Don't Blink

If my life were truly a book, this would be where Part III begins.

Our kids, the ones I have written about so much- the ones who have consumed by life and my sleep and my pocketbook, are officially grown. Granted, they've been grown for a while, but now it's like grown-grown. It's such a bittersweet thing- something I would not trade for anything, and yet something that causes me to pause and reflect. The youngest has left the nest.

You see, she got this crazy idea that she was ready to go- much like her older brothers moved on years ago, and all my cooking and laundry-doing could not convince her to stay at home. I walk around a house that is full of moving boxes in her bedroom and her half-eaten ice cream in the freezer and wonder what in the world I am suppose to do now. It's not a sad feeling, just a different one.

I try to grasp how quickly the time flew by. Over twenty-seven years of babies and houses and jobs. First days of school and graduation diplomas. Laughter. Tears. Happiness. Anger. Successes and disappointments. All those things that make a house full of people a home full of love. What an honor it was to raise those children. What a privilege it has been to watch them fall in love.

So here we are. Part III. New beginnings all the way around. I found my way back to this blog because for me, writing is the best therapy. The husband says I should turn her room into an office and finally complete that book or work on that doctorate or make crafty things to sell. I think I should probably start with cleaning the house...

That'll keep me busy long enough to plot my next move.

Not Finished Yet

Oh my. Thank you for the comments on that last entry. For the THREE of you (my fan base is wide, I know) who are fellow bloggers and therefore have earned my admiration by default, thanks for sharing your comments on the subject. I'm glad to know your thoughts.

And to my MOM, who is my number one fan, I had NO idea that you check this page regularly (did you say DAILY?) for updates. I feel as if I have let you down. You must have wondered if I had run out of things to say.

Never.

Let's start with today. This weekend. Needless to say, I am actually looking forward to Monday and my classroom. From this vantage point, it looks like an oasis. Normal. Organized chaos. A light at the end of the tunnel.

I am exhausted. Yesterday I was drowning in readings on administrative law while waiting for updates on that big brother of mine. There is nothing quite as hard as having family members in a hospital that you have no hope of visiting- that distance gets us every time. I accomplished absolutely nothing around the house. Absolutely nothing (with the exception of the aggravating run to the grocery store that I made for the sole purpose of venting a little steam... those Walmart aisles will rearrange the focus of your anger in a heartbeat).

Today was the birthday of the middle. I love that kid (as I do all, of course). We had a big family lunch, pulled off a fairly awesome birthday surprise, and ended the day with a cake glowing from the light of twenty candles. Granted, it was after nine in the evening by this point and we ran out of ice cream by the time it got to me and three of the twenty candles were the kind that sparked and flared and never did quite go out, but hey, that just served to present the boy with a challenge that he couldn't quite refuse.

Good times.

Today was also the first in the graduation festivities of the youngest. Can someone please tell me when that happened? I told the husband that looking at her in her cap and gown reminded me of her younger years playing dress-up. It was almost as if I felt I should be telling her to take it off, like it didn't quite belong.

But belong on her, it did.

Baccalaureate tonight.
Honors night later this week.
Graduation in under three weeks.

College up next.

May the good Lord see us through.

In Black and White

Years ago when the oldest was four, the middle was two, and the youngest was still in the womb, I began writing in three separate journals. In the first, I opened up with tales of a t-ball game and the parental pride that goes along with it. In the second, I detailed a peek into the life of a toddler and the challenges of bedtime. In the third, I simply opened with "Dear Baby" because although the upcoming birthday was just two months away, we didn't know if the fluffy blankets would be purchased in pink or blue.

Last night, the oldest came home for a visit and I found myself digging into a cedar chest of treasures. I had never shown the kids these journals, but seeing as how the entire family was in the same room for the moment, I seized the day, so to speak, and handed them each their own special book. What followed was laughs and questions and memories.

The oldest read his quietly. The middle read his aloud.
The youngest just marveled at how much her big brothers loved her.

There were tales of new words and phrases being spoken, the ever-present paddle that was never far from reach, and even a few drawings and outlines of hands and feet. Each read the story of the day they asked Jesus into their heart. Each read the story of grandparents who have since left this world. Each read stories of special friends and special pets and special days.

Each read the story of them.

Although I did not make an entry every night- after all, not long into the story of the youngest was I able to actually call her by name and welcome her into the world... life with three kids under the age of five did not allow for a lot of downtime; but I still found some time, however, to carve out for them their own little slice of something special. All in all, the three books covered a time span of seven years.

