I am not sure when it happens; that moment of time when something is so common place it seems as if it will always be...until one day it ceases without warning. Why isn't there some sort of life alert that today is the last day your child will look at you like you hung the moon? Or that it's the last day your three-year-old will climb onto her Daddy's back pretending he is the beast from Maggie and The Ferocious Beast while your family room magically becomes the path to Nowhere Land? Why is it when you look back years later you can't for the life of you recall when she stopped watching Maggie and The Ferocious Beast? I'm thinking there needs to be an app for that!
Every stage of your child's life comes with its ups and downs. When you are in the trenches of tantrums, toilet training, and terrible twos (they lie...it's the threes) you wonder if you should buy stock in diapers because they are going to be in them forever. The separation anxiety that plagues your little one will produce images of a ninety-pound growth shackled around your neck because it seems they will never get past the physical need to have less than two inches of space between you and them at all times. One night you will read them Runaway Bunny or Good Night Moon for the last time and have no warning that it is the last time.
There is nothing that prepares you for the day that clingy toddler becomes the teenager who would prefer to be in their room than in your presence. You go from reading bedtime stories to reading their text messages to their friends (at least I hope you read them). How did that little person who was the center of your universe become someone who looks at you like they don't even want to share the same space? Some of you are probably thinking "Oh no! My child will never look at me like that" or "My child will always love me. They will never..." It will happen at some point because it's all part of growing up. They will make you incredibly proud, but at some point, in some way they will do something that will break your heart. It might not be anything huge or life altering but at some point it's bound to happen. Parenthood is a wild ride and there is nothing that you can do but secure your lap bar, hold on tight and try not to jump the tracks or let anyone fall out of the moving cart. Being a parent is a wonderful blessing but it's not for the faint of heart.
Sunday, September 6, 2015
Thursday, June 25, 2015
What She Left Behind...
It has been one year. Three hundred sixty five days. It feels like it was yesterday. I remember where I was the exact moment I got the first phone call that something was wrong. I remember hanging up the phone and getting my ducks in a row to meet mom at the hospital. I remember standing around Grandma's hospital bed in the emergency department flanked by my mom, cousin, sister and my cousin’s wife. I remember holding her hand. I remember turning my head to the side so she couldn’t see the tears glistening in my eyes, threatening to spill down my cheeks at any second. I remember how her hand felt in mine and I remember telling her I would see her when I got off work and that I loved her. She couldn’t say it back but I seen it in her eyes.
I remember nothing about going back to work. I have no idea how I got there or when because it’s all a blur. I do remember going back to the hospital and gathering at our booth in the cafeteria while we waited for them to set her up in a room. I remember thinking and later saying that they should put a name plate for us above that booth in the cafeteria because it always seemed to be our spot whenever something happened, rarely have we ever gathered there for a happy occasion. I remember our family being around her bedside and coming up with a plan. I was going to see her the next morning and bring coffee for the family as they made the shift change so I could see Grandma before I went to work. There was no way we were leaving Grandma alone. I told her I loved her and that I would see her in the morning because we had a plan. Whenever she would get sick she would always say “Don’t worry about me baby. I’ll be alright” and then would pat my hand. I would lean in to kiss her on her forehead. She would say I love you and Lord bless you. But she didn’t say it that night. She couldn’t talk. She never told me she would be alright. I left. She never said it but I left anyway. I wish I would have stayed.
I remember getting the phone call a couple hours later. I remember Sarah’s calm voice as it came over the line asking me if I could come back up to the hospital. I remember holding on to hope that I would make it on time and driving like somebody lit my butt on fire. I remember talking to my friend Julie on the phone all the way to the hospital. I remember getting out of the car and turning to see my sister Tracy and my cousin Michael in the parking lot. I will never forget the look on Michael’s face as he shook his head no and opened his arms. I remember burying my head in his chest and him holding on to me while I sobbed so hard it shook the both of us. I remember all of us sitting with Grandma while we waited. I remember telling the nurses that someone had to stay with her while they did what they needed to because she couldn’t be alone without one of us…until it was time. I remember falling apart sitting in the chair in that hospital room, my body wracked with sobs. I remember our family as we cried and hugged and laughed. I remember Michael rallying behind me, Tracy and Katie. We kissed Grandma for the very last time and I told her to remember that I was her favorite. It was our little joke.
I remember the funeral. I remember getting up there in front of all those people…those lives she had touched in some way. Friends and family who were there to support us in one of the most devastating moments of our lives. I remember sharing memories that have spanned my lifetime. The funny things she used to say to us. She was so full of wisdom and she would be proud to know we use her grandma-isms often. I remember thinking I want them to know the woman we knew. I wanted them to know just how much she meant to us and how well loved we were by her.
Three hundred sixty five days later. It hasn’t gotten any easier. Grandma and Grandpa’s empty house is a constant reminder of the love that used to live within its walls. The shared holidays, making candy, slumber parties with cousins, the giant bug with a vendetta, the couch that almost ate Aunt Bea and me…so many precious memories. I would rather have the house empty though because I can’t imagine someone else living there. I still won’t let Mark mow over the flowers in the front yard just in case Grandma might be watching. We have devised a plan to make people believe the house is haunted should anyone move in and we know we shouldn’t be that way because nobody will like us but we have decided we don’t much care. We will never forget how she prayed over us, how she blessed us, how much she loved us. We will never forget praying to Ernest, the pink slippers, two four six eight Johnny had a little snake, or riding the horsey. I will always remember corn pops in coffee cups, and hot dogs with a blob of ketchup, swinging on the porch swing, her hair up in curlers and standing by her side year after year as she taught me to make fudge. Nobody will ever make banana pudding like her, or strawberry parfait. They won’t be able to make pea salad, green beans or onion dip taste as delicious as Grandma’s. I miss her every single day. We miss her every single day. She was the closest person to a saint I have ever known.
So…Lord bless you, Grandma. Oh and when I get to heaven you and I are going to have a long talk about all those vases.
Love,
Your favorite ;-)
I remember nothing about going back to work. I have no idea how I got there or when because it’s all a blur. I do remember going back to the hospital and gathering at our booth in the cafeteria while we waited for them to set her up in a room. I remember thinking and later saying that they should put a name plate for us above that booth in the cafeteria because it always seemed to be our spot whenever something happened, rarely have we ever gathered there for a happy occasion. I remember our family being around her bedside and coming up with a plan. I was going to see her the next morning and bring coffee for the family as they made the shift change so I could see Grandma before I went to work. There was no way we were leaving Grandma alone. I told her I loved her and that I would see her in the morning because we had a plan. Whenever she would get sick she would always say “Don’t worry about me baby. I’ll be alright” and then would pat my hand. I would lean in to kiss her on her forehead. She would say I love you and Lord bless you. But she didn’t say it that night. She couldn’t talk. She never told me she would be alright. I left. She never said it but I left anyway. I wish I would have stayed.
I remember getting the phone call a couple hours later. I remember Sarah’s calm voice as it came over the line asking me if I could come back up to the hospital. I remember holding on to hope that I would make it on time and driving like somebody lit my butt on fire. I remember talking to my friend Julie on the phone all the way to the hospital. I remember getting out of the car and turning to see my sister Tracy and my cousin Michael in the parking lot. I will never forget the look on Michael’s face as he shook his head no and opened his arms. I remember burying my head in his chest and him holding on to me while I sobbed so hard it shook the both of us. I remember all of us sitting with Grandma while we waited. I remember telling the nurses that someone had to stay with her while they did what they needed to because she couldn’t be alone without one of us…until it was time. I remember falling apart sitting in the chair in that hospital room, my body wracked with sobs. I remember our family as we cried and hugged and laughed. I remember Michael rallying behind me, Tracy and Katie. We kissed Grandma for the very last time and I told her to remember that I was her favorite. It was our little joke.
I remember the funeral. I remember getting up there in front of all those people…those lives she had touched in some way. Friends and family who were there to support us in one of the most devastating moments of our lives. I remember sharing memories that have spanned my lifetime. The funny things she used to say to us. She was so full of wisdom and she would be proud to know we use her grandma-isms often. I remember thinking I want them to know the woman we knew. I wanted them to know just how much she meant to us and how well loved we were by her.
Three hundred sixty five days later. It hasn’t gotten any easier. Grandma and Grandpa’s empty house is a constant reminder of the love that used to live within its walls. The shared holidays, making candy, slumber parties with cousins, the giant bug with a vendetta, the couch that almost ate Aunt Bea and me…so many precious memories. I would rather have the house empty though because I can’t imagine someone else living there. I still won’t let Mark mow over the flowers in the front yard just in case Grandma might be watching. We have devised a plan to make people believe the house is haunted should anyone move in and we know we shouldn’t be that way because nobody will like us but we have decided we don’t much care. We will never forget how she prayed over us, how she blessed us, how much she loved us. We will never forget praying to Ernest, the pink slippers, two four six eight Johnny had a little snake, or riding the horsey. I will always remember corn pops in coffee cups, and hot dogs with a blob of ketchup, swinging on the porch swing, her hair up in curlers and standing by her side year after year as she taught me to make fudge. Nobody will ever make banana pudding like her, or strawberry parfait. They won’t be able to make pea salad, green beans or onion dip taste as delicious as Grandma’s. I miss her every single day. We miss her every single day. She was the closest person to a saint I have ever known.
So…Lord bless you, Grandma. Oh and when I get to heaven you and I are going to have a long talk about all those vases.
Love,
Your favorite ;-)
Thursday, April 9, 2015
Because You're Twelve
Our children tend to be such inquisitive souls. The why questions begin when they are around two or three. Mommy, why is the sky blue? Why do cats cover their poop? Why can't we use an iron to get great grandma's wrinkles out? As our kids get older the why questions become more complicated. They'll start to push their boundaries. They question our rules. Responding with "because I said so" doesn't seem to quite cut it these days. My daughter is twelve. It's a lovely age really (insert sarcasm here). Not quite a child but a far cry from being grown up. These are the days of boy bands and catty girls, of slamming doors and stomping feet. These are the days when they discover the opposite sex no longer has the most dreaded childhood affliction...the cooties.
Now that she is older her why questions go something like this...
*Why can't I wear eyeliner?
*Why can't I wear bright lipstick?
*Why can't I wear these shorts out of the house?
*Why do you have to meet all my friends parents?
My answer to her questions is always the same. She even says it before I can get the words out. Because you're twelve. Then it is followed with BUT MOM! I had no idea that somewhere around the time she turned ten I would go from Mommy to BUT MOM. You can't wear eyeliner, bright lipstick or dark lipstick BECAUSE YOU'RE TWELVE. You need to look twelve and be twelve because YOU ARE TWELVE! Enjoy these moments. Ride your bike and play with the dog, paint your nails and read books. Write songs and make faces at yourself in the mirror. Just be twelve.
You are not wearing those shorts out of the house. Why? Because. You. Are. Twelve. Twelve-year-olds do not go outside to the mailbox or to the mall with the wrong cheeks hanging out. Some 12-year-olds might, but not you because you're twelve and you have me for a mother.
Do you want to guess why I have to meet your friends parents? Yep...because you are twelve. Also, because I want to make sure they aren't serial killers, or involved in human trafficking. I have to give them the speech. The one about how all my eggs are literally in one basket and how you are that basket. Okay so I wouldn't really give them the speech...but I might because you are my basket and you are twelve.
So what will I say when she turns thirteen? I am sure whatever why questions she comes up with... because you are thirteen will be my answer but at least when she is thirteen I will allow her to wear eyeliner.
