The Month Of May

May is a pretty confusing month for me.

It's the last month of the school year. So that's an easy one.
Score.

It's the month our youngest son was born.
Double score.

Mother's Day, Memorial Day, and Cinco de Mayo (for which only Americans "celebrate").
Score, score, and (kinda?) score.

It's also the month we bid farewell to a tiny one we never got to meet. It's the month of my dad's birthday that no longer carries the need for a phone call to the local radio station. And, tying in with that last one, it's the month he received a diagnosis that was so detrimental, I can tell you where I was and what I was wearing when I received the call.

There is no scoring on either one of those. Three days in May that are, indeed, rather depressing... not that we're keeping score.

(lol?)

Recap?

Let's start with the end of the school year. I have often wondered why "Teacher Appreciation Week" is part of the month of May. Trust me, in May, every teacher is good. Tired. Exhausted. Completely over every kid in the class, but good. The end is in the sight. Lesson plans are a formality in which we're not even sure anyone is paying attention. Grades are merely a last-ditch effort for saving that one kid from summer school. We are seriously just going through the motions... much like that last week before Christmas Break. Teacher Appreciation Day/Week/Month (however you wanna roll) should fall somewhere in that post-Christmas, January-apocalypse, February-praying-to-the-snow-gods* calendar pit where you re-evaluate your life choices and momentarily contemplate teaching in the penitentiary** just to ease the mind-numbing reality of being surrounded by students who already think they're in spring break while still complaining of freezing, mid-50s temperatures.***

(I apparently had to get that off my chest).

On to our youngest son. {Sigh} We have been blessed beyond measure. To brag on one would be to brag on all three. Each one brings us great joy... this one just happens to have a birthday in May.

Mother's Day. Memorial Day. Cinco de Mayo. Each one nothing more than a reason to eat, drink, and be merry (although the meaning of the first two is so much more understood than the latter). Lucky for you, however, I am in no mood for a history lesson today.

May 5, 1995. The day we said good-bye to the one who surely bore the trademark red hair. We'll leave that with no more. It hurts too much to ponder and life does move on. Some day we will meet again and even so, our cup overflows. I have never asked why.

May 7, 1947. May 23, 2014. What would mark the beginning for my dad and the totally unnecessary detour that marked his ending date. Again, we'll not camp out here, but for entirely different reasons. If I ask why on anything, this will be the one.

You see, I feel like he could have saved me from so much. He had a way of asking questions without really asking questions. I remember when I told him that I had agreed to move his beloved grandchildren (and let's not forget me) nine-hundred miles away. He never questioned me. Never told me I shouldn't. Just said keep this in mind and be sure you think about this. He and my mom both set the perfect example of how not to interfere, but simply let grown ups make grown-up decisions, even if it went against their very desire. A line of thinking totally way off base (for this particular entry) and most likely better reserved for the posthumous So-That's-What-She-Really-Wanted-To-Say! book.

Even so. The thread of my being holds true.

I'm in an upside-down world;
A conundrum of sorts.

Beautiful, confusing, hopeful.
A riddle yet to be solved.

Much like the month of May.

* I do not believe in snow gods. I believe in the one true God (although I have been known to agree to a "snow/ice dance" with one particular parent).

** I have no doubt these are great positions with excellent benefits and students motivated to learn. No offense intended. Seriously. Hook me up.

*** I, too, think that mid-50s are entirely too cold and every effort should be made to locate an electrical socket for the plug-in blanket I keep on stand-by no matter where I go.

And, finally, although I was weary of asterisks, if I ever do write a book, it'll be a doozy. You can bet every teacher's end-of-the-year smile on that one.

I See Dead People

How's that for an attention-getter?

But seriously, I do... kinda.

Last night in my dreams, I was making the journey back home to attend my grandmother's funeral. I know it was a dream simply because a fifteen-hour drive took me about six, and even though the purpose of the trip was to attend her funeral, my grandma was still very much alive.

You gotta love dreams.

I saw my aunts sitting around the table and hugged every one of their necks. I talked with my grandma about recipes while we sat on her front porch swing. I visited with my dad as we all made our way to the graveside service and stood among the familiar stones for family and friends. We were obviously there for someone, but I have no idea who... maybe it was just a good excuse to go home.

