Airbrushed vs. Toothbrushed

Brushing my hair and applying makeup were once thought to be practical steps to beautification before heading out of the house. 

  Not so much...anymore.

  Ever since the time, in the not-so-distant past, when not once...but TWICE...found that by leaning over the bathroom sink to apply a bit of color to my pasty white skin I was actually completing the task of becoming minty fresh as well.  That would be quite the multi-tasking feat IF it were happening in the dental region.  However, since it was happening midriff section...I was less than pleased. 

  Yes, I had managed to get a good-sized glob of toothpaste across the undershelf of my belly zone.  What the heck, I'm 44, mother to seven children,  compiler of countless hours of exercise with a side of clean eating.  I have absolutely no reason to put on airs and deny the "baby pooch."  God as my witness, I've tried to humble it's appearance.  It can't be that bad, because no facial, close-up mirrored reflection reveals it.  No, apparently it can't be seen until all make-up is applied, hair is curled, and I'm ready to walk out the door.  Only when time is running short and a step back is taken to reveal the finished product will it most likely reveal itself.  Of course, the fact that it is outlined in a thick, sticky, white, peppermint-scented tracing of my sink ledge might draw attention to it. 

  I quickly decided it best not to highlight the area by allowing my children's dental routine left-over's to remain on my purple bloused midsection.  I grabbed the nearest towel slung into the tub and quickly doused and rubbed before glancing in the mirror only to notice I still had mascara to apply.

 No big deal, no harm done I thought, UNTIL I leaned back from the mirror and observed, YET ANOTHER slab of breath freshening intrusion across my towel-blotted belly.  You have got to be kidding me!  I checked the time, which was already pressuring me, and lunged for the sopping towel once again to rid myself of all offensive white paste.  It worked!  However, left in it's place was the darkened shapes of not one...but TWO dark silhouettes coming together to form a genuine likeness to the finger lakes region.  I probably could have explained one sodden patch...but this new addition called for drastic measures. 

  I ran for my hair dryer, searching high and low, until locating it in the most obvious of hiding places- right next to my wood-burning fire place.  Memories of my 15 year-old trouble-shooting, ingenious son attempting to achieve a hotter and higher flame during the previous night's cold-snap enlightened me as to the why of it's location.  No time to reminisce and ponder on his brilliance...nope...only time to recognize the familiar ashy scent that had flooded the house the night before causing windows to be opened a crack.  If I weren't scrambling for time I might have appreciated the scientific teachable moment which revealed air circulating into a suction driven motor will carry other particles along with it depositing a certain scent as air is dispersed...right into the fibers of my swampy, purple blouse in five seconds flat.

 I give up.  Why try and hide the fact that my life is not picture perfect, nor am I.  Perhaps this is a good thing...if you don't require fragrance free and have an appreciation for the finer perfumes not found in the most exclusive boutiques.  It seems I have created a most enchanting, totally original, unique aroma boasting an outdoorsy bouquet of mint, laced with hints of soap and undercurrents of filtered woodsmoke.  Ooh la la.

Pumpkin "Bliss"

 "Mmmm, what is that smell?  Do you have yogurt in here?" 

  This is the "hello" I received as my two youngest hopped into the car to escape being dampened during the four foot walk from the school bus.  Normally, I just walk across the street to escort them home.  Normally, as in- not experiencing gales that broke my wet-weather confidence, flipped my hardy umbrella inside out, spanked us both and sent me scrambling back for car keys.  The odd and somewhat humiliating piece of this generous act of kindness on my part was the rapid deceleration of winds and the slowing of pelting rain to a gentle drizzle by the bus's arrival.  After deflating their excited expectation of going to a store or fast-food restaurant, the focus shifted back to the car's unfamiliar scent.

  "Why it's Pumpkin Bliss, of course!" I declared proudly.  Their unimpressed "oh" wasn't my desired response.  During my purchase of the orange packaged car freshener, displaying pumpkins, cinnamon, and colors of candy corn, I envisioned tv commercial actors deeply inhaling wafts of heart-warming, homemade Pumpkin Pies.  Yes, my reward for spending $3.99 +tax would be watching my children breathe in the likeness of those cinnamon fall treats followed by twinkles of delight, shining in their grateful eyes.  I must admit I did not notice any trace of pumpkin pie or harvest spices in the bought essence.  If I covered one nostril and sort of breathed out while half-breathing in I might have been able to justify the colors of candy corn...kind of.  But, for the purpose of pride, I declared once more with gusto, "It's Pumpkin Bliss!" and drove back around the bend to our house.

