As the Dryer Turns

As we begin the next decade of the twenty-first century I wonder what is in store. As I sit at the desk in my office, which roughly translates, my laptop on my kitchen table, it is almost like I can hear the future calling to me. Actually, what I hear is the clothes dryer in the laundry room making a horrific noise. It has been squeaking for weeks, I suppose it is a machine's way of telling me an appliance purchase is in my near future. I have to face the facts. I have done many a load of laundry in that washer and dryer.
I had the first set, a gift from my parents when we had the first baby, for twenty years. They don't make them like they used to. I have barely gotten seven years out of this set, but with the addition of six more kids the shear volume of clothing going through the pair is astronomical. I have used them almost daily. If I go for more than two days I can't wade my way to them to load. I have heard women refer to the "mountain" of laundry they have to do. I wonder, are they kidding? I certainly am not.
We have a window in our small laundry room. If you can see out of it, I have been home to wash clothes lately. If it is dark and creepy it is because the children in this household have changed clothes at a normal rate but Mama has been busy, or preoccupied, or busy being preoccupied with something fun or terribly taxing. Either way, the laundry suffers when I can't get to it.
I have tried several different methods to tame this madness. I have put names on laundry baskets for each member of the family in hopes he or she would take the initiative to put away the contents when I filled it. I think the last of those baskets left in the back of the old suburban recently on it's way to the thrift store filled with odds and ends left from a yard sale. I have tried various charts and job lists, shelves and cubbies, at one point I took to hanging everything up but the underwear kept falling off the hangers and to be honest was kind of ridiculous looking.
I feel like I have tried everything, nothing has worked. The laundry still piles up and I am left with it. We have a whole basket of mismatched socks! These are not waiting to be sorted and folded...they are waiting for their mates to return from outer space! My theory is, once a pair of socks has been successfully worn a time or two one of them somehow ends up in circling Saturn, it is the great mystery solved....those rings around the planet are not some kind of gas, they are mismatched socks! Thousands of which have come directly from my house.
I have raised or am in the process of raising seven children in this house. That is fourteen feet at a time, factor in mine and hubby's and you have eighteen socks a day. I'm not a mathematician but multiply the number of socks by the days in a year and...I rest my case.
What can I say, I am tired, so is the dryer. We sound frighteningly similar on cold mornings. I bet right after I get my last kid off to college someone will come up with disposable clothing or socks that stick together when the going gets tough. I hope my old dryer and I hold up that long.

I am ending this year on an up note. A few weeks ago I wrote about watching the death of a marriage. I was helpless, I knew it, but...I was certain of someone who was not.
Just as certain despair was setting in, a light cut through the clouds. The story is not mine to share but I can give you my perspective. I prayed day and night for the young husband and his wife, even though I didn't know her very well. Some other people were praying too. We prayed the Lord would intervene and give us a miracle.
I am devout romantic. I happen to believe God is too. I asked for whatever it took to get the two talking again, He provided the particulars. I am so happy for them. As I click through pictures of Christmas on Facebook I see their smiling faces and thank God for not giving up on people.
Happy New Year Everybody!

My favorite Christmas movie is “It’s a Wonderful Life”. My family does not “get it”, they have even resorted to hiding my copy from time to time so I won’t give them the poor puppy dog face when they refuse to watch it with me….yet again. They have actually all sat silently letting me fume about not being able to find it. It is sad. I wish they shared my love for George and Mary and Zuzu and Tommy, but they do not.
I understand the movie was a flop at the box office. It was a difficult time in history, maybe it hit too close to home. I imagine many men gave up the opportunity to go to college or see the world to allow their families better lives. George Bailey represents a generation of givers. I guess that is what makes the movie so dear to me. George is not in the world’s standard a wealthy man. Mr. Potter is the successful businessperson. George has to deal with the messiness of a family business, employees who bumble bank deposits (also family), investments that are not exactly solid, but more the shifty ground humanity stands on.
George sees worth in lives. His idea of value is a sound home where a mama, daddy, and children live. His proof of respect is keeping a secret that could ruin a man. His loyalty to his family is his willingness to jump off a bridge to keep them from financial ruin.
What George lacks in business sense he makes up for in brotherly love. The Bible tell us the greatest commandment is “Love God with all your heart’….and Jesus says…”love your neighbor as yourself”. I believe this is the heart of “It’s a Wonderful Life”. You hear in the very beginning all the friends and family praying for George, he is missing now and people are worried. He has no clue they all care enough to pray fervently for him. It is not because George is an important man; it is more because he is a man who loves people. This makes his life so much richer than the wealth Mr. Potter holds.
I think what I really love about the movie is more what George learns about himself. He has not wanted to gain anything by his sacrifices and at times he really wants to just give up and leave it all behind him but he cannot because it is his nature to give, to protect, to shoulder the responsibility. He learns that his life means something to others because he has chosen to love by doing the right thing.
How often do we get the opportunity to choose to do something because it is the right thing?
This past weekend I lost my cell phone. I had not noticed. I came out of a store and a young man and woman were sitting near my parking space in a truck. The man asked if I had lost a cell phone. He explained he nearly ran over it but noticed it just in time. The two of them saw a picture of my grandson on my phone and when we came out recognized me because he was with me! I was so touched. The woman even scrolled through to see if she knew anyone on my contact list…, which she did! She actually tried to call a mutual friend to ask her whose phone she had so she could possibly find me that way.
They could have left the phone in the parking lot. They could have brought it in and let it be someone else’s responsibility. They chose to do the right thing. They waited for me until I came out of the store and handed me my phone. I hope they felt good about themselves as I praised them for their kind deed. There are still George Baileys in this world.
So, during this Christmas season remember to be a giver. It does not have to be wrapped with pretty paper and a bow, kindness and love are one size fits all. And, it really is a wonderful life.

Busy Times

I have been so busy....How many times a day do you hear that? Everybody seems to have way too much on their plates. I feel crazy EVERY DAY. I wake up before I want to, get a shower, try to pull myself together, get three little girls ready for school, yell up at two teenagers to get out of bed (way before they want to), remind people to get backpacks, coats, to brush teeth, drink their milk, I'm sure I sound like BLAH,BLAH,BLAH to them.
Now, it's Christmas...they only have two days of school left! TWO DAYS! Then the work really begins. I have to get some stuff done.
I'm going to post some stories I've had in the Opelika Observer the last month or so. I only get two a month now, not that I have much more time than that.

From where I stand~

I am witnessing something profoundly sad. The death of a very young marriage.
I am only seeing it from the point of view of the now ex-husband. I don’t know that I’ve ever been at this vantage point before. It is gut wrenching.
I don’t like to say a union is doomed from the start but I’m afraid this one may have been….which isn’t to say it couldn’t have been saved! I believe in communication! I believe anything is possible! I believe this one was dead in the water a while ago but the young husband didn’t want to give up.
Apparently, the young wife did.
I watch him pace, drink coffee, rub his eyes, try to laugh and get through it….it is not pretty.
He is where the road divides in many directions.
He doesn’t know which one to take.
He isn’t celebrating freedom, he is mourning the loss of yet another sure thing
He is not a quitter, it seems life keeps quitting on him.
He is embarrassed and ashamed.

I have no words.
I can’t tell him I know how it feels.
I can’t tell him it is for the best. I don’t know either of those things.
I want him to know he will love again, and be loved in return.
He says he doesn’t think he’ll ever try it again…this marriage thing.
Our conversation is interrupted.
Unfortunately for him, we have to talk to giggly young women planning weddings sometimes.
She turns her head and he mouths “don’t do it!”.
I have to smile but he knows I don’t agree. When she is out of earshot I tell him I can’t be negative about marriage. He reminds me that mine has remained intact for almost thirty years.
He is right about that.
I want to tell him he will find the right girl, I don’t know when or where but she is out there. It breaks my heart to see his face when he thinks no one is looking. There is such pain.
All I can do is pray.

