PRICELESS

SHE2016©

Have you ever thought about the birth process, and how priceless it is?  A lot of people think of the blood, sweat, and tears as gory and the thought may even make them nauseous, and I totally get that.  But the process itself – gory or not – well, it’s what got us all here, right?
 

I am, of course, writing this because very recently I became (dare I say it?) a GRANDMOTHER.  It’s not the precious little bundle of joy that makes me cringe when I hear that name.  It’s the name itself.  I have always pictured a sweet little old blue-haired lady with a cane and thick glasses who says things like, “Wait for Granny, Dears!  You know my dentures fall out when I try to keep up with you whipper-snappers!”  And let me tell you, Folks, if you don’t know already:  That is NOT me.  Well, sometimes I have blue hair, but it is often in streaks and under some kind of turbi, hat, or ‘do-rag, and accompanied by a new Jesus tattoo and cute-but-crazy-accessories.  GRANNY SHE IS NOT FOR ME.  Nope.  My name is She.  So The Daughts decided SheShe would be appropriate and quite suiting.  And I agree with her. 
 

But I digress.  Back to birthing.  I sat in a different place altogether when Sage Ellie was born a little under a month ago as opposed to when my own children were born: not only a place where I could see the brilliance of a baby being born, but a different perspective.  My baby was having a baby.  And she had fought a long, hard battle of the game called life to get where she landed, and I knew she was going to make a wonderful mommy.  
 

But what about me as a mommy; as a parent to my own children?  Had I done enough?  Did I show enough love?  Did I discipline enough?  Was there a balance?  Had I given it my best shot?  I knew I had made my fair share of mistakes, but were they mistakes that could not be undone or even forgiven?  Would they scar my children enough to sully the joy of being a parent themselves?  Believe it or not, as she labored, I saw my life with them flash before my eyes and was truly pondering those thoughts and at least a thousand more.
 

And then came a different moment.  The moment The Daughts handed me comfort and hope that I had done well thus far: she gave me a hand-written letter from-her-to-me.  The nurse had asked us all to step out – “all” meaning The Son-In-Law, The Hubster (now referred to as PoPo by The Grand Daughts), and me.  Just before piling out of the room for a few minutes, she handed one to each of us.  It helped me to muster up an ounce of faith even before I looked at it. We sat in silence in the waiting area, privately reading the words she had thoughtfully penned.  
 

As I read through my tears, in the back of my memory bank, thoughts of hand-made helicopter-sized hair bows in her fine, wavy locks as a two-year-old came to mind.  I thought of laying her little head down in my lap when she was five after her bath to floss her teeth for her and how absolutely sweet and lavender-like she smelled.  I thought of the time she had chicken pox and I put mittens on her hands so she wouldn’t scratch.  The thoughts of singing together each and every Thanksgiving in front of friends and family and hearing her sweet, natural harmonies pierced my heart with joy.  Standing outside the kindergarten door the entire day where she couldn’t see me but I could see her to make sure she was all right on the first day of school reached out to me.  I remembered her telling me she wanted Jesus in her heart.
 

But coupled with those thoughts were the times I cried myself to sleep because we had screamed at each other for an entire afternoon.  I felt a strong hurt at remembering the time I lost my temper to a sincere breaking point, and thought if I could go back how differently I would handle that moment.  I was brought back to a time of desperation because I could not connect with my teenage daughter, no matter how hard I tried, and thinking what a failure I was as a parent.  It shattered me, as I was almost positive it had her, as well.
 

And then this (don’t worry, Readers.  I checked with her first to make sure she didn’t mind if I share):
 

“Mom, you have always been there for me and through the years have become my best friend.  I’m so excited to make you a SheShe today!  
 

You have taught me to love without ceasing and without fear.  My whole life you have been preparing me for motherhood by the example you have set for my life.  I just didn’t know it until I started thinking about the mom I wanted to be to Sage.  
 