I woke up thinking about our little white house that we left and wondered how our lives might be different if we had never moved. Would our oldest still live three hours away from us or just down the road? What would things be like for our middle and youngest? Would the husband still be in law enforcement? Would I still be teaching in the same classroom in the same school where I painted desks and swept endless drywall dust and wrote scriptures that went into the foundation?

What ifs can be a dangerous thing.

Granted, I also dreamed last night that I was in the production of Annie. Daddy Warbucks had just bought out the theater for some movie and we were happily passing around the popcorn and Starbucks (seriously). For that reason alone, I can't get too hung up about the details of my midnight wanderings and wonder why.

I look at dreams as a gift. I get to see people who have went on and visit places I have long since left. I get to take a break from reality and for about seven or eight hours, time really has no meaning and distance has no length. There is nothing to stop me from being where I really want to be. Let's face it... time might march on, but the heart knows what was left behind. Thank goodness the Lord knows what lies ahead.

I will leave the whys up to Him.

Sweet dreams.




*In case you're curious, the photo above was taken by yours truly in Savannah, Georgia.
  Beautiful, isn't it?

Resurrecting A Dead Horse

Our conversation at dinner earlier tonight went something like this,

I know this ship has sailed and I know I said I would stop saying it, but I'm gonna say it out loud because I'm thinking it anyway and I just want to hear the words, breathlessly said I.

The husband looked at me, the all-knowing look in his eye. He held my hand, took a deep breath, and gave me the green light. Go ahead and say it.

I want to go home.

Now, if you're new to this little blog corner of the world, this might be a new story line for you. If you've been around since the beginning or even midway, it's a concept similar to beating the proverbial dead horse. Even so, the heart wants what the heart wants.

I miss my mom and dad and our little white house. I miss walking to the post office and hanging clothes on the line and cutting fresh lilacs from the bush out back. I miss my old school and my teaching friends and chapel every morning.

Oh, I've accepted the fact that we are where we are and unless it's the mighty hand of God that moves us, we're pretty much anchored where we're at. My dad used the expression often in the beginning, There's another nail in the coffin. I have my own version, There's another hole in the boat. I honestly don't know what keeps us here other than the sheer determination to make something good out of what seems to have been a not-so-good idea.

Well, that and those three kids of ours. I remember three or four years ago when we were seriously considering packing it all in when one of them said, We went through a big move once; please don't do that to us again (emphasis on the please). It's hard to argue with the logic of a child. Besides, I am reminded on a regular basis of a prayer that was prayed almost seven years ago when I stood in a circle of friends on the very last morning before I followed a moving truck south:

This move may have nothing to do with you or [the husband]; it may have everything to do with geographical location and placing your children where they need to be for what God has purposed for their lives...

... or something like that. And if one thing can be said, it is that those kids have thrived. I may not agree with or understand most things in life, but I cannot argue with that. In fact, we have said many times that if it were not for the kids, we would not have held out this long. I guess we figure that we brought 'em into this world,  the least we can do is give them a running start.

Besides, I don't think my old cat could take another move. The last one about did him in. It's no lie to say that he sees a pet carrier and hides. I think I've been traumatized... that's nothing compared to the stress my kitty endured.

And on that note, I'm officially out of anything inspiring to say (not that this was necessarily inspiring to begin with, I know) and I know that I know that I have been blessed with some great friends right where I am. That I would not change for the world. I do get homesick, though, and especially on a Saturday. Again, those who have been around know this. Those who haven't... well, welcome to my world.

I miss my mom.

(Fiery) Memories of My Grandma

Tomorrow is Way Too Old Wednesday (aka Senior Citizen Day) at our school. It's all in good fun... just another way to celebrate Homecoming Week and get away from the same old-same old. I've spent the last hour or so looking through my closet and the kids' closets and have discovered a few things about myself.

1. Trying to dress old is lot of hard work, and

2. I have a lot of old looking clothes from which to choose.

I'm not sure what that says about me and my (fading) sense of style, but all this old talk had me thinking about my grandma and how she would dress.

Long-sleeved shirts. Polyester pants. Curlers.

