Helping Me Up

It's so hard to say goodbye to yesterday

2012-01-25T12:10:00.003-05:00

As Steven walked through the door that night he was met by L who expectantly said, "How's my horse, Daddy?"

He looked at her with an expression I don't often see. Defeat.

"L, he's not good. I don't think he will make it."

In silence she just looked at him in disbelief. This isn't how it was supposed to have turned out. This wasn't how the story was supposed to have ended.

With blank eyes she looked at him and the corners of her mouth turned up. Although her lips were smiling, the smile had most definitely NOT made it to her eyes.

"L, why are you smiling?" Steven asked.

Her head stiffly turned and looked at me, the same expression on her face. This expression, however, was not new to me. I had seen it often when looking at my own husband when on the verge of breaking himself, almost as if he was willing himself to not break down. The smile, however, is hollow.

I was amazed that Steven didn't recognize an expression that he, himself, had worn.

"Don't you see? She's just like you. She's trying not to cry."

I picked L up and sat her on the counter top and pulled her to me like I had many times before. As I sat there holding her, her legs wrapped around my body and her arms wrapped around my neck, her weight supported by the counter, she laid her head on my shoulder. Steven leaned over, rubbed her back, and said, "It's OK to cry."

Although it was a statement, L almost seemed to take it as permission, and the walls that she had hid safely behind fell down.

The tears were first and when enough relief wasn't granted by them, the sobs shook her whole body.

B, knowing that L was the "strong one" and that this rawness was rare, came and stood by her side, almost as a temporary protector.

His eyes filled with tears and he blinked them away, determined, this time, to be the strong one.

When her crying became too much, he walked towards the window, looked out, regained his composure, and once again, took up his post at her side. I took her to bed and laid beside her stroking her hair and rubbing her back. B came in and crawled into bed on my other side. Although no sound was heard, my arm, the one resting beneath B's head, became damp with the tears that he shed for his sister.

When L finally quieted I thought she had succumbed to sleep. However, it was then that a sob that she had buried deep within her escaped. B was silent no more. "Momma?", "I think we need to say a BIG prayer."

Prayers for miracles had been made by these two children for days and I didn't want them to doubt God's power to perform one, but at the same time, I wanted them to know that some things just are...and it doesn't mean that God isn't. I met his request with the statement, "Maybe we can just ask God to do what He believes is right. Even if that means ending Weston's suffering. Do you want to pray aloud and together, or silently to ourselves?"

"To ourselves...." he replied and then there was silence.

********************

The next morning L woke and started getting ready for school. As I combed her hair she spoke for the first time about her horse.

"Letting him go is going to be really hard."

I agreed and hugged her. I told her that she had some extra time before school if she wanted to go and spend some time with Weston, knowing that it might be her last chance.

She nodded and went outside. I finished getting B ready and went outside to be with her. Steven was home that day and had been out doing chores when he saw her walk towards her horse. He silently walked to her and placed his hand on her back. As I drew closer to them I couldn't help but marvel at their distinct similarities. Without a word each knew what the other was thinking...and feeling.

I closed the gap and stood by their sides. L silently peered into the pen, knowing that Weston had become to unstable to join. Steven's gaze met mine as a tear rolled down L's cheek. His beautiful blue eyes were filled with tears threatening to spill over. It was now his mouth that formed a smile and a nervous laugh escaped before he turned on his heel and walked away before L could bear witness to his weakness.

****************

I didn't know how I could tell her the news. Steven had decided that I needed to be the one to do it, rationalizing that she would "do better seeing her mama cry, than she would seeing me cry". "I wasn't attached to the horse", he explained, as if an explanation was necessary, "I just can't bear to see her hurt."

*****************

I pulled up to the school and hadn't made it to the first stop sign before she asked. "I'm sorry, L. I am so sorry". I reached back and grabbed her hand. As I searched for her eyes in the rear view mirror I saw an expression worn of that of a defiant teenager. Her brow was furrowed and her mouth said, somewhat hatefully, "WHAT?!".

It was then that B realized what had transpired. In desperation and with his tears freely flowing he said, "L's horse died!" "Oh no!.....Poor L!". He began crying without even trying to hide it.

She sat, stiff backed, looking out the car window, with only an occasional tear running down her cheek.

We made it over half-way home when B, while still crying, said, "Is it too late for our miracle?"

After we pulled in the drive, L opened her car door and walked straight to the house. She passed her daddy without a word.

"L?" I gently said. "Do you want to go see where he is buried? To put the marker on the grave?"

She shook her head 'no', and continued in the house, kicking off her shoes without slowing down her pace.

She looked so stiff to me that I couldn't keep to myself anymore.

I came up behind her, turned her around to face me, and picked up my 8 year old girl and carried her to the rocking chair where I rocked her like a baby.

And she let me.

Only a few stray tears trickled down and after about 5 minutes she turned to me and said, "Last night was my night. I'm OK. Last night was my time."

Steven came in a bent down and kissed her on her forehead and said, "I'm sorry about your horse."

In turn, he was met with, "Nice hair, Daddy!" as she pointed to a piece of hair that stuck straight up on his head, and again, "Nice!".

She repositioned herself where she was sitting up and started talking about the day, what she wanted for supper, and anything other than what Steven and I were thinking about and had been worrying about all day.

She had once again, pushed it aside, and was willing herself to move on.

As my phone kept chirping as it was receiving notifications from facebook, L noticed her name in some of the comments.

I explained that earlier that day I had shared what had happened to Weston and that all of these comments were people wishing her well and praying for her.

She swallowed hard.

I then went to the computer and showed her the number of comments there were.

Again, that pesky lump in her throat made swallowing visibly difficult.

Then, so wise beyond her years, she said, "I want to thank them."

And so, she wrote on my status:

"This is (L). THANK YOU SO MUCH.I loved the comments.IT WAS REALLY HARD.
The comments made my day better!"

I couldn't believe that she had, in her heartache, wanted to thank others for their kindness. She amazes and inspires me daily.

*******************

That night, in her infinite wisdom, she hugged my neck and said, "You know......letting Weston go was much harder than him being gone. He's not suffering now."

I am amazed at L's compassion, and her wisdom, and I can't wait to see who this 8 year old girl turns out to be.

I am warmed by B's compassion, concern and care for his sister and I can't wait to see who this 6 year old boy turns out to be.

And I can't help but wonder how I got so incredibly lucky?

(This is L and the newest member of our family, Sweetie. They were both pretty tight just minutes after meeting each other at Sweetie's former home. I think Sweetie might have been looking for someone just like her and L was looking for someone just like Sweetie.)

I wish she would just go ahead and cry

2012-01-09T15:47:00.001-05:00

My daughter, L, is one of the strongest people I know. She has a positive spirit and a fearless attitude. I've written about her, and my admiration of her personality and strength, many times. And trust me, I am not writing this as a parent with their chest filled with pride saying, "Yep, that's my girl!", as if I had some hand in her being this person that she is. However, I am, in fact, writing this as a mother that is filled with awe at a girl that is so much more than I could ever teach her to be and has all of these amazing qualities despite me. She is so much stronger than I ever could be.

But even those that seem so very tough, sometimes aren't.

Friday evening Steven noticed that L's horse Weston was standing by the fence behind the house. He didn't think much about it until Saturday morning when Weston was still there. In the same space. Walking in circles.

As Steven went out to assess the situation he noticed that Weston's eye didn't look right and had some drainage.

Worse, however, was the fact that Weston went berserk when Steven would even try to approach him, resulting in him running through the chicken house wire and cutting his front tendon on his back leg.

Steven knew that this was NOT normal for our daughter's horse and had a friend assist him in getting her horse into the pen.

It wasn't an easy task and when the vet arrived he all but confirmed what we already knew.

This was bad.

Very bad.

In fact, by his judgement, Weston has an infection that has spread to his brain. The outlook isn't good.

However, the never-say-die spirit that my daughter has, was handed down to her from her father and in that same spirit he decided to do what he could. And all that he can.

So, an antibiotic shot was given, along with instructions for one shot a day for 5 days as well as two pills a day for 5 days. The vet looked at me and shook his head and said, "there really isn't anything that can be done".

I know that he thought the meds were in vain, but my husband, who I am certain was haunted by the thought of his daughter losing her biggest love, HAD to try.

And so, since Saturday we have been giving meds to a horse that isn't showing any signs of recovery. Steven feels compelled to do all he can and hope for the best.

HOPE.

Sunday morning L drew a picture of Weston in the pen with her pony, Peanut, looking on. Above the clouds was the word "HOPE".

And although I am a big fan of hope, I am also a realist. I don't want to set her up for disappointment and I feel as if I need to be honest.

As I relayed the grim outlook to her after the vet left on Saturday, she looked at me and said, "could he die?" I nodded my head, "yes". Her eyes got misty and her lip trembled only slightly before she bit the corner, shook it off and said with firm resolve, "If this medicine doesn't work, I will just call another vet."

It was as if it was the end of the story and the discussion was closed.

She had decided that Weston would live.

I wish it were that easy.

I wish that she would just go ahead and cry and let me hold her and kiss her head and let her know that I am sharing in her heartbreak.

But she wants to be tough.

And it makes the pictures, and the questions all that much harder.

I wish she would just go ahead and cry.

The praying and the asking God to work a miracle and B nodding in agreement that God does do miracles "especially on Sundays" is wearing away at my weak resolve, and it isn't even my horse. I DO believe in miracles, but....

I wish she would just go ahead and cry.

I don't know how to tell this girl that refuses to give up that she just might have to. And I don't know how to respond when she says, "I would give any thing I have away for Weston to be better". Truthfully, I am not sure I even could respond over the aching lump in my throat.

I wish she would just go ahead and cry.

But since she won't, I will cry for her.

A Vicious Cycle

2011-12-07T14:03:00.000-05:00

I have started this post and have deleted my words over and over.

I am struggling to find them and that is new for me. I never seem to be at a loss for words. I might actually be accused of using too many. Of saying too much.

Tonight, however, I am at a loss for words and at a loss for action.

Lately I seem to struggle in everything I do. Daily routines and rituals are becoming harder. Everything seems to be a chore. The world, and everyone in it, is plotting against me.

Yeah. It's THAT bad.

Generally I would tell you that I love my life and that the daily grind is one of my favorite parts. The day in- day out routines are what I do best.

Lately I am not even doing those well. I have been short-tempered and easily aggravated. I can feel the tension seeping into my back over basic things like getting the kids ready for school or (the worst) getting the kids ready for bed.

Right or wrong, sometimes it seems like those trivial parenting moments are the ones that all of a sudden come crashing down on top of you in a feeling that leaves you fighting for air and questioning whether or not you are getting ANY of this "parenting thing" right.

I find myself feeling a little perturbed that no one gave me a parenting manual and everyone else seems to have theirs memorized. Wasn't the hardest part of parenting supposed to be getting through those initial sleepless nights or making it through the teen years? I underestimated the energy that is required in sorting through the complex make-up of the personalities of children. I also underestimated the energy that is drained from you while molding and shaping children, like pieces of clay, trying to form something that is both useful and beautiful and appreciated by others.

This 8 year old daughter of mine? I expect far too much from her. She is passionate and caring. Witty and mature. She is self assured and confident. She is an optimist. She has a sense of humor that keeps me laughing. More often than not she is selfless. She is incredibly empathetic and seems to always know what is needed from her in the form of words and actions. She is like her daddy.

Still. She is 8 years old. And she is my daughter. Although she is all those wonderful things, I shouldn't always expect her to be all those wonderful things. I should accept her being less. I mean, after all, aren't I?

This 6 year old son of mine? He is incredibly bright. He is extremely sensitive. He is easily distracted and easily disturbed. He is a worrier. He is a pessimist. He is many times selfish with his wants and time. He is hard on himself. He expects to be let down and disappointed. He expects to disappoint. He is like his mommy.

Still. He is 6 years old. And he is my son. Although he is all of those things, I shouldn't always expect him to be all of those things. I should expect him to be more. I mean, after all - at times -aren't I?

This parenting gig is so tricky. I feel as if I fail my kids daily. I don't have all the answers. There are times that I see the error of my ways and don't know how to fix it or if I even can. I wonder how deeply my ignorance has effected and shaped my kids. I often depend on Steven to balance the scale, but that isn't always possible when so much of the day to day life falls on me and my time.

I think that I always believed that as long as my children knew how fiercely and completely I loved them, that the rest would fall into place. I continue to hope that holds true.

In the meantime, I am sure that I will mess them up daily. In fact, I know that I do. It isn't intentional but isn't that our job as parents? We work and work to right the wrongs committed by our parents during our own childhood, desperate not to repeat their mistakes, only to find that we have committed new and different mistakes in the raising of our own children.

These are the days of my life

2011-10-12T14:31:00.001-04:00

When I was saddled with the job of (once again) being in charge of a Halloween party at my children’s school, I thought of her.

She was a good friend in elementary and even then we played school. She, of course, was the teacher.

I thought I wanted to be a teacher.

However, I purposefully didn't sign up to chair ANY school parties this year. I even went so far as to inform their teachers that I am MUCH better at following, than I am at leading.

In reality, I am worried about 3rd graders thinking that I am lame.

Yes. Lame.

(A new word that has arrived at my house thanks to the kids at school.)

Anyway, I thought that maybe the kids would like to play Halloween Bingo.

(As I typed it, I DID think to myself, "What are you? 70?")

Anyway. I need help. From someone. Anyone. You? Her?

My friend has a third grader, was a teacher, and has probably been orchestrating parties in her head since school started back after summer break.

You? Well, that's anyones guess.

For some reason, I figure the kids won't remember my stints of chairing their parties in grades K-2, but 3rd grade scares me.

I was talking about Days of our Lives with my teacher in 3rd grade. This is a sophisticated age.

(Maybe I SHOULD talk about Days with the kids or have Days of our Lives trivia?)

Anyway…..

Help!

Please?

Pretty please?