Now that she is older her why questions go something like this...
*Why can't I wear eyeliner?
*Why can't I wear bright lipstick?
*Why can't I wear these shorts out of the house?
*Why do you have to meet all my friends parents?
My answer to her questions is always the same. She even says it before I can get the words out. Because you're twelve. Then it is followed with BUT MOM! I had no idea that somewhere around the time she turned ten I would go from Mommy to BUT MOM. You can't wear eyeliner, bright lipstick or dark lipstick BECAUSE YOU'RE TWELVE. You need to look twelve and be twelve because YOU ARE TWELVE! Enjoy these moments. Ride your bike and play with the dog, paint your nails and read books. Write songs and make faces at yourself in the mirror. Just be twelve.
You are not wearing those shorts out of the house. Why? Because. You. Are. Twelve. Twelve-year-olds do not go outside to the mailbox or to the mall with the wrong cheeks hanging out. Some 12-year-olds might, but not you because you're twelve and you have me for a mother.
Do you want to guess why I have to meet your friends parents? Yep...because you are twelve. Also, because I want to make sure they aren't serial killers, or involved in human trafficking. I have to give them the speech. The one about how all my eggs are literally in one basket and how you are that basket. Okay so I wouldn't really give them the speech...but I might because you are my basket and you are twelve.
So what will I say when she turns thirteen? I am sure whatever why questions she comes up with... because you are thirteen will be my answer but at least when she is thirteen I will allow her to wear eyeliner.
Sunday, January 25, 2015
Shopping With A Tween Girl...Not For The Faint of Heart.
There are few things that stress me out more these days than clothes shopping with my 12-year old daughter..who thinks she is going on 30. I find myself saying no to nearly every other thing she holds up. Today I took her shopping for a dress for the upcoming Father/Daughter dance. She found one that she was in love with and when she walked out of the fitting room...I nearly hyperventilated. The dress had a bell sleeve on one side while the other side was sleeveless. It was a perfectly beautiful dress if my daughter was 17, but she is 12 and back on the rack it went. She found another dress that was "the one." I decided it was not the one. Her face was crestfallen and she was a little miffed at me. I had an internal battle with myself on how to explain why the dress was inappropriate.
What I really wanted to say was...
*The dress is a halter-style and while your feet are growing faster than Pinocchio's nose... your chest sweetheart, is not. You have nothing to hold that dress up. It is much too revealing for you to wear. No daughter of mine is going out of the house wearing something that makes her look like a cheap hooker. YOU ARE TWELVE!
I didn't say those things because explaining to my daughter what a hooker is would have made me hyperventilate for the second time in one afternoon. That word doesn't need to be in her vocabulary at all.
What did I say instead?
The dress isn't really age appropriate and it doesn't fit you correctly so let's keep looking.
It was all flowers and singing birds and we moved on to the next store. If you have ever met my daughter you would know that is so not the way it went down. There was a lot of "But MOM! You don't understand". It was followed by "I am paying for the dress and you are TWELVE!"
I wish I could make clothing designers understand that I don't want my daughter dressing like she is 20 going to a club with her girls on a Friday night. She still wears pajamas with puppies on them for crying out loud. I don't think a dress with sleeves and a full back is too much to ask. I would also like it to hit just above the knee as opposed to mid thigh. I get that the days of seersucker dresses are behind us. I want her to feel beautiful and trendy without her barely there lady bits being on display. Is it really too much to ask?!
I am happy to report she found a dress we both agreed on and she will wear a little jacket over it. I also threatened to find an Amish website to buy her clothes in the future.
What I really wanted to say was...
*The dress is a halter-style and while your feet are growing faster than Pinocchio's nose... your chest sweetheart, is not. You have nothing to hold that dress up. It is much too revealing for you to wear. No daughter of mine is going out of the house wearing something that makes her look like a cheap hooker. YOU ARE TWELVE!
I didn't say those things because explaining to my daughter what a hooker is would have made me hyperventilate for the second time in one afternoon. That word doesn't need to be in her vocabulary at all.
What did I say instead?
The dress isn't really age appropriate and it doesn't fit you correctly so let's keep looking.
It was all flowers and singing birds and we moved on to the next store. If you have ever met my daughter you would know that is so not the way it went down. There was a lot of "But MOM! You don't understand". It was followed by "I am paying for the dress and you are TWELVE!"
I wish I could make clothing designers understand that I don't want my daughter dressing like she is 20 going to a club with her girls on a Friday night. She still wears pajamas with puppies on them for crying out loud. I don't think a dress with sleeves and a full back is too much to ask. I would also like it to hit just above the knee as opposed to mid thigh. I get that the days of seersucker dresses are behind us. I want her to feel beautiful and trendy without her barely there lady bits being on display. Is it really too much to ask?!
I am happy to report she found a dress we both agreed on and she will wear a little jacket over it. I also threatened to find an Amish website to buy her clothes in the future.
Thursday, October 16, 2014
To Halloween or not...that used to be the question.
Once upon a time, I was that parent who struggled with the whole Halloween debacle. Do we let our child trick or treat? Carve pumpkins? Bob for apples? As Christians, are we slapping our faith in the face if we choose to allow our child to participate in something that was once a part of our innocent youth? Obviously, we had to figure out what was right for us and our family, and in no way am I implying that we are right, or what works for us is right for anyone else. It didn't take me long to realize that we weren't dropping our beliefs at the door in exchange for a pagan holiday that exalted evil.
I decided early on the Sunshine Girl would not be permitted to dress up as anything "evil." There would be no devils, witches, or anything that remotely could be mistaken for the one name monsters from the cheesy horror flicks of my youth. One, two...Freddie's... if my sister is reading this she will probably smack me the next time I see her. Jason, Freddie and Michael Meyers are out!
Charli has been a butterfly...twice, a clown, and a farmer back when she was going though her Charlotte's Web phase complete with a pig obsession. I think my favorite costume was the year she was Mother Goose. My grandmother made her little dress, and apron...which I still have and treasure more now than ever. With my sister's help, we put nursery rhymes on iron on transfer paper then put them on Charli's little apron. We even hot glued a spider to the apron...after all Little Miss Muffet probably found something more appetizing than curds and whey thanks to that spider. I remember one Halloween, just a few years ago when a few of Charli's friends who we were going trick or treating with, happen to be dressing up as Monster High Dolls but Charli wanted to be an Egyptian Queen. Even when I told her I would buy her a costume so she could "be like the other girls", her response shocked me a little. She said "Mom, I am happy doing my own thing, I don't have to be like everyone else." I thought to myself, from her lips to God's ears and may she keep that mindset as a teenager. Last year, Charli was a Flapper girl and this year she wants to be Marylin Munroe. Sure my life would be "easier" if I didn't have to stretch my creative mind to achieve her far fetched costume ideas but it simply isn't who she is...and I am okay with it.
I also quickly got over my aversion to carving pumpkins. I never carved a pumpkin as a kid, I'm pretty sure I never went to a pumpkin patch either. I thought pumpkins came in a tin can from some woman named Libby. I once read a story about teaching a child about salvation by carving a pumpkin. Now before I go any further, I have many friends from many walks of life. We have different beliefs and it has never been an issue. I embrace them and they embrace me, not because of, or in spite of our differences. We are who we are, and we are accepted and loved. I am a Christian so, this little story helped me to teach my three year old daughter at the time about Jesus. When you cut open a pumpkin and see all the icky stuff inside, it represents a life without God. When you clean out the pumpkin, that is what happens we repent and ask God to forgive us of our sins. When we carve the smile into the face of the pumpkin and put our candle inside it symbolizes what happens when we ask Jesus into our heart to be our savior. His light shines within us. It is a wonderful visual and helped her young mind begin to grasp what were trying to teach her. We retell the story every year when we carve a pumpkin, and I am sure God doesn't hold last years pumpkin against us. The number one and the letter "D" happened to get carved into it instead of our traditional smiley face.
As for the bobbing for apples...that would be a resounding NO. I not only happen to be a bit of a scaredy cat, but I am unapologetically a germaphobe. Happy October and no matter how you celebrate fall, I hope you make wonderful memories with your family and friends.
I decided early on the Sunshine Girl would not be permitted to dress up as anything "evil." There would be no devils, witches, or anything that remotely could be mistaken for the one name monsters from the cheesy horror flicks of my youth. One, two...Freddie's... if my sister is reading this she will probably smack me the next time I see her. Jason, Freddie and Michael Meyers are out!
Charli has been a butterfly...twice, a clown, and a farmer back when she was going though her Charlotte's Web phase complete with a pig obsession. I think my favorite costume was the year she was Mother Goose. My grandmother made her little dress, and apron...which I still have and treasure more now than ever. With my sister's help, we put nursery rhymes on iron on transfer paper then put them on Charli's little apron. We even hot glued a spider to the apron...after all Little Miss Muffet probably found something more appetizing than curds and whey thanks to that spider. I remember one Halloween, just a few years ago when a few of Charli's friends who we were going trick or treating with, happen to be dressing up as Monster High Dolls but Charli wanted to be an Egyptian Queen. Even when I told her I would buy her a costume so she could "be like the other girls", her response shocked me a little. She said "Mom, I am happy doing my own thing, I don't have to be like everyone else." I thought to myself, from her lips to God's ears and may she keep that mindset as a teenager. Last year, Charli was a Flapper girl and this year she wants to be Marylin Munroe. Sure my life would be "easier" if I didn't have to stretch my creative mind to achieve her far fetched costume ideas but it simply isn't who she is...and I am okay with it.
I also quickly got over my aversion to carving pumpkins. I never carved a pumpkin as a kid, I'm pretty sure I never went to a pumpkin patch either. I thought pumpkins came in a tin can from some woman named Libby. I once read a story about teaching a child about salvation by carving a pumpkin. Now before I go any further, I have many friends from many walks of life. We have different beliefs and it has never been an issue. I embrace them and they embrace me, not because of, or in spite of our differences. We are who we are, and we are accepted and loved. I am a Christian so, this little story helped me to teach my three year old daughter at the time about Jesus. When you cut open a pumpkin and see all the icky stuff inside, it represents a life without God. When you clean out the pumpkin, that is what happens we repent and ask God to forgive us of our sins. When we carve the smile into the face of the pumpkin and put our candle inside it symbolizes what happens when we ask Jesus into our heart to be our savior. His light shines within us. It is a wonderful visual and helped her young mind begin to grasp what were trying to teach her. We retell the story every year when we carve a pumpkin, and I am sure God doesn't hold last years pumpkin against us. The number one and the letter "D" happened to get carved into it instead of our traditional smiley face.
As for the bobbing for apples...that would be a resounding NO. I not only happen to be a bit of a scaredy cat, but I am unapologetically a germaphobe. Happy October and no matter how you celebrate fall, I hope you make wonderful memories with your family and friends.
Thursday, September 25, 2014
Love In Stitches
Autumn has arrived. There is a nip in the air, which is a welcome change though I am certain it will be back in the eighties next week. Autumn is my most favorite time of year. The season ushers in wonderful things I enjoy, like pumpkins, craft festivals, homemade soup and thick knitted sweaters. I think of our many trips to the pumpkin patch over the years, but last year is the memory that sticks out most in my mind.
