The Change

I am not normal. 

Not sure if you saw that coming!  But let's just be honest, here...who was surprised by that?  

Back to the point. Me. Not normal. Why, you ask? 

I like change. 

Most everyone else in my life hates it or at the very least avoids it.  But not me. When it comes to major life decisions or changes, I'm pretty rational. I deal. Good or bad, I take life as it comes and try to remain positive. (Thank you daddy, for practical reasoning skills and a uncommon ability to not react emotionally).

So imagine my surprise recently when I learned that others don't quite perceive me as flexible. 

A few weeks ago I arose before the sun and headed into work to prepare for a super early work breakfast. After the event concluded and the room cleared, I mindlessly picked up glasses and stacked plates. As I came to the coffee station, I closed the lid on the caramel macchiato creamer and thought for a fleeting second, "I wonder if that is good?"

You see, I'm not a coffee drinker.  I kind of think it is gross. Stinky.  And tastes like cardboard.  Ugh.  

Yes, that means this "Carrie" energy and positivity is entirely decaf. No coffee buzz to get me through the day or amp me up.  Not a single cup of joe was downed as I survived the agonizingly exhausting twinfancy. Give me my trusty water mug, and I'm set. 31 years and coffee free.

Until that day.

I poured a teeny tiny cup of coffee and then added some sugary caramel creamer.  Scratch that. I poured an entire mug of delish creamer and added a few drops of coffee. And then I sat at the table and took a sip. And another.  Stashed the creamer in my office mini fridge after clean up was done and pushed it from my thoughts. The next morning I sauntered into the cafeteria and grabbed the small styrofoam cup. Glanced sideways at my coworkers feeling like I was cheating on someone (myself?) and poured a cup. Added some (a lot) of the caramel creamer and downed the coffee in barely 5 minutes.  

And the habit continued.  

That week was particularly long and left my household running in opposite directions. As I sat in my office a few days later savoring the sweet aroma of fresh coffee swirled with caramel goodness, I texted my husband and said something generic like, "Oh, hey - I forgot to tell you I started drinking coffee this week." 

The response I got was nothing short of an interrogation. When? Why? WHAT??? Actually I'm pretty sure his actual text was, "Are you serious. Who are you?"  Ha.

That night he was stunned and asked more questions. I looked at him kind of like he was nuts and wondered aloud why it was such a big deal.  And his answer really did shock me.  I got a lecture on how in the 13 years he has known me and the 10 years of our marriage, I just don't change what I do. I am worse than a creature of habit. I am fiercely stubborn and set in my ways. I do things that I want, when I want, without excuse or apology. I make decisions and stick by them without fail.  I am who I am.  But I am...who I have been.  And will be, apparently.  

I couldn't believe Ben's reaction, honestly. I relayed the story to my coworkers the next day (who by the way had been laughing at my excitement and telling me that soon I'd graduate to the bigger cup...) and was surprised to find that they, too, saw my new-found coffee discovery as a symptom of something. Stress, perhaps?  I got some looks of genuine concern and surprise. My boss actually suggested I take a vacation when she found out I had joined the millions who started their day with coffee.

Turns out I see myself as a whole heck of a lot more adaptable to change than I really am.

Funny how self discovery tends to open your eyes to more self awareness.

My boys need a haircut. And I refuse to do it.  They have had curly mullets for way too long, but when I toil away at the office for too many hours, the one thing that gets me through is knowing that when I walk in the door, those sweet babies will run with glee to smack my lips with kisses and bury their soft curls into my neck as they squeeze and shriek, "Mama!"  My heart literally cannot handle chopping off the locks. Who is it hurting, really?  No one.  Except for today.  When the Walmart check out lady started calling Toby a "she." 

Oh. No. You. Didn't. 

I even said, "Stop kicking each other, boys!" several times while I tried to pay for my groceries, but still I got a "Well she needs to learn to defend herself" laugh from the peanut gallery. Ugh. Okay, I get it. I need to cut their hair so they don't have some gender crisis (not really, people, I'm just ranting here). Okay. I will embrace the change and cut the shaggy out of control bedhead.  But give me some coping time.

