Hey! Aren't You The Lady Who Called Me Names?

Recently I experienced what I like to call a full-circle moment.

A mother (who shall remain nameless) of a former student (who shall also remain nameless) and I happened to cross paths. After staring at me for a long, awkward minute, she said,

Aren't you Mrs. So-And-So?

That I am, I replied. I had to admit to myself that I had no clue who this woman was (it's been a while), so rather than play along and act like I had it all together, I asked her to help me out with her name.

She said her last name and my mind raced back into time.

A time when I was the unfortunate focus of a small group of mothers who evidently had too much time on their hands. A time when their teenage daughters complained of unfair treatment...

...and I'll pause here to clarify the unfair treatment dealt with obviously unimportant academic issues (sarcasm!) like plagiarism and unfinished homework and forged parent signatures...

But I digress.

For one horrible week, my character was assaulted and my name was whispered one too many times in the corridors of a school-

And once again, my mind wants to dredge it all up again.

Get to the point, right?

This mother from years gone by stood and chatted with me about kids and schools and life. She asked about my kids and I asked about hers and after a few minutes of small talk, we prepared to part ways. That's when she paused, turned back around, and this particular circle became complete.

She hugged me. Thanked me. And totally caught me off guard.

Beginning.
Middle.
Closure.

I love it when things come together.

Crazy Butterfly

I fell asleep on the front porch swing only to awake with a jolt (and practically flipping myself out of the swing) while trying to fight off a crazed butterfly in my half-asleep, half-awake zombie-like state. Laughing to myself and silently thanking God that no one was around to witness my near collapse onto the wood floor, I tucked my arms inside my shirt (pesky mosquitoes), pulled the neck of my shirt over my ear (pesky buzzing of mosquitoes), and quickly resumed my afternoon nap on an unusually pleasant late summer day.

It's what I like to call a perfect Sunday.

Coffee. Church. Lunch. Friend. Snack.

Nap.

I vacuumed just to be sure I could say I did something, kicked the rinse/spin cycle on the load of laundry from yesterday, and hit the touch-up button on the dryer so the husband doesn't think I let his work clothes sit in a pile all weekend. I wouldn't want him to think I am lazy or anything.

Is it bedtime yet?

I am plum wore out.

Did Somebody Say Lucky Charms?

I am in the mood to eat.
Cereal. Brownies. Pizza. Chips. Crackers. Hot Pockets.
Unfortunately, I am not the least bit hungry, so therefore... I wait.

I wait for bed. I wait for the morning. I wait to be hungry again.

If I had chocolate syrup, I would stir up a glass of chocolate milk. If it were not almost nine o'clock in the evening, I would brew up a cup of coffee. If the elastic in my pants would give just a little bit more, I would eat anyway.

I mentioned the above thought to the husband earlier and he just looked at me, shrugged his shoulders, and poured himself a bowl of Lucky Charms. He has lost quite a bit of weight these past few months and is more than pleased with himself. I confess that I have more than once pondered the prospect of secretly feeding him weight-gain powder with his nightly supper.

Not that I'm jealous or anything.

I just want to eat.

A Glass-Is-Half-Full Kinda Day

The day is rainy. My feet are tired.

And for some reason, I feel like rambling... but in a good way.
I don't think I have a complaining bone in my body right now.

Well, except for one.

If I were to complain, it would be about a lack of coffee in my house, but that won't last. A trip to the store is a definite for the agenda tonight. So see what I mean? Not really worth complaining about.

Hold on to your seat for now. I'm about to make a rather staggering announcement (well, for those who know me anyway). I can't believe I am about to say this. My heart feels rather fluttery at the very thought of admitting it. Even now I am pausing to think if I really mean what I am about to confess.

And please don't hold it against me later.

But here goes.

I am very, very fulfilled right now in my life. I have a job that I like, that I didn't think I would like, but I like it very much. I am busy with little time to think, eat, or make more than one trip to the bathroom a day (and most of you know what I mean) and I absolutely love it.

My kids are growing up. They start school on Monday, the last two, that is. I followed the youngest around during her open house last night and was amazed at her confidence. I do believe she is about to rock the sophomore world. The middle is an official licensed driver and ready to conquer his senior year. The oldest continues to work faithfully and help out when needed. They are growing up and I am growing older and for some strange reason, that fills me with peace.

I finally drive a car that does not sputter and moan and blink warning lights at me.

I pet cats that are finally flea free.

The funny thing about my rather twisted sense of optimism is the view I have from where I sit. Laundry hangs where I last left it on Sunday (or maybe Saturday). The miscellaneous socks and sheets I left on the couch over the weekend are still there. My desk is cluttered. The carpet has not been vacuumed. I can't even think about the mess in my bedroom right now.

And yet it will all be there in the morning...

After I've had the required cup of coffee.

