Forty Candles On A Cake

Forty candles on a cake. Not a big deal, I know. My aunt keeps reminding me that at least I'm still around for another birthday. Family and friends older than me say forty is young. My kids think forty is old. I just don't know what to think.

I always thought by forty I would have it all figured out. Now I feel kinda like my son will feel in about ten years. You know... that feeling you get somewhere in your mid-to-late twenties when you realize that you didn't quite have it all figured out at seventeen? That's where he's at. Seventeen and knows it all. That's not a bad place to be. We just all know that sooner or later reality sets in.

I didn't quite expect reality to set in so quickly with me. I'm feeling the need to re-invent myself, I'm just not sure what that self should be. No longer a teacher, no longer a faithful church member, no longer a granddaughter. I can honestly say that I feel lost in my own life. If my hair wasn't red, I do believe I might try it blonde just to have something different.

And I have nothing to complain about. Absolutely nothing. I could go on, but I would sound like a broken record. Great family, faithful cat, rocking chair front porch. I'm starting to think I may be my own worse enemy. How does a person get over the nothing part and move on to the something? I know it's out there. I just can't seem to find it.

So I write this blog and love my family and drink my non-fat lattes while I try to unravel the mess that brought my once content life to a screeching halt. My daughter sits down beside me for the sole purpose of patting me on the head. You're getting those time-to-go blues, she said. She knows me very well. My birthday just happens to coincide with the time that we are packing up to head back home. That could be part of my problem.

At least for now.

To The Friends I Have Not Seen

My daughter keeps asking me if I'm going to see any friends while we are home, and I keep thinking the same thing... I really don't think so. Usually when we visit I have a list of people I want to see and places I want to go. This year has been different. I really don't want to see anyone but the people I am staying with. And I have no idea why I feel this way.

I love my friends. I have some great ones. I'm not mad at anybody. No one has offended me. I just feel really protective of my time and when I look at the calendar and realize the time is rapidly winding down, I don't want to go anywhere I don't need to.

I'll probably regret this when I get back. Or maybe I won't. All I know is that this visit has been different in a good way. I wouldn't change a thing. I just hope nobody gets mad at me because I didn't stop by.

And as crazy as that sounds, it has happened before. Sometimes visits just don't work out. Last Christmas the snow and ice disrupted the plans I had. Just this summer I ended up driving my dad to the emergency room that effectively canceled some things I was going to do. That's just the way it is. You can't please everybody.

So this year I didn't plan a thing outside of my own family activities. Days are spent doing stuff (or nothing at all) with my mom and evenings find us all just sitting around. We can all feel Saturday fast approaching, though. Mom has been doing some mending for us (yes, I still bring things home for her to sew) and Dad mentioned that we still need to go out for breakfast before we leave (something him and I always do). I'll probably do one more load of laundry and tell the kids to start gathering up their stray socks. We'll return our library books and make one more run to the grocery store for snacks for the road. It all just goes by so fast.

As I sit here with the cat beside me, however, I realize that he probably has more to be concerned about than we do. Our poor kitty does not handle car rides well. He senses the movement of suitcases and goes into hiding. Right now he is very relaxed. He has no idea what is coming.

That's because right now all is calm. The middle child is listening to his grandpa discuss his idea of impressing girls while the kitchen is raided once again for pumpkin pie. Yes, I have some good friends out there, but I promise you that none are as entertaining as my dad. I am content being right where I am. I'll try to see everybody else the next go-around.

And hope that everyone understands.

Packing Away Christmas

Well, baby and family have headed back home and we are on our final week of The Visit Home. I listen to my dad talk on the phone and my mom and girl discuss Farmville and think about how different everything will be this time next Sunday. I'm still trying to figure out a way to stay.

Take the extra bedroom in Mom and Dad's house, for instance. I was thinking last night how easy it would be to swap out the full size bed for a couple of twin beds. In my mind I had it all decorated and fixed up. Of course, this scenario only included my girl and me because naturally the boys would want to head back home with their dad. I was trying to calculate how many weeks might go by before I desperately missed my husband. I decided instead of weeks it would probably be more like days. Sometimes I think it would be easier if I didn't like him so much. I know I would never stay behind without him. Too bad.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The morning hours have turned into the late afternoon hours. Mom is packing up her Christmas stuff and telling me stories about where and how she acquired most of them. I try to remember all of this. I also note how she carefully packs and sorts her tree ornaments and wonder why I seemed to have missed that gene. Dad is in his recliner and the cats roam freely now that baby and family (and dogs) have went home. Tomorrow we'll help take down the Christmas lights and pack away the decorations in the garage. Another holiday season has come to an end.

Well, almost to an end. I'm hoping to get in a little post-holiday shopping with Mom and I still have a birthday to celebrate this week. New Year's Eve will come and go and we'll head back to that dirty word called reality. With the changing of the calendar we will hope for a better year to come... even if I can't fix up that extra bedroom.

Learning To Live

The only problem with being home is the reminder that a whole other life remains hundreds of miles away. The only problem with looking at old pictures is being reminded of the ones who are no longer with us.

I was determined to breathe each moment of this visit...

Holding baby. The next time I see her she may be too busy to be held.
Visiting family. There's nothing like being in the same room with my brother.
                       Or listening to my dad sing every kind of song.
                       And looking across a snow-covered pond.
                       Even drying dishes for mom.

Those are the good things. The rough times come when we drive by houses whose owners are no longer there. I suppose I shouldn't say rough, but just stark reminders how things have changed. My grandma's house is no longer my grandma's. One particular graveside I visited still has a mound of fresh dirt. Our old house just looks sad. So much is different, and yet nothing has changed. Life is funny like that.

I thought about other families tonight that have lost their loved ones, especially the young. As I loaded down our kids' stockings with candy canes and marshmallow santas, I thought about empty stockings that are tucked away in dusty attics because the memory of past holidays is too much to bear. I look at my oldest with his new electric guitar, and the middle with his pocket full of money, and the youngest with her make-up and perfume... and I am reminded what a blessing it is to have those noisy, arguing, and sometimes ungrateful children around. I watched young parents prepare endless bottles and change dirty diapers and thought about what lies ahead for them. I wondered what my dad was thinking as he watched his family unwrap presents. You just never know what the next holiday might bring.

That's why I'm hanging on to every moment. Not out of a doomsday state of mind, just the reality of knowing that life has a way of moving on whether we are ready or not. Maybe that's why I filled those stockings tonight and why I had so much trouble leaving Aunt Patty's earlier today. There were so many simple, family traditions that I once took for granted.

I'll not make that mistake again.

Battlelines In The Sand

Holding a little baby makes me think of so many different things...

Our firstborn. What fun that new baby was.
The baby we lost. I remember the day and I remember the tears.
Our second son. Unique from day one.
The baby girl. So sweet in her frilly dresses.

Often times I look at our kids and wonder where those little babies went. I once had a house full of toddlers; now I have a house full of teens. Legos and Hot Wheels and Barbies once dominated our living room; now laptops and i-pods and power cords litter the floor. I use to answer questions with Maybe when you're older; now the words Only when you turn eighteen, graduate, and are out of the house are the standard response. Things sure have changed.

I am trying very hard to enjoy this phase in our life, though.

Trying very hard.

After all, there was a time when I yearned for our babies to talk.
And walk.
And go to school.

Then I wished I could take it all back and start over.

So I am trying my best to embrace these teenage years and not wish them gone. I try to find the joy in watching three kids carve out their path through life while wondering what the one we lost might have been like.