Thank you for loving me like you do.  I cannot wait to watch your relationship with Sage grow through the years.  I am so thankful to know that I will lean on you as I set my own examples for Sage.  <3
 

I love you, Mom, and I’m so thankful for you.
 

XOXO – Chelsea”
 

That, to me……was PRICELESS.
 

So perhaps at the end of the day, you are second-guessing if your best is even good enough.  Or maybe you feel like a failure at something and that shatters you.  In this one life we have been given, nestled amongst the good will always be the bad.  Without those times, we will not grow; we will not learn to love without ceasing and without fear.  So we MUST value those times as well and know that life is good, even when it isn’t.  If we have truly given it our best and have had even an ounce of faith, the reward will be the way you see it returned to you…..and that – IS PRICELESS.  

IN A PINCH

SHE2016©

There are bad pinches and there are good pinches.  It is much like salt.  Too much of it can ruin a dish.  But I happen to know that just a pinch of salt can make the flavor of something pop.

A pinch doesn’t always make one feel warm and fuzzy, though.  

As a little girl, there were two different kinds of pinches I remember: the kind that was wonderful, like the kind my grandfather would gently give me right on the tip of my nose after he would kiss me hello.  And then there was the one that would leave a sting on the back of my arm or hi-nee from my parent when I would misbehave in public.

Some pinches can hit ya right in the feels.  Like the moments that pinch your heart.  

I can remember the very second each of my children were born.  I can remember how my heart felt like it would explode because I was overwhelmed with joy as they took their first breath of life (and screamed their bloody heads off).  I could literally feel a lovely wrench in my chest.  It is the kind of pinch I will never forget and always hold with me.

Then there was the moment someone I loved passed away.  The pinch I felt in my heart was there, but much different from that of the joy I knew from life being given.  I distinctly remember standing where I was for what seemed like forever, thinking how much I was going to miss them; how I thought the terrible, achy pinch in my heart would never go away.  And I must say, though it has eased up some, the scar from that particular pinch is still there.

I’ve been in many a precarious position in my life.  Sometimes I put myself there, and sometimes it was merely the circumstances.  But either way, I wound up in a pinch.  

When I was a teenager, I made the conscious decision to go into a store with someone I knew was going to shoplift.  I didn’t take anything.  Well actually, I was GOING TO.  But at the last second I chickened out.  I was questioned when she got caught because I was with her.  Luckily the cameras showed I had not taken anything but simply because I was with her I found myself in quite a pinch!  (For the benefit of the reader needing an ending to that particular story, I did NOT end up in the slammer.)

Back when I was a young, single mom of two small children, my tire blew out on the highway. I had never changed a tire before, let alone on a busy road.  (I sure did learn FAST!!)  Even though that was something out of my control, I was most DEFINITELY in a pinch!  (No worries, Folks.  As you can see that one turned out all right, for I am writing this many years later.)

I used to always wonder what a pinch-hitter was when I heard the term used in baseball, until someone explained to me it was a substitute batter – someone to replace the batter when the team is in a pinch.  

I married my Pinch Hitter.  He is definitely my substitute batter when I find myself in a pinch.  Example:  the other day I had a catering gig that called for – wait for it……SIX-HUNDRED cake ball truffles.  Now these beauts cannot be stacked on top of one another or their gorgeous candy coatings and lovely decorations will crack and break.  I was going to have to make several trips back and forth in order to get the beloved cake ball truffles to their destination with no harm to befall them!  But my Pinch Hitter got me out of the pinch in the coolest way possible.

It’s too hard for my non-engineer-way-of-thinking brain to explain, but essentially, he took some cardboard and wine bottles we use for projects (not the hardest part of my job, emptying those bottles......wink!) from the garage, and did this:

SHE2016©

Hence, it took one trip, and all the truffles were unscathed.