A peek into B's mind

2011-10-11T13:04:00.000-04:00

B, who had been outside since before 8 yesterday morning, was suffering from some pretty serious fatigue. When putting him to bed he fell to pieces because we wouldn't let him sleep in his sleeping bag in our room- which we sometimes do on the weekends. I told him that he needed to sleep in a good bed and get a good nights sleep for school tomorrow. While sobbing he informed me that he was so upset that he would most likely have "bad handwriting on his spelling test".

I don't know where he gets all this drama or his logic....

My money is on Steven.

**********

Sunday, on our way to Farm Fest, Steven and I were talking about the fact that we were most likely going to butcher our chickens. They are old and have all but stopped laying eggs. The kids accepted the news better than I thought they would, knowing we would buy more chicks in the spring.

However, I told Steven that I would like to keep our rooster. We actually hatched him and I think he is really pretty...plus, I stated, as I pled my case, "he is a nice rooster".

B was listening from the back seat and said, "No he isn't!". We explained that THIS rooster was different than the one that attacked him almost a year ago.

"I know!", he said, "This one doesn't attack people but it's mean! He always 'piles up on' the poor chickens!".

All Steven and I could do was laugh and agree. He DOES always seem to 'pile up' on them......

I believe.....

2011-10-05T14:36:00.002-04:00

(Originally written May 17, 2007. Post has been updated to add more information as it was learned.)

My grandpa is 88 years old. He is in remarkable health. Up until a few years ago he still mowed yards for people/businesses in town. While mowing he broke vertebre in his back and had to stop mowing to rehabilitate.

My grandma, who had been in the nursing home for almost ten years, passed away in October of 2005. Although she was ten years younger than my grandpa, her life had been filled with pain.

My grandma and grandpa secretly got married in 1950. They ran off to Arkansas and when they came back to Missouri my grandma went back home to her parents, and grandpa back to his home, and both picked up business as usual. It was only when my great-uncle, my grandma's brother, who still lived at home, fell ill and my grandma's family needed help on the farm that my grandma told them that it would be "OK, she and Quentin were married and he would come and help them out".

Thus began their 55 year marriage. My grandpa will still tell you that in those 55 years they never had a fight, but it was hardly what you would consider wedded bliss.

Although I am sure that my knowledge is even somewhat limited, what I know is enough. My grandma was in and out of a mental hospital while my mom was growing up. Recently my mom has explained that grandma experienced constant itching all over her body and that, combined with the constant trips to an allergy doctor located a state away, in Oklahoma, in hopes of finding an explanation, at times, drove her close to the edge, and caused her eventual admittance(s). Dora, a close friend of the family, helped to raise my mom and her 2 brothers and a younger sister. My grandpa even then stayed close to my grandma's side.

She had what everyone believed to be a nervous condition. On more than one occasion she pleaded with the doctors to find out what was wrong with her. But they thought they already knew..... she was just crazy.

Dora told me personally the night of my grandma's visitation that she remembered as vividly as if it were yesterday, my grandma standing in her kitchen with her hands on her head saying "There is something growing in my head and I KNOW it."

The day she pleaded her case to a small-town country doctor was the day that the tables finally turned in my grandma's direction. Somebody finally believed her. He pulled some strings, made some calls, and sent her to St. Louis to have more tests done. This was a rarity in this day and time. Technology was limited, as were finances.

It was confirmed what my grandma had known all along. She had a brain tumor. Surgery would have to be done. I am sure that at the time it was anyone's guess as to how it would turn out. It was, after all, 1976. Things weren't as streamlined as they are today.

My mom, very pregnant with me, along with my father and the rest of the family went to St. Louis to wait for her to come out of surgery.

Although it wasn't talked about much I am sure that my grandma was in the highest spirits as she came out of surgery - regardless of the outlook.

That is just how she was.

My grandpa still says that in the 55 years that he spent with her, "she never complained about anything." These days THAT is the rarity. I know that I, myself, belly ache over the simplest of things, yet my grandma, misdiagnosed, put in a mental hospital and ultimately enduring brain surgery, never complained. In fact, the only things that I remember as a child that gave clues to the magnitude of her plight were the wigs that she still owned, the fact that she couldn't bend her head back to look up without blacking out, and that no matter how sad the situation, Grandma couldn't cry. She apparently was no longer able to.

No wonder they never fought. Who could fight with a woman such as that?

Especially when you were as much in love as they were.

Fast forward 18 years. Grandma started being less sure on her feet. At 67 years of age, she was still relatively young. She knew something wasn't right.

Tests revealed, once again, what she already knew. The brain tumor had returned and was growing. Even with time and technology on her side, the odds of the surgery being successful were slim to none.

She decided to embrace the time that she had left and enjoy as much of it as she could. She gradually began falling more, getting up in the middle of the night and stumbling with grandpa waking to find her where she had fallen.

The worry of it all was getting to him, physically making him sick.

She began to forget more and more.....and she became nearly impossible for grandpa to take care of. My grandma had said all along, "There are places that will take care of me when you can't, and I will not move in with my children and hinder their lives. Do not worry about it."

And she meant it.

She wasn't playing a pity card.

Grandpa's doctor finally told him straight up, "If you don't do something, you will end up in a hospital yourself, or worse. Then you wouldn't be able to be there for Pauline."

My mom told me once that the hardest thing she ever did was to break the news to grandma, along side her sister and grandpa, that grandpa was no longer able to care for her anymore and that she would be moving to the nursing home. Upon hearing these words, mom said that she patted their heads as they cried at her feet, and that she knew that if grandma were able, she would have cried too.

For a couple of years grandpa would get grandma and they would go places together, he'd take her out to eat, and some weekends she would come home and stay with him.

Over time, she worsened and didn't want to, as well as wasn't able to, leave the nursing home.

My grandpa went to see her almost every day. Many days he went more than once. He helped to feed her, give her drinks, and most of all, encouragement.

Since her passing in October of 2005, grandpa has been at a loss. He seems to have more free time in the day than he would like.....of course, missing the trips to the nursing home.

Some days he is up and going strong making it hard to believe that he is 88. Other days you can see a lifetime of emotion sneaking up on him......making him, and his steps, a little slower.

A couple of months ago he told my mom something I knew he thought that she wouldn't believe.

He told her that while sleeping one night he woke up and rolled over in bed. There before him was my grandma, in a chair that sits by their bed, watching him sleep. He said he couldn't believe it and when he blinked his eyes she was gone......"I wish I had never blinked.", he told my mom.

"I was awake as I am now and she was there......I wasn't dreaming".

I believe him.

I believe him as I believed my Grandma S.

We are never alone. God, and all of those who went before us, are with us always.

Lyrics to: I Believe- Diamond Rio

Every now and then, soft as breath upon my skin,

I feel you come back again.

And it’s like you haven’t been
gone a moment from my side,

Like the tears were never cried,

Like the hands of time were pulling you and me.

And with all my heart I’m sure, we’re closer than we ever were,

I don’t have to hear or see, I’ve got all the proof I need.

There are more than angels watching over me.

I believe, Oh, I believe.

Now when you die your life goes on,

It doesn’t end here when you’re gone.

Every soul is filled with light,

it never ends and if I’m right,

Our love can even reach across eternity.

I believe, Oh I believe.

Forever you’re a part of me,

forever in the heart of me,

I will hold you even longer if I can.

Oh the people, who don’t see the most,

say that I believe in ghosts.

If that makes me crazy, then I am......

Cause, I believe.

Oh I believe.

There are more than angels watching over me.

I believe, Oh I believe.

Every now and then soft as breath upon my skin,

I feel you come back again

And I believe.

An Old Soul That's Young At Heart

2011-09-21T15:26:00.001-04:00

B has been referred to (so many times that I have lost track) as an old soul.

And he is.

As an example, the other night, while driving home, I mentioned to the kids that the moon was really pretty. B looked at it, then said to me and his sister, "That is a harvest moon." I got home, tucked the kids into bed and walked into the dining room to share with Steven that B had stated that he thought the moon was a harvest moon. We both laughed at a 6 year old even knowing the term "Harvest Moon" and chalked it up, yet again, to the 80 year old living inside our 6 year old son. However, an hour later, while watching the evening news, our mouths flew open as we heard the meteorologist comment on the harvest moon that was gracing our night sky that very evening.

Also, the other day, while Steven and I were talking about a tree that was dying in the yard, B interceded and commented that "bag worms are really bad this year".

These things make him funny, and unique, and interesting and concerned beyond his years. I am gifted daily with bits and pieces of information from my child that continues to reveal to me who he is. And who he is going to be.

I knew he was different than most kids early on.

His interests were not the same as theirs.

He wanted to know how, and why, things worked. He wanted to offer up ideas as to how it would be better. He wanted to do so many things that I can't even offer a clear view of him with my written words.

However, much like many boys (and girls) his age, he was captivated by the movie Cars.

However, what he took away from the movie seemed to be somewhat different.

First, he was immediately drawn to Route 66 and any historical information pertaining to it. As young as 3, he would sit contentedly watching a PBS documentary about the "mother road". He listened intently and took note of the changes in society and the mindset of individuals that brought about this stretch of highway, and also the changes and mindset that was, eventually, its demise. He spoke with great concern about these with us.

At age 4, not surprisingly, on the heels of his sister's room receiving a makeover, B begged for his room to be changed too. Route 66, of course, would be the theme. Gone was the cowboy decor that he had since birth and in it's place a different era would set up shop.

Of course, what is a Route 66 room without a BIG Route 66 sign?

Although trying to figure out how to make this happen was almost the death of me, I ended up getting a sheet of 4 x 4, 1/4" sheet of wood and used a projector to transfer the image onto the wood by tracing it with a marker. My mom cut it out for me with a jigsaw.

And then I started painting.

And then, with my son as the foreman, I tried to get the sign as old and "rusty" looking as I could. Although I stopped short of it looking "rusty enough", B could tell that his momma was close to throwing in the towel and he finally agreed that it was "OK".

Of course, road signs were necessary. B actually found two at my mom and dad's that had been drug out of the gravel bed after being washed down the river during a time of flooding. They were beat up, missing some paint and beginning to rust. In short, for him, they were perfect.

We hauled them home and realized that objects in the bedroom are much larger than they appear in the rearview mirror.

Although he had his heart set on using real, old signs, I won the argument that they would not work when I expressed the fear that if they fell down off of the wall they might smash him in his bed.

Sure. It was a scare tactic. But it was also true.

So we settled for smaller signs that we found on ebay.

When we opened their packages, B just looked at them and then at me and stated that I needed to make them look old.

He wanted nothing to do with bright and shiny.

Since bright and shiny was not an option in B's book, the replica gas pumps were perfect.

Also perfect? The clock.

As the room started coming together, it was more and more obvious that it was a much better representation of B than the cowboy room was. We wanted to add memories to the room. Memories of us traveling a portion of Route 66 that we hadn't traveled before.

So we added pictures.

And we also included pictures of portions of Route 66 that we travel nearly every single day, but since B's interest, now looked at with renewed appreciation.

We have encouraged this interest of B's and have watched him soak up the history that he has learned at museums, in books, and on film - there are many lessons to be learned from the past.

Interestingly enough, I believe that B latched onto the lesson inadvertantly taught by, ahem, Mater, and has embraced that fully.

He didn't walk away with a desire to have a car like Lightning McQueen, but instead fell deeply in love with our 1973 rusted out Ford feed truck.

Actually, and more specifically, he fell in love with anything that was rusted, old, or terribly in need of some TLC. He sees what they were, and what they could be.

He sees these things as perfect. And desirable. And under appreciated.

In fact, he even had me take his picture while he sat on the hood of the rusted out truck and exclaimed, "I LOVE this truck!".

I'd like to say that I appreciate the beauty of this ole' truck too, but I'd be lying.

But I can say, without reservation, that a million times a day I appreciate the beauty of the little guy sitting on the hood.

Not crazy- just a little unwell

2011-09-20T13:26:00.007-04:00

Let's be honest.

I'm a mess.

Seriously.

A total mess.

I guess we all are on some level, mine just happens to be on several levels.

But if I know I'm crazy, I'm not that crazy. Right?

Right?!

I haven't blogged for almost a month.

You know what else?

I haven't done much of anything else either. Except eat.

Now, I don't mean that I haven't blogged because I haven't done anything to blog about. Or that I have stopped doing my day to day activities. Outwardly, my life has looked much the same this month, as it did months before. We still had our weekly weenie roast. We still went places, and the kids most definitely still said funny things.

Inwardly, I was stagnant. Outwardly, I was eating three packages of snack cakes at a time.

It happens when I feel the fingers of anxiety itching up my spine.

I hate it.

My mind races and I tell it to be quiet, hoping that my false bravado kicks the anxiety to the curb and I actually fool myself into believing what I am saying.

Don't laugh.

Sometimes it actually works.

What is odd is that many times I honestly do not know what I am anxious about. Many times, the physical symptoms I experience, probably because of the anxiety, become the focus of my anxiety and therefore is given the credit of being the cause of the anxiety in the first place....which is, almost assuredly, not the case.

In layman's terms: Anxiety turns me into a hypochondriac.

And when you turn into a hypochondriac, Google, my friends, is NOT your friend.

So, at the urging of one of my ACTUAL friends, not Google, I am making a list of conditions I may, or may not, have had, in the last month.

In no particular order:

Early onset dementia
Raynaud's disease
MS
Mini-stroke
Tumor in my nose
Fibromyalgia
ALS
Parkinsons
Sjogren's Syndrome
Alzheimers
Dry Mouth
Perimenopause

What is sad is that I am sure I am forgetting some. Many of these are closely related, and who knows what the future holds, but I also know that the vast majority of my "symptoms" disappear after my anxiety goes back to normal.

(I.E.-I stop having violent jerks of my whole body when going to bed and trying to relax.)

(Relax? What IS that?)

Actually, I think that I probably AM going through perimenopause. And, although I don't believe I actually have a tumor in my nose (never really did believe that), I DO think that due to over zealous itching of my nose, during allergy attacks, I broke some cartilage or SOMETHING. It is actually larger on one side and asymmetrical now. And for those of you that know me, you know that there is nothing I would like more than a bigger nose.

