Never pass on the chance to dance.

I felt the Earth stop spinning today.

It was this afternoon--my craziest time of day, to be exact. Yesterday's dinner dishes were still in the sink. The floor was in need of a sweeping and mopping. There were coats, book bags, and shoes strewn across two rooms. I needed to start dinner, fold laundry, pay bills, file papers, vacuum the carpets, wash the dog, scour my bathroom, fill the car with gas, and do my hair.

I turned on some music to help me escape the demands--at least mentally. Then I rolled up my sleeves and started to work.

But wouldn't you know it? As soon as I was getting into a productive rhythm, I was interrupted. This time by an angel.

My two-year-old came running into the kitchen. She wanted me to dance with her.

I scooped up that laughing, shining girl, and held her like a baby. We twirled, we dipped, we pranced. She smiled. She giggled. I held her tighter.

My baby still, but grown up some: wearing panties, talking in sentences, coloring in the lines, trying to read, complimenting my eyelashes, and now, wanting me to dance.

I couldn't hold her close enough. I smelled her hair, kissed her cheeks, admired her flawless skin, delighted in her twinkling eyes and shimmering soul.

Oh, I love you! How did I get you?

The song ended. She got down and skipped away, off to the next art project. I went back to my dishes after wiping away my tears, grateful for that moment of unsullied joy.

After she went to bed tonight, I sat on the couch and looked around at my still messy house. I didn't get everything done. Actually, I hardly got anything done. But I did do one thing right.

Today, I danced with an angel.

Knock, knock.

After using my cell phone, my husband asked me, "You know what I think is funny?"

"Wha?" I grunted.

"How you have thirteen voice mails, and you don't intend to listen to any of them."

I don't know why the humor hasn't worn off of this topic for him. I've proven time and again, for over a decade, that I don't do voicemail.

Do you know how many requests I fulfill everyday? Neither do I.  It's a lot. Why on Earth would I want a machine that adds its demands to my daily duties?

I bet you've had messages like this left for you, too:

"Hi, Natalie, it's me. I can't be there on Saturday. Will you please take over the children's activity? The current head count is forty-two. Let me know if I can do anything to help...."

Well, you could bring over a knife so I could slit my wrists.

"I was wondering if you could do me a favor tomorrow. Please call me back so I can give you an assignment that is impossible to accomplish in a timely manner."

Sure thing! It's a good thing I don't have five children, or this request really would be impossible.

"Somebody told me you were great at this, and I was wondering if you would do this for my mother by Thursday night."

Your compliments won't work on me. I don't care if you think I have talent, or not. I haven't even talked to my mother. Can you please take care of yours?

Just now my husband informed me that I have an answering machine on my kitchen phone, but it was only turned on for a few minutes the first day we got it. Then he added that the one message I received has never been listened to.

So that explains the blinking blue light coming from the kitchen that keeps me awake at nights.

Frankly, I'm scared of a machine full of messages. The machine says, "You have sixteen ready messages," and I hear, "You have sixteen pressing engagements which require your attention NOW." I balk at relationships that demand that kind of commitment. I know myself too well; I'm doomed to disappoint before I even acquiesce.

Don't get me wrong. It's not that I don't love to help out a friend. I love it. It feels so good to give to someone in need--especially someone I love. But I just can't handle a one-way relationship. If you're a taker, you also need to be a giver--at least some of the time--or my mom said I can't be your friend.

I'm not averse to all technology. Take caller ID, for example. There's a smart idea! I can avoid a parasitic relationship without ever talking to the leech. I love that!

But I'm going to suggest we take that invention one step further. How about caller ID for the front door?

Who's with me?

I know I'm not the first to think of this. I'm just bringing it back to the table for some serious discussion. I, myself, have tried many forms of doorbell ID.

There's the one where I crawl along the floor to steal a furtive peak out the side window. But hiding in my own house just feels plain wrong. And then there's always the risk that the person will see my one mad eye peeping out of the tiny break in the curtains. I'm not a risk taker.

Looking through the peephole doesn't work, either. Since I have to run to the door, I'm sure the person on the other side can hear my heavy breathing, and besides being awkward, it's just plain rude. I don't want the knocker to know I'm home and ignoring them on purpose.

I looked into hiring a butler so someone else would do my dirty work, but there was no one named "Belvedere" applying for the job, so I had to concede that it wasn't a necessity.

