Lesson

I read a Forbes article yesterday called, “20 Things 20-Year-Olds Don’t Get.” While there was some truth to what he said, it has been muddling around in my brain since I read it. Maybe it’s because he was an entrepreneur at 20, made the cover of “20 Under 20” lists and is pretending to be the Morgan Freeman guiding voice of all young dreamers—most of whom won’t even grace the cover of their hometown newspaper.

I have a natural inclination to be a Debbie Downer; however, I have also lived in the non-Forbes society for quite a while now. I see the mistakes that young professionals make, and I now comprehend why they make them. I see the flaws in what we teach because I have methodically followed that teaching to a few dead-end roads.

Here are four things 20-Year-Olds Now Get:

1. All those people we met on college field trips are the exception, not the rule. You want to know why young professionals feel so gosh darn entitled to a dream job right out of the gate? Because you introduced them to a PR graduate who now represents Beyonce. Maybe if they saw the business graduate who is managing a local restaurant rather than the guy who “worked hard for two long years to become the founder of his own non-profit,” they would be less likely to forget the importance of diligence and patience.

2. Being mean is not interchangeable with a push for excellence. Oh, the demanding boss that builds a solid career foundation. For a generation that seeks inspiration daily and often speaks of equality, it is counterproductive to imply that someone making them a personal servant is the equivalent to warm regards for their future success. Sometimes the 30-year reign of terror just needs to end.

3. No one cares about anything you thought they would care about. So college sponsors—please stop telling your students that for only $95 and a cheesy candlelight ceremony, they can have a coveted society on their resume. They’re going to need that money for supper one day and the interviewer will just think it’s a sorority.

4. Compassion. When you have your MBA and you are making minimum wage when you start out, BOY do the rights of McDonald’s workers seem a little more pertinent. Maybe that lady who doesn’t have insurance isn’t irresponsible; maybe she can’t afford to feed her kids and give them proper healthcare. It’s amazing the clarity of mind that comes when you exit the worship of academia.

I challenge you: The next time you’re tempted to bemoan the mistakes of young professionals, ask yourself how they developed that incorrect notion. We can’t pump them full of expectations and projected salaries and then complain when they’re tired of waiting. We can’t paint them a picture of perfection and watch idly as they see it fade into gray.

They need encouragement, not lists. They need leaders, not lessons.

Only then will the real education be received.

Royal

Oh, sweet little George. What excitement you have created in the world this week. Women, probably some who don’t even have babies, have put your car seat on rush order. The name of your swaddling blanket print (I think it involved a jungle) made top of the fold news—some journalists will never get that spot.

I’m sure royal crazies in rural Alabama will name their son George—and tell that child every day of his life, “You were named after the royal baby George, not your weird great-uncle in Birmingham.”

And what about the chick who decides she HAS to leave the hospital in a replica of Kate's dress? How does that go down? I guess you have to pretend grandma with the iPhone is British paparazzi.

Despite the above paragraphs dripping with sarcasm and disdain, I can honestly say—I kind of get it. Kind of.

I like to read magazines; and the business section of online news; and pretty much any female opinion piece that gains my attention.

And it seems like all the articles are the same: “Why Work is ‘Never Done’ For Many Women,” “The New Movement She Thinks We Need,” “Your Weight Could Impact More Than You Think,” and “What These 7 Wildly Successful Women Have in Common.” And lest we forget how to do all these and get a killer bikini body at the same time.

It seems like, in an effort to better our gender, we have minimized ourselves to a Huffington Post section that thinks you have to be a "mean girl" to keep up with the dudes at work.

And you know what?

Sometimes you just want to talk about princesses.

Sometimes your corporate ladder was from Home Depot and it fell off the roof.

Sometimes getting off the couch to clean up the kitchen is the only movement you can muster.

Sometimes the only subordinate you will see in a day is a dachshund who decided tearing into a garbage bag of her own feces was a good idea.

So if that swaddling blanket makes you feel like Queen Mom today, swaddle away. If wearing a polka dot dress after 14 hours of labor makes you feel sexy, get fancy. If your daughter wants to be a princess when she grows up instead of a doctor, buy her a pink dress.

If getting excited about a baby across the world makes your day a little brighter, get excited.

We all deserve to be royal every once in a while.

 

 

 

5 Things Non-Parents Shouldn't Say to Parents

I shared a link from a friend this morning called, “5 Things Parents Shouldn’t Say to Non-Parents.” While I found the author’s writing style to be the right balance of wisdom and hilarity, I debated passing it along for fear that parent friends would rake through their entire friendship history with the childless people in their lives. If this was you, quit it. Chances are—if your friends are anything like me—they are so preoccupied with the dog poop on their carpet that they didn’t bother to notice the way you elevated your baby’s diaper blowout situation.

