I've Learned Many Things From My Dad Over The Years...

I'm a daddy's girl at heart. Don't get me wrong, I love my mother more that words can say but because we are polar opposites we often drive each other crazy. 

Reeeeallly crazy. 

Like real crazy. 

For realz. 

My dad and I, though, have always gone together like...peanut butter and..

Not jelly. 

**thinking**

Peanut better and jelly require bread and that's too much work. 

*maybe a slight head cock, maybe a furrowed brow, maybe both**

 Bananas? 

**minutes later**

Yep. Bananas. Not the green ones, those are too stout. The yellow ones that are starting to get spots in them. Yes. Peanut butter and the yellow bananas that are starting to get spots on them. Easy and sweet, not too much work....that's how my dad and I go together. 

If you know my dad well, you are probably laughing already. You see, I have a quality of being meticulous that I get from him. It manifests itself with how I choose my words, how deeply I dissect every situation, and how I want to have everything fully planned out step by step and organized before I even start a task. 

If you know my mom well, you may be laughing now, because the latter has never crossed my mother's mind. 

As early as I could walk, I was all up in my dad's business. I wanted to help "fitz" anything he was working on. When I found out what he was doing I ran to him at full hobble with hammer in hand, "I fitz it! I fitz it!" I just wanted to sit in his lap and get in the way of whatever he was doing and he always let me. 

Even that time that I was about three... maybe five...my memory is a little distorted now. You see, he was holding a rubber mallet...that black real hard rubber mallet with the long wooden handle.... I remember THAT part well. He was using that rubber mallet to pound a yard sign into the front lawn. I ran up, and because I wanted to do everything that he did, I asked if I could try. Of course, he said yes. 

I took that rubber mallet and pulled it back over my shoulder. 

I prepared myself. 

THEN, with about all the strength I could muster, I slammed that rubber mallet right square where I was aiming on that yard sign! 

It was a huge success!!  

...for about one tenth of a second. Because two tenths of a second later, it was swinging riiiiight back at me with the same speed I had thrown it. It clocked me square in the forehead and laid me clean out! 

.

.

.

Laying flat on my back in the yard with the mallet still in my hand, my dad picked me up and uttered these, most comforting, words (as he tried to stifle a laugh, I'm sure), "Every action has an equal and opposite reaction." 

I didn't know what on earth that even meant, but I was mad that that was his reaction and I'm sure I ran inside crying to mom for some sympathy.

While I didn't appreciate it at the time, my dad taught me two valuable lessons that day: Every moment can be a teaching moment and that and I will never once forget Newton's 3rd Law. 

He always took time out of his day to help me understand little things, like even though a grocery sack looks very much like a teddy bear sized parachute, it just doesn't quite work the same way. 

Not if you drop it from a trampoline. 

Not if you drop of from the top of the fence.  

And not even if you drop it from the top of the house.

I have learned many things from my dad over the years but here's a list of 10 of the most important ones. 

1. Take care of everything you have. If you do, it will last much longer. 

2.  Put things back where you got them especially if they aren't yours.  

3. Try to leave things in a better way than when you found them. 

4. Even if it takes a minute to put it all together, pick your words wisely and say what you mean. 

5. It's never too late to start over. 

6. You can do anything, even if it's just for a little while. 

7. Respect others. Even if you are wanting to say cuss words in your head after they walk way, treat all people with respect.

8.  Work smarter, not harder. 

9. Drink milk, but when you are thirsty drink water. If you aren't going to drink milk or water, drink a beer. If your going to have a beer though, make it a red beer. ;)

10. If you take the time to smell the roses, you will find beauty in all things. 

These ten things have helped direct the path that my life will take. I wouldn't be the same person without these lessons and I wouldn't have it any other way! 

Hey! How How High is This Thing Supposed to Jump??

Every job is stressful. It doesn't matter if you have to run reports by the fifteenth or if you just have to make it to work in time to start the coffee pot before your meanie head boss gets there. For me, it got real during the end of instruction tests. It doesnt matter what job you have, you get stressed and you have to find ways to cope. 

Glass of wine?

Long run?

Calling a friend to gripe?

Leaving your headlights on in your car so your battery dies before four o'clock when it's time to leave..? 

Unconventional I know, but apparently that's how my mom would..uhh...settle her nerves? 

Anyway, you could count on my mom's car battery needing to get "jumped" once a week. 

Sometimes a friend would help her out, especially if my dad who worked out of town was going to be late. Other times though, we would wait for my dad at the school. I would work on homework or watch a movie while my mom graded the perpetual stack of papers that all teachers have....there was one particular time that I remember the latter senario happening.