Years that I now wonder where in the world time went.

They read those journals from beginning to end. As I collected them back to tuck away into our treasure chest, they thanked me and remarked how much they enjoyed reading them. As I tried to sleep last night, I wondered why I ever stopped writing to them. Life, I'm sure. In fact, now that I think about it, it wasn't too long after the last entries that our world took a turn in the form of The Great Move. Life became less about preserving our memories and more about preserving our sanity. The books were closed and the pen was capped.

But you know what? I'm gonna pick up where I left off. There will come a day when those books will be my words those kids hear in their head. I'm going to do my best to keep them laughing.

The oldest is twenty-one. The middle is nineteen.
The youngest is days away from seventeen.

There's plenty of stories left to tell.




Your mom and dad love you, kids.

Celebrating Dad

Recently my mom gave me a shadow box to create a keepsake for my dad. It's a really neat concept and today I ventured out to Hobby Lobby with the intentions of buying some decorative pieces to fix it up. My thinking this week has been that I would spend Father's Day creating this beautiful, sentimental box that I could display in our living room. It seemed like an ideal plan until I actually found myself in the craft store today wandering aisles and thinking about what I was doing. Looking at all that beautiful "father' stuff and thinking about what I could incorporate into the box only solidified what I was actually doing...  sealing the fact that I was trying to do something fatherly because I no longer had a father to call.

I know, I know. Depressing at the very least, right? I'm gonna be honest, though, and fully admit for all those experiencing the same thing I am enduring at the moment... Father's Day is currently at the top of my list for "All Things Sucky" right now.

(as I just lost a few readers due to my total lack-of-class use of a not-so-real word).

Look, I don't know how else to put it. This one just kind of snuck up on me. I wasn't prepared for the complete lack of preparedness I feel for this one particular Sunday in June. I want my father back. Period. I mean, I think I knew last Father's Day that time was winding down- in fact, my blog entry from this time last year (found here), leaves no question to that train of thought- but, still... it is frustrating and disheartening nonetheless. So, I find myself on that dangerously, slippery line between self-pity and self-determination.

I look at the husband as he chuckles at something he is reading online. I think about how when the kids were younger, much younger, I would help them create or decorate or buy something for their dad for Father's Day and how I haven't had to do that for quite some time. Even now, the two youngest are discussing where they are taking him to eat tomorrow. I know they have already shopped on their own and have a gift or two tucked away that he will be sure to react with genuine surprise tomorrow. The oldest, who could not make it home this weekend, has already called to talk to his dad once this week and will no doubt call again tomorrow.

And that gives me cause to celebrate.

I think about all the Father's Day(s) I did have with my dad and I can only hope that I sincerely appreciated them all. I remember a sixth grade student I had years ago who lost his father a week before Father's Day and know that I have no reason to complain. I consider the kids I know today who are not even sure where their fathers are and shake my head in bewilderment.

I may or may not work on that shadow box tomorrow. When I mentioned it to my mom earlier today, she simply said, "You'll do it when you're ready." That is one thing our family is finding out for sure as we muddle through this year of "firsts" without the man who was such a big part of our lives... everything comes in due time. There is no fixed schedule for mourning; no exact time to do anything. Rushing only complicates things and "closure" is not a door that shuts easily. My mother demonstrated this perfectly a few months ago when she cleaned what has always been known as "Dad's Room". Some things had to go, but some things remained the same.

Such a beautiful reminder of the hope we carry, We shall meet again.





Happy Father's Day to the ones who are here,
the ones who have went on, and the ones who are yet to be.

Singing With Travis Tritt

Tonight I had the unique pleasure of being sandwiched in a back seat between my two grown sons while the youngest rode shot gun with her daddy behind the wheel. As I sat in the middle trying not to squish my physically fit boys with my not-so-physically fit body, I couldn't help but think of all the years that have gone by. Driving down a curvy road with the windows down, the two up front bickered playfully (?) back and forth about the song selection until they finally settled on a tune. They turned it up and we sang it out and for a moment, all seemed right with the world. As the next song came on, I looked at one boy who can never ride for long without falling asleep, thought about another boy who will be leaving home in a couple of weeks, and couldn't help but notice the smile on a girl's face because she had the front seat.

I'd chalk that up to a great day.

