When You Wish Upon a... Wishbone

Mary Claire and George had never before seen a wishbone. (Maybe a result of their mother's cooking deficit? Perhaps.) But because I'd used my trusty Crock Pot to cook a big old turkey breast so we could partake in the traditional leftovers, we were gifted with a wishbone that sat drying on the island for the past few days.

Last night, Chris explained to them what a wishbone was all about. He used words like "clavicle" and Mary Claire used words like "Eww, gross."

We then proceeded to tell them that if they each made a wish and pulled one end of the wishbone, it would break unevenly -- and that the person who ended up with the bigger half would be granted his or her wish.

They both thought long and hard about their wishes while Chris peppered them with questions such as, "Did you wish for your Daddy to get a new car? Did you wish for Daddy to get a new iPhone?" And they commenced with eye-rolling and brow-furrowing as they continued to ponder this big decision.

Then came time for the pull.

I have never in my life seen a wishbone split like this. NEVER. In fact, I said that exact line... loudly... multiple times. "I have NEVER seen a wishbone split that that. EVER!" And they finally all shushed me while Chris lamented the fact that HE always gets pegged as the loud one.

But truly, isn't that a sight to behold?

I think it means that both their wishes get to come true.

In fact, I think all our wishes get to come true.

Facebook Status Overload

Yesterday was our annual "Picking Out the Perfect Christmas Tree" outing. The weather was gorgeous, the sun stunning, and I only heard one under-the-breath order to "shut it" (because they're not allowed to say "shut up") from one charming Willis child to another as we loaded into the Suburban.

On the way to the Christmas tree farm, I was lamenting the fact that "Table for Six: The Extraordinary Tales of an Ordinary Family" still wasn't ready for public consumption. I peppered Chris with the usual questions...

Should it be in narrative form?

If so, should it be chronological?

Does is work as a series of essays?

Will anyone want to read it?

Should I just retire my typing fingers and become a stripper instead?

And his response?

"I think that what will make this book absolutely perfect is if you write the entire thing in third person." And then he rolled his eyes and proceeded to turn up the Run-DMC Christmas carols. Because we've had this conversation approximately 3,268 times. Just this week.

"Yeah!" Sam chimed in. "Sam thinks you should always write in third person."

"Gus agrees," added my 11-year-old.

"Mary Claire thinks we should all stop for hot chocolate."

"And George thinks he should receive lots of LEGOs for Christmas."

And that is how the Third Person Trip To the Christmas Tree Farm Conversation began.

"Katrina thinks all her kids are smart asses -- just like their father," I interjected after a series of loud and unruly third person comments. "And because they are all irreverent and obnoxious, she is going to sing 'Away in a Manger' at the top of her lungs."

"Noooo!" they all cried.

"Sam thinks he will die if he has to listen to that!"

But I did it anyway.

And just for the record, no one perished.

Much To Be Thankful For

It's that season again -- time to reflect upon our lives and to acknowledge each and every one of our blessings. And because it's Thanksgiving time, Jody can't really give me crap about getting all sappy with my gratitude. So, compadres, here it is.

In 2010, I'm Thankful For...