Ahem.

And, of course, I noticed my nose while looking at my tounge (which was dry) and then noticed my lips were slanted to one side when I stuck my tongue out and figured that I must have had a mini-stroke at some point to make my mouth crooked, or at least, crooked when sticking my tongue out..and now that I was looking, my lips slant to one side, too. When did that happen?

Yes. It's a vicious cycle.

I have to say, the jerking at night did score me an awesome back-rub from my husband. However, the next night he wanted to know when he got his. And you know about guys and back rubs.....

Well...if you don't, I am not going to be the one to tell you.

One thing that I know about myself, and something that I want to actively change, is the way I pull back from everything except the worry. It consumes me. I force myself to go about my day and, if you were on the outside looking in, you would probably not know the difference.

I, however, do. And the worry, well, it just feeds itself. But the other aspects of your life don't. They need to be nurtured. Relationships, children, and myself. Everything suffers when I am like this. I go through the motions of life. Nothing is experienced 100% and everything is just a varying shade of grey.

I can't fully devote my time and energy to anything but the worry.

One of my friends asked how often I had to deal with this. Thankfully, only once or twice a year. Oh, honestly, I worry all the time. But it isn't always debilitating.

I could feel the difference as the cloud of worry passed. It leaves as quickly as it comes.

For some people it never leaves.

I don't think this is what God planned for us. One: worry is futile. He is in control. Worrying will change nothing. (Easy to say. Harder to keep from doing.) Two: God wants us to be fully present with Him-at all times. Admittedly, I am not great at being fully present with God when I am not worrying....let alone when I am.

I think I have prayer ADD. God is probably as confused at the end of my prayers as I am.

"Dear God, please watch over my children and -I forgot to start the dishwasher - let them feel your love and goodness and let them -what am I going to wear to work tomorrow? - where was I? Um, God, please keep Steven safe and be with those who - I just twitched again! Geesh! - OK, keep me from my selfish ways and - what am I going to fix for supper tomorrow night? - .........."

It goes on and on. Be glad you don't live in my mind.

I am not proud.

It is something I want to work on, and work through. Not around.

Although I don't wish for the cloud to return, I think that I am genetically pre-disposed to expect, and be "gifted with", it's arrival. However, my prayer needs not to be that it passes me by, but that I can learn how to cope with it when it comes. I want to be thankful to God in all times. Not just the times when His presence is obvious. In the laughter and the love. I want to seek Him in the times my life feels gray and cold. And to thank Him when it doesn't.

I don't want anyone in my life to ever wonder what it would have been like if I would have only experienced it - life - "in color".

Bad boys, bad boys....

2011-08-18T11:50:00.002-04:00

Last night as we sat around the table, Steven was thinking about the conversation he had just had, moments before, with my sister.

A person from my husband's past had sent Sarah with a message for my husband.

The message was, "No hard feelings....?" along with the sentiment that he thought that Steven was a really great guy-despite their history. He was, after all, just doing his job.

Apparently the conversation with my sister fueled Steven's need to take the opportunity to "share" (ahem) with our children.

As he turned on his storytelling voice, the kids' ears perked up, sure that this would be worth every ounce of their attention.

They weren't wrong.

"Kids, I have a story to tell you."

"You know how on the Dukes of Hazzard... (OK. I am pressing the "pause" button now. Before I continue I would like to say that I think that every half-way decent parent knows that general parenting guidelines, or life lessons, are probably NOT found on The Dukes of Hazzard. Or are they? Anyway. Rewind.)

You know how on the Dukes of Hazzard the Duke boys are always running from the cops? Well, one time, I ran from the cops too."

The kids eyes were wide and L's held a twinkle that made me think that she was admiring her father even more and B's mind was racing wondering if somehow, someway, this would trickle down and go on his record.

Steven continued on....

"You see, once when I was 16 or 17..."

I cleared my throat, looked at the kids and dryly gave them the facts... "He was 21 or 22."

"Oh? Really?"

"Really."

"Oh, OK. So once when I was 21 or 22 I was riding my four-wheeler from my house where I lived with my parents, to your Mi Mi and Pa Pa's house where your mama lived. We were dating and it was only about 2 miles away so I rode my four-wheeler down to see her. I did it all the time...."

B said, "yeah...cause it's in the country!".

Steven looked at him and laughed and said, "Exactly. It's the country. And I rode my four-wheeler all the time. It's just what I did."

At that moment I felt the need to interject the fact that, ".....but it WAS, and is, against the law..."

Steven looked at me and said, "yes. It was against the law. But I always rode my four wheeler on the highway. However, just the week before I had rode it to a conservation area and was confronted by another cop-like person who rattled off all the tickets that he could give me. He didn't, but he said if I was caught again, it was inevitable.

Soooo.....when I was heading to you see your mama and I met a Highway Patrolman and he hit his lights, I got spooked. I decided that I would gun it. Admittedly, not the smartest thing I could have chose to do. But I did. And once you commit, there is no backing down."

I cleared my throat again, making my entrance back into the conversation known, as I stated, "Kids. You can ALWAYS back down if it means doing the right thing...."

Steven hesitated not wanting to have his children "weaken" once they had committed....even if it was committing to running from the law.

Meeting my gaze he caved to the moral obligation of parenting and conceded, "Yeah, I should've just stopped. I felt I had gone too far...." However, the twinkle was still in his eyes.

"You see kids, my plan was to take off and go down beside Pa Pa's barn and follow the road down to the river, through the woods and on my way....without a cop on my trail. However......Pa Pa had shut the gate and although I might've had time to unlock it, my body had adrenaline racing through it and all I could think was, 'I've gone this far......'"

"Right there, I decided to bail off the four wheeler and take off running- for the woods. The patrolman came, searched the barns and woods looking for me, (I swear Steven's chest swelled when he then said:) but he couldn't find me. He then left a card with your Mi Mi and mama saying that I'd better call in 30 minutes or I would be in even bigger trouble."

"Your Mi Mi was mad...your aunt Sissy (age 9) told the cop a replay of how I had slid into the driveway because I was going 'sooo fast' and your mama was embarrassed."

"So, I went back home and called him. He wrote me a lot of tickets but when I went to pay for them the court clerk threw many of them out because they were all so closely related."

He looked at me and smiled sheepishly. "I bet my parents were proud." Honestly, I couldn't help laughing. Years had a way of taking away some of the embarrassment and admittedly, a little admiration had taken it's place.

Not that I condone breaking the law.

We all know I am a rule follower.

But the ability to throw caution to the wind? Wow. I think it's safe to say that is a trait I will NEVER develop, but have learned to admire.

The kids were taking it all in and then L stated, as if realizing for the first time, "we still ride on the highway" to which B replied, "Yeah....because we live in the country." To him it was a no-brainer. Law or no law.

I spent several minutes with the kids schooling them on the importance of laws and law enforcement. I tried to steer clear of explaining why it was OK for us to break that law, and not others... No parenting award for me but I was hoping to somewhat redeem myself as a parent with all the talk of lessons learned and mistakes made.

Knowing the part of him that was a father always took precedent over the part of him that would most likely "run" again, given the opportunity, Steven even encouraged them to always do the right thing and not follow in his footsteps.

I was hoping that just maybe a lesson had been taught and that giving the kids this glimpse of their father at 21 would end up being a learning experience where Steven could honestly say, "Been there. Done that. Kids, learn from my mistakes."

I began to rise to clear the table, believeing that maybe I had been successful in turning 'storytime' into an opportunity to drive home the point that no matter what the situation, you always can 'turn around' and do the right thing. Changing your course is always an option. Steven himself was proof of that.

However, I hadn't even grabbed my first plate when Steven matter-of-factly stated,

"However, if sometime you do decide to run, ditch your vehicle and then call the cops and report it stolen."

Um?

I think I have my work cut out for me.

I wanna hold your hand....

2011-08-17T15:42:00.001-04:00

Today was the first day of 1st and 3rd grade for B and L.

You would think that after a while these feelings that get lodged in my throat would subside and I would be accustomed to the changing tide of the school year.

You would think.

Instead, last night I left Open House with a heaviness settling inside of me. It seemed like I had just gotten used to the idea of my baby being in Kindergarten. Now I had to deal with him being in 1st grade and L being in the "upper hall".

My husband weighed in guessing that the change in the bus pickup and drop off time was what had thrown me for a loop.

"You don't like change...." he stated.

He is right.

But not about the bus times.

This morning, after dropping the kids off at school, my cell phone rang.

His familiar voice was there asking a question he already knew the answer to. "Hey! How'd it go?"

I tried to verbalize my feelings diplomatically and matter-of-factly.

I tried.

"I feel like that our children belong to us before they start school. Birthdays are a reminder of their age, but each day resembles that of the other- no strings, no obligations, no school....Each day is so similiar that you almost believe that every day yet to come will also be the same. And that absence of change I am OK with. Then the kids start school and the days look much different. I feel like each grade progression is a flaunting of the fact that soon, and very soon, my children will go on their way....without me."

Without realizing it was coming I felt the facts disappear behind my very raw feelings and I had to immediately shut off the words for fear that more emotion, as evidenced my tears and jagged breaths, would spew forth.

Steven in his own wisdom spoke of cherishing each moment, each stage, even each grade and make memories every day that will last long after the children are grown.

I knew he was right but all the talk of memories spoke of a time forgotten, left behind, and a time being recalled. I don't want to recall times with my children and the innocence they bring to my life. I want to live it. The thought of not living it physically pains me.

Ironically, I acknowledge that worrying about it keeps me from fully living it while they are still here, standing before me.

Why is it my mind knows what my heart can't even bear to speak of?

Maybe he is right and the time will come when we will be happy to see them leave.

Actually, I don't think he really even believes that.

Maybe what he really means is that there will come a time when we will be happy to see them visit....

Maybe.

To be more like him....

2011-07-30T11:16:00.000-04:00

Yesterday Steven celebrated his 38th birthday.

Although these pictures are a few years old, I still see him the exact same way:

Fearless.

I am so glad that he chose me to grow old with.

The Road - Part 3 of ?

2011-07-28T16:37:00.005-04:00

I remember many years ago a student, a little older than me, was killed in a car accident.

I didn't know him.

I vaguely knew his siblings.

It was sad that a life had been lost at such a young age. Incomprehensible, really. The weight of the loss could be felt throughout the school.

Sometimes, in life, there isn't enough time given to heal such deep wounds.

A few weeks later, one day in the hall, a group of girls looked at me and rolled their eyes.

I immediately thought of my clothes. Or my hair. Or my face.

My appearance was the general subject of disdain.

Instead one girl, who was my "friend", broke away from the pack, apparently their spokeswoman, came forward and said,

"We heard what you said."

Not even having a remote idea what they were speaking of, I responded the only way I knew how, "What?"

I was all too familiar with the pain in my stomach that had started and the way my throat hurt when struggling not to cry. Although I didn't know yet how she would answer, I knew all too well how the story would end. I had seen it before. Just a different girl cast to play the role of the villain. This time it was me.

And yet, I still didn't know how twisted this story would be.

"You said that you were glad that {he} died."

Astonished that anyone could even utter a phrase such as that, I stammered. Looking back, that probably played into the part nicely, making me look even more guilty.

"No! I never said such a thing. I didn't even know him. Why would I ever say such a thing? Why would anyone ever say such a thing?"

I was panicked and struggling and talking faster by the moment.

I cast my eyes to my "friend" pleading silently with her to state what she knew was true. "You believe me, right? You know I would never say that?"

The other girls looked at her expectantly.

I held my breath. Them against me. A feeling of dread starting washing over me from head to toe....

She looked me square in the eye and flatly said, "I heard you say it."

That was it. It was over.

I exhaled sharply. I was a goner. There was no redemption.

Her word vs. mine.

She was my "friend".

I was broken. This had surpassed the usual school drama. This had jumped right into the unforgivable territory.

For me. And for her.

Or so you would think....

Ironically, or should I say, expectedly, there wasn't a crowd present the day my "friend" returned to my side, admitting she had 'made it up'. Sadly, instead of questioning the possible reasons someone would ever do that to another person, I felt a little of the weight lift off of me as I nodded my head and forgave her. Almost as if on cue I watched as the pack of girls that had uttered accusatory remarks and hateful stares only a week or so before, walked by me in the hallway talking amongst themselves. As they neared me standing by my locker they looked at me and smiled.

I waved, glad that I, at least for that day, was back "in" and wondered what she had told them to clear my name - without tarnishing hers.

I don't think I realized then that this world is full of people that will believe what they hear and hear what they believe.

I shut my locker and walked away....

The Road - Part 2 of ?

2011-07-27T21:03:00.000-04:00

Sixth grade was probably the height of my awkwardness. At least physically.

I remember that I seemed to be uncomfortable in my own skin. Almost like it was too big, or too small.

Either way, I felt suffocated and weighed down all at the same time.

Yearbook pictures were never fun. Ever. I always wondered why my parents even ordered any.

I remember, even at the age of 11, the moment that I had to face looking at myself in a picture.

It was a sickening feeling.

I felt the envelope in my hand and looked down at my image peering back at me through the cellophane window. I was standing in the door of the library opening the envelope and trying to desperately to turn the picture upside down so that it would not be viewable to others.

Before I had successfully made the rotation, I remember a classmate coming up to me in the hallway wanting to see them. We weren't that good of friends and she was everything I wasn't: tall, lean, incredibly athletic, long, smooth, straight hair, big eyes, and clear skin.

"Nah!" I laughed. "They're terrible. Really."

"They can't be that bad", she claimed.

My nervous laughter was followed by, "No. Really. They are."

She laughed and kept putting on the pressure.

(I didn't blame her. Pictures are pictures. Really there aren't bad pictures as much as bad moments captured. Unflattering moments. But generally, almost without fail, you do look like yourself in the photo.

Maybe you in a less than stellar moment, but you nonetheless.)

Always being one to please and never good at deflecting pressure or standing on my own, I ended up flipping the picture over for her to see.

I knew the truth.

I didn't need her to tell me.

