Mingle in the Middle
Ingredients:
12-oz butterscotch morsels
1 cup peanut butter
6 cups Rice Krispies
1 cup powdered sugar
12-oz semisweet chocolate chips
2 tablespoons water
4 tablespoons butter
Directions:
1. Melt together the butterscotch morsels and peanut butter.
2. Combine peanut butter mixture with Rice Krispies. Spread evenly in 9 x 13 pan.
3. In a double boiler, melt the rest of the ingredients. Pour chocolate mixture over Rice Krispies and spread evenly.
De-LISH!
These days, most of my “Zen” friends are choosing one simple word to depict the state of being they want to exude all year instead of going to the trouble of creating long Resolution Lists. Simple and clean, easier to attain and measure, I am in favor of it! My “word” came to me about 2 hours ago while I was waiting in the checkout line at the Hy-Vee grocery store. AWAKEN.
Remember when Jesus gets all pissed off at the lawyers and pharisees in Godspell and belts out “Alas! Alas! Blind Fools!” to awaken them to the fact that they were merely repeating their predecessors’ mistakes? My mind immediately went to this song in the sweet moment at the Hy-Vee checkout line when I encountered “Becky,” the former Little Sister I once knew a long time ago when I worked for Big Brothers Big Sisters. She had an endearing speech impediment and looked like Strawberry Shortcake 8 years ago. But now she’s all grown up, living on her own (about 250 miles away from home!), has a job and an apartment – and the same joyful and giving heart she had as a little girl. My heart jumped as I caught her eye – I knew she might not remember me but she lit up the minute I mentioned her Big Sister’s name, “Sally,” the retired teacher who was determined to be a companion and role model to Becky – and awaken her to new ways of living to help her avoid making the same mistakes as her family. In one explosively happy moment, I KNEW FOR SURE that Becky had been awakened – and that she still had that little girl’s joyful heart. Becky was cheerfully sacking the groceries of the man in line ahead of me and she told him, “I like your hat, sir!”. It was a Chiefs hat. The man lit up. Sweet little Becky awakened him from whatever preoccupation he may have been consumed with in that moment (rent, job, illness) and reminded him that there can be joy in life even in the grocery line!
When it was my turn to go through the line, the clerk checked the price of a beautiful pink begonia that had caught my eye and asked, “It’s $25.00 – still want it?”. Still glowing from the beautiful moment I had just seen pass between the little girl with practically nothing I once knew and the grown man with grown concerns – the begonia immediately represented my Word for 2015 – AWAKEN Of course I want it! This thing has magical powers (I wanted to shout but restrained myself!).
I told Becky that I knew her a long time ago and she was thrilled to be remembered. Repeat after me: SHE WAS THRILLED TO BE REMEMBERED.
Yes, Becky, believe it or not, you are remembered and treasured in my heart. And you are the reason AWAKEN is my Word of the Year – you see, it’s when someone as innocent and humble as you can change the heart of someone as old and pessimistic as me – that’s when I am positive that GOD lives and works in our hearts all day everyday – if only we would AWAKEN……..
Lately my new part-time job has me pondering my parenting style and life in general. I sell high-end fashion to women of all ages and, like the trusty “potty training” and “chore charts” often used to train toddlers and youngsters to do the right things consistently, my new employer recognizes achievement in denim sales on a weekly chart that I see every time I go into the break room for more lipstick or a sip of Diet Coke!
As you can tell, my sales are D-O-W-N!!! I haven’t mastered the art of romancing a customer from the front of the store to the dressing room filled with clothes I have personally selected for her body type. It remains to be seen whether I ever will.
But this much I do know: I make every single person I interact with feel good and want to come back!!!
How does this translate to my parenting style?
I guess it goes back to the old “punishment-reward” theory that caused me so much consternation as a parent of lively toddlers. I never could manage to completely punish bad behavior but rather relished in the opportunity to praise and reward good behavior. Many other parents along the way criticized my form of “discipline.” (I don’t even like that word!). However, I could not help noticing that the children my children played with who were consistently punished for the same erroneous behavior never seemed to be motivated to change through punishment alone. Hence, my Cosmically Cool invention of the “REDEMPTION SLUSHIE” behavioral modification system.
One very long, hot, windy summer on the Kansas Plains I endeavored to enforce a daily routine upon my children – both to punctuate the endlessly long days and also to provide a sense of “accomplishing” something during the summer as so many of their peers seemed to be able to do. It never went very well. My kids know me inside and out. By the end of the summer, the only routine I had managed to successfully imprint into their bright minds was the afternoon slushie break – many times, an offering of forgiveness for previously bad behavior and a covenant for better behavior in the future.
