We had a wonderful Christmas!  Just wonderful!   But, the whole Christmas season ate my lunch. 

So, we decided to take a quick, little post-Christmas getaway to the Smoky Mountains.  Just our little family and Blair's sweet boyfriend, John Samuel, who we basically consider one of us now.  We had a great time!  I'll hit the high spots with some pictures because who doesn't like vacation slides? 

Nine hours in the car together and the lines of personal space start to become blurred.  We had one in the backseat with a bladder about half the size of a walnut and two others who would've been up for eating at each exit if given the chance.  Davis is all about the ETA and I was the mediator betwixt them all.  By about hour #8, Carson best summed up the mood in the vehicle, "I think we're all starting to get testy."

Different people have different ideas about what constitutes a vacation.  The rest of my family lives with the delusion that vacation must involve vertical movement and accelerated heart rates while I maintain that just the opposite is true.  Our first little hike started out ok.  I was keeping up at first but everyone started pulling farther and farther ahead......except for Davis who was being chivalrous and hanging back with me.  Soon, the kids disappeared like they were part mountain goat and I insisted that Davis go ahead and catch up to them.  I mean there wasn't any reason for us both to be slow and miserable.  At about the point pictured below, small children and elderly Chinese women with canes started passing me.  I tried not to think about the warning posted at the trailhead stating that there had been a bear mauling death on this very plot of land.  I'm not sure what my family was thinking but could've been something like....."Hey, let's take Mom, who's been convalescing for the last couple of weeks, up the side of a mountain and run off and leave her for dead."   
Anyway, while I was back who knows where with the bears and the international elderly, they all ran to the top and took pictures.  I suppose so they could each remember where they were the day their mother was mauled. 

              
If I might add here......another clue that you might not be on a relaxing vacation is when the subject of death keeps coming up. 
 

I did try to appear somewhat rugged and outdoorsy for some of the pictures. 
 
One day, I did do enough to cause my Fitbit to refer to me as an overachiever.  So, there. 
                             
As if climbing mountains weren't enough, Blair would lead planking and ab sessions in the floor of the condo each night for anyone interested.  Not pictured: Joni.  She, being 4 months and 1 week away from a degree in nutrition, was also quick to interject a, "We don't need that," at each mention of fatty or fried foods.  Vacation killjoy.

Anyway, I came home and there it all was.  It looked like Christmas had vomited all over our house and it had been left there to dry for about a week.  Now, generally, I'm the one who is taking all the decorations down the morning of the 26th because I am a firm believer in "when it's over, it's over".  But, our schedule didn't allow that this year.  We did take the tree down on Christmas night because of its eerie likeness to kindling but we left the rest in its place.

Today, I started taking all the decorations down.  You know how your house looks so empty when you take down your Christmas stuff?  I mean, you get used to having large trees and evergreen garland in your living room and then when they're gone, you're like, "Dang, we need more shrubs and landscaping in here."  Now, it looks like Cindy Lou's house after the Grinch got through with it.  Just a bunch of emptiness left.
So, I'm trying to get everything back in order.  Clean.  Organize.  Laundry.  Restock the kitchen. You know.......try to return to life as we once knew it.

It was so good to get away with my little family, enjoy God's beauty, and just unwind. 
Blair graduates in May so who knows where she'll be when our next trip rolls around.  I want us to enjoy as much of life just as it is right here and now.  You know....while we can. 

Y'all have a Happy New Year!  Hope it's one of your best yet!      

     
   

The perfect Christmas.

I think we, women, put a lot a pressure on ourselves to achieve that for our families every year.  I mean, let's face it....we do carry most of the burden of the Christmas bustle and preparation.  Not knocking you, men, and I know there are exceptions, but Christmas is usually our domain.  Of course, Davis works to finance Christmas and, yes, he climbs up the attic stairs and gets all of the boxes down when it's time to decorate.  Oh, and he does cut a couple of inches off of our Christmas tree trunk and secures it in the tree stand.  But, let's talk straight here.......past that the ball's in my court.  A majority of the things that the kids open on Christmas morning, well, he'll be just as surprised as they are by them.