Who am I?

The weeks have passed and my coffee gets tastier by the day.

And another change looms ahead.  

My parents are selling their house.  For real.  This is the home where I learned to play basketball and spent summers riding bikes around the lake. The home with the big living room, big windows, big closets and big bedrooms. The home where we had birthday parties and graduation parties and wedding showers and baby showers. The home where I painstakingly wrapped garland and lights around the extra long banister every Christmas.  The home that bursts with jazz music booming from every room. The home where I fought with my sister and played barbies for hours.  The kitchen where my mom baked more pans of brownies than I can possibly remember, entertaining classmates, friends and boyfriends. The driveway where I had my first kiss.  The street where we walked to the bus stop every day for years.  The neighborhood with friends on nearly every corner.  The quiet dock down the street where the love of my life asked for my hand in marriage. The community with beautiful waterways and endless opportunities for outdoor fun.  The home I grew up in.

As my parents have shared their plans to move into a detached villa in a town not far from their current home, there are several things I know to be true.  

• #1 - My dad will be calm, cool and collected during the change. He will approach this logically and may have sentimental glassy eyes on moving day, but he has made the decision happily and is looking forward to the change. 
• #2 - My mom will bubble with excitement and will launch into future decor planning. She has wanted this for several years and is so happy to be making the change. But I am betting there are tears in our future as she packs up the life she has made in that three story abode built with loving hands.
• #3 - My sister may surprise me, but I expect her to take this the hardest.  (Her exact words to my parents in the early stages of this decision a few weeks ago were: "That's fine. You guys can pack and move. I'm going to chain myself to my room"). 

And what about me?  Before today, before the past few weeks, I would have said without hesitation that I will be fine.  In fact I said those exact words to my giddy mother this morning.  I am Carrie. Bring on the change. I am Carrie. See me roar.  

Will I really be fine?  I mean really, fine. I want to say yes. I like change, remember? Bring it on.

But then I pour that cup of coffee. That change took 31 years. 

By the beginning of September, my parents will have their house on the market and will have signed on their next dream home. It has plenty of space for all of us to stay (including you, April, and we will NOT make you sleep on the couch).  My kids will know this next place as "grandma & papa's house."  We will make another lifetime of memories.

Tonight I'm faced with the ridiculous (and slightly embarrassing) reality that I am secretly an emotional wreck like everyone else, I miss waking up to the sounds of woodpeckers and speedboats, and I don't want to cut the twins' hair.  

Does simply saying the words, "I am fine," make it true.  

Here's the thing...for me, it does. 

Bonus of being stubborn, perhaps. Or bonus of not being normal.  

See, I am flexible. 

Home is where my family is. 

And I'll always have coffee.  The big cup, of course. 

The Survived

I survived.  Not sure exactly what it is that I survived, but nevertheless here I am. I received a late night phone call tonight from a friend.  With disbelief I listened as she explained that somehow the small town rumor mill was churning and I was the victim.  Literally.  One of Sam's pre-k classmates who is apparently in the same elementary school as Sam (but in a different kindergarten class) heard that Sam's mom had died. Seriously. So the child told his mother. Who texted or called or spoke to various other pre-k parents. Who also texted or called or spoke to others...and eventually ended up contacting a friend of mine...hence the mysterious call hoping to hear my cheery voice.

As I laughed about the ridiculousness of rumors among kindergartners and wondering what (if any) part my charming 5 year old had in this mess, I joked with my friend about her pre-phone call activities: checking facebook and my church's website making sure there was no news of my untimely demise. Unsettling.

It is the second day of school.  Seriously.

I survived the first day without crying. But not the second day without...dying. Nice, huh?