Think about the pinches – the bad ones and the good ones.  Some of them hurt and can leave a sting or even a scar.  Some of them are wonderful and make you remember the joy life can bring.  Think of the pinch hitters in your life that have helped you make it through something unscathed.  Or perhaps you were that pinch hitter a time or two.  Either way, with every pinch comes growth in our lives – like the pinch of salt that can make the flavor of something pop.  

JIVE TURKEY

This image is © 2015 by Life As She Does It. Please link back or credit if any content or images are used.

To me: How do you make him do it??  What kind of bribery do you use?  Did you strike some sort of bargain?? 

To The Hubster: How did She manage to make you do it??  Did She bribe you?  You must hate your life.

These are questions and comments we get every time we dress in costume (which, by the way, is more often than any other adults - and MAYBE even kids - I’ve ever known). 

It could be a theme night.  We’ve done French (berets and tiny moustaches are just fun), Winter Wonderland (we were the Snow King & Queen, of course), UK (that was fun because I got to see Adrian in a kilt – hubba, hubba), or even Japanese (because Geisha makeup is a MUST).  It could be the ever-regular-reason, Halloween.  We’ve been Peace & Quiet, Gomez and Morticia Addams, Sick & Tired, and Mummy & Deaddy.  It could be for a party.  We’ve been mega-trends from every era from the 20s to the 90s, and literally everything in between.  We’ve been Wonder Woman and Captain America (both circa 1940s and circa 1980s), and we’ve been Janis Joplin and Jimmy Hendrix.  We’ve even been Thomas Jefferson and his wife, Martha.  I’m telling you:  the list goes on and ON.

Just a sidebar:  He especially loves keeping the costume boxes (yes, PLURAL) very organized.  He recently catalogued our wigs.  Yep.  Now we have a wig library. 

I’m telling you, WE COSTUME UP.  But therein lay the key word: “we”.  I’m never alone in it.  Adrian suits up no matter what, and never complains and never declines. 

The Hubster knows life is fleeting and very short.  He knows we are partners.  He knows it is not threatening to his manhood, but rather a fun way to be present and in-the-moment.  And he knows me.  And he loves life.  And he loves life with me.  And he loves me.

We jive.

This particular costume (yes, that’s him in the picture), I simply said, “Turkey Costume”.   And he donned it as though he were a proud peacock instead of a turkey.  He danced around with kids, and he pretended to peck at people’s heads.  And, as most rock-star turkeys do, he wore sunglasses and drank trendy coffee.

I’m not saying costumes are for everyone.  But I am saying all the things that make The Hubster jive with me and with life ARE.

As Thanksgiving approaches, I want to be sure you know life is fleeting and very short.  I want to make sure you are present and in-the-moment.  Do you love life?  Even when it is not going perfectly?  PS -  it never will (go perfectly, that it is).  If you don't already, learn to love it and give thanks for it.  Embrace the costume moments.  And I promise you – it WILL jive.

I AM FLAWED. NOW PASS THE BUTTER.

This image is © 2015 by Life As She Does It. Please link back or credit if any content or images are used.

I am flawed.  On the inside and on-the-out.  And not just for me - but for women everywhere since the dawn of time - weight loss has been one of those flaws.  Well, I'm not sure weight LOSS is the struggle so much as weight GAIN. And loss.  And gain.

This is something I have struggled with my entire life.  Even when I was in high school and built like a brick poop-house and had the tiniest little waist, I had those thunder thighs.  And believe me, I know I did because those 'helpful peers' in school would tell me so.  "Hey, Thunder Thighs!  Where'd ya get those thunder thighs??"  Clever.  Very clever.

When I got pregnant with Chelsea, the time bomb kept ticking.  I gained 120 pounds.  I literally gained an entire person in nine months.  And I don't mean the 7-pound little person I was carrying.  And I had 'those' family members that liked to have fun at my expense and thought nothing of bestowing upon me my new nickname, Eclipse.  Nine months later, I got pregnant with Cameron and the weight gain continued, as did the new (and oh-so-funny) nicknames.

