Ironic, isn’t it? Just as I quit this blog I begin another one–a blog about People Who Quit. Judging from the title you may surmise I’m going to blog about folks who quit smoking. Well, no that’s not it. Or you may think I’m going to blog about delinquents, losers, and other unsavory society. Not true either. In fact, very opposite from the truth.

I’ve had more than one discussion with friends and family about people who pursue their passion and make a lucrative career of it. Or, at least they make a fulfilling, purpose driven career of their passion. Whenever I discuss this I find myself as well as others lamenting our own jobs. You see we’re not ungrateful, we just lack true passion for what we do. That doesn’t make us bad at our current job but we can’t help but wonder what it would be like to seek, find and pursue our passion(s) within a career.

Finally, instead of just guessing what  makes fabulous risk takers different than people like me I decided to start a project. I’ll start by seeking an interview with them then blogging about it. Pretty simple, right?

The main purpose of the blog will be to seek truth and hopefully learn from it. But, you know I can’t change my ways. I’ll still be blogging about life events, food, projects and providing examples of misguided creativity. Really, I can’t help myself.

Please, check out my new blog, People Who Quit and subscribe if you’d like. I invite and appreciate your comments.

Oh, and thanks for reading this blog. It was random, it was fun and I appreciate you checking it out.


Communicating love for my favorite artist, Ben Harper.

You’ve most likely heard of love languages. They are the method you use (probably unconciously) to receive and give love. It’s your natural instinct telling you to hug your friend (physical touch), give encouragement (words of affirmation), visit a family member (quality time), give a meaningful gift (receiving gifts) or serve someone (acts of service). Love language, just as it sounds, is the way in which you communicate love. We all use a combination of the aforementioned but what do we rely on primarily to show love?

Typically, I think it’s easier to identify what someone else’s love language is than to identify your own. For example, my husband and mother are servants. They would do anything for you, even help you clean your house (yuck). Others of us love to just hang. We’re quality timers and this group includes myself.

As my years of life drift from few to many it becomes a bit more challenging to communicate love. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because I’m busier. Or because I don’t want to exchange a mushy, hokey moment. Perhaps I’m worried about rejection…I’m not really sure.

What I do know is, uncomfortable or not, inconvenient or not, we must tell/show our friends and family we love them. It’s required stuff. Jesus did it so it’s probably about as good for us as brussell sprouts, maybe better.

Showing and receiving love is easier when you know the language. Answer the question via this link to understand how you communicate. Then, ask your spouse, a best friend or family member if that love language sounds legit for you. Their feedback will help you determine not only how you’re perceived but also whether you’ve communicated a healthy dose of l-o-v-e.

Pregnancy allows me to recognize yet another thing we have in common as humans. We ask really inappropriate questions during inopportune times. During my pregnancy (I kid you not), I’ve heard all of the following:

  • “So, how much weight have you gained?”
  • “You’re getting Bi-Ig!” (for some reason people feel the need to sing the last word)
  • From a co-worker (not friend): “Are you coming back to work?”
  • Again, from a co-worker screaming across a cubicle: “Did you pass your glucose exam?”
  • More than one complete stranger on the elevator ride to work: “So, when are you due?”

Aside from the occassional verbal assault I’ve also taken note of non-verbal behaviors such as co-workers passing me and saying hello all the while staring straight at my rotund baby belly (eh-hem, mountain). I imagine they’re thinking one of the following phrases: “Wow she’s getting bi-Ig” or “Getting close” or worse, “Is her water going to break at work? Would I have to clean that up?”

Other non-verbal observations include the anxiety a round belly causes some folks. They have a case of Butterfly McQueen’s sentiment in Gone with the Wind–“I ain’t never birthed no babies!”

I get it, I get it, in your eyes I’m a ticking time bomb. When my water breaks, I’ll try to keep myself from aiming at your shoes.

Allergic to Athletic

I’m not sure when or why it began. From the start, my aversion to all things sports seems to be a defining part of my personality. My parents, doing their parental due diligence, put me in soccer when I was knee high to something. As expected, I was that kid playing on the side line, distracted by flowers and such. I’m pretty sure I lack the inherent competitive streak required of all true athletes.

To give a complete picture of my athletic prowess, I’ll tell the story where I asked the question “Are the Celtics in the World Cup?” ending in thunderous laughter. Oh. Wait. I pretty much blew the punch line. Regardless, you get the idea. I’m not exactly the “sporty” type.

