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.