School Days

In 1966 I lived in a bubble. Not a real bubble, a figurative bubble. I was on the brink of seven when school started at Pepperell elementary. My daddy thought it was some kind of smear on the family name for me to be two short months away from a "big ol' seven year old just now going to real school". I had gone to "Miss Sue's" kindergarten at the Baptist church the year before and I thought it was pretty real. I kind of liked having one of the first birthdays of the school year and the fact that it was really close to Halloween made it even more fun. I remember those first few mornings outside the school waiting for the set of red double doors to open with Mr Mason, principal standing guard. This school housed first-sixth grade and the big kids were really big. My cousins, who lived next door to us went to Pepperell too. My friend from church Kathy was there but she was a second grader so she had sage wisdom as far as I was concerned.
One of the best things about first grade and Pepperell elementary was getting to ride a school bus. I felt like I was really old when I marched out with the other students each day to climb on the big "cheese wagon". I was secretly terrified I would get on the wrong one but as long as my cousins and Kathy were already there I was fine. I experienced my first memory of terror on this bus. There were sixth grade boys on our route. They were mean. I had visions of one of them sneaking into my house at night to smother me with my pillow. I think I overheard older girls talking about these boys doing mean things to little kids and I just knew they had me marked for violence. Truth was, they probably didn't even know I was there. One of the "older boys" grew up to be one of the sweetest men I know. God did a work, that's all I can say.
My first grade teacher was Miss Boyd. She was really sweet. I'm sure I wasn't her pet but she liked me. I wasn't a really great student (ever) but I did my best...things outside the classroom were so much more interesting...My friend Elaine for instance, who was a budding country music star, who had more sob stories than I had Barbies. She was what I would recognize today as a neurotic....hypochondriac. She was sick all the time accept when she had a singing engagement. She literally kept us entertained with her throw up stories. She would tell us about her mama and daddy waiting on her hand and foot, while she vomited into a dishpan...I kept thinking about my mama washing turnip greens in our dishpans and felt a little nauseous myself. I didn't like the idea of being sick to get attention. I would go to extremes not to be sick, I might miss something at school or on the bus.
I suppose I was something of a timid child. I didn't have the self-confidence of Elaine or the wisdom of Kathy but around the middle of October I had something all together my own...a nomination...for Halloween Queen. This was a big deal. I don't have any idea how the nomination was made, who voted or how any of it happened but I was in a real pageant. There were two girl representatives from each of the two first grades and two boys...the older grades were participating too and I think they actually had Kings and Queens from each grade I don't really remember that. I do remember it was a fund raiser and we had to actually collect money for the event. My daddy didn't like the idea of his child "begging" for donations so my mother came up with a crafty idea to help me win. Bless her heart, she probably should have just gone to the bank and cleaned out her modest savings. It would have ended up costing her less and would have been much less trouble. She decided I would go door to door in our neighborhood selling her homemade Divinity candy. If you've never had the pleasure of this heavenly goodness I'm truly sad for you. It's basically sugar and corn syrup (which is basically more sugar) and egg whites, little clouds of perfection on wax paper. Mama made batches and batches and I sold them til I couldn't stand the sight of another front door. We also sold Divinity at the beauty shop, the post office, the department store, and even to the employees at the Big Apple grocery store. My bus driver bought three bags at a time. My teacher brought me home from school one day to get an order. Mama was on to something. As the big night approached the teachers in the hall started smiling at me and talking to me for the first time...even Mr Mason was pleasant when I came in from the bus. I think one time he actually winked at me. I continued to bring in my money in jars to deposit for the cause. I'm not sure what the cause was at the school, but my mama's cause was to win her baby a crown! Finally the Saturday before Halloween arrived. I had a hair appointment, my first bouffant! I wore a beautiful dress with a blue velvet bodice and an organza skirt with crinolines that itched. I had a little blue coat that went with the dress and black patent leather shoes. I was the fanciest thing I'd ever seen standing there in the bathroom mirror. It sure didn't look like me but for that I was truly thankful. I was snaggle toothed and freckled and could have passed for the little girl on My Three Son's twin...on any other day, but not tonight, tonight I was beautiful. I took my place on stage next to the boy representative from my class and hoped I wouldn't pee in my pretty dress, I also hoped my mama wouldn't see my knees knocking together and ruin all her hard work. When the winner was named I was surprised....it was me, but I was still surprised. I was happy for my class and my mama but I felt sorry for the other kid who didn't win. I got a cardboard crown covered with aluminum foil and little stones from gumball rings. It was pretty for a seven year old. I don't remember anything else about that night except thinking that it would have been okay with me if the other girl had won. I suppose I was an ungrateful child. I should have reveled in the victory more. I hope my mother's feelings weren't hurt. We saved the pretty dress. I still have it hanging in my closet. I guess I learned that competition was just not my thing. I never entered anything like that again and although I was nominated for homecoming queen years later at my tiny high school I had no sights on winning, I was not a fancy girl, I was a mediocre student, who just liked to have fun and ride school buses. When Jana's name was called that night I was surprised, but not disappointed, I thought Terri would win. Mama smiled and clapped from the stands. I wonder if she thought about that blue dress or divinity or my first grade year. I know I didn't.