  An hour later I agreed to drive my oldest daughter to her friend's house.  "WHAT is that smell?!?" she asked, while lifting a genteel palm to her nose.  "It's Pumpkin Bliss!," came my triumphant, yet wavering response.  After all, it was her calling attention to the car's mild odor the day before which prompted my aquiring such Fall freshness.  Show me some love, I think as she blurts out, "It smells like yogurt."  I covered my waning hope with a smile, "That's funny!  That's what the kids said!," I weakly offered.  Her eyes slid sideways towards me as she added, "Rotten yogurt."  I began to think back to my attempts of choosing between the store's two offered scents.  Vanilla and Cream's scratch and sniff declared it NOT the winner.  And...wait a minute...that's funny...three Pumpkin Bliss in a row don't have a scratchy piece of plastic to test?  How odd, I think as I dig through the entire stock...not a one.  Hmmmm....perhaps I should be suspicious?  Well, it IS raining out and I really don't want to go to another store soooooo...we'll go with- you guessed it, Pumpkin Bliss.  Til I get in the car and realize it's more like Butterscotch Feet.  I guess I shouldn't be shocked by my children's underwhelmed reaction. 

  Another 15 minutes go by before my second eldest daughter chimes in during her ride home from school.  The dramatic question passes through lips curled in disgust, "What smells like SWEAT in here??"  Siiiiigh... by this point I can't even muster a jolly declaration so it comes out more like a question, "Pumpkin Bliss?"  "Eeeeew, it doesn't smell anything like pumpkins!," is her gauntlet tossed on my defeated purchasing prowess.  "Look here!, I begin my defense, "I saw pumpkins and candy corn and thought it would be festive with Thanksgiving coming up AND I paid for it so we are USING it!"  "Eeeew," seems to be her best come-back.  Then I just could not help myself and had to know, "So you really don't think it smells like butterscotch feet?"  Just as swiftly as the wind had died down, my white flag rose and the stink became casual conversation.  "Ummmm no, I think it smells more like sweat, but kinda like a vanilla-y sweat. But I get why the other kids smell yogurt."  I can't believe I'm nodding my head in agreement to this...siiiigh.

 It's been a solid week of  scent that never fails to "surprise" us each time the car doors are whipped open and the aroma wafts out.  It never gets old and doesn't seem to be ebbing in strength.  I've circled Thanksgiving's date on my calendar to count the number days I must be strong until a "certain purchase" goes missing on garbage day.  I already have it's replacement stashed deep in the cupboard to conceal my defeat.  It's  Frosted Pine.  Hey! Save your judgement...it had pictures of snow covered pine trees and a lovely holiday gold...right above a white convertible with it's...OH NO...how did I not see it's... top down???  In winter??? 

 Oh well, I already bought it...

   

Life Is...Surprising

  It's raining outside.  I used to think I'd be listening to jazz, sitting on the window ledge of an upper studio apartment, looking down over the streets of New York City on a gray day like this.  I even pictured playing along on my own saxophone.

   Yeah...uhhhm no.  Let's just say my life holds no semblance to the existence I envisioned while in my teens. 

  I do have Michael Buble's station playing on Pandora...so I shouldn't say NO semblance right?  It is kinda jazzy.  But as for New York City- well,  I'm in the neighboring state of Pennsylvania sitting in my upper story (yet another semblance), wooden office, looking out over fallen leaves that have covered my husband's ladders.  Those tools sit next to the well-loved lacrosse portion of the yard which is the backdrop to our summer's shining star- the pool.   Of course there's the swingset with attatched platform/slide that has seen better days...and by that I mean it used to be the summer's shining star.  The kids are getting older and we have more pick-up football games than we do calls for Mommy to "come push me!"  We can't forget Millie's (our choc lab) kennel.  It's kitty-corner to the fire pit that Millie sneaks wood from to chew when she thinks we're not looking.  It's the same wood she sneaks within plain view, then takes off to the lax area to hide behind the net...it's a net Millie, we can see you!