It's been a month of reflection and treasuring memories for our family.  End of summer. Learning to swim. Potting training twins...or trying. Celebrating 95 years with Ben's sweet grandma and then sadly attending her funeral. Laughing with out of towners about life and love and childhood. Praying for a serious family health need. Prepping for the first day of school. Smiling with pride at the all-grown-up kindergartner headed off to his classroom.

Sigh.  I know, I always say it. Where does the time even go?  I am planning a second birthday party for little ones, and all I can think of is bringing my olive-skinned firstborn home from the hospital and wondering how in the world we could actually be parents.

We survived.

And when Sam wakes up in the morning and prepares to head off for another fun-filled day of learning, I will innocently inquire about any conversations he may have had at recess about his mommy dearest meeting Jesus.

The Education

Kindergarten Clothes Shopping!!!

Motherhood, like many things, requires quick study.  You learn to change a diaper without getting peed on. You learn to be suspicious of silence. You learn to enjoy cold meals because the task of chopping, separating and dishing out food to various ages of children means that your plate is the last one touched. You learn the art of carrying a stroller, diaper bag, purse, water bottle and child all at once while smiling. You learn to tolerate more noise than you ever thought possible. And you learn patience.  Oh Lord, do you learn patience!

I expected some of these lessons. I embraced them as they came and commiserated with other mommies as we graduated one stage and moved on to the next fun thing to learn.  But today surprised me.  I got an education.  On boys.  (And yes, I know all you veteran moms will smile knowingly that my "education" is just beginning).  But still. 

Sam is starting kindergarten in 24 days.  I know, right?!?!  Doesn't seem possible that my long ago chubby-faced cutie is old enough to be going to SCHOOL.  For real.  But he is. 

To say that education was important to me growing up is simply an understatement.  Generations of educators fill my family tree.  My own mother served on the school board and personally handed me my high school diploma - a memory that I truly cherish.  I was taught at a very young age that no matter the subject matter or my learning style, the singular expectation for my education was that I try my best. No excuses. No misplaced blame on distracting friends or less-than-stellar teachers. Not allowed. I was supported, encouraged and assisted by loving family, but my personal drive is undoubtedly a result of the unwavering insistence upon education.

I loved school.  I struggled to find friends but seemed to eventually get along with everyone.  I worked my butt off in class.  I savored books from the greats and tried to understand math.  I missed a lot of school in my early years due to illness, and felt awkward when I got coke bottle glasses....and then later when I got boobs.  (No joke).  I was not outspoken.  Not particularly pretty or exceptionally intelligent.  But I loved to learn. 

As the days blazed by and summer came to an end, I eagerly awaited one thing.  Year after year one of my very favorite memories was back to school shopping: new clothes, new shoes and a perfect backpack filled with school supplies.

So, while my fellow mommies have been crying buckets at the prospect of sending their babies to the first day of school, secretly inside I couldn't WAIT to take Sam shopping. Sure, I got teary one day watching the Walmart crew setting up back to school displays in early July.  But finally, I was going to pass along a wonderful tradition to Sam. A love for school and an excitement for the back to school shopping day. I was thrilled!

After lunch in town today, my family scattered in various directions.  Sam and I ended up at Target for what I was certain would be the start of many amazing Mommy-Sam memories to fill the proverbial scrapbook.  We held hands and skipped into the store. SO excited.

(Let me interject here that I should have known this was not going to go as planned when Sam kept asking what cool things he got to buy besides clothes...) I kept telling him how excited I was and how much fun we were going to have.  Now that I am replaying the story in my head, he did ask a LOT of times what we were buying that I was so excited about...ha!

So into the store we go.  Happy and laughing and cash ready for the sale. 

To just get to it:  I do not have girls. And a teeny tiny part of me today died inside because of that fact.  There, I said it. Truthfully, I love my boys and rarely find myself wishing for a fleeting second that one of my little ones didn't have a Y chromosome. It's not that Sam doesn't like clothes. He does, actually!  But the picture in my mind of us holding up colors and styles, trying on sizes, and smiling together as we decided on that treasured "first day of school" outfit....just didn't happen. 

