ode to a note

When I was in elementary school, the one where I had to bring my lunch, every so often I would find, stuck neatly in between the contents of my brown paper bag, a sweet note from my mama.

Handwritten notes are very important.  Especially in the age of 30-second, spur-of-the-moment text messages, e-mail, Facebook, and Twitter.


{We'll talk about the lost art of the face to face conversation some other day}

I've been reading a book about how the culture of Starbucks supports progress by following certain leadership principles.  The other day, I read the chapter about caring like you really care.  In that chapter, Howard Behar, the author, recounts how he sent a hand-written card to every employee on his or her birthday.  Every employee.  Every. single. one. of. them.

Whoa.

I mean, I spent a whole 31 days {ish} focusing on sweetness.  And.  I definitely covered the idea of caring like I care, even though I didn't really know that's what someone else had already called it.

I even planned to write a little ditty about the good 'ol thank you note.

But I didn't.

This week, though, I have been putting the idea of thank you notes into action.  With a twist.

The school where I teach uses a unique system to help track students' behavior and attendance over the course of a week.  The students carry a 4x5 in card to each of their classes, during class the teacher is able to mark if the student is not doing what he/she is supposed to be doing and the student is able to earn incentives if they have less than 3 marks on their card on Friday.

Because I hold on to the card during the hour and give it back to the student before they leave, I decided to use my trusty and super cute posty-note pad to leave encouraging notes to random students.  I don't write their names or mine on the note, because I don't want the kids to be embarrassed by the praise {or that I may have noticed they were feeling particularly down}; they know the note is for them because it is on their card and that is from me because it wasn't there when they gave it to me at the beginning of the hour.

I've given out five this week.

Most of the students have been very grateful and almost seemed to not believe that nice things could be said about them.  It makes me happy to know that they know I see the good in them.

charming my way to dry socks

Back in the day, when I used to save money all year long so that I could ship myself off to camp for a couple weeks during the summer, I loved me some archery.

Except, I wasn't all that good at it.

Especially when I took the time to aim.

Ehh.  It happens.

Then, a couple of years ago, I tried to take up golf.  My golf game is much like my archery game, except I was much more fashionably dressed for my one and only official tee time.

And all of this has to do with my new dryer.  I promise.

I've always admired those people who could strategically charm their way into deals and discounts, but I just never could master the art.

Until Sunday.  When my dryer broke.  Right at the exact moment that I had finally psyched myself up to wash all twenty-five loads that had begun crowding me out of my bedroom.

Not really, I only had two to do.  But still.

So I was a damsel in distress, but I wasn't acting, when I sulked into my local appliance supplier and then sulked some more when I realized that a new gas dryer costs just about twice the amount as the new tires I've been praying to save up for before December.  Sigh.

I'm not sure if it was the sulking sob story, the compassion-filled eulogy of my trusty old convenience, or the animated manner in which I attempted to cope with this last straw that had been added to the camel's back, but the salesman magically adjusted the price of my new dryer to roughly the equivalent of new tires.

Bullseye.

Apparently, my charm works quite a bit like the astute way I'm able to maneuver a bow and arrow or golf club.

Which is great, because air-drying my underwear and socks is just weird.

i don't wanna wear pants

When I was a kid, my mom consistently fought with me over two pieces of clothing.  Turtlenecks and dresses.  Eventually, she gave up both fights.

Flash forward thirty odd years.

I've been back at work now for a whole nine days, and I've determined that I'm over pants.  I'm sure they have their place and that I'll love them again someday.  But even my good 'ol worn-in jeans are just not doing it for me right now, it doesn't even seem to matter how high the heels or how cute the shirt.  The world just seems better in a skirt.

Currently these are the reasons why I hate pants:

Wearing pants means going back to work.

Going to work means that my leisurely mornings and morning runs have been deduced to being haphazardly fit in.

It's so hard to feel fun and flirty in a pair of pants.  At least it is for me currently.

Driving my car is not nearly as much fun in pants.  I don't know why, I know this is an odd one, but there's something powerful about wearing a cutie sun dress while driving a muscle car with windows down, hair up, and the music loud.   I'm also aware that this makes me a boarder-line train-wreck.  I'm not at all bothered by this.  possibly proud.  

It is still hot outside and I really do sweat more in those things.  eew.

I'm pretty sure that I am not as sweet or patient in pants.  This is a big deal.  I need all the help that I can get.

My mom thinks this is hilarious, by the way.  I'm glad she does.  Really.  Really, I am.  As I drive my car to work in the morning, constricted at the waist, all business like (I know that's what I'm supposed to look like, ugh, I know) and ish.  She's laughing.  

Tomorrow, I'm going to Macy's.  Toodles.

marriage and a baby carriage

Source: simplydiamonds.com.au via Doloritas on Pinterest

I go to a good job every day.  I have a master's degree.  I own my own home and drive a nice car.  I pay my bills on time and have a decent credit score as a reflection of that effort.  I have a strong resume and two generally well-behaved dogs.  I am healthy, active, and happy.  I am absolutely blessed without a doubt, and am thankful for every aspect of my life.

That doesn't mean that there are not things that could enhance it.  I pray every night for someone with whom to share all of these blessings.  I pray for children to awaken my home with laughter.  I pray for the opportuntiy to wake up every morning next to the man I love most.  I pray for the job title of mom, wife,  homemaker, and superwoman.

Maybe it's because I've gotten all of my ambitions out of the way; maybe it's because I know I'm going to be okay, regardless of what the future holds; maybe it's because I can honestly say that I don't need my neighbor to come and cut up the big 'ol tree branch that fell on my house last weekend because I can confidently and successfully do it myself; but honestly, I want to be cared for.