Part of me expected the usual, "Awww....it's not that bad."

(That is always what the pretty people say.)

As her eyes scanned the photo and the peered directly into mine, even with all my self-loathing, I was unprepared for what she said.

"Kim, really. Just think about it. You're young. I probably won't look good when I'm older. It's like the ugly duckling. You know how it grew into something beautiful. You might, too."

She was sincere. She truly was. I knew when looking into her face that she was trying to be nice, in her way. A little bit of truth mixed with a tad of encouragement.

She meant well.

At least I think she did.

I looked at her and laughed as I always did and said, "Yeah... I am sure one day I'll be beautiful. Sure. Can't you tell?" as I motioned for her to take me in. All of me.

As I shrugged my shoulders, the laughter coming out of my mouth was still the self-depreciating kind, but I noticed it hurt a little more than usual.

As I turned to go to class I didn't turn back to look at her....

.....I just continued to walk.

The Road - Part 1 of ?

2011-07-27T16:41:00.000-04:00

For some of us it starts in school.

We want to wear clothes like everyone else does.

Be in the class with the cool kids.

Surround ourselves with a wall of friends.

Fit in and NOT be singled out.

At least, that's how it started for me.

Insecurity ran through the heart of me.

I remember a time in 5th grade when a cool girl had a cool pen and was showing it to her friend seated next to me.

"Can I see it?" I asked.

The girl looked at me. We had been "friends" and had shared a few laughs as I knew how to get them; build everyone else up and put myself down.

It was funny.

It worked.

And I made myself the punchline before someone else did.

As she looked at me and to the other friend and then at her new cool pen, her gaze came back to me as she said, "No".

Although I had mentally prepared for this rejection - I always did - I hadn't physically prepared for the invisible fist that landed in my gut, knocking the air from my lungs.

I turned my hands up and looked at my palms. They weren't dirty. But my callouses were stained.

Stained from helping with chores and playing outside.

I immediately was self-conscience of the callouses.

Cool girls had new pens, not callouses.

I watched as the girl, and her other friend, huddled together and oohing and awwing over the wonderful workings and cool design of the new pen.

When the bell finally rang I moved my feet and continued on my journey.

I am still on that journey....

I don't think Ma and Pa did it this way...

2011-07-25T15:38:00.007-04:00

Friday night Steven and the kids picked me up from work and we went out to eat. While eating the kids noticed our close proximity to the park and started thinking back to all the fun that they had on other occasions when they had went with Loriell and Sissy.....

They pleaded with us to let them go.

And since it was Friday night, and despite the fact that it was 5 p.m. and 100 degrees outside, we went.

They had fun running around, up and down the playground equipment. Steven even moved once from his position in the shade to push the kids on the tire swing.

I, still being dressed in my black dress pants and high heels, decided that moving from the shade was not an option.

After arriving home, L and I jumped in the pool and enjoyed the time talking about girl stuff. Daddy came out to the pool and mentioned to me in hushed tones that he had contemplated taking L on a trail ride the next morning and wondered what I thought.

I knew that L had been asking her daddy to go on a trail ride all summer.

Almost every day.

There was no way I could say no.

So when Steven told her that he was going to take her on a trail ride, just less than an hour from our home and they would get up and leave just shortly after 5 a.m., she was over the moon with excitement.

Only few moments later she exited the pool, stating that she needed to get to bed and get a good nights sleep.

It was 7:00 p.m..

Although when they had spoke of going on a trail ride before, I imagined them travelling farther and camping overnight, L couldn't have cared less.

She didn't care where they went, just that they were going.

Isn't that like most kids?

It is us adults that tend to place high expectations on things. Kids are generally happy just to have the experience and the time spent with their parents.

In fact L was so excited about the experience that she was up at 4:30 a.m. just patiently waiting for the alarm to go off to wake her daddy. It was a weekend, after all, and Steven had been getting up and 3:30 to 4:00 a.m. all week and wanted to "sleep in" until 5.

However, once he got up it didn't take them long to get out the door.

I grabbed a couple of quick pictures before they left trying not to cringe because L was wearing jeans that were about 3 inches too short.

She didn't care. She wasn't going to make a fashion statement....she was going to have fun.

(And, like she, and B, told me a few days ago, "We don't live in New York City".)

She posed for me to take another shot or two and I purposefully cropped the bottom of her legs to avoid the obviousness of her too small clothing.

After the second shot or so, she felt like something was up. "Mama? Did you get my whole body and how I have my foot out like this? I think it looks cute."

And so, I went ahead, and took the whole shot. And it was cute.

And when you're wearing denim on denim, I am not sure anyone really notices your "too short jeans" anyway. Plus, it isn't like we live in New York City.

(Think Pace Picante Sauce commercial and hear, "New! York! City!")

I sent L with her camera and told her to make sure to get some shots for me.

And then I told her to be safe approximately 1000 times because she and her daddy are a pair.

A pair of risk takers.

And while I went back in the house and started my morning with visions of snakes causing the horses to spook, or a rare bear making itself known, or runaway horses, L and her daddy were having the time of their lives.

And they were eating.

Yes. Let's not forget eating.

L wanted to put to use her saddle bags that she got from Mi Mi and Pa Pa for her birthday and had brought them in the house for me to pack and while she and her daddy were getting the horses loaded.

Steven said they made it about 30 minutes into the ride before L decided it was time to stop and eat.

As a rule, the girl could care less about eating.

But eating is so much more fun when done on a trail ride and when you are eating food that you are carrying in your saddle bags.

Such an important responsibility....the carrying of the food.

I think that once they were done, and started loading up for the day, she had already started planning their next trip....as well as what food she would pack in her saddle bags.

I knew that B and I should take advantage of this time and go on a date of our own. B chose the location of our last date back in the spring and "took me" to Incredible Pizza.

This time, I chose the location.

I knew that he had been wanting to go to the nearby Route 66 museum.

You see, B loves all things "old-timey" and he especially loves Route 66, even sitting and watching documentaries about it on our local public television station.

This is probably not typical for a 6 year old, but it IS fitting for B.

When we walked through the doors he ran to a whitewall tire and said, "Momma, take a picture!" I was glad that I had stuck my small camera in my purse because I wouldn't have wanted to miss capturing the excitement that he had, running from one display to the next.

Around every corner he would say, "Look at that!" or "Look at this!". He read some of the information to me and other times I would read it to him.

He would always say..."Oh, I want one of those sometime...."

...and one of those.

After we left, we stopped by Subway to eat some sandwiches of our own since I failed to pack us any.

It was there in that Subway booth that we debated the qualities of old, antique man-powered push mowers and how he believed that they did a better job cutting the grass.

(I am not sure how he would know.)

(And, of course, he wanted one of those sometime too.)

That night we were all exhausted from our day's activities that we ordered pizza, rented a couple of movies and called it a night.

*********

The next morning we went and ate breakfast at Mi Mi and Pa Pa's.....

and watched a Little House on the Prairie marathon.....

and took turns standing on our heads.....

(This is my 56 year old father.....)

(This is my 56 year old mother.....)

(L perfecting her stand...)

(And B doing a head twist (?) )

What?

Your family doesn't do that?

Hmm....

I like to think that we keep the "fun" in dysfunctional.

Which is also why we capped off the night with another weenie roast in 100 degree temps.

"Fun", I tell you.

It's the name of the game.

In our own backyard

2011-07-22T15:08:00.004-04:00

I love the simplicity of summer.

At least, our summer.

But I'll admit there are times that I hear about exotic, or all-American (think Disney World), vacations and I think that we should do something similar.

There have been summers that we have went, seen, and done.

However, more times than not we end up staying pretty close to home during the summer months. Steven claims that it is because we have more in our backyard than most people have. Our children, therefore, have more opportunities for adventure right at home, and don't need an exotic- or all-American- vacation.

I think that although he is right, it fits rather nicely in his anti-social, avoid-touristy-things-at-all-costs, attitude.

Ahem.

A few weeks ago, the week after the 4th of July to be exact, we went camping at a nearby lake.

(We purposefully went the week after the 4th so as to not appear "touristy" and to avoid large crowds.)

(Of course.)

Although I delight in all the "setting up the campsite" festivities, Steven was all for minimal packing and minimal preparation this time around.

We threw in the...um....necessities:

Bikes
Hersheys
Marshmallows
Graham Crackers
Firewood

Once we were there it didn't take long (think minimal packing) for the kids to get their suits on and be ready to hit the water.

On the way to the lake shore the kids were excited to see that the park ranger station was open. They had always wanted to go and we never seemed to hit it at the right time.

This time - 98 degrees outside and the inside was air-conditioned - was the right time.

The ranger was extremely nice giving the kids many different learning activities to do.

They enjoyed using an old Native-American method of drilling holes.

It took a lot of time and even more patience.

Long after L had become bored with the process, B kept on, determined to make it all the way through.

His perseverance paid off.

After finally drilling his way through the shell, he agreed that he had worked up enough of a sweat (even in the AC) to deem that it was time to head to the lake.

The kids contemplated their approach before finally getting in. Although Steven and I were settled in nicely, under a shade tree, the kids decided that this spot just wouldn't do and we headed over to the swim beach.

Yes.

That would be the swim beach without a shade tree.

The kids had fun playing and I told them that I enjoyed playing with them, too.

They informed me that sitting in a lawn chair, with my feet in the water, didn't quite count as playing.

Who knew?

Steven and I enjoyed the time watching the kids and talking about the things that you normally don't have time to, in day to day life.

We contemplated our lives and where we would be if so many things would have went differently. Many times Steven seems to go back to "Where would we be if I hadn't had my bull riding accident?" Although one correct answer would be "without a huge hospital bill", another one is a little less obvious.

That, however, isn't my story to tell. Not today, anyway.

But Steven himself acknowledges that it cost him far less than what he's gained.

***

After the kids finished swimming, we headed to a local hot spot: a drive-in that seems straight from the '50's.

We ordered our food and I enjoyed the fact that there was no clean-up required on my part.

At least that is what I thought....

As the ice cream rapidly melted, L found herself bent over trying to prevent it from getting all over her.

B, however, had already finished his and had cleaned his face up. His shirt was excluded from the aforementioned cleaning.

And Steven, ever the comedian, tried to strike a sexy pose for me while enjoying his ice cream.....

Yes.

Sexy, huh? Looks more painful to me.

Try not to be jealous.

*******

Later in the week we visited a friend of mine in her new...and very beautiful and extremely organized...new house.

After getting the tour and catching up, we gathered the kids and took them to the local pool to go swimming.

(As you can see, I had also been using my summer to learn some new photoshop skillz courtesy of YouTube.)

After returning home, I couldn't get visions of organization out of my head.

I only wish I were joking.

My kids, on the other hand, had been talking with their daddy and couldn't get visions of being cattle owners out of their heads.

Steven put in a call to our friend that works at the regional stockyards and told him we needed some cows. He planned on picking the kids up some cow/calf pairs that week.

The kids were less enthusiastic about the reduction of their savings, but L was optimistic that they would make it up by selling their calves down the line.

B had different plans. He thought he would resale his cow immediately for $100,000.

I think he might be expecting a tad too much.

**********

Saturday morning Aunt Sissy came over to spend the day. She reluctantly joined in on the "Closet Organization 2011" that had commenced after my trip to Joy's.

B went with Steven to pick up the cows and L stayed on to help with the task at hand.

It didn't take long for me to notice the striking similarity in L and Aunt Sissy.

They were both clothing nazis.

If one wasn't saying, "When was the last time you wore this? Seriously?!? Get rid of it!", the other was saying, "If you have wore this recently then you shouldn't have. It's awful! Get rid of it!"

Once B and Steven arrived back home, L ran out to see what her new investment looked like.

I pulled away from the mountain of questionable clothing that laid on my bedroom floor and went outside to take a picture of this monumental moment.

And so it begins.....

When looking at my children on that joyous day, I couldn't help but think that they had some "questionable clothing" of their own.

And so, we began cleaning out their closets.

Of course, they still chose to wear their clothes inside out.

You have to pick your battles, friends, and that is not a battle I chose to pick.

I was too busy organizing.

*************

After finally completing our task(s), changing into clothes that made the cut, and putting them on right-side-out, we attended the 94th annual ice cream social at our church.

It is a community wide event and one I can remember attending as a small child.

As can my father.

Starting early in the morning, ice cream is hand cranked throughout the day, so as to serve up enough for all that come that night.

And with the temps near 100 degrees, ice cream was going to be a "hot" commodity.

We hadn't been there long before the kids ran off to go play games and win "treasures".

The kids weren't the only ones playing games.

I was participating in some cut throat BINGO.

I just knew I was going to win big. Sarah thought she was too.

Turns out we were "half" right. We "bingo'ed" at the exact same time!

What were the chances?

My $5 prize was split to $2.50, just like that!

The kids more than made up for my "loss".

They would play a game, win, and run and put their prizes in Uncle Jason's lawn chair, run back, win again, and place prize in lawn chair, over and over and over again. We didn't come with these prizes, but we were leaving with them.

(This sure put me back a few steps in all the organizing progress I had made.)

Yes, the kids were heading home with numerous inflatables, candy, small toys and a cake won at the cake walk-and I was now faced with the challenge of finding "homes" for it all.

I'm really not complaining. Honestly, I wouldn't change a thing.

As I looked at all that had gathered in this small community, and watched as the kids ran freely around-playing ball, playing games and eating hamburgers and ice cream, I knew that of all what Steven said rang true.

We truly do have more in our "backyard" than many have. We are so blessed.

Still......

I wouldn't turn down a trip to Disney World if I got the chance.

Who am I kidding?

I wouldn't even turn down a trip to Lowe's.

(I might even pick up some stuff help me organize while I am there!)

Doesn't matter where we go...

2011-07-08T15:07:00.005-04:00

Last week I took the kids to a waterpark.

It was the first time we had ever been there and it happened to be the last day of a special promotion that admitted kids free of charge when they brought in their grade cards showing they had made good grades.

I thought that it was the perfect time to give it a shot!