Wisdom, Love and Grace

For years I’ve prayed for wisdom and love. I have not asked for wealth, although I have asked to not drown in debt a few times. I have not even particularly begged for health, besides the few months I thought my back pain may have been from something that was going to kill me. I have prayed countless prayers for others; for my children, my friends, total strangers. I try not to have my own agenda where others are concerned other than whatever it is God is willing in their lives. I know better than trying to figure out what someone really needs and asking God to grant it like a fairy godmother might do. I mainly trust him with the details and just lift the people up in my mind and spirit. Sometimes I just don’t know what else to say.
I am so far from delivered from sin…it is my choice I know, but I sin everyday. If not with my MOUTH then with my mind. But, one prayer I believe God is continually answering for me is giving me love for others. I’m not saying I don’t get offended, or angry but he is helping me see people through more compassionate eyes. I think if he really did let me see people through his eyes my heart would break. There is so much pain. I know he wants to comfort us but we are like little children with splinter covered fingers who rather than let him gently lift them out, we turn away and yell “NO, this is my splinter!!! I will work it out or I will let it stay and get infected! I don’t trust you!” We see that the splinters need to come out but want them removed on our terms.
I believe sometimes we are reluctant to ask God to help us because we have strayed so far away from him. While it’s true he has not left US, we get the feeling he is up there in Heaven brooding over all our mess ups. I believe it’s more like this. Trouble comes to us all. God is there. Why not ask for help. It’s not like he’s making a deal with us. We can’t really say “Just help me out here Lord and I promise I’ll never ____again (you fill in the blank). I know many people have done this but I believe when we slip up and go back to the ___we mentioned it is US who pull away from God again.
I have finally learned the truth about my effort and his rewards.
I can’t do anything to deserve his love.
I can’t do anything to make him love me more.
I can’t do anything to make him love me less.
I am certain most people do not understand this concept.
You can say, “But, I was raised to believe God loves the people who go to church, give to missionaries and read their Bibles!” OK, let’s assume that is true. If God only pours his love out on the church going, missionary supporting, Bible thumpers we should all be striving to be JUST LIKE THEM!!! Because, hot dog they must be the most happy, blessed, healthy and wealthy people on the planet….and so few of them are! Instead, I often see church pew warmers who reluctantly write those tithe checks (and often want everyone to know how much they are for) and can quote all the scripture about the sins they don’t struggle with as the most unhappy, shallow people around. Seriously, show me one rule keeper and I’ll show you someone who probably does not understand what they are trying to get other people to participate in.
Here’s the real deal.
Jesus is the answer.
He is the epitome of God’s grace.
Let me give you an analogy (not original)
There was once a mother with two children. The first child was sweet and easy going and never gave her a minute of trouble. She did anything she could to please her mother out of the purest of hearts. She grew up kind and well liked by everyone. The second child was just the opposite! She was defiant and difficult from birth she bit and screamed and never shut up. There were time the mother wanted to just put her down and walk out of the house and sometimes she had to hand her over and do just that, but, the mother loved the hard to please child just as much as the easy to please one and one day, one very fine day, the second child came to herself. She started smiling. When she did everyone around her smiled too. She became pleasant and easy to please like her sister and the mother rejoiced…as did all the neighbors!
See, those two babies were both the mother’s children. She had to discipline them differently, she had to sometimes treat them differently but she loved them both the same amount.
I picture God looking at us with his infinite wisdom…he knows who is going to try every last thing before they come to him. He knows who is going to be compliant her whole life. He loves us all and really wants us all to love him too. He is surely disappointed with some of our choices but he is not surprised. I believe he holds out hope that sometimes he’ll be wrong about some of us and we will turn to him. I don’t say this out of any kind of disrespect of lack of faith, I know he is not going to be wrong but I have to believe he wants us all. The word does say…”For God so loved the world that he gave his only son that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have everlasting life.” Without getting into theology I can’t explain just let me say that to me “whosoever” means any of us who will.
We have to learn to accept grace. It is a gift. It’s kind of like accepting a compliment you know you don’t deserve. We can’t earn it and it’s hard to understand. It flies in the face of every human thought.
God understands us…he has not left us…he loves us and has big ideas for all our lives.
We are obligated to extend it to others.
Yes, we have an obligation to extend grace…to others.
I have never been so badly hurt by anyone I could not forgive. I sympathize with people who have lost children to tragedy or evil. I don’t know what that feels like and I pray God’s mercy to not let me know first hand. I understand those people feeling let down by God. But, if we could see from God’s vantage point it might be easier.
I have a friend whose young son died after years of health problems. She has grieved endlessly for over a year. She has not become angry at God because she knows she will see her son again someday. He was a wonderful example of God’s glory. He loved people and made no apologies as to who his savior was. My friend knows things could have been different if her son had been a rebellious teenager who argued with her and then went out and died in a car accident. The grief would be unbearable. As it is, she is still hurting but has the promise that her son’s short life was lived with purpose. Some of us get eighteen years, some of us get a hundred. How we use them is important. Accepting and giving out grace is a concept we have to learn. God gives us grace. We extend it to the next person.
This little story is an example-
This morning we left for school without Elle’s book bag. We looked for it for a few minutes but it's apparently hiding somewhere… again. Once, I found it in the laundry room, in a basket, under towels.
How does that happen? I have stated the fact I am not the mom with the perfect house or any real organization skills to speak of but one thing I have worked diligently to establish in this house is "The book bags go on a hook if you aren't doing your homework!" This way we ALWAYS know where they are! I have had the kids repeat this to me many times when I might have the occasion to run into a book bag in an inappropriate location...they don't get there by themselves....they don't walk or jump or decide for themselves where to "hang out". Somebody is responsible for them and nobody needs to bother anyone else's. We have the" take care of your own stuff" policy in our house....of course I am lax on socks and other articles of clothing that undoubtedly end up in front of the TV, but as a mom that kind of just comes with the territory.
But, today Elle is at school without her book bag.
In the car I was on my usual rant about taking responsibility for yourself and your stuff, how Mama can't think for 7 people, how I have enough to do without having to keep up with Elle’s book bag, blah, blah, blah....
I'm sure it was somewhere around then that Elle floated out the window. A beautiful thing about having ADD; you can just check out whenever you want (and unfortunately sometimes when you DON'T WANT) to a place where the "bluebirds fly" (gee, no wonder I identified with Dorothy as a child!) I could see her in the rear view mirror. She was sitting right behind me smiling. I was a taken off guard a little...."Young lady do you hear me talking to you?!" She continued to smile and replied, without even hearing my question (or anything else I had been saying)
"Mom, do I get ice cream money?"
It's Friday, ice cream day at school. I usually give the girls their two quarters on the way and try to muster up a positive comment of some sort to end their week. I replied "Yes Elle, you get your ice cream money...It was at that point I knew she would face the natural consequences for not having her book bag. I didn't need to keep on reminding her that she had messed up. The world is plenty good at telling us we don't measure up, aren't good enough, won't ever amount to anything...that is NOT my job! I asked her if she remembered what grace was all about...she did. She told me, "Grace is when you get something good even though you don't deserve it." I have to remember that myself. I am so much slower to dish it out than gather it in.
So, once again a teachable moment was shared, and I learned the lesson.
God doesn’t fuss at us when we forget where we put something. It is not his nature to condemn us at all. His grace is sufficient.
And his ice cream money is always there jingling in his pocket.

My Style

I asked my children to describe my writing style. Perhaps I should have asked some total strangers who maybe stumbled across something by me on my blog or a friend’s Facebook page, my reactions were interesting, I guess. One said he didn’t realize I had a style, being sixteen and the subject of my little stories quite often, he is in denial that I write at all. Another one was pretending to be asleep so he didn’t have to give an opinion but he likes the written word and even with my blunders I think he approves of my work. The little ones who can read the paper love to see my picture but rarely get what I’m talking about, yeah, I know that’s hard to imagine. The best answer I got was “Well, you are not as funny as… maybe a stand up comedian, but you’re better than the obituaries.” I suppose I should be flattered and offer my honest respect for whoever it is who actually writes the obituaries but I thought about it for a few minutes and decided neither of those options are what I’m shooting for.
I make no claims as a writer’s writer. My stories are for readers who like the truth with a chuckle thrown in here and there. I am entertainment, on a good day; a nudge in the right direction, hopefully. I feel like I write to my friends whether I’ve met you yet or not. I am nothing special and I know it.
Sometimes funny things happen, sometimes I have to just laugh to keep from crying. I imagine the view of my life from above is a kaleidoscope of crazy, crazy colors, crazy people, and crazy events at an incredibly insane speed. I often tell young mothers who are struggling with day to day life with kids, work, school or whatever it is stretching them to their limits that it goes by in a blink. It is almost the truth.
Last weekend, I sat in my oldest daughter’s home in Virginia listening to her talk with her younger sister while we all watched THEIR children playing in the floor. For a second I had to remind myself who I was and what was happening. My grandchildren were crawling on the rug and taking toys from one another. It was surreal. I told them so. I can’t believe they are grown and have children of their own.
Last Christmas we had one little granddaughter. This year we have three grandchildren. If we continue to grow at this rate I will have to rent a circus tent to do Thanksgiving. The huge dining room of the famous Biltmore House in Asheville, NC has a table that seats 64. My second daughter saw it in a magazine and pointed it out to me. That’s what I’m picturing by the time all mine have families of their own. I hope I get a novel cranked out by then. I’ll need a best seller to feed them all.
I suppose it doesn’t matter what my writing style is, what matters, at least to me is being real, and getting it all down on paper because when I blink for the last time someone will have to write my obituary. I hope whoever it is will have something interesting to say and…
I hope it’s just a little bit funny.