Yep. It's A Goat.

I don't often post pictures of the young'uns for a variety of obvious reasons, but sometimes a picture says so much more than the so-called thousand words. Especially in the life of teenage daughters.

She is so sweet. So moody. So much like me. And she's growing up way too fast. The clock never stops when you wish it would.

Of the many things in my life that I do not regret, being a stay-at-home mom surviving on one income, hamburger helper, and antenna tv ranks right up there at the top. It's not for everyone, I know, and there were spurts of temp work sprinkled in those years that were necessary for one reason or another. But now that the kids are practically grown and I work full time and suppers at the dinner table are becoming more and more rare, I've come to appreciate- truly appreciate, the laughter.

Which is why I love this picture so much.

To hear my kids laugh is one thing, maybe the very thing, I would miss the most if my sense of hearing ever faded.

The sound of a voice can be comforting.

The song of a bird can be reassuring.

But the sound of laughter?

Pure inspiration.

We really should laugh more.

Do Demons Chase You?

Okay, so not the most encouraging title, but I wonder if it got your attention. It really is a question, by the way. I don't throw things out there just to watch it wither. But anyway...

Another week down. I had a few comments on my previous post from last week that caused me to look back to see,

Just exactly what did I write?

I do tend to ramble on at times, although if you've been with me since the beginning you can recognize that my ramblings have become more spaced out over the years. I figure you can only ramble on about any one thing so many times. Even I grow weary of the thoughts in my head.

We managed to gather the family around the table twice this past week. A remarkable feat considering nobody seems to be in the same place at the same time. The youngest surprised me mid-week with a clean house and folded laundry. In fact, it was a pretty decent week until I got hit over the head with a two-by-four of aggravation. It started Wednesday night and ran for a straight twenty-four hours. In the wee hours of Friday morning as a debilitating headache began to overtake any chance of reasonable functioning, I found myself asking the Lord a lot of whys and whens, questions in which He rarely answers me. As my eyes finally closed, I wondered where my bible was as demons and ghosts chased me through my dreams.

Hey, I'm just here to make you feel better about yourself, remember?

This life is a funny thing. I make a few steps forward only to be tossed back about ten. I fill my head with stories I could write only to never put them to paper- and please, do not encourage me here. There may come a time, but now is not the time...

Unless I figure out a really good pen name and a way to cover my virtual tracks. Stranger things have happened.





P.S. Love you, Mom. Praying you feel better soon. =)

Why Is My Hair Orange?

I decided that today was as good as day as any to color away my gray. Once upon a time, you couldn't find my natural color in a bottle; nowadays there's a couple that are pretty darn close. Me being me, however, I thought we'd take it a notch or two darker (don't tell my dad). I sit here now... hair completely saturated, scalp burning slightly, stench in the air.

Oh, to be a female.

On the plus side, I have at least fifteen uninterrupted minutes to sit on the edge of my bed and peck out a few rambling thoughts. Trust me, nobody wants to see me parade through the house right now. It's better we keep this side of womanhood hidden from the innocent. Besides, the husband will brave the elements soon enough to make sure I have not dribbled any hair color on the tile while looking at me in amused wonder.

Oh, to be a male.

I've been thinking about the children a lot lately and wondering if I have done all I could do to prepare them for life. I've become something of a slacker in my midlife; I'm only hoping I was as dedicated as I like to pretend I was when I was younger. The middle reminded me the other day of how I use to always tell them their words had power- that's biblical, you know- and the oldest reminded all of us of how I used two plants as a lesson to them. No kidding here... the one we spoke "life" to flourished and the poor sap we spoke "death" to did not stand a chance. Funny how I don't remember that, but they do. Time has an odd way of picking and choosing memories.

At any rate, here all three of them stand just itching to fly the nest. I don't take it personally, I take it pridefully. Wait. Does that sound right? What I mean to say is I know they're not counting the hours to get away from me (I hope); I know they are counting the hours to try it on their own and in that, I take great pride.

But boy, will I miss those little people.

Did I rock them enough? Did I provide enough milk and cookies? Did I sing them enough songs, color with them enough, read to them enough? Did my good words outweigh the bad thoughts? Did I provide enough hugs? Enough band aids? Enough amusement? I know I was hard on them at times- I was their teacher for a while, you know. I also know reinforcements were called in from the father on more than one occasion. In case you haven't figured it out, parenting does take two. I don't ever want them to think they can tackle that life event on their own.