I'm trying my best to support them in things they would like to try while holding the reins tight on things that might turn out to be a bad idea. It really is turning out to be a tricky thing to balance.

(And do moms always have to be the one to balance these things? Just wondering.)

Little babies. They are so sweet, so full of hope, so full of things yet to come.

Which is why I told my niece to enjoy her new little one now. While she is tiny and quiet and safe in her arms. It definitely won't last.

Do Looks Matter?

You can't judge a book by its cover. Man sees the outside, but God sees the heart. We've all heard sayings like those, but I wonder to what extent we really believe them.

Are boys with long hair automatic trouble makers? Do girls in short skirts always mean problems? Do we give labels to everyone we see?

Maybe I should lose the plural version of the pronoun we and stick to the singular version, me. I know my thoughts have changed over the last year.

I have a son who definitely has his own sense of style. Gone is the clean-cut hair style and button-up shirts. He now has hair longer than his girlfriend's and his choice of clothes mainly leans towards the many shades of black. When not in school, a chain or two typically hangs from his steel-studded belt.

There was a time that this look might have bothered me. I'm sure that I have purposely avoided kids sporting a similar style. After all, that kind of look could only mean trouble, right? When other people, though, started looking at him with raised eyebrows, I began to rethink things. And when family members began questioning my decisions as a parent, I found myself on the side of defending his look. The more I had to explain it (and I'm not even sure what it is), the more I found myself looking at my own heart.

For instance, other than the occasional teenage drama that accompanies the daily life of a high school student, he has never given us reason to question his actions. He goes to church (voluntarily, I might add) twice a week. He cares about his friends. He would defend his siblings in a heartbeat. He loves his granny and pa. He loved his grandma.

On the flip side (and for example purposes only) could be other kids that I have known. The kids that wear the look adults like and talk the talk adults expect. I've heard (some of) these same kids pray the prayer of the righteous and then cuss out a classmate at recess. I've seen (a few of) their names in the paper for drug charges. Did their short hair cuts and polo shirts keep them from trouble or simply protect them from judgmental glances while they took a walk on the wild side?

I know only time will tell for my own boy. Right now I am more concerned for him developing his own identity and walking his own path than I am about how long or short his hair may be. Sure, he wears a lot of black, but I must say he wears it well. Through the years I have always heard the same remarks from his teachers, He is comfortable in his own skin. That he is. Not a follower. Not a cookie cutter product. Just him. And I happen to be proud of that.

He has taught me to stop and think before I jump to judge someone based on how they look. Or maybe it's how others look at him that have taught me that. Whichever it is, I have grown because of it. And that can only be a good thing.

Besides, I happen to genuinely like young people. I've often wondered how a purple streak (or two) might look in my hair, but my girl has advised against it. Apparently forty is not the age to experiment with different neon colors in my hair. I'm sorry I missed the chance.

Home

There's a gleam in your eyes, said my husband. It must be because you're home. He knows he's right.

It is good to be home. Everything is predictable. The town is the same. Dad has his recliner. Mom took us shopping.

The kids have already argued and will most likely continue to do so. We spent money on parts today for a vehicle that is always needing something fixed. The cat is moody. Some things just don't change.

And that feels good. No traffic. Meeting family members in Walmart. Sitting at a table with my parents. Drying dishes for my mom.

Will we get bored? Most likely. Will we be lonely? Never.

It really is the most wonderful time of the year. It's time to be home.

Treasure From Christmas Parties Past

I should be bustling around trying to get everything ready for this weekend. Instead, I feel like I've been put into slow motion and can't quite get anything done. You would think I have all the time in the world to finish laundry, wrap presents, shop for snacks, go to the library, take in the trash, and pack. But I don't have all the time in the world. I've got tonight.

Blame it on the day. The day before Christmas Break was one of my favorite days at school. That and the Last Day of School, of course. The day before Christmas Break, though, always brought parties and cupcakes and candy canes and presents for the teacher. And I've got to admit that last part was always my favorite.

The things a student gives their teacher. Doesn't really matter if it was third grade or junior high (and I've taught everything in between), those gifts can get pretty interesting. I've got coffee mugs and ornaments, pretty pins and Christmas stockings... once I even got a shark's tooth in a box. I always labeled everything so I wouldn't forget who gave it to me and have every card in a ribbon-tied stack. I think the best part was always watching their face when I peeked in a gift bag or read a card aloud. Every kid wants to feel special. I hope I always made them feel that way.

And that's that. I can hardly see for trying not to cry now so I best move on. I miss those days, but I thank God I had them.

It's time to focus on the laundry.

Waiting To Breathe

The closer it gets to Saturday, the easier I can breathe.

That was my facebook status, and there is more truth to that than you can possibly know.

I'll be close to family. I'll be close to friends. I'll be close to my mom.

I'll have breakfast with my dad. And watch tv with him. I heard he has quite a few episodes of the "Deadliest Catch" recorded just because he knows I like that and I've been limited to an antenna for quite a few years now. If he's recorded over it? Who cares. That's why they made re-runs.

I'll go shopping with my mom and she'll insist on paying. That's not what motivates me, though. It's just being with someone that cares. Someone that wants to be with you. Someone you love.

I know I have nothing to complain about. I didn't choose this path, but things could always be worse. My husband loves me. My kids are happy. There is a Starbucks less than ten minutes down the road.

But in just a few days, I'll be able to breathe again. No trying to be happy. No making it through just another day. But life.

And I am going to live every moment because if I've learned anything in life, it's that those moments worth living don't last that long.

And I intend on breathing every moment.

The Game of Life

Normally I read and think about life. Lately I've been playing the game of Life. I think I would rather be reading.

After all, the actual board game is not very realistic. If you choose to bypass college, you pretty much get an instant paycheck. If you choose the college path, you graduate with a guaranteed job to go along with that instant paycheck. Oh, and pay raises are $10,000 a pop. And for each new baby each player has to give you $5,000. There may be things along the way that decrease your funds... tonight, for instance, a tornado wiped out my mobile home and I had to pay $120,000... waaay more than the place was worth. In the end, though, all of us playing retired with well over a million dollars. If only that were true.

Maybe I should write about If My Life Were A Board Game. The first game that comes to mind in that case would be Sorry! Just like the game, I can feel like I'm moving along at a good pace when suddenly somebody (or something) gives me the boot back to Start Here. Or Battleship, one of my all-time favorites. I think it must be the strategy that comes after a little guess work with that game... that and the somewhat strangely satisfying feeling that comes with sinking the other guy's ship. Makes me feel like I've accomplished something. I like that.

Life is not a board game, though. It certainly doesn't clean up as easy as one. I think I'll stick to books. Sometimes I look at my daily life and compare it with whatever I'm reading. It's not as crazy as it sounds. Tonight I cooked a casserole for supper simply because the book I just finished had a mom doing the same thing. I loved how something so simple had such a wonderful description. Words like "bubbling" and "warm from the oven" made me want to bring it to life. Often I wonder how any particular event (in real life) might be described if it was put into words and printed in black and white. There really is something magical about the written word.

As for the game of Life? Well, I suppose there is a certain magic to that, too. My husband was a lawyer boasting about all his money when the opportunity arose for me to sue him. Twice.

The little things that make me smile.

We Are Those Kind Of Parents

Our oldest had a post-birthday party last night with his friends. At his request, he invited a few friends over, Dad orchestrated a roaring bonfire, and I provided enough hot dogs, soda, and s'mores to feed a small army. A hundred foot (or something like that) electrical cord was stretched across the backyard to provide power to an amp plugged into an electric guitar and radio. Everything was perfect. Everything... except the parents wouldn't leave.