We arrived just after the park opening and tried out several different rides, getting our grips on the place and figuring out what we enjoyed doing the most. After deciding that it was time to refuel, we headed out to the parking lot to grab our lunch that we had brought. All the picnic tables were full, so we found ourselves sitting on our towels beneath a tree.

We packed a picnic lunch consisting of PB&J's and some chips.

No fancy, smancy picnicking going on here.

Just tupperware, ziplocs, towels and soda pop.

And smiling kids.

We watched as our "neighbors" eating their lunch on the rock pile took out slices of meat, cheese and doctored their sandwiches with condiments...pausing only to grab some homemade chocolate chip cookies.

I looked back at our PB&J's and ziplocs filled with chips. I felt a little better when I saw some cheese sticks and yogurts I had packed in the cooler. At least there was something healthy....if not homemade.

I grabbed a yogurt and asked the kids, "who wants some yogurt?"

They both enthusiastically nodded.

As I pulled out the yogurt tubes and tried to open them, I was met with more resistance than I had bargained on-made worse by sunscreen slickened hands.

"Guys, I can't get your yogurt opened. I'm sorry I didn't pack a better lunch."

L, always one to see the bright side of a situation said, "Our lunch is fine. I like PB&J's. Plus, they (nodding towards our picnicking neighbors) have to take time that they could be inside swimming to BUILD their sandwiches. Ours were already ready."

I smiled and nodded and began to convince myself that speed had been my angle the whole time. Not wanting to waste any more of that precious time, we hurried back inside to play some more.

Despite my lack luster meal preparation skills, they apparently got all the energy they needed to enjoy the rides.

Some they rode over and over.

Oh yeah, I rode them too!

But as the kids got a little more brave, they allowed me to stay at the bottom and take pictures of their adventure.

They were all smiles when they reached the bottom....

....and they only paused long enough to say "I want to go AGAIN!". As I watched them make their way back up the hill and to the end of the line, I found myself actually feeling the weight of a passing mother's comments made to me just a few hours earlier in the day. She had paused only long enough to say, "Enjoy this! Soon they'll be like mine and they'll run off and leave you and you won't see them again until it's time to leave."

After watching them ride a couple of times by themselves, and catching a few pictures, I grabbed their hands and ran back to the locker to put the camera up and join them in the fun once again.

We were all laughing as we hit the water.

I think that L summed up both of their thoughts about the park when she said, "This is not a 'one time place'. We HAVE to come again!"

I loved having the entire day, and both kids, to myself. We laughed and enjoyed each other's company. Although I originally thought I would see if anyone (friends, family) wanted to come along, I have to say that the day worked out perfectly. I was thrilled with being able to completely devote myself to them. I loved being in a place where there were no constraints on me or my time. I didn't have to do anything other than enjoy my kids.

And I think I tend to agree with L. "This isn't a one time place."

We will definitely have to do it again.

Even if we go somewhere else.

The home of the brave.....

2011-07-06T21:49:00.001-04:00

Saturday I spent time cooking in preparation for the 4th of July festivities we were attending this past weekend. I then spent more time than I care to admit trying to find the correct exposure settings on my camera while photographing the cupcakes I made...

(Yeah, I tried the Lemonade Makin Mama's cupcakes. Except I used a chocolate cake mix. My sister and I both agreed that no one ever complained that something had TOO MUCH chocolate.)

(This is all riveting material, I know.)

Anyway, I think we can all agree that I never quite got the exposure right.

I later decided that my ISO setting might have been too high. Or low. Or my aperture was too wide. Or too small. I think that if I would have tweaked my shutter speed and made it just a little faster...or slower. Or maybe I should have taken a picture of the awesome looking oreo hot fudge sundae dessert or chocolate pie topped with toffee pieces that I made. I am sure THAT would have made the difference.

Obviously, I have this whole "shooting on manual" thing down pat.

Obviously.

In between the cupcakes, pie and ice cream dessert, Aunt Sissy and I took some time to swim with the kiddos.

Judging by the white faces I think that one can say that we take sunscreen seriously around here.

Although, if they saw Aunt Sissy's legs, they might disagree.

Later that night, Steven decided that 100 degrees wasn't hot enough and we went ahead and built a "campfire" to roast hot dogs over.

And smores.

You can't forget the smores.

The kids wanted to go camping so badly, but the night was closing in, as was our time to get the camper and ourselves ready, only to have to be back home the next morning, so we opted out of going camping.

We, however, made the best of it.

That's not unusual for this girl.

In fact, I would say that would be "her nature".

B, apparently, was already pretending that we were out in the wilderness....and no 'facilities' were available......

Ahem.

100 degree weather and a campfire..... could it get any hotter?

Why, yes. Yes, it could.....

(Typing that made me laugh. Steven usually does that to me. You know? Make me laugh.)

So, considering we didn't have enough time to prepare and it was obviously TOO hot to camp, we improvised:

Or maybe I should say the kids improvised.

Sunday, after church, the kids went swimming again.

They also fine tuned their jumping skills with the help of uncle Jason.

My husband also brought something to the house that he found while digging a trench because he thought I'd like to see.......

SNAKE EGGS!

(I think....)

He thought I'd like to see them?!?!?!?!?!?

I swear! Sometimes I don't think he knows me at all!

Or, maybe he knows that he just has to flash those beautiful eyes my way and all is forgiven.

Sunday night we gathered with family and friends at my mom and dad's and celebrated each other's company.

I want to pinch those delicious little cheeks....

My two favorite men.

Love. This.

And we can't forget to give attention where it's due......

Aunt Sissy!

B had been begging for fireworks ever since the first tent went up. While waiting for darkness to set in, B busied himself playing with them in MiMi's shop.

To say he was excited was an understatement.....

Come to think of it, L was pretty excited to. She could hardly contain herself.

Unfortunately, for the kids, it stormed, therefore, preventing them from shooting off their fireworks.

However, it didn't rain on their parade.

July 4th it is a tradition in our family to go to the parade in town. This year it was the 132nd annual 4th of July parade.

We haven't been there EVERY year, but it seems like we have been there for almost every one.

When we first arrived I ran into my cousin and got to see this cute face:

The kids found their places, and had their Wal-Mart sacks ready to score some good candy.

After an hour in the hot sun, the kids were parched and thus the great deliberation regarding how much of the Dr. Pepper each one got to drink began.

B: "I will drink everything BELOW this line."

(Isn't he nice? "Helping" her to drink up?)

(Further discussion over which line was the correct one....)

(More deliberation.)

Soon after an expert was called in to further assess the situation and determine the appropriate "line" that would fairly divide the drink in half.

Yeah.

That would be me.

After L got her fill and re-dehydrated herself, she went to work keeping uncle Jason cool.

In the heat it really was a full time job.

One with no pay.

After the parade we all went to eat and then stopped by the nursing home to visit my grandparents.

My grandma S, my father's mother.....

and my Grandpa M, my mother's father.

Jason and Steven promised to take care of my mom when she gets old and gray...and even practiced taking rides in Grandpa's wheelchair.

We left before we could get kicked out of the nursing home.....

Afterwards we went to my boss's house-who also happens to be a friend, and family. The kids loved playing in their pool.

They both exclaimed "We could live here!"

I think as much as Mi Mi liked the water, she could have lived there too.

Dad in the midst of telling a story.....

I'm not sure, but going by the look on Jason's face, I think he might have heard it before.

Since our fireworks got rained out the night before, and we had promised to take L to the rodeo, we went to town to take in both activities.

B didn't want to leave the house without his hat.

L was in her element surrounded by horses.

And for the first time ever, they BOTH participated in the calf scramble without Steven or I helping them.

Although neither one got their ribbon, you wouldn't have been able to tell it by their smiles.

Maybe I should clarify.

Aunt Sissy DIDN'T participate in the calf scramble. She was just happy.

.....and you would've thought that B's happiness would have lasted a little longer. He had, after all, been begging for fireworks for weeks and the appointed time had arrived for the city's firework display.

Unfortunately, B experienced a quick change of heart.

At one point, he even uttered the words, "I think I might freak out."

And he did.

We can't say he didn't warn us.

I hope everyone had a great 4th!

I'm sick of this schick...

2011-07-01T14:18:00.001-04:00

     (Last night while preparing for bed)

B: "Momma, you make me so happy."

     (5 minutes later, while tucking kids into bed and kissing them goodnight)

L: "Momma, something is on your lip that keeps poking me...."

     (5 minutes later...)

I was standing in front of bathroom mirror, razor in hand.

Seriously. I am sick of this schick. Seriously sick of it.

I may just take my husband's lead, embrace the mustache and just start to handlebar it.

(I, obviously, taught myself how to add this mustache in photoshop elements in about 5 minutes using You Tube. However, I, obviously, didn't learn how to keep it from being transparent.)

Life is good today...

2011-06-28T00:01:00.004-04:00

I noticed that it has been a month since I last posted. And when I "say" that I noticed, I really mean that I have been catching some slack from my sister and my cousin....and I received a post on my facebook wall that read:

"DUDE. blog something. i look like a stalker now logging on every day (sometimes twice) for the latest in your life only to find that it is still b's graduation......;)"

I won't mention any names because I would hate to embarrass anyone by revealing that they actually WANT to read this nonsense, but, ahem, Manda, I'm looking at YOU!

When I started thinking about what in the world I have been doing, and what in the world I would write about, it DOES seem like there has been a lot going on in the last 30 days.

I went on a trip to Florida with some friends.

There is something about spending time with someone you feel like you've known forever....even if "forever" is in reality only about two years.

There is also something to be said about getting your feet wet and doing something that you've never done before, laughing like you did when you were a teenager, and learning lessons that will last a lifetime.

However, just like with any trip, the best part is always arriving back home.

L lost another tooth.

I also seemed to have spent quite a bit of time at ball games or ball practice.

And when one child wasn't playing in the game....

the other was playing in the dirt.

(I might also mention that I have been doing a lot of laundry lately.)

I was overjoyed at the Grand Opening of Dollar General!!

For those of you that don't live in a small town, you lose the right to laugh at me. When you only have two convenient stores and a small grocery store, get back to me on the importance of a Dollar General in your life.

Seriously.

My facebook status that day was: "Thanks to Dollar General, today is a changing day in my life."

And it was.

I don't think everyone understood that. My mom claimed she had people contacting her asking if I had gotten a new job. With Dollar General.

Next time I guess I'll clarify exactly HOW my life is changed.

I also celebrated a birthday.

The morning of my birthday I was met at work by a friend with some tasty breakfast and Dr. Pepper (yum!). Another friend brought lunch and my friend, Becky, and my sister, stopped by to eat with me. Later in the day I was visited by my friend, Marlana, who not only was bearing gifts but also gave me the gift of her time.

I truly felt blessed in a time when I really needed to.

It is sometimes so easy to lose sight of the important things....

That night I went out to eat supper with my family and although friends on facebook suggested it, Steven DID NOT take me shopping at Dollar General.

He did, however, buy me a new DSLR camera.

I use the term "buy" lightly.

He gave me money and sent me to the store to get it myself.

I'm not complaining.

But I will clarify: I didn't buy IT at Dollar General.

Steven, the kids, Aunt Sissy, Uncle Jason and I went to St. Louis to celebrate Blake's "birthday weekend".

Last year was Blake's first "birthday weekend" trip and we went to see Brad Paisley. Since that time he has wanted to celebrate the next birthday in the same way. When I saw that Blake Shelton was opening for Brad, as was Jerrod Nieman, I asked if Steven would want to accompany us this time.

He did.

When I left the house that morning, B had just thrown up on my bed. I frantically threw the bedding in the washer, threw up a prayer that B wouldn't get sick again, and left Steven with the kids while I went to work until noon.

As I left work I called Steven and asked how B was. He said he had been playing hard and acting fine.

I was so thankful.

I hated to cancel our weekend trip, but I would hate even more to make a three hour drive to St. Louis with a sick kid in the car.

As I got home and started loading the luggage, I noticed B lay himself down on the floor.

"B, are you OK?"

He assured me he was and a few minutes later we were out the door.

An hour down the road, when B started to throw up once again, I found myself thanking God that I had made my mother proud and before we left had packed a towel, two wet washcloths in ziploc bags and a tupperware container.

The car remained puke free, and thanks to the tupperware container, it remained odor free as well.

I don't think Steven even paused in his consumption of his ham and cheese sandwich.

(Yes. We are THAT family.)

B claimed he felt better and we continued on down the road.

(Honestly, I think this alone caused Sarah to take us out of the running for Parents of the Year....even though I DID pack TWO washcloths in ziploc bags....)

I am, however, happy to announce that we made it through the weekend without any more sickness. There were a few questionable moments, but that is when the coolness of the wet washcloth came in handy.

I'm not sure why, but apparently L didn't want a "cool" washcloth....

Maybe she thinks her momma is crazy and wouldn't know "cool" if was right in front of her.

B enjoyed having his daddy there with him this year.

And although he was a little disappointed that we weren't as close as last year....

......he was thankful that he was able to go at all.

The next day we visited Union Station and the St. Louis Zoo.

Aunt Sissy was channeling her inner Subaru driver.

And I took the opportunity to break out the new camera and try to figure out some of the settings...

Sissy was convinced that THIS tiger was going to jump OVER the ravine between him and the train and take out some innocent bystanders (train riders) or not-so-innocent bystanders (us).

I also splurged and bought train tickets so that we could ride around the park. Blake loves trains and I am a fan of anything that gets me out of walking long distances.

For the record, if Steven asks, riding the train was free and the arm bands we had to wear were only a formality.

Even with the train ride, the kids said they were SO hot that playing in the mister was absolutely necessary.

My kids are pretty lucky to have their Aunt Sissy and Uncle Jason. They are a "great aunt and uncle" (L's words) and even put up with my kids talking to them on walkie talkies for the entire three hour drive, asking "uh....what are you doing?" after there had only been silence for mere minutes.....

uhh.....make that "mere seconds".

We celebrated B's 6th birthday at home with relatives and family friends.