Good Lord, have we done enough?
Thank goodness they are HIS anyway.

With that in mind, what do I have to fear?
Except an empty lap. An empty table. An empty bed.

Sheesh. If this is what happens when I time the color on my hair, maybe I would be better of to stick with the gray... and now I'm making myself laugh.

It must be the fumes.

Brace For Impact

Earlier today I read a facebook comment directed at me from a former student and I'm not ashamed to admit, it hit me hard. No, it wasn't bad or mean or sarcastic, just a simple note that warmed my heart and turned it to mush. After taking a moment to compose myself in the bathroom (hey, who doesn't utilize that quiet space?), I asked the Lord for forgiveness for my self-centeredness of late and thanked Him for the people He has put in my life.

My grandma. We all know that.
My mom and dad. I couldn't ask for better.
My brother. The husband. The three ducklings.

My fourth-grade teacher. She's the reason I wanted to teach.
My high school friends. The reasons I survived a small town.

The drill instructor in basic training who yelled at me in the midst of a rather difficult obstacle course. That yelling is what made me mad enough to fuel a successful finish.

Neighbors, past and present. Friends, old and new. Family, far and near.

I gotta tell you, though, as crazy as it may seem, it's those younger ones who have impacted me the most. The third and fourth graders who let me play cowboy songs to teach them states and capitals. Fifth and sixth graders who let me sing silly songs to teach them verbs and prepositions. Seventh and eighth graders who rolled their eyes (but couldn't help but smile) when I would act like a fool to teach them complex diagrams.

The kids I've had the privilege of seeing graduate.
My own kids who I've had the privilege to teach.

I'm telling you right now, I've had it good. No matter what the future may hold, the people who have impacted me have made the journey thus far pretty darn sweet. I think if we could all grasp that and hold onto it, our influence on the world around us would make more of a bang.

Imagine the impact that would be.

Well-Timed Moments

So when your kids ask about your blog, you listen.

Your ears perk up. You blush with feigned humility. You feel special.

I mean, come on... if the kids think I must write, well then-
It is for the children, after all.



Yeah. I'll shut up already, but seriously, two out of three really did ask. With that in mind, we'll make this a test run and see if either one of them have any questions, comments, or otherwise. It should make a good story anyway.

We live in a house of somewhere around twelve hundred square feet. With one kid out of his teenage years (I need to update that blurb on my bio) and the other two kids well into the teenage life, it mostly feels like we are five adults sharing a sometimes very crowded space. Throw into the mix only one television (and antenna tv at that), and there are only so many places to hide when you would rather not face the world. So, when one is having a difficulty of sorts, we all know about it and we all share the pain. Last night when the pain for one became all too evident, a pow wow ensued with grievances aired, pep talks offered, and affirmations given. In the end, three kids celebrated their God-given sibling bond with a late night trip to the meeting place of all meeting places, Walmart.

And I have yet to figure out the allure of that.

At any rate, I found myself in my usual spot on the couch, book in hand, and settled in for the evening. The husband succumbed to the pull of online video gaming/you tube searching/mindless jump surfing and tuned out the world. The tv was off. The house quiet.

And Vince Gill began to sing.

I looked up from the glow of my nook book to see the husband looking at me. Granted, I had to put on my glasses to be certain he was looking my way, but when the blurriness adjusted to 20/20 vision, he had indeed pulled the jack on the headphones and motioned me to the dance floor, otherwise known as the living room floor rug.

While the kids walked the aisles of Walmart, the parents danced to bona fide country music. At one point I looked at my worn, pink fuzzy socks and chuckled at the sight we must have been to the cats who looked lazily on from their vantage point by the fire.

Now, twenty-four hours later, I sit in the same spot on the couch, the same worn, pink fuzzy socks on my feet, and the television on for a change. Before me is the husband, his back to me, an virtual mafia/swat team contest in the heat of battle capturing his attention. The Dick Van Dyke show has taken over what was a Wonder Woman movie and from time to time a kid wanders through the living room.

And all I'm thinking is,

Shouldn't you people be at Walmart?

When Your Kid Buys You Dinner

It reminds you of everything that's gone RIGHT in your life.

We may never have money, but we will always be RICH.
Thanking God every day for the peace He has poured upon our household.

Our cup runneth over.

Coming Down

I've been on a cloud lately.