The First Time. 

Dad showed up. We packed up. We all went outside to the elementary school parking lot where mom's car was like the Lone Ranger in one of those John Wayne westerns. There was probably a tumble weed rolling in front of us as we walked out the double doors to see the ONLY car left out there. 

Of course it was the ONLY car out there. I had been waiting forever. All my homework was done and I had made it through almost an entire game of Oregon Trail....which took at least 45 whole minutes. (I'm trying to approximate it now in my big-kid brain because in my little-kid brain it was the longest game ever. With Mary getting dysentery and someone stealing all your supplies and THEN running out of food before the winter was over, it was a long and stressful game!)

So, (finally) we get out to the car. Dad's truck was already parked right up next to  mom's LeSabre...okay probably not a LeSabre but I can't remember...Anyway, dad was pulling out the jumper cables and I was watching him like a hawk. 

As a part of my "daddy's girl" responsibilities I had to be completely in his way, all up in his business, and ask him at least twenty-five questions..a minute. 

He hooked up the clamps on his truck and started it. He popped the hood on mom' car and attached the other end of the cables. My dad then explained to me more about the process of "jumping" a car to stop my questions before they arose. 

However....I was SO not listening. I was running around the car and hopping into the passenger seat of the car and buckling up and I was doing it all fast! I grabbed onto the door handle with my right hand and the shifter with my left. This was intense. My knuckles started to get white as I gripped my makeshift handles just as tightly as I could for a few more minutes. I was wishing more than anything that I had my bicycle helmet with me. Had I known, I definitely would have grabbed my bicycle helmet! 

I waited. 

My joints were starting to get sore. 

I waited more. 

The anticipation was killing me! 

I waaaaaaiiiiiittttteeed more!

I couldn't take it anymore. 

I opened the door. I leaned my head out just as far as I thought was safe given the risky circumstances and hollered, "Hey!! How high is this thing supposed to jump?? Did I miss it?"

After some chuckling under their breath, one of my parents started my mom's now "jumped" car much to my dissapointment I found out later that I didn't miss it. The once in a lifetime car-jumping experience I thought I was privy to was really as mundane as watching a baby dirty a diaper. 

Lesson learned: Never take thinks for face value 

 

Or: Don't trust your parents

Or: Don't ever get excited about anything because you will always be diassapointed. 

Whatever you take from this please note that "jumping" a car is really not that exciting and if you haven't witnessed it because you have a fancy car with fancy automatic shut off lights....you aren't missing anything and you definitely don't need a bicycle helmet! 

(This is how I wish I would have looked that fateful day that I learned to not trust anything that I hear.)

This isn't me...in case you were confused. If it makes it better, I didn't grab this kid off the internet. I know him in real life. 

I Wanted to Become a Teacher for Two Reasons....

God gave me a mother. God didn't just give me a mother to bathe me and clothe me when I was little, He gave me a mother that could teach me things. I think He gave me to her so I could teach her some things too.

You see, my mother and I are what are called "polar-opposites." Where she is whimsical; I am rational. Where she is creative; I am organized. Where she is irrational; I am logical. We love each other more than life itself, but we make each other CrAzY! To be fair though, for every ounce of crazy she has ever made me, I have done at least twice as much to her. (I was the spawn of Satan. Really. I was terrible. Ask around, it's the truth and ain't nobody gonna sugar-coat it for you to save my reputation.)

One thing that we have in common though is the love of a new chalk board eraser, a heart that races as we walk down the office supplies aisle at Wal*mart, and an uncontainable squeal of joy as we open up a new 64 count box of Crayola crayons. For the first seventeen and three quarters years of my life I stifled these feelings. The LAST thing (that I would ever admit) that I would chose to be as an adult is a teacher....my mom is a teacher.

However, she is not JUST a teacher. She is the best teacher. She is the teacher that literally REMEMBERS every student, not just the smart ones or the ones that smell nice. She is the teacher that ten years into their successful career, students can still remember their favorite teacher and without pause say that the ONE teacher that told them that they could do anything and meant it was Mrs. Walton. My Mom guys! She's THAT teacher. A life changer.

She taught at an elementary school and when given the classroom combination of a severely disabled, a non-reader, an abused, a fostered, an attention deficit, and a learning impaired child in a classroom full of others wonderfully high and desperately low she could turn them into the highest readers and the most improved statistically. She taught second graders to believe in themselves, how to laugh at their mistakes, how to set goals and reach them, but most importantly that that are what THEY believe and not what someone else thinks of them. In her classroom students were no longer described by a disability but by a personality or a smile.  They knew that. They KNEW that they are different in her eyes.

