Toe Jam

I thought this was pretty cool. Scientists have developed a tape that mimicks the toes of a gecko. If you know nothing of gecko toes, let me fill you in. Geckos have millions of tiny hairs on each foot called setae. I thought that was a piece of furniture, but it turns out that that's a settee... anyways, geckos. These microscopic keratin hairs have a connection on a molecular level, in other words, they actually form a molecular bond, with any surface they come in contact with. The staying power of each individual hair isn't much, but added together, it's powerfully "sticky:" sticky enough for a gecko to hang from just one toe upside down on a glass surface and be mighty comfortable. Scientists have been trying for years to duplicate the amazingness that happens on one gecko's toe and they've finally come up with something similar. I just think it's absolutely incredible that God put that amount of coolness into the toe of a gecko. This really makes me want to jam out and praise God, because you know if He put that much into such a small thing, His thoughts for us are big and numerous. My toes aren't that cool, but I have a Spirit that can communicate directly with God's Spirit and I'm made in His image. He knew me before I was born and has made great plans for my life. He wants to prosper me and lift me on wings like eagles. He has prepared the way before me and has caused Grace and Mercy to follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in His house forever!

I thought some of you might be interested in a basic Rumba lesson. As much as I would like to do it myself, I don't understand yet how to get video of my own on here.
So grab a man, or a child if you're a mom without access to a man right now, and try it out!

meltdown

I think I'm having a bit of a mommy meltdown. (That needs to be the name for some kind of awesome chocolate dessert.) I betcha this happens to just about all first-time mommies. I know I'm not unique, but sometimes that's helpful and sometimes it's not.
This next part must all be read with a Valley Girl accent because it just seems appropriate for this type of whining:
Like, here's the deal. I guess I'm, like, super-selfish or something, because, I am so upset that I really don't get to do, like, anything anymore! I was thinking this week about how I used to go out dancing, like, every week, and then I thought, "I could totally do that again! I just need to, you know, figure out where to go here in Jackson and then just do it! Totally!" But then I was like, "Oh yeah, I've got a kid to take care of." And then I got majorly depressed because if I was into, like, painting, or something, I could totally stay home and do that, but, no, I want to dance. And there have been other things too, like at church the other day, I was thinking that I could help with the kids camp because they have this really awesome program that includes, you know, drama and dance and stuff. But again, I realized I can't even do that. I can't even go take a class myself! or, you know, take my husband to a class or anything!

Gotta go, the baby's crying.

Favorite Friday

In the interest of sharing even more about myself than I already do, I would like to share with all who read my blog some of my favorite things. I will try to post a video that represents my favorite thing every Friday and some info for those that want a little education to go along with their entertainment.

I began ballroom dancing in college and then taught professionally for 2 years after college. I love, love, love almost any kind of social dancing, but Rumba has been my favorite latin dance for some time now. The video at right shows a professional couple dancing the Rumba in competition. The things that draw me to the Rumba are it's beutiful, undulating, sensual expression and the often passionate, heart-tugging music that accompanies it. I have changed my playlist to give some examples of other songs one could dance the Rumba to.

Some info on the history of the Rumba courtesy of www.latindanceforever.com

"There are two sources of the dances: one Spanish and the other African. Although the main growth was in Cuba, there were similar dance developments which took place in other Caribbean islands and in Latin America generally. The original "rumba influence" came in the 16th century with the black slaves imported from Africa.
As recently as the second world war, the "Son" was the popular dance of middle class Cuba. It is a modified slower and more refined version of the native Rumba. Still slower is the "Danzon", the dance of wealthy Cuban society. Very small steps are taken, with the women producing a very subtle tilting of the hips by alternately bending and straightening the knees.
The American Rumba is a modified version of the "Son". The first serious attempt to introduce the rumba to the United States was by Lew Quinn and Joan Sawyer in 1913. Ten years later band leader Emil Coleman imported some rumba musicians and a pair of rumba dancers to New York. In 1925 Benito Collada opened the Club El Chico in Greenwich Village and found that New Yorkers did not know what Rumba was all about.
In Europe, the introduction of Latin American dancing (Rumba in particular) owed much to the enthusiasm and interpretive ability of Monsieur Pierre (London's leading teacher in this dance form). In the 1930's with his partner, Doris Lavelle, he demonstrated and popularized Latin American dancing in London.
Pierre and Lavelle introduced the true "Cuban Rumba" which was finally established after much argument, as the official recognized version in 1955.
Rumba is the spirit and soul of Latin American music and dance. The fascinating rhythms and bodily expressions make the Rumba one of the most popular ballroom dances."



Enjoy!

God meant what He said

So, I haven't written since my parents were here.... because I just had too much negative stuff I wanted to say. I don't think this is really the appropriate place for that, so I was waiting for my brain to stop dwelling on that and it's taken 4 days. Before I go on with the blog I'd planned, I feel I should honor my parents by saying that I really do appreciate the sacrifice they made to drive here and back just for the weekend. Driving's really no fun for them at all. I appreciate them completely understanding that our schedule doesn't allow us to visit them. There's been no complaining, just the decision on their part to come here if they feel the need to see us.