Now, I'm not complaining.  I wouldn't have it any other way even though it does become a draining task to buy all the gifts for both sides of the family, wrap them, decorate the house, send the Christmas cards, shop for food, cook, plan meals, coordinate visits, figure out family holiday schedules, and purchase things needed for all the parties everyone has to attend. 

Whew.

Some years, everything falls into place and Christmas goes off without a hitch.  It's a beautiful experience.  Other times, it's just a bumpy ride all the way to the New Year.  Nothing seems to go right and you're just ready to pack up the decorations and move on. 

As moms and wives and aunts and grandmothers, we just want to make things nice for everyone at Christmas time.  We want to give our family the kind of Christmas we see in the Hallmark movies.  Everyone is happy and there are no complicated family dynamics with which we have to work around.  The tree is perfectly decorated and the lights are all working.  No one is under the weather.  Travel goes smoothly.  The food has never been better......just enough moistness and seasoning and browned to the peak of perfection.  The gifts are so perfectly suited for each recipient that there are shrieks of joy and tears of gratitude.  There is a nip in the air and a light snowfall lays a blanket of wintry beauty upon the landscape.  A fire is crackling in the fireplace.  Everyone is all warm and cozy in the embrace of kith and kin.  All are full of love for one another and sentimental emotion wells up from the depths of each heart.  Each Christmas dream comes true. 

As women, that's the gift we want to give our families every year. 

In reality, we may find things to be not quite so ideal.  Sometimes, the cornbread dressing is dry and the rolls are too brown on the bottom.  Sometimes, we realize, too late, that we should've doubled the sweet potato recipe.  Even the recipients of our gifts may want to know if we kept the receipt.  Sometimes, as it is for us this year, Christmas is forecasted to be 80 degrees and the sound of the air conditioner will take the place of a crackling fire.  Could be that half the family is sick with a terrible cold thing that's going around and it has them sounding like a bunch of barking seals.  Maybe there are some undercurrents of family strife that could make things a little awkward.  Could be that scheduling didn't come together this year and there will be some empty chairs at the table.  Sometimes, the middle string of tree lights go out and you can't find the problem bulb to save your life. 

And, no matter how smoothly we think Christmas goes, it's always a letdown to clean up all the ripped boxes and torn paper off the floor.  To wave at the family as they pull out of the driveway.  To pack it all up.....those decorations we were so excited about less than a month ago. 

All that time.  All that work.  All that excitement.  All that buildup.  All that preparation.  Over.  And, often times, the reality didn't quite live up to the weeks of picturesque visions we'd had leading up to the big day. 

I was thinking about the imperfections of Christmas both past and present and its failure to, sometimes, meet our expectations.  The first Christmas was anything but perfect.  My goodness.  Talk about a Christmas gone wrong, at least, from where we stand. 

Mary, God bless her, didn't plan on being a young, unmarried, pregnant virgin and experiencing the whispers and judgment that would've come along with that.  She wouldn't have imagined going on such a treacherous trip as pregnant as she was and her baby being born while she was far away from the help of her mother and the other women in her family.  She likely didn't expect there to be no place for them to stay when they got to Bethlehem.  She probably wouldn't have chosen a barn as the perfect setting to have her first child.  Joseph didn't prefer that Mary would mysteriously become pregnant and having to deal with the embarrassment and doubt that caused him.  They wouldn't have chosen to place their first baby in a feeding trough or have the stench of animals nearby.  Strangers from out in a field weren't who they'd imagined would be surrounding them after their child's birth.  And they wouldn't have expected to soon be on the run for their new son's safety.  From our human viewpoint, there was nothing that went right on that first Christmas.  Not a birth story that we'd ever want to experience.  Not the beginning we'd wish for any child in our family.   

But, maybe God wanted Christmas to be a little less than perfect.  Maybe He came in that way to show us that we can triumph in the imperfections of this life.  To give us hope in all of our Plan B's.  To demonstrate that good can come from flawed situations.  To remind us His plans are better than our plans.  To show us that sometimes greatness has unexpected or lowly beginnings.  To prove that life doesn't have to be perfect to be beautiful or useful.  To display how He can work with less than ideal circumstances.  To reveal to us that His idea of perfection may not always be the same as ours.  

Maybe when Christmas doesn't go off without a hitch is when we're actually experiencing Christmas in its truest form.  Could be when we look around and it doesn't look like the pictures in the storybooks or the glittery front of a Christmas card is when we're closest to the spirit of that first Christmas. 