At the end of the day, I decided I did not care whether the children were “getting” a larger lesson in discipline. What mattered to me was that they understood they could be forgiven – and that they had the power to forgive others and establish new terms for playing together more harmoniously in the future.
Thus, the “Redemption Slushie” both metaphorically and in actuality has become a mantra to me in my attempt to help form my children’s character as well as my own professional performance. What it feels like in practice is something like this: “I promise to push you as far as I can push you in pursuit of living a life of kindness and purpose – and when we falter, as surely we will – we shall re-negotiate the meaning of what is good and share Redemption Slushies.”
It is my parenting version of breaking bread together. The relationship model I want with my children fits in a circle of love and trust – not on a hierarchical chart with ugly black dots. Ultimately, this is what I strive for in all my relationships, so if I ever invite you to share a slush with me know that this request comes from my Source of love – not just my appetite!
Happy New Year and I raise my Slushie to You!!!
I am a chronically late, flighty, completely disorganized, unprofessional but very caring and easy to get along with person. I love meeting new people. I enjoy the “glamour” of shopping. And I love the men and women I have gotten to know over the years at my church, which hosts an annual rummage sale that serves mostly homeless and working poor people. When someone tapped me on the shoulder at church and asked if I’d consider heading up this year’s “Main Street Marketplace,” it sounded fun to me and not terribly difficult. I’d figure it out the week before – like everything else – I told myself. 
Little did I know the “Main Street Marketplace” would become a lively 3-ring circus that really just required some steady, loving guidance – which really suited me perfectly. I am so grateful to the many kind and wise people at my church for choosing me to be involved with this ministry – because, like many ministries, I discovered that I was being changed and “ministered to” by the steady roll of “street people” who shopped our sale those busy 4 days. Here is what I learned:
Never before have I witnessed such courtesy and exquisite manners as I did those 4 days from the patrons of our community rummage sale. I expected Walmart nation – rude, careless, thoughtless behavior – and I was astonished to experience the opposite. One family with 5 children under the age of 10 came to the sale and stayed for more than 2 hours. The children were clean, quiet, sweet and very attentive to the needs of their youngest sister, the baby in the carseat. An elderly woman from the neighborhood insisted on carrying her own items – no matter how many trips it took – back to her apartment, and thanked us profusely for holding her treasures for safekeeping until she could manage to return for the remaining items. Each time she greeted me with hugs and “thank you’s” – enough to last a lifetime. Finally, there was the homeless man with the cart who requested we roll his winter clothes he purchased in such a way that they would fit snugly into the saddle bags he had attached to the sides of his cart. After all, he had a 10-mile walk back to Wyandotte County that night, and securing his $11.00 worth of purchases was extremely important. He smiled graciously with bright and happy eyes – and told me he loved me when I gave him the “grand total” for his purchases! How can this experience not forever change one’s idea of what is valuable and meaningful in life? My takeaway thought: If I am not asked to head of the Main Street Marketplace again next year I shall INSIST that I do so! The time spent in service to our community with fellow church members was invaluable to me. I think it is one of the MOST IMPORTANT ministries of our church.
De
ar Snarky,
Recently my sister-in-law volunteered to make, what I would call, a coffee table photo book for my mother-in-law’s birthday. The book was supposed to be photos of ALL the grandkids. I thought it was a great idea so I submitted pictures of my kids and paid for half of the book. Fast-forward to my mother-in-law’s birthday party and when she gets the book it’s all pictures of my sister-in-law’s kids with only ONE photo of my three children. WTH?
Do I ask my sister-in-law for my money back as a way of showing that I’m super ticked off and do I need to tell my mother-in-law the back-story? Because, as of right, now it looks like I didn’t get my mother-in-law a present since the book contains 53 pictures of just my sister-in-laws kids!
Signed, Bummed
Dear Bummed,
Yes, I would ask your sister-in-law for your money back…
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Momma Bloggers like Glennon Doyle Melton of Momastery are giving me the courage to pursue my original dream for Cheeky Street: by sharing my quirky worldview, give other Moms (and people in general) “permission” to be themselves and enjoy the many facets of imperfection. Brene Brown and Martha Beck also publish widely about how to free oneself from the shackles of perfectionism.
We all intuitively know this as children but the world beats our colorful souls into humdrum submission….and only a lucky few awaken soon enough to learn how to nurture their individuality back into their personalities and enjoy life!