I do not have girls.  I have boys.

My crazy child had a blast.  He ran through the Target aisles and ran his hands over every single shirt.  When I held up options and sizes he literally giggled hysterically and said he either #1 thought they were gross.  Or #2 wanted "that one and that one and that one and that one..."  (But not really because he wanted it, just to make fun of me because I wanted him to pick.)  And on and on it went.  For a millisecond (every other minute) I was frustrated. I kept saying, "Sam, focus. We have to pick out some clothes for you." And every time he just shrieked with laughter.  In the fitting room to nail down the big boy sizes, he pranced around in his underwear and pulled off every pair of shorts I put on him while he made faces in the many mirrors. The most treasured thing he put in the cart was a $4 clearance Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle watch that I only conceeded to because I bargained with him to cooperate if I let him get something "special" that wasn't technically clothes. Stellar parenting, eh?

And so I got an education.  Boys do not care really.  About the outfit or the choice.  Yes, I convinced him to find a few things. But he really didn't care. And I can bet money that the twins will not either. Dreams crushed, here. 

I do not have girls.  I have boys.  And I fear this is just a small part of my education ahead.

As I drove away from Target feeling less excited and more than slightly disappointed that the reality didn't really live up to my hopes, I glanced back at my fun-loving, amazing kid and saw it.  The sparkle in his eye, the toothy grin.  He was still giggling. 

It wasn't what I thought or expected.  It didn't turn out the way I planned it in my mind.  But today we made a memory my boy won't forget. 

He may not share my love for selecting the perfect first day outfit, but this kiddo loves to learn and he loves life.  And that's really what it's all about.

Preschool Graduation Picture from May



The Decade



Honeymooning in Mexico

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

Ten years ago tonight I was chatting with family at a nearby hotel, painting my toenails a glittery silver and eagerly awaiting my wedding day the following morning. I had barely turned 21 and graduated college less than a week prior. April and I were bunking away from the family at the Extended Stay since I was essentially homeless after loading up my college apartment, and we shared giggles and stories that last night as single sisters. In one day, I could see my future, my dreams and my blissful reality laid out before me in a beautiful celebration of matrimony.

I was totally and completely smitten for this charming guy. He made me laugh. He loved God. He was kind and considerate.  Kids climbed in his lap, and his friends asked him for advice.  He was my best friend. Just some of the many reasons I chose that day to walk down the aisle with a smile on my face and joy in my heart.

So much has happened in our 10 years of marriage and yet there are some days I think about those Mexico honeymooning days and wonder where the time has gone!  Weren't we just those young, skinny kids getting black-tongue from the Mexican food hut when I failed to tip more than $.50 for a gourmet meal?  Weren't we just those overall and Hawaiian shirt-clad newlyweds who caught each others' eye across the room and couldn't look away?  Weren't we just having the conversation about where we wanted to live "when we grew up," how many kids would fit nicely into our future family (he said 5, I said 2...go figure), if we would ever get a pet (RIP Sally), and even how long we'd stay in the state, in the house, in the job...?  So many things change.

And yet...I'm elated to discover on this anniversary-eve ten long years later, that many things are exactly the same.  Ben is still the one I want to share my stories with.  He is still the one who makes me laugh.  He's the one I want to eat with, sleep with (we have 3 kids and crazy lives...I seriously mean SLEEP people...), hang with and yes, even still dream with.  

Throughout the fun times and the more difficult days, weeks, months or even years, I have consistently been determined to remember the good.  It's not that much different than the way I approach life in general, so this shouldn't be a surprise to many, but there's something very powerful about forcing yourself to think about the best qualities in someone when all you see in that moment are the worst things..which are usually just the things that drive you the most nuts!  Re-learning and reminding yourself of the qualities you love about the person is the best way to move forward and perhaps continue to learn about each other a little more.