Onward. I have a page on Facebook that I really enjoy updating, especially now that we're so so far from all our freinds. I put some new pictures of our home on there and one in particular was commented on by a friend of mine from college. The picture was of our buffet in our dining room where I have much of my grandma's glassware displayed. The comment from my friend was that the glassware was likely to get broken in a couple years when we have a toddler running around. I responded that I wouldn't mind putting it away, but that she would be trained to "look don't touch." Now, this friend of mine loves to stir me up, because he knows I love a debate. In fact, over one Christmas break in college we wrote back and forth over 30 pages of emails debating various issues of my faith. I like keeping sharp, but I've had a realization since then that, yes, we should have an answer to why we believe, but one upping is never the goal and winning is never the goal. If you "win" an arguement or debate, you have never won their heart. I really regret all the debating I've done with this individual in the past. He's extremely smart... a thinker, so I thought he needed to be challenged on that level. The heart is so much deeper, though. Back to the story: His response to me saying I would train my daughter was, "See, the indoctrination already begins! What about her autonomy and ability to think of herself? Such stern words will only lead her towards a path of rebellion in her teenage years." Grrr. This kind of foolishness makes my heart start beating fast and my fingers bang as I type. I had just read that morning...

Proverbs 9: 7-8a
7 Anyone who rebukes a mocker will get an insult in return. Anyone who corrects the wicked will get hurt. 8 So don’t bother correcting mockers; they will only hate you.


I knew not to say anything back... (you know what comes next in this sentence) but I did. I HAD to. It was such a rediculous way to think! I had to show him how rediculous it was, right? He said it to me, so it's my job to correct it, right?
What's the real issue here? My pride. My pride might be hurt if I let him think that I hadn't thought through what I was doing. My pride would be hurt if one person (in front of all the other people that come to look at my facebook page) thought that my plan for my daughter would be to her detriment.
Uhuh. So I tried to correct a mocker and what does Solomon say I should expect in return? Vindication? A righting of wrong thinking? Satisfaction? None of these is listed. Only hatred from my friend who I felt the need to correct.
Good game. Great "win." Let's shake hands all 'round.
And not do that again.

Ahhhhhhh!

My parents will be arriving in town to visit for the weekend in about an hour. Ahhhhhhhhhh!!! It's the first time they've come to OUR house that we OWN. panic! panic! everythingneedstolookperfect!!
I just need to let it out for a second, so this is going to be a short, non-insightful blog.
Is that a speck of paper or a spot of paint on the floor? Is the stuff I still need to put away multiplying or was I just blind before today? Was there a hurricane overnight or has all that pinestraw and other debris always been on the driveway? Did the kudzu that's eating the cute bushes near my door get extra hungry today, or has it always completely covered those cute bushes?
Geez louize!!
Gotta go,
Lordhelpme.

The Muffin Police

Yes, that's right, the Muffin Police. What in the world or who in the world are the Muffin Police, you ask? Well, I thought I would let everyone in on this title, first received by my dad several years ago. It's been a very helpful three words over the years, so much so, that I brought it into my marriage with me so that my husband could use it in appropriate situations. I'm sure that it is something we will continue using for years to come. I am very sad to say that I earn this title much too often. You see, it's actually an undesirable descriptor. Shall I tell you where it came from?
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There was a very simple, all too common happening one evening at a restaurant that my parents were dining at years ago. First, let me tell you one thing about my parents.... well, I don't think I need to. Let the story speak for itself. So they were eating at this restaurant that served muffins before your meal came, you know, instead of rolls or other bread. My dad watched as a woman in a booth near them stuffed the yummy little muffins in her purse and then asked for more when the waiter came by. My dad was just about to walk to her booth and say something like "What if everybody that ate here took a whole basket of muffins home with them? Do you think the restaurant would mind?" or something even wittier and more cutting than that. (He's very witty. I can be too, unfortunately.) My mom stopped him before he could get up and asked "Are you the Muffin Police?"
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What a great question that has been for my life. Over and over again, I have asked myself whether or not I want to wear the badge of the Muffin Police. It's a position, unfortunately, that I was trained for all my life. Excellence with a dash of perfectionism, goals with a lack of grace, critical thinking with a pinch of criticism and standards with a smattering of legalism are the classes at the academy for Muffin Police. I took all of them. It's been somewhat of a joke. A way to diffuse a thought or feeling that I need to "fix" something or someone because my eagle eye caught them in sin. It's a way to laugh at the urge and, for a moment, see that it is useless and foolish.
I could tell you at least five anecdotes even from just the past couple of days where I have had to stop my thoughts from traveling on their judgemental pathway. That path is so well worn, it's a rut now, a trough. My mind has practiced that route over and over and over and over.
But now that I have a precious girl's heart in my care, I can see that I have never dealt with my heart issue... the heart issues that cause me to whip out my badge and ticket pad and begin to strut over to the unsuspecting individual. It's no laughing matter anymore. I don't want my daughter to take the same classes at The Academy that I did. I want to teach excellence balanced with the recognition of her individuality. I want to teach goals infused with grace, mercy and encouragement. I want to teach critical thinking that divides joint from marrow, distinguishes black from white from gray and yet refuses to criticize. I want to teach the standards of the Word with a deep understanding of the issues of the heart.
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God help me!! Help me teach what I never learned. Teach me, so I can teach her. Oh God, help.