Now back when I was in high school I tutored a little girl and after a few weeks of working with her after school, she ran to me with tears in her eyes saying that she had gotten the highest grade on a math test...ever. She was so proud that she had done it herself. She had learned that math didn't have to be the boss of her. She wanted to tell me that she had done it, but it was only after I believed in her. My mom was there for that experience. She told me later that she knew I had "it" all along, the passion for teaching. I knew she meant it and from that day forward I pursued Math Education as my career.

I teach high school math, 9th through 12th grade, at a small school now. I try to instill the same lessons into their hearts as my mom did to so many of her students the thirty some years that she taught. When my students complain about an assignment (because I KNOW that math is the single most hated subject since the dawn of time) I simply respond, "I wanted to become a teacher for two reasons: The second one being that I like to torture high school students." (A joke, of course) The number one reason though will always be that I am trying to one day be half the teacher that my mother was and that I am only striving to change one life like she changed so many others.

(Here we are together after my college graduation. I love this picture of her and even though I don't love me it the picture I cherish this photo because it's one of very few of us together.)

Being Happy with Yourself Isn't Brought on by Comparing Yourself to Others..

Let me tell you a secret... I have a sister. Not just any sister, but one that I sound like, I walk like, I act like, and I look like. A sister that I am enough like that we often get confused for each other by people that we have known our whole lives despite the fact that she is five years older and has a wonderful, beautiful son.

Aside from all that, there is one thing that separates us. We have the same parents, but very different genes. (Hers are size four and mine are size ten, punny..right?) Don't get me wrong a size ten is not huge. It's not even big. In today's society though women are taught to compare ourselves to others, and without exception I do this to just about every woman I see from age 16 to 60, ESPECIALLY my sister.

Growing up, I was always a little bigger than my sister. I'm an inch and a half taller, my feet are a size bigger, and my pants were always a size bigger or more. Being 5'8'' in the sixth grade is enough to give any little girl a complex and it was only salt in my wound knowing that my high school sister even weighed less than me! Even when she was nine months pregnant, I could still tip the scales more than her if she was sopping wet. Oh how I hated her for it. It is also no secret that the shining moment of glory in my life was when I witnessed someone call her "hefty!" (It didn't matter that she had JUST had a baby or that I was still bigger than her or that she has never once made a joke of my size. It mattered that I wasn't the "hefty" one for once.)


This blog isn't about my sister though, its about my constant struggle to maintain my weight. I literally do not put anything in my mouth without thinking about how its going to affect my body. The fact that if I just want to stay the size I am (not to lose weight, but just to maintain my weight) exercise has to be a fairly regular part of my lifestyle. Through many years of self-coaching and great friends I have learned to be "okay" with my size and to strive to be healthy rather than skinny. I am now more okay myself than I ever have been, not because I think I am in great shape, but because I have literally worked my rear off squeezing back into a size 10. (For one glorious summer, I stopped worrying about what I ate and only worked out when I felt like it!   .....and by August I was thirty (YES THIRTY POUNDS IN ONE SUMMER) pounds heavier.)

(On the right is me at my heaviest.)

 I have made a few poor choices in diet lately and have not been working out three or more times a week like I should and I have gained enough weight to make me start worrying about how I look in my formerly favorite outfits, but instead of griping about it or blaming my sister for my jealousy issues I am starting a workout plan. Every day that I workout I get a reward (not food because that is SO counterproductive) and everyday that I skip $5.00 is going into a jar and being donated to charity.

Today is Day #1 and I hope that I can make it to Day #45 so that I can by myself a watch that I've had my eye on for a looooong time now and I promised myself that I would get it guilt-free! So come on Day #45!!

So PLEASE join me in a workout, ask me for my updates, ridicule me if I skip, and make a HEALTHY choice for you and your body today. Being happy with yourself isn't brought on by comparing yourself to others, but earned by knowing how far you've come in your journey! Now, since my road is muddy and I can't run outside I am going to do a Pinterest workout in my living room!

I'm young. Months are Short. Life is Long. Love is Strong.

Have you ever heard the song "Just Another Day In Paradise" by Phil Vassar? I love the song and it came on the radio this morning on my way to work. This time, nearly the one millionth time that I have heard this song in my life. I listened. I really listened, probably because today...right now...this morning, I needed it. Now it's just a typical country song, I've posted the lyrics if you need a refresher.


