Worse Than 30

I turned 30 in November. Some of you may remember my husband's beautiful tribute to me on that day (yeah right).

When you turn 30, people freak out for you.

Their questions start pouring in. "Is it weird?" "Do you feel old?" "Are you freaking out?" Or, "I remember turning 30, I cried for three days straight!"

For the most part, I let other people do the "oh-my-gosh-she's-getting-older" freak-out for me, because it seemed other people were more concerned about the big day than I was. I played the role of a slightly shell-shocked 30-year-old graduate, but deep down, I was happy to be turning thirty. I was un-phased. The number thirty gives you more credibility. More stability. I felt like people were already taking me more seriously. I felt instantly wiser and more grounded. 30. A good sound number for a new mom and wife of almost nine years. Turning 30 was nothing. I decided that day- I loved getting older! I would relish the dwindling years of my life! I would age without worry! Without shame! Without fear!

I decided that day that getting older is enchanting and beautiful and rich.  Getting older is complex and simple all in the same breath.  Getting older is the great-adventure of life. I was so settled in my mind about aging...

UNTIL LAST NIGHT.

Last night, my friends, the unthinkable happened. And there I was begging the sweet Lord to please let me be 21 again. Because what happened last night was way worse than 30. What happened last night shook me to the core. What happened last night made me want to run, not walk, to the nearest fountain of youth. What happened last night was this...

My first gray hair. A long, silvery, thick, coarse, old-lady-that has 13 cats- gray hair.

I was traumatized.

The face of trauma.

Ryan immediately plucked it from my head and I immediately stuck it in a zip lock baggie. I don't really know what you're supposed to do with your first gray hair, but it seemed way too monumental too simply let it float to the floor or to simply toss it in the trash can. I assume I will keep it stored away with my two permanent teeth that my orthodontist pulled (without warning and without anesthetics) in the eighth grade. I'll keep it with the door stopper that the Romanian doctor stuck into my cast when I dislocated my achilles tendon from my heel, while living in the middle of no-where Romania. I will keep it with the one report card I have from junior high. And with the love letters from high school boyfriends. I will keep it in my memory box with all the other memorabilia that brings back horrifying or joyous memories.

Note: this will be categorized under the HORRIFYING memories!!!

We had a football party at the house last night and I told my girlfriends about the gray hair. My friend Becca thought I was "being dramatic." As if I am ever dramatic! So I went and got the zip lock baggie. Apparently they thought it was funny that I was saving it. But come on people... you gotta have memory standards. I have no idea where Annie's hospital bracelet is, but I'll be darned if I lose my first gray hair to the Dyson. So I showed everyone my first gray hair and that's when Becca said, "Dang, that thing's been growing forever! I thought you were just being dramatic."

On both accounts... thanks a lot Becca!

No- I'm not being dramatic Becca. I have a gray hair. A big, long, 'been-growing-forever' gray hair.

And let's be honest... I've scoured my scalp since then and found three more.

And with all my heart I wanted to write something inspiring or challenging or insightful today for you... but I just can't. I'm dealing. I'm coping. I'm begging God for my youth to be returned to me. I'm wondering if I need to start getting my hair colored. I'm wondering if I am stressed or if the hairs are just coming out because I'm truly on the downhill spiral of old age! I'm wondering at what rate they grow and how I'm supposed to find the ones on the back of my head? I'm wondering what's next. False teeth? Prolapsed body parts? Poor vision? Ugly feet?

I gotta say. Thirty was easy.

This is WAY worse than 30.

Jenny's Blog Has Been Hijacked!

Thats right, I have hijacked Jenny's blog!  This is Ryan- Jenny's loving and extremely handsome husband.  :)  I thought today would be a perfect opportunity to take over the blog because- JENNY TURNS 30 TODAY!!!  And what better way to show Jenny how much we love her than by posting embarrassing pictures of her!  So enjoy the pictures and wish Jenny a big Happy Birthday! Love, Ryan

The Not So Perfect Mom and her Baby

I've been telling this story on stage lately. Last week, upon reaching our room at the Holiday Inn Express in Nashville Annie let out a great big ole,

"HOOOOMMMMEEEE."

Ryan started dying laughing but my stomach dropped and I immediately started to cry tears of embarrassment.

I am the most ghetto fabulous mom in the world.

My baby thinks Holiday Inn Express is her home.

With tears streaming down my face I asked an all too familiar question...

What kind of mom am I???

It all became very clear to me last night...

***

Annie is getting her molars in. All four of them at once. That, or she has been possessed by a Tickle Me Elmo gone terribly wrong. She has been screaming bloody murder every night this week and last night I yelled back at her. Well, ok, I didn't yell but it was mean and loud and completely uncalled for.

"Annie PLEASE stop crying Mommy cannot take it anymore baby. Please. You HAVE to stop CRYING."

She started crying louder and scratching herself in frustration.

Awesome.  My kid scratches herself. That cannot be a good reflection of her anger management skills.