Maybe, we could dial back our pursuit of the perfect Christmas and take some of the pressure off of ourselves if we remember that the Son of God came into the world in what seemed to be the most imperfect way.  It was a day when nothing appeared to go right.  It was a day when expectations were not met.  And yet, it was an event that had been planned from the very beginning.  With all the time in the world to prepare.  With any and all resources at His disposal.  And that was the way He decided it should be.  A King carried in an unmarried mother's womb.  Birthed in a smelly stable. Surrounded by animals and strangers. 

To the human eye, it was all wrong.  But, to Him, it was perfect. 

It was a perfectly imperfect Christmas.

And so I hope that your family embraces the spirit of Jesus' birth. 

And I hope you and those you love enjoy a very Merry Christmas! 

Its warts and all. 



Talk to you before the New Year!     

To all a goodnight!           

       

So, I had a little outpatient surgery Monday.  Nothing major......or cosmetic.  So, I may or may not currently be under the influence of drugs as I write this post, so don't be alarmed if a sentence about purple flying squirrels or three-headed Martians in sequin jumpsuits appears in the middle of a paragraph for no apparent reason. 

Sometimes, you just have to find humor wherever you are and since I've haven't been anywhere else this week, we'll have to work with what we have.  Invariably, you can count on humor to rear its head in medical settings.  Awkward?  Sometimes.  Funny?  Always.  But, we've all been there at one time or another so we might as well talk about our awkwardly funny medical moments.       

-It is as sure as the sunrise that you will have to go to the bathroom at the most inopportune times in medical situations.  Ladies, you know how when you're at the gynecologist's office and you're laid up there in only what God gave you and a sheet waiting for days and days on the doctor to come in.  Suddenly, it hits you.  You've got to go.  Then, comes the dilemma.  Do I get up or do I wait?  Well, that happened to me yesterday.  We'd waited and waited and waited and I decided I had to go no matter what I had to drag behind me.  So, Davis held my bags of fluids and grabbed the back of my gown to guard the dignity and sanctity of his soul mate as we shuffled our way down to the restroom together.  It was a tender moment.  Kind of like a maid of honor following behind a beautiful bride with her long, flowing train in tow.....only not near that picturesque.  Because of its lack of poetic qualities, the vow to hold one's hospital gown up in the air to keep it from falling into the toilet isn't included in most traditional wedding ceremonies, but it is one of those nuptial requirements that is buried deep in the marital paperwork somewhere.   

-The nurse looked at my chart and saw my age, 47, and then I guess she looked at Davis and thought, "we'd better get a pregnancy test on these two young things just to be sure."  Maybe the muffin top resembled a baby bump or maybe Davis was looking extra virile in his blue shirt.  I'm not really sure.  Either way, a pregnancy test was deemed necessary.  And so it is with great joy that Davis and I would like to announce that we are not expecting a baby at this time.  And all God's people said, "Amen and Hallelujah" as we'd be 76 and 69 upon its graduation from college.             

-I think we all have the same unspoken fear when entering the hospital for a procedure.  What will we say while under the influence of drugs?  I mean, really.  Think about the things that pop into your mind all day.  What if drugs neutralize your filter and those things start falling out of your mouth?  Heavenly sunlight!  You don't even know where you are much less what you're saying.  I'm pretty sure HIPAA was put into place after someone really important said something really bad that they didn't want to get out.  No matter how it came to be, it is a blessed assurance to all mankind. 

-Then, there's this new Q&A they do now......I guess to avoid operating on the wrong part or the wrong side which seemed to be so popular for a while.  You know, just so there's no confusion between you and Mr. Clarence Clodfelter who's on the other side of the curtain.  Everyone who comes in your room is like, "Now, Mrs. Miller, what are we going to be doing for you today?"  You know, kind of like you're at the window at the Speedy Oil Change.  Well, you, in turn, are to tell them what procedure you're there for.  I understand that it's part of their verification system, but after the 3rd or 4th person asks what you need done, you can't help but start to wonder if what you're saying is news to them.........and maybe think, "well, I would've thought y'all maybe would've kind of already had a game plan at this point......maybe read up on it some.......watched a few You Tube instructional videos."     