And let us not forget the people that dubbed me the Butter Body.  What's that, you ask?  Well you've heard of a butter face?  Where they say everything looks good on her but-her-face?  I was the opposite.  The people (I know you meant well, Y'all) who said, "You have such a pretty FACE!"  Which meant everything else was either not note-worthy, or it would be a shame to mention.  But-her-body.  Get it?

I am in the present.  I have since lost the weight, and it took hard work.  And it continues to be a struggle on a daily basis.  But so much of it (besides the eating right and exercise, obviously!) is about the heart of the story.  It is about living healthy in mind, body, and spirit. Those people that called me names, whether it was all in good fun, out of mean-ness, or their own insecurities; those people had no idea that no one is exempt from allowing that to define a person, and it indeed worked on me and made me unhealthy - on the inside and on-the-out - for a very long time.

I am in my 40s.  And I LOVE IT.  There is abundant power in the age that allows you to feel your sexiest, even though your body is not the same; or feel your best, even though you're so much older.  But it is not all about the age of wisdom and experience that has helped me learn to love and respect who I was, who I am and who I have become.  

I am a woman of faith.  There is a quiet and serene humbling that happens as you grow and develop in the life of having the Creator lead you that allows you to understand all are created, and a very large respect happens for all bodies that house the souls that are people - no matter what they look like.  You have more of a respect for the wrinkles and lines in a person's face that are proof that none of us are immune to life-and-death.  You have more of a respect for scars on a person that are proof of the battles they have fought.  You have more of a respect for every body-type that are proof that we are all different, yet created equal.  But it is not all about the strong foundation of faith I have that has helped me to learn to love and respect who I was, who I am,  and who I have become.

I have a husband.  He is also my friend.  And he is also at that age of wisdom and experience, and is also a person of faith, and continues to grow and develop in that.  And he loves me.  For who I've been, who I am, and who I have YET to become.  On the inside and on-the-out.

Example:  I am washing dishes.  The Hubster comes up behind me and grabs me around my mid-section playfully.  I, being coy (and a bit embarrassed about my mid-section, if we're being honest), say, "Hey!  Don't grab my rolls!"  And his retort?  He closes his eyes like he is picturing a smooth whiskey with a nice cigar, or a juicy steak wrapped in bacon, and says, "Mmmmmm.  Get me some BUTTER for dem rolls!"  I guess that makes me a Butter Body FOR REAL. 

I am grateful.  I am blessed to have that kind of love and friendship, and I allow it to have power over me and give me confidence.  He calls me beautiful every day, whether I've got my eyebrows and lips on, or if my hair is in a knot and I'm bra-less and in my loungy pants for the second day in a row.  And he knows I'm flawed on the inside and on-the-out.  And he doesn't care.  He loves me.  He lifts me up, edifies me, and encourages me.  He celebrates me.  

So who are you surrounding yourself with and what kind of power do you allow them to have over you?  Who do you allow to be relevant in your life?  Are you judging people for their outsides, yet never wanting to be judged for your own outsides?  Or do you allow yourself to see people as beautiful; flaws and all?  

Lift up, edify, and encourage people.  Celebrate them.  Celebrate you.  On the inside and on-the-out.  Do your best to live healthy in mind, body, and spirit - and pass that around.

And do me a favor:  PASS THE BUTTER.

Designed: A Guest Blog

Please do not copy this photo - all rights (reservedly) reserved through The Durham Family

Well, this month's Guest Blogger is very special to me.  You can rest assured you're in for something wonderful when you read her words.  She will tell you where to find her other work in the post, but I like that I can find her by my side whenever I need her.  Carly Durham is a woman of rare quality and substance and I admire and adore her.  You can look for a large dedication to her in my upcoming book - and an even larger one in my heart of hearts.  Love you, Car.  Readers:  READ ON.

