Philanthropy Thursday - And it's About Shoes!

As we edge further away from the holidays, I think it's even more important to give some time and thought to those in need. Especially given the abysmal state of our economy both at home and abroad, I know that even though I, too, am feeling the pinch at the grocery store and the gas station, at least I can still feed my family and fuel my car. Hell, at least I even have a car. There but for the grace of God go I - especially these days.



When I was talking to Sarah the other day, you know - my shoe whore best friend - she told me about a charity that just needs to be talked about. It's Soles 4 Souls.

Did you know that over 300 million children around the world have never had a pair of shoes? Ever? That women in other countries routinely walk 50 miles a day to retrieve their daily water with nothing on their feet? Have you thought about victims of the Asian Tsunami, Hurricanes Katrina or Rita and what they might do to protect their feet after their homes and even loved ones had been washed away? Soles 4 Souls knows this - and they also know how many unworn shoes are sitting around in the average American's closet. I'm not even "addicted" to shoes, but I can guarantee that if I took stock of our home's shoe situation, I could easily box up a dozen pairs of shoes for children, women and even men.

As I think about the global economy, and people all over the world who go without the most basic necessities while I have a closet stuffed with my heart's desires, I feel compelled to act. I hope you do, too.

Today I am boxing up our shoes. You can do it, too. Summer is coming - and we all know that for most of us that means cute summer sandals. Even if it's just a cute pair from Payless - why not clear out your closet and make room for the new, while taking your gently worn shoes (or new if you're feeling really generous!) and sending them to Soles 4 Souls.

Stinky Target Woman - I Curse Thee

I was just in Target, rushing around with the boys trying to get a few necessities (jumbo box of tampons being one of the necessities) before picking up the girls from school. It was well past Jack's nap/lunch time, but I was stuck, since it's an early release day.

Jack was very unhappy with the situation, and instead of using his words to indicate his displeasure (boys in my family start using their words around four, anyway) he decided it best to convey his incredibly pissy mood with a series of eardrum bursting shrieks and screams. I was already on edge (note previous reference to tampons) and had just cut the hell out of my thumb on a whiffle ball set that I was trying to beat my son into submission with placate my son with - so I threw the last couple of purchases into the cart and hot footed it to the nearest checkout.

I was second in line, and the woman who was being waited on turned and looked at me. Then her glance rested on Jack and she asked me, in a way that let me know she wasn't full of compassion for her fellow woman, "Is that him?"

I knew what she meant. But I just looked at her and forced a pleasant smile on my face, and arched my brows as if to act confused. Clearly, this irritated her.

"Is that the kid who was, uh, exercising his lungs?"

I smiled a little bigger and nodded my head. "Mmmm hmmm," I responded. I just wanted her to leave, to pay for my stuff, and get closer to home so I could put him down for a nap.

She gave me the once over - you know the classic look to assess just who it is you're about to be bitchy to - and grabbed her receipt from the cashier. "Well," she huffed, "my head is still splitting." And she marched off.

Honest to God I deserve a medal for not pushing the cart (with Jack still in it) toward her and pinning her to the ground with it so he could really give her an earful. I'm sure that some time tonight I will bolt up in bed and scream out the PERFECT RETORT in my sleep. But as is my luck, I simply froze and stared at her retreating figure and thought how very much her skirt looked like upholstery you would have found on my dead grandmother's davenport (they didn't have couches pre-1979). And how much makeup she was wearing.

So yeah, take THAT Mary Kay upholstery woman.

Happy Feet...Sort of

"Mom?"

"Yes, Jacob."

"My legs are happy inside."

"What?"

"My legs. When I think about my birthday party, my legs get all happy inside."

Someone turns six soon.....

Moms Whine Too

There are rare moments in parenting where I am allowed glimpses into the adults my kids will soon become (and I say soon only because I am old and I know that the time will whizz by regardless). For a brief shiny bit of time I am allowed to push back the curtain of adolescence and gaze into a future that holds a funny, sharp, neat person. Not that they aren't all of those things now - they are - but let's be honest. Junior high aged girls aren't exactly known for their consistency and all around likeability for a couple of years.