Once I saw a welcome sign for the front door with a backside that said, "Go Away". I almost bought it, but I wasn't sure how that would pan out. Something like: the doorbell rings, I look out and see who it is, decide I want to ignore them, and then carefully open the door a crack, turn the sign slowly around (in the hopes they won't notice so subtle a movement), and then stealthily bring my arm back inside and gently close the door. No matter how I play that one in my mind, it always ends up badly. It's simply not my style to be so impertinent.

There's got to be a solution out there. And I'm thinking hard about it. If you think of it first, call me. I'd love to hear your idea.

But don't leave a message.

If you don't know, I'm not gonna tell you.

Having a man in my life extends my experiences and understanding.

For example, before I was married, I had no idea what a "Vulcan Mind Meld" was.  My husband pointed out that this was a grave oversight. He was happy to reform me.

When "Star Trek" came up in our movie night rotation, I was wishing that Anne Shirley had come up instead. But opening my mind to the remote possibility of being entertained, I happily sat beside my husband for the show.

After boldly going where no woman has (sanely) gone before, there are still a lot of things I don't understand: blue people, a girl without a first name, Spock's ears, space jargon, time warps, banishment on cold planets, arrogant recklessness...to name a few.

But, thanks to my husband's careful tutelage, I now understand the Mind Meld.

Sort of.

The best I can explain it is thus: when Vulcans want to achieve a better understanding of, or a higher communication with, a person, they place their fingers in a particular way on the victim's face and share consciousness.

How'd I do?

I'm fascinated with the fact that some things are reality for adult men, e.g., light sabers, super speed, the force, space worlds. Sometimes my husband reaches for a piece of fruit, stops half way, slightly closes his fingers, and furrows his brow in concentration. When I inquire after the strange behavior, he explains, "I'm using the force."

Well, duh. What was I even thinking?

I know he's not the only man who does stuff like this. When I asked one of my man friends what he wanted for Christmas, he responded (in all sobriety), "A light saber."

If you need further proof, look up "Vulcan" in wikipedia. Included topics (among many) are: physical characteristics, diet, mating, fighting and self defense, and home worlds.

Then look up "Anne Shirley", and notice how she is discussed only as a fictional, literary character.

While I don't want to understand why men create these alternate realities, I've come up with a theory about why the Vulcan Mind Meld was brought into existence.

The scenario is such: Man fails to empty full garbage can. Woman silently fumes. Although he didn't notice the full can, he can't help but notice her cold shoulder. He frantically reviews his behavior to see what he did to elicit such rude treatment. After a quick scan, he discovers there are too many possible catalysts, and decides a blanket apology is easiest. When she won't accept an apology because he doesn't know what he did, he resigns himself to his fate and goes to watch Sports Center. While watching, he daydreams about possible super powers he could gain. The top of his list: reading his wife's mind...by touching her.

I'm dead on with this, am I not?

But I would do my gender a disservice if I didn't point out something obvious to all us women.

Mind Melding is not necessary.

If you want to make us happy, try chocolates, flowers, a fancy dinner, or jewelry.

If you want to make us ecstatic, try a foot rub, making (and cleaning up!) dinner, folding a load of laundry, or giving us a nap. One of those always works.

In fact, try one of those, and we'll probably even forgive you, even though you don't know what you did.

Ask

I pray for miracles every day.

"Please bless me to think of something delicious for dinner that my children will eat."
"Please help me to show that child how much I love her."
"Please bless me to just make it through this day."
"Please bless me to know who needs Thy love today."
"Please help me to feel true joy."
"Please lead me to that missing shoe."

Others might tell me it's all coincidental. But I pay them no mind. When I am rescued in so personal a way, I can call it nothing else but miraculous.

I try very hard to keep my eyes peeled so I don't miss God's rescuing hand and love in my life. He's there every day, and usually in ways that I don't expect.

This week I had the opportunity to pray for a miracle in my sister's behalf. We needed a big one, and our prayers were answered in the affirmative. I feel so humbled--and so grateful--to have been part of it.

I know from my own experience that trials--and miracles--are tailored for our learning and benefit.

And I know something else. 

God is a god of miracles. Nothing is impossible to Him. 

Perhaps the most miraculous of all is that the Ruler of the universe knows my name and my circumstance and will rescue me as soon as I ask for His help.

I hope I never forget that. And that's why I'm writing it down.