"Just Another Day In Paradise"

The kids screaming, phone ringing
Dog barking at the mailman bringing
That stack of bills - overdue
Good morning baby, how are you?
Got a half hour, quick shower
Take a drink of milk but the milk's gone sour
My funny face makes you laugh
Twist the top on and I put it back
There goes the washing machine
Baby, don't kick it.
I promise I'll fix it
Long about a million other things

Well, it's ok. It's so nice
It's just another day in paradise
Well, there's no place that
I'd rather be
Well, it's two hearts
And one dream
I wouldn't trade it for anything
And I ask the lord every night
For just another day in paradise

Friday, you're late
Guess we'll never make our dinner date
At the restaurant you start to cry
Baby, we'll just improvise
Well, plan B looks like
Dominoes' pizza in the candle light
Then we'll tippy toe to our room
Make a little love that's overdue
But somebody had a bad dream
Mama and daddy
Can me and my teddy
Come in to sleep in between?

Yeah it's ok. It's so nice.
It's just another day in paradise.
Well, there's no place that
I'd rather be
Well, it's two hearts
And one dream
I wouldn't trade it for anything
And I ask the lord every night
For just another day in paradise

Well, it's ok. It's so nice.
It's just another day in paradise.
Well, there's no place that
I'd rather be
Two hearts
And one dream
I wouldn't trade it for anything
And I ask the lord every night
For just another day in paradise

For just another day in paradise
Well, it's the kids screaming. The phone ringing
Just another day
Well, it's Friday. You're late
Oh yeah, it's just another day in paradise





This song goes deeper than the "Is the glass half empty or half full?" conundrum. This guy's life sounds terrible:
His house is a noisy chaos.
His kids are fighting.
He can't pay his bills.
He woke up late for work.
He has to skip breakfast because his milk has gone bad.
After all of this his washing machine breaks.
He can't even get a date with his wife because her boss makes her work late, again.
He and his wife share a crappy pizza and try to spend some time together, but then their screaming kids are at it again. 

By my, and I bet just about everyone else's, definition that doesn't just sound terrible. It sounds dreadful. The way he says it though, it's musical. It's beautiful. It's PARADISE. Not because of his situation, but because he has love and he is looking at his life as far beyond just "half full."


Now...why did this relate so much to me today? Because this year, I'm not going on harvest. TRUST ME, not because I don't want to, but because that's what's best for this season. My blog, in my head, has quickly turned from "HappinesswithaHarvester" to "TrytoRemeberwhatitsliketobeHappywithoutyourHarvesteraround.  I'm having a really. really. tough time with this. I know it's for the best. I know it will probably be good for me. I'm still counting my blessings, I'm just tearing up a little between numbers.

I know I'm not the only one that's facing transition, I know I'm not the only one that's having a hard time. My mantra right now is that, "I'm young. Months are Short. Life is Long. Love is Strong."

You see, I'm trying to focus on the positive without ignoring reality. That balance for me, I hope, will help me get through the time that my beloved harvester is away. 

So, no matter who or what your "harvester" is, it's going to be okay. You just have to make due with what you've been given and know that there are brighter days ahead. Find your own mantra. Believe it. Count your blessings. (Even when there are tears between them.) Then, strive to make each day your paradise. At least, that's what I'm trying to do.

More that just luck...

Okay here is a secret....


(I'm not really sure how to be a "grown up.")


For people that have known me my whole life that statement might seem... a little... well, stupid.

You see, I think I came out of the womb balancing my checkbook and thinking about my future. I don't think I ever even spent my birthday money because I always just wanted to "save it in case something really important came up." You never know when you'll have to buy a brand new set of tires for your over used Barbie Jeep, I guess.

What I mean is, that I'm just not sure I'm ready for a real, live grown up job that I have to do all year for the next forty years. ...In fact, that's why I decided to do this whole harvest deal in the first place. I hurried up and worked really hard to get done with college in 4 years. When I got out... I was in NO hurry to start this whole life-job thing.

I mean... I've always worked. I've just never been glued to the same schedule or routine, job, or expectations for more that three months at a time.

So after a summer of the hustle and bustle of harvesting, that I LOVED, I realized I needed a break.

Not just any break, I needed a sabbatical.

So one morning when I woke up to a note on my Facebook from my cousin, Ginger, that quoted her daughter, Taylor, that said:

Ginger: Taylor, why didn't you take a good nap today?
Taylor: Well, I just really miss my Aunt Ally.

That's all that it took. I called Ginger and told her I was in my way. Her response was simply, "You better not be kidding because I'm already washing your sheets!"

I've made this long drive to central Illinois quite a few times, so it didn't take long for me to pack up a suitcase full of needed-to-be-washed clothes, some dog food, and (of course) my pup. Then, I left. I drove without needing a map. Just good radio and luck to guide me.