Yesterday I had a hard time getting back into the mom groove - compounded by my ever present peri-menopause PMS, a grouchy baby who decided it was best to shriek much of the day, and my desire to crawl into bed and nap for four hours, it wasn't a good day. In my attempt to alleviate some tension in the car on the drive home from school, I joked around with Chloe, who was sitting in the front seat. We quickly started an exchange that had me as Maddie and her as the annoying little sister. I could feel the tightness in my shoulders ease up just a little bit as I pretended to hit her shoulder and whine, "Chloe, stooop telling me what to do! You're not the boss of me!" I must say, my teenage whine is nearly perfected - and that unique inflection of the young is fun to execute in a mocking manner. I came to a red light and sat there, a smile playing on my face. Teasing my kids happens to be one of the best ways to brighten my mood.

As the light changed and I drove through the intersection, I heard a long, pained sigh from the backseat. It was Maddie.

"You kids are driving me crazy. You have no IDEA how much I have to put up with. What with your bickering, my job, your father....I'm going to need a glass of wine with dinner."

She was dead on - I couldn't stop laughing all the way home.

Hey Sunshine! The random number generator picked the number one - which is you - so congrats! You win the Real Simple sub! Shoot me an email!

I'm so Tired I am Actually Looking forward to This.....

After seven grueling days in a row at the hospital I am so ready for a day as a stay at home mom. In fact I am so grateful not to have to torture my feet (heels), face (smiles) and mind (uh - technical stuff) that I am actually looking forward to being tortured later this morning by her:

Do y'all see the woman in the middle? The one with the impossibly flat abs and muscles and things? She is my personal trainer. Would you like to know how it feels to be soft, out of shape and lumpy? Just show up in a pair of yoga pants and a tattered Gap t-shirt to this woman's studio. Trust me. I actually feel pretty good about myself, especially since I've had four kids - but when I walk into her serene studio, with the bamboo floors, torture equipment strengthening tools and bicycles lined up and waiting to hurt me, and I see Caroline ready to get to work in something cute, tight, made of lycra, and clearly not concealing any lumps, I feel a bit differently about myself. I suck in my stomach (I just can't quite call them abs yet) a lot around this woman.

Kristi and I have been seeing her pretty regularly, although I have taken lots of breaks for work, sick kids, whatever. So Kristi has a whittled waist and I still eat dairy and lovingly caress my collection of Spanx each morning. But today - bring it. Bring it, Caroline. Talk to me about healthy foods I am not eating, the water I'm not getting enough of, don't believe me when I tell you I have ripped my "lats" off my back when you force me to attempt a chin up - I don't care. Today I am ready.

Stay tuned for the Real Simple winner...coming after my torture session....

The Great Age Divide And Great Magazine Giveaway

I can't wait to sit down at the computer this weekend and post something other than the dribble I've been doing this week - by the time I get home I have been so fried that a typical post sounds something like brzzzthpfft and all I can think about writing about is maybe the turkey sandwich I ate for lunch.

I have been working on some more Air Force Wife Pieces and some other projects (Jamie - I swear I'll email you this weekend!) so please bear with me.

I do have one funny tidbit. The other day at a hospital meeting with several different units a young social worker came and sat next to me. Did I say young? I meant to say fetal. Seriously - she was like twelve. Am I so old that the new college graduates look like my children now?

Anyway - as I sat there feeling withered and ancient she tapped at the table and looked around. Her eyes rested on me and she said, "Hey. What up?"

What up? This simple salutation had me feeling like Ma Ingalls or some school marm from a Turner Classic Movie. It froze me. I think I actually straightened my spine and cracked a pathetic smile and said, "Hello. My, lunch surely smells divine, does it not?"

I need to work on my assimilation skills.

For your patience with my bloggy-loserness (and lack of visiting all of your blogs which I promise to remedy) I am giving away a magazine subscription today. I'll pick a commenter to receive one year of Real Simple (or other if you already have that) this Sunday. So please tell me you're still reading even though I suck and then I can send you something even more fun to read!

Happy May Day!

Assuming that there is no snow on the ground for any of you - May is finally here. Collective sigh....Thank you.

My kids will be dancing around the Maypole at school today, wearing clothes to match the ribbons they have been assigned. Bob will be there with the kids and I will be running around the hospital with my trainer learning how to get information from ICU patients who are intubated. Sounds easy enough.

As this week comes to a close, I realize that I am still just as excited - probably more so now - to enter the work force. I am also equally grateful that it is just part time. In one short week I have missed out on quite a bit at home. So bring it on, hospital, just bring it on in 20 hours a week or less!

Go twirl your ribbons in celebration of spring and flowers and let some warm sunshine fall down on your shoulders.