He had stated that he wanted to give everyone go-kart rides when they came to his party. They obliged and judging by their smiles, some of them got the ride of their lives.

Blake's smile was a little bit "bigger" than usual due to a wasp sting on the side of his cheek that he received the night before.

I think the big smiles were contagious!

We also celebrated B's birthday with his friends.

Although I am not a cake decorator, nor have I ever fancied myself a cake decorator, B apparently missed that memo and believes that his mom can decorate cakes.

He started planning his cake late last fall and more recently had drawn it out on a napkin for me.

It had to be a NASCAR cake. It had to have stands for the spectators.

And so, this is what he ended up with:

This. And a mother that swears she'll never decorate another cake again.

Blake enjoyed being the "birthday boy" and spending time with his friends jumping their little hearts out.....

...and I think the girls had fun, too.

Of course, you can't have summer without swimming.

And what is summer without jumping on the trampoline?

We also recently found a turtle in our stock tank and are trying to unfold the "How did it get in there?" mystery.

When I wasn't busy doing any of the above, I have been taking many useless pictures trying to figure out my new camera.

There is SO much I don't know and so much I didn't learn from reading "Digital SLR Cameras & Photography for DUMMIES".

What does that say about me?

Wait!

DON'T ANSWER!

At this rate, I can only imagine what the next month will hold......

If I were a betting person, I would totally place my money on more shopping at Dollar General.

Moving On and Growing Up

2011-05-27T11:01:00.002-04:00

I remember nine months ago driving to work, tears clouding my vision.

My little boy was starting kindergarten. My baby.

I was heart sick.

How could our time together already be coming to a close?

How was it possible?

What would I do with my time on my two days off without him there with me?

I couldn't stand the thought of being in that house without my kids.

I went and was fingerprinted and had a background check and received my substitute teacher certification, so that I could spend some time at the very school they went to. It would help me to fill the empty days.

But do you know what?

I never found the time to actually give it to the school.

Not one day was I simply at home without something to do.

In fact, I could count on one hand with fingers left over how many days I was at home the entire time between their drop-off and pick-up from school.

Where does the time go?

Earlier this week we all loaded in the car and headed for B's kindergarten graduation.

Did you "hear" me?

KINDERGARTEN GRADUATION!!!

As I watched the Class of 2023 enter the gymnasium I felt my eyes get misty....and my chest swell with pride.

B was so proud of himself...and I was proud of him, too.

(Plus, I was determined NOT to cry because B told me he wanted me to cry so that he could laugh at me.)

(Geesh!)

(You'd think they would cut me some slack!)

Just nine months ago I had a little boy that was anxious about so many things, primarily change, and today, he is embracing it more readily.

He was all smiles as he got ready to go up and get his diploma.

And he was even more excited after he got it.

Although, truthfully, I am not entirely sure it was the diploma that excited him or the fact that he knew that in just a few moments, he was going to get to toss his cap.

Because, let's face it. Whether kindergarten, high school, or college graduation, we ALL look forward to that moment where we can just let it fly.

Steven and I are so proud of our children. Each one is completely different than the other....and yet, great compliments to each other.

I am continually amazed at the amount of love that you can hold in your heart....and how I am more blessed than I ever dreamed I would be.

Surprisingly, I didn't cry at B's graduation like I did at L's.

I didn't see Steven let the flood gates down either.

Maybe we are ALL learning something through the years....like how to embrace and enjoy each moment and milestone, how to bask in the light of who our children are becoming, how to accept where we are in life and the gifts that we have been given, and maybe, just maybe, how to love....without looking back.

Of course, B has learned a lot this year, too.

Last night he told me that since he was already reading chapter books, he thought he should skip 1st and 2nd grades and go ahead and enter 3rd grade with his sister.

I may have learned, and grown, a lot during this past year.....and I might not be fighting the passage of time quite as hard, but I am certainly not ready for THAT!

Thankfully, I think that 1st grade will suit him just fine.

And it will suit me just fine, too.

Of course, I reserve the right to regress at any given moment....

As far as the East is from the West

2011-05-16T13:30:00.001-04:00

Last night, after I tucked the kids into bed, I went into the bathroom to get myself ready for bed.

It had been a long day and I was ready for the relief that sleep would provide.

As I laid in the warm (almost hot) water of the bathtub, I thought of how easily I could drift off to sleep.

In the total relaxation I expected to find silence within my mind, but instead my thoughts sped up.

I am not sure what sent my mental wheels spinning in the direction they did, but they were spinning all the same. I would hate to speculate what happened in between me finishing the final chapter in "Don't Make Me Come Up There" and sinking into the waters of the tub, but my thoughts turned to me, my blog, the blogs that I read and the idea others may have formed about me.

Now I know I have all of two readers and that I am not making any shock waves nor has anyone lost any sleep over me and anything I have written on this blog. However, my personality has always been one of full disclosure, (my close friends can attest to this) and I want to emphasize that I realize that at times I make references to God, His gifts, and His word, and I certainly believe in all three, but I worry that I am unintentionally making myself look better than I am.

(I don't know that better is the right word. I am not sure what the right word is. More Holy? More knowledgeable? Pick one....because any of them I most definitely am not.)

I was raised Catholic. Where I live, I was/am in the minority.

I remember going through school and feeling like an outsider as my friends would recite the books in the Bible..... in order..... and fast.

Some could go backwards too.

Not me.

I also remember friends knowing Bible verses by heart.

Not me.

Oh sure, I knew the ones that were the most used. Those printed on doilies or plaques. Those on signs held up at ball games. Those stitched into a quilt sampler.

Those I knew by heart.

But the other verses?

Hardly.

I remember going to Bible School at a Baptist church when I was young. They always played Bible trivia.

Can you guess who NEVER won?

Yeah. That's me.

In fact (gasp) I have never read the Bible.

Now, you see, I have picked it up, thumbed through it, and read verses here and there. I have, at times, started reading with purpose and found myself either confused, or anxious.

Because, really, there are a lot of confusing and anxiety inducing things in the Bible if you aren't sure what exactly you are reading. (And sometimes even if you do.)

Now, although I haven't read the Bible, it doesn't mean I haven't heard His word.

At Mass, which is what Catholics call our church service, each Sunday there are readings from the Old Testament, Psalms, New Testament, the Gospel and then the priest "preaches" and gives us ways to apply God's teachings in our everyday life.

But as you probably know, Catholics are also very ritualistic.

There are things that are repeated every Sunday.

And there is a certain amount of reserve executed during Mass.

This is probably why I still feel a little bit like an outsider as I read some other blogs and feel the passion and fervor they exhibit and why I wanted to clarify what you read on mine.

Don't get me wrong, I LOVE what I read on other blogs.

I have been inspired in ways that were totally unexpected and ways that changed me...and the person I want to be.

I have found a desire to understand more than I do.

To know more than I do.

To feel more than I do.

But I am still human....and still "in the dark" compared to many others.

But I am trying.

I am not perfect.

Not even close.

Not even close to close.

However, thanks to google, I am able to broaden my Bible verse knowledge when I feel compelled to find something in God's word to help express my inner feelings.

No, I still don't know them by heart.

And thanks to the children's easy reader Bible I bought my daughter, I am now able to read -and understand- more than ever.

(Who knew that Methuselah lived to be 969 years old? Not me! I knew he was old, but 969! Wow!)

(And it took about 100 years to build the ark? )

(Bring on the Bible trivia!!!!)

(Just kidding! I'm not ready just yet!)

I hope to make a point to read this with my children every night- to add this to our nighttime ritual. I feel that we have grown together with something as small as bedtime devotions and after days like I had last week.....it feels like a good way to end the day when sometimes they don't start off so great.

However, I can't even trick myself into believing that this will be done without fail.

As I said, I'm not perfect.

But kids love when you read to them. And I want them to feel familiar with their faith; for it to be second nature to them. I want to educate them about the Bible....as I know it will educate me in the process.

Because I want those things for me, too.

And I hope that I can do this more times than not.

So, when you read -if you read- my blog, please don't look at it, or me, and think that I have it all together. Because those people I mentioned before? The ones who know me well? Well, they know that I definitely don't.

(Maybe they gathered that when I was singing some questionable hip-hop song to them.)

Also don't look at my references to God and my Bible verses used and think that I am trying to pretend to be someone other than I am.....

Because I am not pretending.

I am trying to be better than I am.

Because, really, in some way, aren't we all?

Holding My Breath

2011-05-16T13:25:00.000-04:00

It's funny, isn't it?

The person we are vs. the person we want to be.

Generally they aren't the same.

Similar? Somewhat recognizable?

Maybe. At times.

The exact same?

Hardly.

I want to be the mother that comes home from work, kisses both children on their foreheads, ties an apron around my waist, and makes a four course meal while still in her heels because she wants to look wonderful for her husband, while my children sit around the table doing their homework in their wonderfully clean home.

Granted, I have found myself cooking supper while still in my heels, but generally instead of an apron around me there is an air of resentment, hurry, impatience, the feeling of being over-whelmed and instead of looking wonderful, or like a scene out of a 50's sitcom, I look like a disheveled mess.

People often ask me how I do it all....or if I have more hours in the day than they do.

Instead of making me feel good and empowered and like a master time manager, I instead cringe a little inside because I know how a lot of it gets done.

In a hurry and with a feeling of inadequacy.

My fear?

That I am passing that on to my children.

This morning as the kids climbed on the bus and I rushed inside to pack my lunch, grab my purse and make it to town in less than 20 minutes, I thought back over the morning and wished for a re-do.

As the kids started to rise from bed, I found myself in the floor folding laundry. I then stripped the beds of their sheets and threw them in the washer. I fixed them breakfast and put up the laundry I had gotten out of the dryer.

(I realize that there is nothing abnormal about any of that. This is the life of a mother....)

But instead of being sympathetic to my daughter who was up many times during the night wiping her nose, or taking time with my son to make sure that he was getting around in plenty of time for the bus, I found myself rudely asking them to be quiet so I could "Puh-lease listen to the weather so I could know what I needed to lay out for them to wear." {Insert sharp exhale.}

Yeah. I'm good.

I also found myself heaving my shoulders at one point and sighing in exasperation as I handed L some Tylenol when she went on for the 100th time in her most pathetic voice, "My head just feels so bad."

I should have rubbed her shoulders and her head and told her how sorry I was that she felt bad....but instead, the overwhelmed part of me found myself aggravated that in one moment she could sound so pitiful and the next be talking so loudly and so animated.

For goodness sake. She's 8. I should cut her some slack and not hold her to the expectations I would have for an adult.

But this morning? I apparently did.

And by all accounts, I wasn't even holding up to the expectation I would have for an adult.

Taking in my overall demeanor L looked at me and said, "Why are you mad at me?"

Who was being pathetic now?

I told her I was sorry and that it was just hard for me to know how much credence to give to her complaints since she has been on-again, off-again "sick" since last night. One moment dramatically lying on the couch covered with blanket with an ice pack on her head and the next minute outside playing with her cat telling me she felt fine.

The weight of providing, and schedules, and finding B in his room quite literally in she shape of a "V" with his feet and head on the floor while the weather appropriate (ahem) clothes I had laid out for him were sitting to the side, and later him sitting in the floor tying his shoes before he put them on his feet, and faces that weren't clean because apparently I am the only one that hears me when I say, "please wash your face" had wore me down. Way down.

Again. This is nothing new. This is the life of a mother.

And although I try really hard to be a good mother, quite simply there are times I AM NOT.
I walked the kids to the bus and kissed each of them goodbye and told them I loved them. I said a quick prayer that these are the times that they will remember.....not the ugly side of me I showed this morning.

I am acutely aware that these times -ugly and not-are passing too quickly and that soon I won't have to lay out their clothes, and that them not listening to me tell them to wash their face will be the least of my worries, but sometimes........the moment, the stress, the responsibility catches up with me.

And I find myself wondering how all the other mothers do it?

How do they seem so relaxed about their day to day requirements?

Do they do more? Or less?
Do they care more? Or less?
Is their patience more? Or less?
Do they spend more time? Or less?

I think sometimes mothers end up looking to other mothers in an effort to find how they are either different....or better...or worse.

I think that we should look to other mothers in a hope to find that in some ways we are the same-and that I am not alone.

Working at a funeral home I have the opportunity to see people as they reflect on the impact others have had on their lives.

Sometimes it takes loss to do that.

But the memory that stands out in my mind, and that I took to heart even before I had children of my own, was at a funeral where grown children -and there were several of them-got up to speak about their memories of their mother. Each child started their portion of the eulogy with, "I was mom's favorite".

I want that for my children.

I want each of them to know that they are my favorite. My very favorite one.

Maybe that is what I am trying to show my children through my rushing to make our home "perfect", my written words on this blog, the scrapbooks I make for each of them, and the unsaid words in my heart that sometimes, in the rush of this hectic life, don't make it out of my mouth.

I need them to take to heart that they are my very favorite one.

Very. Favorite. One.

And trying to be perfect, and put together, and serve home-cooked meals in a perfectly clean house is not a good translation of my love for them.

I love them even when life isn't perfect.

And it isn't.

And I most definitely am not.

And when my imperfections come oozing out of me on a hectic weekday morning, as they did today, I will try to be patient, and nod with understanding, when THEY are the ones heaving their shoulders, exhaling loudly and sighing an exasperated sigh.

Best Mother's Day Weekend EVER!

2011-05-10T16:28:00.004-04:00

I love my kid's enthusiasm. It really is contagious. They get so excited about the everyday things that it's hard not to follow suit.

Last week our old, dilapidated mower called it quits.

I am the one that generally is in charge of "lawn care", and that's fine.

When the mower works.

I, however, am not patient and our old mower was requiring patience.

I had mowed the yard three times this year and each of the three times something happened with the mower that prevented me from being able to finish.

Once the battery died while I was on it.

Twice it just lunged across the yard sporadically before dying.

And last week, mid-way into the 2.5 hour job, it threw a belt that I couldn't replace and I had to wait for Steven to come home and fix it.

(I hate not finishing jobs I start.)