Last year our whole family went to the pumpkin patch together. My cousins and their children, my sister and her children, my mother and father in-law, my mom, my grandma and even my cousin's grand daughter. We took one picture after another, grandma was a little worried about being in every photo and I remember telling grandma she was our prop and she couldn't move until we were done. My cousin Katie told her the same thing. The pumpkin patch we go to is an incredible place and we adore it. There are several photo spots set up and as you can imagine there are one or two that are coveted for family photos. We have a large family so it took us a while to get through all those pictures. There was a niggling thought in the back of my head, though I didn't speak it out loud. I am certain I am not the only one who thought it. I looked at grandma and thought...what if? What if next year... We tried to be considerate of other families, but I have not one regret looking back on it, that we spent so much time taking photos.
My husband, my cousin and I have spent the last few months packing up grandma's house, trying to condense two households into one. We have discovered several treasures. My grandma was a quilter. There has been a sewing machine or three in her house for as long as I can remember. When I was a little girl, she would make us summer shorts, later on she made us nightgowns. She has made quilts and blankets for her great grandchildren. One year, my daughter Charli was Mother Goose for Halloween and Grandma made her dress and apron. It occurred to me the other day as we unearthed more quilt blocks from the abyss of bins, that my Grandma loved us in stitches.
She spent hours over the course of her life bent over a machine. When her hands were young and sure, when her sight was intact until her hands couldn't remember how and she could no longer see well enough to thread the machine, she loved us in stitches. The time and effort she put into cutting, pinning, patching, and stitching material is remarkable. It's funny how you don't think about these things when you are growing up. It never really occurs to you what a sacrifice of time was spent to provide you with warmth. Grandma sewed and she prayed. She stitched fabric together to provide us warmth for our bodies, and she stitched us up in prayer to ensure the wellness of our souls. They say that some women are born to be mothers...if ever there was a woman born to be a grandmother it was her. It has been three months today since God called her home. I don't let myself cry often. There is still so much to do that I can't completely open the floodgates just yet. Writing blog posts like this, it's like letting steam off a pressure cooker. It releases the valve enough to keep me from a cataclysmic emotional spewing.
When I think back to our pumpkin patch trip last year, my first thought isn't that my daughter fell and bumped her head when she tried to jump between two haystacks, or the subsequent attitude adjustment that she needed later on in the day. I remember my Grandma with a smile on her face, laughter in her eyes, loving on her babies. I remember the kids running and playing together, and producing sounds of childhood. It was a great day. Life is short...take a lot of pictures.
Last year our whole family went to the pumpkin patch together. My cousins and their children, my sister and her children, my mother and father in-law, my mom, my grandma and even my cousin's grand daughter. We took one picture after another, grandma was a little worried about being in every photo and I remember telling grandma she was our prop and she couldn't move until we were done. My cousin Katie told her the same thing. The pumpkin patch we go to is an incredible place and we adore it. There are several photo spots set up and as you can imagine there are one or two that are coveted for family photos. We have a large family so it took us a while to get through all those pictures. There was a niggling thought in the back of my head, though I didn't speak it out loud. I am certain I am not the only one who thought it. I looked at grandma and thought...what if? What if next year... We tried to be considerate of other families, but I have not one regret looking back on it, that we spent so much time taking photos.
My husband, my cousin and I have spent the last few months packing up grandma's house, trying to condense two households into one. We have discovered several treasures. My grandma was a quilter. There has been a sewing machine or three in her house for as long as I can remember. When I was a little girl, she would make us summer shorts, later on she made us nightgowns. She has made quilts and blankets for her great grandchildren. One year, my daughter Charli was Mother Goose for Halloween and Grandma made her dress and apron. It occurred to me the other day as we unearthed more quilt blocks from the abyss of bins, that my Grandma loved us in stitches.
She spent hours over the course of her life bent over a machine. When her hands were young and sure, when her sight was intact until her hands couldn't remember how and she could no longer see well enough to thread the machine, she loved us in stitches. The time and effort she put into cutting, pinning, patching, and stitching material is remarkable. It's funny how you don't think about these things when you are growing up. It never really occurs to you what a sacrifice of time was spent to provide you with warmth. Grandma sewed and she prayed. She stitched fabric together to provide us warmth for our bodies, and she stitched us up in prayer to ensure the wellness of our souls. They say that some women are born to be mothers...if ever there was a woman born to be a grandmother it was her. It has been three months today since God called her home. I don't let myself cry often. There is still so much to do that I can't completely open the floodgates just yet. Writing blog posts like this, it's like letting steam off a pressure cooker. It releases the valve enough to keep me from a cataclysmic emotional spewing.
When I think back to our pumpkin patch trip last year, my first thought isn't that my daughter fell and bumped her head when she tried to jump between two haystacks, or the subsequent attitude adjustment that she needed later on in the day. I remember my Grandma with a smile on her face, laughter in her eyes, loving on her babies. I remember the kids running and playing together, and producing sounds of childhood. It was a great day. Life is short...take a lot of pictures.
Tuesday, September 2, 2014
Iron Man & Big Girl Panties...Keeping It Real
They say that which does not kill us makes us stronger. I am not really sure of who "they" refers to. If the adage were true, I could be the stunt double for Iron Man. The amount of self-control it takes these days not to unleash the beast is unfathomable. I have bitten my tongue so much in the past several weeks that I am surprised there isn't a mere bloody stub left. My head is so full of noise. I just need all those rampant thoughts to be quiet and the only way I can get the pressure to ease is to purge them. I probably sound like a crazy person. We all have full plates, things we are going through. I am not alone, however I do wish more people would just own it.
I put my big girl panties on and I wear them religiously every single day. I am accountable for the things I do, and say. I would like to believe that I have faced every obstacle with dignity and grace but that simply isn't true. I have moments I am not proud of but I own them. I don't justify them, or make excuses, or even attempt to defend those moments. When I am wrong, I apologize. The older I get the easier it is to let go of the facade. My life is not perfect. I am up to my eyeballs cleaning up chaos that I didn't have a hand in making. I am exhausted and utterly overwhelmed. I take a few deep breaths, shed a few tears, tug those panties up, say a few prayers and keep putting one foot in front of the other. I am a happy person, not a "Debbie Downer." I always have a can do attitude. The person I see in the mirror lately, I don't even recognize. I am not this frazzled, overwhelmed person that stares back at me.
I am always living for someday. Some day I will feel like I am not constantly dropping the mom ball, or the wife ball. Some day my thoughts won't be so focused on making it from one day to the next. Some day I will have the time and calm to finish that book. Some day the situation that I am trying to take care of will be done and I can have that nervous breakdown I so deserve while sipping a fruity little umbrella drink. Hopefully that some day comes before I need to trade the big girl panties for a straightjacket ;-)
I put my big girl panties on and I wear them religiously every single day. I am accountable for the things I do, and say. I would like to believe that I have faced every obstacle with dignity and grace but that simply isn't true. I have moments I am not proud of but I own them. I don't justify them, or make excuses, or even attempt to defend those moments. When I am wrong, I apologize. The older I get the easier it is to let go of the facade. My life is not perfect. I am up to my eyeballs cleaning up chaos that I didn't have a hand in making. I am exhausted and utterly overwhelmed. I take a few deep breaths, shed a few tears, tug those panties up, say a few prayers and keep putting one foot in front of the other. I am a happy person, not a "Debbie Downer." I always have a can do attitude. The person I see in the mirror lately, I don't even recognize. I am not this frazzled, overwhelmed person that stares back at me.
I am always living for someday. Some day I will feel like I am not constantly dropping the mom ball, or the wife ball. Some day my thoughts won't be so focused on making it from one day to the next. Some day I will have the time and calm to finish that book. Some day the situation that I am trying to take care of will be done and I can have that nervous breakdown I so deserve while sipping a fruity little umbrella drink. Hopefully that some day comes before I need to trade the big girl panties for a straightjacket ;-)
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
Sunday, August 10, 2014
Finding the funny...
Before school came to a close for the summer, I had the best laid plans. Random beach trips, a few weekend getaways, perhaps a little jaunt to Georgia to visit my best friend, a book signing with girlfriends; complete with an umbrella drink. The angel choir was singing, while visions of sand and sea danced in my head. Life didn't get the memo regarding my plans, so life happened. Life has a way of hurling curveballs at you so fast, there is little time to process before you are faced with the next incoming curve. Suddenly you realize school starts back in a week.
This blog is called "Laughter For The Journey" for a reason. Life happens to all of us and sometimes we have to search for the humor in it. You have to laugh or you will cry. Life is a series of mountains and valleys. Sometimes you belly crawl through those valleys, but even then if you look up, you will see the sun still shines. Yes, the sun still shines but I find myself searching for some comic relief.
June 12* I got up early to go to the gym before work. Life threw a curveball. I was in a car wreck. My car was totaled. I was not at fault. Where is the humor in that? Okay, so it's a stretch to find humor in that but I can find blessings as well as irony. Right before I left, we had just prayed together as a family, something we make a concerted effort to do every morning and every night. We always end our morning prayers with "Lord bring us back safely to each other this evening." Less than 5 minutes after we prayed, I was in a wreck. I survived, my car, the other car and the power pole...not so much.
Blessings: My daughter wasn't with me. I am still here, alive and well. The other driver and her passenger survived intact.
June 25* Grandma had a stroke and passed away later that same evening. There is no funny in that. Nothing but shock, sadness, heartache and gut wrenching loss. A loss so deep and complete that if I let myself dwell on it, the air will be sucked from my lungs and I will crumple to my knees in devastation. We are several weeks out from Grandma's passing, and while we are still going through the emotions of packing up her and grandpa's house, we have relived so many memories. We have unearthed things that were long forgotten. I have learned things about my grandma I never knew.
Awe, Grandma kept everything. That statement is now a little more like this; AHHH! Grandma kept EVERYTHING! For example, we found several vases, the kind flowers are delivered in. There must have been a dozen and a half to start. I was ecstatic when a sweet gentleman and his wife purchased 4 yesterday during the yard sale. I was so confident he would give them a good home, I threw in an extra for free. As things were winding down, my husband climbed atop the new ladder my mom had just purchased and braved the abyss of Grandma's attic to finish cleaning it out. I hear him laugh and I know the smirk that adorns his handsome face even though I can't see him. I can see the laughter that dances in his gorgeous eyes, even though they are hidden from view. "Baby, you aren't going to believe this..." "What?" "I found more vases." With every vase, his smile grows bigger as my eyes keep getting wider. The vases just keep coming, one after another. Mark is about to laugh himself right out of the attic when I pop off with a comment. He laughs even harder because apparently I channeled my Uncle Carl who lives several hundred miles away and I sounded just like him. Uncle Carl is pretty awesome. Seeing all those vases, I am convinced Grandma kept every single vase, every time someone had flowers delivered to her, or bought her during her many hospital stays, throughout her entire life. She kept EVERY one! If Grandma was still living, knowing what I know now, the next person to buy her flowers, would have taken the vase over top of the head. The only thing she had more of than vases was coffee cups. Lord, don't even get me started on the coffee cups.
*July 27 We learned my mom had a stroke. Her vision has been affected. The following day, through an MRI, we found out that not only has she had one stroke, but there is evidence of a second stroke. There was also concern she may have had a heart attack as well, before tests were done to rule it out. There is no humor in the situation. My dad will be gone 8 years in September. In the past 2 years, we buried my cousin who was a year younger than me, last year we lost one of my aunts, and we just lost Grandma. I am only 37 years old and have spent more time sitting around a table helping to plan funerals than one person ever should. I take a deep breath, lean on the people in my life who are my rocks and I go to The Rock that is higher than I. When it rains it pours, so I just pray for a bigger umbrella. God gave me big shoulders. God's got this and He's got me. Mom's vision is extremely spotty in her right eye, and she is blind in her left peripheral. She isn't able to drive. However, she is here and we are prayerful for a full recovery.