- Then, there are those awkward couple of days when you're instructed not to shower or bathe.  Sure, you can do what you can do with a washcloth and the sink, but by the end of day 2 you're starting to feel and smell awfully similar to a farm animal on a damp day.  Even the dog starts to back away when she sees you coming.  It's best to just quarantine yourself so that no one else will have to suggest it.  Tomorrow, I will shower and I anticipate having a new lease on life.  It will be a breath of fresh air for my family. 

And as a side note, let me just say that nurses are incredible people.  Maybe we are apt to most admire people in fields in which God has given us absolutely NO ability.  But, nurses.....they do it all.  Not the least of which, they pat and love on us at the times when we need it the most.  And we never forget that.  So, hats off to you, nurses.                   

And as a follow up to my last post, let me just say that my family has been so very helpful.  Blair, especially, has been the one here with me during the day and she's the most awesome caregiver.  She's run my errands, changed sheets, done laundry, cooked, shopped, cleaned.  That girl is on it before I even ask.  I will even go so far as to say that having surgery on the heels of having a meltdown achieves maximum results.  I mean, you know, if you want to take it that far.

Hope y'all have a great Wednesday. 



       
   

     

Well, it's the holiday season.  We all know what that means.  School is out or about to be out for an extended period.  Your kids, their friends, and all of their abounding personal effects will be strewn all over your house.  From one end to the other.  Husbands will be home from work more than usual.  Relatives will be coming by to visit.  Friends will be stopping in. 

Having everyone at home for Christmas is a wonderful thing.  Oh, such a wonderful thing.  There are even numerous songs written about the enchantment it brings and the resulting warm fuzzies.  But, in all of our excitement,  it's important for us, women, the keepers of all civil living and residential order, to lay out some basic ground rules on the front end of the season in an effort to maintain our mental stability and sense of structure throughout these coming weeks of Yuletide chaos. 

So, speaking of that, I had a meltdown this weekend.  You know how we have to do every now and then when we need to reestablish our authority and reiterate the expectations we have of our fellow inhabitants in regards to cleaning?  This emotional display must be done with a delicate balance of just enough feeling and emotion to evoke pity yet with enough rage and passion to evoke fear.  Too heavy with the emotion and you'll have them whispering, "Mom's lost it."  Too much anger, however, and resentment will dampen their desire to embrace productivity.  The meltdown is an art form, passed down from generation to generation, and must be practiced regularly in order to achieve the desired results.  When executed properly, it can be a very effective tool on every woman's workbench.  

Well, one night, I came home from work and the kitchen was a mess.  The dog was licking her dry water bowl.  Backpacks were dropped by the door.  Shoes everywhere.  Dirty laundry filled the laundry room floor.  Cups and empty wrappers covered the coffee table.  Clothes needed folding.  Counters needed wiping.  Floors needed sweeping.   

Davis was staring at his laptop screen.  Carson was zoned out between his Beats and You Tube.  Blair was propped up with pillows, her iPad, and coffee watching sappy Hallmark Christmas movies.  And homemaking mayhem was making its mark everywhere.  Now, don't get me wrong.  They're all generally very helpful but I'd began to detect an air of "This is my Christmas break" coming from them which I thought needed to be nipped in the bud.

So, as a public service to mothers and wives everywhere, I thought I would list the four simple steps to execute an effective meltdown in case you're finding yourself at the starting line of the holidays and you don't like where you see it heading.  I've also put the steps in a easy to remember acronym for your holiday convenience.  Consider it my gift to you.   

V.E.T.O.

1)  Vocalization-  This is an all important first step.  It lays the groundwork for each of the subsequent steps.  This is your one chance to vocalize all of your exasperation, disappointment, and frustration.  It is best to use a firm tone when listing the mounted evidence of their inaction as you look around the house.  An example of this step would go something like this......"Oh. My. Word!!!!  This place is disgusting!  What have y'all been doing all day?  Look at all of these shoes in the floor!  This mountain of laundry!  These dishes in the sink!  Really?  Could someone not, at least, unload the dishwasher?!?  Is that too much to ask?"
           