1. Big Daddy Willis, my better half, my rock, my one and only -- and the sweet dance moves he breaks out in the kitchen.
2. My four little (or not so little) Willis's, each with his or her own set of quirks, talents, and general annoyances. They've grown up enough to each hone a unique brand of witty sarcasm... but every one of them still wants to be tucked in at night. I love that.
3. Two stinky, faithful dogs who constantly vie for the sunniest spot on the family room floor.
4. Canine breath mints -- rarely used, always appreciated.
5. Unconditional friendships.
6. Two healthy legs to run... very... slowly... on.
7. Mom and Bob who loved, nurtured, and raised me -- even when they probably would have preferred to ground me... indefinitely.
8. Jean and Dave who -- at age 40 -- were blessed with the surprise that turned out to be the man of my dreams.
9. My extended family -- even the crazy ones (I'm not naming names... but in all honesty must count myself among them).
10. A big ass washing machine and heavy duty dryer.
11. The blogosphere to support my compulsion for over-sharing.
12. Books, books, and more books -- and the gifted writers who continue to pen them.
13. Red wine and chocolate, sometimes together, but always satisfying independently as well.
14. Opportunities for new adventures -- even when we least expect them.
15. Dave Matthews (John Mayer will have to wait to make it back onto next year's list. I'm still a little miffed about the whole Taylor Swift thing.).
16. Trust.
17. Movie theaters, buttered popcorn, and Diet Coke.
18. New tires on the Suburban.
19. Education and a lifelong opportunity to learn and grow.
20. Abundance. Always, abundance.
21. Sappy love songs from the 70s.
22. A voice with which to sing sappy love songs from the 70s in my infinite quest to simultaneously entertain and annoy my children.
23. The gumption to look Big Life Changes in the face and know that all will be well.
24. Laughter.
25. The kindness of strangers... and friends.

Happy Thanksgiving, Dear Ones.

Who's the Lucky Lady?

Apparently, only ONE Zionsville female is invited to attend the Holiday Shopping extravaganza.

This makes me crazy. Seriously crazy.

I realize that I make grammatical errors and typos on my blog from time to time. But my posts have not been through multiple hands. They have not been proofed and sent to a sign company. They have not been printed and distributed throughout town (at least to the best of my knowledge).

And most of them are heavily influenced by red wine consumption.

I'm afraid this is what happens in a town that doesn't support public education.

It's all downhill from here, neighbors.

26.2

A week ago today, I did it. 26.2 miles. My goal was to run the first 13.1, then walk/run the second half. I ran to mile 18 and then took the last 8 as they came. It wasn't fast, wasn't pretty. My time -- by most runner's standards -- was dismal.

But I was over the moon.

Many people along the way -- water station volunteers, spectators, police officers -- commented on my smile, told me how nice it was to see someone looking so happy after 20 miles.

And I was.

This marathon for me wasn't about "winning" in the traditional sense. It was about the experience, the journey. It was about seeing the smiling faces of my beloved husband and kids every six miles. It was about having my 14-year-old whisper in my ear as he ran beside me, "You've got this. You can do this." It was about smiling for Brian's camera so he could record this very important day of my life -- the one he so graciously chose to share with us. It was about hearing my friends cheer for me as I approached mile 26, and then having them run me to the finish line. It was about listening to a song on my iPhone that made me think of a very special person in my life. It was about greeting strangers along the way, encouraging them on their journey, congratulating them on their accomplishments. It was remembering and holding closely all the notes, cards, emails, text messages, care packages, and well-wishes from my dear friends and relatives.

Most people will never run a marathon in their lives.

I enjoy knowing I'm not like most people.

My friend, Shmee, wrote a brilliant blog post about gingerbread people and how they are so very ordinary. It's easy to be a gingerbread man, simple to do what's expected of you, safe to do what everyone else is doing.

I'm ready to be different, to do something unexpected, to take the path less traveled.

Less than 1% of the world's population ever completes a marathon. I want to continue to run with them.

Don't get me wrong -- I have no desire to complete another marathon. Friends told me I'd be hooked, that I'd want to continue spending my Saturdays doing 20-mile training runs. I've not yet felt that urge. Nor do I expect to. But I do want to break the mold, live authentically, focus on what truly matters in this life.

The failure of a school corporation referendum in our town has forced us into examining our personal situation, of accepting the reality of what the future holds (or doesn't hold) for us here, to create a Plan B. I believe that everything happens for a reason. And although I'm not quite self-centered enough to think that God smote our town with dissension and discord so the Willis's could determine their true path in life, I think He most definitely gave us some new material to work with.

And so, as we stride with assurance into our 40s, we get to make some big decisions and chart a course that most would consider a little off-kilter, a bit against the norm. Shmee, we're casting aside our gumdrop buttons and joining the less than 1% who follow the "traditional" path in life.