Out of the nine kids present including our own, two were boyfriend/girlfriend couples, both of which belonged to us. At least the boys belonged to us. No way we were leaving them alone. On one side of the fire was a row of teenagers all lined up; on the other side were the parents. The battle lines had been drawn and Mom and Dad weren't going anywhere. I'm pretty sure they didn't see the humor in it, but we did.

We are those kind of parents! The kind that won't leave you alone to just give you and your friends some space. In all fairness, we didn't interfere with the kids... we just kept to our side of the fire talking about things that would not interest them anyway. We laughed with them when they played the Chubby Bunny game ~ how many jumbo marshmallows can a normal human being put in their mouth (no chewing!) and still say "Chubby Bunny"? Who knew? Thank goodness plastic bags were provided for those that, well, shall we say (gag) couldn't (gag) quite make that happen (puke). Pure teenage fun.

Other than one girl's explanation of sexual harassment, the s-e-x conversations were non-existent. When one particular song on the radio began to use the f-word over and over, we asked them to change the station. The boy that got a little too cozy with his girl? He got the evil stare. Other than that, you would never even know we were there.

Ha! Right. We were there, they knew it, and who cares? When it was all said and done, kids went away laughing about marshmallows and basketball in the dark. I felt good that knowing that when parents dropped them off and picked them up, they saw us. That is exactly what I want when I take our kids to somebody else's house. I always thought I wanted to be the cool parent... then my kids turned twelve. And fourteen. And seventeen. "Cool" flew out the window as "let's just keep them in one piece and without a police record until they graduate." Funny how those priorities change.

Today the birthday boy was walking through the house when he stopped to say, "Thanks for everything last night, Mom. I really had a lot of fun."

No "wish you'd left us alone."
No "why'd you have to stare at me like that...she was only whispering in my ear."
No "can't believe you made me change the song."

Just "I really had a lot of fun."

And that's all a mom really needs to hear. I may have been tired of standing and freezing and so what if I drank one too many rootbeers? I guess I had fun, too... even if I was on the wrong side of the fire.

Stocking Hats Are My Friend

As I picked up my daughter in the school carline Friday afternoon, she gave me a subtle look that clearly stated she was unhappy with my appearance. Because I had not washed my hair or bothered with contacts and makeup, I opted for a stocking hat, sweat pants, and my totally uncool glasses. Later, one of the boys remarked that he didn't understand why she cared. You're just a mom. Nobody cares what you look like. Words I'm sure that were meant to reassure me. Somehow they missed their mark.

He went on to try to explain himself. Afterall, he said, nobody wants to be the one checking out someone's mom. That would just be weird. He did have a point. I can't think of anyone that I would care to try to impress in a carline and the thought of trying to impress my kids' friends? Ewwww. I am so not one of those mothers. I drive a mini-van, for crying out loud. What does that girl of mine expect?

It does make me chuckle, though. I'm a mom of teenagers and just weeks away from my fortieth birthday. I spend more time trying to cover up the dark circles under my eyes than I do on my hair, and yet that girl of mine evidently thinks I could be doing a little bit more with myself. Of course, it was just that one day. She could cut me a little slack. Maybe I'll fix myself up for her for Monday's carline. That would be fun just for her reaction. The things I do to entertain myself.

But then again, I am just a mom. If I don't entertain myself, no one will.

Take The Good When You Can Get It

Ahhhh... Christmas Shopping.

I was wrapping presents this morning when I realized I had nothing for one of the kids. The older they get, the harder they are to buy for. All they want is money. Well, money is no fun to wrap so I set out to do a little shopping.

I'm not much of a shopper. I've said that before. But today I was in the mood and let me tell you, it was one fun day. I called my husband first because I'm a good wife and he makes all the money. He said go for it. Dangerous words.

I was missing my mom as I pulled through the drive-thru for a cheeseburger happy meal. While sitting at a red light eating that cheeseburger happy meal, a car in the lane next to me ran the light and slammed into another car in the intersection. I momentarily thought about turning around and going home. It's things like this that have made me into the homebody that I am. I decided to stick to the plan. And the plan was to shop.

At my first stop I spent a good hour just wandering around and was able to cross a few people off my list. I lingered way too long in the baby section wishing I could buy Little Miss Lily every cute outfit I saw. I even caught myself smiling. A lot. And when I was waiting to check out and people around me were grumbling non-stop, I really didn't mind. Let 'em complain. Today was a good shopping day. 

On my next stop I watched a battle-for-a-parking-spot drama unfold before me. Good thing I don't mind walking. No spot is worth that hassle. I wandered this store for another hour and crossed a few more people off my list. I avoided anything to do with baby and concentrated on the grown-up stuff. The cart I was pushing must have only had three working wheels and the racket it was making was a little embarrassing. It was all good, though. I was on a roll.

I thought of two people on my list who like Starbucks. I like Starbucks. If I have to stop in to pick up an item or two, I might as well have a coffee. Later at home when the table was covered with wrapping paper and boxes and all that goes with it, I thought we might as well order a pizza. I like pizza. Supper was ready as soon as the pizza guy arrived. The day seemed just about perfect.

Then life kicked in. I got mad because kids were grumbling and once my lecture got started it was difficult turn off. My youngest made a comment about red hair and tempers and something about green eyes and fire (not sure where she was going with that one). I threatened to take all the Christmas presents away and ended up in the kitchen saying THIS WAS SUPPOSE TO BE A GOOD DAY! to no one in particular.

Things have calmed down since then unless you count the one kid still grumbling while another one fires off insults through a closed door. I have no desire to address either issue. Instead, I'm going to admire the tree one last time before I climb under an electric blanket and read my newest library book.

Because today was a good day. A good shopping day. And those don't happen very often in my world.

Thanksgiving: A Second Time Around

I am not a bug person. Thank God for sons.
I do not mend clothes. Thank God for a daughter.
I do not grow vegetables. Thank God for canned goods.

In thinking about my day and the gloominess that has encrusted me, I look around to find things and people to be thankful for. And you thought Thanksgiving was over.

The kids received a "missing you" card in the mail today.
Thank God for youth pastors.

The lady at Walmart today said "Merry Christmas" as I was leaving.
Thank God for nice people.

The cat won't leave the ribbons and bows alone under the Christmas tree.
Thank God for presents.

I talked to an old pastor of mine last night (as in former, not elderly... on the off chance he ever reads this). Do you ever hear yourself saying something and think, "Do I really sound that stupid?" Yeah. That was me. When did I, the God's got a plan girl, start questioning the legitimacy of that plan and even its existence? Especially to a pastor? He probably got up an extra hour early this morning just to pray for my soul.

My kids have their own thoughts about the way things should be.
Thank God for their independence.

My husband hugs me ten times a day and helps me fold and put up laundry.
Thank God for his support.

My feet are always freezing because this is no longer flip-flop weather.
Thank God for fuzzy, warm socks.

Create in me a pure heart, O God,

and renew a steadfast spirit within me.

Do not cast me from your presence

or take your Holy Spirit from me.

Restore to me the joy of your salvation

and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me.

Psalm 51: 10-12

Thank God for God.

And new beginnings.

And kids that serve Him.

And hearts that seek Him.

Happy Thanksgiving, a second time around.

Hugs, Kleenex, and Chocolate

My boy gave me a hug today voluntarily. My boy that is now taller than me. Funny how you can watch them grow and yet not realize how much they've grown till you have to reach your arms up to hug them back.