Writing a guest blog for a woman who I consider to be nailing it when it comes to being a woman who can do it all (which she herself admits, she does not and we do not have to do it all- be it all, she just wants to encourage us to do what we do overflowing with passion and love) surprisingly brought up some shoved away insecurities.  I guest blog from time to time for random internet blog buddies and write occasionally over at adoption.com but a post for Life-As-She-Does-It felt daunting. And then she had to go and get the witty Katy Livingston to go first, leaving me the follow up post. I stand little chance. It’s like signing up for a meal train to bring my store-bought chicken or grilled cheese sandwiches the night after your foodie friend has listed she is making lambs with chimi-churi sauce and homemade buttered-pecan ice-cream. The "look-ahead" is a real technique to make sure you are not setting up your people for disappointment. Now here I offer you my boxed mac n’cheese with added hotdogs weenies after you just ate homemade beef bourguignon.  Go ahead a lower your expectations my people. 

While I no longer fear that I will be childless, my lack of fertility is a theme that runs deep in my life.  Insecurity attached to infertility molds my thoughts and shapes my worldview.
What does it say about me? About God? About who I am suppose to be?
Honestly, I give it way to much power. Why do I let it take root so deeply?
Here is where we are at: We have never stopped trying. Really, how can I stop? After 5 years of charting, peeing, calculating, I know this stuff down cold and am constantly aware of where I am at in my cycle. Woman was created to bear children. Go forth and multiply. Labor and Birth.
What does that say about me that I do not join my fellow woman in this path?
In a moment of doubt and insecurity, I sought counsel and comfort in a friend after a month of disappointment and grief.

"It's not so much that I ache for pregnancy so much anymore, I just feel flawed to my very core.  My body….. It's just I……… How come I don't do what I was designed to do! I hate my ovaries. UGH!"

Speaking TRUTH over me, she replied:

"I hear you what you are saying, on a whole, as a woman, what you feel women were designed to do. BUT YOU. YOU.  You were fearfully and wonderfully made and designed. There is great purpose in that."

Designed.

Can I hold on to that promise? Can I uproot the belief that I am failing in my "role" as a woman and rather plant the conviction that I was designed? That I was indeed fearfully and wonderfully made. (Psalm 139:13).

And further, when I question this truth, what am I saying about God?

Then I really dig in a little more, when I question this truth, what am I saying about my uniquely designed son?

I firmly believe he is fearfully and wonderfully made with this incredible extra chromosome. I would not for one-second question his design. Every inch! Every chromosome! (ohhh goodness- have you heard that he is the cutest baby in the world - because word is spreading fast!!!)

Designed.

Thankfully, God, He is not afraid of the dark places my doubts and insecurities take me sometimes and He finds me there. 

He would also be pretty cool about it if you wanted him to go ahead and shine some light on your dark places of doubt and disbelief if you want to ask him. Because while we cannot all rock turbans on hair and giant rings on our fingers like She does, we all have been designed to rock our own unique self.  Sometimes we start to doubt that.

Life-As-She-Does-It friends, you are women so unique. If you stumbled here to read about a legit recipe to prepare with hopes to razzle-dazzle your people for a meal train, or you have come seeking encouragement on how to make the magnificent mundane, know that life as You do it has great purpose and significance. Perhaps you are fashioned to be the mom that wears yoga pants every day and puts on make-up once a year for your husbands work Christmas party but you read books to your kids in the best character voices and make a slammin-good lasagna. Or maybe you are the woman who does not leave the house without her lashes on and lips drawn, who started her own business and is not looking to start a family as she is diving into the calling God put on her heart. Either way. Every way.
 
Designed.

Own it. You are a created woman. You've nailed it.

If You Build It, They Will Come

*Photo credit HERE

Lord knows (as do I) - I haven't always made good decisions.  Or right decisions.  Or righteous decisions.  In fact, looking back I would venture to say a lot of the decisions I've made were quite the opposite.  I would venture to say it took me a long time to understand what learning from my mistakes meant.  I say that because perhaps I made the same mistake more than once.  Or twice.  Or more than twice.