Just like my marathon pace, I intend to take this one in stride -- to enjoy the view along the way, to look forward to seeing the bright and shining faces of my family and friends, to smile at and thank the strangers along the way.

I doubt this journey will cause me to lose another toenail, but I believe the adventures in store will be even more unexpected, even more exciting. Will they be painful, too? Possibly. But I've pulled my own damaged toenail off with a pair of tweezers.

I can do anything.

An Article Conversation

I want a kinder, gentler world. I'm tired of the fighting, the blaming, the "I've got to be right which ultimately means that you have to be wrong" attitude. It wears me out. It really does.

I've always been kind of a "gray" person. That doesn't mean that I don't have strong opinions or beliefs. It simply means that I'm not a "my way or the highway" kind of girl. I realize that there are multiple sides to every story. There are very few hills I'm willing to die on.

After all, I have so much to live for.

What I'd like to propose is an article conversation. And because I must give credit where credit is due -- and so as not to be accused of plagiarism or intellectual property theft (right, Shmee?) -- I will tell you that my wise husband gave birth to this particular set of semantics.

The article conversation is simple. It is "a/an" versus "the."

This is "a" way versus "the" way.

This is "an" answer versus "the" answer.

This is "a" solution versus "the" solution.

The difference is vast, isn't it? And it plays out everywhere. In our churches, in our homes, in our schools, in our neighborhoods. In every conversation we engage in, we get to choose our articles.

I choose the kinder, gentler version.

After all, aren't we all here to be the best we can be? To do the best with what we have? I grow weary of "I'm right and you're wrong."

That's just a story. And we all have those.

Maybe instead of an "I'm right and you're wrong" conversation, we should consider that "I'm right and you're right." Those conversations are the toughest ones to reconcile, aren't they?

While at the polls on Tuesday, I listened to a man behind me complain about the inefficiencies of the operation. He had ALL the answers. Within five minutes of waiting in line, he knew exactly how to eliminate the wait, how to expedite the process, how to fix the perceived problem. And he then verbally assaulted a poll worker with his expertise. He had his story and he was sticking to it. He didn't care what the poll worker had to say. He just wanted HIS STORY to be heard. Loudly. And emphatically. What's that they say about walking a mile in another man's shoes? Perhaps if he'd gotten up at 4:30 AM to volunteer his assistance at the polls, he'd have seen things differently, he'd have understood another viewpoint. But he didn't have time for that. He was BUSY. He was IMPORTANT. He was obviously the SMARTEST MAN IN THE ROOM. I was disappointed in myself for not taking a stand. I voted, I exited, and I sat in my car disgusted with that man's actions and with my own decision not to act.

What kind of a friend, family member, neighbor, community, state, nation have we become when we treat others with such disdain? When we fail to trust that perhaps someone might have a valid alternative viewpoint? Or that someone might know a little more about the situation than we do? Or that maybe -- just maybe -- both stories are accurate. And the yelling and screaming and berating gets in the way of understanding.

I'm a strong advocate of the Charter for Compassion. The opening of their mission statement begins like this:

"The principle of compassion lies at the heart of all religious, ethical and spiritual traditions, calling us always to treat all others as we wish to be treated ourselves. Compassion impels us to work tirelessly to alleviate the suffering of our fellow creatures, to dethrone ourselves from the centre of our world and put another there, and to honour the inviolable sanctity of every single human being, treating everybody, without exception, with absolute justice, equity and respect."

It doesn't say anything about making sure that we're right -- always and unequivocally.

If you're interested in a kinder, gentler world, I encourage you to explore the Charter for Compassion.

I'm starting in the only logical place: with me. I'll never claim that I've perfected it, that I've got all the answers, that I haven't failed time and time again. But I will claim to move forward -- with integrity and purpose.

And as a sidebar, here's our best bit of news this week...

Gus has "a" heart murmur. He does not have "the" kind of heart murmur that we need to worry about.

My favorite article, indeed.