Then I hugged my other boy. The other boy who has been taller than me for quite some time. Didn't quite realize just how tall he was till I noticed I could practically rest my head on his shoulder.

So as not to make anybody feel left out, I hugged my girl. The one who can look me square in the eye. Felt kind of weird to be on equal ground with her. I'm sure she'll pass me by within a few months.

It was just a huggy kind of night around here. Made me think of all those times I purposely arrived late for church services just so I could miss the welcome song and all the hugs. I'm not exactly the kind of person who freely gives and accepts hugs. You may love Jesus and I may love Jesus, but a handshake will suit me just fine. That's just the way I am.

Except for tonight. I think I could have went on hugging each member of my family, one by one. Maybe difficult times do have a way of bringing everyone together. Well, technically, I was the one having a difficult time, but hey... I guess watching your mom melt into a puddle of goo makes the family rally around her. At least that's how it went down at our house.

The hugs sure did help, though. That and the endless supply of kleenex. Oh, and the chocolate cake my daughter made after the hugs had exhausted themselves and the kleenex supply ran low.

I've trained my daughter well.

Kleenex and chocolate make the world a happier place.

Even The Church Has A Queen

I crossed another thing off my list of Things I've Never Done Before this past Sunday. I went to a Christmas parade.

Big news, right? But it was a big thing for me, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. From the marching bands to the Confederate soldiers to Santa Claus standing tall on a firetruck, the hour long event was worth standing outside in the southern cold.

There was one thing that caught my attention.Well, quite a few things actually. And they all revolved around the same idea: beauty queens.

Now, I'm all for the girly-girl stuff. I'm the one that dressed my baby girl in pink every chance I got (which, by the way, she hates now). Oh well. It was fun while it lasted.

Back to the beauty queens, though. A parade wouldn't be complete without the recent homecoming queen and her court riding in convertibles sponsored by car dealerships. This parade had a homecoming queen, but she was by no means alone.

Miss Freshman
Miss Sophomore
Miss Junior
Miss Senior
Miss High School Queen of All

Miss Teeny Tiny Princess (of Something)
Miss Tiny Princess (of Something)
Miss Teen Princess (of Something)

Little Miss (State) Queen
Miss Teen (State) Queen
Miss (State) Queen

I'm thinking I'm missing one or two, and I am by no means exaggerating. This next one, though, took the cake.

Miss Providence Baptist Church Queen

I am so not kidding here. A grown woman, on a float, complete with a crown, a sash, and a Bible. She was surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting and doing the whole proper wave thing. A queen of a church? That was a first for me.

I thought about my daughter, the one that I use to dress in pink. I wondered what she was thinking as she watched all these girls (and middle-aged woman) riding by with their crowns glittering in the sunlight. Doesn't every girl want to be a beauty queen? Or at the very least, most girls?

I know I always did. I even had the Miss America Barbie doll. She had a crown, white gown, red cape-thing with white fur around the edges, and a scepter to fit in her hand. Oh, how I wanted to be her! I just wasn't cut out for the beauty queen circuit and to my knowledge, only walked the runway two times.

I lost that bid for the county fair... both of them. Just wasn't meant to be, I suppose. I said all of that to re-emphasize this: I'm not opposed to anybody wearing a crown. Trust me, I wish it could have been me.

But a Miss Providence Baptist Church Queen? That one has still got me stumped.

How Many Walmarts Does It Take?

Today started off with a stop at Starbucks and a quest to replace a damaged bike. A bike that was bought, repaired, and thought to be a good shape turned out to be nothing more than a resold lemon.

Walmart Stop #1: Broken-beyond-repair bike is returned to the place it came from. The nice lady gives me no hassle and quickly refunds my money. We make the before-mentioned stop at Starbucks and pull up next to the Extreme Makeover Home Edition tour bus at a stoplight. We snap a picture with my phone and wonder if we could convince them to follow us to our house. We decide to stick to the task at hand... the bike.

Bike Shop Stop #2: The first bike shop stop of the day had occurred well before I had my first cup of coffee. This second stop was no better than the first one father and son went to earlier. We are amazed at bikes that are priced from $799-$4000. Crazy. We slip out the door unnoticed.

Walmart Stop #2: We spot a friend's dad and hurry on our way. The desired bike is not inside so we head out to the garden center. The sight takes my breath away. Rows and rows of bikes. Little bikes, big bikes. Mountain bikes, classic bikes. Every kind of bike in every kind of color except for, of course, the one we are trying to find. Discouraged, we move on.

We make a pit stop at a local Goodwill. We love Goodwill, but once you've seen one, you've seen them all. We buy nothing and have to wait in traffic to continue on our way. This pit stop was a bad idea.

Walmart Stop #3: See Walmart Stop #2 (minus the friend's dad part). Defeated, we head for home.

Although once we get home, I have a thought. Why I didn't think of this before is beyond me. I look online. We find the bike and see that another Walmart shows it in-stock. We debate for a few minutes and decide to go for it. The younger two opt to stay at home with the cat. Birthday boy and me hop in the car for yet another Walmart run.

Walmart Stop #4: We find the bike, but in another color. The red sticker tells me the bike has been marked down. It does look like it's been sitting out for a while. We peek under the red sticker to find another sticker that shows a lower price. The bike has been marked up, not down. We look around to find another faded sticker on a torn, water-logged bag (that use to hold the manual) that confirms a lower price. We set out to find somebody that will tell us exactly what this bike is being sold for.

Is anyone else around here tired of the word bike? (pick me! pick me!) This adventure is already into it's fifth hour. All I've had to eat is a doughnut and the earlier latte. Even my boy is starting to wonder if the bike is worth it.

No, I'm thinking. The bike is not worth it. But you are.

I'll save the rest of this story for my forthcoming letter to Bentonville, Arkansas, regarding misleading prices and associates who say they won't sell the bike until their department manager comes in on Monday. I'll be sure to point out, however, that the store manager was very helpful (even though we had to wait so long that our ice-cream cake practically thawed in the cart).

It's all good, though. Yes, we had to wait and yes, it was a shopper's nightmare, but we walked away with smiles. We didn't get the bike in the wrong color with the wrong price with the torn, water-logged bag missing the manual. We walked away with my boy pushing a bike in the right color with the right price with the intact bag complete with an owner's manual. It must of took some digging, but the manager was able to locate the very one he wanted hidden away on some far shelf in the back.

As usual, I had a thought as we were walking out.

It makes me think of God, I told Nick. Like how we want something specific and we ask Him for it, only to have to wait and get impatient and wonder why things never work out. We had to do a lot of searching today, but we stuck with it because I wanted you to have what you wanted for your birthday. In the end, you didn't get a broken bike or one that was different from what you originally saw, but you got a brand-spanking-new one that hasn't even been out on the display rack for people to mess with.

And nobody else's butt has sat on it, he added with a smile.

Exactly, I said. God wants to give us His best if only we will stick with it and not give up.

Silly? Maybe. But that thought cheered me after a whirlwind of a day. Even when we made it to the register and the bike would not ring up, I stayed calm. The boy had his bike and I had my hope. It was all good after that.

For Nick

Our firstborn son came on a cold December day in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. I can remember calling the hospital and the nurse telling me there was no way I was in labor after I described what I was feeling. She was wrong and less than four hours after that call, we had a new baby boy. Good thing we ignored her and went to the hospital anyway.