And the occasional ball cap.

Here she is with the oldest clearing away brush from our land. I would bet good money she had a matchbook tucked away in those jean pockets. That little lady was notorious for tossing a lit match in order to clear the land. The husband had to chase her around more than once with a garden hose in his hand. Oh, that still makes me laugh. Anyone who knew her knows how much she loved working outdoors.

She loved to quilt and sew and fish and garden. She would put anything in the freezer rather than throw it away. I remember one time she offered us tea... frozen in a ziploc bag. She would freeze milk if she thought it would spoil before she was able to use it all. She saved peanut butter containers and whipped topping containers and tubs of butter containers. She was not one to waste.

Her house often smelled of boiling onions or cabbage or beets.
Her refrigerator was typically full of a variety of leftovers.
She really did always have something in her cookie jar.

Good grief, I miss that woman.

Yes, tomorrow I will be thinking of her. My entire outfit is modeled after something I think she would approve. I may be missing the scent of mothballs, but I'm hoping to have fully captured her style.

Nothing fancy. Everything practical.

I'll just leave my matchbook at home.

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.

A Different Kind Of Heaven

By this time next week, I should be just about to the front door of heaven.

Heaven on earth, that is.

It's been over six years since we left home. I will never be convinced that was the right move (and definitely not a smart move), but the Lord has been good to us. To be fair, I know He's not done with us yet. I'm sure His ending is a better one than I could ever come up with, but right now I just want my mom.

You all know I love my porch and the weather and the sweet tea. There are definitely perks all around me. I gotta tell you, though, I could have that same porch and the same weather (right now anyway) and the same sweet tea back home. Home just isn't home when your mom (and dad!) aren't right around the corner.

I've been thinking about moms quite a bit lately. I see whiny moms, nice moms, bossy moms, and pretty moms on a daily basis. Although they all have their differences, they all share the same trait: weariness. I have not met one mom yet who isn't exhausted. Let's hear it for moms everywhere.

Do you know I still have a little box of notes my mom would write me from way back when? She worked two jobs and during that time period, our only real form of communication was little notes left on the table. I'm kinda glad we didn't have facebook or texting back then. I couldn't keep that in a box. It's sad (to me) how little things like handwritten notes have been lost to an easily deleted message on a screen.

Hmmmm. Now that's something to think about, isn't it?


Heaven on earth.

I absolutely cannot wait.

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.=)

You May Not Think This Is Pretty, But I Sure Feel Better

May I ramble on for a bit?

...and if you know me in the real-life-kind-of-way, please don't bother making a mental note to ask me tonight or tomorrow or the next day what in the world this is all about...

Just let me ramble.

~*~*~Sheesh.  I've already deleted what I thought I wanted to write at least three times.~*~*

Let me try a different tactic.

My weekend was awesome. I love rainy days and March Madness and a husband who likes to look at shoes. I'll be the first to admit that I don't know much about this modern world or pop culture or what irks nineteen-year old boys, but I do know what I like (emphasis on the I).

And maybe I just now understood what it is I want to write.

Boy, this is gonna be selfish. Brace yourself.

I did not incur a massive student loan debt to please other people. Crazy, but true. I knew exactly what I was doing. I started out seeking a degree in elementary education when I mentioned to my husband about one semester in, "You know, I really don't want to do this psycho-questioning-how-a-state-thinks-you-ought-to-teach madness for four years."

"So do what you love," the man of the house answered back.

"I love to teach."  "So what do you love to teach?"  "History."  "So teach history."

I listened. I prayed. End of my life-changing discussion.

Off toward a history degree I went. That diploma now hangs on my wall. A job (in that field) is yet to be found.

How can that be?

How can I have such a burning desire to teach history, to talk about history, to do anything that has to do with history, and still be sitting here bemoaning the fact that as of right now, that diploma is absolutely useless to me?

Well, unless you count the fact that it was a MAJOR ACCOMPLISHMENT...

Anyway.

I am frustrated.

But I'm still proud.

I have mentioned before (on this blog) that graduating college is on my list of  25 Things To Do Before I Die. Apparently I should have added a number twenty-six: Gain employment that actually uses said degree.

