playing can be so confusing

*this just in: I wrote something new for Mama Manifesto and it's up over there today. It hopefully paints a picture and sends a message and resonates. If not, it's just about my own bouncy brain and crap television. See you there. I mean, if you go over there. Nicely.

And also:


Miles and Asher had a combined birthday party recently. Both sides of the family were there, so people who don't know each other that well from either side were all there. (And yes, it was quite redundant of me to explain that.) Above, you will see Cousin O, to the right, with the squirt gun. And at the far left is Cousin M. Cousin O and Cousin M have rarely been around each other.

Which brings me to this conversation between Cousin M (left) and an adult family member.

Cousin M - Is O a boy or a girl? (see long-haired boy on the right)
Adult - He's a boy.
Cousin M - (skeptically) Are you sure?
Adult - Yes, I'm very sure.
Cousin M - (said like he has a huge secret) Do you think Miles knows that???

The hilarity here is that of course, as a closer family member, Miles does know the sex of his Cousin O. But Cousin M just could not be convinced. He seemed to feel someone needed to tell Miles right away, and therefore, he explained, as the wiser and older of the two- Miles, your Cousin O is a boy, but I still think she's a girl.

To which Miles responded, No, she's not a girl. He's a boy.

Dude. Kids are hilarious.

The End.

{Disclaimer: All parental parties know the details of this story and find it funny. No offense was taken at the assumption of Cousin O's sex. Because it happens all the time. He can be wearing a Spiderman costume and people still assume, because of the long hair, that he is a girl. His parents think it's hilarious.}

This post is a part of You Capture at I Should Be Folding Laundry

toolbox of the soul

Every once and a while the thought passes through my mind that I should get started on painting the kitchen. We still have much to do in updating our not-so-new-to-us-anymore house, and we're still trying to take it one room at a time. Anyway, I don't ever start painting, that's what I'm trying to tell you. First of all, I actually quite hate painting, it's far too mind-numbing for me. I abhor endless repetitive sameness, unless we're talking about a daily routine that makes me feel safe, but then again, that gets old, too.

Hellooooo ADD brain!

What was I saying? Okay, so. Painting. You see, the thing is, I can't get started. I know I won't get started unless I ask Ryan to get started for me. And then I have to get out of the way because he's coming up and down the stairs and looking for all the right things and it's best if I mind my own business while he does that. He always, sooner or later, locates all the right tools, newspaper for the floor, brushes and rollers, painter's tape, and pans to pour the paint in for said rollers. Then he even pours the paint in the pan on my behalf and maybe even makes a couple of swipes with a brush around the woodwork and light switches to get me started. Which reminds me, he also has to do the taping.

After I see that these things are on a roll, I'm less overwhelmed, I feel release and relief and I just paint. It's still not something I love, but I feel freed up somehow, able to engage and move my arms and just keep going with all the tools around me. At this point, I don't mind the task as much as I thought I would.

I think this is what God does with the creative spirit. If we get out of the way, we're able to do what we were made to do. If we get out of the way, he's able to come up the stairs with all the tools we need. If we stop thinking about how long it's going to take or all the details involved, he can't inspire. If we're thinking too hard when we're writing for instance, we only come up with contrived words that frustrate us with how terrible they are. But if we trust that the tools are being provided, just like I trust Ryan to give me what I need to start painting, I trust that I have what I need, and I just write.

There's a spiritual thing that happens from this vessel of our souls, a freedom that comes with the belief in provided tools. Then we paint beautifully and love the endless repetitive sameness of the writing task.

I thought about this after I took the boys to the lake yesterday. Because even though I wanted to sit and force myself to write, my head was too full and my frustration level too high. And I knew the lake was what they needed and maybe that is why the experiences of the day ended up being just the tools I needed to write from my heart-gut. Maybe doing something for someone else is often the inspiration that we need.

The water and the sky and the fun my boys were having were all filled with inspiration, climbing into my toolbox soul, for later, when the words poured to the page, prepared in advance for me.

I don't know why this photo rotated itself, but I guess it looks kinda cool,
so I'm leaving it. Sometimes we just have to leave things the very way they come out.

{This post is a part of Tuesdays Unwrapped at Chatting at the Sky.}

helping: a picture story

Every year around 20,000 people gather in our small Midwestern town, driving from all over the state and neighboring states for camping and music.

