Code Black: My Morning In Intimate Apparel

So I was in Men’s Underwear when the alarm sounded. To clarify, I wasn’t wearing briefs/boxers, but rather pushing my shopping cart past racks of underpants en route to the groceries.
“Attention Associates And Customers…” boomed a voice over the loud speaker.
“Code Black! Cease shopping! Move immediately to the center of the store!”
Nonplussed, I wandered from my cart back toward Intimate Apparel, a.k.a. the very center of the store. The World’s Largest Retailer was my first stop of the morning. I had nothing but time on my hands. No appointments scheduled, no critters in tow calling me “Mamma!”
Standing near some Associates with glowing I-Phones, I discovered we were in the midst of a tornado warning. Which, I must say, is a glorious time to People Watch. I grabbed the tiny notebook I keep in my purse, but couldn’t find a pen. Drat. These are the moments Novels are Born.
Nevertheless, I sauntered in and out of the silky-polka-dot bra and matching panties sets. I tried to gather a little piece of Americana from the crowd around me.
There were decidedly different reactions from the motley crew of folks. The store lights flickered on and off and back on again. One Associate commenced to hyperventilating between sobs. Fellow employees gathered around her. One offered to bring a chair, one commented not to worry, he’d happily step over her body and on to safety should the need arise. She was not encouraged.
An older lady wove in and out of the racks toward me. I would have claimed I’d never seen her before in my life, but she seemed to know me. She mentioned mutual friends, so we must have met at some point.
“I’ve lived through hurricanes and I’ve lived through tornadoes. It’s getting to be where any place you live there’s always some kind of disaster lurking. Lord, I wish I could get through to Aunt Jane, she’s probably at home worrying right now. Hope this rain doesn’t flood my art studio….again.” And she wandered off.
Head full of curlers, a lady chatted with an associate. “Figures, TODAY is the day I scheduled my hair.”
Some of the boys in charge of gathering shopping carts from the parking lot paced back and forth. Bored. Thinking it would be much more fun to be outside in the tornadic winds, than here in Apparel.
Beep. Beep. Beep. An elderly man put his wheel-chair cart in reverse and almost ran me over. I scooted to the front of the crowd and squinted toward the book racks. I could almost make out some of the titles. I debated a quick sprint to grab some literature, and then dash back to Intimate Apparel. I quickly realized my taste in books was slightly different from the collection before me. With a sigh, I tiptoed past Wheel-chair-cart man and toward a group of employees.
“Not even a tornado gonna keep me from my coffee break.”
“Wonder if I should call someone at the Park and check on my home?”
“Man, you have to check out Best Buy. They can match that price!”
I took out my cell phone to call The Husband. Might as well let him know where to look for me, should the tornado indeed strike. No answer. I left a message that in case of emergency, I could be found between the lacy negligee display and the control top girdles.
The lights flickered off and on again. I counted my blessings that I didn’t happen to have four children jumping in and out of my shopping cart as did the grandmother to my left.
I browsed Women’s Apparel. There is actually a clothing line called, “America’s Next Top Model.” And I debated whether to try on the imitation leather vest jacket and stretch pants from the Miley Cyrus Collection. (Who knew?) Apparently I’ve been missing out on current fashion fads. However, in my defense, my clothes are so out of style they’ve actually started to come back in-style again.
A Manager with a ginormous walkie-talkie came bursting through the store’s front door. “Code Black Lifted!” He cried triumphantly.
And the beleaguered crowd meandered back to their abandoned shopping carts and Grocery Lists. I finished my shopping. Twenty four rolls of toilet paper for the Mummy Wrap game, two boxes of Halloween sprinkle cookies, Orange Crush ¬2¬ Liters for the Ring Toss at Fall Festival, potato chips, bottles of water, a pie pumpkin. I headed for the Check Out Registers.
Good thing I wore my jogging shoes. Because one thing is always for certain: if my shopping cart is brimming with groceries….so much so that I have to actually use one hand to balance the mound of bags piled on top of one another…then the torrential downpour will commence as soon as I reach the storefront.
I look out the glass doors to get my bearings. Of course, I am parked in the very farthest point of the lot. I can’t actually SEE my car, since the rain is forming a zero visibility shield. But I remember the general location of the vehicle.
I tie together the tops of the grocery bags, place one hand on the handlebar and one hand on top of the pile o’ groceries. I burst forth into the parking lot with Chariots of Fire speed and agility. I sail through puddles, between cars, past a gentleman flipping off a van that inadvertently (I hope) splashed him. I load my soggy items into the trunk, and dive behind the wheel. (Quite literally, I mean there was water everywhere.)
Home again, home again, jiggety-jig. Not quite as exciting as huddling with strangers in Intimate Apparel. But warm, and dry. Now to unpack. I just hope my new Miley Cyrus wardrobe looks as good on me as it did on the rack…