So here’s my REAL-LIFE CONFESSION (my daughter and a few of her friends know this): I want to sell muffins under the brand “Yes Ma’am!” and share with the world this joy I experience from my love of bread, baking, and all things breakfast-related in one big glob of LOVE known as the MUFFIN. I even had a venue picked out in our cute little community: it become a bank! Drive-throughs are essential, you see, because when you have a craving for a muffin, you don’t want to mess with parking and going inside an establishment.
So, this morning, in my humble little kitchen, I am enjoying a part of that imperfect side of my baking self and making an Autumnal concoction known as the “Pumpkin Oat Muffin.” Except I had to substitute apple juice for lemonade in the recipe so it may be too tangy for the uninitiated muffin palate.
So this is what I think I will be doing: Once a week, right here on Cheeky Street, I will feature a different muffin recipe and photo and share with you my “Testing Panel’s” opinions (be prepared to be selected as an esteemed member of this exclusive group). This endeavor will, hopefully, bring me closer to my “Yes Ma’am!” ambitions, and you, dear Readers, more thoroughly convinced that IMPERFECTIONISM is fun and worth pursuing!!!!
I am a person that LOVES love letters. I just remembered why: My Dad was the world’s GREATEST writer of them. Imagine my surprise, 30 years later, to stumble upon the sweetest, most tender love letter of my life, beautifully hand written and mailed to me (even though we lived under the same roof!), on the evening of our LAST Father-Daughter dance together?
I have a wonderful friend who asked me about 22 years ago what my “wish list” of characteristics was for my husband. She laughed for days when I readily spouted off that my future husband MUST be the following:
Imagine the stabbing pain in my heart as I held this beautiful letter, 30 years later, and realized DAD WAS MY FIRST LOVE!!!!! Lucky, lucky girl.
September 13 will mark my 4-Month Sobriety Anniversary. I am pretty excited. I have done it all on my own – not even a single AA meeting, no sponsor, nothing but GRIT and DETERMINATION. I have managed to turn around in my head all the old assumptions about why/how drinking made me a better person. For instance:
1. “I cannot get through another “Back to School Night” without a nip of the old sauce” has changed to “I can go and enjoy noticing the OTHER parents who have had a nip or 2.”
2. “I am just not fun anymore now that I cannot drink” has changed to “I am giving myself and my family a wonderful sense of stability and security knowing that I am fully present, alert and sober 24/7.” That is KIND OF fun, right?
I have also learned a thing or two about how other people react when you tell them you are no longer drinking. Many of them appear supportive – how can they NOT be, right – but there is always a little question at the end of their interactions that says, “Maybe in a few months you’ll be able to be like me again.”
The most amazing support I have received since admitting to myself and my friends and family that I am an alcoholic has come from the most astonishingly surprising places. People in my midst that I really did not think I had much of a connection with have continuously expressed positive, affirming, loving praise and kindness. It helps a lot. Especially when I feel my head exploding and would love to have a drink and a smoke!
After 4 months without drinking, I definitely feel more like my “old self” and am so happy to be embracing a life of acknowledging and avoiding addiction. It is much more pure – it liberates me. And it gives me the security that other people feel when they have “FUCK YOU MONEY” in the bank! I have MYSELF in the bank. I have MY ESSENCE.
Guess what else? I am thinking about the future for the first time in many years. I don’t feel trapped in a life I did not choose anymore. No more self-pity. It went away with the Malbec someplace far, far away! I am back in college and pursuing a career in the allied health professions – and this goal I will ACTUALLY achieve and celebrate with CAKE and my FAMILY – not a bottle of Malbec in the darkness. I am stronger, better, happier, and have that “Fuck You” attitude back that is healthy.
If you find yourself battling addiction – don’t hesitate to think about what I am saying and reach out for the support you need to move forward in your future. It feels good to have SOBRIETY at my side….at all times…..covering me like Linus’ security blanket.
Like many people, I am deeply saddened by the death of Robin Williams. In retrospect, his unimaginable act of courage that led to his death says more about our culture of blindness than it does anything else. We prefer to remember “the funny man” who gave so much to others than the human being suffering from depression and addiction. We will talk about it for awhile at parties but nothing will change in the end – people who are hiding in places of extreme darkness will continue to end their lives and we will say later what a shame it is.
You see, Robin Williams’ death has struck a personal chord with me. I, too, suffer from major depressive disorder and addiction. I will take antidepressants the rest of my life but there is no guarantee I won’t experience lapses into frightening voids where nobody can reach me. Mental illness does trick our minds into believing ridiculous lies about ourselves and reality. I watched my own Dad suffer and struggle with depression and addiction my whole life. He was so brave to have weathered what must have felt like insurmountable pain and conflict to protect his wife and 7 children. Of course, there were happy times. Like Robin Williams, my Dad was extremely intelligent and most often the funniest person in the room when he chose to socialize, which was not often.