Treehouse

With the coming of fall I have a new fascination with the great outdoors, particularly the treehouse we have in our wonderful play yard.
In case anyone doesn't know how the treehouse came to live with us, here's the Reader's Digest version.
We were new foster parents, with young children. We didn't have a swing or slide or anything like that for little kids to play on. We voiced a need to our church, people came...cleared the area, cut down trees. I got a message from Joe Simpkins; builder extrodinare that he was willing to help. I drew a "rough sketch" and gave it to Joe. He had his crew work on the structures for days....built beyond our wildest dreams, another friend gave us money for supplies and swings and a slide. My cousin contributed sod, Joe came back and built a fence and tahdah!!! We have a great play yard and right in the middle over the creek is the treehouse. By design it's just a deck...way up in the air, with a tree growing through it. It is perfect and beautiful and a place I can still climb to (in my advanced age). Today I sat up here and talked to friends on Facebook...yep, not only can I see the world as I know it go by but I also have the world wide web at my fingertips. Life is pretty good right now.
I'm thinking about installing a pulley with a basket so I can bring things up without having to hold on to them as I climb...no need to tempt my clumsiness. If I had free time I think this place would become my office...I think I could finish my novel up here. No use complaining though, I have the same amount of hours in a day as the next person, just have to learn to make better use of it...I'm thinking a nap would be great about now.

My two little ones brought home school pictures today...they were truly awful...I told them they were MUCH PRETTIER than the pictures showed, and they ARE!
We decided to get my camera out and take some shots of their true beauty.

Ah, October 3rd and the weather is wonderful. I am sitting in a chair in the yard. My hands are kinda cold. It is a blessing to have just a tiny relief from the heat of this summer. I have mentioned before how I love fall. I am not a Halloween fan but I do love pumpkins and apples and dressing up. Last year Felicity announced that she was going to be a cupcake for Halloween. As any mom of such a cutie pie would do I got to work...I started Googling cupcake costumes and before I knew it was buying polar fleece and felt. I found some foam that was in a strip that looked a good bit like the cup part if the cupcake...it was even the right color! I attached the pink polar fleece and cut out flannel "sprinkles". I had to work with some ribbon to make suspenders to hold the cupcake to the kid but when all was adjusted it worked pretty well. I couldn't find any pictures of it although I'm sure we took some. We still have the costume if any little tike friends want to go as a cupcake this year. Lissy refused to let me chunk it.

few pages of my work of fiction

If Bartley Copeland ever got in a tizzy about anything, nobody knew it. He was about the easiest man to get along with the world had seen since Jesus. He was friendly yet reserved, generous to a fault, he served on the school board, coached little league for years, held fund raisers for orphanages in Africa and gave to every cause known to man. He could not pass up the opportunity to contribute to any mission he ever heard of, he said it was personal. He took home strays, not animals, people. There was never any way of knowing who or how many would be eating at the Copeland‘s dinner table. His wife never said a word, she asked him once if he could give her a little notice, this was after he came home with his truck loaded with a bunch of church kids whose fifteen passenger van overheated on the interstate. They ate everything in the pantry that night, and what they didn‘t consume there was boxed up and sent with them to Mexico. Bartley loaded them back in his truck and took them to the auto shop to pick up their van. The young minister cried when Bartley paid the bill.

He was a man envied by men and admired by women. Everyone knew EmmaJean from way back too. She had not grown up in Opal Hills but something about it was born in her. She was probably as well liked as Bartley but for extremely different reasons. She was a never ending source of entertainment. The two of them were opposite in personality. No one ever accused her of being reserved. If she liked you it was obvious but if she loved you she might just knock you down with her enthusiasm. They may have been different from the start but they complimented each other like oil and vinegar.
Theirs was a marriage few understood but everyone wished they had.


This is their story~


He was a native to Opal Hills where the Copeland name was synonymous with big money. His great granddaddy invented some little part that proved valuable to NASA, they in turn bought the patent for a nice round sum. Granddaddy Copeland invested in plastics and the rest was history. The Copelands bought up the better part of an entire county and went about putting their wealth to work for them. Bartley didn’t enjoy hearing about his family history. He was something of a societal dropout in the sixties and felt the need to hitch-hike to California. His father sent the state troopers after him when they found out what he was attempting. They brought him back home and after a week of negotiations Jacob A. Copeland Jr, built his son a place he could call his own.
It was the nicest commune known to man.
He let Bartley “live off the land” in a collection of mobile homes, complete with redwood porches and the help of several hired caretakers. Bartley invited friends to come out and live on his communal farm in the middle of nowhere. It wasn’t California but it was close enough for Bartley. He painted peace signs on the barn and planted marijuana in the garden right next to the tomatoes. In all Bartley (or in reality, his dad) provided homes for twenty or more hippies in the couple of years he had his commune. But when Uncle Sam showed up at the Copeland’s big estate with a draft notice everyone else was given their walking papers. Jacob turned the commune into “Happy Acres Trailer Park”, an idea he had been throwing around anyway. There was nothing the Copeland money could do to prevent their youngest son from being shipped off to Vietnam. His mama cried and hoped her baby would come home alive, Jacob hoped he would come back a grown man. They both got their wishes.


When Bartley stepped off the plane in Atlanta on a balmy September afternoon there was an entourage to meet him. He smiled and looked embarrassed as he waved to his family and most of his hometown. He wondered if his daddy had given them all the day off and a day’s wages to come meet him. Of course he had, but Bartley’s safe return was cause for a holiday.
His brother Alan and his wife Cindy were there with their two girls. Jacob the third was there with his new girlfriend of the month. His younger sister , Maria brought a girlfriend from college. The little redhead caught his eye and for a minute he thought he knew her. Naturally, Willa Copeland was first to reach her baby and would not let him go. She cried and laughed and pulled a tissue out of her pocket then hugged him again, this continued with everyone around laughing along until she had to push him away to look at his face. She couldn’t help but notice he was different. He looked older, wiser, but sweeter at the same time. When he made his way to Maria he squeezed her tight and whispered, “I’ve missed you….who is the girl in the purple skirt?” Maria laughed and said, “She is YOUR match….you like her?” Bartley laughed, “Yeah, but do I know her?” Maria assured him he had never met anyone even close to that little fireball.

After the mob made it’s way back to Opal Hills there was a celebration in the park downtown. The women’s auxiliary held a picnic in honor of all the veterans of foreign wars with Bartley as the guest of honor. After a tour of duty in the jungles of Southeast Asia he was just glad to be anywhere. There was a time he thought he would never make it back to friendly soil. He was a changed person. He went away a spoiled boy and came home thankful to God for the privilege to live. He loved everything about his home. He closed his eyes and just breathed deep. He loved the smell of the hot pavement, the kudzu blooms behind the courthouse, the chicken frying at the Chick-n- Shack. He listened to the chatter and the music playing in the distance. He was the happiest man alive. He never wanted to leave Opal Hills again.
Maria and her friend pulled up in her new black Corvette. Bartley noticed the redhead again, this time with a warm smile. She smiled back and their eyes locked for just a second. EmmaJean looked away. Maria had changed into bellbottom jeans and a peasant top, EmmaJean still had on her purple skirt and a tie-dyed t-shirt with flip-flops from a discount store. It was clear this girl wore what she wanted, where she wanted. Bartley liked that. Maria introduced her friend to her brother. After she spoke her voice faded and she wandered down the street to where a snow cone stand was being set up. She turned expecting EmmaJean to be following her but just shook her head when she saw the two of them. I knew it, she thought. Those two were meant for each other.

“So EmmaJean, how’d you link up with the likes of my little sister?” Bartley tried not to stare.
“We are suitemates at school” EmmaJean did not want to talk about Maria.
“So, how’d she wrangle you into coming to this shindig?” EmmaJean wanted to tell him the truth, she had seen a picture of him with Maria and thought he was the most beautiful boy she had ever seen.
“Oh, she said there’d be barbeque and beer, I thought that sounded fun”. She tried not to look in his eyes. She was sure he would read her mind.
“Well, I’m glad she could offer something interesting for you to do for a couple of days.” There it was again, that smile he saw when he first noticed her. The wind lifted her cotton skirt and it floated up just a little. Bartley couldn’t help but notice her legs, she looked really athletic but was a tiny little thing. She smelled like Lavender. Bartley decided then and there he loved Lavender.

Today was a mix of rain and sun. We only got out to get ice cream. The girls and I made collages out of magazines and poster board. It was pretty fun. Elle stayed at it for a long time. She cut out tiny little things. We made a mess but what's new about that? Tomorrow, I am going to attempt to make charm bracelets using crochet! We saw something like it while we were cutting out pictures and words from the magazines. I will try to post pictures later.