We are 2 weeks out from Mom's stroke and I have found a little humor. If I stand on her left side, I can stick my tongue out at her and roll my eyes all day long and she has no clue. Don't judge me, it's not like I am leading her into walls or anything and besides the eyes in the back of her head were unaffected by the stroke. I totally got busted for a face while sitting behind her. I can also get away with pretty much anything now, why just yesterday I threatened to hog tie her and duct tape her to an airplane seat.
You know the old adage "When life hands you lemons make lemonade?"
After this summer, I am going to exchange my lemons for limes and a strawberry or two. Then I am going to get the glass, the big one. I have it on reserve and it's big enough I can fit my whole face in it.
I am thankful. I get it. We had so many curveballs this summer and though things could be better, they could be worse. So we are thankful because even through the stress of the situation and through the loss there is so much to be thankful for and we are counting our blessings. My family, is okay and those of us that aren't we are getting there. We are learning to breathe, to continuously put one foot in front of the other and one day it won't take so much effort. Life doesn't get the memo or care about your best laid plans. Life throws curveballs but hopefully one day you can look back and find laughter for the journey.
This blog is called "Laughter For The Journey" for a reason. Life happens to all of us and sometimes we have to search for the humor in it. You have to laugh or you will cry. Life is a series of mountains and valleys. Sometimes you belly crawl through those valleys, but even then if you look up, you will see the sun still shines. Yes, the sun still shines but I find myself searching for some comic relief.
June 12* I got up early to go to the gym before work. Life threw a curveball. I was in a car wreck. My car was totaled. I was not at fault. Where is the humor in that? Okay, so it's a stretch to find humor in that but I can find blessings as well as irony. Right before I left, we had just prayed together as a family, something we make a concerted effort to do every morning and every night. We always end our morning prayers with "Lord bring us back safely to each other this evening." Less than 5 minutes after we prayed, I was in a wreck. I survived, my car, the other car and the power pole...not so much.
Blessings: My daughter wasn't with me. I am still here, alive and well. The other driver and her passenger survived intact.
June 25* Grandma had a stroke and passed away later that same evening. There is no funny in that. Nothing but shock, sadness, heartache and gut wrenching loss. A loss so deep and complete that if I let myself dwell on it, the air will be sucked from my lungs and I will crumple to my knees in devastation. We are several weeks out from Grandma's passing, and while we are still going through the emotions of packing up her and grandpa's house, we have relived so many memories. We have unearthed things that were long forgotten. I have learned things about my grandma I never knew.
Awe, Grandma kept everything. That statement is now a little more like this; AHHH! Grandma kept EVERYTHING! For example, we found several vases, the kind flowers are delivered in. There must have been a dozen and a half to start. I was ecstatic when a sweet gentleman and his wife purchased 4 yesterday during the yard sale. I was so confident he would give them a good home, I threw in an extra for free. As things were winding down, my husband climbed atop the new ladder my mom had just purchased and braved the abyss of Grandma's attic to finish cleaning it out. I hear him laugh and I know the smirk that adorns his handsome face even though I can't see him. I can see the laughter that dances in his gorgeous eyes, even though they are hidden from view. "Baby, you aren't going to believe this..." "What?" "I found more vases." With every vase, his smile grows bigger as my eyes keep getting wider. The vases just keep coming, one after another. Mark is about to laugh himself right out of the attic when I pop off with a comment. He laughs even harder because apparently I channeled my Uncle Carl who lives several hundred miles away and I sounded just like him. Uncle Carl is pretty awesome. Seeing all those vases, I am convinced Grandma kept every single vase, every time someone had flowers delivered to her, or bought her during her many hospital stays, throughout her entire life. She kept EVERY one! If Grandma was still living, knowing what I know now, the next person to buy her flowers, would have taken the vase over top of the head. The only thing she had more of than vases was coffee cups. Lord, don't even get me started on the coffee cups.
*July 27 We learned my mom had a stroke. Her vision has been affected. The following day, through an MRI, we found out that not only has she had one stroke, but there is evidence of a second stroke. There was also concern she may have had a heart attack as well, before tests were done to rule it out. There is no humor in the situation. My dad will be gone 8 years in September. In the past 2 years, we buried my cousin who was a year younger than me, last year we lost one of my aunts, and we just lost Grandma. I am only 37 years old and have spent more time sitting around a table helping to plan funerals than one person ever should. I take a deep breath, lean on the people in my life who are my rocks and I go to The Rock that is higher than I. When it rains it pours, so I just pray for a bigger umbrella. God gave me big shoulders. God's got this and He's got me. Mom's vision is extremely spotty in her right eye, and she is blind in her left peripheral. She isn't able to drive. However, she is here and we are prayerful for a full recovery.
We are 2 weeks out from Mom's stroke and I have found a little humor. If I stand on her left side, I can stick my tongue out at her and roll my eyes all day long and she has no clue. Don't judge me, it's not like I am leading her into walls or anything and besides the eyes in the back of her head were unaffected by the stroke. I totally got busted for a face while sitting behind her. I can also get away with pretty much anything now, why just yesterday I threatened to hog tie her and duct tape her to an airplane seat.
You know the old adage "When life hands you lemons make lemonade?"
After this summer, I am going to exchange my lemons for limes and a strawberry or two. Then I am going to get the glass, the big one. I have it on reserve and it's big enough I can fit my whole face in it.
I am thankful. I get it. We had so many curveballs this summer and though things could be better, they could be worse. So we are thankful because even through the stress of the situation and through the loss there is so much to be thankful for and we are counting our blessings. My family, is okay and those of us that aren't we are getting there. We are learning to breathe, to continuously put one foot in front of the other and one day it won't take so much effort. Life doesn't get the memo or care about your best laid plans. Life throws curveballs but hopefully one day you can look back and find laughter for the journey.
Sunday, July 20, 2014
Ignorance is bliss...
They say ignorance is bliss and to some degree I believe that is true. It was a Wednesday morning when my phone rang and I heard my mom's voice on the other end of the line. When she said my name, I knew something was wrong. My mother rarely calls me by my name preferring to use some form of affection instead. When I woke up that morning, I was ignorant to the fact, that one phone call was going to change everything. "I think your grandmother has had a stroke". Ignorant...that in a little over fifteen hours our lives would change forever.
My grandmother was a survivor. Cancer, strokes, heart attacks, triple bypass heart surgery, pacemaker,dementia, broken hip, internal bleeding...survivor. She lost the love of her life, buried two children and a grandchild...she was a survivor. There was always one more miracle and just when you didn't know if she could take anymore she would pat your hand and say "Don't worry about me baby, I'll be alright. I might give out, but I don't give up." She was a survivor.
I saw her in the hospital that day before they put her in a regular room. She was getting a regular room so that meant it was going to be alright. I held her hand and told her I loved her while fighting an internal battle to hold it together. She looked so tired...but she was getting a regular room. I went back to work, and then headed up to the hospital after work. My boss asked how she was, friends sent text messages. It didn't look good, but this was grandma. When the eleventh hour was the darkest, her miracle came at 10:30.
My family has always been amazing in a crisis. We pull together, past differences set aside, and we rally around each other. Nobody cries alone and if you need a hug, you are surrounded by open arms. My mom, uncle, sister, two cousins, one cousin's youngest son, another cousin's wife and me found ourselves in the cafeteria. I staked claim on our regular booth. How sad is it that we have a booth? We have gathered in that corner often enough that they should put a sign above it with our names. We have shared many laughs in that booth because in our family sometimes it is how we deal with stressful situations. We trekked back up to Grandma's room. Yes there was a lot of us but this was grandma so of course her entourage was in full force. A plan was made and since it was getting late and I had to work the next day, hugs were given, and I love you's said. I patted grandma's hand and told her I loved her and I would see her the next morning. She hadn't recovered her ability to speak since she had the stroke that morning.
When I got home, my husband Mark asked me how grandma was. I told him the one thing I didn't want to admit to anyone else. Every time grandma had been in the hospital and I sat by her side just before I would leave, I would ask her if she was alright. My face etched with worry and without fail she would take my hand in hers and pat it then she would say "Don't worry about me baby, I'll be alright". The tears rolled down my face as I told Mark that this time...grandma didn't say it.
I got settled in and when I hadn't heard anything by a little after nine I decided to take the medicine I had been prescribed for injuries I sustained in a car wreck two weeks prior. The phone rang around 10:40 and it was my cousin's wife. She asked me if I could come back up to the hospital. Nothing brings you out of a drugged induced sleep like that kind of a phone call. I jumped up grabbed clothes sent a text to a friend, and told Mark I would let him know I made it to the hospital. Charli was sleeping and he couldn't leave her. My dear friend who wasn't feeling well called me and talked to me while I made the 20 minute drive to the hospital, so I wouldn't be alone. I hung up the phone when I pulled into the parking lot. My youngest cousin Michael (who is more like my little brother) and my sister were walking toward my car. My sister didn't say anything, but Michael just shook his head ever so slightly and opened his arms. He wrapped them around me and I fell apart.
Our grandmother was never that grandparent who we only saw once a year and knitted us horrible sweaters. She was such an interictal part of our lives not only as children but as adults as well. She was 87 years old, she lived a full life, she loved well and was well loved. It is unsettling to be in a world where she isn't.
I am no longer ignorant to the amount of emotional strength it takes to pack up a house that once held love so thick it was a presence in itself. If those walls could talk, they would tell the stories of giggling grandchildren, chili seasoned with cinnamon, a huge bug with stalking abilities and of our own super hero...Grandpa the Slayer of Retracting Couches. They would tell the tales of battles fought on knees that were bent in prayer, tears that were shed and laughs that were shared. I feel as though those walls mock me now. The house feels empty without grandma and grandpa to fill it. The nails where pictures used to hang are bare. I think that is one of the hardest things for me. I am beyond grateful for the blessing of two amazing grandparents, who loved us with all that they were. I am thankful for the prayers that were prayed over our lives. We are all struggling and still find it hard to believe that in a few short days grandma will be gone for a month. It is a constant battle as we empty out the house, we don't let the empty swallow us. I know she continues to live in us and through our stories and all her little Grandma-isms. She touched so many lives and not just ours. The world is a better place because she was a part of it. I am certain there are many jewels in her crown. As grandma would say "Lord bless you".
My grandmother was a survivor. Cancer, strokes, heart attacks, triple bypass heart surgery, pacemaker,dementia, broken hip, internal bleeding...survivor. She lost the love of her life, buried two children and a grandchild...she was a survivor. There was always one more miracle and just when you didn't know if she could take anymore she would pat your hand and say "Don't worry about me baby, I'll be alright. I might give out, but I don't give up." She was a survivor.
I saw her in the hospital that day before they put her in a regular room. She was getting a regular room so that meant it was going to be alright. I held her hand and told her I loved her while fighting an internal battle to hold it together. She looked so tired...but she was getting a regular room. I went back to work, and then headed up to the hospital after work. My boss asked how she was, friends sent text messages. It didn't look good, but this was grandma. When the eleventh hour was the darkest, her miracle came at 10:30.