  It's raining outside...perhaps the same condensation passed over NYC hours ago.  Crazy to think of a life so foreign to my current days.  I've never even held a saxophone to my lips.  I'll hint at my age and admit that fantasy's inspiration was influenced by Kenny G.  Who didn't love Silhouette?  flashback to Silhouette (you're welcome).  And yet, I am happy.  I am content.  I look at the leaves that cover the yard where my children's youth has played out.  I see the trees that were full of vibrant green buds just this past spring.  They have released their blooms that whispered in summer's breeze and stand disrobed, yet sturdy, guarding our lawn carpeted in the golden offerings from these sentinels.  I'm reminded of another childhood favorite that holds more meaning now then ever... Shel Silverstein's The Giving Tree.  No kidding, this book sits on the edge of my desk...next to the window I look out.  Perhaps it's been waiting for this rainy day to remind me how good I've got it.  And how life is not about the destination but the journey. 

  We parents once held the bud of youth in our dreams of how life would be.  We now have the opportunity to lay down our golden glory for our children to pile up and play in.  They can cover themselves and feel secure in our commitment to share this journey with them.  Perhaps they will provide us with their own little buds to bring rejuvenation in our golden years.  It comes full circle.  I wouldn't trade a single, crazy, hectic moment nor a neck hugging, sloppy kiss on the cheek embrace for a smooth jazz note lilting what could have been.  We make our own music here with broom stick air guitars and ladles for microphones. These are the days creating the memories of tomorrow. I imagine when I am an old woman I will look out at the trees and smile, remembering my children hanging from the branches and lobbing footballs under their leaves.
 
   Then again, I've been surprised before...perhaps I will be harnessed to my eldest, sharing a tandem skydive.  I wouldn't put it passed my second to have me deep sea fishing or my third to share her hotel amenities while she attends a medical conference on the Big Island.  My fourth just may get me to New York for a Broadway play the night after my fifth reserved a front row seat so I could watch the mad drumming skills he led the band with.  I will need some quiet time so I suppose I would prefer the box seat offered to watch my sixth in the Superbowl.  I will be tired so I will gladly return to my husband who kept the home fires burning at our sweet seventh's home-- where we will live.  ;)

 

My Life is Perfect...on Facebook

I love Facebook...yet it is a book of faces and what those faces are doing.  Admittedly, I get sucked in and during my weaker moments, it's for hours at a time. 

  Why?  I suppose the reason varies.  It's good to see what others are up to.  It's a curious itch that seeks to be scratched.  Scrolling uses mindless muscles that aren't linked to any type of time-awareness faculties.  Sometimes I just want a good laugh for the day.  Occasionally I want to mindlessly escape the realities of life that of course would never show up on my timeline. 

  I've witnessed beautiful displays of tantalizingly arranged dinners...would you want to see my overflowing sink of crusty dishes?  Now that's just silly, and gross.  Why would I, wife and mother of seven, have cups and plates jam-packed in a 13"x10" space, competing for room with a chili encrusted, two gallon soup pot to see which can jettison more tap water onto the kitchen floor?  Puhleez!  I can't run fast enough to wash dishes since my little angels race to do this task and fight for the privilege.  Yes, MY children should be role models for the U.N. in the  manner they get along so amiably.  If you saw my FB you'd see them gathered round the table for a wholesome game of Bingo.  On a more raucous evening it might be Monopoly.  You'd detect no sibling rivalry like the children "I heard about" who tore each other's homework to shreds in a fit of revenge--how beastly.  If I could master technology I'd probably post videos of my children volunteering at our Church's fundraising Oktoberfest.  There'd be no hint of neighbors closing windows against offensive bickering...nor air conditioners being turned on to further diffuse our...I mean, some families...clamor.   If you were to look through the history of my photos you'd notice that it took me a bit of time to get the gist of what is meant by "camera friendly."  Of course now, my hair-do is ALWAYS on point (see how trendy my language is ;) ) and professionally enhanced.  Isn't everyone's?  Why wouldn't it be?  We have hordes of money.  Simply boatloads, tons, kajillions of dollars!  Why would I sneak away to Sally's Beauty Supply, under cover of darkness, with my 14 year-old daughter and grill the once upon a time beautician now turned clerk about coloring?  Don't be ridiculous!  Why would I accept her offer to write instructions on scrap paper about how to put hair into sections and have my daughter google the steps to balance out dark roots?  Honey, Please!  Remember..."On Point"- that's me!  If I ever sobbed into my bathroom mirror at 1 A.M. after my daughter begged-off and went to bed because it was the first day of school and I was left to rinse my orange tinged hair on my own and attempt a few snips to get rid of frizz...you would NEVER know about it!  Of course...never happened.  There are no pictures.  You can't prove a thing. 