Don't get me wrong.  I mean, I've definitely done some good things in my life.  Take a look at my children and you will know that's true.  (I do good work, Y'all.)  But the lovely and well-grounded human beings they have become came through trial-and-error, not through making all the right decisions.

What I have learned over the course of my life - whether good or bad decisions were made - is the power of the legacy you build.  The very children I speak of are positive proof of that.  And so are their spouses.  

"What do you mean by that, She?"  "How could you possibly have had anything to do with the people your children married?"  I'm glad you asked those questions!

When my children were small, I never knew the power of a praying parent.  I did all the things to take care of them physically: I brushed their teeth, helped them with their homework, bathed them, fed them, put giant helicopter bows in their hair.  (Well, not the boys.  Well, sometimes the boys.  But just for fun - perhaps that can go into the bad decision pile.)

Thinking about how fantastic my son-in-law and daughter-in-law are obviously makes me grateful for their parents - because just like me, right or wrong they did their best - and it happened to work!  But for me, personally, I now know it's about building your legacy; building an example, building tradition.  Children THRIVE on it.  They watch you.  Ohhhhh BOY, do they watch you!  And they remember EVERYTHING.  And they carry on traditions.  And they really don't want to disappoint you as parents.  (Even if you're not a parent, you're someone's child, and you know exactly what I mean.  And even if you are not close with your parents, you STILL know what I mean through that loss.)

By the time I learned the value of building these things and building my children up in prayer, I thought it may be too late.  But it wasn't.  I got started immediately after I came to realize that something like praying for your child's spouse, even when they are young and long before their True Loves come along, is valuable to the legacy they themselves build as they grow - and also who they choose to do life with.

I learned that if you build it, they will come.

I know, I know.  There are some of you that just can't believe that building prayer up for your children in their lives is truth; that it's worth the effort.  There are some of you that are believers but still don't understand you can be building your legacy and that of your child's through every decision you make and the consequences that stem from them.  There are also some of you that simply think I stole this idea from an old (but classic and awesome) baseball (and legacy!) movie and I'm just crazy.  But I have proof.  I believed it.  I built it.  AND THEY CAME.  And they have been beautifully built into our family and our traditions and our prayers as well!

Do I want to choke my kids out sometimes to this day?  YOU BET.  Do I know they sometimes imagine doing the same to Adrian and me?  Uhhhhh, YES.  Is life easier now?  No.  Can I go back and undo the poor decisions?  Nope.  But I can find joy in just about anything now.  And I can look upon my children and their (hand-picked, prayed-for) spouses with a grateful heart.  And I know that life is good, even when it isn't.  

And I know that if you build it, they WILL come.  It's never too late to get started.  

So?  BUILD IT.

“The past is a pebble in my shoe.” ~ Edgar Allan Poe  (Past failures remind us of the importance of the choices we make today.)

"Outlive your life!" ~ Max Lucado

"The proverbs of Solomon, son of David, king of Israel: To know wisdom and instruction, to understand words of insight, to receive instruction in wise dealing, in righteousness, justice, and equity; to give prudence to the simple, knowledge and discretion to the youth— Let the wise hear and increase in learning, and the one who understands obtain guidance" ~Proverbs 1:1-33

The Pursuit of a Domestic Pursuit: A Guest Blog

Photo Source HERE

Hi, All!  I have a treat for you guys and cannot WAIT to share it!  I have a guest blogger today by the name of Katy Livingston, and let me just tell you - she has a GIFT, Ya'll!  She is a talented writer (visit her blog!), and a devoted mom and wife.  She is, in my opinion, a GREAT balancer, which is rare these days.  She may say otherwise, though, as we women tend to do.  But I'll let her tell you more: TAKE IT AWAY, KATY!