My family has always been amazing in a crisis. We pull together, past differences set aside, and we rally around each other. Nobody cries alone and if you need a hug, you are surrounded by open arms. My mom, uncle, sister, two cousins, one cousin's youngest son, another cousin's wife and me found ourselves in the cafeteria. I staked claim on our regular booth. How sad is it that we have a booth? We have gathered in that corner often enough that they should put a sign above it with our names. We have shared many laughs in that booth because in our family sometimes it is how we deal with stressful situations. We trekked back up to Grandma's room. Yes there was a lot of us but this was grandma so of course her entourage was in full force. A plan was made and since it was getting late and I had to work the next day, hugs were given, and I love you's said. I patted grandma's hand and told her I loved her and I would see her the next morning. She hadn't recovered her ability to speak since she had the stroke that morning.
When I got home, my husband Mark asked me how grandma was. I told him the one thing I didn't want to admit to anyone else. Every time grandma had been in the hospital and I sat by her side just before I would leave, I would ask her if she was alright. My face etched with worry and without fail she would take my hand in hers and pat it then she would say "Don't worry about me baby, I'll be alright". The tears rolled down my face as I told Mark that this time...grandma didn't say it.
I got settled in and when I hadn't heard anything by a little after nine I decided to take the medicine I had been prescribed for injuries I sustained in a car wreck two weeks prior. The phone rang around 10:40 and it was my cousin's wife. She asked me if I could come back up to the hospital. Nothing brings you out of a drugged induced sleep like that kind of a phone call. I jumped up grabbed clothes sent a text to a friend, and told Mark I would let him know I made it to the hospital. Charli was sleeping and he couldn't leave her. My dear friend who wasn't feeling well called me and talked to me while I made the 20 minute drive to the hospital, so I wouldn't be alone. I hung up the phone when I pulled into the parking lot. My youngest cousin Michael (who is more like my little brother) and my sister were walking toward my car. My sister didn't say anything, but Michael just shook his head ever so slightly and opened his arms. He wrapped them around me and I fell apart.
Our grandmother was never that grandparent who we only saw once a year and knitted us horrible sweaters. She was such an interictal part of our lives not only as children but as adults as well. She was 87 years old, she lived a full life, she loved well and was well loved. It is unsettling to be in a world where she isn't.
I am no longer ignorant to the amount of emotional strength it takes to pack up a house that once held love so thick it was a presence in itself. If those walls could talk, they would tell the stories of giggling grandchildren, chili seasoned with cinnamon, a huge bug with stalking abilities and of our own super hero...Grandpa the Slayer of Retracting Couches. They would tell the tales of battles fought on knees that were bent in prayer, tears that were shed and laughs that were shared. I feel as though those walls mock me now. The house feels empty without grandma and grandpa to fill it. The nails where pictures used to hang are bare. I think that is one of the hardest things for me. I am beyond grateful for the blessing of two amazing grandparents, who loved us with all that they were. I am thankful for the prayers that were prayed over our lives. We are all struggling and still find it hard to believe that in a few short days grandma will be gone for a month. It is a constant battle as we empty out the house, we don't let the empty swallow us. I know she continues to live in us and through our stories and all her little Grandma-isms. She touched so many lives and not just ours. The world is a better place because she was a part of it. I am certain there are many jewels in her crown. As grandma would say "Lord bless you".
Sunday, May 11, 2014
For all the Moms...
Motherhood is a blessing. It is a miracle. It is a privilege but it is not a right. Every year on Mother's Day, I am reminded of all those Mother's Days before I became a mom...the tears, the heartache, the "maybe next year". Most ordinary days, when I catch a glimpse of my daughter, there is a moment that I am reminded of what a precious gift she is...and in those moments, I whisper a thank you to God. When Mother's Day rolls around, I am especially thankful to celebrate this day.
It truly is impossible to comprehend, the love a mother feels for her child until you become a mother yourself. I carried around this little being in my body for 9 months. We were united, just the two of us. The moment she was born, my heart began beating outside of my body. Having your heart beat outside of your body is a nerve-wracking experience but we wouldn't have it any other way.
For my daughter who is the reason I celebrate this day: I love you so much. It blows my mind that a person can have the capacity to love another person as much as I love you. You make me laugh, smile, and cry. Sometimes, they are happy tears, and sometimes they are not. You occasionally make me want to rip my hair out (it happens a little more the older you get), test my patience, and drive me to the very brink of sanity...but there isn't a single moment that I don't love being your mom. You are my magnum opus and I love you to the moon and back again, plus all the stars in the sky.
For my mom: Thank you for all the moments, you laid awake at night wondering if you were doing everything right. Thank you for cleaning up puke, paying for braces, waiting up until we were home safe, and hand-sewing all those beads on my wedding veil (which explains why you have carpel tunnel syndrome). For all those times I forgot to say it...thank you. I know it's not enough, but when you're a mom...it's enough. I love you.
For my mother-in-law: Thank you for all the endless time you invested in raising the little boy, who grew into the man, I am blessed to call my husband. Thank you for welcoming me into the family with open arms are treating me as though I was your own. I know that when it comes to mother-in-laws, I hit the jackpot. I love you.
For my grandma: You are the living, breathing example of love. Thank you for all the days leading up to Christmas spent in your kitchen, teaching me to make your peanut butter fudge. Thank you for all those days you spent in chaos with 5 lively grand daughters shrieking through your house. Thank you for teaching us how to pray (even if it was to Ernest)and thank you for being the grandma other kids wished for.
Last but not least, to my "Mommy Friends" (my sister and cousins included): Thank you for being there to laugh at my stories, to share in the madness of motherhood, and to remind me not to "feed the monster". We are surviving the hazards of Google, the questions that come from inquisitive minds, and the knowledge that we are all in this together. It is good to know that I am not the only "dream crusher" among us and that we can probably get a group discount on therapy our children may or may not require in the future. Regardless if we are working moms (aren't we all) or stay at home moms (umm...y'all are never home), whether we have one child or multiple, boys or girls, or some of each, THANK YOU for reminding me we are all in this together.
To all the moms reading this...being a mom is the hardest gig there is...but the most rewarding. Some would say that it's a thankless job but it really isn't. Our thanks may never come by way of mansions on Malibu, trips to Hawaii or a life time supply of chocolate. One day, all those sleepless nights, moments spent cleaning up bodily fluid, last minute trips to the store because they forgot about the project that was due tomorrow, shopping for the perfect outfit, wishing they would use better judgment, biting our tongue, all the "but Moms", that's not fair, eye rolling, stomping feet, slamming doors, and every moment in between...it will be worth it. Our thanks comes in the form of the character our children develop. When they do what's right, even when nobody is watching. Being a mother requires complete selflessness, but when we see the fruits of our labor come to fruition, well...you can't put a price on that. Happy Mother's Day.
It truly is impossible to comprehend, the love a mother feels for her child until you become a mother yourself. I carried around this little being in my body for 9 months. We were united, just the two of us. The moment she was born, my heart began beating outside of my body. Having your heart beat outside of your body is a nerve-wracking experience but we wouldn't have it any other way.
For my daughter who is the reason I celebrate this day: I love you so much. It blows my mind that a person can have the capacity to love another person as much as I love you. You make me laugh, smile, and cry. Sometimes, they are happy tears, and sometimes they are not. You occasionally make me want to rip my hair out (it happens a little more the older you get), test my patience, and drive me to the very brink of sanity...but there isn't a single moment that I don't love being your mom. You are my magnum opus and I love you to the moon and back again, plus all the stars in the sky.
For my mom: Thank you for all the moments, you laid awake at night wondering if you were doing everything right. Thank you for cleaning up puke, paying for braces, waiting up until we were home safe, and hand-sewing all those beads on my wedding veil (which explains why you have carpel tunnel syndrome). For all those times I forgot to say it...thank you. I know it's not enough, but when you're a mom...it's enough. I love you.
For my mother-in-law: Thank you for all the endless time you invested in raising the little boy, who grew into the man, I am blessed to call my husband. Thank you for welcoming me into the family with open arms are treating me as though I was your own. I know that when it comes to mother-in-laws, I hit the jackpot. I love you.
For my grandma: You are the living, breathing example of love. Thank you for all the days leading up to Christmas spent in your kitchen, teaching me to make your peanut butter fudge. Thank you for all those days you spent in chaos with 5 lively grand daughters shrieking through your house. Thank you for teaching us how to pray (even if it was to Ernest)and thank you for being the grandma other kids wished for.
Last but not least, to my "Mommy Friends" (my sister and cousins included): Thank you for being there to laugh at my stories, to share in the madness of motherhood, and to remind me not to "feed the monster". We are surviving the hazards of Google, the questions that come from inquisitive minds, and the knowledge that we are all in this together. It is good to know that I am not the only "dream crusher" among us and that we can probably get a group discount on therapy our children may or may not require in the future. Regardless if we are working moms (aren't we all) or stay at home moms (umm...y'all are never home), whether we have one child or multiple, boys or girls, or some of each, THANK YOU for reminding me we are all in this together.
To all the moms reading this...being a mom is the hardest gig there is...but the most rewarding. Some would say that it's a thankless job but it really isn't. Our thanks may never come by way of mansions on Malibu, trips to Hawaii or a life time supply of chocolate. One day, all those sleepless nights, moments spent cleaning up bodily fluid, last minute trips to the store because they forgot about the project that was due tomorrow, shopping for the perfect outfit, wishing they would use better judgment, biting our tongue, all the "but Moms", that's not fair, eye rolling, stomping feet, slamming doors, and every moment in between...it will be worth it. Our thanks comes in the form of the character our children develop. When they do what's right, even when nobody is watching. Being a mother requires complete selflessness, but when we see the fruits of our labor come to fruition, well...you can't put a price on that. Happy Mother's Day.
Thursday, February 6, 2014
A love letter...
For my husband...
It is almost unbelievable to me how I could possibly love you more than the day we said "I Do" all those years ago. I know I tell you that I love you every day, but somehow it doesn't even begin to scratch the surface. When I was a little girl, I would dream of my Prince Charming. I was optimistic enough to dream but pessimistic enough to doubt you would come true...yet here you are.
I am not sure what I did to deserve the love of a man like you. I am passionate and tenacious but you have never attempted to break my spirit. I am the storm, but you are the calming peace that follows. You make me feel safe, and you are one of the few people on the planet who understands why that is such a big deal for me. I feel so cherished by you. I don't need diamonds, or roses to make me feel loved. You show me every day in the little things you do and after 16 years, those little things are the big things. Your love shines through when I catch you watching me while I am cooking dinner, or when I am engrossed in a book. I feel it in the whisper of your lips, when you kiss me good morning...trying not to wake me up, but willing to risk it because walking out the door without that kiss is such a preposterous notion.
So many people have made the comment about how lucky I am to be married to a man like you. Luck really has nothing to do with it at all. Falling in love was and is magical and wonderful but it isn't luck. Marriage...especially one that withstands time, has nothing to do with luck. Marriage is about putting in the hard work, putting our love into action, making a daily decision to put someone's needs before our own. Luck doesn't hold your hand through three surgeries, countless negative pregnancy tests, or car accidents that you were blessed to walk away from. Luck doesn't dry your tears when you are curled into the fetal position because you body is wracked with pain...and luck certainly does not wrap you in a protective embrace and walk you through some of the darkest moments of your life. Love...love does that.