All The World's A Stage...a.k.a. Waiting For The Bus

In “As You Like It,” Shakespeare’s melancholy Jaques ponders, “All the world’s a stage…” I’m quite sure he was referring to my front porch, specifically 15 minutes before the school bus pulls up each morning.
The Bug is a “morning person” through and through. (My husband and I question how this is even genetically possible for our offspring?) The Pea, like AJ, prefers to ease into her morning.
As we wait for what my friend MHR terms, “that yellow bus of mercy,” the Pea and I are treated to a vast array of performances. I sit on the top step holding my hot tea. The little one snuggles beside me, backpack already slung over one shoulder.
The Bug takes center stage. (A note to my children's teachers: I promise the kids are semi-presentable in clean clothes and brushed hair at one point. However, I’m reticent to make any promises once they pass the threshold commonly known as my front door.)
The Bug is a whirligig of activity. Sometimes confined to the porch, but most often not. First on her “to-do” list is a look at the empty nest within the Bradford Pear tree. Of course, the nest is buried within the top branches, so even a glimpse involves a climb. High climbs are usually reserved for the days the Bug has donned a dress or skirt. (Apparently pants are too binding for a good climb…)
Next she checks on Mr. Hoppy (a.k.a. any cricket unlucky enough to cross her path.) She likes to think Mr. Hoppy is most comfortable in his own nest of soil and grass. A nest she fashions as Mr. Hoppy bounces up her arm, into her hair – and one time into my tea cup.
Yesterday, she demonstrated side to side, shuffle, back pedal, and blitz across our driveway. “What dance are we learning?” I asked.
“MOM! It’s not a dance! It’s football!” replied the Bug. Good to know.
Often there is a morning harvest. One day the Bug delivered 62 cherry tomatoes to my step on the porch. I know because she counted them. Out loud. Twice.
Sometimes performance art segues to visual art. She’ll drop to her knees on the asphalt, sidewalk chalk in hand. (This task is particularly suited for days when white or cream colored tights are worn in lieu of socks.) She scoots around creating a masterpiece. Sometimes using her fingers to smudge a solid line into an image.
Often the Pea and I are treated to a gymnastics extravaganza. Cartwheels, handstands, head first dives into a somersault race across our muddy front yard. Sometimes I pick grass and twigs out of her hair, mulch out of her socks, dirt off her knees.
And when the bus rolls by, the two girls scamper aboard. (This week the Pea got to sit in the very back because of her “good behavior.” God love our bus driver!) And I head inside, until it’s time to cross the threshold once more in anticipation of the afternoon bus.
At which point, all bets are off, as they say. And the entire residence…front yard and back, porch and patio, garden and swing set, guest room and den, transform into the World’s Most Glorious Stage.
At least until the sun sets and the kids trudge their (cute but muddy) selves upstairs for a bubble bath…

In Which I Ponder: Love vs. Need...

“Nothing can separate us from God’s love.” Romans 8:39

My sophomore year of college, I took a course entitled, “Marriage & Family.” One particular Tuesday morning the floor was open to discussion on Love vs. Need. An interesting premise I had never considered in terms of relationships. The main question was: Do you love me because you need me? Or Do you need me because you love me?

What seemed very obvious to me, did NOT seem obvious to many of my classmates. In my way of thinking, love that is pure –especially in a life-long partnership—would be the latter. I NEED AJ because my love for him is so deep. Sure he picks up groceries, cooks meals…and technically I need those things too. But that’s not why I love him. What if everything we owned was swept away in a hurricane and we were left clinging to each other? Yes, that would be an unimaginable horror, but I would still have what I need, because AJ is what I need, because of my love for him. The love is enough.

Let’s expand that premise down one generation to the Bug and the Pea. I will always love them. From the moment they were born, the instant each of them came into this world, my love was so deep I knew there was nothing they can do to separate themselves from my love. Right now, they love me deeply, I know that. They tell me they love me. But a lot of that love is tied up in the fact that they need me for survival. They need me to feed, clothe, and take care of them when they are sick. They need me to teach them how to be productive, God-fearing members of the human race. My goal as a parent: to raise them such that, eventually, they will NOT need me for survival. I will know my work is done once the Bug & the Pea reach a point where they need me solely because they love me.

Now, from my viewpoint, let’s expand that premise up one generation. Do I love my parents because I need them? Or Do I need my parents because I love them? Again, I’d announce the latter. My parents poured their very souls into the raising of me and my brother. We rested in the knowledge that there was nothing so horrible we could possibly do that would keep us from our parents’ unconditional love. We were (and still are) spoiled rotten with love while being taught essential lessons. As children, we needed our parents for survival. But we learned. How to read and write and ride a bike. How to fold clothes and shop for groceries and mow the lawn. How to change oil, and change a tire, and (sweet merciful heavens) how to drive a stick-shift station wagon. How to plant seeds and grow gardens and run a mile. How to be kind, and serve others¸ and give selflessly because that’s what God wants us to do. How to accept grace, and look to Jesus for guidance, no matter what.

With a family of my own, I still adore being with my parents. I call them weekly with questions about cooking or car maintenance, broken lawn mower frustrations and gardening woes. When visiting, I race alongside my kids to get “hello” hugs and a kiss. I love sitting down to one of Mom’s meals, I value Dad’s perspective on big (and small) decisions. I still need them very much. Not because of what they can do for me, or how often they can “watch” the girls, or for Christmas or birthday gifts. I need them because I love them.

Now let’s take that premise to a supernatural realm. Do I love Jesus because I need Him? Or Do I need Jesus because I love Him? Last night’s episode of Glee posed the question: Is God just a Santa Claus for Grown Ups? That really hit “home” for me. How often do I treat God as a Santa Claus who will deliver my Grown Up Wish List? The answer is: all the time. I’ve felt convicted lately of my unhealthy, inverse relationship with the Lord. The bottom line is: I am on earth to serve Him, and not the opposite. He is the Master of Me, I am not the one calling the shots. I am called to love Him because of who He is, not because of what He can do for me. And not only that, but God desires this love relationship to be so very deep that if everything else, EVERYTHING, was swept away…all would be well with my soul. I would still have the love.
And His love is enough.
In His very words: “My grace is sufficient for you.” 2 Corinthians 12:9