2)  Exhaustion-  Exhaustion is the step in which you bring down the volume a bit.  It is the segue from anger to the more tender emotions which will help you garner sympathy.  This is your chance to recite all of your responsibilities inside and outside the home and then describe the depth of your fatigue at the present time.  At this time of year, it is also important not to forget to mention the task of shopping for their Christmas gifts and wanting to make their Christmas so special.  This is sure to get their attention.  An illustration of the exhaustion step would be......"I'm just so, so, so tired.  I work all day long and then have to do the grocery shopping, the meal planning, the laundry, endless errands, and getting you where you need to be.  And then I've been trying to finish all of the Christmas decorating, address the Christmas cards, wrap the gifts, coordinate the meals, and run all over town looking for the perfect gifts to make your Christmas perfect and I am so very weary.  And I come home to this.  I just can't do it all by myself."             

3)  Tears- Step 3 is where you seal the deal.  There is nothing more powerful on the face of God's earth than a mother's carefully timed tear.  Do you remember when you would make your own mother cry and how that made you feel?  You wanted to go stick your head in the oven.  Be careful here, though, not to put too much into it.....no sobbing or anything like that.  That could cause them to look at each other wide eyed and discount your outburst as "that time of the month" or "the change" or something.  No, you just want to go for a quiet display of emotion.....just enough to make your mascara run.  A pregnant pause is useful here, too.  It gives them time to look at the crying woman from whose loins they were pushed and reflect on their individual roles in her current suffering.   
 4)  Orders-  If all steps are executed properly, step 4 is the point at which everyone starts asking what they can do to help.  It's best not to answer too quickly.  Perhaps, let a couple of more Maybelline streaked tears run down your face, place your head in your hands, and take a big sigh before you start barking out orders.  This will make them more eager to help you through this difficult time you're having.  Something like this might be appropriate....."Well, you could empty the dishwasher, I guess.....and you could fold those clothes.  That would really help me a lot.  And, maybe, you could clean the bathrooms while I start supper. Sniff."  In most cases, the sight of a mother crying is enough to get everyone moving. 
Sometimes, we just have to stop the snowball's roll before it gets too big.

Is it time for a meltdown at your house? 

Just V.E.T.O..


Y'all have a good day! 

    
     

So, last week, I had this vision that this week would be so much better for writing.  I just knew after the long and laborious week I'd had that I'd be so overwhelmed with relief, joyous emotion, and excessive amounts of free time that inspiration would flood over me and I'd be writing timeless works from the deepest depths of my soul.....so touching, so masterful, so brilliant that they would surely find their way into the annals of literary history.   

Well, here it is Tuesday at midnight and I'm just trying to peck out enough gibberish to count as a post.  Of course, last week, in my visions, I didn't see a pile of 100 unaddressed Christmas cards in my sunroom or hear dead needles falling off of my tree and onto the presents every time the air conditioner comes on.  Yeah, you heard me.  The air conditioner.  My visions didn't include a continuation of this freakish Memorial Day weather we're having down here....which may have us all throwing the turkeys on the grill with a pan of baked beans if it keeps up.  I also don't recall thinking that this week would still find me so busy that my pots and pans would not get above room temperature for a second week in a row or that my to do list would grow to approximately 3/4 mile either.

Suffice it to say that Christmas is not the most productive time for a blogger of my low caliber.  But, I will limp along through the holidays with you as I refuse to bail ship.  You may, very well, want to jump overboard.......with a concrete block tied around your neck.....but I will not abandon the blog.  It may not be pretty, but I will drag myself across the finish line which is Christmas. 
                  
So, in an effort to increase this post's word count, let's talk about our tree not drinking......for the second year in a row.  Kelly left a comment on my last post that she'd seen an article on how to solve this problem.  You pour boiling water into the tree stand and the hot water melts the hardened sap and allows it to take up water.  Well, that sounded reasonable to me....with my BS degree in Horticulture with an emphasis in Retail Floral Management and all.  There was only one problem......the tree stand was already full of cold water.  What was I to do?