No, I'm not lucky but I am blessed. I know what it means to be loved beyond all reason, to be protected, and adored. Mark, my cup runneth over. I thank the God we serve every day for your presence in my life and that a boy like you fell in love with a girl like me. I just want to say to those who still think I am lucky to be married to you...well, you didn't do so bad yourself. I will love you with all of my heart, for all of my life, until I take my last breath...and even then...I will love you still. Happy anniversary honey and I look forward to sharing many, many more.
It is almost unbelievable to me how I could possibly love you more than the day we said "I Do" all those years ago. I know I tell you that I love you every day, but somehow it doesn't even begin to scratch the surface. When I was a little girl, I would dream of my Prince Charming. I was optimistic enough to dream but pessimistic enough to doubt you would come true...yet here you are.
I am not sure what I did to deserve the love of a man like you. I am passionate and tenacious but you have never attempted to break my spirit. I am the storm, but you are the calming peace that follows. You make me feel safe, and you are one of the few people on the planet who understands why that is such a big deal for me. I feel so cherished by you. I don't need diamonds, or roses to make me feel loved. You show me every day in the little things you do and after 16 years, those little things are the big things. Your love shines through when I catch you watching me while I am cooking dinner, or when I am engrossed in a book. I feel it in the whisper of your lips, when you kiss me good morning...trying not to wake me up, but willing to risk it because walking out the door without that kiss is such a preposterous notion.
So many people have made the comment about how lucky I am to be married to a man like you. Luck really has nothing to do with it at all. Falling in love was and is magical and wonderful but it isn't luck. Marriage...especially one that withstands time, has nothing to do with luck. Marriage is about putting in the hard work, putting our love into action, making a daily decision to put someone's needs before our own. Luck doesn't hold your hand through three surgeries, countless negative pregnancy tests, or car accidents that you were blessed to walk away from. Luck doesn't dry your tears when you are curled into the fetal position because you body is wracked with pain...and luck certainly does not wrap you in a protective embrace and walk you through some of the darkest moments of your life. Love...love does that.
No, I'm not lucky but I am blessed. I know what it means to be loved beyond all reason, to be protected, and adored. Mark, my cup runneth over. I thank the God we serve every day for your presence in my life and that a boy like you fell in love with a girl like me. I just want to say to those who still think I am lucky to be married to you...well, you didn't do so bad yourself. I will love you with all of my heart, for all of my life, until I take my last breath...and even then...I will love you still. Happy anniversary honey and I look forward to sharing many, many more.
Wednesday, January 1, 2014
Perspective...
I am sitting here pecking away at the keys on my keyboard, listening to the slow rain outside my window and the faint sounds of my 11 year old daughter, in the other room playing with our dog Marley. A simple moment of normalcy that we often take for granted. The smallest moments of every day life that could change in the blink of an eye, in a heart beat. Moments that drift by unnoticed, unappreciated, seemingly blending together because there are a million of them in a lifetime...or so we think.
As we welcome in a brand new year, most of us ponder what changes we would like to make in a never ending quest to be a better version of ourselves because somewhere along the way, we have come to the conclusion that we aren't good enough in our current state. We tend to seek acceptance, and I am no different. I'm not certain at what point in my life I began to be a people pleaser, maybe I always have been to some degree, and I didn't even notice it until it had gone to the extreme. Being a people pleaser was beginning to come at a cost. I was losing sleep, having health issues, and getting so mentally drained from always trying to be who and what so many other people needed me to be, that I didn't have much left over for me or my precious little family. The cost was too great, and I had to take a step back and reevaluate. 2013 brought about a season of change for me. Sometimes you have to release the things that you cling to double-fisted... you have to give yourself permission to let go.
In 2014 I resolve to...
* Let go...of my superwoman cape. I am a wife, mother, aspiring writer, small business owner, and full time employee working outside the home. (No, this doesn't mean I work harder than my stay at home mommy counter parts because I do not know a single one who stays at home, eating bon bons all day while watching The View). The world isn't going to come to end if my cookies are store bought, or if I don't make favor bags for a party. God rested on the 7th day and Martha Stewart has "people". The "Real" Housewives are not reality.
* Accept...that no, is a complete sentence. There is no need to justify myself. I can't always fit it all in, and the thing that gives shouldn't be my mental well being, in an attempt to be a people pleaser. Accept... that some people are in my life for a season and if they choose to walk out of it, then perhaps I am not supposed to chase after them. Accept...that I need to weigh my words before I speak them or type them. Words are precious and powerful. Words can be uplifting and life-giving, or they can break a spirit.
* Keep it in perspective... whether the glass is half empty or half full, I have a glass. I saw that on a poster somewhere, and it fits.
*Appreciate... my family and the little moments. Appreciate that my daughter talks to me almost nonstop because the day will come when it is like pulling teeth to get anything out of her. Appreciate the time we spend praying together as a family, every morning and every night and strive to not let it lose it's meaning because it's such a part of our routine. Appreciate the moments that blend together, making up our lives and realize we need to be present in these moments.
*Write...and write and write. I resolve to finish my novel this year so I can work on the other two ideas that are floating around in my head. I have dreamed of writing since I was 12 years old, and I need to write like I need to breathe. It feeds my soul. I owe it to that one teacher who made such a difference for me. I owe it to my husband who is my biggest cheerleader. I owe it to my daughter to help her believe that no dream, however far fetched, is unattainable. I owe it to my friends who have encouraged me and believed in me. I owe it to myself, and more than that, I owe it the God I serve to use the talent, I have been blessed with.
I wish each and every one of you a healthy and prosperous 2014. I encourage you to keep it in perspective. Perfection is an ideal, not a reality.
As we welcome in a brand new year, most of us ponder what changes we would like to make in a never ending quest to be a better version of ourselves because somewhere along the way, we have come to the conclusion that we aren't good enough in our current state. We tend to seek acceptance, and I am no different. I'm not certain at what point in my life I began to be a people pleaser, maybe I always have been to some degree, and I didn't even notice it until it had gone to the extreme. Being a people pleaser was beginning to come at a cost. I was losing sleep, having health issues, and getting so mentally drained from always trying to be who and what so many other people needed me to be, that I didn't have much left over for me or my precious little family. The cost was too great, and I had to take a step back and reevaluate. 2013 brought about a season of change for me. Sometimes you have to release the things that you cling to double-fisted... you have to give yourself permission to let go.
In 2014 I resolve to...
* Let go...of my superwoman cape. I am a wife, mother, aspiring writer, small business owner, and full time employee working outside the home. (No, this doesn't mean I work harder than my stay at home mommy counter parts because I do not know a single one who stays at home, eating bon bons all day while watching The View). The world isn't going to come to end if my cookies are store bought, or if I don't make favor bags for a party. God rested on the 7th day and Martha Stewart has "people". The "Real" Housewives are not reality.
* Accept...that no, is a complete sentence. There is no need to justify myself. I can't always fit it all in, and the thing that gives shouldn't be my mental well being, in an attempt to be a people pleaser. Accept... that some people are in my life for a season and if they choose to walk out of it, then perhaps I am not supposed to chase after them. Accept...that I need to weigh my words before I speak them or type them. Words are precious and powerful. Words can be uplifting and life-giving, or they can break a spirit.
* Keep it in perspective... whether the glass is half empty or half full, I have a glass. I saw that on a poster somewhere, and it fits.
*Appreciate... my family and the little moments. Appreciate that my daughter talks to me almost nonstop because the day will come when it is like pulling teeth to get anything out of her. Appreciate the time we spend praying together as a family, every morning and every night and strive to not let it lose it's meaning because it's such a part of our routine. Appreciate the moments that blend together, making up our lives and realize we need to be present in these moments.
*Write...and write and write. I resolve to finish my novel this year so I can work on the other two ideas that are floating around in my head. I have dreamed of writing since I was 12 years old, and I need to write like I need to breathe. It feeds my soul. I owe it to that one teacher who made such a difference for me. I owe it to my husband who is my biggest cheerleader. I owe it to my daughter to help her believe that no dream, however far fetched, is unattainable. I owe it to my friends who have encouraged me and believed in me. I owe it to myself, and more than that, I owe it the God I serve to use the talent, I have been blessed with.
I wish each and every one of you a healthy and prosperous 2014. I encourage you to keep it in perspective. Perfection is an ideal, not a reality.
Sunday, December 29, 2013
The Year In Review
I am not one who typically makes New Years's resolutions, simply because who really wants to see failure in black and white? I did make an exception for 2013,and I blogged my resolutions as a way to be accountable. I put them in black and white for the entire world to see, because if I was going to fail...go big or go home right? No pressure. In 2013 I resolved to...
*Be as accepting of myself as I am of my friends and family. I made progress on this one, though I have a long way to go.
*Read at least three classic novels FAIL...however I did read several books.
*Add more print to my wardrobe, buy a pair of colored jeans,
actually wear said colored jeans in public, and to add
a variety of colors to my closet that aren't blue, black, or grey. Partial success...I added a lot of color, but the colored jeans did not happen. Well...not unless you count those dark blue ones and last time I looked dark blue was a color.
*Strive to achieve a fit mind, body and soul. I made several lifestyle changes this year, and I have to say that I feel like a whole new person. My goal for 2014 is to work on the mind aspect a little more.
*Learn to cook something I have never made before I blew this one out of the water. I used several ingredients I have never used before thanks to a few fellow foodie friends who have awesome Pinterest boards.
*Write at least 10,000 words in my book by mid summer I hit this one out of the park as well.
*Express thanks I have counted my blessings several times over and I have expressed sincere thanks to God, family and friends.
*See at least one musical either live or in the theater FAIL...unless you count the twenty minutes of The Sound Of Music that I watched when it aired on television.
*Get back to the basics It is ever a work in progress, and I am headed in the right direction.
*Accept the things I can not change, have the courage to change the things
I can and be wise enough to know the difference. This is a tough one! It's the being wise enough to know the difference that gets me every time.
Being accountable has certainly helped me follow through. Now in 2014 I resolve to...
*Be as accepting of myself as I am of my friends and family. I made progress on this one, though I have a long way to go.
*Read at least three classic novels FAIL...however I did read several books.
*Add more print to my wardrobe, buy a pair of colored jeans,
actually wear said colored jeans in public, and to add
a variety of colors to my closet that aren't blue, black, or grey. Partial success...I added a lot of color, but the colored jeans did not happen. Well...not unless you count those dark blue ones and last time I looked dark blue was a color.
*Strive to achieve a fit mind, body and soul. I made several lifestyle changes this year, and I have to say that I feel like a whole new person. My goal for 2014 is to work on the mind aspect a little more.
*Learn to cook something I have never made before I blew this one out of the water. I used several ingredients I have never used before thanks to a few fellow foodie friends who have awesome Pinterest boards.
*Write at least 10,000 words in my book by mid summer I hit this one out of the park as well.
*Express thanks I have counted my blessings several times over and I have expressed sincere thanks to God, family and friends.
*See at least one musical either live or in the theater FAIL...unless you count the twenty minutes of The Sound Of Music that I watched when it aired on television.
*Get back to the basics It is ever a work in progress, and I am headed in the right direction.
*Accept the things I can not change, have the courage to change the things
I can and be wise enough to know the difference. This is a tough one! It's the being wise enough to know the difference that gets me every time.
Being accountable has certainly helped me follow through. Now in 2014 I resolve to...
Thursday, December 12, 2013
A matter of Moments
Tonight is my last night to be a momma to a 10 year old. When Charli wakes up in the morning she will already be 11. It is remarkable that an entire decade has passed, looking back I see her life in a series of moments...except for the first 3 weeks of her life...those are a blur.