Hey all, I'm Katy, and I usually blog over here at http://livingaslivingstons.blogspot.com/.  A HUGE thanks to Sheila for inviting me to this corner of the interweb!  I have never “guest blogged” so to speak, so Sheila is taking a huge risk here. If you haven't met She, one of her biggest gifts is that people like me can't say “no” to her. I am filled with equal parts admiration and fear of her.  It's a beautiful thing. So full disclosure before we get started:

On being almost 30 Without Finding a Domestic Pursuit

If you know me, you know this: I have the best parents in the world. My life growing up was pretty much cake (even though the recent release of Jurassic World has freshly opened the wound from when the original Jurassic Park came out in theaters and my parents wouldn't let me see it because it was PG-13 and I was probably 8. It's 5 years, guys! No one even follows those rules!)

Despite the awesomeness of having folks who loved us and even seemed to genuinely enjoy spending time with us, I recently discovered that I missed out on one key aspect of adulthood: a domestic hobby. My mother succeeded in all aspects except passing down a really cool skill that I can utilize now and bring with me into my golden years. I look around and see other ladies who have creative hobbies, and I feel left out.  While I am totally at peace with the whole Stay-at-Home Mom gig, I just haven't even found my thing.  I have friends who may use extra time alone to craft because it's “cathartic.” If I have some extra time to myself, I think, “I guess I could shave my legs or something...”

So far, my domestic hobbies are as follows:

• having babies

• making lists

• finding dessert recipes on Pinterest for my husband to bake

• blog stalking

• going to Kroger (I know this is weird. But seriously, grocery shopping is the best!)

Now, lest you think I have spent no time brainstorming other options:

•  I considered learning to sew. I even made a sewing board on Pinterest, but as it turns out, I just like making boards, because it's the same as writing a list. My sweet friend tried to teach me how to thread the needle of a sewing machine, and I was just sitting there, sweating, trying to remember what she was saying.  Why are there 4 steps just to put thread in there?! There has to be a better way.  Add this to the fact that my Mother-in-law is literally a professional quilter, and I don't want to bother trying to live up to that level.

•  Gardening: Maybe. This one is still a consideration. I can't see myself enjoying crawling around on the ground and getting dirt all over my hands, but I guess that shouldn't bother me since I spend most of my days in the cesspool that is kid germs.  Also, it's blazing hot outside.

•  Knitting/Crocheting: I don't know the difference between the two. I love the idea of sitting in a rocking chair and having a little project in my lap. But the counting. The counting.  I can see myself losing count and ruining scarves that I won't ever have the opportunity to wear because of the blazing heat.

•  Cooking: I generally prefer eating. Cooking is fine, but I don't love it. I also don't seem to have a knack for it.  Plus, I don't usually try any recipe with over 5 real ingredients, 5 steps, and like 4 dishes to clean.  I do love the Food Network, though.

•  Photography: This is the last photo I've  taken:

Please do not copy this photo - all rights (reservedly) reserved through Katy Livingston

#ExhibitA #nofilter

•  Crossfit: because... I just can't, y'all. Also, I don't want to “Eat clean and train dirty.” I mostly just want to train a little bit dirty and not really eat clean at all. I don't need that kind of peer pressure in my life.

Here is where I have hit the dead end. But I would be lying if I said I didn't have one pursuit at all. I sort of do: reading.  As a kid, I used to read in the car on the 4-minute drive home from elementary school. In middle school, I used to read a lot of novels about people with terminal illnesses, and my mom was worried I would need therapy or something. I forgot how to read for fun during high school and college. My friends who worked at a bookstore would give me book recommendations that never failed to stir up something in me and bring me back to the joy of a new book. Then somewhere along the way, I let myself fall into the mom trap of surviving the day and falling onto the couch for some mind-numbing tv before bed every. single. day.