I'm somewhat sorry you've been subjected to this ramble, especially if you were looking for something uplifting or comical. You might want to check out some of the other blogs listed on my page for content a little less me-related.

Lord, can I move back home yet? Just take me back ten years and let's go at this thing from another angle.

Seriously.

I am so not getting this plan of Yours.

For my thoughts are not your thoughts,

neither are your ways my ways, says the Lord.*

And there He goes again, reminding me of whose life this is anyhow.

Not mine. All His. Wait I will. I love when it He talks me out of my whining.

(Just please don't let Kansas make it to the Final Four. Please?)

And Amen.

*Isaiah 55:8-9

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. =)

I'm A Big Believer In Cake Pops

They're cute. They're tasty. And they're just the right size.






I like to think I'm pretty much a simple girl. I don't get too excited about a whole lot with the exception of Atlanta football,  Kentucky basketball, and old-school country singers in cowboy hats. I'm in love with Jesus, my parents, my husband and kids, and my country. I like to cook with real butter. I despise sorting socks. I've got a quick temper when I feel threatened. I'm not a fan of the mall. I'm very much the frugal shopper unless faced with a Starbucks sign or a pedicure in the spring and summer months. I don't like to spend money, but sometimes... I like to spend it very much.

I come from a small town. The words crime scene and racism and Mercedes Benz didn't mean much to me. I don't know that I could have really correctly defined any of those words at any point in my young life. It wasn't that we were ignorant; I just don't think we were faced with any of it. Life was safe. People were people. Everyone I knew drove a Ford or Chevy. My parents worked hard. They didn't cuss or drink or smoke or teach me anything other than respect and values and love. Family life may not have been perfect, but it was always stable. I didn't know how much I would appreciate all that until I got older.

I've been on quite the learning curve since we made the change from a one-stoplight town to a central six-county region of around 710,000 people. I don't care how long I live here... that number will always be about 705,000 too many people for me. I realize those numbers don't even come close to the big city numbers out there; but when I hear people refer to this area as a small town, I think to myself  you have no idea and for that experience, I am thankful.

But too be honest, I am more than spoiled with the many amenities that now surround me. I've developed quite the Starbucks habit. I've been to more movies in the last five years than I had been in my entire life. As much as I hate the mall, I appreciate the fact that going there doesn't become an entire day event with the time it takes to drive there and back. I love restaurants. I like hearing about all the concerts available (even if I can't afford 95% of them). I get a kick out of the abundance of nail salons and Chinese buffets. Things are certainly never dull.

And that's what I miss, if that makes any sense. I suppose that's why I am so addicted to my front-porch swing. I don't keep a quilt and pillows out there for no good reason. I'm a big believer in lazy days and afternoon naps and a cup of decaf as the sun goes down. I may get angry at the non-signal-using fools in morning traffic and become extremely agitated when the old lady in the smart car steals my parking spot... but it doesn't take much to unwind me and take me back to a simpler time.

The promise of eternity.
The adoration of my parents.
The love of a good man.

The sight of three kids at the dinner table.

And cake pops. Definitely the cake pop. Starbuck's Salted Caramel version pictured above. Combine that with George Strait on the radio and my Friday afternoon just got a little sweeter.

No small town needed.

Things I Keep Inside

There are times I write because I need to and if you're not a writer, then you won't understand that. You may run because you need to; or shop because you need to; or eat that pan of brownies because you need to... okay, so we can all fall into more than one category on that one. Running? Not guilty. Everything else? Yes, yes, and yes. At any rate, there are times when I am so burdened, the only way out is to write. Yes, I keep a journal hidden by my bed, but that journal (spoiler alert!) is mostly empty. I don't know why I put things out there the way I do. I know I'm nothing special. I know it's not all about me. But I do know that I'm not alone in the things I struggle with. I'm a Christian, a daughter, a sister, a wife, a mom, a friend, a lover of cats. Shoot. If all that isn't enough ammunition for trouble then I don't know what would be. You don't know how many times I have written things here only to delete it as soon as the whole thing is close enough to grammatically perfect as it can be.

What will people think? My mom will worry. They'll really figure out I'm crazy.

