What’s in a name?

Though I’ve pulled back quite a bit, in the years of having a Facebook and Twitter, I’ve posted quite a number of articles and other fun stuff to share with others.  Problem is that it is hard to go back and find something I’ve posted that I may want to refer to again (Unless I favorite it on Twitter.  But even that list can get massive.)  I use Delicious to bookmark websites for my reference and even used an old online journal for this purpose.  One thing I learned from Jeff Goins though is to use other people’s work for my inspiration.  I do that a lot…in my mind.  I’ll read a blog post and immediately have my own thoughts to add to it from my experience.  Ah, one day I’ll get into a good blogging ritual.

For now, just sharing something cute my BFFFL sent me a long time ago.  I’ve had it saved to email, but I have to share it with the WWW.  But I’m anal about keeping my email empty.  Giving folder options for someone like me is really a waste of time.  I am a organization freak who must purge every area of my life.  What can I say? 🙂

What’s up! atorres@sent you a definition with this comment:

Soooo true!


A sultry and exotic looking woman who knows what she wants and how to get it. An Elissa is a rare kind of woman who is widely known for her great personality and warmheartedness. She is an exceptionally goodnatured person who has an unparalleled ability to light up anyone’s life. Elissas are also known for their unsurpassing cooking skills…and dance skills. A person you won’t ever forget. If you happen to meet an Elissa, consider yourself extremely lucky.

Wow, that woman is incredible…she must be an Elissa.


I love it!


Summer lovin’…

I know most people think of Will Smith’s classic Summertime as the official summer anthem, but I’m all about this.  Though considering John Travolta is talking about some inappropriate sand lovin’ perhaps it wasn’t the best song choice for this post.  But let’s go with it, shall we?

Well, let’s state the obvious first that I gave up on the 15 Habits series (see previous three posts).  As days blurred into nights into next days and nights, I could seriously see the need to wake up earlier.  But oh, the joy of being able to sleep 1.5 hours later on work day and as late as I want the two days a week I have off.  Surprise, surprise though, the first two days I had off this week I woke up at the same time I would have for work.  It was a boost though to get things done in the house I had been putting off.  No one needs to motivate me to organize!

Well, this past Friday (June 29) was one of those days I just had to document.  Except we got home way too late to do so.  I wish I had because the emotions behind that day would have flowed beautifully in the moment, and I can only hope I can convey those feelings two days later.

We had had an exciting day the Thursday before as my best friend had her baby!  We spent all afternoon well into the night at the hospital with Goob running around with his best friends; her children.  I woke up at 8 and was not surprised that my child slept until past 10.  (The Lord loves me better than you.)  I had started on organizing his room the day before (a whole other post in itself), purging items and sifting through the unintentional wreckage it had become.  (He has toooooo much stuff and it makes me feel so guilty!)  With the excitement of new baby coming, organizing had to stop on Wednesday so I picked it up Friday.

For reasons unbeknownst to me, when he woke up he was very clingy.  He kept hugging me and using baby voice to say, “Stay with mommy.”  I don’t know what overcame him; maybe it was being away from me for a couple of days while I worked, or spending all that time with me the day before, but he was absolutely loving me and did not want to unwrap those little tanned arms from around my waist.  And for a mom who knows how much her son loves his father more than her, this was a gift–for however long it lasted.

When I FINALLY finished his room hours later, you should have seen his expression.  Mouth agape, he dropped what he was carrying and hugged me.  Don’t get me wrong, he is expected to keep his room tidy but this was more than that.  He needs his mommy to make his room functional.  I know what works best for him, what needs to be “highlighted” in the room, if you will, and where things will go that he will get the best and most use out of.  He was thrilled.

As a reward, after I cleaned up the rest of the apartment (just putting things away) and showered, we hit up Panera which we haven’t in soooo long!  (We’ve been good!)  It had become “our” little date spot and it felt good to reconnect again.  He had his standard bagel; I–even on a 97 degree day–enjoyed yummy french onion soup and we chatted about life and whatever other questions his little mind thinks up.

It was there that I sat staring at him during a quiet moment of chewing, me looking over a bowl full of croutons and melted cheese, that I realized–though I guess I always realize–but really realized how blessed I am and how nothing these past eight years has been unworthy.