For whatever reason I sign on to Facebook, I typically read through the top of my News Feed to see what's what.  I keep going to see what's been missed- til I realize the current time and grasp that what's been missed is a chunk of my day! 

  This isn't a rant about social media...for heaven's sake I'm typing on a blog in real time here.  It's just a notion that perhaps it's a good thing to set boundaries for how much of my own life I'm willing to spend on the pictures and captions of family, old classmates, mentors, strangers, and friends of friends.  The currency used is seconds, minutes, hours.  The hitch is there is no refund.  You can't get time back...ever.

 Besides,  what your currency is spent on perhaps is an illusion.  Except on MY timeline- where all is authentic as it's intended to seem ;) 



 

Drum roll please...

 I am SOOO excited to introduce you to the wisdom, humor, and authentic goodness of a very dear friend of mine (and soon to be yours), Diane Gallagher.  She, too, is a mother of seven ... hey, didn't you know we travel in packs? 

“Diane, may I introduce you to the internet’s most savvy and brilliant blog followers?” 
(Pleasantries exchanged) 

“And now, dear Harborlily Creative Readers, hold onto your hats...or at least take cover as you gain an insider’s view into a lively household of seven, mostly redheaded, cute as they come, Irish/Polish kiddos.”

Diane will be joining us here every Wednesday come heck or high water … or kids with fevers over 104 degrees. She’s a woman who'd like to share her insights as she strives to live a life committed to God's Will for her marriage and family. Join us as Diane shares her joys, hopes, and her secret on how to make the perfect peanut butter with honey sandwich in our new blogger series. 

After reading Diane’s post, please be so kind as to COMMENT with topics you'd like discussed. Subjects as vague as "How to pray with kids," or as specific as, "I need help removing a stain on my child's altar serving garment that was soiled when the smell of incense caused my offspring to grow woozy and vomit before hitting his head whilst he collapsed from heat exhaustion on the altar."  In which case, it may be time for us to start a Prayer Intercessory column. ;)

Without further rambling ... I present to you our very first guest writer MRS. DIANE GALLAGHER! 

~ ~ ~ ~

It's been said that raising children is like building a cathedral: it takes years of hard work, but you may never see the results. "Cathedrals," you say?  I'm building cathedrals? That is both a relief and a little scary. My name is Diane Gallagher, and I am extremely busy these days building seven cathedrals. No wonder I am so exhausted!  Before I got into "construction", let me tell you a little bit more about me.

 I was a high school teacher, youth minister, retreat leader and chastity program
coordinator. I met my husband while serving on NET ministries, an evangelization program that sends teams across the United States to put on retreats for high school teens. I have to believe that through the past 13 years of construction, God has taught us some valuable lessons both through our failures and our successes about guilt-free parenting, marriage, sacrifice, peace and much, much more.  We are learning more every day (whether we want to or not. :)

I am excited to be writing a guest blog on Harborlily Creative. Since High school, I have enjoyed writing, journaling and creating ideas, but have not had much opportunity to tap into this lately.  Thanks to the gentle nudging of my dear friend, Susan Yurkewicz, I am finally exercising these muscles again and will be posting a weekly reflection. My goal is to offer encouragement and support by sharing my own experiences as a Catholic wife and mother in a sincere and honest manner.  I want to relate the Gospel message to our own daily walks as parents. If one thing I share can validate, reassure, or relieve a fellow parent, then my mission here is complete.

In the next month I am hoping to write about "celebrating" Holy Week with your family, spring cleaning (your house and your soul), and applying Christ's passion to our role as parents.  As Susan mentioned in her kind introduction, I welcome suggestions for future posts.  I do hope you will return!