So, on Friday evening Steven made the executive decision that we were going to have to get a different mower. We discussed it and I decided that I didn't really need a fancy wancy zero turn mower (although they are NICE), I just wanted one with a bigger deck - and a cup holder.

It really is all about priorities.

And so, Saturday morning, the day Steven and kids referred to "Mother's Day Eve", Steven and the kids went to town and came back with mommy a Mother's Day present.

It really is all about killing two birds with one stone....

I was on to Steven's "bird killing" but I didn't care.

When the kids piled out of the truck they couldn't get in the house fast enough to retrieve me and take me outside to see my new ride. Their squeals and laughter made it into the house before they did. They kept saying "It's the best MOTHER'S DAY EVE EVER!!!!!!!"

(Every exciting thing is the "BEST EVER!!!!" for them!)

They then gave me a replay of everything that went down during the course of the purchase with over-excited animated moves and expressions. The kids gave me thorough explanation of all the features, B lifted the hood to show me the motor and battery and L even did an impression of her daddy saying, "Can you take any more off the price?"

********************

After the yard was mowed and Steven had finished working in the field, the kids decided that we needed to have a picnic.

It was 2:00 p.m.

We had already eaten....but that was just a minor technicality.

Since L was wanting to ride her horse and B was wanting to ride his go-kart, we decided that we would just meet at the designated spot. L was anxious to get to pack drinks and snacks in her insulated saddle bags that her Mi Mi and Pa Pa got her for her birthday and B was equally as excited to use his old Coke cooler that was given to him by our friends, Deanie and Linda.

As I climbed in the go-kart with B, and we pulled out of the driveway, I enjoyed the view of my freshly mowed yard.

Although I was again amazed at how well B controlled his go-kart, I remembered the last time my confidence in him left me a little.....wet.

We headed out to find the spot in the woods where we were supposed to have our picnic.

And when we spotted Daddy and the hot pink saddle bags we knew we were in the right place.

So L got out her snacks and drinks she had packed and B opened his Coke cooler......

and everyone got down to business.

(What!?!?! You don't eat leftover Subway on your picnics?)

I knew I was doomed when L brought out the Swiss Cake Rolls. I can resist many things, but I have a hard time resisting Swiss Cake Rolls.

Or this guy.

I have a hard time resisting him, too.

Why even try?

************************

B decided that we needed a bridge so we could cross the "creek" and keep from getting our feet wet.

I can plainly see that he has a deep aversion to getting his feet wet.

Since B had went to so much trouble building us a bridge we decided to "use" it.

We took a walk deeper into the woods.

The kids enjoyed "discovering" new things whether it be a bend in their "creek" or a tree that made a bridge or a rock fire ring that we had built back when B was a baby.

However, despite B's hard work to help us all keep dry (ahem),

some ~~people~~ kids are just destined to get wet.

It's like water just finds them.

As Steven and I took our time walking back to our "picnic area", the kids raced on ahead ready for the second leg of their trip hollering out into the woods, "That was the BEST picnic EVER!".

As I climbed back in with my wet and wild man, I wondered if he would be the only wet one when we returned home.

Surprisingly he took it fairly slow through the water and the only thing that got wet was my feet.

While L and Steven continued their horse ride, B and I took a ride of our own. We made rounds in our neighborhood covering about 10 miles. We visited with a couple of our neighbors and continued on our way. B said he was having so much fun that he wished that he could just keep driving until he ran out of gas. He said it was the "best time EVER!"

When we returned back home Steven and the kids decided to take me out to eat for Mother's Day. We ate at one of my favorite places and ended up the night at a park where we watched the kids play, joined them in play, and then walked together on the mile trail that wound through the park.

As we headed back to the truck Steven and B took out on a foot race, each one trying to beat the other. L looked up at me and squeezed my hand and said, "I LOVE my family". I scooped her up in my arms and said, "I love MY family, too!"

Times like that are the best gift I could ever be given.

(Even better than a lawn mower that actually runs.)

**********************
After church on Sunday we (along with Sarah and Jason) took Mi Mi and Pa Pa out to eat. There was some discussion on Steven's part with Jason as to whether or not they technically had to buy dad's meal since it was technically Mother's Day.

Needless to say, dad came out ahead.

After lunch we all went our separate ways and returned home.

I found myself lounging in the hammock in the mid-afternoon and marveled at how relaxing it was when I finally gave myself permission to relax.

It was Mother's Day, after all, what else would I do?

Laundry? Nah.

However, never having enough time to get her fill of riding horses, L talked her daddy into another ride. This time she saddled up Weston and we hopped on the cart behind Big Sexy.

It was during this time that I fully realized how comfortable L was on Weston. When she took off in a run, throwing caution (and fear) to the wind, I am pretty sure it landed smack dab in the middle of my lap.

I couldn't help the butterflies in my stomach as I watched the horse speed along. I told Steven to slow our horse down hoping that she would do the same.

He obliged but he also laughed at me.

This girl of mine....she is totally his.

She is led by her heart and her love of riding, and her horse. She doesn't have time to be afraid.

She LIVES life.

The boy sitting in between Steven and I on the cart? He is mine. All mine.

He measures risk and is cautious.

I think it is why he prefers his go-kart to a horse.

It gives him the illusion of control.

I get it. I live it.

I hope one day we both learn to travel this journey of life with wild abandon like Steven and L.

In the meantime we will just ride shotgun and enjoy the ride and the view.

That won't be hard.

I kind of like the view from where I am.

After all, "It's the BEST view EVER!"

*******************

"The LORD bless you and keep you; the LORD make his face shine upon you and be gracious to you; the LORD turn his face toward you and give you peace."
Numbers 6:24-26

Running in place

2011-05-05T14:24:00.002-04:00

I feel fortunate that we live in a small town with a small school that still has "Easter parties".

In fact, there are several fun little things the kids get to do in the week leading up to Easter; one of which is the egg drop. L has participated for the last two years and we think we have found what works. We packed our eggs in our 7x7x7 box, surrounded by bubble wrap and crumpled up Wal-Mart sacks.

(How's that for recycling?)

The principal of the elementary then climbed to the roof top to drop the eggs to the concrete below.

The kids waited anxiously for their box, or sack, or parachute, to drop, and upon it's landing they all enthusiastically gauged whether the egg had "survived" based on the sound it made upon impact. Those who felt the egg had indeed "survived" gave loud "whoops!" and cheers, and those they thought were "scrambled" received moans and laughter. The kids, of course, wouldn't know for sure until they opened the container housing their egg upon returning to their classroom.

L felt pretty certain hers had survived. This wasn't her 1st egg drop.

B also was betting that his made it, although he was a little more nervous about the outcome. He had never done this before and didn't want to have a scrambled egg.
Luckily, both kids' eggs "survived".

***********
The next day they were out of school and went to work with daddy. They were excited to spend the day with him and even earned $5 for all their work. They took down an old board fence and danced on the hood of the truck.

True story.

He even told me that he let them drive the skid steer.

Yes...they are 5 and 8. Please don't call child services.

I think they even finished the day with a new found appreciation for each other.

I had a new found appreciation for Tide.

By Easter Sunday I had finally managed to scrub them clean.

Although the Easter bunny hid the eggs inside, and only a few on the porch, the kids did get to hunt eggs outside after church. Although, I definitely don't mean "hunt" in the literal sense.

When the eggs are lying on top of the grass in plain sight, there isn't much hunting to be done.

We were able to squeeze in two successful outdoor egg hunts on Easter Sunday in between rain showers. One at church.....

and the other and MiMi and PaPa's.

Although there are several grandkids on that side of the family, some were unable to make it to Easter dinner, and some were still too young to hunt.

Like Elsie.

L felt especially big holding her little cousin and L had quite the motherly instinct. Her cousin Elsie actually ended up falling asleep......as did L's arm.

On the way home Easter evening, I found myself thinking back to when L was Elsie's age. It seemed like it wasn't so long ago. It hit me really hard when I realized that when Elsie is L's age.....L will be 16.

That physically hurts me to think about how quickly time is passing.

******************

And as if I needed further proof of how big my girl really is, we celebrated L's 1st communion on Sunday.

Being a life-long Catholic, I think that many of the faith's religious customs become second nature. And although there is some good in that, there is also the very real threat of finding yourself just "going through the motions" and not really thinking about the very faith I practice.

On Sunday, I had an awakening. As I sat there thinking about this child of mine getting ready to further her relationship with God, and her faith, I couldn't help but think about how great God is....and how great my responsibility is as a parent to show my children the way to Him.

Although it is my responsibility to show them.... most often I think they show me.

As the first child in L's Sunday School class went forward to receive their 1st communion, I found myself swallowing hard and blinking away the tears in my eyes.

The gravity of the moment, and God's presence, had most definitely been made known to me. I felt it all around me, and I felt it stir inside me, as Steven and I placed our hands on L's shoulders when it was her turn to receive the body and blood of Christ for her first time.

After church was dismissed the kids went outside and sent their letters to God via a helium filled balloon.

When the kids filtered back inside to have their pictures made, I hugged L and told her how proud I was of her. She spoke softly and told me that at one point she had tears in her eyes.

Considering how L is so strong and rarely shows any weakness, or loss of emotional control, I knew this was big.

Steven and I both told her that was more than OK, and completely understandable. It was a big moment.

I then shared that I, too, had tears in my eyes.

I hope that somewhere in L's letter to God she might have mentioned for Him watch over her momma and never let her lose sight of what really matters.

After all, life IS really busy and time DOES move really fast.

“Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these."

Long winding road

2011-04-28T13:38:00.004-04:00

I've talked about it before, and I am sure I will again, but my daughter, L, is amazing.

(I know. I know. Go ahead and roll your eyes.)

Since she was two she has offered out her advice and encouragement to me with a wisdom far beyond her age.....or mine.

She is so accepting of others and seems to inherently know what drives them to do the things they do. She isn't quick to judge and she is patient beyond measure.

(Just ask her brother.)

I have lived in amazement of her for years. My husband and I laugh at her antics, but the late night chats in the bedroom are often times of us sharing our wonder at the person she is and continues to become.

How could we have ended up with a child like this? What have we done to deserve her?

Granted, her sense of humor is definitely her fathers.

And her eyes? Well, they are mine.

But the deeper workings of her mind-neither one of us can claim.

However, last night, as I got home she told me she had something she needed to tell me about and I gave her my full attention as she unfolded the events of the day.

Although I won't go into details, it seems as if those closest to her are causing her much pain.

Many things have unfolded in the last few days. Some as hurtful as notes written and passed to her claiming to "hate" her.

Her reaction?

To throw the note away and continue on her way. Even after another child, in another class, encouraged her to bring this to the teachers attention, she didn't. L told her that there was no use. This other child wasn't convinced and apparently brought it to another teachers attention which then brought it to L's teacher's attention.

I asked L why she didn't think there was any reason to discuss the matter with her teacher since it seemed like she was being ganged up on.

She told me that she knew that this would pass and the they would be friends again....."it would just take time".

However I know, because of my own years in grade school, that she is right.

This isn't the first time she has behaved in a manner more mature than my own.

I didn't know it at her age, though.

And although she didn't return the letter to what was one of her best friends (and I am sure still is) with "I still love you" written on it like last time, she still does. Love her.

At her age, and much older, I would have came home and sequestered myself to my bedroom. My stomach would be in knots. I would try to busy my mind by reading, listening to music or writing....but all of these things I would do alone.

The conversations of my mind were too busy to invite anyone into it. I would assure myself that the friendship was gone forever. I wasn't likable, after all.

My inner dialogue generally consisted of me beating myself down and longing with all my might to be anyone other than who I was.

The struggle to know who Kim was, and what Kim wanted, went on for years.

L doesn't seem to have that same struggle.

But how do I know for sure?

How can I teach someone who continues to teach me?

I don't know what I should do, or should have done. What I should say, or should have said. I do know that I shared with her things that happened to me and told her that she wasn't alone, and I hoped that it helped.

I told her that I wanted to say it would get better, but it probably wouldn't....not for a long, long time.

Girls are just mean. And you know what they say about power in numbers....

I told her that I believe that this little girl, this friend of L's, was really a friend. A friend who was just struggling within herself.

I told her what I know from my own adult experience: when someone truly doesn't like you, they generally don't want to be around you. (And her friend does.) When someone reaches out to purposefully hurt you, it is because of the insecurities and doubt that they struggle with. (And I know this child does struggle.)

I then had to explain what insecurities were.

After our discussion I asked her how she felt.

She said, "Bad". "But it will be OK".

And it will.

For all I know, it already is.

I asked her if there was anything she wanted me to do. She said "No".

I have no choice but to follow her advice yet again.

Times like last night leave me feeling like I should have been given a parenting manual and I pray that I am saying and doing the right things. My heart desires for my children to rise above the worry, doubt, self-loathing and insecurity that all but consumed me in my childhood yet there is no "right answer". No "one size fits all" solution.

They are babies. Eight year old babies- L and her friends.

Each one is trying to find their place in this world. If only they could see that it wasn't necessary to push the other one down in order to get a better view.

*************
Disclaimer: I am in NO way saying my child/children are perfect. They aren't. I'm not. I am saying that based on the only indicators I have to go on (faculty, staff, bus drivers, teachers), L is doing her best to do the right thing. It does my heart good to hear her praises sung. However, I am not so naive as to believe that this is all there is to the inner workings of a 2nd grade world.

I remember when rock was young

2011-04-22T14:53:00.001-04:00

Saturday night Sarah and I did something we had never done before.

Something silly, and crazy, and fun.

(And that's saying a lot because we have done a lot of silly, crazy, fun things.)

We dressed up to go see Elton John.

This was our second time seeing the Rocket Man and the last time we went we noticed that there were a few people who dressed for the occasion.

We vowed that if were ever lucky enough to score tickets to see him again, we would most definitely join their exclusive group.

*************
It was announced that Elton was going to be in town just a month before the scheduled show. I called my sister and said, "Guess who's going to be in concert in Spfd?"

When I filled her in, the news was met with a loud "NO WAY!"