I am in a mood....a bad one. I was accused of saying something that I did not mean....or maybe I should say I was accused of "implying" something I did not mean.
Why are humans so complicated?
I feel like Harper Lee has the right idea sometimes. It is hard to have your feelings out there, to have an outspoken personality, to root for the underdog and be misunderstood.
I feel that the person who insisted that I "implied" something was really the person in the wrong. I of course, being the known hot-head I feel that I should apologize...but, I was taken totally off guard and then snapped at in front of a bunch of other people. I think the person in question thought I was calling him a liar, when in fact I was not. By saying he was sure I implied what he thought I did he was calling me one.
Now, isn't that nice.
I don't know how to fix this...I supposed I could write it all down and mail it.
But, would it matter?
I am tired.
I have a headache.
If this person only knew I have defended him before to people who think he is smug or cold. I know these things are not true! I always tell people he's a great guy with a hard job.
Today, he misunderstood me.
I get what they are saying.
He certainly seemed smug,
he was RIGHT in his own eyes and defended someone neither of us really know.
I'm sure if he had done anything different we would have witnessed the whole universe spin out of control.
Anyway, I'm not in a very good mood.
I suppose I'll get over it.
I just don't like being told that I meant something I absolutely did not.
Brooding isn't much fun either.
I thought blogging might help.
It didn't....I'm going into seclusion.



For the record...this is not about my husband.

Ok, I'm still kinda green when it comes to this blogging stuff. I posted a video and the photobucket image showed up again...bear with me. I am in the process of putting some new stories on here. I'm not too good at videos and pictures yet, but I sure like picnik.

SCHOOL!

I am so happy to see school start. Don't get me wrong...I love my family but the thought of sending them ALL to school tomorrow makes me smile. I will be just as excited when they all get out for Thanksgiving and Christmas, Spring Break and Summer. It is simply a ritual. The beginning of something...getting into a routine, I find comfort in the thought of both. My problem usually begins when the wheels come off of the routine cart about a month into it. When I haven't got what we need for lunches and the homework is starting to be a little overwhelming...someone has lost her planner or papers or backpack. Someone else has decided she doesn't like school and refuses to admit she has homework. This is when the routine becomes un-fun.
We have an unusual situation this year. We have one child starting kindergarten and another graduating from high school. This beginning and ending is all part of life. Having seven children and now three grandchildren we are going to be celebrating graduations and first years for a long time. It is bittersweet, I am sad to see my older son look at life beyond this bird cage he has lived in for the last 18 years. He feels the cool metal of the cage door under his feet, I can already hear the lonely squeak when he leaves it open for his brother to fly out to join him just a year after. He will have stories to tell by then, of the great big sky and all that awaits them there. What will I do then? The routine will certainly change. We will still have much work to do; three more little girls.
With kindergarten comes a new beginning, it seems like yesterday I dropped the oldest off and assured myself I had done the right thing. She would be okay...which, she was. It gets easier to let them go I suppose. It is easier to be excited about this last little darling who thinks she rules the world. Our caseworker told us we were creating a monster with her because she is so socially intuitive. I hope her teacher has a heart of gold and nerves of steel. She will surely need both. She has grown so much. They all have. It is hard to believe I will be sixty-three when she graduates, twentyone years after her oldest sister. All this mothering has taught me a thing or two but I realize this is a journey to enjoy not to wish away. I can dread the future or relax and know that God is already there. It is his provision and sustainance that keeps me breathing. I can no more raise kids than make the sun shine. It is fruitless to say my daughters turned out well because of anything I did or didn't do. It is also not my effort that is shaping my boys into men. I just don't know how to do that...neither does their daddy who is a great man and shaper of people. It is the fact that we know God has them that gives us peace. It will be his voice in their ears and his hand on their backs when the going gets tough, and I suspect it will get tough. They will turn out to be good men because before they were born I asked God to just let me borrow them. It is all his business.
So as the bells ring tomorrow and everyone goes to his assigned seat I will pray, for the teachers, for the principals, the counselors, the lunchroom ladies, the aides and most especially for the children; my children and yours, who keep us going and keep us young.
Now, I have a few sandwiches to make.

I don't know if everyone knows my fascination with Harper Lee. I realize she is a very private person. I totally get that she doesn't want to talk to the media and be bothered by crazies like myself but I would so love to meet her. I am not a stalker. I am a Southerner. I do have some manners.
My love for To Kill A Mockingbird began in high school. I had a couple of really good English teachers who encouraged me to write, they were at the same time encouraging me to read. Since both required sitting still I avoided them both diligently. I did, however watch the movie with Gregory Peck and that little girl who was the spitting image of ME at that age. I connected with the characters in the film on several levels. I had no siblings but had playmates much like Scout. My cousin Len was my Dill and his brother James was Jem. After a few years, our little Gina came along but was more a princess than an explorer. We had no lawyer daddies but ours did go to work and understood that good and bad people came in different colors. We grew up looking for trouble in the neighborhood. We were given pretty much free reign of our street as long as either my mama or their housekeeper could be heard at mealtime.
We were strictly forbidden from Mr Taunton's apple trees, our grandmother took naps after lunch and went to bed with the chickens so there were times when the east end of our street where she lived, was off limits due to our propensity to loudness. Airport road to the west was too busy, so we were not allowed to ride our bicycles up there until we were teenagers. Other than that the kingdom of Vernon Avenue was ours. This was my Maycomb, just a little neighborhood a few miles from downtown, too far to walk but easily accessible in my mama's Impala.
I was, like Scout, a thinking child. I wondered a great deal about people and things. I am sure I embarrassed my mother on more than one occasion by wondering out loud in front of others.
But, I mostly wondered to myself. I was told at an early age that I had a vivid imagination. I always thought this was a compliment. Now as the mother of children with this same gift I wonder if it is the beginning of trouble. It can be a curse in a child who has no moral compass. Imagination and lying are close in nature depending on the situation. I pray they know the difference. I think I did for the most part. I think I was honest in my imagination. I could discern when things were possible or not, sometimes causing myself to be viewed as a coward. This was something my boy cousins next door were never accused of. No tree was too tall, no bike trick was too scary, no bee was too much a threat...of course, I was inevitably the one who always got stung. We set fire to stuff, tied strings to lizards (well, I did not do that because I had an open fear of them at the time), pilfered though things we had no business in, had wars with rotten tomatoes and plums. Summers seemed endless, falls and winters were mild and filled with school and holidays. With no central air or heat our windows were open many months of the year. We would whistle or whisper from house to house after dark. Many times our mothers would be sitting in one of our kitchens and we could play outside until bath and bedtime. Our daddies talked occasionally. They were brothers but had less to talk about than our mothers.
My aunt worked in an office, she wore pretty clothes and heels everyday. She was considerably younger than my mother but seemed much more sophisticated. She smoked, I really did not like the way it smelled though and never had the desire to try it even though I thought she looked very cool. Back in that day you could get little candy cigarettes to look like a grown-up. No one thought anything about smoking, even Andy Griffith did it.
I mentioned Mr Taunton's apples. He was a quiet man. I never heard him speak really. My mother talked to Mrs Taunton often and she seemed to like the kids but Mr Taunton accused us all of stealing his apples one summer. I was no part of it and was very offended to have been included in the brood of thugs. My mother was mad too. She did not talk to Mr Taunton for a while after that. She knew if I ever did anything wrong my moral compass would give me up every time. This continued even into my teen years. I would tell her if i was going "yard rolling" or was skipping school to go to the next town over to shop with girlfriends. She never questioned my motives. It is a rare and precious gift, to be trusted. I was given that gift and learned to nurture it. I never had to lie about where I had been or who I had been with. My dad had his doubts but for the most part knew I was an honest kid.
We had characters in our neighborhood but to ever write my story I will have to create new ones. I would never want to hurt the people I grew up around. They were sweet hardworking folks. I talk to people occasionally who lived around me. I am hoping they will share memories that will help me write a book about growing up in the south in a neighborhood that was real. None of us had perfect families, none of us were perfect people. I remember the raised eyelids and whispered conversations when the first black family moved into the house across the street from us. We all learned so much from them. We cried and hugged when a job took them away from us. I lost touch with them a long time ago. They returned up north with experience to tell about their years in the south, in a white neighborhood. I would love to find them now.
I started this entry about Harper Lee. I still would love to meet her. If you have connections, consider getting me in touch with her, not as a crazed fan, just as someone who loves her story and has one or two of my own.

This is my newest grandbaby, Norah...isn't she precious!! She was holding her Moppi. Will never get enough of these little angels.