Insanity Check

Dear Shaun T,

It's me again. I thought I'd just check in with you since I'm at day 32.

For starters, I've lost a decent amount of weight and a noticeable amount of inches. My pants slide down too easily, which in this case is a very good thing. My son has been telling me I look "slim". But tonight my daughter told me I looked pregnant. So, we still have our work cut out for me in the next 28 days.

I really loved the recovery week last week. I could have done that for many weeks longer.

This week's Max Workout routines--do they have to be a whole twenty minutes longer? Because when you're being tortured, sixty minutes feels like sixty hours. Maybe even longer. I can't really calculate the exact length when I'm doing squat pushups and focusing on not collapsing onto my face. That's the only place I do not need reconstructive surgery.

Thanks for continuing, "Boo...Hah!"

The name, "Results and Recovery Formula" has fallen by the wayside. I like to call that stuff my, "Magic Orange Happy Sauce". I love it even more than I did on Day 1.

You lead a fantastic yoga/stretch. I would know.

I figured out at least one of the things that bugs me about Tania: she pretends like she's working so hard, but she's only doing the movement half way. I can't stand that. I mean, did you, or did you not, ask us to cover some ground on the Globe Jumps?

It's been a long time since my shoulders and biceps ached like this. Have they ever, even? I guess four thousand various pushups will do that to a gal.

It's also been a very long time since I was so proud of myself. At the end of my workout today, I actually cried, I was so happy. And just so proud. I know some of those tears were from relief to be done for another 24 hours, but most of them were pure joy. Thanks for helping me to rediscover that I am capable of insane things. It's funny how that carries over into the other aspects of my life--funny in a good way.

I also have you to thank for helping me to come up with what I want on my tombstone. My other plans have been replaced with, "RIP Natalie. She dug too deep."

Until tomorrow,

Peace out,
Natalie

Say, "Cheese!"

I love pictures.

When I was little, I loved being in them. Today, I love taking them. And for the last five years or so, I have been taking a lot of them. I've photographed weddings, scenery, newborns, graduates, parties, engagements, and couples. But my favorite picture to capture is that elusive perfect family photograph.

I guess that makes me a glutton for punishment. I will tell you to your face that the only thing worse than moving is taking a family picture. I postpone it as long as I can. Currently, the family photo on our living room wall is missing an entire person. But I just can't wrap my brain around getting us all beautiful and happy all at once. Right--like, when does that ever happen?

I know I've captured the perfect image when the family says, "Oh, that is so us!" But can you really appreciate how hard that is to do?

I came up against my biggest photography challenge over the Christmas holiday. Please note that I mean every ounce of that superlative.

A family asked if they could use my camera for their family photo, and I agreed. I knew that meant they wanted me to shoot a family photo, but since we're old friends, I was happy to oblige.

This family is beautiful. Talented. Brilliant. Fun. They're all the good things a good family should be, and then some. There's the dad and the mom and their six children. Their numbers, genders, and sizes make for fairly easy compositions. I thought it would be a cinch.

Wrong.

To begin with, when it was time to take the photo, we were racing the setting sun. So from the start, I was a bit in panic mode, because you only have so long to get that perfect light when you're shooting outdoors. I waited patiently; then I gave a countdown; then I hollered for the last call. Then to be perfectly obvious that it was go time, I marched outside with my camera ablaze.

The children got the point. They followed me out, and I was able to take some initial light readings and get a feel for the setting. When Mom finally came onto the scene, I patiently and happily situated all her children around her. I captured some beautiful candid moments. But a family photo isn't worth much if Dad is missing.

Where was he?? I marched back inside to track him down. He wasn't there. Imagine my incredulity when I finally found him in the backyard on the swing set, enjoying a leisurely swing in the setting sunlight. I'll admit, I wasn't prepared for Dad to be the saboteur.

But as the saying goes, them apples don't fall far.

For the next hour, I got to know this family on a level that previously had evaded my understanding.

One daughter blinks constantly. It's a wonder she can see anything at all. The rest of her face looks beautiful, but her eyelids are completely closed. I have dozens of pictures that would have been the one, if it weren't for her confounded blinking. My tactic was to put the family in focus, and then look just at her. I timed my shutter to click in between her blinks, but even then, she was usually too fast.