Yeah... well, whatever (to use a grossly overused word of the last decade).

So, I guess I share because I know I'm not alone. Maybe you can relate. Maybe you can lie and say that you don't. Maybe you're a twenty-five year gigolo from Singapore who has no idea how he ended up on this website (bad example, I know). Whatever your thoughts, please know that I'm not looking for advice or sympathy or a number for the therapist who did wonders for your sister in-law.

I'm just being me.

And this is how I feel today.

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

I am overwhelmed.

My heart aches. It is too much to bear.

I am overwhelmed.

There's a physical pressure bearing down on me. If I sit still, my heart heaves up the sobs from within. If I move around, things get done but they're done in a fog. I'm really not sure what room I'm cleaning or why I'm there. I prepare a feast just to know that I've done something worthwhile.

We are drowning, the husband and I. Love does not conquer all; it certainly does not pay the bills. It does endure, however... that it does. We may be sinking, but we sink as one. There's a tragic Titanic-laced reference in that, I'm sure. We huddle together as the flood rushes in.

He looked at me today and simply said, "I wish we could just go back to what was normal." Then he dipped his head and kept the tears at bay. I know what he means. Five- no, six years ago, our lives were normal. He had his career; I had mine. We had the little white house minus the picket fence. Our biggest financial worry was a forty-thousand dollar mortgage.

And that's enough personal information.

Are we alone? Of course not. I stood at my dining room window today and looked out over a barren, January-drab landscape and told the Lord it was too much to bear. I wondered how many other haggard women and weary men and young people and old people have spoken those same words today. I wonder how many have simply given up.

The sun will surely rise tomorrow. Even now, a faint whisper of a flame struggles to break free of the smothering blanket that has rested upon my stubborn spirit this eighth day of January. This is why I write. And this why I prefaced this rather depressing glimpse into my life the way I did. It's not for everyone, but it is for someone. I'll hang in there if you will. The Lord tied that knot in the rope just for people like us. I have resolved to hang onto that knot until He pulls us out of this mess, but that doesn't mean I won't cry while I write sometimes.

Or eat brownies.



Hey... we all have our ways of dealing with life, remember?

So This Is What Happened

One week ago today, the parents arrived shortly after the noon hour. Many happy hugs were exchanged and many wrapped presents were unloaded. We sat. We talked. We admired the Christmas tree. Around five o'clock that afternoon, I fired up the grill and exactly one hour later, set the table with pork chops and baked potatoes and steaming biscuits. We ate and talked and laughed and worried... my mom wasn't feeling good, but after a fifteen-hour drive with a short stay in an unfamiliar hotel, who could blame her? I helped her with dishes (and can I just add how much I enjoyed that?) and her next stop was a place on the couch to rest.

And then the stop after that was the emergency room at the hospital.

By one in the morning on a damp Christmas Eve, I had the most unfortunate experience of leaving my mother in a cramped hospital room approximately nine hundred miles from her home. I had planned on staying with her; my dad had planned on staying with her; but by the time we saw the room they had set her up in for observation, we both knew there would be no staying. I'll add walking out of that hospital to one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. I'm sure staying in that hospital was one of the hardest things she's ever had to endure. It was a lousy start to a much anticipated visit.

We were back at her side in the morning- at least the part of the morning where there is light, and spent the entire day waiting for somebody to enlighten us on what was taking place in or around her heart. Supper was being served when she was told she wasn't going anywhere until some test or other was performed. Another heart-breaking experience. My dad and I headed back to the house to inform a now discouraged household that Granny wouldn't be with us Christmas morning. We vowed to dress up at least one kid like Santa and take presents to her and most of all, Smile! when we visited her the next day. For the second time in two nights, I cried like a baby in a dark, quiet room while the husband repeatedly apologized for moving us so far away.

Somehow, Santa Claus still managed to stuff some goodies into the three stockings of three teenagers in the midst of all this and we all prepared the next morning to spend our Christmas Day in that cramped hospital room. I was just stepping out of the shower when the husband peeked around the corner and said, You're mom called and said to come get her. I hurriedly halfway blow-dried my hair and had just sat down to my vanity (aptly named as the place to apply makeup) when the thought occurred, Who needs makeup at a time like this? Walking out of my bedroom to a now smiling family, I jokingly told my dad, Not one word about how I look, and we were out the door and in her hospital room within thirty minutes.