Norah Claire made her appearance at 4:57cst Monday July 25, weighing in at 7lbs 8oz and 21 inches long. Her mama(Hannnah) had a much easier delivery this time. She was a trooper, did not even have an epidural...didn't really need one and after it was all over she was glad she went natural.
I am in Virginia with them as I write this. I am so glad to have gotten the opportunity to be here shortly after Norah's arrival and to get the chance to know her.
I have had fun with Aidie. We have had a couple of real adventures. One on Tuesday when we set out to the hospital to visit the rest of her family. Please understand that I drove to their apartment after dark. I was tired and was not paying too much attention to anything more than the directions Michael S jotted down on a piece of scratch paper. I made it to the apartment fine but when we left the next morning I went the wrong direction toward West Virginia...It took me about ten miles to realize something was not right. I had absolutely no idea where I was so I consulted the trusty TomTom. It told me right away my location but that did not help since I am not familiar with any of the streets or little towns surrounding Blacksburg. I tried to type in the name of the hospital. It recognized the name and proceeded to take me to the nearest library. Perhaps I should have just gone in and asked directions. I typed in the name of the hospital again. This time it took me to within a mile of where I started, the apartment complex. I was about to get really frustrated...it was now lunch time. Aidie had been a complete angel in the car but was showing signs of distress. I figured we'd find her some chicken nuggets and milk and she'd perk back up. I started looking for golden arches or something, somewhere to get food fast. All I came up with was Hardee's....not my personal favorite for lunch (although you can't argue with their biscuits in the am. I whipped in and ordered. I pulled into a parking space, gave Aidie her lunch, refilled her milk cup and consulted TomTom again. He is an idiot!! He said the hospital I was looking for was .85 miles away. That was a lie and I knew it. I could practically throw a rock and bust out a window at the kids' apartment from there. I knew it had taken me about 20 minutes the night before to get home from the hospital. I finally gave up and called Hannah. I asked which direction I needed to go and she told me. I made it to the hospital in just under thirty minutes this time...because I started going the wrong way again a little further down at another change in the road...I realized it by the way the mile markers were going and turned around in one of those little turn arounds the state puts on highways and then tells you you can't use them because they are only for "authorized vehicles" which I'm sure means Troopers but I did not care. I had my story all ready if I got stopped. The state of Virginia not only owed me this privilege of turning around, they also owed me half a tank of gas for bad signage! A person should be warned if she's headed to West Virginia! Thankfully I didn't have to use it. We made it to the hospital, visited and found our way back without incident...on the road anyway. Going to Target was another story.

oops!

Lots of new things happening around us. We are presently waiting on word from Virginia that baby Norah will be here soon.
Michael has started his second year teaching Auto Tech at OHS. He went back today. We thought he had this week free, nothing like being called and told you were supposed to be at work yesterday.
I am still writing for our hometown paper and putting feelers out for other things. I am talking with a young friend about a new project...also creative in nature so I'll share that as soon as we get something solid. In the meantime I'm plugging along, ready for kids to get back into a routine, ready to have a quiet moment now and then (as I write this I hear my three little girls laughing in my bedroom...a sure sign they are destroying something).
I hope to be more committed to my blogging but I can't promise. With a life as crazy as mine I'll just promise to do what I can.
Thanks for reading.

Mercy sakes! Ariel is wailing inside...she has a big fat "F" in math. I happen to hate math too but my mother did me a favor and made me practice multiplication and division at the kitchen table until I could at least do that much. I told Ariel to write out her multiplication facts in columns.She asked me why she had to. I asked her why she had an "F" in math, she said she didn't have time to finish her work. Her teacher told me months ago that if she didn't finsh her work she could do it for homework. Ariel never has homework...at least that's what she tells me. I haven't been getting weekly reports for a while. I'm starting to wonder if she is signing my name herself and forgetting to show it to me. I am very frustrated with her right now...ADD is a lack of focus, yes but it is not an excuse to lie and say you don't have homework or schoolwork for that matter.
I got Ariel started on her multiplication facts at 3:00, told her she had to write them all out 1-10. She has been trying to avoid it the entire time...she just handed me 1-5....it is 5:36. She has missed the first day with the new pool. If she had just gotten going on it she could have gone into hyper-focus mode and finished by 3:30. Instead she went into "poor pitiful me" mode and is still working..thankfully the wailing ended about an hour ago.

I haven't been keeping up with my blog lately because I am writing for the paper and on facebook so much I don't have time. I really should take the time to copy and paste but I figure if anyone really cares they can friend me on facebook or buy the Opelika Observer...boy, how is that for lazy.
I am excited about all the events of the last month....the new baby next door being at the top of the list.
Follow his mother's blog...Baby of Mine.

The House That Built Me

My daddy built our house. It was not very big by today’s standards. My first room was painted blue. I don’t really think Daddy was wishing for a boy, if he was he never made me feel like it. We had hardwood floors my mama fussed over. I could run and slide down the hall in socks. The bathroom was a neutral green and the inside of it’s closet was never finished, I’m not sure why but the furnace could be reached under the house by taking out a piece of plywood. You could also see the ground when it was moved and I was sometimes afraid a monster or witch would sneak up at night to get to me…I finally realized nothing was under there but dirt.
The kitchen was varnished pine with pink Formica countertops. There was a window over the sink that allowed a view of the big oak tree, the garden and assorted fruit trees. Huge old Hydrangea bushes peeked back in during summer months waving sky blue mop heads back and forth.
I remember playing under my mothers dining room table. My Barbie’s and baby dolls could often be found behind the tablecloths or in the upholstered seats of the fancy chairs. Every now and then Mama would let me help her polish the silver forks and spoons she kept in a special box in the china cabinet. There was a spoon, smaller than the rest with my initials on it. Mama said I used it when I was a baby.
We had a room we called the den. Daddy and I watched Bonanza, Ed Sullivan, Disney and the Flintstones on TV. At some point there was an aquarium with dozens of guppies and an orange Naugahyde couch. Neither made it very long. The guppies started eating their babies and the couch would stick to sweaty skin in the summer. Daddy decided after ten years or so to enclose the carport and make a new den. The old den became Mama’s sewing room and Daddy got a recliner and a fireplace. We all liked the addition but I kind of missed the sun coming in the kitchen window on winter afternoons. Mama insisted we needed a “sectional sofa”. I thought just a plain old sofa would have done the job with only three people in the family and Daddy in his recliner. We kept that gold couch for a long time. It made it through most of my childhood and two more houses.
When I was seventeen Daddy built us a new house. My mother tried to be happy about it but I knew she wasn’t. I was excited about picking the color of my new room even though I only lived there for a year before I left for college. I picked a light peach color with a slightly darker carpet. I got my parents mahogany bedroom furniture and a comforter that looked like a grown up. It made it easier to leave…since I didn’t grow up there I had no ties, no history, no openings where the witches and monsters could get in. I spent a couple of summers there but it never meant as much as the little brick house I grew up in.

There is a new Miranda Lambert song that inspired this note…I love her spunk and energy but this time she kinda tugged at my heartstrings.

My Reality Show Idea

I have a brilliant idea....Those with ADD know what comes next...I rant for an hour about my brilliant idea, then I lose interest in my brilliant idea and move on to the NEXT brilliant idea. This constant motion is a character flaw in us...those of us who have the "H" in ADHD. The truth is we can't help it, things tend to go unfinished especially if the idea is a long term commitment. (I wonder how many marriages have imploded due to one of the pair losing interest. For the record, I still find my husband very interesting.) I have a closet full of projects that I started and meant to finish. I have so many interests it's hard to pin me down to one. I have said many times I am good at a lot of things...NONE of which generate any income...they usually only generate OUTGO! But for unfinished projects I'd probably be a millionaire! I certainly am not, but...this brilliant idea has potential!!!
I have an idea for a reality show! Somebody needs to get me in touch with the people at Style or Discovery or HGTV. This would be a huge success. Ok, here's my idea.
Take "Super Nanny", "Clean House", "Hoarders" and "Extreme Makeover Home Edition"...put them all together and you have "Extreme Messy Family Makeover"! I am as serious as I can be. I want to be the first family turned in!
I can see it now. The bus pulls up and some hyper, super organizer people hop off and run to our door. They don't send us to Disney World for a vacation while they bomb our current house and start from scratch, they make us all stay and HELP! In fact, besides the dream team we are the ONLY help! They set up shop quickly, they line up my children....the five at home. The first thing we have to establish is it takes all seven of us to get this project off the ground. EVERYONE will participate. It's going to take two full days, huh, maybe weeks to work the magic necessary to get us done.
In the end I dream of us all standing outside in our freshly manicured yard staring up at the clean windows, the siding sparkling and the gutters clean. We are asked if we want to see what we accomplished in a matter of two weeks (or months maybe) we all nod and smile. In we go to see everything in a proper place, laundry all done and put away, kitchen gleaming, bedrooms spotless, tubs and toilets shining, closets easily open and nothing falls out! Quite the contrary, everything inside is filed and sorted. Bins and baskets hold every needed item, and for each tool a drawn outline to mark the spot where they go, where they are and where they will be returned to. Surely by now I am sobbing. There on the bulletin board is a chart with each of my children's names and a list of jobs they are expected to do each day starting with picking up their pajamas off the floor.
It is utopia! Paradise! I love it! Of course this is where I inevitably wake up and nothing has changed. But, I think my show has real promise…in the meantime if you want a brilliant project and you are NOT ADHD, call me.