We knew tickets would be hard to come by and I started to think if I knew anyone with connections. Gary told me he might be on to something and I told him we needed 2.

A few moments later my friend Amy texted me.

"Elton John is going to be at JQH. You are the only person other than myself that I knew would care."

I hadn't seen Amy, much less done anything with her, in over a year and was excited to hear from her.

I texted her back.

"Are you going?"

She replied, "Don't have anyone to go with."

That is when I told her that she did indeed have someone to go with: Sarah and I. My excitement grew.

I then told Gary that I needed 3 tickets thankyouverymuch.

Unfortunately, two days before the tickets went on sale, Gary's connection fell through. The three of us vowed that we would sit on the computer, as well as the phone, the moment they went on sale, until we got through.

*********
One day before the tickets were to go on sale I received a call from Amy. She had, not only a connection, but a definite "in".

A family member, in return for donating money to the university, was offered a presale code for tickets.

He was going to get us our tickets.

However, as the morning passed it was made known to us that not only did he get us tickets- 4 tickets - 14th row tickets - he GAVE them to us at no charge.

Almost immediately Sarah and I began to plan our outfits.
***********
The night was amazing. We had fun and stepped out of our "pleasedonotnoticeme" box. Sarah and I both tend to blend in...and that is how we like it.

Last Saturday....there was no blending.

Although we weren't the only ones there dressed for the occasion, we were definitely in the minority.

And we didn't care.

(In fact, we gave Amy and her sister permission to act as if they didn't know us.)

(Amy's dad commented that we were blending into the curtain as he took the pic. I'm not sure that was possible.)

I am so thankful that I have my sister. I honestly can't imagine life without her.

(I am also glad that when I was in college I made her promise that she wouldn't move outside of a 30 miles radius of where I lived. Since she was 10 years younger than me, and still in grade school, she succumbed to the ~~peer~~ sister pressure and agreed.)

I don't know anyone that I have more fun with.

We aren't afraid to dance when no one else will, sing when no one else does and act as if we wear feathers everyday.

It worked for him.

2011-04-18T15:29:00.000-04:00

This weekend we celebrated L's 8th birthday.

8th.

I can't believe it.

I don't want to believe it.

On Friday my sister called to see how I was taking it.

Truthfully, I was doing well. I had packed so many things into the day that I hadn't had a spare moment to breathe, much less think.

However, somewhere between taking cupcakes to school, making an appearance as a "mystery reader" in her class and getting lunch and balloons to take back to her at the school, it hit me.

I blame the sale at Walgreens.

You see, I was minding my own business, grabbing a birthday card for my boss while trying to wait until 10:30 for the lunch menu to start at Wendy's.

(L loves Wendy's!)

In those 5 minutes to kill I noticed that Walgreens had sippy cups with the silicone nipple/spout in an island sale bin.

It was then that my heart repositioned itself in my throat.

My mind immediately went back to 2004 when L was just over a year old. She loved, loved, loved her sippy cups!

It was harder for us to wean her off that particular cup than it was to take away the pacifier (7 months old) or bottle (11 months).

Steven decided to take it away one night while I was gone planning my 10 year High School reunion. That night he said she laid on the floor in front of the cabinet where it was stored and cried and cried and cried.

Now, almost 7 years later, I was the one crying over stupid sippy cups and the little girl that loved them so.

My heart was unprepared for these feelings that come with being a mom and my mind doesn't posess the knowledge or vocabulary to adequately articulate the depth of my emotion.

I think that your children are the clearest, truest window in which to view yourself.

Through them I have seen my strengths, my weaknesses....and their perfection.

They are EXACTLY what I needed...and still need. Of course, God knew that.

April 15th.

L's birthday.....but I was the one given the amazing gift.

"Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. " James 1:17

And they're off! (And we're off. Seriously. We're a little off.)

2011-04-14T12:47:00.003-04:00

This past weekend we did what any good parent does when their children are 5 and 7.

We took them to the horse races.

(What?)

(Good parents don't promote gambling?)

(Seriously?)

(Why didn't anyone tell me....)

We picked up the kids a little early from school (see? Parent of the Year!) and headed to town to meet Aunt Sissy and Uncle Jason and hit the road.

After driving a little over 5 hours we reached our destination and I was surprised at the absence of "are we there yet ('s)" from the kids. They did really well and complaining was at a minimum.

We decided after all the energy that was put into the drive, we deserved a nice ice cream treat.

We stopped at a little place close to the lake and "HOLY COW!" they had great ice cream.

**************

The next morning we got ready and I think it is safe to say that the kids were excited.

L was studying up on the horses and figuring out who she wanted to place her money on.

(I'm kidding!)

(We aren't that scientific. Color and name are how we place our bets.)

After leaving our hotel we made a stop at a local Wal-Mart (of course) to get some sunscreen and some cheap gas.

As Sarah and I were heading in we noticed people looking back into the parking lot.

This is what they saw:

The Wal-Mart greeter stated that this had recently become a daily occurrence and speculated that the nest for this duck was located in one of the bushes on an island within the parking lot.

The momma duck was very good at navigating in and out of cars, actually pausing and looking before crossing into a driving lane on her way to the swampy area located beside Wal-Mart.

With sunscreen in hand we drove to downtown Hot Springs to check-out all the town had in store and make notes about what we wanted to come back and see after the races.

We all posed for pictures at the lookout at the bottom of the Hot Springs Mountain Tower.

Don't they look all sweet and innocent?

Being ever-efficient we arrived at the horse track and secured ourselves a $2 parking spot that was rumored to have been non-existent.

Although Sarah and I were saving bettin' for the race track, Steven and Jason were placing their bets on whether or not the gate we parked by would be opened after the race.

However, none of us had the foresight to place our bet on whether or not Jason would lock the keys in the car.

Because...he totally did.

Steven patiently waited while Jason called "pop-a-lock", and Sarah, the kids and I went to see what the name of the road was we were parked by.

And then we waited...... and waited. Finally after a couple of failed attempts the car was unlocked.

Then....we headed for the track.

Surprisingly, this is what the entrance into the deep, dark world of gambling looks like.

(Deceiving, huh?)

The kids tried to get into "the zone".

Because Sarah and I are cut from the same cloth, we went ahead and chose our horses prior to the races starting. without even seeing them. or knowing what their odds were. or if they had been scratched.

This was our first time and reading the book was like reading Greek. Harder, maybe.

We pooled our money and bet together....spending a whopping $25 each.

What can I say? We're big time.

We were all excited as the announcer proclaimed..."and they're off!"

Sarah and I started jumping up and down and squealing, sure that our method of betting was a money maker! (O.K. Maybe I was the only one jumping and squealing....) We tasted the thrill of victory........until we realized that the finish line wasn't at the 1/16th gate.

And it was then that we felt the agony of defeat.

I think the kids were embarrassed to be seen with us.

L wanted to capture everything as well, alternating between taking still photos and video of the races.

(I think she is going to go home and study the horses so that next time she is better prepared. She didn't like our strategy.)

Shortly after the races started we discovered that L's favorite jockey was competing several times that day.

Yes. She has a favorite jockey.

No. She had never been to a horse race.

Let me explain.

Back in November there was a news story about Calvin Borel and a fight he was in with another jockey at the Breeder's Cup. Since that time, L has decided that he was a jockey after her own heart.

(Again. I am obviously raising my children up right.)

In fact, she often times will pull out her "jockey face" (her impersonation of Calvin) if she is trying to divert attention away from the subject at hand.

Like, maybe, if she was getting in trouble during church for messing around with her Uncle Jason....the face then making Aunt Sissy start laughing and "forget" that L was actually in trouble.

(Hypothetical situation, of course.)

(My (gambling) children would NEVER act up in church.)

(Just sayin'.)

So, L picked a race and placed her $2 bet on Calvin. Not the horse.

He placed 2nd. Incidentally, so did the horse.

No money for L.

She seemed unfazed.

B was growing a little tired in the hot sun and horses aren't really his thing.

However, he didn't complain and he was being an absolute trooper just going along for the ride, but I didn't want him to simply tolerate the races....I wanted him to enjoy them.

So I did what any good mother would do.

I encouraged him to place a bet on a horse.

(Why are you looking at me like that!?!?!?!?!?!)

But you see....B is like his momma. (Lord help us!) He has trouble making decisions for fear of it being the "wrong one". He is anxious and he worries..... he would rather not play than play and not win.

I felt this gambling venture would be....um....character building.

So, as we stood inside looking at the horses being readied for the race, I told B to pick a horse and I would place a bet for him and he could cheer his horse on.

The conversation went like this:

Me: "B, why don't you pick a horse and you can root for him. L has a horse (i.e. jockey) to cheer for, why don't you pick one?"

B: Enthusiastic, "OK! Followed by a less enthusiastic, "I don't know which one to pick.", followed by an anxious, "No, never mind. I don't want to pick. I don't know which one.....I don't know. No. Never mind. I don't want to do it."

Me: "B, no one knows which horse to pick. If they did, it wouldn't be fun. That is what makes it exciting....you might win, you might lose. Odds are you will lose....but that makes winning all that much better." (Do you like how I actually PUSH him to gamble.....)

B: "I don't know. You pick the horse. I don't know."

Me: "Which one do you like? They are all brown, that one over there is gray (ish) black...do you want that one? It would be easy to tell it apart. They say gray horses are fast...."

B: Anxiously..."OK. Idon'tknow. OK. OK."

So, before he could change his mind I headed to the kiosk. I looked at my book to figure out the race and number and noticed that the horse's name was Lady (somethingorother). I hesitated because I knew B wouldn't want a horse whose name started with "Lady" or a horse that was actually, well, you know,....a girl.

Knowing that time was slipping away and my window of opportunity was narrowing and that I didn't have time to go through another 15 minute pep talk about choosing a horse, I selected B's horse and handed him the ticket.

"B, this is your ticket. You have to keep track of it because if your horse wins you will need it to get your money."

Already pshyching himself up for a loss he said, "I'm not going to win....."

The bugler played and the announcer declared the start of the race. B sat on the edge of the wall.....watching his horse run.....in last place.

"It's not going to win...." he said.

"That's OK. Mine isn't winning either.", I said.

As the horses raced on the back side of the track he kept talking, giving voice to the anxiety that is always just below the surface...."It really isn't even gray....it is more black. It's not gray and it isn't going to win...."

I wondered if I had made the best decision and if he was going to fall apart at his loss. I also knew that he needed to realize that in life....you do lose sometimes. It's inevitable. And it's OK.

He turned and faced me, talking about his bad choice.

As the horses rounded the last corner everyone but B craned their neck to get a better view. He had already moved on to his next worry and sure enough, B's horse was still in the back.

However, something happened in those last few seconds and in an instant, B's horse moved from last......to 1st.

I barely had time to jump and squeal and indicate to B that he needed to cheer with me.

As the horse crossed the finish line B raised his fists in the air and let out a yell.

He jumped down off the wall and we headed for the doors.

(This was the second time I had collected money that day. On an earlier race Sarah and I had picked a winner that we had bet $5 (collectively) on. We made $6.50. )

(We. Are. Big. Time.)

Some guy I didn't know opened the door for us as we headed inside and made polite conversation. In passing I stated that B and I were going to go collect money because his horse had won the last race.

The guy paused.

"Buddy!!! That horse had 24:1 odds!"

Although neither B or I knew exactly what that meant we knew it was good.

As we waited for the results to become official, the gentleman that had opened the door for us had collected a few of his friends. From 1o feet behind us they gave B "thumbs up" and asked him what horse he was going with the next time.

B's face turned red as he held onto my leg and buried his head into my side.

I handed the clerk my ticket and he handed me $48.00.

I gave B his money as his face lit up as he said, "I'm done. I don't want to bet again."

We walked back outside so he could deliver the news to everyone else and as we headed out the door he said, "Do you think I could buy a matchbox car?"

Even though the $350,000 race had yet to be ran, everyone decided that they were ready to call it a day. As we left L mentioned that she sure hoped Calvin won the big race.

She doesn't give up easily.

We headed downtown towards the Hot Springs and Bath House Row.

After we stopped for the 4th or 5th time for L to take pictures, I realized how I must appear to everyone.

B liked reading the signs about the bath houses. We were disappointed that the visitor center had just closed and there weren't any open for us to tour. The history of the city was apparent everywhere you looked.....some of it was a little shady.

The kids were amazed at how HOT the springs actually were.

Go figure.

It didn't take long for their fingers to be yanked back out of the water once they had summoned the courage to stick them in.....

(Allowing your kids to scald their fingers. Definite Parent of the Year material....Ahem.)

As we walked back to the car, B teamed up with Steven as L reached out and took my hand. I actually closed my eyes and took in the moment, so thankful that my children were there to share it with me.

While walking by a flowering bush, L said, "Wait momma!" and she reached out and plucked a flower and tucked it behind her ear.

She then struck a pose knowing full well that the camera was already out and waiting.

After I captured the moment she told me to lean down and she removed the flower from behind her ear and stuck it behind mine.

(Oh, how I love that girl.....)

We then grabbed a bite to eat and went to play a nail-biting game of putt-putt.

Aunt Sissy won.

And I finished just ahead of these two hoodlums:

Yep. I am that good!

This is what they do to losers of putt-putt golf in Arkansas....

B couldn't miss a chance to ride go-karts. I had, after all, promised.

After the completion of the big race, L asked Aunt Sissy to look up on her phone and tell her if "her jockey" had won the race.

He had.

L was so excited that Calvin had won.

B looked at her and said, in an effort to burst her bubble, "You didn't bet.....you didn't even win any money. Why are you so happy!!!!?"

L looked seriously at her brother and exclaimed passionately, "B! Money DOESN'T make you happy! I just wanted him to win!!!!!"

B looked perplexed.

(I felt my chest swell up with pride at this obvious parenting triumph.)

B looked at her and said, "Yeah?!? Well, my $48 makes ME happy!"

(Chest then deflated....)

Maybe, just maybe, they should wait to inscribe my name on the "Parent of the Year Award" for now.

Maybe.