So here we are.  Ten years away from our wedding day, and I can say with absolute delight that I love my husband more today than I even knew was possible 10 years ago.  Yes, that is sappy.  Sorry.  It's just plain true.  Our life together is far from perfect. We do not always get along. We do not always "feel" that wedded bliss. 

But tonight, I sit alone in my basement, watching TLC wedding shows and thinking of tomorrow. I didn't paint my toenails or even shave my legs.  I may not put on makeup before I take my 5-year-old to pre-k in the morning.  I won't go to a bed & breakfast with the breezy windows open or the funny flowered wallpaper.  I won't visit a historic German town, eat ice cream or visit the world's largest Christmas store.  I won't take a belated trip to the Florida coastline and walk at sunset holding hands with my beau.  I won't eat a spectacular dinner, watch an action movie, chick flick or superhero blockbuster or even toast with sparkling raspberry limeade amongst a sea of baby toys (Mandy & Isaac: I promise you guys there will be more exciting anniversaries in your future than spending the evening with me and my crazy boys like you did earlier this week!). 

Since Ben is out of the country at the moment serving the people of Nicaragua, tomorrow is just another day to get up and live this life we've created together.

There's really nothing that special about May 24.  Except that a decade ago I made a vow and sealed it with a kiss.  And that's worth celebrating.  <3

The Contact

One of the most incredible discoveries after having twins was their innate need for touch.  Since their birth, and let's just be honest long before that, they have craved human contact. 

Sometimes I notice it when they sit next to each other back to back, doing totally different activities but almost joined at the same time.  Other times I look down and see them holding hands or simply putting a hand or foot next to someone else's bare skin and making that contact.

Tonight we spent some sweet moments reading together.  They climbed quickly into my lap, pushing each other aside vying for the perfect view.  Before I could open the book they each grasped an arm of mine.  Not to get my attention.  Just a small, simple act, but they did it simultaneously.  They literally cannot be around other people without finding a way to make that connection. It is amazing to me.

Many times I consider myself quite the opposite of this. I'm not a hugg-er.  That is an understatement.  My family and friends will laugh at this admission.  I'm the one who looks for something to occupy my arms when people are saying goodbye and doling out hugs.  I'm the one who does the one arm pat and then gets called on it!  I just am NOT a touchy-feely person.

But lately it has become abundantly clear to me that we all crave contact in one way or another, just like my sweet boys.  We may run from it or avoid it, but inevitably we need it. 

Maybe the contact we look for isn't physical touch.  Maybe instead it is friendship, support or encouragement.  Maybe it is hearing something that needs to be said but you don't want to hear.  Maybe it is a smile or simply being around someone who challenges you to be better.  Someone who makes that connection with you and brings strength to your day.

A person I admire and respect greatly at work equates this need for contact to lurking the halls like a vampire, feeding off of others' positive energy and optimism. I love this analogy. Of course, I want to be the one with the positivity in this scenario that can provide that lifeblood for others!  But the opposite is also true. On days when I really need a boost, I would rather feed off of the positive than the alternative.  How many times in our busy days do we realize that other people are basing their mood on our responses and tone?  We are responsible for how we impact others.

Ben and I often discuss that our many differences have been used over the nearly 13 years of our friendship and 10 years of our marriage to refine and shape who we are.  Not surprising.  The people we choose to keep closest will always have the biggest opportunity to motivate and truly sharpen us. 

You use steel to sharpen steel, and one friend sharpens another.  Proverbs 27:17

The Unknown

Sam's 5th Birthday Party!

Five years ago this very night I was settling down after a long day, feeling uncomfortable and fat and tired.  I remember what I was wearing.  I remember most every detail of what we did that day.  I remember the feeling of the "impending unknown." And I vividly remember being awakened at 2:30am with regular, intense contractions that would not cease.  I washed the dishes (distraction!), took a shower, painted my toes (seriously), gathered my bags, awoke the husband (yes, he was still sound asleep despite my several hour prowl around the house doubling over in pain) and we headed to the hospital. 