First of all, there was no room between the tree trunk and the tree stand in which to scoop water out, so I got the pump out of a spray bottle and decided to spray the water out into a large bowl.  And so it came to pass that I slithered up under the tree in a prone position into the tight 8 inches of clearance between the floor and the lowest branches.  With needles sticking into the back of my neck and pushing presents aside as I went, I stuck the end of the pump sprayer into the tree water and started spraying it into the bowl.  Squirt, squirt, squirt, squirt.  After what seemed like the life expectancy of a hamster, I had siphoned all of 8 oz. of water out of the 45 gallon stand and my right hand was gnarled with cramps.  Every now and then the sprayer would slip out of control and I'd spritz myself in the face but I thought how that would feel pretty good in the event of my electrocution.  I decided I needed to change hands, so slid out of the tree, flipped over onto my back and went back in so I could pump a while with my left hand.  Squirt, squirt, squirt, squirt.  The dead needles falling into my corneas as I looked up through the maze of wires, lights, and extension cords. 

Finally, I'd lowered the water level enough to pour in the boiling water.  I filled the stand with the scorching, hot liquid.  It looked like a witch's cauldron bubbling and steaming.  I filled it to the top and couldn't wait until morning to see how much water it had taken in. 

Well, I'll tell you how much.  Not a drop.  I feel like this would've worked if I'd tried it sooner.  I'm thinking it was meant for trees that weren't as far gone as ours was.  Ours had apparently long since flat-lined......and already had a toe tag.  Not only had it seen the light, but it had gone to it.  No amount of boiling water could ever bring it back.  And it wouldn't want to come back even if it could. 

So, I continue to listen to the needles fall gently onto the wrapping paper and I close my eyes and think of it as really loud snow.  And we all know there's nothing more beautiful than a loud snow.      

I was taking inventory of all the things about Christmas that make us crazy.  Trees that won't drink. Christmas lights that go out after you get them strung.  Standing in line behind those irritating people who don't have their method of payment ready when it's their turn.  Drivers who don't have any business operating a moving vehicle.  Back to the store for that one missing ingredient.  Parking.  Coupon codes.  Children screaming.  People coughing.  One checkout line.  Out of stock.  Some assembly required.
                     
Christmas can get like that.  We've got our lists.  Our shoulders start to tighten.  We get so busy.  Places to go.  Parties to attend.  Groceries to buy.  Food to cook.  People to visit.  So many details to oversee.  So many gifts to wrap.  So many dead things to water. 

We can be swallowed up by all the trappings of Christmas and walk right past the baby and not even notice Him.  The quiet, little baby.  He doesn't scream out for our attention like all that other stuff.  He just waits for us to remember Him.   

Christmas gets so loud and off course. 

When it gets to be too much, we can find quiet at the manger.

There is always peace there.         


Night y'all!             

So, the Thanksgiving holidays went something like this....
 
On Thanksgiving, we didn't have anywhere to be until supper time.  So, we basically sat around and did nothing most of the day.  It was like a normal day......like a September 14 or a February 6.  Around noon, while everyone was enjoying Thanksgiving lunch with their families, Davis went to the grocery store for me while I did laundry and Carson washed the cars.  Blair had gone to eat lunch with her boyfriend's family.  I'm sure the passing neighbors were thinking how sad it was that we had Carson out detailing the cars during Thanksgiving lunch.  Around 4, I was still in my pajamas and thought I was beginning to smell myself so I decided it would be prudent to get a shower before we left for my side's family gathering.

My family's Thanksgiving involved about 42-ish people.....17 of which were children.  Cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews, brothers, sister-in-laws.  People everywhere.  So good to be with my big family and eat and eat and eat....and the next day do it all again with Davis' smaller, more low key family. 

It would be ok if that was all I did, but some of the sweet people I help with their Christmas decorations have been giving me goodies, too.  One gave me a big box of caramels which were handmade by nuns.  The Trappistine Nuns of Our Lady of the Mississippi Abbey to be exact.  Says so on the box.  How could those be wrong?  Surely, these confections were ordained by God and not wanting to throw cold water on their ministry, I ate a few of those.  The next day, I was waiting at Papa John's for a pizza for Carson and the Baskin Robbins next door started calling me..........and I answered.  "Single scoop of chocolate almond in a sugar cone, please."  And today, I was given a box full of freshly baked tea cakes.....my very favorite.  I saw this as a sign.  I thought about that verse....."Taste and see that the Lord is good".  Yes, He is.  I was just going to have one......but five cookies and a pint of milk later, I was sure that the Lord was good. 

I've got to get control of myself and fast.     