High above it all. Swinging my feet in the breeze.

Then the wind blew. Or the bubble popped. Or the cork uncorked.

(And no, I have not been drinking).

Just thinking.

A week ago I was gearing up to head home. I was anxious and excited and packing. The daughter and I drove and drove and drove until we cleared five state lines and crossed into the land of the free. We left the interstate system behind and said goodbye to traffic lights. We watched the land change shape and the sky grow larger. Life slowed down.

The weekend was spent with family and laughter. I was reminded of what a chore it is to take two toddlers to Walmart. I was reminded of what it was like to sit at a table of my aunt's home cooking. I was reminded of how much I miss my brother.

We somehow managed to cram in a whole lot of everything,
and yet none of it felt rushed.

It just felt right.

Time doesn't stand still, though. The daughter and I had to re-pack and cross those same five state lines again. The sky became cluttered and the weather a little warmer. I'd say I was glad to be back, but...

Well, I already miss my parents and my brother and the chitter-chatter of his little granddaughters. I don't know when I'll get to see them again, but I'm guessing it will be a while.

And that just makes me sad.

My cloud ride is over.

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.

Watermelon Memories

In my mind there is a picture and in keeping with my usual way of doing things, it is a picture I cannot find.

Ten bucks says it's in the same place that wedding album is...

Anyway.

In that picture are three little kids sitting at a Little Tikes table. They are dressed in swim attire and sitting inside a garage as they drip and dry and eat watermelon. If I remember right, one has a leg kicked up, one is ready to take a bite, and one is just plain laughing. It's the picture I think of when I think of the Fourth of July.

As you know, holidays always make a me a bit sappy. I think of how our kids have grown and how much I miss my own family and well... it can be easy to get locked into what use to be. Thankfully, for you anyway, I'm not so far gone that I can't see the life taking place around me.

The oldest just traded his dirt bike for a boat. I don't see a lot of that boy as it is; now I'm assuming I'll see even less of him. But you know what? He's happy and healthy and free. He's a joy to watch (even if that watching forces me to stay up late some nights).

The middle is so sure of who he is... all I know to say is that there's a part of me that's jealous of that confidence. To see the change that's taken place in that boy is nothing short of miraculous- and there was nothing ever wrong to begin with- but the last year has been marvelous to watch. 

The youngest. She met me at the door yesterday with a cup of coffee, a freshly baked brownie, and a smile. To someone who is drowning in the slippery slime of doubt right now (that would be me, not her), that random act of kindness completed my day and offered me hope. 

Three kids. Growing up before my eyes and yet forever young in my heart.

And seeing as how I can never seem to find the pictures, that's a good thing.

On A Scale Of 1~10, Just How Lazy Are You?

The youngest asked if I had written a blog entry lately and my answer to her was no... lack of inspiration. After I said that and really thought about it, I knew it was more a matter of an excessive amount of laziness. To say I am not inspired on a daily basis would be a lie. To say I deal with laziness on an hourly basis would be more to the point. Consider this,

My bathroom is atrocious.
Yes. I said atrocious.
Atrocious: adjective. Horrifyingly wicked.

It needs to be bleached, swept, and steamed. The shower liner needs to be changed. The basket of hair stuff I never use needs to be removed. The many jars of wrinkle remover need to be alphabetized. I really think the spider living among the muck ought to be evicted.

On the other hand, the kids' bathroom? Spotless. Sparkling. It even smells fresh. That youngest of mine takes the cake. She couldn't sleep one night so what did she do? She cleaned their bathroom of all things. My grandma was surely doing a jig in heaven over that one.

She, the youngest, is in her room now embarking on some craft project. The middle, Mr. Hulk himself, is in the shed perfecting his physique. The oldest is half under his bed cleaning things out. Seriously. I looked behind me and all I saw was a foot sticking out. I should really take a lesson from these kids.

Then again, I am only on my twenty-seventh load of laundry for the weekend.
Okay... maybe just the fourth or fifth, but you get the idea. Thank goodness for the muscle of Whirlpool.

So, yes. I am inspired. I'm inspired by these kids of mine who stay busy and shower their dad with love on Father's Day. From pocket knives to t-shirts to his favorite box of cookies, the man with a lousy excuse for a father has turned out to be a remarkable father, and our kids are always faithful to remind him of that.