Sounds simple.  But those who have walked this road before know that the drive to the hospital is quite possibly the most monumental journey you'll take.  I don't think you always realize it, as most people spend their trip calling loved ones, but it really is the drive that changes everything.

Five years ago I became Mommy.  Not "a" mommy.  But Mommy.  A new name.  A new life.  A new person, really. 

I was so tired and overwhelmed.  In so much pain from my c-section recovery and desperately struggling to make the breastfeeding thing work.  I was utterly exhausted (well at least I thought it was the most tired I would ever be in my life...if only I had known the twins were coming a few years later to teach me what real exhaustion felt like). 

My first few days and even weeks of being Mommy honestly weren't the greatest.  I cried and wondered how in the world I could ever do this.  How could I love and care for this little life in a way that would truly matter?  How would my great marriage fare in this new territory?

I made mistakes as Mommy.  About a month into this life I packed the diaper bag, loaded up the car for a quick errand run and backed out of the driveway.  Made it almost to the stop sign on our street and in sheer horror realize that I DIDN'T HAVE THE CHILD!?!  Not 30 seconds later, my heart pounding, I shoved open the door and saw the sweet baby sleeping contently in his car seat just waiting for our exciting trip. Not my proudest moment.

But my early Mommy days also came with growth.  The knowledge and confidence that I could, in fact, survive this challenge and perhaps even thrive.  Sometimes in small ways like successful naptimes or getting to pee in peace.  But often in bigger ways.  Days that I looked at my tired, but growing family and realized that I was happier with my new life. My marriage was actually better.  I laughed more.  I saw things through new eyes.

For many, the prospect of having kids (or heck, let's just be honest here, the actual reality of having the child living and breathing in your arms already) brings panic and fear.

Seems like lately it surrounds me. I listen to the all the perspectives: aversion, apprehension, contemplation...so much negativity about kids.  So much negativity about how kids are somehow stopping us from being satisfied in life.  Anger and resentment that kids make us stop living.  I'm so tired of it. 

In these conversations I have this overwhelming urge to explain what it is like to be Mommy.  I mean the good stuff!  The problem is, there are no words.  No words to adequately express how your heart feels to create a life and have it look you in the eye.  No words to sum up what mush you turn into when that life you made smiles a toothless grin or the pride you feel when your child says something witty or charming.  No words for someone who hasn't lived it.

Are there rough times?  Tons.  Are there frustrating moments....days....months, even?  Yes, I do not want to relive the horrendous three's (oh, wait, I will....).  Do kids make things hard for your marriage and friendships and just your LIFE sometimes?  Yes.

So why do it?  Really.  Why? 

I know why.  Because five years ago the impending unknown was worth it.  My marriage is better.  My life is sweeter.  My heart is happier.  No arguing with that.

The Season

www.challenge.walmart.com/springfield

There is a time for everything. 

Sometimes I think back to a time in my life when things seemed easier.  No husband.  No mortgage. No kids.  Virtually no real responsibility.  And somehow even when I was going through those seasons I still had confidence that the best was yet to come.  I didn't really think it was easier at the time.  Ever felt like that?

As I spent yesterday evening grocery shopping in the rain with tired kiddos, I almost laughed at how I actually was excited about Friday night grocery shopping night. No date night out or laughs with friends.  Nope, not for us. I was happy because we were crossing something off our list early in the weekend, leaving us lots of time for cleaning house, doing mountainous piles of laundry and running around after kids the rest of Saturday and Sunday. No different than usual. That's just the season we're in.

On days when I'm anxious about bills (Yes, we are still paying off my c-section and two NICU babies more than a year later!) or worried about not having much, if any, disposable income at the end of every month, I have to consciously remind myself that I'm just 30.  Our kids are young.  And even though we will hit the big 10 year mark this May, our marriage is still fairly "young" in the scheme of things.   It is OKAY that we don't have tons of dough.  It is OKAY that we struggle and sacrifice and work really hard for the things that we want.  We truly never lack the things we need. 

