Santa, Me, and My Mom As A Seamstress

Ahhhh... Christmas. A fellow blogger posted a black and white photo of himself with the big man and that image stirred up my own memories of childhood holidays.

My mom knew how to make me into one stylin' girl, that's a fact. For as long as I can remember, she made my clothes and even now, my favorite color is pink.

My own daughter, no doubt, will question the length of this dress. Yes, it's short and yes, I still have those same looking knobby knees.

Another beautifully-made dress... I love the apron with this one. Now maybe you understand why I love aprons to this day. It just makes the woman.

Another apron! Score! And yes, I still believe in Santa at this age and yes, this is the same Santa! Gotta love small towns and holiday traditions.

Obviously, I hope, the sophistication of my pantsuit should indicate that this will be the final picture of Santa and me. The man has to be wondering how many more years he will see that redheaded girl. I wonder if he looked for me the next year.



My parents worked hard to keep the dream alive and for that, I am forever thankful. Because of the memories I had, I carried those traditions on to my own family and have often said that the fun of the Christmas season was putting our little ones to bed after they had meticulously set out a plate of cookies and a cup of milk with the big guy in mind. The memories of those joyous squeals in the morning preceded by the pounding of little feet will always bring a smile to my face. My proudest moment, though, would have to be the year the reindeer left remnants of their midnight snack of carrots in the snow in full view of the living room window. Oh my. I can still see those kids, noses pressed to the cold glass, talking among themselves about Santa's reindeer. For me, that memory is equivalent to the year my grandpa told me he had seen the red glow of Rudolph's nose high in the winter sky on a Christmas Eve while he was locking up the doors of the factory. Even now, I remember the excitement and awe I felt as a child.

Those are the kinds of memories that time just cannot touch.
Kind of like the outfits my mom use to make me.

Forever cool.

1992

Psst...

It's late and I'm tired and this particular post tends to bounce all over the place. Good luck. =)

The year was 1992.

My hair was short. My glasses big. My dreams way out there.

I was freshly arrived at my new duty station and ready to show the parents my new world. My grandma even made the trip to see me and my new digs. Thinking back on it now, there was no way in h-e-double-hockey-stick that I even remotely had a clue what I was doing, but hey... in my mind I was on top of the world.

Or, in the case of this picture, on top of a mountain.

I am not entirely sure what month this picture was taken. It had to have been late summer or early fall. What is for certain is that in less than a year after this Kodak moment was captured, my last name would be changed and my dad would no longer be the only man in my life. For the time being, however, he was the man and probably the one I most wanted to impress. In some ways, that has not changed one bit.

Father's Day was yesterday and in my usual way of doing most things, I thought about life and family and what it all means. My dad has been diagnosed with a dirty word in a dirty stage that I refuse to talk about too much at this point in time. I don't like it one bit. I especially don't like how time has suddenly become an issue. It frustrates me and my comforting habit of always watching a clock.

Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.
Tick. Tock.

As if tock is even a word.

At any rate, I was thinking about my dad yesterday and scrolling through pictures of us together. There's not a lot, but enough to make me smile. Strangely enough, I don't have many pictures of my mom and me. Why is that moms are usually not in the picture? And selfies don't count, by the way. Posting a zillion pics of you with your kid using a minimum of two filters to get the right look of "you" does not fool any of us into thinking that picture is all about your kid--

But I digress (as usual).

My dad has always cheered me on. In a scrap album tucked away in a cedar chest is a card that he sent to me following the trip in which this picture was taken. Among other things, it simply says, "I'm proud of you." He still says that often and I gotta admit, I never grow tired of hearing it. If anything, our recent turn of events has just made me appreciate it all the more.

I always knew I had a good dad.
I always knew I was fortunate.

May the ticking of the clock always remind us to cherish yesterday and anticipate tomorrow. May we never grow weary of spending time with the ones we love. And may mountain-top memories always remind us that if even for a brief moment in time, we really were on top of the world.

Or something like that.

Happy Belated Father's Day to the men who make dreams seem possible. Even if we never reach them, they're the ones who always believed we could.

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.

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.

(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.

We Have Survived Another Year Without Medication

(And anybody that knows me knows that's an inside joke. I medicate other ways... believe me).

This was the middle and youngest at the beginning of this school year.

Full of hope.

Full of dread.

Full of hair.

The year went by pretty uneventful. In fact, on a scale of one to ten with one being the worst school year ever (which we've had) and ten being the best one yet, I would say this one came pretty darn close to being a ten. Very little drama. Very good grades.

One happy mom and dad.

(And this in no way reflects the fact that the oldest is no longer in the school picture, just so you know).

It was just a good year.

They even got along. I think deep down, way deep down, they are starting to realize they do kinda actually like each other... at least some of the time.

My two youngest.

Always missing the oldest.

Never really use to this changing family dynamic.

Senior Year #2 Coming Up Next.

Pretty Awesome Stuff

It's that time again.

High School Sweethearts 1965

Still High School Sweethearts 2012

You have no idea the amount of pressure these two put on me and my own marriage.

I mean, here they are.

They've been through everything. They raised two kids; worked more than one job each to make ends meet; put a doll house together in the wee hours of a Christmas morning (only to have an excited little girl wide awake before dawn- one of their favorite stories to tell). They've seen one son go off to war, decorated a house with yellow ribbons, and breathed a sigh of relief the day he came home. They watched a daughter pack her family into a moving truck and drive far, far away.

(And due to time restrictions and the lack of kleenex close by, I'll stop there).

The point is, I think they're pretty awesome and the best kind of example a girl could have for her own life. Tomorrow they will celebrate their forty-seventh wedding anniversary and what would have been my grandma's ninety-fifth birthday. April 29th has always been a special kind of day.

I love you, Mom & Dad.

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. =)

The Final Post

Of an eventful year.

I graduated college. 

I played with a cat.

I scrapbooked.

I survived the daughter's first dance.

I survived the graduation of the oldest.

I visited my favorite place.

I read the Twilight Series and lost a month of my life.

I resisted the allure of little, sweet kittens.

I documented yet another repair of Dodge Grand Caravan.

I waited in long line at Chick-Fil-A.

I watched the daughter cut off her hair.

I watched a son cut off his hair.

I planted.

I sat.

I played with another cat.

Here's to the end of one year.

And the coming of the new.

You just never know what might be around the corner.