Are We Done Yet?

I had a feeling this senior year stuff was gonna wear me out. We still have thirty-six hours until the boy actually walks across a stage to accept that coveted diploma and I feel like we've already been through it. I keep reminding myself to enjoy every minute of this... this is HIS time to shine.

But, man oh man, this mama is tired.

Tonight he participated in a completer ceremony at our county tech school. He successfully completed three years in a skills program that has already paved the way for a full-time job he starts on Monday. He was awarded Student of the Year for a second time and we couldn't have been more proud.

But, boy oh boy, do those bleachers wear a person out.

My parents have been here this week as planned and the days seem to be flying by. The last few days my mom and I have been doing some shopping and in each place we go, I stop myself and think, "My mom is here." It sounds silly, I suppose, but there is something comforting about looking over racks of clothes or peering through shelves of trinkets and seeing your mom there. I wish they would never leave.

Tomorrow we will shop some more. Friday we will watch the boy graduate. And Saturday I'm counting on her to help me feed a house full of hungry people while my dad will no doubt entertain an audience that includes impressionable teenagers. I am really looking forward to it all. Mostly, though, I am looking forward to the long nap that is sure to follow.

I think we're all gonna need it.

I Got My Red Poppy Today... Did You?

In Flanders Fields John McCrae, 1915.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow Between the crosses, row on row That mark our place; and in the sky The larks, still bravely singing, fly Scarce heard amid the guns below. We are the Dead. Short days ago We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow, Loved and were loved, and now we lie In Flanders fields. Take up our quarrel with the foe: To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high. If ye break faith with us who die We shall not sleep, though poppies grow In Flanders fields.

This poem was written in 1915 after the author possibly witnessed the death of his fellow soldier and friend. Often found written on worn out pieces of paper in the pockets of fatally wounded soldiers, In Flanders Fields is what inspired the red poppy-pins that are sold (or given for donations) during most Memorial Day Weekends.

ALWAYS one of my favorite poems.

Please Don't Throw Your Dirty Underwear At Your Sibling

This thought is on my mind this morning because, well... it was being tossed through the living room last night. Really? Really. How old are my kids? As I crawled back into bed after shutting the bedroom door on life as I know it, the husband looked at me with one eye (while the other was kept closely trained on the laptop) and said, "Trouble in paradise?"

I know, I know. These days will pass and I'm sure I'll miss them terribly.

Maybe.

I think everyone around here is starting to crack under the end-of-the-school-year pressure. The oldest has all of his senior stuff, of course, and he was pacing the floor last night waiting for an exam score to be posted online. If all goes well, as he puts it, today will be his last official day of high school. Next week is Senior Week, the whole week off from work, and the BIG graduation day.

The middle is just trying to survive the next week, I think. His mind is already on next year. The youngest is swamped in end-of-the-year projects that make no sense to me. She's had three or four going on at the same time to go along with all the studying she's been doing. There's an award ceremony tonight that I think in her mind is just one more thing she has to do. Like I said, end-of-the-year pressure.

But then, there IS next week. I absolutely cannot wait and neither can they. The grandparents are coming out and all will be right with the world. I am positively certain there will be no dirty underwear issues while they are here.

I hope.

Two Cats + One Cat = One Too Many Cats

We came home tonight to find a scrawny black kitten galloping across our yard. The youngest was the most natural target and so now, some two hours later, she is still outside pampering that cat. Although another inside varmint is not in the cards, I wouldn't be entirely opposed to a roaming outsider. I'd bet everything I don't have in my wallet that she comes in with that kitten already named.

*door opens*girl walks in*
You got that cat named yet?
*guilty smile*
Simba.


I am sitting in my usual spot on the couch. There's a laptop in front of me, a nook tablet to my left, and a cell phone to my right. Do I really think I'm gonna miss out on anything? On the television is a rerun of America's Got Talent. It's the same episode from last night. Evidently prime time is running out of ideas. Imagine that.