Velveteen Rabbit

This week my granddaughter Aiden will turn two. I am holding out hope that the arrival of her little cousin Anderson will bring her to me soon but I don't want to wait to mail her gift. I want to give her the book The Velveteen Rabbit. I have always liked the story but it didn't really mean as much to me until now. There is a part in the story where the old rocking horse tells the rabbit what it means to be real. He says that real is a thing that happens to you when a child loves you for a long, long time. He goes on to describe what happens to you before you are real and the kind of people who never become real, "people who break easily, or have sharp edges or who have to be carefully kept." He tells the rabbit that by the time you are real most of your hair has been loved off and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. Yep, I'm real. I didn't know it until I got the book out for our little Elle at five. I was reading this part and started to choke back tears, she asked me if I needed to just stop reading, she's a compassionate one. I finished the book but I kept thinking about it.
What is real? My Raggedy Ann was real. She was my friend when I was a child. I suppose she was my security blanket, my one thing that helped me go to sleep when I was afraid. She went with me to college, took her place on my bed with the pastel pillows. It sounds silly but I couldn't leave her behind just yet. I would trade her soon enough for a grown up life.
I believe we are real because God wants us to be. I believe he puts children in our lives to teach us what that looks like. We teach them to be honest; they test us when we are in situations when a lie might be easier. They watch us in our relationships with others. They ask themselves if they are loving like mommy or truthful like Daddy. It is their love that makes us want to be those things. We start to look worn out and frayed to the world but we are more precious to them when we lose all pretenses and become who we were meant to be.
It is in our frailties we discipline them. We are not perfect, we can't expect them to be perfect, we can only hold them up to God and ask for his wisdom in our ignorance. Unfortunately many parents don't become real until it is too late for their own children. It is most often grandchildren who take on the job of making us real. I am thankful that God gave me young children at my age. I feel very honored
and blest to have them in my life. And when they tell me I'm soft in the middle or my hair has silver in it I smile. They aren't trying to hurt my feelings they are telling me what I already know, I am becoming shabbier and loose in the joints, they have loved me into real.

Lion Tails and Ruby Slippers

Some days my life is easy and fun and nothing at all goes wrong but many more days are long and hard and scary. I haven't a clue what I'm doing here, I jokingly say it's "how I roll" or "I just fly by the seat of my pants" but the truth is if I didn't have absolute belief that God is working it all out for my good and His glory I'd have a hard time breathing. It's not the marriage or the kids or the job or the endless responsibilities that go with these things that cause me to doubt myself or my abilities, it's the face in the mirror that keeps telling me I'm too old, or too slow, not educated enough or not gifted enough. I doubt myself because of my SELF. I so identify with the Cowardly Lion in The Wizard of Oz, it is not that I don't have courage really, I just have never had to stand up and use it. I would rather stand quivering and twist my tail in my hands jabbering about what I do or do not believe in than to face the day confident that the God who holds the universe together has got my little problems handled. Let me give you an example of what I'm talking about.
Before Christmas my Suburban outran it's transmission. It was not a good time for this but instead of waiting for it to get fixed I drove a car that had an expired tag and was not insured (I REALLY thought our shop insurance covered it but it did not). I was pulled over by a sweet young policeman who no more believed my sob story than I believe in the tooth fairy (don't tell my younger kids I don't believe in the tooth fairy but for the record she has been slacking at our house lately) I was ticketed and told that I could appear before the judge and plead my case yada yada yada...fact is I didn't really have a case. After investigating the fines for my crimes I discovered I had to appear before the judge...in that, it was not an option. This rattled me. I don't really know why but I didn't want to have to explain why I had been driving an uninsured, expired tagged car.
I stewed in this knowledge for several days. I talked to my attorney, joked about going to jail, dreaded having to go to traffic court but ended up going by myself. But, I was not unarmed! My friend Kim called me and talked ninety-to-nothing about what I needed to to. "Go in there, fall on the mercy of the court and know that whatever the judge says will be what you have to accept". She also did as we often do for each other, she prayed, over the phone out loud...and pretty much asked the Lord to not let me say or do something stupid. I really love her. She so "gets" me. She was still talking like the girly machine gun she is when I pulled into a parking space and told her I HAD to get off the phone and go in because I was late and I was sure they'd add more fines for that!! I found the entrance and took my place in a very long line. I wasn't even sure I was in the right place but I asked a few people and was told everyone had to stand in this line first.
I observed the line shuffling along. Some people would talk to the lady behind the glass then leave the building, others here and there would take their tickets and exit to the right into THE COURTROOM. I saw several rows of chairs with a few people sitting, arms crossed looking very determined that they had a good reason for whatever it was they did. I started hearing the questions the lady behind the glass was asking. "Do you plead guilty or non-guilty?" the individual would answer and proceed from there. I caught on that the people who were pleading not-guilty were the smug looking ones in the courtroom. I knew I had no leg to stand on so when it was my turn to plead I said...."Uh,um,guilty" in fact I think I said "Uh, um I'M guilty!". I was so relieved not to have to go before the judge! When the lady asked how I wanted to pay the fine I asked her how much I needed to pay, she said however much I could. I was confused, she was confused then I asked her how much the fine was...she told me $311. I finally breathed again. I had thought it would be worse. Three hundred dollars is a lot of money for me but I had been told it would be more. I handed the lady my debit card told her to take it all at one time and I left feeling that I had somehow avoided prison.
I learned my lesson. I won't be driving anymore cars with no tag or insurance. I also learned that when I've done wrong even if grace is extended I will have consequences. I've been watching a pink netbook that I can write my stories on and skipe with my sweet baby Aidie. It will have to wait a few weeks. I am thankful to have a part-time job that I love so working for it won't be hard.
I also learned that although I may identify with the Lion, I have the ruby slippers. They are my family, my friends and all the things I love about my life and anytime I forget I can click my heals together and be right back where I'm suppose to be. Life is good, God is faithful and this action packed ride is pretty fun.
So, I'm gonna tell the Lion in the mirror that I am not afraid, I'm gonna dig that courage medal out of my pocket and wear it.

I just don't know what to make of this. I have had many years experience with children, I know enough not to say I'm an expert...I think there are very few of those. Children are not as predictable as we grown ups think. I believe my little Lissy is a great example of this unpredictablity theory.
We started out okay today but quickly went down hill. There was no battle about clothes, shoes or hair. She brushed her teeth without complaint, but when it was time to go to school she bristled. She wanted to take her "bloony", a latex balloon she got last night a Chik-fil-a. She also got a little red basketball, which would have been appropriate for "show and tell". She had a meltdown because we wouldn't let her take the balloon. She left in a bad mood and according to her teacher went on to throw a fit at school, kicking, screaming, all the normal characteristics of her fits of rage. This time there didn't seem to be a cause.
We got home a few minutes ago and she greeted her balloon (now on the floor) as if it were a long lost friend. Then she realized something had changed...her balloon was not reaching for the sky like it had this morning. This made her angry! She started calling the balloon "stupid" and fussing at it to stay up in the air and not fall down. It was like watching a scary science fiction movie, there were no tears...so I'm guessing she was just mad but it was intense!! I was very glad not to be a balloon. She finally got so mad at it that she reached in the drawer and pulled out a pair of scissors and popped the useless thing...She then picked it up...walked to the trashcan and dropped it in. Not another word. Weird huh?
I can only imagine what she'll do next, she keeps me guessing and on my toes.

Peanut Butter Toast

I have a thousand things on my mommy list today. It is Monday and my house looks like it. Why am I the mom who fusses at everybody about not picking up their stuff but get no results whatsoever? Note to self, fussing doesn't work, find alternative methods of crowd control. Yesterday afternoon I clearly remember thinking, if I can just get them all out and back to school I can have this place whipped into shape in no time. Well, it sounded good but now I wish I had sent everyone up with a laundry basket full of their clothes and all their shoes. When you multiply those items by seven you have a truck load and now I have no help. I suppose I shouldn't say I don't have ANY help. I have the little one. She's four, she's adorable and impossible all at once. She came in the kitchen a few minutes ago and asked for some peanut butter toast. I was so impressed that she actually wanted to eat something remotely nutritious for breakfast I got right on it. Her normal breakfast consists of Fruit Loops, a cookie and a couple of pixie sticks, I jump at the mention of peanut butter. As I delivered the toast she smiled and told me I was the "bestest mommy ever". I responded to the little cherub with "Thank you Sweetie" and mumbled under my breath, "I hope you remember that when you're fourteen". I know better than to let that one go to my head. I am not the bestest...um, best mother anyone ever had. I am old and tired and lack the ability to focus on anything for more than a few minutes tops. I think what she was saying was more like this. You are adequate, you take care of me, I don't have to worry about bullies or being hungry or cold. You love me and that is enough. I love you for your effort. Break that down into four year old vocabulary and understanding and it comes out "Bestest Ever". If I do my job well, she'll grow up and want a family, she'll be the mommy spreading peanut butter on the toast. She won't remember always having clean clothes or a good night song, she won't remember getting to pick out snacks at the grocery store or rummaging through my purse for gum or being lifted up to reach the mail. I hope she remembers being told she's beautiful and that she can be a ballerina or a doctor, a scientist or a pastry chef. I hope she realizes someday that she had a really fun childhood and was cherished and for a moment in time was my entertainment, my encourager and my help. These days are racing by, in a minute she will be gone. So, as I get back to the mundane chores of Monday I pray for her and thank God for the little gift I get to hold for now.

