husband ready to watch the last high school home football game of the season. I had my scarf wrapped around my neck, my bulkiest sweater on, and a blanket next to me ready to use as the evening chill set in. I was turned toward my husband in deep conversation about, oh I don't know, who was going to make dinner, when I felt an arm circle around me and give me a little "Hey there" hug. I turned myself around and was greeted with a lovely grin from someone I know from church. She too just happens to be a step-mom and one of her step-sons is a great friend to mine. She said she wanted to tell me something about my step-son. My husband and I paused for a moment and anticipated what she was going to say. The pause continued longer than comfortable so I jokingly filled in the silence with "Uh, oh." The three of us giggled and she assured "No, No. I was just trying to remember how my son told me..." She went on to share that her son, earlier in the week, had commented how cool he thought it was that my step-son loved me so much. My jaw dropped and my husband elbowed me. I responded with a, "Really?" Almost with a disbelieving tone. The woman said "Yes" and that her son said "He talks about how great she is and that he loves having her around, and he use to never talk about his step-mom." My friend went on to say that her own step-son seemed to be in awe and ended his story with, "It's cool. It's like they're ... TIGHT!" And with that she was gone. All I could do was turn back to my husband who was grinning from ear-to-ear and triumphantly stated, "I told you so." I couldn't think of anything to say. Nothing. No words. I was surprised, humbled, happy, and felt a little triumphant as well. All I could think was that I will NEVER tell my step-son what happened (or at least not until he has a son of his own) for fear that he will think his secret has been discovered and take it away or even worse deny it. But for now, I'm still smiling on the inside.

To write....Or to exercise...? That is the question.

Whenever I think of writing my head is flooded with memories of high school English class. Writing always seemed like such a daunting task. A task that I would avoid until the very last possible moment, making every imaginable excuse to procrastinate, before I gave in. Even now I think it a task and most times an overwhelming one. Why do I do it? Because it is good for me. Just like exercising, it's good for me but difficult to find the motivation to start. Most people who know me wouldn't believe me if I stood up in church and confessed of my dread because I've written two books (with two others outlined) have a couple of blogs, up to date on my journals, and am dedicated to writing my step-son at least one letter a week while he serves a mission for our church...But dread I do. Just like the treadmill. I don't really want to but I do it. A number of times a week I ask myself, "What am I going to say? What do people want to hear from me? Is this story even relevant? Will my writing impact others for the better. Will anyone even read what I write?" Or, "I'm too tired. I don't feel like it. I do it tomorrow." Blah. Blah. Blah. Sound familiar anyone? Some people are natural born writers. I am a story telling. AND THESE TWO THINGS ARE DIFFERENT. (Although, I will admit that a captivating writer also needs to be a good story teller.) Yet no matter what I think of writing,(or exercising)I'm drawn to it. When I begin, it takes me a little time to warm up. Then there are moments when there is discomfort and pain or even boredom as I compulsively look at the clock. Before I know it, time has slipped away and I am finished with what I had wanted to do(writing or exercising). AND when I'm finished I feel a sense of accomplishment. Sometimes relief or even cleansed with a renewed personal energy. I never regret doing it. I do it because it is good for me. I do it because there is a chance that the results will benefit others as it benefits me. I do it because even if it's difficult, it's what I'm supposed to do. Okay, I'm off to do four miles.

My sister got me thinking...

So over the past month my sister has been going through a number of tests to check for cancer. Now this isn't knew for her because she does it every year ever since she went into remission for Hodgkin's lymphoma some 10 years ago. It's not uncommon for the tests to show "something" and they do more tests but this time it was different. This time there was "something" and after a biopsy it was confirmed...she had breast cancer. She didn't really tell anyone after the first test. She said she didn't want to get anyone excited about something that might not be anything. After it was confirmed to be something, she told a few, like her children and called one sister who told the others (that's how it works in our family) and then we wrote her emails and messages on facebook so not to overwhelm her or ask her the same questions that she's had to answer over and over again to everyone else (that too is how it works) but to let her know that we supported and loved her.
It made me wonder why we do that. Why don't we tell those we are closest to when we are worried, struggling, or grieving. Do we not tell others because we don't want them to know what we're feeling...not want extra attention regarding our plight...not want to risk others rejecting us or not validating us and our concerns? "What if they ask how I'm doing? What will I tell them? Will I break down in cry? Will I yell how angry I am at the situation? Will I pretend that everything is okay with me? Will they be able to comfort me?" The questions we might ask ourselves could go on and on. And then when we know someone who is struggling with any number of life's possibilities why don't we reach out to that someone? "What if they cry? What if they get angry? What if they pretend everything is okay? Will I be able to comfort them?"
When and since my first husband died I've had many opportunities to be the one who shared of my struggles and to be the one who inquired of others who were struggling themselves. I've also had many opportunities that I have allowed to be missed. Although being on either side can be awkward and even intimidating, I can dare say that I have never regretted letting another in to my world or being invited into theirs.