And by noon on Christmas Day, we were all gathered in our living room opening presents.

Only nobody really cared about the presents anymore.

The best present was sitting in a chair and helping me with dishes once again later that night

So what happened? Not a heart attack, but a heart out of whack. Something new decided to present itself that Sunday evening. That something will be checked out more thoroughly by her own doctor back home and hopefully, with medication, that something will be kept under control and finished with interfering with her life... especially when it comes to messing up her time with grandkids.

They hit the road just a little over an hour ago. The oldest and I stood on the front porch and watched until their taillights faded into the darkness of the street. I shut the door and turned the lock and let the tears fall.

Today is my birthday.

Please, Load My Kid Up On Sugar And Send Them Home To Me

Normally this time of year, for the past four years, I get a little depressed (don't laugh). Maybe not so much depressed as in I can't face the world, but depressed as in mildly bummed out. I've blogged about it... you could probably look back and find at least one December post dedicated to this little stinker of a bug that sneaks up on me the week or so before Christmas.

The School Christmas Party.

Okay. Tacky or not, I loved the whole party in the classroom concept. Selfish or not, I adored the whole give the teacher a gift tradition. I miss the night-before-rush to fill all my own little red and green paper bags or plastic snowflake-themed cups with things like pencils and chocolate and candy canes to give out to the class. I miss sitting at my desk while my beloved students stood in line to watch my reaction when they ceremoniously presented me their individual gift.

Good Lord, I'm gonna cry.

And you all know it's not the gift, right?

I've still got the coffee cups and the hand-drawn cards and somewhere, I've still got the shark's tooth. Any number of my former students could walk through my house and see, though they might not remember, their own gift hanging on my wall or sitting on a shelf. From third grade to eighth grade, I really enjoyed them all.

Yep. It's that time of year again.

I think in honor of The School Christmas Party, I'm gonna fill a basket with candy canes and go visit some of the classes I've been substituting for... where I know it's party day... and where there's bound to be cupcakes and cookies and kids wildly out of control.

I think that's a splendid idea.

It's All The Husband's Fault

Well, my mind has been on home lately.

Guess I best get these thoughts out of my system so I can move on.

Last night all three kids scattered and left the husband and me to ourselves. We went to our favorite little barbecue place and sat outside side-by-side at a picnic table eating and watching traffic go by. This is one thing I love about the south, I said indicating the enormous sandwich I was partially through, the barbecue. I love mustard-based barbecue. Who knew?

That and the tea, he said. I always told you there was no other place you could get this kind of tea. With that remark, we lifted our sweet teas and toasted one another to the weight we have both put on in the last five years. There's always a price to pay, you know.

I listened as he told me more stories of growing up in the Deep South (more south than where we are right now... apparently that's important to note). He always hated Midwestern winters and always stood a little straighter at the sight of a Confederate flag and always said he wanted to move home one day. It's just too bad that his idea of home and my idea of home are almost a thousand miles apart.

Oh well. Been there, done that.

So today, in my hometown, my mom sits with my dad while my brother and his wife visit. There's a festival taking place that turns that little bitty town into a massive crush of too many people. I don't miss that part so much, just the part where we would walk to town in the mid-to-late afternoon and buy fried foods and look at overpriced booths with no money in our pockets (that would've already been spent on funnel cakes).

I miss listening to my dad sing songs that make no sense and hearing my brother laugh and watching my mom putter around in the kitchen. Sheesh. I'm gonna have to put the brakes on this one. This is getting nowhere fast. But you do understand, if you've been around this virtual spot for very long, why I look forward to fifteen-hour trips home (takes longer the older we get) and why Saturdays are the absolute worst for me and why I have a label dedicated to homesickness.

Some things will never change.

And just to be clear, the title is a joke between the man and me. I knew what I was getting into the day I said I DO almost twenty years ago. If anything, blame it on the accent. That's what caught my attention. =)

Not My Plan

(This post was originally written yesterday morning and saved as a draft

 so I could have time to think... never a bad idea on my part.)