He was something like four days old when we took him on a twelve hour ride to meet his grandparents. That was the best surprise we ever pulled off... just ask his granny. I think he's had a thing for wheels ever since. Bikes, cars, trucks... doesn't matter what it is. He loves them all and has a knack for making just about anything work.

For his birthday this year we got him a ten-speed he's been wanting only to get it home to find a gear (or something like that) broken. My husband had got the good people at Walmart to knock off about 40% due to the dirt and grime that had accumulated on this bike, but we never noticed anything wrong. Nick noticed it pretty quick when he went outside to polish it up.

Some kids might have said forget it at this point, or asked to take it back for a new one. He knew we got a pretty good price on it, though, so he said he would like to try to fix it. For the last hour, he's been out on the back porch in the cold tinkering away. He comes in periodically to give us updates, smiling the whole time. With his last check-in, his dad went out to see how he was doing.

They're no longer outside, but stretched out in front of the fire in our living room. There's a blanket spread out with a bike wheel and gears and wrenches and greasy rags everywhere. They mumble every now and then to one another and are talking about locking pins and other things I don't understand. I'm thinking they don't entirely agree with one another on how things should be, but I find it entertaining just the same.

A father and his son. When we brought that baby boy home some seventeen years ago, that man instinctively took over. He changed and fed and rocked him, and carried him around to show him the world. He has hugged him and disciplined him and cried with him... anything to try to teach him everything a dad wants his boy to know.

They're both shaking their heads now at the "shoddy workmanship" and the "incompetent person" that put the bike together. Apparently they do agree on this fact. It's almost eleven o'clock on a school night, but I hate to interrupt the man-time that's taking place. Times like these just don't come around that often.

Besides, I do believe they've got it fixed. Now it's just not the wheel in the living room, but the entire bike.

 Happy (Early) Birthday, Nick. 

Pretty Pictures

This is what we woke up to this morning. COLD. I jokingly told the kids as we sat freezing in the van waiting for the windows to defrost, If this is what we're going to have, we might as well be in Missouri.

Five minutes after I dropped the last one off at school, my husband called me (out of the blue) telling me to start packing if I wanted to move (all of us, not just me). Is it any wonder my stomach hurts? On a daily basis? Sure makes for a pretty picture, though, doesn't it?



For I know the thoughts and plans that I have for you, says the Lord, thoughts and plans for welfare and peace and not for evil, to give you hope in your final outcome. Jeremiah 29:11 (Amplified Version)

Just a little reminder to myself.

A Random Shopping Rant

Have I mentioned before that I'm not a big fan of shopping? Like most things in my life, I have to be in the mood to shop for anything: groceries, clothes, laundry soap... doesn't matter what it is, shopping is just not something I look forward to doing.

I thought today would be a good time to search for a few Christmas items. The kids had an early release day from school, I needed a break from the house, and we got an unexpected check in the mail. By the way, when does that ever happen? Not birthday money or one of those "cash now, pay high interest later" checks, but a real refund-because-of-an-overpayment check that came from the oral surgeon (of all places) that pulled Nick's wisdom teeth back in August. Not a lot, but enough to have a little bit of fun with. So like I was saying, I thought today would be a good shopping day.

Boy, was I ever wrong.

We went to one place, a Christian book store, and by the time I came out of there I had to sit for a few moments while I slowly counted to a hundred in my head. I began to think of medication. Don't they make a pill for this? I booted one kid to the back seat and threatened to use an eject button on the other one. This was not the pleasant afternoon that I had in mind. To try to sum up the hour in which I ended up buying nothing for Christmas, it went sort of like this:

1. The sale items I was looking for (from a catalog I received in the mail today) were not actually on sale until this Friday. I figured that out after I read the fine print.
2. One of the clerks was talking non-stop (and very loudly) about her personal female troubles, if you get my drift. When she got started on her current method of birth control, I found myself embarrassed to be standing by my teenage son.
3. No matter what aisle I wandered down or what corner I turned, I kept running into the same two people. And as luck would have it, everything I wanted to look, they beat me to it. Evidently one was translating for the other because everything (and I do mean everything) had to be read aloud in something other than English. Needless to say, why this might have been necessary, it was also very time consuming.
4. When the time came to pay for the few items the kids picked out, a t-shirt did not have a tag. It took three clerks to consult another clerk who then consulted a computer way in the back. We were asked to step aside.  Meanwhile Nick found an identical shirt that did have a tag, but was in a different size. Although I tried to explain this, we still had to wait on the clerk with our shirt who was still way in the back. When he finally appeared, he gave me a price that was a dollar higher than the one on the shirt with the tag. I asked why the different price. He said different sizes. I pointed out that our shirt was a small while the one with the tag was a large. He shrugged his shoulders and told the girl to ring up the higher price. At this point I am debating how important that dollar is. And thinking about where I am at. And looking at my kids who are watching me. And wondering why I ever thought that this would be a good shopping day.

Well, I did pay the extra dollar because quite frankly, I just needed to get out of there. We managed to make our way toward home without any horn-blowing incidents on the interstate (a common occurrence when I'm behind the wheel) and after a quick run through the grocery store (because the mood to shop was long gone), home never looked so good.

That kid of mine better enjoy his t-shirt.

Needy Cats and Changing Weather

Is it just me, or is this cat needy?

He is doing his best to nudge my arm away from the keyboard and making a very direct point by swishing his tail across my work. When all that doesn't budge me, he curls up right against my leg and occasionally looks up at me with those big green eyes. Good grief. When did I become a cat person?

The weather is fixing to change around here. Seventy-five and breezy today, but much cooler temps on the horizon for tomorrow. Maybe that's why the cat is hanging around so much. He feels the change in the air.

It has been an odd day. I've been reading about Alexander the Great and thinking about all the time and energy that went into trying to keep the monarchy alive. I'm also reading a book called Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West (or something like that). I'm not that far into yet, but the best I can tell is that the infamous witch from Dorothy's nightmare was born green and as of yet, no one quite knows why. As crazy as it seems, it's keeping my interest and I want to know why she turned out so mean (as if being green wouldn't be enough to do it).

After school, the kids were treated to Sonic's Happy Hour and we sat and watched a woman evidently dig and search and dig some more for change to pay her bill. This was a long event, mind you. Long enough that we had practically polished off our drinks and were waiting to see what would happen. The middle offered to take her over some dollars, but I had nothing (and I mean nothing) in my purse other than a debit card. The car hop finally seemed satisfied and left only to have the manager-looking person run out as the woman was putting her car in reverse. "This is not a valid dollar bill," she was saying. I thought it was time for us to leave. You never know what might happen around this place.

Like stupidity. People are going nuts around here. Black Friday had the Marine Corp chasing a thief out of the local Best Buy only to have one of them get stabbed. Apparently the Marines were collecting toys when the bandit made his escape. The wounded soldier is all right, but... wow... that is all I can say. Now they have security posted outside all the stores in that area. Makes for some fun holiday shopping (which is why I don't get out much, at least on that side of the river). Oh, for the days of walking to the post office and to Grandma's house.

I know at this point my parents are reading this and thinking, "What is that girl doing out there?" Tell me about it. So sorry you have to read the good, the bad, and the ugly with all this. As Dad would say, "Keep your head up." And like I keep saying, "You never know when things might change." It could be today.

Change is definitely in the air. The breeze suddenly has a chill to it. The cat is no longer my friend. He snuck off the porch and then came running when I said his name. Now he is inside glaring at me through the front door.

Maybe I'm not a cat person after all.

The Lesson of the Stump

There once was a tree stump. It didn't look like much from the top. Just another old tree stump to mow around. No big deal.