I'm not sure I can adequately describe the relationship of the siblings, but my camera captured it. In addition to the sister who blinks, there's the one who constantly giggles while moving out of position. Add to them the brother who thinks it's funny to make his veins stick out on his neck, and the sister who randomly throws up bunny ears. Another brother looks great in every picture, but keeps running to look at the view finder just to be sure. The other brother throws out random suggestions that only he follows, like, "Let's all guffaw!" Apparently, he knows how to make something look natural when it is intended mischief, because he didn't get in trouble for any of this.

When it came time for the children to leave the picture so I could get just Mom and Dad, they did the exact opposite of my instruction. Instead of leaving the scene, they came up close behind Mom and Dad and made funny faces--all unbeknownst to their parents. Several more pictures fell by the wayside because of that little stunt. It's too bad, too, because there were some decent ones of Mom and Dad.

Then the children set up camp behind me and started teasing their parents mercilessly. Dad was so embarrassed, he couldn't hide it on his face. He looks like he's being ridiculed in all those pictures. Mom must be used to the behavior, or able to tune out the noise, because you can't tell from her face what slander is being flung in her direction.

At that point, I guess Dad gave up all together, because he actually licked his finger and put it in his wife's ear. But it didn't matter anyway, because a daughter ran into the shot to get the lipstick off of Mom's teeth that wasn't really there.

And though you would think that was rock bottom, it wasn't. My charm was stretched to the limits, trying to smother the insubordination in a friendly way so as to ensure I'd get cooperative smiles. I tried the old tactic of taking a photo with funny faces to see if I could get it out of their systems, but that failed miserably. That shot is filled with crossed eyes, stuck out tongues, furrowed brows, and blank stares--except for Sister Blinks A Lot. That was the best picture of her from the entire shoot, what with her eyes being wide open and all.

Making a sibling pyramid didn't help either.

When someone asked for a cuckoo-clock shot, I foolishly agreed. Mom and Dad stood next to each other with their children hidden behind them. Then the musically talented lot of them started singing, "So Long, Farewell" from The Sound of Music. With beautiful harmonies and perfect pitch, they came to the line, "Is popping out to say, 'Cuck-oo!'" At which point, six faces magically appeared from behind Mom and Dad. The only trouble was, I didn't get it on the first take. Let's just say I was unprepared for the magnitude of the movement in that shot. And for the next six takes, the youngest brother changed his pop out spot with each take. For his grand finale, he jumped up, head and shoulders above the crowd, effectively becoming a blue blur in my otherwise perfect shot.

Mercifully, the sun eventually set, and I replaced my lens cap with great finality. But I should clarify two things about this family so you can understand the enormity of my ordeal.

One, the children are all adults.

And two, they collectively make up what I affectionately call, "My in-laws".

The New and Improved

Welcome, 2012! It's good to see you. I wasn't quite done with 2011, but he left anyway, so my life is wide open for you.

Why the delay in celebrating your arrival? I guess you're new here; you don't know about me.

I don't make new year's resolutions. I tried that. Twice. But it seems that to make a list is to doom myself to failure. Instead, I just try to do my best everyday, to be a little better than I was the day before. That included today. Same thing goes for tomorrow.

That husband and these children in my home? They are my whole life. And I like it that way. If you're planning on bringing much else to the table, kindly change your plans. My table is full. But if your intent is to wash all those dishes we used at dinner, I thank you in advance.

Don't try to tempt me with promises of a more glamorous, more fulfilled, more conspicuous me. I am content with who I am, with what I have, with how I fill my days. I have nothing to prove to you, or to anyone else.

I should tell you that I have some pretty high expectations for you. I want to love more deeply, give more freely, and sing more sweetly. I will use our friendship to that end. Small, loving reminders are appreciated. I hereby agree to pay attention to your small whispers, because with 2011, the whispers were what my loud exultations were all about.

You can count on me meet your demands, but you probably shouldn't count on me to be prompt about it.

Confession: I'm not the fastest runner. Actually, I'm not even a runner at all. I'm more of what you would call a "recreational walker". You'll probably try to lap me. Big deal. They all do. I'm okay with that--as long as you know that I will finish.

Take it easy on my little ones. I know you'll change them; I can't stop you. Just take your time about it. Please!

Pile on the laughter, songs, and love. I will devour them. Seconds and thirds are always appreciated.

And whatever else our friendship may bring, I hope you can say I was grateful, diligent, happy, and true to you. But you may not be able to say that until 2013 comes around.

And that's okay. Knowing me, I'll be about a week late sending you off.