The truth is—we are all so wrapped up in our own lives; working mom, stay-at-home mom, not-a-mom, married, unmarried; that it often encompasses how we see the world and molds the expectations we project on other people.

I’m sure, beloved Momma-friends—that I have some apologies to dish out of my own. So here are the things I’m sorry for saying (or thinking, equally as bad):

1. I wish I had more time to myself. To a non-mother, this translates into: “My husband came in and turned it to ESPN before the four-hour season finale of ‘The Bachelorette’ was over.” To my sisters who have to call together a Pentagon strategizing session to determine the logistics of their next shower, this sounds an awful lot like SHUT. UP.

2. I want my old body back/I need to lose weight. You may very well need to lose weight—but newsflash: you don’t feel like a hot air balloon that someone just stuck a needle in. You don’t feel like your entire body just lost a game of tug-of-war. You don’t have to wear maternity pants when you’re no longer pregnant. And, most importantly, you don’t have to watch Heidi Klum go straight from the delivery room back onto the cover of a magazine in “10 Easy Steps.” So cool it with the fatty talk.

3. You see that child over there? My kid will never do that. I’m sure the karma involved with this one is enough to help you put a lid on your laughter for the time being. I know you readily anticipate the day when I plop my brilliant toddler in front of a mind-numbing cartoon; and the day that I cave in and buy the sugary cereal so she will stop throwing a fit in the middle of Kroger. You will inwardly rejoice when my stubborn preschooler insists on dressing like a hobo to go to church.

4. Hey, we should totally go [shopping, out to eat, to a movie] right now. Because by saying this I am of course suggesting that you leave your infant under the care of your Golden Retriever and Siamese cat. Instead, try this question on for size: “Do you want me to bring you some lasagna?”

5. I’m so tired. I stayed up late last night [reading, watching “Everybody Loves Raymond” re-runs, eating at IHOP at 2 a.m.]. Unless you can fill in that blank with “being an in-home dairy farm,” just don’t say it at all. For people who want nothing more than to gain some shut-eye, your blatant choice to stay up doing stupid stuff is just not helpful.

You see, we are all guilty of living within the realms of our own experiences; we are all guilty of playing the one-up game.

And it doesn’t even necessarily require walking in someone else’s shoes to remedy the problem; it just takes a little humility and the realization that—at some point, in some way—everyone’s shoes are going to step in some poop.

20 Vs. 27

I saw a Buzzfeed post earlier today that compared life in your early 20s to life in your late 20s. While some were relatable, most didn’t fully resonate with me. So I did some thinking. How has my life changed since I hit 20?

20: I have a 3.98 GPA because of World Civilizations Before 1500. I’m never going to get into graduate school. I hope I can still get a job someday.

27: Pretty sure the guy that tried to get me to write his papers in college is the CEO of a company right now. I guess I should have partied more and studied less. Maybe if I mention my Summa Cum Laude status, I can inherit a WALL so I can hang up my framed diploma.

20: I just traveled the world. When I get a job, I’m going to visit Italy, Greece, Egypt, Israel and Ireland like all the time.

27: I will never be able to leave America again.

20: Maybe if I repeat my name, major and hometown like a broken record, a bunch of girls will choose me to be their new friend.

27: I’m not much for crafts or quilts. Count me out, ladies.

20: Women at the gym want to know what exercises to do to get my arms.

27: Women at the gym now approach me for understanding: “Would you look at her arms? Who does she think she is—Michelle Obama?”

20: I won’t work anywhere or participate in anything unless I’m passionate about it.

27: So funny story. I like to eat. And have a house. And enjoy the luxuries of indoor plumbing. I’ll gladly be your secretary’s secretary. Sign me up.

20: I can’t believe people I graduated with already have babies. We’re still teenagers pretty much.

27: Hey, Ashton—I’ll be over in Baby Gap if you need me.

20: I can’t believe he doesn’t want to be with me. What’s wrong with me? I must be ugly.

27: I can’t believe he continues to want to be with me. I’m crazy.

20: I can’t wait until I’m like 27. I’ll have my life, career and family ironed out by then.

27: What I wouldn’t give to have the responsibilities of a 20-year-old.

Devotional

We all know how good I am at confession time. I’ve got that whole swear to tell the truth and nothing but the truth thing DOWN.

So here’s another one to add to the pile:

Daily devotional thoughts don’t do anything for me. Nada. Zip. Zero.

And even worse? I don’t like doing Beth Moore fill-in-the-blank booklets. In fact, I often get restless when I’m subjected to DVD curriculum.

They reach people; I get that. I’m glad for that. I’ve sat in many a study and inwardly begged for my heart to be reached.