I'm inspired by my own dad who always has time to talk to me on the phone.
I'm inspired by my nephew in-law (is there such a thing?) who lets his little girl help wash a car.
I'm inspired by a couple of teenage boys I know who press on with no earthly father to guide them.

And, yes. I do have a streak of laziness. Bathrooms just aren't my priority.
Although if that spider invites a few house guests, my priorities will change very quickly.

I'm not that lazy. =)

My House Is Dusty For A Reason

I haven't been in the mood to blog much about anything lately.
I haven't been in the mood to clean, cook, or even play with the cats.
About all I've been in the mood to do is read.

Check out my new favorite book HERE.

This book is set smack-dab in the middle of where I grew up (or pretty darn close to it anyway). The husband would say that I have now successfully given away entirely too much information to a virtual world where few people actually know me. He seems to think my stalker fan club is bigger than what it actually is... such is the price of fame (or not). At any rate, I absolute adore this book, so much so, that I am having to pace myself as I near the end. I seriously hate for it to come to a close so quickly. The characters have captivated me, the scenery bewitched me, and the plot has completely and utterly drawn me in so deep that I have a hard time remembering the time and place I now live.

If that's not a convincing review, I don't know what would be.

Maybe it's because at the moment, I am very unhappy and unfulfilled with life as a know it outside my front door. Ironically, things have never been better. Our money woes have subsided, work is steady and sure, and the three young people who share our home continue to plod through life at their own pace (that is a good thing, just to be clear). From the outside looking in, things are looking up. From the inside looking out, things have never looked fuzzier. Maybe I'm just not quite convinced the reality around me is real.

If you think that's confusing, you should be the one writing it.

Oh well. I read and read and pile laundry on the couch between chapters. At some point in the next few hours, I will slip away for a coffee and a potential trip to the grocery store (although I am not really feeling the pull of a check-out line). I'll finish my book and splash cold water on my face and try to shake the memories of home and a slower pace. I'll remind myself that I am blessed and hug the husband who thinks I'm crazy and try not to cry when a child rolls their eyes at me. I'll convince myself that I haven't settled and prop a smile on my face for the morning and roll through another work week.

But you can bet I'll find another book to read.
Just maybe one with a little more violence.*
And, for the sake of laundry and housework, shorter chapters.



*This remark by no means coincides with any feelings I may have on the inside. Just throwing that out there.=)

Moonflowers On My Casket*

My daughter and I had a conversation last week that carried over into a conversation I had with my mom this week. It was one if those pity party/pep talks in which you try to convince yourself that money isn't everything. Now don't get me wrong, I know money isn't everything, but I also know how easy that lie can come to rest on your shoulders if you're not careful.

No one in my family has a smartphone. It's probably not that a data plan for a family of five is totally out of the question- although I do like to eat more than ramen noodles and pork and beans on any given night. It's just something that I find totally unnecessary for our family. I gotta be honest anyway... I'm not sure I want the world at my fingertips. I like to avoid the world as much as possible, remember?

There is not a car in our driveway with under one-hundred thousand miles. In fact, one of them proudly sports over two-hundred thousand well-used miles. Sure, they're mostly missing all the bells and whistles of the newer generation. The motors are more than a little grumpy most days and the moans and groans each vehicle makes reminds me of an old man with a bad case of arthritis. Hey, at least we've got character.

Brand name clothes for us come from Target. My daughter pointed this out and I had to laugh. She's right! We've never been one to spend over forty bucks for a pair of tennis shoes (and even that's a stretch). Our kids appreciate the shopping spree of a thrift store and Christmas comes early when we shop at the mall. Sure, we appreciate the high quality of something nice, but sometimes that something nice can (and does) come right off the Walmart rack.

I've drank the ice-cold water of a spring from an old mug hanging on a tree. I've watched moonflowers open at night and breathed in their perfume. I've picked lilacs in full bloom to fill a mason jar on my table. I've seen the sun rise over the Atlantic.

I've stood on top of a mountain.
I've worked inside a mountain.
I've even slid down a mountain road (unplanned!) in the snow.

I love dirt roads and the sound of dead leaves crunching under my feet. I save letters from my grandma and notes from my mom and random scraps of paper from my dad. I cherish a letter my brother once wrote me. I really do have a list of twenty-five things to do before I die.

There are truly things that money cannot buy. There are experiences that cannot be bought on credit and memories that cannot be repossessed. Sometimes it's good to have those conversations and to remind one another that a smartphone will soon enough be outdated. New cars will eventually rust. Clothing can be as fickle as a cat in the morning.