Moments...
Her little yawn and baby breath
When she stopped breathing at 5 1/2 months old
When she said her first words
Our first trip to the bathroom because she threw her plate off the highchair at Steak and Shake when I told her to eat her French toast sticks. (Yes, she was only about 15 months old, and no she has never thrown another plate again. Yes, I am just as creeped out as you are that I remember what she ate for breakfast that day).
When she was 2 and took off across a parking lot and stopped about 4 feet before the sidewalk...past the sidewalk lay a 6 lane highway. (Yes, she got her booty spanked, afterwards I locked myself in a bathroom stall of the Best Buy in Valdosta, GA and bawled because she scared me so badly, and no she has never run across another parking lot since...oh and the reason I didn't have a hold of her hand is because she dropped her book, I let her hand go so she could pick it up and it happened that quick).
When she convinced me to buy her a potbellied pig and I convinced her father. Wilbur lived with us happily for 6 months until he got out of his enclosure and ran away.
The time she tossed the cat into our above ground pool with the inflatable ring, to see if he could swim...the cat survived...the pool...not so much.
Oh...when her Aunt Tracy let her do an art project with glitter in my kitchen when she was two...and I was cleaning up glitter for about 6 months afterward.
Her 5th birthday when we took her to Disney and the look on her face when they transformed her into Cinderella at the Bippity Boppity Boutique.
When she threw up on a field trip in the first grade because she had strep throat and I had no idea she was even sick. (Yes I chaperoned...thankfully).
Moments...I am so thankful for the highs and the lows, for every giggle and every tear, for skinned knees, strep throat, ear infections, and the best pediatrician on the planet. I'm thankful for all the sleepless nights, the cuddles, the rolling eyes, stomping feet, and lessons on the latest fashions. There was a time that we weren't even sure if we would be able to birth our own child...or have a child at all. I remember what life was like before Charli and life after Charli is so much more. My heart is filled to the brim. I am beyond blessed and I thank God every day that He picked me to be the mommy to my funny, sweet, stubborn, compassionate, creative, dramatic, sassy, loquacious sunshine girl.
Happy 11th birthday, baby bear...I love you to the moon and back again plus all the stars in the sky.
Moments...
Her little yawn and baby breath
When she stopped breathing at 5 1/2 months old
When she said her first words
Our first trip to the bathroom because she threw her plate off the highchair at Steak and Shake when I told her to eat her French toast sticks. (Yes, she was only about 15 months old, and no she has never thrown another plate again. Yes, I am just as creeped out as you are that I remember what she ate for breakfast that day).
When she was 2 and took off across a parking lot and stopped about 4 feet before the sidewalk...past the sidewalk lay a 6 lane highway. (Yes, she got her booty spanked, afterwards I locked myself in a bathroom stall of the Best Buy in Valdosta, GA and bawled because she scared me so badly, and no she has never run across another parking lot since...oh and the reason I didn't have a hold of her hand is because she dropped her book, I let her hand go so she could pick it up and it happened that quick).
When she convinced me to buy her a potbellied pig and I convinced her father. Wilbur lived with us happily for 6 months until he got out of his enclosure and ran away.
The time she tossed the cat into our above ground pool with the inflatable ring, to see if he could swim...the cat survived...the pool...not so much.
Oh...when her Aunt Tracy let her do an art project with glitter in my kitchen when she was two...and I was cleaning up glitter for about 6 months afterward.
Her 5th birthday when we took her to Disney and the look on her face when they transformed her into Cinderella at the Bippity Boppity Boutique.
When she threw up on a field trip in the first grade because she had strep throat and I had no idea she was even sick. (Yes I chaperoned...thankfully).
Moments...I am so thankful for the highs and the lows, for every giggle and every tear, for skinned knees, strep throat, ear infections, and the best pediatrician on the planet. I'm thankful for all the sleepless nights, the cuddles, the rolling eyes, stomping feet, and lessons on the latest fashions. There was a time that we weren't even sure if we would be able to birth our own child...or have a child at all. I remember what life was like before Charli and life after Charli is so much more. My heart is filled to the brim. I am beyond blessed and I thank God every day that He picked me to be the mommy to my funny, sweet, stubborn, compassionate, creative, dramatic, sassy, loquacious sunshine girl.
Happy 11th birthday, baby bear...I love you to the moon and back again plus all the stars in the sky.
Saturday, November 2, 2013
More than a "Wrinkles" in time
We pose the same question to our children that once was posed to us when we were young...What do you want to be when you grow up? When I was a kid, my answer was always a teacher, a mommy, a writer. I did briefly want to be a pediatrician for about thirty seconds until I passed out at the foot of my mother's hospital bed sometime between ages 11 and 12. Do you know what I never wanted to be? A nurse. I know me, I know what I can handle and what I can't and I even knew it as a child. Bodily fluid, beeping machines, needles...yeah... that isn't for me, but God bless those that have made nursing their profession. I certainly have a deep appreciation for nurses.
Almost two weeks ago, my grandma broke her hip. She is getting rehabilitation at "the old folks home" as my daughter likes to call it. I see several nurses, and CNA's every day. I understand there is one of them and many more "old folks" that they are responsible to take care of. I get that it is a demanding, sometimes thankless job. In the whirlwind, I wonder if some working in the healthcare industry are even aware when they stop seeing their patients as people but merely a task to be accomplished so it can be checked off the list. My grandma is more than that sweet old lady down the hall, who had her TV set on the spanish channel, because she couldn't get to her remote. Grandma was born in 1926. She grew up in West Virgina and trust me, adios amigos is the extent of her knowledge of the spanish language. She is so much more than the person you see laying in the bed, or sitting in the wheelchair to eat dinner.
Grandma is...
Corn pops in coffee cups, porch swings, blue and white tricycles and the best scrambled eggs I've ever had. She is walks to the park, summer shorts made on her sewing machine, discipline in the form of fuzzy pink slippers, and the reason I hate hot dogs to this day. She is praying to Ernest, riding the horsey; 2, 4, 6, 8, Johnny had a little snake, and a "don't be that way or nobody will like you".
Grandma is...
Homemade peanut butter fudge, thumbprint cookies, banana pudding, Christmas lights and "let me hold that baby". She is the woman who wrote to seven guys in the service at the same time, the woman who had her first date with my grandpa at Camden Park, the woman who gave birth to five children and one half of the greatest love story I have ever known. She is "Lord bless you", all the love in the quilts she makes, the best green beans you will ever eat, and the precious woman I named my daughter after.
Grandma is more than the woman who pressed her button again for a pain pill because she forgot she just was given one 5 minutes before. She is more than the woman who doesn't complain...she doesn't like burnt toast any more than anybody else. She is more than a name on a chart. She is someone's widow, mother, sister,aunt, friend, grandmother, great grandmother, and great, great grandmother. She is the heartbeat of a family...I hope they add that to her chart.
Almost two weeks ago, my grandma broke her hip. She is getting rehabilitation at "the old folks home" as my daughter likes to call it. I see several nurses, and CNA's every day. I understand there is one of them and many more "old folks" that they are responsible to take care of. I get that it is a demanding, sometimes thankless job. In the whirlwind, I wonder if some working in the healthcare industry are even aware when they stop seeing their patients as people but merely a task to be accomplished so it can be checked off the list. My grandma is more than that sweet old lady down the hall, who had her TV set on the spanish channel, because she couldn't get to her remote. Grandma was born in 1926. She grew up in West Virgina and trust me, adios amigos is the extent of her knowledge of the spanish language. She is so much more than the person you see laying in the bed, or sitting in the wheelchair to eat dinner.
Grandma is...
Corn pops in coffee cups, porch swings, blue and white tricycles and the best scrambled eggs I've ever had. She is walks to the park, summer shorts made on her sewing machine, discipline in the form of fuzzy pink slippers, and the reason I hate hot dogs to this day. She is praying to Ernest, riding the horsey; 2, 4, 6, 8, Johnny had a little snake, and a "don't be that way or nobody will like you".
Grandma is...
Homemade peanut butter fudge, thumbprint cookies, banana pudding, Christmas lights and "let me hold that baby". She is the woman who wrote to seven guys in the service at the same time, the woman who had her first date with my grandpa at Camden Park, the woman who gave birth to five children and one half of the greatest love story I have ever known. She is "Lord bless you", all the love in the quilts she makes, the best green beans you will ever eat, and the precious woman I named my daughter after.
Grandma is more than the woman who pressed her button again for a pain pill because she forgot she just was given one 5 minutes before. She is more than the woman who doesn't complain...she doesn't like burnt toast any more than anybody else. She is more than a name on a chart. She is someone's widow, mother, sister,aunt, friend, grandmother, great grandmother, and great, great grandmother. She is the heartbeat of a family...I hope they add that to her chart.
Wednesday, October 9, 2013
My eyes...my beautiful eyes.
So there I am, curled in the crook of my husband's arm, head on his chest all set for Wednesday Night, date night. Criminal Minds...I refuse to watch it alone. A few minutes later, our bedroom is stormed by a force, also known as our 10 year old daughter. It goes something like this:
"Mommy...MY EYES...they burn." I ask all the routine questions. Did you get something in them? Shampoo? Soap?
"No, I was holding Murphy (the guinea pig) and put him back in his cage, then I rubbed my eyes and now they BURN!"
"So get a cold rag and put water in them."
So she wets her hands and scoops water into her eyes. Insert blood curdling, ear piercing, the house is on fire screams. I jump up out of bed and grab a towel for Charli, and wet it with cold water. I tell Mark to go grab the eyewash out of the other bathroom medicine cabinet. I have Charli sit on our bed. Her hands are fused to her eyeballs, and she is screaming like a tween at a One Direction Concert. So I did what any other good parent would do. I told Mark to hold her down so I could put the eyewash in her eyes. Next thing I know our house has turned into the WWE. It's full blown Monday Night Raw and Friday Night Smackdown on a Wednesday. We wrestled on the bed, then somehow ended up in the living room on the couch, Charli is screaming "I can't breathe!" Dogs are hiding, pretty sure the guinea pig almost had a stroke, expecting the cops to pound on our door any second, my eardrum was on the brink of bursting, so I yelled "FINE! GO TO YOUR ROOM!" I was only trying to help but if she wanted to be stubborn, so be it. I channeled my mother and I threw the bottle of eyewash against the wall. (Yea, I know, not one of my finest Mommy moments, but this blog is real folks, so it is what it is.)
Charli is in her room crying, Mark and I are back in our room, where we attempt to resume Criminal Minds (thank the Lord for the invention of DVR). I suddenly make out what Charli is saying:
"Sweet Lord, help me." Then and this is the best part. She says "I don't wanna be blind."
You know that movie a Christmas Story? Do you remember Ralphie's little brother Randy? His whiny voice when he can't put his arms down in the snowsuit because he is bundled too tight? Well, Charli's voice sounds EXACTLY like Randy's at this point. Mark and I are horrible parents...because we are laughing. I'm not talking haha. Mark was rolling on the bed laughing. I am kegaling to beat the band, so I won't pee my pants.
Then I felt kind of bad...so we called Charli back to our room and I got her calmed down. She is saying random stuff and it's so funny because she is sitting with the rag over her eyes on my bed and she says:
"My eyes...my beautiful eyes." (Which reminds me of a commercial you know the one.)