People come to the concerts hours early, holding their space as close to the front as they can. There's a fence to hold them back and a large gap in front of that fence in front of the stage. Usually that gap is filled with volunteers, security, people restricted to wheelchairs, and family and friends of band members.

I love The David Crowder Band, so I stopped helping backstage (my mom is one of the creators of the festival, so we help each year) to go stand in the gap. I love to turn around every once and a while to look back over the jumping and screaming crowd.

At one point, I turned around to see this:


Apparently, a young man had been content to stay in the crowd despite the fact that he wouldn't be able to see much.

But a few fellow crowd-ers obviously thought he should have a better view.



I just loved it. There was something so moving (and maybe a little dangerous) about this gesture. He wasn't up there for long, but he enjoyed an entire song, very near the front, with a bird's eye view.

David Crowder Band

I love it when I randomly spot acts of kindness. They are there all the time, amidst the growing crowd. I wonder what it would be like if we paid more attention to these acts than the bad news?

wooooo hoooo!


P.S. Just so you know, after The Crowder Band was finished, it's possible that myself and three friends drove a golf cart through the backstage area, me at the wheel pretending to tweet from my phone, while yelling "Twitter will kill you!!!" And it's possible that we very purposely passed very near David Crowder and nearly ran into a large bus. And it's possible that David then yelled back, "It will! It will!" It's possible that happened, but I'm not saying.

(As a Twittering geek, I love the YouTube Rockumentary by the David Crowder Band entitled Twitter Will Kill You It's one of my very most favorites ever.) (If you haven't seen the David Goes to the Dentist thing on YouTube, the end will make no sense to you. But if you love Twitter, the rest will still totally crack you up.)

(My dog is snoring in such a way that I keep thinking it's my phone buzzing. Then I think of Twitter.)

(Can I give you a huge Thank You one more time for all the comment love and support and encouragement over this whole book thing? And the reality show thing? Who knows what will happen with the show, you know? It will come down to whether or not I'm chosen and if at that point Ryan and I feel that whatever format is chosen for the show is something that would be a positive experience for our family.) (I have no idea if that made sense.) (Am tired.)

(The End.)

I hear the click and feel the whoosh and I'm ready to (step-step) walk through that door

Hi, my name is Heather and I'm here because I have a story to tell. Actually, pretty much everything I'm experiencing as of late is coming alive with what my friend Ann calls a fireworks display of story-telling. I feel like a bit of a spectator to myself, while I watch doors opening like I never even once dreamed they would.

Click, the locks are turned and the creak of the swinging door blasts through my ears while I wait for the BANG! It's exhilarating and shocking and terrifying. I sit dumbfounded at the chance to share my entire story, all that my heart-gut leads me to tell, through a book.

I will meet with an agent in New York City while I am there for the BlogHer conference. I will sign my name. And then I will surrender to the chaos of life as I juggle writing, motherhood, being a wife, blogging and speaking engagements, and oh yes, sobriety.

(You should see it, the way I run circles, it's highly entertaining.)

I am in the blogging world to tell my story, of addiction, motherhood, surrender and truth. This crazy and mixed up online world has always been my place for transparency. I want to connect and inspire, and I remind my readers of that quite often. Thankfully, so far, many of you are along for the ride and support me with such grace, it's astounding, really. And because of you, a completely talented and passionate agent discovered this space. Please know, I think it's because of you, receiving my words the way that you do and inspiring me to continue to pour out my heart and soul in this space.

My story is unfolding rapidly, as we speak. I am on a roller coaster ride like never before, toward publishing a book. This is what makes my story unique-this rapid pace and me, who I am. There is only one Heather with only one voice. She is the only one who can describe addiction and motherhood in her particular way. The only one who can answer the emails and watch lives change because of the telling of her truths. She is open, like a lake, to the enormous potential of this calling. She is free, finally, to fill in the gaps and stand in-between and bellow out words that miraculously cause change. Every day, more emails of change. Not because of her, but through her.

Yes, there she is, doing that. Not on her own but through a divine calling she never expected.

She is me, and I'm here to tell my story.

(and she never likes to toot her own horn, but she's trying hard to believe, to really believe. So thank you for putting up with her.)

{This post is my submission to be considered in an endeavor called Project Mom Casting. I am entering this post to be considered for casting in a television reality series, oh yes I am. Have I lost my mind? I think not. I'm simply willing and able to take this ride if given the chance, to tell my story. I would love to be a part of the first reality TV show focused on mom bloggers with stories to tell (and we all have one). If you'd like to be considered, check out the Project Mom Casting facebook page for details.}

Friends. Oh, friends. This comment section? Right down there? It embodies grace like so many things, and yet stands all on its own with your support. It is why, YOU are why, I'm invested in this online community.

the meaningless-meaningful social media world

How can something be so meaningless and so meaningful at the same time?

facebook.youtube.flickr.whrrl.blogging.twitter.linkedin...