Moonflowers, though?

Now that is something to experience.
They'll just have to bury me at night.



*For entertainment purposes only. Send me away with pink roses in the sunshine, please.

hmph:

A sound, usually made with a closed mouth, indicating annoyance, indignation, or sighing.*

Apparently my last post with "My Secret To Happiness" in the title hasn't done so well in the virtual world. I am somewhat of a stat watcher- my biggest fan base is overseas, go figure.** Oh well. I'm sure people are just busy with other things like laundry and work and spring weather. Besides, I tend to skim over anyone else's cure for happiness myself. As long as my mom keeps reading, I'm good.

Back to the business at hand.

Thank God The Tomb Is Empty!

Strangely enough, my house is also about to be empty. We had plans for Easter dinner, but our intended guests came down with a stomach virus of some sort. When that fell through, I graciously offered one kid the opportunity to do as he pleased today and the word spread like wildfire. I've now got two sons spending the day with the families of the girlfriends and a daughter embarking on an Easter egg hunt with a friend. That leaves me, the husband, and our good Sunday clothes. This will be the first year ever that there hasn't been a ham baking in the oven.

I think I'll let someone else do the cooking today.

My mom always told me that once the kids grew up, things would be different. They're by no means grown and out of the house (well, one pretty much does as he pleases), but things are certainly different. Some things know no age limits, though... there were three chocolate bunnies lined up and standing at attention on the mantle this morning. Every kid I saw smiled as they walked by and plucked away their prize. I don't know if that crazy big bunny will every get to retire.

Happy Easter, Everyone!


*(en.wiktionary.org/wiki/hmph)
**sarcasm; not true; an inside joke

Uncertainty

I told the Lord yesterday afternoon that He was going to stretch me so far, I would surely snap. I cried while making tacos; cried while talking to the husband; cried while looking at the cats. Then I dried my eyes before the kids came in, asked the youngest to set the table, and sat down with four out of five family members.

It was the best therapy ever.

This morning I woke up thinking that although I do indeed feel a little more stretched than I did yesterday, I have not snapped. I know not what this day will bring and truth be told, I would like to hide from it and not peek out the curtains until maybe tomorrow... but thankfully I know that I'll not face the clouds alone.

Time to make the oatmeal. =)

Dear Mom,

I am writing this a day early for two reasons:

1). The house is quiet at the moment, and
2). I don't know if it will be this quiet tomorrow.

If I haven't told you enough already, I really, really love you. If I haven't said thank you quite as often as I should, thank you, thank you, thank you. And, because I know it's been a few days since I probably told you this, I miss you.

Tomorrow is your birthday and I never did get that card in the mail. I know you'll say that I come by that honest, but still... I don't know why I put things like that off. I looked online to send you flowers yesterday, and yet everything I looked at just didn't add up to what I would want you to see or know or... something. I can't quite put it into words, but even the most beautiful and expensive bouquets were severely lacking what I would want to express. Besides, you would just tell me I shouldn't have spent my money and probably would've mailed me a check. That's just the way you are.

I'm learning alot of things here lately. Just when I thought I had this whole motherhood-thing figured out, life throws a new curve at me. I can feel that oldest of mine slipping away. I think I told you it was like he is "inching away, a little at a time." I suppose only a mother can understand how much that tears at the heart. I know I understand a little more of what you must have went through all those years back. First with my brother. Then with me. I'm glad to see him independent and happy and ready to tackle life on his own, and yet... yet, I wish he could still be a little boy if only for a short while. What am I gonna do when it becomes the next one's turn and then the next?

I will call you.

I will call you and tell you how happy I am that they are happy and how nice it will be to have that extra room in the house and most likely ramble on the way I am rambling now, but inside we will both know the same thing: Life as I knew it will never be the same.

Except for one thing,

If those kids will think of me the way I think of you now, then I am in for one of the greatest rewards life has to offer. I don't just love you, I admire you. If I can give you no other gift on your birthday, I can at least let you know that. You are one of the strongest women I know. I think of you as my best friend. These miles that separate us only served to prove the one thing that I know for sure:

I am nothing without the presence of my mother in my life.

Happy Birthday, Mom, a whole day early.

And P.S.

You really do have a gift in the works. I just get a little behind on things. I think I get that from you. =)