Her eyes finally stopped burning, and miraculously her eye I got the eyewash in feels much better then the one I didn't get it into. Alas, just when we think the drama is going to die out, her FACE starts burning. So being the concerned mom that I am, I turn to her and say "Do you think it has anything to do with crying your eyes out and screaming like a raging lunatic for the past 30 minutes? Hmm? Put a cold rag on your face, Daddy will get you an ice pack, and go get in bed."
She went to bed and Mark and I laughed and laughed over her Oscar worthy performance. Oh and her eyes are fine, turns out a good cry is a great way to flush them.
"Mommy...MY EYES...they burn." I ask all the routine questions. Did you get something in them? Shampoo? Soap?
"No, I was holding Murphy (the guinea pig) and put him back in his cage, then I rubbed my eyes and now they BURN!"
"So get a cold rag and put water in them."
So she wets her hands and scoops water into her eyes. Insert blood curdling, ear piercing, the house is on fire screams. I jump up out of bed and grab a towel for Charli, and wet it with cold water. I tell Mark to go grab the eyewash out of the other bathroom medicine cabinet. I have Charli sit on our bed. Her hands are fused to her eyeballs, and she is screaming like a tween at a One Direction Concert. So I did what any other good parent would do. I told Mark to hold her down so I could put the eyewash in her eyes. Next thing I know our house has turned into the WWE. It's full blown Monday Night Raw and Friday Night Smackdown on a Wednesday. We wrestled on the bed, then somehow ended up in the living room on the couch, Charli is screaming "I can't breathe!" Dogs are hiding, pretty sure the guinea pig almost had a stroke, expecting the cops to pound on our door any second, my eardrum was on the brink of bursting, so I yelled "FINE! GO TO YOUR ROOM!" I was only trying to help but if she wanted to be stubborn, so be it. I channeled my mother and I threw the bottle of eyewash against the wall. (Yea, I know, not one of my finest Mommy moments, but this blog is real folks, so it is what it is.)
Charli is in her room crying, Mark and I are back in our room, where we attempt to resume Criminal Minds (thank the Lord for the invention of DVR). I suddenly make out what Charli is saying:
"Sweet Lord, help me." Then and this is the best part. She says "I don't wanna be blind."
You know that movie a Christmas Story? Do you remember Ralphie's little brother Randy? His whiny voice when he can't put his arms down in the snowsuit because he is bundled too tight? Well, Charli's voice sounds EXACTLY like Randy's at this point. Mark and I are horrible parents...because we are laughing. I'm not talking haha. Mark was rolling on the bed laughing. I am kegaling to beat the band, so I won't pee my pants.
Then I felt kind of bad...so we called Charli back to our room and I got her calmed down. She is saying random stuff and it's so funny because she is sitting with the rag over her eyes on my bed and she says:
"My eyes...my beautiful eyes." (Which reminds me of a commercial you know the one.)
Her eyes finally stopped burning, and miraculously her eye I got the eyewash in feels much better then the one I didn't get it into. Alas, just when we think the drama is going to die out, her FACE starts burning. So being the concerned mom that I am, I turn to her and say "Do you think it has anything to do with crying your eyes out and screaming like a raging lunatic for the past 30 minutes? Hmm? Put a cold rag on your face, Daddy will get you an ice pack, and go get in bed."
She went to bed and Mark and I laughed and laughed over her Oscar worthy performance. Oh and her eyes are fine, turns out a good cry is a great way to flush them.
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Time Flies...
"Time flies"...it's so cliché. We say it often and are nonchalant about it. However, there are moments in life that you realize how true that statement is. Tomorrow my only child starts 5th grade and it boggles my mind, that this once tiny being who was a prayer I whispered for nightly against my pillow is starting her final year of elementary school. This tween whose height is even with the bump on my nose, is in fact the same little girl I sang to and rocked to sleep nearly every night until she was three years old. I am in shock that the sassy, shoe stealing, lip gloss wearing young lady, was once the little girl whose hand I let go of in a Denny's parking lot to pick up her book, the one who spilled glitter all over my kitchen, and the one who flashed the entire congregation during her preschool Christmas performance. I truly am in awe of how time flies. I realize...all that time...all those years...really are just little moments. Hundreds of little moments that have made up her young life, and the memories that live in the heart of her mother.
Tonight, on the eve of 5th grade, I will do something I haven't done since who knows when. I will pull out the storage container from her closet floor, and dig through the treasures that lay within it, and find her favorite book from when she was a toddler. I will crawl into her bed and read her a bedtime story. While she sleeps, I will make pancake batter, so when she wakes up tomorrow she can have chocolate chip pancakes made in the pan that is molded like the face of a pig. She will giggle and I will remember that the piggy shaped pancake, is reminiscent of her former obsession with pigs...an obsession that began just before her fourth birthday when I took her to see the movie Charlotte's Web. I will create a moment, one that she may not remember, one that may be lost when I am yelling at her to hurry up or she is going to be late for school...but I will still create a moment nevertheless.
Tomorrow, I will pause for a few seconds and take it all in. I will take her picture on her first day of her last year of elementary school and I will allow it to sink in, and I will take notice that it is a moment in time...and time flies.
Tonight, on the eve of 5th grade, I will do something I haven't done since who knows when. I will pull out the storage container from her closet floor, and dig through the treasures that lay within it, and find her favorite book from when she was a toddler. I will crawl into her bed and read her a bedtime story. While she sleeps, I will make pancake batter, so when she wakes up tomorrow she can have chocolate chip pancakes made in the pan that is molded like the face of a pig. She will giggle and I will remember that the piggy shaped pancake, is reminiscent of her former obsession with pigs...an obsession that began just before her fourth birthday when I took her to see the movie Charlotte's Web. I will create a moment, one that she may not remember, one that may be lost when I am yelling at her to hurry up or she is going to be late for school...but I will still create a moment nevertheless.
Tomorrow, I will pause for a few seconds and take it all in. I will take her picture on her first day of her last year of elementary school and I will allow it to sink in, and I will take notice that it is a moment in time...and time flies.
Friday, August 2, 2013
If blowing out candles on a birthday cake really made wishes come true...what would you wish for? Since today is my birthday, I began to wonder what I would wish for. A bigger house? A newer car? A better job? No. I have given it a great deal of thought. If I had three wishes...I would wish for...
* A time machine. I would have conversations with my younger self and instill the knowledge it took me 36 years to gain. I wouldn't undo any single event good or bad because... that would mean altering the course that is my life, a life in which I'm happy. I would just impart true wisdom...like being healthy has little to do with numbers on a scale, and that the most incredible blessings in life are the ones worth waiting for.
*The ability to recall memories and feel, see, touch, taste, hear and smell the moments just by thinking about them. I would think about my grandpa and be able to feel his arms around me, and breathe in the smell of garlic and Ben Gay. I would remember kissing my dad goodbye before school every morning, and feel the stubble on his cheek and the sound of his voice as he said "Love you, baby." I would think about the moments when the magic of life happens, the moments that are important, the ones that we don't even realize matter until we are looking back. I would be able to remember the way Charli smelled when she was a baby, the sound of her little toddler voice, and the feel of her hand in mine back when it was so much smaller.
*A "Beam Me Up Scotty" machine, big enough for me and a few friends...Seriously how cool would that be?! I could just step in a capsule and beam myself to Italy for a bottle of wine for dinner. My girls and I would never miss another book signing. I could go visit all the places on my bucket list with out the hassle of car or air travel. Yes a Scotty Machine indeed.
Thirty six certainly isn't old by any stretch, though when I was seventeen it seemed ancient. I have learned that sometimes you have to agree to disagree, especially when it comes to your family. I have learned that being able to let go of things helps you hold on to others. I have learned the value of true friendship and am blessed to have true friends. I have learned that regardless of how I would like certain people to take better care of themselves, I can't do it for them. Murphy's Law always applies and sometimes you need to be okay with where you are in order to get where you want to be. Anything worth having is worth fighting for.
Today is my birthday. I am content, well loved and happy. It is a very happy birthday.
* A time machine. I would have conversations with my younger self and instill the knowledge it took me 36 years to gain. I wouldn't undo any single event good or bad because... that would mean altering the course that is my life, a life in which I'm happy. I would just impart true wisdom...like being healthy has little to do with numbers on a scale, and that the most incredible blessings in life are the ones worth waiting for.
*The ability to recall memories and feel, see, touch, taste, hear and smell the moments just by thinking about them. I would think about my grandpa and be able to feel his arms around me, and breathe in the smell of garlic and Ben Gay. I would remember kissing my dad goodbye before school every morning, and feel the stubble on his cheek and the sound of his voice as he said "Love you, baby." I would think about the moments when the magic of life happens, the moments that are important, the ones that we don't even realize matter until we are looking back. I would be able to remember the way Charli smelled when she was a baby, the sound of her little toddler voice, and the feel of her hand in mine back when it was so much smaller.
*A "Beam Me Up Scotty" machine, big enough for me and a few friends...Seriously how cool would that be?! I could just step in a capsule and beam myself to Italy for a bottle of wine for dinner. My girls and I would never miss another book signing. I could go visit all the places on my bucket list with out the hassle of car or air travel. Yes a Scotty Machine indeed.
Thirty six certainly isn't old by any stretch, though when I was seventeen it seemed ancient. I have learned that sometimes you have to agree to disagree, especially when it comes to your family. I have learned that being able to let go of things helps you hold on to others. I have learned the value of true friendship and am blessed to have true friends. I have learned that regardless of how I would like certain people to take better care of themselves, I can't do it for them. Murphy's Law always applies and sometimes you need to be okay with where you are in order to get where you want to be. Anything worth having is worth fighting for.
Today is my birthday. I am content, well loved and happy. It is a very happy birthday.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Believe it...
The words swirl in my head, my fingers feverishly peck the keys, and my word count climbs higher by the second. I never dreamed of owning a farm with talking animals, when I was a kid. I had no desire to be president, or run away with the circus. I wanted to fall in love, get married, have babies, be a teacher, then later changed to being a writer. I didn't think it would take having my heart broken, not once by twice, (being a teenager sucked), before I met the man my childhood dreams were made of. I guess the third time really is a charm. I just assumed that I would have babies, an even number, like two, four, or six. The fact that I was blessed with one is a miracle. Somewhere along the way, from those childhood dreams to the word that invokes fear in many...reality...I grew up and became jaded. What once seemed possible, suddenly had a snow cone chance in Hades of ever happening.
I used to make up stories when I was a kid, to entertain my sister. I had always been the "creative one". I wrote poems, and stories, and in high school, I wrote for the school paper. I am not sure when it happened but sometime after I dipped my toe into the water of the real world, I stopped writing. Why? Life happens. You work, get married, have kids (or in my case a kid), and you pay the bills. Time slips away and you muddle through, one day rolling into the next. You do what needs to be done and you place the needs of your family above all else. You work at a job you no longer love, to provide for the family you do love. If you are lucky, you find a way, to let the person you wanted to be, become part of the person you are.
I never thought I would be in the midst of writing my first novel at 35 years old. Truth be told, I will be 36 in a few weeks. I mean I never thought...I would be in the midst of writing a freaking novel! How incredibly awesome is that?! You are never too old to become the person you were in your dreams. Go ahead, take an acting class or two. Dance like nobody is watching. Head to the batting cages. Go back to school. We teach our children that anything is possible, that with hard work and determination, they can make impossible dreams a reality. We say it to them with such conviction, and we don't doubt the words for a second. We don't doubt their ability to make it happen. Believe it for yourself... the way you believe it for your kids. Give yourself permission to be passionate about something.
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