Summer Reading

I am having a hard time understanding the problem with my boys and their summer reading assignments. They know what's expected, they know they have to get it done. One learned his lesson last year by putting it off until it was too late. He's been furiously reading for a day now. The other has one of his books but keeps walking around it like it might bite. I've picked it up...I want to read it but don't want to discourage him from liking it because his mother does. Lord knows they won't touch anything else I recommend. I long to go back to the day when someone told me to "finish that book this weekend or else!" Ah, the things I did to avoid reading back in the day. I suppose it's just a characteristic of youth to shrug off anything "required" like belts, closed toe shoes, dentist appointments. I had to learn the hard way....I remember vividly not knowing the answer to a question "Why is it wrong to kill a Mockingbird?" I don't remember the answer I made up but I do remember thinking what a clod I was not knowing...I looked just like the girl in the movie for heaven's sake why hadn't I read the book? I have paid my debt to Ms Harper Lee several times over now by reading her only famous work many times...ask me a question today Mrs Whatley!! The problem though is I no longer get graded for my efforts. I suppose that should be a blessing I count along with ADD medicine and my library card but I really wish I could have the chance to take classes in literature and the classics again now that I actually appreciate those works...I don't suppose there is anything keeping me from starting at the top of the summer reading list and going from there. I've read some but certainly not all or even most of them. Truman Capote's Cold Blood doesn't sound like my cup or tea but there again some people believe he penned "Mockingbird" for his childhood friend Harper, I'd love to know but feel sure she'll take that one to her grave. Maybe after I read all this wealth in book form I'll crank out a great southern novel, kind of makes me laugh to think about it but crazier things have happened. In the meantime, I have to find a way to convince this next generation to
partake of the feast laid before them on the grand dining table of the written word....what do you think?...Me neither, maybe I'll stick to what I know.