Then I started crying partly because my kid has anger issues and she's only 18 months and party because my horrible response only made her feel more scared and frustrated and hurt and partly because I was so freaking tired and defeated that I actually considered drawing a bath in the Clarion Inn bathtub.

And y'all. That's desperation.

She cried louder. I cried louder. She cried louder. I cried louder.

And in that moment I realized... she beat me.

She beat my spirit and my will into defeated smithereens and I am pretty sure I gave up on life for a brief moment. After she cried inconsolably for two hours straight at the hotel- and I had no idea what else to do- I opted for the only thing I had to make life more bearable.

A rice krispy treat, pintos and cheese from Taco Bell, and Jimmy Fallon.

Not for me.

For her.

At 11:30 last night Annie sat on the hotel bed happy as a lark eating her refried beans, rice krispy treat, and laughing with Jimmy Fallon.

And once again, there was that voice,"Oh my gosh, what sort of mother does this???"

To which I replied, the sort of mother who was about to take a bath in the skank-nasty Clarion Inn bathtub. No offense to Clarion. But come on, can you imagine how many hairy feet have been on that bathtub floor? I already offer penance every time I put Annie in those things to bathe her... so to voluntarily give myself up to one... well, that is the kind of thing only a desperate woman does.

It all became very clear to me last night...

***

Yesterday a girl saw me and Annie in the lobby of the church we were performing at and she invited me to come to their MOPS meeting. "There's homemade food and a speaker and free childcare...

(Can you just see the angels dancing around those words?  ~*Free Childcare *~)

Say no more.

I would not have cared if I had to sit through a lizard convention or Star Trek memorial service.

Free childcare will get me to do crazy, crazy things.

So I went to my first MOPS meeting. And it all became very clear to me...

***

I have finally discovered my calling in life. Not a professional whistler or friend or even singer lady. Nope. It has all become quite clear. I will be a professional speaker to MOPS conventions and other mother events and I will be billed,

Jenny Simmons, in comparison, she WILL make you feel like a better mom!

If those ladies had any idea what kind of company they were keeping yesterday at MOPS. What kind of mother was in their midst. What kind of things I have done to my poor baby this week... I would have been in the corner.

The "example corner."

And it would have said, "Look at this mom! She WILL make you feel better about yourself as a mom!"

***

Awe. The joys and deep guilt of motherhood. The joys and deep guilt of life. How else would we be humble if we didn't end up giving our kids fake pinto beans, pure sugar, and late night television? If I didn't let my kid sleep on the floor of a bus on top of a vibrating engine? If I didn't bathe her at the Clarion Inn? I might think I was a totally awesome mom who had conquered and perfected the art of being an awesome mom if it weren't for the many, many things that keep me very humble.

And there's something to living in humility. Isn't there?

Thank God there is grace in our shortcomings. I haven't lost too much sleep over the Jimmy Fallon and I have asked Annie several times if she remembers mommy yelling at her and she puts her nose on my little face and in the most perfect voice I have ever heard she says, "NUUU-OH" and then kisses me.

All of a sudden I forget that I'm not a perfect mom and remember that my little girl gives me kisses so it can't be all that bad.

***

I say all of that today because I am launching a brand new website that is SO CUTE!  And I thought it would be the perfect time to show the CUTEST pictures of Annie and I from our fall fun day at Northwestern College in St.Paul this past Sunday! And it would be so easy to put all this new flashy stuff up and lead you to believe that we are the cutest, most perfect, happy little family in the world.

So I thought I'd remind you first...

we are not.

If you've ever thought, "That mom is so cute," her kids will "save the world" and my little girl might not "make it to second grade" because she has "severe anger issues" and if I have to see another cute mom walk into MOPS that "looks like a skinny 16 year old" I will puke because for once I just want everyone else "to suffer four molars coming in and a bad hair day" the way I am.

Well, we might be able to be best friends.

So enjoy these perfect pictures from a not so perfect family and if you feel the need to compare yourself to me, just remember...

I gave her a rice krispy treat at 11:30 p.m. last night...

And I yelled at her and then cried like a nut-job...

And she scratches herself...

And she's so dang cute...

but most babies are cute when they are sitting in the leaves, aren't they?

Love you friends! Have a perfect weekend and welcome to our new blog!

Begging Mr. Jeff Mosley, radio DJ's, and other superiors.

Dear People With Money, I don't like to beg, but...

Can I please, please, please have $5,000 for a really good cause? Please?

You know the auction I'm a part of this week supporting Porter's Call? Well, a new item has been added to the auction and to say that I've been able to divert my heart and soul from thinking about it day and night since I found out about it yesterday would be a complete lie.

I haven't! I have thought of nothing else! Day and night! I cannot eat! I am tormented! I want nothing more in this world! I'm in anguish! Please! I need $5,000! Please!

OK, whew, I'm through with the most dramatic parts of the begging.