But when I’m really in the trenches of womanhood; when I’m one burnt dinner away from throwing in the towel; when I’m two inches away from getting my pants to zip, I frankly don’t really want to hear about God’s soft whispers to my faint heart—or his ability to rescue me from a storm.

Some people do; for most, it is just what they needed to hear.

But I’m weird.

And if I were to write devotional thoughts, they would probably go a little something like this—which is most likely why they have a book deal and I don’t.

· There is nothing funny about Greek yogurt and fruity salads. Don’t feel like you’re an unhappy person if this doesn’t make you laugh with your friends.

· Being a female in the workforce is not going to make you feel like Elle Woods in Legally Blonde. Often the only empowerment you feel is when you finally get that coffee to creamer ratio right. Keep your head up. You are making a difference—even if you don’t feel like it.

· When you’re not the size you want to be, don’t buy out the mall—but get a couple pairs of pants that fit the size you are now. No one should walk around feeling like they’re one French fry away from a TNT explosion of flab.

· Realize that the toilet is prime prayer real estate. God is on his throne—and so are you.

· Have at least one good ugly cry twice a month. Sitting in your car, gripping your steering wheel is preferable.

· Make fun of magazines and Pinterest. Like big time. “Oh, you’re so cool. You have a fireplace inside your bath tub. That’s practical.” This will get you out of your pity party and into reality.

· The majority of husbands don’t want meat topped with a fruity glaze and lemon zest. So stop zesting and stressing. If half of your meals are pasta, don’t fret. It’s not in the good book—but rumor has it--that on the 8th day, God made spaghetti and store-bought garlic bread.

So yeah, this isn’t the usual devotional approach. But everyone’s heart responds to a different message; and my message is this:

Sometimes your storm is nothing more than the fact that you are tired of being a Mom right now; sometimes your storm is a pair of jeans that are stuck on your calves. But whatever it is—it’s important to God. You don’t have to neatly package it in an eloquent devotional thought; you can scream it in the car while fulfilling one of your required ugly cries. You can pray in front of a crowd or you can pray behind stall 3.

But realize that devotion is daily; it's minute to minute; it's a momentary decree that you can't handle this world on your own.

Don't read the devo; be the devo.

The Flashlight

A few weeks ago, our air conditioner broke—you know—that week when it was 90+ every day. Justin asked me to accompany him outside, bringing with me two things: a flashlight and dental floss. I then began to do what I do best.

I whined. I grumbled. I wanted to know why in the WORLD he needed dental floss for an air conditioner.

I wish I could say that I cheered him on as I watched him work, weaving floss through the wires like he was knitting a sweater. But I didn’t.

I huffed and I puffed. I didn’t blow the house down like the big bad wolf but it wasn’t for a lack of trying.

I will spare you our Dr. Phil episode and just say—it escalated.

I sat there afterward, brooding. And then I realized it was getting cooler. He had taken something I don’t even use to fix my cavity-ridden teeth and—without my help—maneuvered it to get the air started back again.

Talk about ordering a slice of humble pie.

I would be a liar-liar-pants-on-fire if I said that moment propelled me into a deep love for holding flashlights. It didn’t. It’s not as fun as they make it look on CSI: Miami.

But I realized how that must have made him feel; I wanted him to fix this problem— the me-being-hot-and perspiring-all- over-my-couch thing—but I didn’t want to be a part of the solution. I didn’t want to wait around and see if it could be done. And I didn’t even do this silently. I was a chatterbox of negativity. One more mosquito bite and I probably could have been arrested for neighborhood disturbance.

You may wonder why I put all my dirty wife laundry out on the line for the neighbors to see (ya’ll being my neighbors, of course).

It’s because I am starting to find that my struggles as a wife often parallel my struggles as a Christian.

And let’s be real: I have a hard time waiting around for answers. I want them. I do.

But I am more willing to say “Prove it” to God than I am “I am here. Use me.”

I am more likely to rattle off my life problems than I am to actively participate in solving them.

And I often find myself fulfilling my “help people” quota before arriving home to help my husband.

The other night, I was assigned flashlight duty again; this time, I probably would have received a B+ for effort. I’m waiting for my call any time now to be on the cover of “Southern Living.”

It goes without saying that “labors of love” are not my love language; in fact, they’re probably the cause of not so nice language.

But like Justin, God doesn’t expect much from me; he doesn’t need me to be the brains behind an AC root canal; he doesn’t need me to weave the plans; he doesn’t even need me to utter a word.

He just needs me to be available; he needs me to be agreeable; he needs me to just hold the stinkin’ flashlight.

And when I am willing, I will probably find that the end result is pretty cool too.