Cheyenne

It occurred to me the other day that I haven't written much at all about Cheyenne. It's crazy to think about it because she probably has the biggest personality of the three, I didn't say "best personality" because this title is a toss up on any given day. She is larger than life most days. She is bubbly, sweet, stubborn, sassy and cute all rolled into one little six year old. Her favorite activity with the sisters is tattling. She loves to see someone else get in trouble...and there's usually something to tell.
Cheyenne came to us two days shy of four years old. Her fostermom had told me she had her heart set on a Hello Kitty party. Of course, any almost four year old worth her snuf would remind the grownups in her life that this was indeed the party of her choice but the trouble with this particular little darling was she couldn't say her "k" sound...instead it was "t" or "d". You can imagine when she told us every five minutes that she was having a "Hedo Tiddy" party on Saturday the laughter that insued. She also loved the sound of her own voice saying "Mom" and she practiced it all the time. On one of the first nights I heard her coming up the stairs to her room, with each stair she would say it...stomp..."mom"....stomp..."mom"....stomp until she got to me and asked "Tan we pwease have some poptorn?" I was trying to comfort the baby with the double ear infection so I told her to go ask dad so she headed back down the stairs....stomp..."Dad"...stomp..."Dad"...Her speech cleared up pretty quickly thanks to the therapy she received at school. It was no time before she was talking like a pro and all the time! She has little phrases that are all her own...like "lookit", which means she wants us to pay attention to something or "pretendering" which is what she does oh so well, especially when she wants something, prime example, the other night when she was pretendering she was afraid to sleep on the bottom bunk. I believe she has a future in theatre or the big screen. She has movie star good looks for sure. She has black hair and eyes, which are striking in a child. I tell her all the time that I'm praying she'll be as smart as she is pretty. She loves jewelry as much as Lissy loves gum (that's alot). I get tickled at the hairdos she comes up with when left to her own designs...pretty funny.
There is never a dull moment at our house and Cheyenne makes sure of it. One other funny thing she said at first. We had a stomach virus going through the family and Cheyenne started screaming "Ariel threw up on my butt"...on the way to their room I was dreading having to change beds, pajamas, all of it yet again. I got to their room and asked where the throw-up was, Cheyenne pointed to a book...and it hadn't really been thrown up on at all...sure did sound like butt to me. We were pretty glad when she got the "k" sound down.

Grace Again

I am reading Brennan Manning's Ragamuffin Gospel. If you aren't familiar with it don't be surprised. I have heard of it only because I have an appreciation for Rich Mullins' music and he referred to himself as a Ragamuffin and he actually wrote the part of the book they call the "testimony", like a foreword but...well, a testimony. I have only started it, I found it while cleaning out part of the attic, someone gave it to one of my older daughters to read. It is already speaking to me though.
In the beginning he tells us who the book is "NOT" for which is kind of funny...basically the people it is not for would probably be somehow offended at the very title... "legalists", "fearless and tearless", "the complacent, hoisting over their shoulder a tote-bag of honors, diplomas and good works actually believing they have it made". I didn't find myself in any of those so I read on. Then I found myself...among the ones he did write it for "sorely burdened who are still shifting the heavy suitcase from one hand to the other" and the "inconsistent, unsteady disciples whose cheese is still falling off their cracker"...ah, yes, there I am. I have come just far enough to realize I know very little about this amazing grace our father pours out on us, not that I'm not daily bathed in it, I just still don't fully understand it.
Last night I totally lost it, yeah, my mind, my grip on grace, all of it.
For a moment I really didn't recognize myself. Or maybe it really WAS me! The girls were tucked away in their new, clean, princess suite we have all worked so hard to create for them and I heard a wailing coming from there. At first, I thought they were just playing, then when it didn't stop I realized Cheyenne was crying, not just crying but what my beloved likes to refer to as "bellering" (which I guess is his southern English for bellowing). He went up first and came right back out with a warning that the crying was ridiculous and had to stop...(or else, or else what? the girls know their daddy is not going to do anything mean, unfair or even remotely scary) of course the noise continued. Now, a good mom would have gone back up there with soothing tones asked the little punkin to please use her "quiet voice". Perhaps it was at this moment that I ceased to resemble anything like a good mom and turned into the stepmother in all the Disney movies. I asked Cheyenne what was wrong with her and she said she was too scared to sleep on the bottom bunk. Of course she was screaming because in fact she was NOT scared she was mad. Daddy had made her sleep in her own bed not the extra bed on the top. ???? These kids get crazy ideas. She chose her bed originally but has been allowed to sleep on the other one while the closet was being redone...her bed had been holding all the clothes! Instead of just asking if she could change to the top she concocted a drama to make us feel sorry for her so she could claim the top bunk. This just got to me. She knows that we want them all to feel safe and never scared. So the scared thing was just acting. When I asked her what she was scared of she couldn't say for a while, she just kept yelling. She finally said she was afraid of ghosts. I asked her if the ghost WERE in her room if she thought they would just be in the bottom bunks? I was of course not using my "quiet voice". Anyway, the rest is just pretty much me having my own version of a temper tantrum and Michael had to go back up there and I don't know what he told her but she finally quieted down and was almost asleep when I went back in and told her that I loved her and I never wanted to make her afraid...I don't know if she was fully aware of what I was saying but she turned over and gave me a pat as if to say, I was acting badly, you were acting badly...we belong together.
I went to bed not feeling much better about myself. I had been provoked to act like a six year old...or maybe even younger. I picked up the book, Ragamuffin Gospel. I read that God's grace is extended to all of us, not that we deserve it, surely he knows we don't but he chooses to give it. I am thankful for grace. I am thankful that he understands my weakness and loves me in spite of it. It gives me a reason to get back up, weak kneed and wobbling but thankful for the chance to do it all again. Maybe today I'll really "get it" and learn to give it out myself.