Neither good nor bad in their entirety, but always both good and bad.


My life is here, in flesh and blood, poured out in cups of juice and sealed over with Snoopy band-aids. I am here in whispered prayers and meaningful conversation, many of my words are never put to paper or blog.

I am across the table from a friend of nearly twenty years, watching the way her long brown hair still falls around her face the same way it did when she was 19. We are using the same knife to spin cream through our coffee, and we are pouring out words and laughter that is left unblogged.

I am on the phone with my Aunt and then a friend and then another friend, and then off with my boys to meet my parents for dinner. I am wearing flip-flops almost every day and getting flustered over the dog barking. I am almost entirely forgetting that the world wide interweb exists.

My life is here. I am side-turned to sleep next to a snoring man who I call husband, one who doesn't like how I always always steal the covers. He is the man that forgives me every little and big thing in our ordinary life. He sees it all, the things you cannot see, and he keeps me.

I am here sweeping dog hair and crumbs to dustpan and taking the garbage to the curb. And I might even tell you about it by using a computer. Or wait. I am telling you about it using a computer and a connection in the sky.


Words can be so meaningless, filling space and time by filling space and time with drivel. There is no meaning if words in cyber-spaces are thrown out as a means to an end. For selfish gain. There is no meaning if these words are not inspired but forcefully contrived, simply said to be said to say something, anything, to just have something to say for something to get.

I don't want my words to be a means to an end. Ever. I want pure motives and true connection and to pull parts of my life of here to the pages out there, and then cheesily (yes, that's a word) make a difference. So sometimes I wonder about all of this and feel that tension in my gut. The questions start to flow as I watch all the games that are played in these spaces. And I realize that if I think too hard about all of that, I will go quiet.

I walk the line between striving to stay relevant, to be heard and clicked on so I don't disappear, and a genuine heartfelt desire to create and cause and change and give back. I mostly stay nearer to the latter side of the line, authentic and heart-driven, but I too get pulled by opinions on how to do this thing "right" every once and a while. I never like my words when I cave to that pull.


There is no escaping the reality of life in the year 2010. A good year. Whatever we want, we can find it behind a screen and that is a gift, but only when used with honor and integrity-no veils, no tricks or gimmicks, just me and my heart-gut poured out for the right reasons. I want to always keep it this way, to have this desire and cause and purpose and mission, handed over through a medium that can be so meaningless if void of a sincere and careful and concerted effort to do the right thing. Always.

'They' say you have to have a blog to do this and you have to have a mac to do that. You have to create an account here if you want to succeed with this or with that. You have to tweet to keep your face in people's faces if your business or book or record or articles will ever ever be seen-heard. And the current and future reality is that 'they' are mostly right. People who do not love social media are being forced to make difficult choices, to jump in for fear of others getting ahead because those others are linked in and hooked up and everywhere at all times, and for what? So they have more people who 'like' them on facebook? To show they've done some excellent promoting? How many times do we click 'like' without truly knowing or liking? This is what I mean...so meaningless and meaningful, at the same time. Because despite all the shallow there is so much depth and connection here. Aside from the frivolous extras, of course.

I quite miss the absence of all of this cyber hubbub sometimes. And yet, here I am, at my keyboard, telling you how I feel about all of it. You who I know and don't know, my words falling in your space and taking your time. And then I'm honored and humbled at the thought of that, and I want to do right by you.

I am here and my life is full of people and colors and experiences and sights and sounds that are only mine. I am in my imperfect skin in my imperfect life and I love that you are along for the ride.

The social media world has opened doors for me. Sobriety has opened doors for me. I am moving ahead at the speed of light thanks to a strange thing, a strange word- Blogging.

I don't believe a person will be left behind or go unheard or fail if they steer clear of social media. And even so, somehow, strangely, social media has impacted my life in a positive way. Today I'm thinking out loud and finding that I need to ask myself if my personal success is the only reason I cheer on the meaningless/meaningful social media world?

And now I sit here in this endless world of words and I beg myself to stay right here, in my life, with only a touch of cyber-space as icing.


social media photos courtesy of flickr