There once was a boy. A boy who figured he could just forget about grades for a while. A boy who thought, "What's the big deal?"

And then there was a dad. A dad who thought that, indeed, grades are a very big deal. And he was tired of mowing around that stump.

Day One: The lesson on manual labor begins. No picture is available, however, due to the fact that it was dark and the only light provided for the boy was that of a flashlight suspended from a tree branch.

Day Two: The digging and chopping continues. No pictures are available due to the fact that this was a lesson that would not be easily learned. We don't take pictures of the struggling.

Day Three: The digging and chopping continues and the hole gets deeper. Again, pictures are not snapped due to the fragile emotions that coincide with the work. Feelings are hurt as the break times are regulated.

Day Four: Thanksgiving. The boy is thankful for his turkey and day of rest.

Day Five: It rains. All is not lost, though, as the dad makes use of the covered porch to sharpen the axe.

Day Six: The digging and chopping continues and the hole gets deeper and deeper. Today the digging resumed voluntarily. There seems to be a determination that this task can be accomplished. Today I took a picture.

And another one. And yes, the dad has reminded the boy more than once how lucky he is to be digging in sand.

Day Seven: Today would be the day. There was not any digging left to do and the swinging of the axe was limited. As the stump was lifted out (and it took two people to lift it), we stood back to admire the hole. The youngest was the first to notice the shape. "It looks like a heart," she said.

Indeed, it does. "A father's love for his son," I told the boy.

What's the moral of the story? A boy who thought grades weren't a big deal and then when faced with the punishment of the stump, thought it would be no big deal either. A boy who would rather read and draw quickly learned, however, that the stump would be a big deal. After a few hours of digging in the dark, he began to realize that maybe grades were a big deal after all, too. His dad asked him if he now understood why a good education was important.

The boy replied, "Yes. So I can pay somebody else to dig up my stumps."

Lesson learned (and his picture proudly used by his permission).

Post Holiday Blues

I haven't driven my van since I picked the kids up after school on Tuesday. A quick stop at a little shop for a Christmas gift or two and a run into Walmart for milk and cereal reminded me why... I am in no mood to dodge people cramming into too crowded aisles for assorted holiday goodies.

Thanksgiving Day I did so well. Smiled the whole way through even up to the time I went to bed. It really was a good day. The next morning just went downhill, though, and I haven't been able to kick it since.

I could blame it on that joke of a group my husband calls a family (Grandma excluded). She called Friday to tell him what all he had missed the day before. She means no harm by it... just talking about everything like she always does. The short of the story is he stood up to an abusive father long ago and has since been the black sheep of the family. I tell him they're like the mafia without the drugs or money. Seriously. You go against the godfather, you go against the whole family. That's how we ended up where we are now... a firstborn son trying to make amends with his dying (well, that's what we were told, but it turned out not to be true) father. We moved nine hundred miles to be with family that had no intention of being our family.

And then the housing market fell. Talk about bad timing.

I could blame my mood on the instant pressure to shop that immediately follows Thanksgiving. This time of year always brings up the how in the world are we going to do this anyway feeling. I even had a tough time decorating yesterday. Thank the Lord for my girl. I knew she was counting on it, so we had no choice but to go into action. And then the oldest took it upon himself to decorate the front porch (even when I told him we could just skip it this year). After it was all said and done, I had to admit that it just felt better to see the tree in all its glory. Something about pulling out those handmade ornaments from long ago reminded me of the family we are building now. Not to mention the fact that I realized that the number of years those same ornaments will by on my tree is severely limited... where has the time gone?

Yeah, and I miss my mom. It's that Saturday thing again.

Sometimes it stinks being the grown-up. If I could hide out in my room and not have to think about supper or laundry or breakfast for the morning, this would be the time I would do it. My mom says I'm the glue that holds the family together. Sometimes I think that glue is getting ready to crack. So much for being the grown-up.

Pretty sad, huh? How one person go from the perfect day to this is just a tad bit pathetic, in my opinion. And yet, that is where I am at. Love it or hate it, life never seems to run at the same pace. My dad was talking the other day about paths that take you off the road you should be traveling on. My path has most definitely made a detour on the woe-is-me dead end. I suppose I better turn around.

There are other things to think about: a girl in a school play, a son turning seventeen, a boy and his stump (now that will be a great story!). We have a new baby to shop for this year and a much anticipated trip home just around the corner. And, since I'm looking on the brighter side of things, if my clothes are always feeling like they have shrunk in the dyer, well... I guess that's a pretty good reason to go shopping for myself. There are worse things in life.

At least my family likes me.

A Perfect Ending

Well, I wore my mom's turkey apron today while I cooked my turkey. Just as expected, the husband loved the meal and raved about the mashed potatoes. I had the experience of having my daughter in the kitchen with me today which I loved and the meal was just about next to perfect, but that wasn't the best part of the day.

As expected, I made everyone do the What I Am Thankful For and then much to the middle's dismay, forced everyone outside after the meal for a little family football. We had fun (though at least one child would protest that fact), but that wasn't the best part either.

After we came inside, we passed around the pumpkin pie and red velvet cake. We watched a game (Lions vs. Patriots) and then later took a nap. A typical Thanksgiving, I suppose. We heard nothing from my husband's side of the family and everything from mine, just as expected.

What was unexpected was the ending to the day. One thing you will never hear me complain about is the weather here. Absolutely beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, that a fire outside seemed the perfect way to end the night, so that's what we did. Just me and the husband and the firstborn (because the other two would rather be inside).

We talked about our first date, our first year, and our first holidays. We looked at the stars, complained about the neighbors, and listened to sirens in the distance. We listened as our oldest talked about his friends and his thoughts on life. At one point the middle and the youngest joined us and as the fire died down, we headed inside.

Now we are surrounded by homemade pizza and promises of a Uno throwdown. The cat is stretched across my feet and visions of Christmas decorating (tomorrow!) lurk in the back of my mind. For now, though, it really is the perfect ending.

Not bad for a Thanksgiving entirely on our own.

Pie In A Box

Twas the night before Thanksgiving and all through the house

The cat was sleeping on his little play mouse.

The kitchen was clean awaiting the mess

That would definitely be more before it was less.

Ahhh. Thanksgiving. The turkey is thawed; the pumpkin pie is in the freezer. The potatoes are ready to be peeled and boiled; the gravy is on stand-by in a jar. I like to mix my thanksgiving dinners up between the homemade and the ready-to-go. That's why I let Mrs. Smith bake the pie and pull the gravy from the cabinet.

The youngest asked me at supper what I did for Thanksgiving when I was a kid. "Went to Grandma's or Aunt Patty's, I suppose." The table got quiet.

I guess we were all thinking of Grandma's house. I thought of her today when I fixed up a card to send to my niece. One time Grandma sent me a sympathy card for my birthday. She had scratched out the sympathy part and wrote in birthday and laughed about it later. Her theory? Why buy a new card when you can make what you have work?

Or maybe we were thinking of Aunt Patty. You want a home where everybody is made to feel special? Go to Aunt Patty's. She never does anything halfway no matter if the meal is a holiday dinner or just burgers on the grill. And if the dessert she has planned is ice cream? It's a guarantee that every topping imaginable will be there.

I guess we are all trying not to think about the fact it will just be us tomorrow. I have to admit it gets kinda difficult (and annoying even to me) to act all cheerful like it's no big deal. It is a big deal, though, and we all know it. Blame it on Grandma and Aunt Patty. We just love those big family holiday dinners. Here, we have supper around the table every day. It's no big deal to sit down with the same five people you look at every night.. even if you dress it up with Grandma's china.