How Fun to Be A Spectator

I have been watching as my daughter Micah has been living the beginning of the dream God put in her heart. She is only 23 but wise way beyond her years. She is the director of BigHouse Foundation, a nonprofit organization for foster/adoptive families in the Lee County area. She has had some pretty awesome experiences so far and I've had a front row seat the whole time. She planned a little get together for people of Opelika back last November, she invited about 25 people, 20 showed up and some even came with checks in hand! She was "given" space for the clothes closet and like adding water it became a reality. People have come from everywhere to help...The accountant told her it would take several months to recieve the 501c3 status....it took a few weeks..the building we are using for BigHouse was a miracle, it has been leased to them free of charge for years to come. Micah has had an audience with...the director of DHR locally (she even endorses BH on the promotional video), the new state commissioner of DHR, professional football players, congressmen, and the governor of Alabama (who told her to call him if she needed him...to which she replied "Oh we're gonna need you alright" she had him eating out of her hand, little charmer!)
We've all just been amazed at what can happen when you commit your life to doing God's work. He has orchestrated the whole thing. I can see him tapping his foot to the soundtrack of this movie we are living. This week Micah got the opportunity to share her dream with someone who can be very helpful in getting the old house done...I can't say who she is just yet but lets just say she has a vested interest in athletics in this area....and she knows people who share this dream, lots of people. She basically told Micah that she could get her in front of anybody she wanted to talk to. But you know what? Micah already has an audience with the most influential person of all time and he is smiling on her and this organization every day. I am clicking on my seatbelt, I have a feeling we are in for quite a fun ride!

Lissy Love

I sat down at the computer...I checked Facebook and my email. Lissy came into the room and climbed up in my lap. She started kissing me on the face...I tried to look around her...she followed trying to get to my mouth...I tried to look around her again she took my face in her hands and stopped me.. we are both laughing by now and she is saying "I'm gonna kiss your face MommyPooh"...she gives me what SHE needs. I have to stop and hug and kiss and snuggle for just a minute. Then she's gone. I am reminded of a song I heard a long time ago by Bryan Duncan, you might be able to find it if you google or Youtube him...It's called "A Child's Love"...the words I know from memory are.
"Don't let me live without a child's love, like the love in this child of mine....teach me oh Lord to have a love for you, a child's love."

She is deliberate, sweet and relentless. I know she loves me and she knows I love her, she gets her point across and moves on...
but it's so good to know she'll be back, what a gift.