Like Robin Williams, people sought my reclusive Dad out – they were uplifted by his company when, all the while, he believed himself to be a weak and unworthy person. It was the trap of depression and addiction. He did not talk about it, we just knew, as kids, when Dad was not feeling well. We hugged him and he hugged us back even harder. But it was only a temporary fix for his pain. Ultimately, he felt alone.
My Dad was the first person to admit he had made a mistake. Among other traits, this was one of his most endearing. He was humble and honest and kind even though, most of the time, he just plain wanted out – out of pain, out of suffering, out of this life. He visited me once when I was single and dating a hot-shot young lawyer and I was embarrassed during a conversation in which my “super lawyer” boyfriend corrected my use of language at the breakfast table in front of my Dad, the DICTIONARY NAZI!!!! I was shocked when my Dad took “super lawyer’s” side but, as expected, the minute he got back home Dad pulled out his dictionary to see if he had been correct – and discovered he was wrong. I received a beautiful note of apology from the MAN WITH THE DICTIONARY himself. And he even took a moment away from his own pain to comment on the pain of a colleague whose daughter was dying from cancer – wishing her well.
Instead of burying his greatness, somehow the struggle with depression and addiction made my Dad even more brilliant and beautiful to me. He felt broken, for sure, but that is what we all saw and loved and admired about him. On the morning he passed away, our Mother had a look of absolute serenity and relief on her face. She said, “I’m glad – your Dad is free and happy for the first time in his life.” And so is Robin Williams.
I don’t know why some of us are dealt the shitty hand of depression and addiction in this life. But I do know we are all capable of comforting one another and touching each other’s wounded souls even from the unreachable depths of darkness. I am proud of my Dad and Robin Williams and everyone else who admits, in this culture of shame, silence and blindness, that things are NOT okay with us most of the time. Maybe, little by little, the world will come to recognize that people who have been marginalized by the pain of depression and addiction aren’t weak or pitiful at all – but really “special angels” sent to us so we can practice compassion and empathy. That’s how I choose to view it, anyway.
I am 12 years younger than my oldest sibling, my big brother, Jim. He was born in 1954 and I was born in 1966, so we are literally a generation apart. He is one of the last hippies and I am one of the first Gen Xers. When I was 4, he went away to the Seminary for boarding school, so I don’t remember living with him all too well. My childhood was marked by the larger-than-life, highly anticipated homecoming visits of my big brother. He drove a brown 1974 Ford LTD and wore blue jean cutoff shorts. He played guitar and sang songs like “A Horse With No Name” by America. He was cool and everybody liked him. He could blow smoke rings and even wrote a song of the same name. When he was home, my Mom baked custard pie and cherry pie and seemed more content because her “Jimmy Dick” was nearby. He made my sister laugh so hard at the supper table milk would run through her nose and she’d get whacked on the top of the head by my Dad’s wedding ring.
Even though I had 4 beautiful and extremely popular older sisters, I most wanted to be like my big brother because he just emanated “cool,” kind of like Snoopy.
One Easter, Mom had us all lined up in front of the house dressed in our matching outfits so she could make a “home movie” to mark the day. 15-year-old Jim decided to walk like a hunchback so 3-year-old me followed suit dragging my bunny and basket in tow and wearing a bonnet, too. He elevated all the everyday, mundane things to the level of super cosmic. Every evening when he was home, Dad would watch “Batman” and “Get Smart” with him on tv while Mom made supper and the girls set the table. His laughter and quick wit filled the house with energy that lightened the pervasive “girl drama.” My Dad was happy and at his best when Jim was home, too. We all were.
The summer of 1972 my brother had a “far out” garage band. They played “Jumping Jack Flash” and “In A Godda Da Vida.” The kids from town would flock to our house to listen while my parents, glued to the Watergate hearings on tv, sat just inside in their recliners. I pretended to be Tracy Partridge and played tambourine in the background. Even though there was something awfully serious going on in the world that all the grownups seemed to be worried about, I felt safe, happy and most importantly, extra special, because my cool older brother’s band was the hottest thing going in our little town that summer.
So it is no surprise that it was exciting for me to take my 13- and 15-year olds across the country this summer to visit their Cool Uncle Jim, now 60 years old.
To me, having my kids connect with my oldest sibling was like watching 
them unlock a sacred vault into my past and experience the same exhilaration I did as a kid when Jim brought “funny” back to town. They loved him and who wouldn’t??
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