But guess what? I just joined a book club. And I just started reading a real book, and I love it. I feel like a new woman. And I'm going to try to not be too awkward when I meet some new ladies to eat snacks and chat about said book. And I won't feel badly that I don't have a thing right now that allows me to make someone a gourmet meal or sew cute baby gifts or have a beautifully landscaped yard or homegrown vegetables or a sick body. I'll just enjoy those few minutes I have been spending every night immersed in a beautiful, new world by the glow of my Kindle light while my husband drifts off to sleep next to me.

Because that's enough for me right now.

What She Wore, Crabs, & More

Photo Source: HERE

Look, I know the title of this post makes me sound a lot like Dr. Seuss, but there is a method to my madness.

There are so many successful blogs out there, and I really want to be one of them.  So in doing my research on what makes some of them so successful, I discovered that several of them include a “What I Wore” post every-so-often.  Well, Ladies (and if the title didn’t turn you away from reading on, Fellas, then I respectfully include you, too), since that is not exactly my style – to brag on my style – I thought, “Perhaps I can demonstrate my own take on it, She-STYLE.”  (See what I did just there?)

You see, every Fourth of July, The Hubster (Adrian) and I have our Annual Camping on the Beach Date Night.  (I capitalize it to emphasize its importance).  This year, he decided it was time to christen me to the crabbing world. 

Now I don’t know about you, but Date Night of any kind is an exciting thought – even if you know you’re gonna catch crabs.  So every year for camping, being the Bohemian-Glitter-Girl that I am, I try to dress up without dressing up.  I want my man to think I’m purty after all; but I also don’t want to wear a ball-gown to the murky waters of Surfside, Texas. 

In all the afore-mentioned blog posts, these girls have definitely got their sassy pants (or dresses, or whatever) on.  Trendy, pricey, and GORGEOUS.  Thing is, my take is a little different.  For instance, let me walk you through last year’s ensemble:

This image is © 2015 by Life As She Does It. Please link back or credit if any content or images are used.

Hat: 99 Cent Store, $1, Glasses: Target (pronounced “tarjay”, of course) Dollar Clearance Bins, $1, Earrings: Beauty by Chelsea, thank you very much (in other words, The Daughts gave them to me), Shirt: Tough Mudder Team Carpe Diem, Free (I EARNED that sucker!!), Capri Mom-Jeans: Goodwill, $4.99, Shoes: Penny Wise Resale, $2

Yea.  Not too trendy OR pricey.  (But guess what?  The Hubster DID say I looked GORGEOUS.  Even in my high-waisted mom-jean capris.  He made the conscious effort to say so.  Rare, I know.) 

This year's ensemble and where it came from would equally bore you, but the date details wouldn’t.  (No.  Not THOSE details, Dirty-Birdies) So we use our small means to make for a big night…who CARES about that part?  The tent goes in the back of the truck and we literally lay on cardboard and blankets.  We drink wine out of plastic wine glasses that get sand in them and make our mouths a little gritty.  We watch the free fireworks at night over the sand and water.  And boy-oh-BOY did we go CRABBING!  We caught a bountiful booty of blues…and then we partook in the trophy that was sweet crabby meat!  Did it REALLY matter what I wore?  To take this moment in our very SHORT lives to breathe each other in?  To take this moment in our very BUSY lives to remember how small we are next to the great, big ocean God created, but how meaningful our living legacy and the one we leave behind can be in the very moment we remember that?

What you have or how much you spend does not make the man (or woman), I tell ya.  What you do with what you’ve been given sure does.  Do you let bitter people steal your joy?  Or are you, perhaps, one of those joy-thieves referred to? Are you making the most of every, single, precious moment?  Or are you recklessly wasting time sweating the small stuff? 

Are you dressing for success when you wake up without even thinking about clothing, or in your most-expensive clothes are you setting yourself and others up for failure?

Are you basking in crabs, or are you one of them?

Me?  When others are talking about What SHE Wore, I hope they are inclined to say, “Her heart.”