It's finally Wednesday morning...Michael has been at a teacher conference since, well, he left Sunday night so he could be there at 8 on Monday. We all miss him when he's gone. I cannot fathom being a single mom. Those women have my utmost respect! My sister-in-law C. is one. She has pretty much raised her two sons without help from their father (Michael's brother). He loves them but is pretty much "in love" with himself and his addictions. I don't mean to judge but he's almost 50. He should have accepted help by now and grown up. He has really missed out. We got to spend a little time with his older son this week. I am impressed with this young man's sensitivity, a Brown man trait for sure. They are all such wonderful men. I haven't mentioned before that Michael has seven brothers...his brave mother had eleven children in all, Michael was her baby...he grew up however, a couple of his brothers chose to remain teenagers. I am not sure what happened to them. The older men in the family are grandfathers, worthy of respect and admiration. There are a couple who have been teachers/coaches, two are master carpenters running their own businesses for years, one is a houseparent at a wonderful children's home in TN, one married a woman with four young children and helped her raise them to adulthood and has voiced an interest in foster parenting. One scouted cotton and taught high school, raised three kids, one of which is a missionary in China....they are all unique and similar at the same time. The brothers who struggle with alcohol and or other addictions are "good guys". I have seen them both when not under the influence of something personality altering, be sweet and funny, charming and interesting...but then there are the times we all wish we could forget. I didn't have to raise my kids around them, which now that I have older teen boys I wish they could have seen some of the things my girls and some of the cousins who lived around them saw.
The older of the two lost his family completely due to his lifestyle. His daughter and son don't want to have anything to do with him. Who can blame them, he's been an embarrassment to them so many times, showing up drunk or altered for their band performances, ballgames, honors. They are fine adults, the girl, graduated college a few years ago, married this past year and is working in the criminal justice field, the boy, a young husband and soon to be father graduated from the University of Alabama. Neither invited their father to their graduations or weddings...isn't that sad?! Who could possibly blame them? Their mother and stepdad have been with them for the important events of their lives so it was the stepfather who was there at these happy occasions. I know the kind of hearts these men have. It would absolutely destroy Michael to be shut out of his kids' lives, I'm sure it has been awful for his brother. But, he always has his first love to return to. I wonder how comforting it will be in his senior years to know how much this "love" has cost him.
After getting to know the son of the other brother just a little bit I see a huge void there for him as well. I told Seth on the way to pick him up the other night that he was about to spend some time with a cousin who hadn't had the luxury of a good daddy being ever present and accounted for. His mother is a trooper, her boys are 18 and 20. I wouldn't want to walk in her shoes. These boys are still very young, they don't have much in the way of direction. I wish they could spend more time with the older men in their family (or the youngest). I pray for them all. They have a tough journey ahead. I'm praying their daddy will choose to grow up with them. I am thankful for the life Michael has lead in front of our boys...they have choices to make too. We are all wonderful people, we are also ALL messed up! But for the grace of Jesus I would be in a ditch. I don't stand in judgment of these guys, they are our family but I wish they would wake up and see what's real in this life and get back what they have lost before it's too late.

Just Dreamin'

I'm going up to the girl's closet...if I haven't been heard from in a few days send some help. No, I couldn't go missing for a few days, although I might enjoy it. I am just having a hard time finishing another project, nothing new. I keep having this dream of a home that is clean and neat...beds always made, floors shining, walls gleaming, bathrooms scrubbed...absent of boxers on the floor, no toys on the stairs, no dishes in the sink, not even a crumb on the counter. The dog is bathed and the cats are curled up asleep...and not on the dining room table. There are no cobwebs, no folded laundry anywhere, no last night's dinner on the stove.
Then, I wake up and realize I'm being watched as I daze by two pairs of the prettiest brown eyes I've ever seen...two smiling sprites holding my paint brushes. They want to help me paint their closet...after I get them a popcicle, and find a lost flip flop, and tell somebody else to turn the channel back to "Hannah MOM-tana", and let the stinky dog out, and pick up the three dolls, two dirty socks and fourteen crayolas off the stairs...oh, and answer the phone, and put the clothes in the dryer, apply a bandaide , check on a loose tooth and shoo the cat off the diningroom table...If I ever make it up to the girls' closet it might get finished. I hope it is before they are gone and my dream house becomes a reality.