Michael W. Smith has put an auction item up for bid.

It's called "A Tennessee Christmas."

It includes lots of things like spending three nights at the Gaylord Opry hotel, eating meals at some of my favorite places in Franklin and Nashville, even meeting Amy Grant and Vince Gill backstage at their Christmas concert. Could the package get any better?

Yes. Yes my friends it could... because right in the middle of all that you get to GO TO Michael W. Smith's farmhouse and his parents, Paul and Barbara, are going to cook dinner (for me) and THEN Michael comes home from his Christmas tour and he starts the fire and we (I am already speaking myself into this dream come true) sing Christmas songs around the stinking FIRE place and have "FELLOWSHIP!!!!!!!!" ("fellowship" is a direct quote from the auction description).

People. Look. I'm not sure what the rest of you did in seventh and eighth grade, but I'm here to tell you that I spent those wonder years reenacting the song Secret Ambition with my sisters in our bedroom.

Melissa was Jesus.

We crucified her on the bedroom wall.

Sarah was one of the Roman guards running around trying to kill Jesus in a loin clothe.

And me? I was dressed up like a rock star.

I was Michael. W Smith singing into my karaoke microphone,

"Nobody knew his secret ambition, nobody knew his claim to fame... he tore the holy veil awaaaaaaaaay."

We would quickly do a set change and go straight into an interpretive dance on roller skates that we made up to our favorite song off his very first album, "Could He be the Messiah."

"Could he be the messiah, miracle man, part of the plan? IT IS HE!!! The MESSIAH!!!"

Melissa and Sarah were angels. I was Michael. We were all pointing at something in the corner of the garage that we'd covered in white sheets to look like a ghostly Jesus blob, and of course, it was He, the Messiah.

We would move through the albums like we were replaying the most brilliant moments in all of musical history. I mean, have you seen the cover of Michael's second album?

It stayed on my bedroom wall for years. And the songs "I am Sure" and "Hosanna" from the ablum- I mean, these are life songs people. LIFE. SONGS.

I 2 Eye? Christmas Album (the best ever written)? Go West Young Man? Change your World? Wonder Years? The First Decade? I mean, I don't want to embarrass Michael so I'm going to stop there because that only gets me to seventh grade...let's just say he's still making hits and I, my friends, have been his biggest, most devoted, loyal fan.

I spent one too many afternoons writing the Mickey Mouse Club asking to spend the day with Michael as part of Wednesday Career Days. They sent a girl to Amy Grant's farmhouse for the day to see what it was like to be a pop singer. And I knew, I just knew they'd send somebody to Michael's place next. So I wrote letter after letter explaining why this would be a perfect career day for me.

Awe- childhood dreams that have been squished. Devastated I tell you. Devastated.

But now Ebay tells me that I can win a trip to sit around the fire place and listen to him sing Christmas carols and his mom and dad will show me baby pictures and cook me homemade food and we shall sip cocoa together?!?

My soul is in a tizzy. An absolute tizzy.

You think Kentucky Rose could be considered a Christmas carol? Rocketown, Place in this World, or I will Be Here for You? I'm sure these could be Christmas carols.

I simply must find $5,000.

End of conversation. I've never needed to win something so badly in my whole entire life.

Do I need a new car or a college fund for Annie? Yes. So, I'm not asking for just any ole' $5,000.

Nope, this goes straight to Porter's Call (remember, the amazing ministry that helps artists and their families deal with our souls? Dallas Diva Day?). I more or less need a beneficiary who already wants to donate to this ministry and at the same time give me the dream vacation of a lifetime!!!

Hot cocoa with Michael W. Smith.

Awe. Bliss.

I'm shamelessly asking all radio DJ's who read this blog to:

1. Mention the Porter's Call auction that is ending this Saturday, September 18Th! With artists like Mercy Me, Natalie Grant, Fireflight, Jars of Clay, Addison Road and many other artists offering up exclusive artist experiences or memorabilia, this auction is sure to get every music fan excited. For more information, people can go to Porterscall.com to see all the auctions they can bid on.

2. Mention Dallas Diva Day! I want my auction to at least double! I'd love for it to triple!

3. And finally, most importantly, just let the world know I need $5,000.

Who doesn't, I know...

But seriously this is important to solving some unresolved childhood issues... like never having my dreams come true on the Mickey Mouse Club and working through the fact that I crucified my sister to the bedroom wall while singing Secret Ambition with slicked back hair...

Mr. Dave Ramsey? Big corporation? Bueller? Mosley?

Mosley

You know you want your favorite INO artist to have cocoa with Smitty?!

INO could place the bid... Lord knows our label uses Porter's Call more than the other label's artists...

I'll even let you come and be a part of the family pictures if you want...

Well, if you wear a toboggan...

Just think about it!!!

Oh! Or take it out of the album budget for next time... so many options Mr. Mosley!!!

I'm done begging world.

Just think about it.

All I'm saying.