Next week I will take my first stab at being a newspaper columnist. I am very excited to get the chance to connect with people in our community who don't blog or Facebook. I feel sad that they are missing out on all the fun but I'm grateful for a chance to tell my stories to people outside the loop. I think I'm going to get to keep my "Greetings From The Circus" title on the column. It will be a lot like what I do on here. I'll probably start using this blog for more personal thoughts and day to day "stuff". I want to learn how to make my blog more interesting by posting pictures and music. If you are a blog literate person who would like to give me some pointers feel free!!! Thanks for reading.
Angie

Baby Shower and Friends

My dear friends Kelly and LeAnn and Micah's friend from 8th grade Meghan held a baby shower in honor of the soon to be born Anderson Brooks today. It was so nice seeing Micah's friends and my friends and the great-grandmothers all together. We ooohhh-ed and aaahhh-ed over all the cute little boy clothes, blankets, burp cloths, and all the other great gifts he got. Micah's friend from birth, Lauren was there with her two sisters. I did the wedding flowers for her wedding a couple of years ago, now the younger sister is engaged and I'll be working on her September wedding this year. It's so exciting seeing these girls grow up and establish families of their own. It's special having these people in my life and in Micah's life. There will surely be many more babies in the next few years.
While we were talking around the food table my cousin whispered to me the reason her mother, "Granny K" wasn't herself today was because on Thursday her best friend died. They had been friends over fifty years. They talked every day like clockwork....seven p.m. they'd call each other and talk about life. I looked at my friend Terri, we've been friends since we were eleven. That's almost forty years...her granddaughter was born on my granddaughter's first birthday. We will be bonded for life. I imagine us old, talking on the phone. I can only feel sad for my aunt. I told her I was so sorry about the loss of her good friend. She just shook her head, still not able to talk about it. My aunt is in her late eighties, her friend was ninety-three. They didn't even meet until they were young mothers in the same neighborhood. They were the June Cleaver moms. I picture my aunt in her grass hopper Keds and smock she wore for gardening. She grew day lilies, kept a spotless house, insisted my cousin be involved in swim team and girl scouts. She and her friends ruled the world with smart straw hats and wooden spoons. I have two of her dresses from back then. I borrowed them for a sixties day and forgot to return them, I doubt she's given them much thought. I'm not sure why she even kept them. I didn't have the heart to tell her I wouldn't wear them because they weren't what all my friends were wearing to "Sixties Day"...poodle skirts and white blouses. I'm sure what my aunt loaned me was much more authentic. I picture her in the white cotton dress with green embroidery, smiling at the camera, her friend beside her leaning on a '66 Chevrolet Impala. I'm sure she would say those were the glory days, like Terri and I will say these days were for us. Fifty is not so bad when you think, Lord willing, we will be able to say we've been friends seventy years when we reach their age. Thankfully, we'll live on to be friends on the other side of this life too.

Another Shutterbug is Born

When I was five I got my first camera. Really, five. I took it to kindergarten at First Baptist Church. I took pictures of my friends on the playground and while I was at it I convinced "Miss Sue" Blackmon and her assistant teacher to climb on the seesaw, skirts and all to pose for a picture. Somewhere there is proof. I haven't seen the pictures for a while but I know they used to be at Mama's house. Maybe someday I'll uncover them again.
I didn't think the photography bug was going to bite any of my children, although they have always taken great pictures and Lord knows they've all had experience being my models. Much to my surprise Matthan has come down with the fever. I can't express how thankful I am he's breezed past the "film snob" stage and has fallen in love with digital. It is so much less expensive than film and the immediate results are hard to beat. If the picture is lousy, you delete! Not so easy with film. He has taken some beautiful shots, some interesting shots, some shots a mother has to ask..."She really did have clothes on under that STOP SIGN....RIGHT?" So far I am impressed. I love his eye, which I have always heard is the key. I can't tell you much about my camera but I can tell a good photograph when I see one. I find myself sounding like a proud mama when I look at his art, oooing and aahing over everything on the computer screen.
I don't know if photography is "That Thing" he'll do to make his mark on the world but I know it is a very good thing. Micah has already challenged him to document her baby's first minutes and hours in the "outside" world. She said she knew I'd miss the pictures if I tried to do it...she's probably right.
I gladly pass the camera to him.

My Kitchen Redo

For almost two weeks I have been working on my kitchen. It's about time, not much has been done since the house was built twenty years ago. I wallpapered it during the original process. I stripped the wallpaper about ten years later and painted it what I affectionately called "Hello Yello". It was BRIGHT, you didn't have to have a cup of coffee to wake up in my kitchen. I enjoyed about all of that I could and decided to paint it a much more tranquil green. I painted the cabinets a pale yellow (I say I but Michael did help, while I was away last weekend he painted a whole section). Once I got all that done I found that the old white trim looked really dirty and just bad....so I had no choice but to paint all the trim again. I finally finished this afternoon and it looks lovely.
The final phase of the project is going to be counter tops...I'm not sure when that will happen. I'm still bargain shopping for tile. It has to be bottom dollar and the cheapest I've found was about $6 a square foot. Considering I don't have a job right now I have no extra to just chunk at tile...so I will keep looking. I don't mind waiting it out. It should be worth it.

I'll never forget the call I received from my daughter Micah, I was grocery shopping when my cell phone rang. Her cheery voice greeted me with the news that she knew who her "people group" was. She had told me about a retreat she had attended with a group of college friends where they were challenged to pray for God's direction as to who they should serve. This is in itself somewhat unusual for today's college student, being told it's not about the job you land, the bank account you build, or the status you achieve. These students were told it isn't about YOU at all...it's about what you will give away, and the people you will serve.
Micah told me her people group was foster children. She was about to watch God map out a plan that would forever change the lives of many children in the system.
She had witnessed what being in abusive and neglectful situations does to children. We had five foster children in our home at the time. Although Micah was married and living in another town she came home every chance she got to help with them. She saw what a struggle it was for us to go from having a quiet life with two teenage boys to the chaos that ensued when seven children all needed something at the same time. We were exhausted, sleep deprived and overwhelmed. We couldn't do it alone. Thankfully, we didn't have to. God supplied friends who did everything from organizing the children's clothes, to babysitting, to being an arm for our teen boys to lean on. It took that village we've heard about to help us survive.
In the midst of it all Micah was called to start a ministry. Big House Foundation was born. She named the organization after a song by Audio Adrenaline, a Christian band. The first Wednesday night we had our foster children we were on our way to church, I asked the kids to listen to the song. Some of the words are: "Come and go with me to my Father's house, it's a big big house with lots and lots of rooms, a big big table with lots and lots of food, a big big yard where we can play football, a big big house...it's my Father's house". The kids screamed to hear it again. We listened to it three times there and three times back. They were hooked. The song refers to Heaven but to foster children who may not be used to having enough food or room or a place to play it sounds like something they want right now!
The mission of Big House is serving the foster family. There is a clothes closet stocked with nice clothing free of charge to foster families, a swimsuit and beach towel drive each year so that foster children have a new swimsuit and a towel with their name embroidered on it. This past Christmas Big House hosted the foster family Christmas Party. Each child received gifts, books, hat's and gloves, and got the opportunity to eat breakfast with Santa and some of his helpers. Basically, the desire of Big House is to give every child a chance to do the things most children in traditional families do, including music, dance, art, sports, scouting etc.
Foster care is not a perfect solution, but it is all we have to do what we can for children in situations where they have no voice. As foster parents in Lee County we are thankful for friends, churches and organizations like Big House who are here to help.