For a moment, a very short sliver of time, I felt better about my house. I wrote a while back about how the ladies in the Bible study I was attending actually prayed that I would get more organized, all the while laughing I'm sure, but they committed and I felt better about my feeble attempts at organization...today I hit an all time low.
I opened the attic door.
Now, my couch is in shreds...I put an old quilt over the corners the cats have used for a scratching post, I warn guest to sit on the loveseat or recliner because there is a huge hole in the old thing that swallows small people. My kitchen cabinets used to be white but have turned the color of smudgy handprints all around the hardware...I've tried scrubbing but I'm getting close to the wood so I have to just accept it. There are many worn and torn elements to this circus that I don't love but I can live with. I have known for some time that my children, at various stages, have used the attic as a personal dumping ground when on rare occasion I've threatened them if their rooms aren't cleaned up in....five minutes. I know it was naive of me to think they really could pick up that 1,000 piece puzzle, all the Barbies they owned and put away a weeks worth of laundry in five minutes. I guess I am just too trusting because today, when I opened the attic door I may as well have found Narnia. I certainly got more than I bargained for. After getting back up from being knocked down by the steamy heat I tried to adjust my eyes to make some sense out of the shear nonsense in front of me. It looked like a toyshop connected to a children's clothing store attached to a mattress factory had experienced some sort of explosion. I have no other words to describe it but if I had called my insurance adjuster I do believe he might have written me a big old check sure some natural disaster had struck without explanation. Yeah, it was natural alright...the four children I delivered naturally! None of them can plead innocence either because I found hard evidence of each one. You may ask why it has taken my so long to discover this calamity... I suppose I suspected but was in denial. The attic is suppose to be a mysterious place where old love letters are discovered after grandma is gone...I'm afraid all anyone would discover in MY attic would be the reason the air conditioning didn't reach the far end of the house....the ductwork was buried in ancient artifacts...mainly suitcases and doll beds. Tomorrow I have to go back up and tackle the mess. I have to make room for a "new" generation of children growing up in this house, at this moment they don't have a closet to throw things into (which I have to say has it's perks). In my pitiful, messy, unorganized mind I see myself going into battle...I am unarmed and ill prepared. So, if you aren't doing anything in the morning and love a challenge ( I am laughing to myself because I know you are laughing to yourself) come HELP ME! or at least add me to your prayer list.

The Climb

If you have relatively young children you probably have been at least exposed to Hannah Montana. I got the chance to take my little girls and Micah to see the Hannah Montana movie the first day it was out back in the spring. The girls all had HM t-shirts and looked adorable as we stood in line waiting with fifty or so other young ladies and their moms (truth be told there were quite a few boys there too). I was doing this because I've actually watched the Disney show a time or two and happen to approve of it's message. There's not much out there that I love for my girls to watch but HM and Jonas are two shows I think we can trust to be....silly maybe, but pretty safe.
I recall taking my boys to see the first Spiderman thinking I would get a nap....I kinda had the same thoughts about this movie but as with Spidey I never blinked. Now, I can't say that the Hannah Montana movie was as exciting but it was certainly entertaining. The girls loved it and I thought it had a pretty good message. The thing that we took away from it was the song..."The Climb". If you are a parent or listen to pop radio at all you are probably sick of it but next time you hear it think about my little girls singing it..."there's always gonna be another mountain, I know I'm gonna want to make it move, there's always gonna be an up hill battle, sometimes I'm gonna have to lose. It ain't about how fast I get there or about what's waiting on the other side....it's the climb". I know I seem to want to "spiritualize" everything but I believe there is a message from God in there. At least there is a lesson for me and my little girls.
I am soon going to be fifty years old. I would have thought I'd have the answers to life's probing questions by now. I pray for wisdom constantly but I don't feel very wise. Then I hear a song by a young girl that reminds me that it's not about "getting" to that magical age where you know everything.....nobody is that old. It's about climbing. It's about never giving up. It's about facing whatever life gives you and knowing you have to just keep on doing what you're doing until the Lord tells you to do something different. Life is a journey, it is really fun! I am thankful for an excuse to go to a Disney movie and learn a new top 40 song. I'm not sick of it yet!!!
And in the wise words of the famous theologian, Miley Cyrus :)
"keep on movin', climbing, keep the faith, keep your faith!"