When I wanted to become a teacher, there was a plan in place for that.  When I wanted to buy a house, I followed all of the steps.  Every time I have purchased a car, there has been a familiar routine to follow.  I pay my bills according to the rules and followed a template to write my resume.  The dogs, eh, well, it's a process.  There is no guideline, rule book, or template to meeting my future partner in crime.

Oh.  Wait a minute.  There are plenty.  If I haven't read them all, I've read most of them.

Source: d30opm7hsgivgh.cloudfront.net via Jonesy on Pinterest

Maybe I'll set the plight of feminists back a couple hundred of years, but I've decided that just because I can do the work of a man does not mean that I do not deserve to be treated like a lady.  Fair and equal are not the same things.  And so, I will: paint my nails, write thank you notes on pretty cards, allow a man to pay for my meal and open my door, wear dresses, and get a little teary during sentimental commercials.  I will not apologize for being a woman and I will relish the man who appreciates it.

Sure, I'm super appreciative for all that women in history have done to pave the way for all of the amazing things and experiences that I have been granted or able to earn.  I revel in the knowledge that I have not felt the pressure to settle for less than I deserve on any front.  But I wonder sometimes if I have learned to be too independent, too self-sufficient, too outspoken.  I don't want to be dumb, defenseless, or mute; but I also don't want to be treated like a man, like I'm easy, or like I'm disposable.

Hello

So, the next book on my impromptu reading list is one about how to get married in a year.  The whole idea seems a little silly to me, but maybe if I'm really honest, I'll admit that there's a little hope that something along that fairy tale line might happen to me.  At any rate, I'm not gonna even mention the title of the book here, because I'm a little disgruntled by it.  Mostly, because I can't afford a personal shopper, don't really think that finding a good man requires Botox, and I ABSOLUTELY refuse to purchase a pair of black velvet pants.  Maybe I'm wrong.  I AM the single one here.  Ha!

I was about to put the book down in disgust last night, when I read the challenge.  Say "hi" to three people while you're out and about tomorrow.  That's it.  Just. Say. Hi.  

I went to bed PUMPED, I tell you!  My head was full of fantasy sequences that involved me saying hello, finding lovely people to chat with over coffee, and falling in love with some handsome stranger that I engaged with a simple hello.  There were roses and butterflies everywhere.  It was just beautiful.  Those rose colored glasses were just about surgically attached to my retinas! I got myself so worked up, it took me two whole hours to fall asleep!

Before I fell asleep, I made a list of the one and only rule:

1. Store employees don't count for my 3 - they're always unappreciated and deserve, at the very least, to be acknowledged!

Flash forward to today.  The time is currently 4:09 p.m. and I am sad to report that I have failed.  I mean. Epic.  Failed.  How does the person who actively smiles at everyone she passes fail at saying hello to the same people she is smiling at???  Really.  

Maybe it was because I was crabby from not getting to bed at a reasonable time because of my stupid awake dreaming.  Or because I had to drive an hour and a half, round trip, to get to a meeting that lasted two hours.  Or because while I was at that meeting, I was asked if I was still training for "that" marathon in January and I had to say no.  OR because it was 96 degrees outside at 7:00 in the morning.  

Maybe its the fact that the only errand I had to run today was to the hardware store for a plunger.  By the way, I'd like to express to ya'll how much more embarrassing it was for me to buy a plunger than possibly any other single thing I've ever purchased before in my life!  

In hindsight...

Maybe I should have read Everyone Poops a couple of times before I went, or pretend that the clogged toilet was the product of some obnoxious boy (because everyone knows that girls don't poop), or simply used it as a walking stick to make light of the situation. I was about mortified as I watched the construction guy as he looked at me in the face, looked down at the plunger, and back up at my face again.  

Maybe I should have given myself a pep talk.  After all, being brave about two insignificant things is almost like hard labor.  I mean, its almost ridiculous to ask a person to say hello to passing human beings while purchasing a plunger.  

I blame the plunger!

So what about you?  Is it easy for you to talk to strangers?  What helps you?  Help me out ya'll, I'm trying to loosen up here :)

A Spoonful of Sugar?

I first fell in love with Joyce Carol Oates, then Faulkner, then the Southern Gothic genre as a whole.  Then, after visiting my friend in South Carolina and vacationing in Georgia, I just simply fell in love with the South.  Currently I live vicariously as fantastically Southern as possible through books, blogs, and Paula Deen.  I suppose I'm practicing here in my Northern city until the day that I can finally afford to migrate.

At any rate, I've recently been practicing the art of flirting as Ronda Rich has so kindly outlined for my poor misguided Northern self.  I must say, I think I'm doing a pretty good job and I know I'm a happier person for it!  And its all fine and dandy to be flirty and fun when the world is offering scrumptious hor d'oeuvres off of a silver platter, but I'll tell you what, today has sure been a test!  I don't always think before I speak; but today, I thanked God about a hundred times that the oh-so frustrating conversation in question was via e-mail and therefore forced me to choose my words a bit more wisely.  Its so much harder to press send on the I-would-really-like-to-tell-you-about-yourself email now that I'm a big girl.  Ugh :/

Luckily, this little crisis occurred in the privacy of my own home. I keep reminding myself that Ms. Rich has promised me that the trait of "charminacity" is one to reckon with (and also that I am simply too cute to ruin it by feeling so ugly about the situation).  You will all be happy to know that I have devised a constructive plan of action complete with research, outlines, and most importantly, questions; I have scheduled a date with myself to perfect my manicure; and I have continuously visualized me in a meeting with this woman (or her boss, she can choose) being pleasant, respectful, and collected all the while calling her bluff :)