Last night I lay in bed and contemplated giving it all up. Packing it in. Enough's enough. I am tired of opportunity ringing and doors slamming shut. It seems like I catch a glimpse of something that looks promising only to get smacked in the face with the sharp sting of reality.

Such is life.

This morning I decided I needed coffee first. I cannot seriously ponder the slow demise of my dreams on zero caffeine. Now, one cup later, I am forcing myself to take stock of what I do have. I'd go down the list, but it wouldn't be anything that we all wouldn't recognize. We know we've got it good.

As for me, I'll snap out of it. My heart knows this particular ache of disappointment well. Thank God my spirit knows the promise of hope. You want to know the irony of all this? My husband is officially back on a payroll. That's right. One year and exactly one day after learning he no longer had a steady paycheck, he now does.

And you're thinking,
Is this woman ever happy?
Yeah. Even I don't get me.

Except if it helps make sense of all this nonsense, then let me say this,

For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways, says the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts. (from Isaiah 55).

Okay. So technically I didn't say that, but you get the idea. I thought I was working it out, but once again, He proved to me that I am not the one in charge here. I suppose when you look at it that way, I am in pretty good hands. That helps ease my hurt ego.

Sheesh. One of these days I am going to learn to keep my apron on and stop chasing after jobs nine hundred miles away. Home for me will always be where my mom is, but home for my family will always be where I am. Such is the role of the mother.

I'm gonna go do some housework.
Maybe bake something. Definitely more coffee.
There is reason to celebrate. Enough gloom, right?

It never was my plan to begin with.

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

So that was yesterday. This is today. I was much too busy for my pity party to continue. Besides, my daughter accused me of being selfish. Whatever. I made dinner, cleaned the kitchen, and tackled laundry. The husband hugged me and said he appreciates everything I do.

Flattery is a welcome thing around here.

Winding Down

Well, this past week we had a chance to put miles of pavement on our odometer and cross more than a few state lines in the process. We traded triple-digit heat for triple-digit heat, scoped out a few houses for sale, spent quality time with family and friends, and fixed a flat. Not bad for a whirlwind of a week.

I always dread the drive back and the world to which that takes us. It's nice to be in the place I think we should have never left to begin with, but that's an old story. We had a nice break anyway. This trip was a little bit different because the oldest was not with us. He's a working man, you know.

I guess I don't have any room to complain. The fellowship was great. The food was fantastic. The coffee reigned supreme (a plug for THE best coffee shop east or west of the Mississippi). I do feel recharged and ready to go back and face whatever may come. Besides, there might be something brewing.

In the meantime, I'll go back to doing what I do best.

Holding the fort together.
Reading way too much.
And taking up space in the shade.

At least I got that road trip out of my system.

Mama's In A Mood

Well, I finished reading The Help and subjected the husband to the movie tonight. All in all, not bad (the book totally rocked the movie, though). I did not like how either one ended and if I knew they wouldn't butcher it, I'd love to see READ a sequel. Next up on my nook is Incredibly Loud and Extremely Close (or maybe it's the other way around), but I have a world literature class starting next week. With three textbooks due to arrive by Wednesday, I'm thinking my nook may end up taking a long nap. I hate to start something and then have to stop halfway through. I tend to forget what was going on to begin with.

Yesterday was a lousy day. I started an entry late last night, but lost count of how many times I included the word cried... and that was just in the first paragraph. I figure everybody has their own issues without reading mine, so I just made use of that handy delete button. Suffice it to say, there are times when I loathe the day I waved the white flag and gave into the husband's plea to move nine hundred miles away from my family, my job, and my life. It's probably a good thing we don't get re-do's in life. I can think of something else I would've done with that little white flag (and it wouldn't have been waving it in surrender).

Yeah. I am in just one peachy mood.
But God has a plan... right?

What, what would have become of me had I not believed

 that I would see the Lord's goodness in the land of the living!

 Wait and hope for and expect the Lord;

 be brave and of good courage

 and let your heart be stout and enduring.

 Yes, wait for and hope for and expect the Lord.

Psalm 27:13-14, Amplified.