Shell Hunting

Yesterday it rained at the beach. We were cooped up most of the day so when it finally stopped for a while Ariel and Cheyenne and I took a chance and went to the water.  We didn't take towels or a bucket or anything and I didn't know how it would turn out but I wanted to introduce them to one of my favorite things at the beach, walking. Not power walking or people watching but just  good old clear your mind and maybe look for shells walking. It didn't take long for the girls to "get it". They are both pretty intuitive. They knew I'd about had enough "togetherness" in the condo. I had nearly come unglued moments earlier when Lissy marked on one of the cushions and the couch... thankfully the markers were washable, but I needed a break and the "big" girls were in.  Almost immediately a pattern developed. Cheyenne, a prissy girly little thing, walked on the drier sand, flip flops on her feet constantly brushing her hair out of her face.  Ariel went straight for the waves,  hoping and darting in and out. I walked in the middle, none of us talked, we just walked. After a few minutes we discovered something interesting swirling around our feet. There were tiny shells everywhere. We started picking them up...Cheyenne finding them here and there, squealing each time like she'd found a diamond, Ariel reaching into the water to try to stop them before they raced back out to sea. I tried to show them the "happy medium" of shell collecting...standing in one spot and waiting for what the ocean wanted to toss at me. We started getting so many we couldn't carry them all. Cheyenne was leaving a little "breadcrumb shell trail". I told them to look for a paper cup or something to put them in but unfortunately for us this day no one had littered. I finally gathered up my tshirt and let them put all their shells in with mine...once again I was left carrying everybody's stuff, but this time I really didn't mind. We talked about stringing them on ribbon to wear as jewelry. Once again the day ended with a good memory.

If you see me in the next days or weeks and I have a shell necklace on, you'll know I am wearing a symbol of my little girls on a ribbon, a happy thought of a cloudy day when God tossed us little treasures and we picked them up.

Bath time Bedlam

I have been at the beach for the last few days with my entire family. It's been so much fun. My precious cousin Zula let us "borrow" her condo for basically two weeks, which is approximately a week and a half longer than I've ever stayed at the beach. We came in four cars, brought eight bicycles, six bottles of sunscreen, a large laundry basket full of beach towels (which we are washing almost everyday), sixteen suitcases, ten cell phones and enough food to feed an army.....joke's on me there, all the lunch stuff was gone after the first day, gotta love teenage boys. My cousin also kindly brought my mother down for the weekend. She is turning 82 tomorrow so this gave us a chance to celebrate with her. One of the first things she said when she got here was that she wanted to take a real tub bath. Now, I lived in a dorm in college and I remember missing the chance to kick back with real bubbles, but I was 18, not 80. There is a reason the assisted living places DON'T have bathtubs. At first Mama said she was going to get in the tub while the rest of us were at the pool. I gave her the raised eyebrow and she said maybe not. Today, while the little ones and some of us bigger ones were napping she slipped into one of the upstairs bathrooms, locked the door and hopped in the tub. I don't know for sure if one of my big kids came and told me or if I just woke up to the the commotion outside my door but I was startled awake by the news that Nana was stuck in the bathtub and the door was locked. We have become quite handy at picking the bathroom door thanks to our four year old and her fascination with locks. Michael assured her he'd be back in a jiffy to get her out. We picked the lock and I went in to see. Of course the first thing I asked was if she was hurt. She said she was not. Then I had to laugh. There she was halfway hiding behind the shower curtain with both feet dangling over the edge of the tub like a kid on a ferris wheel. I didn't even want to ask how she got in this perdicament. She swore she didn't fall...so how did she end up folded so neatly in this position. All the water was gone and by the time we found her she was completely dry....she even brought me the towel I put around her when I pulled her out and declared it hadn't been used. I felt so sorry for her but we all had to laugh. She was relieved, she said later she was afraid I was going to fuss at her...it had crossed my mind but I'm trying to choose my battles and a bubble bath is just not the scarest thing I could imagine her doing, I reserve that fear for her threats to drive the car she still owns. I think I have all the keys hidden but she's a sly one.... just never can tell what she's going to do next.