We will sit down together, though, and we will use the good china. Daddy will go on about how good everything is and I'll make everybody do the "What I Am Thankful For" speech. Afterward the kids will scatter and I'll sing along to Bryan Adams while I wash dishes. I'll talk to my parents across the miles and we'll eat leftovers for supper. Just another holiday dinner on our own.

And yet another reminder to be thankful. We may be a family of five who sits around the same table every night looking at each other, but we're still a family of five sitting at the table (if that makes any sense). My dad reminded me on the phone just this morning to enjoy every moment of those kids while they are here. I'm thinking he knows what he's talking about.

So you can bet I'll be up early in the morning with a big smile on my face forcing everyone to be happy. It's a holiday for crying out loud! I'll take the pie out of the box and microwave my jar of gravy. Somewhere in the midst of it all, the forced smiles will fade and real ones will appear. We are a family, after all, and we are together. That's five reasons enough to be thankful.

Happy Thanksgiving to all, and to all a good night!



Give That Kid A Doughnut

If my life were a book, my children would not follow me to every room to which I go. At least I don't think that they would. If my life were a book, I would have a room dedicated to me complete with a lock on the door.

Wait. I have that. It's called my bedroom. The problem is that if I went in my room I would get tired and think only of sleep. I'm tired enough as it is. That's why I'm in the dining room.

But we've been here before. And we know what happens when I sit down at the table surrounded by papers and a laptop. Instant I want time with my mom and I want it now! It's all making my head hurt.

I should be thankful. This is the season for thankfulness and family and turkey. I've got the family. I've got the turkey. I just need to find the thankfulness.

And I am thankful. I'm thankful for kids that just want my opinion on something. I'm thankful for kids who evidently like to be around me most of the time. And I'm thankful for the kid who hovers around me like he has some life changing question only to ask,

"Can I have a doughnut?"

A doughnut? Seriously? Oh, if only all of life's problems could be solved by a Krispy Kreme doughnut. We would all be thankful whether it was Turkey Day or not.

"Yes. Please. Have a doughnut... and leave me alone till morning."

Just Give Me An *A* And Call It Good

Oprah has her favorite things. Martha has her good things. May I present my list of Things I Would Rather Not Deal With Right Now:

1. Progress Report
2. Sensitive Teeth
3. Progress Report
4. Phone Bill
5. Progress Report

I guess you can see where this is going. Progress Report Day is rarely a joyous occasion around here and it just barely beats the Actual Report Card Day. One thing about me... I'll never beat you over the head with my A+ student (although I do have one. Just so you know). No, around here, anything that has to do with a check-out-how-your-kid-is-doing thing can either go one way or another. Sometimes it's a sigh of relief and sometimes it's a painful experience. Whatever the reaction, it always has a way of making me appreciate summer just a little bit more.

I hated grades as a kid. I hated grading as a teacher. Nothing compares, though, to how much I hate grades as a parent. The whole grading thing is overrated. And yet so needed. It's just a part of life, kid. Do your stuff, get over it, and move on.

And since when did I develop sensitive teeth anyway? I'll tell you when... when I started going to the dentist on a regular basis, that's when. Before that (all those years before that), I had no complaints. Seriously, none. Now it seems that everytime I go for a check up they find another reason for me to come back. And now my teeth hurt. Just on the sides, just in the back, but they hurt. The only solace I have is that hot stuff like coffee doesn't bother me; only cold things like ice in my tea. The dentist said I was brushing too hard. I said he scared me with all of his dire warnings. Dumb dental insurance.

My husband just interrupted my tooth issues by asking me if I remember what it was like to be a teenager. "Barely," I say. "Well, I remember it pretty well, " he replies. That's all that is said. We look at each other, look at one kid's backpack on the table, and sigh heavily. This too shall pass. Darn progress report day.

And then there's the phone bill. Yeah... not even gonna think about that now. I changed my plan today anyway to allow for all those pictures I've been receiving of a certain baby girl. At least that's one thing I can change.

We take what we can get. No grading required.

Cotton Fields, Nuclear Smokestacks, And What Use To Be

We set out on a quest today to find the house my husband's grandpa was born and raised in. With my husband at the wheel, his grandma sat beside him as his co-pilot. I knew we were in for an interesting drive five minutes into the trip.

There was much discussion about the best way to get to our destination that was a little over forty miles away. Grandma may have grown up in this city, but it evidently has been a while since she made this particular drive. She was directing him this way and that, and he finally gave me a look in the rear view mirror that said get the map! She had him turn around so she could "re-group" and "collect her bearings" and after retracing a few miles worth of driving, we were finally on the right highway.

Don't get me wrong- I have grown to love this woman. She is the last grandmother left for my husband and me. She spent her life working as a registered nurse in both a veteran's hospital and a mental institution, I think. Much of her work was during World War II and the years that followed. She has many stories and loves to share them all. I just have a hard time keeping up with her and her deep southern accent.

Take the cotton fields, for instance. Fields and fields of cotton. There was at least ten miles worth of talking about cotton and manufacturing and how this younger generation has probably never held real cotton in their hand. And we're not talking about cotton balls out of a plastic bag either. We're talking cotton picked fresh from the field. "Why, with all these new fangled machines, a man doesn't even have to bend over those cotton plants any more," she said. Miles and miles and fields and fields of cotton.

Then came the nuclear smokestacks. It was really quite the picture, by the way. I wanted to ask my husband to pull over so I could snap an actual photo, but, well... Grandma rarely takes a breath and I hate to interrupt. Needless to say, over a field of cotton and behind trees draped in their beautiful fall colors stood two twin reactors pouring thick columns of white smoke into a clear blue sky (which my son assures me is steam... that's why they call them cooling towers, Mom). The contrast between the created and the man-made was remarkable. Grandma wasn't talking about that, though.

She was talking about electricity and power companies and lay-offs. Jobs gained and jobs lost and money made. Kids and colleges and marriage. New homes and job transfers. I was thinking that I needed some fresh air and she was reliving parts of her life. With each new road or house we passed, she was amazed at how much had changed.

We were almost through the town to which we were headed when we realized we were actually in the town. It was that small. She definitely knew where she was at now. We turned on a road that bore her last name and after a few quick turns and some finger-pointing directing, we pulled over. We were at the childhood home of her husband. A home that she evidently new very well. And for a moment, she just sat.

Like I said, it had been a while since she had been here. A long while. Opening the door for her, my husband helped her out and as soon as her feet hit the ground, she started talking again. An old, dilapidated house began to come alive as she described swings on the front porch and a well out back. Pointing this way and that, we heard stories of grocery stores and neighbors and family members that have long since gone. Babies had been born in that house and the elderly had died there. Memories literally tripped over one another as she described life as she once knew it until finally, she said she was ready to go.

The trip home was a little more subdued. Grandma was tired and talked of taking a nap. We ate lunch, talked about my family (she remembered the little girl in our wedding and was amazed when I told her that little girl was now a new mom), and made a quick stop to visit her son. It was late afternoon when we finally walked her to her front door and as she hugged my husband good-bye she said, "Now you know where some of your folk come from." There seemed to be a peace in that this was something that was important to her. She wanted him to know, and now he knew. He left her to nap and promised to see her next weekend.

So that was our Sunday afternoon taking a literal drive down memory lane. Cotton fields, nuclear smokestacks, and what use to be.