I remember being 8 or 9 years old (I can't remember exactly which but if you ask my sister with the steel trap memory she will fill you in), living in a cramped apartment with my parents and sharing a mattress on the floor with my sister while we built our house.  I remember my mom making our clothes and us never going out to eat. What I remember so vividly though isn't about the money, or lack of it. It's about the work.  Hard work.  And knowing that my parents were working hard to provide a better season for our family. 

I reminded Ben this week that in 4 short years we will have all three kids in school.  We will be a two income family once again, minus the ridiculous $500ish daycare payments every week this time around.  What in the world will we do with that boost to our budget?  We cannot even fathom that kind of life right now.  That's okay.  It's just the season we're in.

Once you move past a season, you don't usually think about returning.  But this week I got the rare opportunity to celebrate my current life while channeling the Carrie of another time. Curious?

To help out a coworker working on Walmart commercial castings, I agreed to do a quick interview weeks ago.  Turns out they wanted me to come in for a commercial highlighting local moms saving money.  I showed up Tuesday and after a brief hair & makeup session I had one of the best days I can remember in a long time. Sure, I got paid for my time, but the real treat was a throwback to my old self.  I was fun and crazy and spunky and...just...Carrie. But not the reserved, professional, polished Carrie who says the right things and acts appropriately.  Nope, not her.  Instead the Carrie from a different season.  The Carrie from college or even before.  Before the cares of the world and responsibility to act my age and job became more important than the loud, energetic, quirky and fun Carrie.  Sigh.  It was strangely fun and a nice change of pace.  I spent 5 hours bantering with the commercial host, juggling with tomato soup and noodle-o's, dancing the chicken dance, playing peekaboo in the Walmart freezer doors and frankly making a fool of my self.  They wanted big reactions? I delivered.  Facial expressions and smiles?  Done.  Shock, Awe and Amazement?  In the bag.  And I walked away feeling carefree. 

Sure, I'm a mom and not really a very cool one at that.  But I'm also fun.  Really, I am. (Why do I feel the need to convince you?) And for just a short time this week I got to be both.  As the day wore on and I slowly slipped back into my normal self, I had the sinking realization that other people (i.e. people I work with and who know me professionally) were actually going to see this commercial.  And soon.  I cringed inside at the reactions ahead.  I was totally over the top ridiculous during the shooting, but it really was just ME!  Just not necessarily the "me" everyone gets to know and love on a daily basis.  I've always been upbeat and bubbly, but Tuesday was really an extreme.  It was reminiscent of the turbo cheerleader fun-loving Carrie that my wonderful husband met and fell in love with.  I had forgotten that this person was still in there.

As the anxiety grew I found myself remembering one of the last things I said to the film crew on Tuesday.  They were telling me how much fun they had and how they appreciated that they didn't have to keep telling me to smile or be expressive.  They didn't have to feed me lines at all.  I just went with it and had a good time.  I remember telling them, "What's the point of life if you can't have a little fun and not take yourself so seriously."  HA.  If you really know me, that is NOT something that you'd hear me say.  I am pretty much the reason someone came up with the phrase "lighten up!"  Who is this person I have become and why?  Is it my job, requiring me to be the professional? Is it the toil and troubles of life that have so radically worn me down?  Is it the distance of my dearest friends, with whom I used to never hold back?

Somewhere along the way, the seriousness about life has infiltrated my spirit. Doesn't that happen to all of us?  Hard to spend time with friends or the husband being carefree and over the top when you have LIFE to handle. Family and friends battling divorce and cancer and money and kids.  So many burdens that just seem to crush us.  It makes me sad.

So I'm going to own it.  Yes, the commercial is a tad cheesy and totally the opposite of my strait-laced, composed, PR professional ways.  But, you know what?  It's just me.  I had a blast.

And maybe I'm learning that the season we're in depends less on our circumstances and more on the attitude we have along the way.

www.challenge.walmart.com/springfield