Goob wasn’t expected.  At all.  And at age 23 when the unexpected occurred, a lot of dreams had to die.  There have been moments in these 101 months, where the devil would have me believe my life was not as it should have been.  That I was failure.  That I did not accomplished anything I set out to do.

And then there’s the idolatrous side that longed to travel the world and soak up the riches it had to offer.  I think the things I thought I would do and the ones I still long to aren’t bad things in themselves.  But when I use it as a comparison to the life I’m actually living and as a standard to what I don’t have, I have failed God terribly.  And I have told God He messed up and I should have better, done better, been better.  I sin and fall short of the glory of God over and over.

Untit I sit in Panera on a Friday afternoon, in our bathing suits, waiting to hit the cool, refreshing water of our pool, eating french onion soup and a plain bagel toasted with extra butter.

And I look over at eight years of prayers and tears, sometimes blood, a lot of sweat…and I know NONE of it was in vain.  The things I have put on the back burner to be a mom mean nothing in comparison to how my heart swelled up in that very moment and my lungs felt as they could hold no more air.

Please please please do not misread what I am saying.  I respect those of you SO MUCH who have made the choice to continue your education or work while being the best parents you can be!

But I only know what is right for me.  And every choice I have made, every sacrifice, doing things my heart was not into so in return of me being available to that little boy as much as possible was what was right for me.  For us.  And I don’t regret it.  I probably never will.

If the Lord allows me days past his 18th year, my time will come to earn degress; be a writer; see the world.  But I would never take money or time away from providing it to him instead.  Yes, there will be time.  My time will come.

We get back into the car in the parking lot only to have to battle a large moth that wants to kill us,  (True story.)  And yes, yet another post for another time because one must document a grown woman and a child screaming as they jump out of their car in the middle of the road with passerbys only being able to wonder what the commotion is about.

We went to the pool and oh, how it’s my hearts desire to purchase an underwater case for our camera for it’s under the water where the magic happens.  For it was only two short summers ago, he trembled to get into those very waters.  And now he dives and flips, and blows air through his nose so that a mass of bubbles escape.  And we play tag and throw balls and hug in cool, refreshing waters on 97 degree days.

I don’t take it for granted.  I never will.

We spend hours until we are prunes and walking home we chat more, about life and all the questions his little mind comes up with.

We go to Red Mango because that’s his new favorite thing to do with mommy.  Not because he likes it, but because he LOVES to feel like a big boy and be able to make mommy her favorite treat.  He pulls the lever where creamy frozen yogurt comes out and I can’t explain the excitement of being able to dump strawberries and kiwis and Fruity Pebbles on vanilla bean yogurt.  We top it with warm chocolate fudge which he will eat (alone).  I love that he doesn’t need the newest video game to be content.

We need to pick up daddy so we head out and then we go to visit Nana who is home alone sad that Grandpa has flown to Belgium for work.  We eat Chinese and play “Hands Down!” (a new family addiction) until we are red in the face from laughing so hard.

We get home late and it’s no wonder we collapse into bed.  Or should I say couch.  He sleeps in the living room on the couch in the summer because he loves the cool air from the AC’s fan blowing on his face.  It’s been this way since his first summer at 5 months old.  I plan to go to bed with Daddy until he says,

But, Mommy!  I made the bed for you!

And I see two pillows laid out for me to sleep on the other side of him.  I tell Daddy, “But, he MADE THE BED FOR ME!” and there’s no way I’m not going to curl up next to him.

Because who knows how long I have until that becomes totally uncool.

Yes, I have that boy for 18 years.  I made a resolution to make these last ten count for everything it’s worth.

Friday, June 29; it counted.

Trust me, I did not do the day justice.  But it’s documented, so on days when I feel like I’m not living up to being a good mom, a Godly mom, whatever lies I’m believing that day–I’ll look back and remember this day when it all made sense and it all felt right and it was close to touching perfect.

Be well, friends.  Enjoy the sun and your life.  God gave it to you and I pray you make much of it.

For His glory alone.

Forgive any typos or bad grammar.  This was as stream-of-conscious as I get and I’m not going to make any edits.  It flowed from the heart, and the heart speaks truth.  Bad spelling and all.