Another Year of Blessings

I know it sounds cliche but I am so blessed. I don't take the time to acknowledge the source of my blessing NEAR enough. I have a sign in my kitchen that says "Count Your Blessings" but how often do I forget to read that on my way out to climb in my old car (also a blessing) to pick up two or three of them. Blessings, they are everywhere. I have plenty of stuff I could live without and I'm making an attempt at getting rid of some of it. Some of the stuff I've acquired just stresses me out. I don't need too much in this ADD brain to get me off track of what's important,and I really do want to focus on what is important in this life.
As I've watched the news the past two weeks some of my blessings have become more profound. Can you imagine having no water? We go to the sink and expect to have water, how often I have taken for granted the fact I have safe drinking water. In Haiti water is a luxury. It is the same for the people on Indian Reservations in South Dakota. I heard last night that people are dying there because they have no electricity and are trying to heat their homes with kerosene because it is below 0 degrees. These are the same people our great great grandfathers escorted off their land so we could live in this nice southern climate. These people are so poor and depressed that they have one of the highest suicide rates in the world. I can imagine...if I had to watch my children freeze and go without adequate food and heat I'd be depressed too....the point is I don't have to do without anything I really need. So my car is old, my house has "issues". I have everything I could possibly dream of and more.
I think the one event that changed me more than anything in the last two weeks was the woman in Haiti who was laying on the ground with her head in the lap of one of her sister-friends who was trying to console her. She had lost four children in the initial earthquake and then her fifth at the makeshift hospital. I cannot get this woman's face out of my mind. These people are so poor, they don't care about houses or cars. They've never had much so "stuff" means nothing to them...but, to lose all her babies...they were her hope. They were her future. I'm sure she had dreams of them becoming self sufficient and getting out of poverty, maybe one was a musician and maybe one or two were artists, or fishermen or dancers maybe one of her daughters had learned to sew and was helping the family with clothes. In a matter of moments all her dreams died. I wonder if she knows God. I wonder if she knows he is holding her in his hand. I wonder if there is anyone who can reach her in her grief. I am praying for her today. I am remembering that there is no "thing" I need in this world that can take the place of my Father's love for me.
And I am counting my blessings
Hannah, Micah, Matthan, Seth, Ariel, Cheyenne, Felicity, Aidie, Anderson and all who are to come. Thank you Lord....how could I ask for more.

I'll NEVER Say NEVER

Since last Tuesday I've discovered I am addicted...not to Diet Pepsi or chocolate (although truth be told those would probably fall into the same category) no, my new addiction is to the TV coverage of the earthquake. I don't mean to sound morbid...the death and pain these people are experiencing is heartbreaking. I grieve for them and with them over their loss. I want so badly to do something, anything to help but I'm still not sure what that is. The thing that has grabbed me by the throat is the coverage of the children. I have heard 60% of Haiti's population is under the age of 25. I've also heard there are thousands....THOUSANDS of orphans. We don't really have orphans in this country...we have foster children. We don't really have orphanages...we send them to individual families. The whole reason for this is somewhere in the history of our country someone decided orphanages were a bad idea. I'm certainly not saying I disagree. I'm sure some orphanages were terrible places where no one felt loved and there was never enough to eat. But, I'm not sure foster care is always the best way to go either. Especially the way kids are farmed out to whoever wherever. There are never enough good foster homes (and I know some great ones!) I don't want to get into a debate about foster care vs. orphanages. I have observed some pretty happy looking little children in the videos I've seen of Haiti. They are in need, sometimes hungry, sleeping outdoors but they have what looks like lots of attention. I think most of the orphanages employ Nanny's, maybe in such a poor country it's easy to find young women who will help with the children for a dollar a day. I think this is admirable. I'm sure it would be hard to find that kind of staff in the U.S.
So, as I've watched every night since last Tuesday to see how many orphans are being moved to the airport to be flown to their new homes in our country I wonder...Yes, all my friends are already thinking it...I wonder if any of those little ones are for me. I'm not going looking for trouble..but trouble seems to find me. I'm kidding, I certainly wouldn't refer to these precious babies as trouble.
I'm keeping my mind open and my heart toward God. He will let me know what is next for us. In the meantime, I'm praying for all the little ones who are waiting for what's next for them.

Help for Haiti

I made the comment this morning that I was still tired. I have a sinus infection but haven't been to the doctor, my head hurts and I didn't sleep well. I am not a morning person so I am usually grumpy anyway but as soon as I made the "tired" comment I regretted it. As soon as I got all my kids out the door to school and settled my four year old down in front of PBS I turned on the TV in my bedroom. There on the screen was the picture of reality for several million people in Haiti this morning. They dare not complain of a headache. They have no one to tell if they are tired from sleeping with one eye open from fear..and on the hard ground.
Shame on me for complaining. Shame on me for thinking about myself. In the broad scheme of things my discomfort is nothing! Even the pain I have experienced recently pales in comparison to the woman I saw yesterday in Haiti who lost all five of her children in the earthquake. She collapsed from grief, I can only imagine.
I cannot fathom the pain of losing a single child much less FIVE. God bless her as she wakes up this morning, if she slept at all...how do you comfort someone in pain like that? Only God can give her peace. I pray she knows him.
I have to ask myself what I am being called to do.
My son Matthan has heard a direct call from God to send money to Samaritan's Purse, a ministry already in Haiti. He is also wanting to get in contact with an orphanage there we know about. He really wants to go there. He wants to make a difference to as many people as he can. He doesn't want attention for his work but his teachers have put him in the spotlight. He'll handle it well. He has a very mature understanding of how it's really not about him. It's about God and the people in need.
It doesn't matter to me what these people's ancestors did. Blaming them for this earthquake makes no more sense than blaming me for anything my great grandparents X however many generations go back two hundred years might have done. We don't know what happened with the witchdoctors or satanist...the fact is there was a terrible earthquake.
God is giving his believers an opportunity. Haiti may have been "sold to the devil" in generations past but today we Christian's have a unique opportunity to buy it back for Jesus! They need help. They need basics-water, food, shelter, clothing. They also need the compassion and grace, mercy and love of the God we cling to as Americans. I have joined Matthan's group on facebook, you can too. I am listening to what God may tell me to do to get his word into Haiti. I am not too tired to do what ever he has for me to do.

I noticed something about myself yesterday. I move alot slower than I used to. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised but for some reason I AM. Yesterday I spent the entire day cleaning out my closet. I mean, it was bad but it wasn't ALL DAY bad.
Since I had back surgery in November I haven't really taken on a big project like this. I put it off before because I was in pain for six months so it was long overdue. I pulled everything out and put a bunch of stuff in bags for the thrift store. By the time I finished it was dinner time. I only had a few distractions, picking up Lissy from school, driving Ariel to tennis, laundry, cats and dog wanting in and out, quick trip to the pharmacy, Fred's (for cat food!) and then picking up at dance. I should have had plenty of time but the fact that I move slower than I used to made the endeavor much more agonizing. I LOVE organization but it doesn't love me! I am writing this and looking into my organized closet right now but it is taunting me....it will be messy again soon dispite my best intentions. I dream of getting everything clean and in order all at one time but it never seems to happen. I honestly don't know how anyone does it without being neurotic. I am neurotic about enough things...my house can't join that list.
I am forever buying the home magizines that claim complete organization in five easy steps or one hour, they always leave me disappointed. I have a feeling it would take me a long time to get my messy life organized especially at the rate I'm going.
Of course I'm always up for suggestions.

Mommy Needs A Minute

I was asked yesterday who my target audience is for my stories. I really believe I have something to say to mothers. My initial idea was a devotional book that could be read in just a few minutes and could be uplifting and perhaps funny. One that might set on the back of a toilet and take up just a little time in the morning or whenever. I know as a mother of three tiers of children we mothers have little time to ourselves, especially if we work outside the home and/or have preschoolers! Homeschool moms would fall into this catagory too. Let's face it once a woman becomes a mother it's just not ever gonna be about her anymore! You wonder, you worry, you pray, you share, you yell, you preach, you calm, you reach out but you have little concern for your own needs, you are forever altered. I believe this is the way God wires us, to protect and to nurture. But, who's nurturing you?
Hopefully, since I am a "seasoned" mother I can encourage and uplift younger women. Since I have been made real and pretty much transparent by the love of seven children maybe I can speak some hope to the older mothers who read my stuff. In any light my prayer is to make you laugh, cry or just think about what your life means to God and the ones you love.

"Mommy Needs A Minute"

Day 1
"Bless the Lord, Oh my soul;
And all that is within me, bless His holy name."
Psalm 103:1

When I was in labor with my first boy a friend called the room where I was and asked to speak to me. I was handed the phone and in between panting and deep breathing she told me she had the perfect scripture for me to recite...It was the one above, "Bless the Lord, Oh my soul and all that is within me bless his holy name." She put extra emphasis on ALL THAT IS WITHIN ME...I thought she was joking but she wasn't. I started doing as she suggested, afterall she was the hospital administrator's wife and SHE had actually delivered her third child at home because HE didn't believe her when she said it was time to GO. I figured this woman knew what she was talking about. My baby boy was born just minutes after I began reciting the verse over and over. I guess he wanted to get started blessing the Lord on his own.
This particular Psalm is full of comfort for mothers...telling of what God does for us. "Pardons our iniquities", "Heals all our diseases', "redeems our lives from the pit", "Crowns us with lovingkindness and compassion", and my favorite "satisfies our years with good things so that our youth is renewed like the eagle"
I don't know much that is more rewarding than raising children, even if they are knocking on the bathroom door asking how long you're gonna be in there.
Just remember to tell them "Mommy's praying for you Darling, I'll be out in a few (years) minutes."
Thank the Lord for His blessings, for your children, your husband, your friends...keep this prayer in your mind throughout the day. Remember all He has done for you and share this with others.