Ooooh. I guess there is a new one coming on.
I think I'll skip it and head elsewhere.
I'm sure this same one will be playing tomorrow.

Yeah. I must be running out of things to talk about.

Except that graduation is coming up and my parents are driving out next week. The job search continues and the printer went kerplunk today in the middle of a resume. I guess there are lots of things to talk about, but I think we'll save all that for another day.

And if you're in the neighborhood and need a cat, feel free to swing by and pick one up. You're certain to find one curled up on our front porch.

Her Shoes Sparkle

I make it a point not to display too many pictures of my blossoming teenage daughter on the world wide web of strangers, but, well... tonight IS the big night of the first dance. We arrived at the river just in time for every other mother with a camera and their own blossoming teenage children and a definite agenda to snap as many photos as the setting sun would allow. My meager little Canon PowerShot from way back when was no match for the monstrosities some of these women were lugging around, so I mostly stayed in the background and did what I do best.

Observed.

I watched girls the same age as my daughter made up to look like they were pushing twenty-one. Teased hair, heavy make-up, low-cut dresses, and four-inch heels made me mourn their lost childhood. To be fair, these girls were not in the majority and they were few and far between, but the contrast was obvious. My girl? She was sporting her sparkly Vans (that's a basic sneaker to us not-into-brand-name people), simple black dress, classy hair, and jazzed-up earrings.

But then again, I am her mom.

She WAS the best looking one there.

She went with her "he's just my friend" date, received her first corsage, and just about made her mother cry. As they were leaving for the dance, her dad snatched her up and with one arm around her, whispered in her ear long enough to make the others who were waiting turn around to watch. It was the most touching moment ever. When I asked him later what that was all about, he simply responded with "just a little information about boys and dances."

And to think I had to make him tag along.

May you always sparkle, daughter of mine. =)

I'm A Mess And I Know It

I spent a few days last week fighting with a printer and sticking little graduation caps on self-made announcements for the oldest. The first mailing went out today; the last few stragglers will go out tomorrow. I suppose it's just now starting to sink in with me. Combine that with a Mother's Day weekend and an emotional time of the month and you've got a recipe for one weepy woman.

Tomorrow the middle turns sixteen.
Saturday the youngest goes to her first dance.

Good grief.

I kinda feel sorry for my husband.

Alopecia Areata: Faith, Hair, and A Girl (#1)



Age 5



The youngest has given me permission to share her story, and share her story I will. It's a story of loss and faith and hair. In fact, on the outside, it is mostly about hair, but when you look closer, you'll see it's more about faith. The faith of a child.

And alopecia areata.

That's unexplained baldness to you and me.

Her story will take more than one post, that's for sure. I'm gonna get her to write at least one entry herself. She's a writer, that one. There's also the viewpoint from her granny and her second grade teacher and her brothers and her dad. You see, what affected one affected us all.

The picture above is a bit deceiving. Once when we shared her testimony with an evangelist, he wanted to publish her story if we had pictures of the before and after. Now I'm not knocking the man... his preaching and words of faith played a big part in the young lady we see today, but pictures of the before we just don't have. Pictures of bandanas and scarves and hats we have (and boy, did we ever have a collection!), but pictures of baldness we did not take. I have no regrets there. Besides, photographs fade; memories do not.

In the beginning, though, we didn't need many scarves. In fact, I think the bandana she is wearing in the picture above was just one of a few. It started off pretty mild. She was four when we first noticed an eyebrow missing. Gone. Completely vanished. Then we saw thinning eyelashes and the slight receding of the hairline. A dime-sized bald spot on the left side of her scalp sent us to the doctor who sent us to a specialist. The specialist sent us to a medical college where a group of learning students requested our permission to perform a biopsy on the bald spot because a brain tumor was a possible explanation for the unexplained loss of hair.

We never went back.