Happiness Is

I might as well get this out of the way. Lord knows I won't be able to concentrate on anything else today until I release some of this happiness that is making me want to... well, smile. Even the kids look extra special to me this morning. Oh, now... you know kids are always special, but today is extra special. I might even bake them cookies.

"The happiest days are when babies are born," Melanie from Gone With The Wind.

What is it about babies that can make even the grumpiest person smile? How does a little baby have the power to infuse so much hope into an otherwise ordinary and mundane life? I haven't even seen this little girl yet other than tiny pictures on my cell phone and bigger ones on Facebook, but I honestly feel like I could overcome anything today. If I've looked at her picture once, I've looked at it a hundred times since early (really early!) this morning. Every time I look at her, I just see a new beginning.

A beginning. Oh, how quickly those days fly by! I'm in the middle part with my own and I never quite understood until now how the moodiness of teenagers would make a mom long for the days of a toddler tantrum. Seriously. At least then a chocolate chip cookie and a cup of milk could chase the tears away. Now that same cookie and milk cup doesn't get much of a response, but we're not going to dwell on that. Because today is a happy day.

I remember when we brought our oldest home. Crammed into the backseat of a sporty Mustang sitting by a tiny baby snug in his car seat, I didn't have a clue what I was doing. A few years later we brought the middle home in the back seat of a four-door Buick Skylark. I was more confident then. And then the youngest. Well, by then we were riding in a Dodge Caravan for our been-here-done-this trip home from the hospital. Three kids. Three different vehicles. It seems like I was always in such a hurry for things to change and move on.

Now I want to pause life. I want to see little Lily just as she is today in her first day of this thing called life. I want to experience a new mama's awe of her newborn. I want to see a new daddy who can't stop smiling. And I want to see the look on a grandparent's face when they realize that the next generation has arrived. God is good.

Life doesn't pause, though, does it? It moves on at a steady pace and waits for us to realize that there are moments worth slowing down and enjoying. This is one of those moments. I won't be able to hold this new baby for another month (and you better believe that this is one trip I will not miss), but I still have her picture. I already have a box on the table perfect for shipping what I'm sure will be something pink and irresistible. Heck, I might even put up our Christmas tree today.

Wait. I take that back. I don't think I'll have to time to decorate and shop. And the shopping will have to be the top priority today.

Because today is a happy day. The day when a baby is born.

Waiting On Baby

The longest days are those when you are waiting for a baby to arrive. At least that has been my day. Almost a thousand miles away, my brother's family is anxiously awaiting their newest arrival. The arrival that will make him a grandpa. Where did the time go?

I remember when we were little kids. We had bunk beds although I think I usually ended up with him. He had a Stretch Armstrong that we would, well... s-t-r-e-t-c-h. On the Fourth of July we would put firecrackers in a metal coffee can and smoke bombs in the metal pipes of our swing set. When he got his first car he would crank up the volume on the cassette player and then hit his power booster. The day he got married he missed the drive to the church a couple of times. The day I got married he put bunny ears behind my head, wedding veil and all. He will always be my big brother.

My big brother who will now be called Grandpa. Just seems kind of crazy and yet, so right. I remember when we would stay all night with my grandparents and our grandpa would always get up at midnight on Saturdays to watch wrestling. My grandpa and his overalls. And his CB radio. And his dominoes. Wonder what kind of grandpa my brother will be.

I can't see him in overalls or talking on the CB or for that matter, playing dominoes. But I can see him out in his garage tinkering away on his newest drag car with a little granddaughter at his side. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he dedicates a whole corner to her complete with a pink tool box and kid-size wrenches. Like my own dad has, he'll probably have cute little pictures tacked up here and there behind a door that reads "Men Only". Of course, that rule will be broken for those that have stolen his heart.

And the little baby girl we're waiting on? Little Lily? Well, she'll be the one to do that.

If she would only hurry up.

This Thing Called Blogging

I wish I had discovered this thing called blogging a year ago. Whether or not anyone actually reads what's on my mind, writing my thoughts and reading the mind wanderings of other people is turning out to be a type of therapy for me.

Take this morning, for instance. One lady's husband is going through some heart testing today, another mom made me feel better about the fact that I can't keep things straight (she actually forgot a kid at school... I forgot one of my own years ago), and yet another woman mentions her son in Afghanistan often. Things like that remind me that there really are other people out there.

I get stuck in my own world. Poor me. Nobody cares. God who?

Sound familiar? Well, I do struggle. And I know that I am not poor. And that my mom cares. And that Jesus is my Savior. Like I've said before, though, I spend too much time alone.

This time alone was not by choice. I'm on my second year of not teaching school. I've lost count of how many jobs I applied for. Believe me, I've got every job search option saved on my tool bar. I can practically recite my resume. I went through all last year thinking I was a loser that couldn't get a job. Or hold a job. Or contribute anything to society.

This year I'm just hanging on. And the thread is getting pretty thin, let me tell you.

The only peace I have is when I tell myself that this is only for a season. Last year was such a mess with the kids entering public school for the first time. This year was easier, but those big schools scare me. That's just the way it is. You can take the girl out of the small town, but you can't take the small town out of the girl.

And as far as me being home? Well, I have to admit that it has made things easier as far as sick kids, early pick-ups, and dentist appointments go. I'm on my way to cramming four years of college into two and a half (December 2011!). The house stays clean. The cat has grown to love me. And blogging has become a way to vent and connect myself to the outside world.

But, oh, how I miss the outside world! I miss welcoming grumpy students in the morning, watching them roll their eyes when I would start singing about prepositions and pronouns (and then ask me later privately to please teach them that song), and then sending them on their way in the afternoon with a sigh of relief. I miss hearing lockers slam in the hallway. I miss my magnetic white board. I miss my red pen.

What was. What is. And what will be.

Until then, you're stuck with me. In between perfecting history essays about total war and separating the many loads of laundry, I read blogs and I write them. And it all has a way of making me feel better.

He's Still Working On Me

So I thought I would try something new today and add a picture. I'm still thinking on that random cheerio from yesterday. I keeping wondering what it is that is throwing a kink into our whole way of living. And I'm still plotting a way to make my escape. Some thoughts just don't go away that easily.

My, though, what a beautiful place I live in. The fall colors have just really got my attention this year. I've even started carrying my camera with me and I am by no means a photographer. I just have the urge to capture every pretty color I see. Maybe I'm so desperate to find the bright side of things, I'll take it any way I can... even in a leaf.

Some colors just aren't quite there yet. I guess that gives me something to look forward to and maybe, just maybe, it's a reminder also. I'm not quite there yet either.

He only is my Rock and my Salvation; He is my Defense and my Fortress, I shall not be moved. Psalm 62:6

Random Cheerio

Our printer has been jamming up for about the last week now. Today was the first day that I really took the time to look at it and after fiddling with it for about thirty minutes, determined that I did not have a clue and decided this was a job for the oldest.

After coming home from school, he sat down at the table with a tool kit by his side. I figure any working man is best left alone so that's how I left him. Only once when I heard the sound of what was very similar to plastic snapping did I ask, "Is everything all right in there?" He assured me it was.

This when on for a little while until I could hear the distinct sound of paper being fed properly through the printer. "Nick wins," was the announcement from the kitchen. I walked in there to find the printer completely, or almost completely, taken apart and him sitting there with a smile on his face. "Random cheerio," he said. Who would've thought?

As usual, that comment got me to thinking about other things. If something as small and random as a cheerio can wreak havoc on a printer, I wonder how many seemingly insignificant things can wreak havoc on my life?

And with that thought, I'm gonna have to think on it a while.