Things were going well. Jagger was asleep, I had missed Tulsa rush hour and had timed it just right so I didn't have to stop in Joplin for anything. (I refuse to stop in Joplin!)

Good timing, good mood, and good tunes were all I needed. Things were going great. Well... Until all of the road construction in Missouri. The roads were rough, a lot of bumps, some stop-and-go, then I was through it. Okay. After this one last OhMyGoodness! bump.

Wait! Was that a bump?? Did I just have a blow out?!? My heart was racing.

So I looked behind me. I didn't see a tire, but something had DEFINITELY happened. So, I slowed down and took the next exit. I pulled into a gas station and checked all my tires: all four still had tread and still looked pretty decent. I continued my walk around... everything looked normal... Well, until I got to the front of my car. I called Lance.

"Hey... "
Yeah?
"You know that plastic bumper thing that is on the underside of my bumper. That is not actually my bumper, but it's that part that scraps on stuff if I pull too far forward??"

*Sometimes I really don't have any idea how he understands me so well. It's like he has a language gift for Allysonism.*

Yeah...
"Well, its hanging down. Like way down. I don't know what to do."
Can you rip it off?
"Are you serious? No."
Well, then if it's not too low keep driving.

So, I tried it. It seemed fine, for a minute. By the time I started getting up to interstate speed, I could hear it. It was dragging on the pavement of the road.

So, I took the next exit. Why did I drive to Illinois again? This was stupid! I'm driving across the nation by myself with my pup. Didn't I learn my lessen last time?? (That's a previous story if you haven't read it already.)

But... I was lucky. This exit I had was a Walmart exit, but not just a regular Walmart...but a Walmart with an Auto Center!

I drive around back, park and try to find some one to talk to me. I found someone.

"Excuse me sir.."
*Long conversation explaining my problem and that I was a girl driving from northwest Oklahoma heading to central Illinois with a broken car and a dog.*
His response...
Sorry. We can't help you we do maintenance work, not body work.

Maybe in response to the sheer terror in my eyes that were starting to get a little shiny with tears and my cracking voice trying to say, "I understand, thank you for your time anyway."

He turned around and said, but I guess... if you want.. you can ask Lex.

I was on a mission, a mission to find Lex. After a little bit of asking around and attempting to slyly read name tags, I found him.

I explain my story that I told the first guy and pointed to my car and then... he walked away.

Huh?

Then he came back with a handful of zip ties and walked me to my car. He laid on the ground and started zipping things up. We had a little friendly conversation about allergies and traveling. His wife and why I was heading to Illinois. By that time, he was finished.

With a broken voice and teary eyes I tried to make my words form the gratefulness I was feeling. I just couldn't believe that just a few minutes before I was stranded and hopeless. I wasn't sure where I was going to go or what my next step would be. And now...now I was safe. Now when I had no one else, Lex was there. A "thank you" and a "you have NO idea how much this means to me" just wasn't enough, but I said it anyway.

His response?

I'm glad I could help. You know and when you get to where you are going and if you have the time, try to make it to church. God bless you.

You see, all this time I had more than just luck. I had love. God's love and love personified through Lex.

I thanked him again and before I got in my car I was already crying. That was one of the most impressive things that has ever happened to me. Not because it was a great act, but because I had nothing else. I had nowhere to go and a stranger's kindness ministered to me and renewed my faith. He gave me a gentle reminder of what true ministry can be. Lex is a Roman's 12 man. If you haven't read it in a while, read it now. Look it up. Google it. If have never read it in the The Message version, please do. I just love the way it's phrased.

Thank you Lex for taking your everyday, ordinary job and saving me, shining a light, and giving me a story to tell.

That was more than I needed to hear....

Okay, okay.

I know it's been nearly an eternity since I last updated my blog. TRUST ME, it wasn't for lack of stories to tell or stupid things I've done..

Really, it was that since I decided to blog about my adventures.. well, so did about 20349835 other people. Okay maybe not quite 20349835, but like 15. (Which is close.) And to be honest, I really just didn't want to be another person telling all of cyberspace how their Monday was via a blog that is now clogging up everyone's news feeds.

So, I just STOPPED. And in the few weeks or maybe a month that I haven't written anything I have had people tell me that they missed it. I've heard that sometimes whenever one person is having a bad day they take some times read one of my stories and laugh a little. And maybe..just maybe it makes their day just a little bit better. That to me was more than I needed to hear. So... I'm back.

I will tell stories about how I learned something, or about how I was an idiot, or about how someone impacted my life because if it's worth someone's time to sit down and read them, it is soooo worth it to me to write them.

So get ready.. I've been saving a few for a while!