As a result, it’s funny to hear family and friends interject their speculations of who our little Reed (33 weeks tomorrow) will be. Will he be athletic? Will he be creative? Intelligent or average? Sweet or naughty? Just as we possess little understanding of God’s character or why Sonic ice cream doesn’t melt it’s difficult to forecast who your child will be. He could have any, all or none of the aforementioned characteristics. Maybe he’ll be an off-the-wall nut forging his own path. There’s no way to be certain and this brings me pleasure. As a future parent I’m excited to nurture his strengths, shepherd his weaknesses and take oh-so-much joy in discovering who God created our little one to be.  

But, if he is athletic by some random act of God, I’ll know he doesn’t get that from his mother. Of that, I’m certain.

The phrase “pants on the ground” takes on new meaning in maternity. Early on, when Reed’s baby bump was just that–a bump, I wore the belly band to keep my regular pants from exposing my crack or allowing my pants to fall to my ankles during a meeting at work. Though the belly band is raved about among maternity circles I must say it’s not a perfect solution. During my day, the band and pants would separate so that under my shirt I resembled a white trash pregnant chick sporting a tube top.

Eventually, once the Reed bump developed in to a small mountain I graduated to full fledged maternity pants. I wish I could sing the various praises of the exalted maternity pant. Alas, I cannot. As with stilettos and the strapless bra, I am convinced these banded pants were created by a man. I find myself constantly pulling them up and wishing for old man suspenders. It’s much like the discomfort most women feel wearing tight undergarments except these are your pants. If they fall, humiliation, degradation will ensue. Keeping them on ensures you still have a shred of dignity in spite of your co-worker constantly asking how much weight you’ve gained and whether you’ve taken the glucose tolerance test yet. As long as you can still hold on to your pants, you’re still somewhat human.

All in all traveling pants and shaky pride are a small price to pay. Of course, if Reed ever asks I’ll tell him I just don’t know how I survived the months of pants wrestling and a big, fat belly. (I won’t have to mention the part where I actually enjoyed it.)

I just polished off an insane amount of Dreyer’s Nestle Drumstick ice cream. That’s right. A delicious combination of vanilla ice cream, caramel swirl, peanuts and chocolate covered cone chunks passed happily through my belly, telling baby “hello” on its sojourn through my tummy. Yum. I love food.

As previously confessed, I’ve always loved food. But there are certain things, as a pregnant gal, I find especially appealing. This list includes and is not limited to: All things vitamin Cish including lemons, oranges, lemonade/limeade, etc. Multiple lemons in ice water is a nice treat or orange juice with breakfast (or dinner).

My cousin turned me on to Carnation Instant Breakfast where I discovered a healthier, more baby friendly version of the milk shake. In a blender, you place the chocolate powder (I use two packets), 1/2 cup of ice, 3/4 cup of milk and half a frozen banana. Ever since I began drinking these, at approximately 2 in the afternoon, I begin to crave one. Last night, I passed on the salmon Austin was cooking for a big, fat shake. They are delicious (and nutritious).

Other cravings are pretty regular for me. Sweets remain a staple. Right now, with all the delectable Easter goods I find myself gourging on Reese’s pieces eggs or Cadbury creme eggs. The creme eggs have always been a favorite of mine.

So, for all the friends out there reading my blog, please know you haven’t been permanently replaced. Currently, food is my best friend. However, I predict a fair weather romance. After the baby makes an appearance and the realization that food left me with a wider behind and bigger thighs, I’ll renew my vows to all the homegirls who satisfy my craving for friendship, sans calories.

Searching for Gumption

Initiative, aggressiveness, resourcefulness, courage, spunk, guts, common sense and shrewdness. All of these words describe “gumption”. I wish I had more. I need more.

Tomorrow, I will attend yet another continuing education writing course. I have no idea what to expect. The only requirement is to bring your favorite novel with you. Unfortunately, though I would very much like to write fiction, I rarely read it. My favorite novel, which will accompany me to class tomorrow, is simply the latest novel I’ve read: The Help. It was a cute book but having taken a course at Rice University before, I know the intellectual types inevitably attending the class. While I bring a recent best seller they will bring classic novels. Books I haven’t read. Authors I’ve never heard of. Writing I may not understand or even like.

So, now what? Should I hide and run? Part of me would really like to. But, the course is paid for. Instead of true gumption I have frugality, a pragmatic nature and just a tiny bit of pride.

I’ll go to the course and hope for the best. Wish me luck.