What we did do was take her immediately to our pastor, who along with another pastor and a mighty prayer warrior, surrounded that little girl, anointed her with oil, and prayed against whatever affliction was in the process of attacking her. If you look really close in the above picture, you can see the eyebrow in question filling back in (and the other one was oddly never affected). It wasn't too long after this picture that she went without a bandana because all signs of hair loss were practically gone.

And it would stay that way for another year or so, but like most challenges in life, the problem would come back with a vengeance. We had no idea how many scarves and bandanas and hats we would eventually need.

Or how many prayers and boxes of kleenex and pep talks it would take.

Interested?

Watch for the same title in future posts.

We'll see where this little journey takes us. 

I Got It!!

Whoo-hoo! My diploma came in the mail yesterday. I giggled like a little girl when I opened the mail box, skipped (seriously) back to the house, and squealed with delight when I showed my husband. I handed it to him unopened and the look he gave me made me want to cry. He was so proud. Handing it back to me he said, "It's yours. You open it." So I did and we both just sat and admired it for quite some time. The silence was only broken when I whispered, "I wonder what that means."

Magna Cum Laude

He smiled. "I think it means you're smart."

I'm telling you, I know there might be some who are weary of hearing about this and others that wonder what the big deal is, but I can promise you this, I will celebrate this moment for the rest of my life. There are specific points throughout my time on this earth (so far) that will forever be a part of who I am:

Getting Glasses In The Fourth Grade.
Finishing A Horrible Obstacle Course In Basic Training.
Watching My Husband Get Baptized.
A Miscarriage Just Before Three Months.
Praying For My Dad Before His Heart Surgery.
Packing A Penzke Moving Truck.
Kissing My Grandma's Lifeless Body Goodbye.
Watching My Kids Get Baptized.

And yes...

Earning A College Diploma.

#8 on my list of 25 Things To Do Before I Die.

It always feels good to mark something off as done.

Chocolate Perks Me Up (with a postscript added)

Clear across the country at this very moment a ceremony is taking place. If I were there, I would be wearing a black cap and gown, a cream-colored tassel for my degree program, and a gold honor cord representing my grade point average. Instead of all that (which I would totally love), I am wearing my standard white t-shirt, stretchy pants, and random pieces of lint courtesy of the dryer. I've been fighting the pity-party invitation all day and I gotta admit, grocery shopping and laundry piles don't do much to ward off such a formidable foe.

Ho-hum.

To make myself feel better, I've done a few random job searches and verified with my university that my transcript now confirms the completed degree. I should feel pretty good, right? I do and I'm happy and all that... I am just ready for something to give. The husband is having a down day himself, looking at job sites, looking out the window, looking for anything. If we don't perk ourselves up by the time the kids get home, they are gonna be in for one depressing night. We've kept busy all week working out in the yard and sprucing up everything. I guess we've officially run out of steam.

I think I'll go bake myself a cake.

Chocolate. Hershey's Chocolate.

We'll turn this day around yet.

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

Two Hours Later.

Pssst! The cake did the trick! Is that bad? I mean, Jesus makes me happy, the cat makes me happy, writing makes me happy... but chocolate? Oh, good grief, that practically makes me deliriously happy (okay, slight exaggeration on my part). The crazy thing is that I haven't even eaten any of it yet.

The husband went to get the kids from school and they all walked in to find me licking the frosting spoon. I got teased about my apron, teased about my lack of kitchen etiquette (as in the licking part), but did I ever have a captive audience! I am satisfied enough right now to sit down with a cup of coffee while two out of three kids are enjoying their own slice of cocoa-dusted heaven.

Miracles never cease.

Plant Now Before I Kill It Later

Every spring I tell myself that I will NOT be planting anything new because by the time June rolls around, it's too dang hot and watering twice a day is not one of my favorite things to do. Around here summer begins in May and lasts till October, at least that's how it seems. At any rate, as usual I caved because truth be told, I like to plant stuff and I like pretty flowers. Plus, my parents will be out here in a month... gotta spruce up the place, you know.

Here you go, Mom. These are for you.

Now if I can just keep everything alive till you get here. =)