Priorities

Things that make me laugh:
My husband. My kids.
And thirty-some hits within three minutes of posting a blog entry entitled Hot Booties?

Things that make me cry:
My husband. My kids.
And reading what my dad writes in the cards that he sends.

Things that make me thankful for the life I've been given:
All of the above. All of the below.
And everything else that comes in between.



The last time this group sat together.

My mom. My daughter. My grandma and me.

My present, future, and past... in that particular order.



Please Tell Me You Can Relate

I've been thinking about my friends back home. It seems our communication is becoming less and less. I wonder if that is normal... I suppose it's just a good reminder that life goes on. I know several of them keep up with this blog so I know they know what's going in my world; I just miss knowing what's going on in their world. Does that make me nosy? I don't think so. I just genuinely miss my friends.

Life does go on. I spent a little part of today walking with a friend that I would have never known if we had not moved. Believe me, I would be missing out (and just because I think she reads this blog sometimes in no way implies that I am kissing up). Ha! It's just good to know that when a chapter closes on one portion of our life, another one is waiting to be started.

I guess I'm in a sappy sort of mood, you could say. Today while sitting in church in a pew behind our kids, I watched as one of them discreetly slipped their hand into a wallet to contribute to the offering plate (or bag, in this case). That random act tugged at my heart a little bit. I've always said that if I get nothing else right in this world, I want our kids to honor the Lord in all that they do. It's a tough road out there.

And then there was supper tonight. May I say it was awesome? I grilled out, loaded the table with good stuff, and then just basked in the compliments afterward. Yeah. I'm shameless like that. I'm also an easy one to figure out. Shower the mom with praise and she'll offer to do the dishes. Walking into a clean house doesn't hurt either. Remember, I'm not opposed to the occasional bribe.

I hear the clinking of weights in the next room and the sound of brothers talking. How short our days are becoming! The older they get, the more I'm reminded of how this particular chapter in the life of our family will quickly transition into something else. And then there's our girl. My, oh my. My little girl trying so hard to grow up... makes me want to grab the kleenex even as I write.

So, yes... it is indeed a sappy kind of night.
Nothing is bad, nothing is wrong.
In a way everything is just right.

And that makes me want to smile and cry all at the same time.

Making The Best Of It

Many, many miles away today was a small town autumn festival that I would have loved to attended. The oldest and I tossed around the idea of driving in for the weekend, but then (wisely) decided that a twenty-eight hour round trip was a little foolish for a forty-eight hour weekend. Plane tickets just made all of us laugh... $700 a pop per person. Flying last minute simply is not an option. Needless to say, we stayed put and pretty much enjoyed a Saturday nonetheless.

He (the oldest) had a quick lesson in using jumper cables early in the morning. His grandpa talked him through everything via their cell phones and it was quickly determined that the battery was junk. It took him a few hours, but he made the trip to the part store, got the right battery for his truck, and had it fired up and running with only a few glitches in between. It is still hard for me to believe that my firstborn is practically eighteen. He really is quite impressive.

The middle is fighting allergies that he thought he had left behind somewhere in the Midwest. That boy would suffer horribly every spring and fall without fail. He would miss school in the beginning and then again at the end. Nothing would completely help him except the passing of time. Then we moved south and those allergies disappeared. He commented today that he thought they had finally caught up with him. If anything, it's minor compared to what he had before, but still a nuisance. He's a trooper, though.

My youngest helped with a spur-of-the-moment, mini get-together tonight. We had a few friends over for a strictly female gathering and fixed things like cucumber sandwiches and little clubhouse-style bars (basically rolled out croissant dough with chicken on top). That girl and I will either have a great time together or a strained,  Mom, You Are So Weird time. I tried to dance with her to George Strait and she looked at me like I had lost my mind (although between you and me, I think she secretly loved it).

Oh, I wish I could have been walking those crowded festival streets with my mom halfway across the country today, but if I have learned anything, it's that life really is what we make of it. It does me absolutely no good to dwell on how things use to be if I can't enjoy the here and now. I really have nothing to complain about.

Except the job thing.
Yeah, I'm still waiting on that.
Somewhere there's a classroom that is waiting on me.

Please, Lord. Please and Thank You.