My Boy Is Gone

Years ago there was a mother who knelt before her six-year old son and whispered these words,

If you'll just put on that gown, I'll buy you that dinosaur you've been wanting.

The son replied with a silent shake of his head.

If you'll just put on that gown, I'll buy you that Power Ranger you've been wanting.

Again, a silent and solemn shake of the head.

If you'll just put on that stupid gown (said through gritted teeth), I'll buy you ANYTHING you want.

Time stood still.
The mother waited.
The boy pondered.

And then replied with a silent shake of his head.

The mother gave up. The son had won. Within minutes the procession song played and the boy marched. The only boy in a small group of girls. The only boy without a white cap and gown.

And the mother could care less.

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

Yep. That was me. Not one of my finer parenting moments, I can promise you that, but a moment to be remembered nonetheless. I wanted so badly to see the perfect picture that I almost missed a perfect moment.

I've never forgotten that.

The slap to my parenting face came when his name was called and he walked across the stage to accept his kindergarten diploma. I can remember holding my breath to see if he would actually make that walk or not. When he did take those first steps and managed to shake the hands of the three adults onstage, the fact that he was not decked out in his graduation attire became utterly meaningless. A major accomplishment had just taken place. He had not been manipulated into something he was not comfortable with, and yet he had stepped up to the plate and made an uncomfortable walk across a stage in front of a crowd of people. It really was a big deal. Later, after the congratulations and pictures and cake, when it was just him and me, he put on that cap and gown and let me take a picture. Even to this day that is one of the most precious photos I have in my possession and I wouldn't share it for the world.

A private moment. An understood compromise. A lesson learned.

Why am I thinking of a Sunday afternoon that took place a little over twelve years ago? Because yesterday another moment grabbed me and for a brief moment, locked me in a time warp where time stood still and reversed itself all in the same instant. I watched that same boy, with a senior year schedule and textbooks in hand, walk down a hall in search of his locker. His back was to me, his shoulders straight, his confidence high. I blinked and caught a glimpse of my little six-year old and my eyes began to water.

My boy is gone and a man has taken his place.

Time goes by too darn fast.



And not to be forgotten, the youngest successfully earned her driver's permit yesterday afternoon. It's no wonder I was the middle-aged woman standing in a high school hallway shaking my head and wiping away a tear. I'm just like my mother. =)

Lost Cats & Sewing Machines

I'm slightly disgusted with people right now- no one family or work related, by the way- so I thought I'd reach down into the depths of my positive-thinking compartment (yes, I do have one of those hidden away by years of dust and neglect) and find something uplifting to talk about on a blog that I've not done much with lately.

Whew. How's that for a sentence?

I started with a time of confession with the daughter. Exactly one week ago I wrote a short entry pertaining to her cat that I saved in my archives, but did not publish. It went something like this:



If I were a cat, where would I be?

I'm not kidding here. I came home to a house that should have two cats lounging on the clean laundry, and I can only find one. This is not a good thing when you've got the youngest away and you're in charge of her cat.

Not a good thing at all.

I've checked every nook and cranny. I've shook the treat bag. I looked under the table, under the chairs, and on top of the washer. I've called here kitty, kitty in a pitifully sweet voice (which does no good considering this particular cat doesn't like me much). If that cat is here, she is keeping her presence under wraps.

She has to be here.

The doors were locked. The windows shut. Unless we've had a cat burglar (which makes me chuckle), that cat has got to be in the confines of this house. The other cat is of no help. He just looks at me with total disinterest and jumps on the table as soon as I turn my back. Heck, for all I know, Old Man Cat might have taken care of Young Feisty Cat himself. Even so, I'll still be the one to take the blame.

I simply must find that cat.

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

The cat was found hiding inside the couch, of all places (torn lining.... who knew?). She made herself known only after the oldest roamed the neighborhood posting signs. We made a pact not to tell the daughter. The time was right this afternoon, however, so I confessed my lack of cat-sitting skills and we moved on.

Which, in a round-about way, brings me to my feel-good story.

I was cat-sitting last week because the youngest, that daughter of mine, was away on a mission trip. The details of the trip and the troubles that attempted to hold her back are not as important as the outcome. On her last day there, she called me to talk about a sewing machine that she helped a lady set up in her home. Now I don't know if this is as big of a deal as what it was to me, but let me ask you,

How many young teenage girls do you know who understand sewing machines? 

Apparently this particular lady had been in possession of this machine for a few years with no one to show her how to use it. Along comes my girl, who for all intents and purposes had been wondering about her place on this trip, and presto! She set things up and gave a few how-to instructions. If that's not God putting you in just the right place at just the right time, then I don't know what is.

It all makes me think of Queen Esther, my favorite of favorites in the Old Testament, and therefore gives me that feel-good feeling that comes from closing the drawer on the negative and spending some time with the positive.

In my book, that's a good place to be.