So, Sunday, I went and picked out a Christmas tree.  I'm a real tree kind of girl.  We had a fake tree for a couple of years and I just wasn't feeling its synthetic needles and metal branches.  Something about a tree that you drag down from the attic just isn't the same as the smell of fresh fir.  So, I'm at the tree lot and you know how it is there.  They all look so small......I mean sitting out in the open and all.  I decided to skip over the $60 section and go straight for the $80 grouping.  Yes, I paid $80 for a tree that only has 3 weeks to live.  And did I mention that when I woke up this morning, I discovered that it's not drinking?  At all.  So, by Christmas, we'll have a 9 foot tumbleweed in our living room hooked up to electricity.  That's just the kind of risk takers we are. 

Anyway, we got it home and the thing is huge.  Way bigger than it was there.....you know, outside.  You know like how Clark Griswold misjudged that time.  "It's not going in our yard, Russ.  It's going in our living room."  The tree's awe-inspiring size is not so much in its height but its girth would be to an appropriate scale for, say, the lobby of The Plaza.  Anyway, we wedged it in our usual tree spot and let's just say......it fills it up.....to overflowing.  If you're sitting on the very end of the couch, you have to kind of lean your head to the far left to watch the television.  But, with a few minor concessions like that, I think it will work.  It speaks to me.  It says things like, "I belong in the White House."  But, it's here and I love it.   

One of the biggest blessings of my Thanksgiving week was having the chance to visit with friends who were in town for the holiday and others who just had a little more time on their hands than usual.  It's so good to sit across the table from friends and catch up and laugh until you lose all track of time.  Most of all, I was able to love on my beautiful friend, Amanda.  I told you about her several months ago and she's now cancer free after what's been a long year for her.  Thanks for praying for her.   

It's hard to beat a week full of family, friends, and food.  

I told you that my posts may be spotty during this season and this week is one of the very busiest for me.  I probably won't be back this week but hoping that next week will lend itself to more writing.

Y'all have a good one!  I'll see you in a few days!                 



   


            

Blessings. 

We become more mindful of them during this time of year.    

Some blessing are big and obvious and almost impossible to overlook.  They are the ones in the forefront of our minds and likely the first to fall from our lips when we're asked what makes us most thankful.  These are seen in the faces of our parents and they flicker in the eyes of our children.  They're heard in the voice of a spouse or in a young child's song.  These kinds of blessings are in a friend's laugh and the warmth of their embrace.  They're felt at the sight of our flag or in the presence of a scarred soldier.  They're there in a church pew, on the pages of God's promises, and in the comfort of a prayer.  These blessings are the ones which cannot be ignored.  Their very presence shape and define our lives and affect us so profoundly that we can't even comprehend their impact.  They come through the people we love, the freedoms we enjoy, and the salvation we've been given.  They're the foundation on which God has built us.  They steady us, support us, help us bear the weight of this life, and give us hope for the next one to come.         

Other blessings are more subtly woven into our everyday living and are sometimes overlooked.  They're often seen as a given.  Commonplace.  Basic necessities.  Sometimes, we fail to really give them much thought until we see someone who's living without their comforts.  These blessings are felt in the warmth of our homes on a cold, rainy night.  They're tasted in the bounty of foods on our table and in the purity of our water.  They're heard in the hum of our air conditioning or the engine of our car.  They're lined up in our closets....shoes, coats, and jackets.  They are felt in the safety and security we feel in the places we live.  Sometimes, we may be tempted to write these blessings off as just our standard of living.  Maybe we feel entitled to them, somehow.  Maybe they're such a part of our way of life that we feel they're some kind of basic package that we all have coming to us.  But, they are so much more than that.  I see them as God's way of zipping our jackets and kissing our foreheads each morning.  And in the evening, through His mercy, He tucks us in and pulls the covers up under our chins.  He is caring for us like a Father. 

Still, there are other blessings which are almost like garnish.  They're the little things that make life incredibly rich and unnecessarily sweet.  They're the extra trimmings on this already beautiful journey.  These are seen in the colors of a sunset splashed across the sky and reflected in the mirror of a lake. These are heard in the morning birds' song or in the crash of the waves.  They can surface in a happy memory of a time long passed.  They're felt on the fur of our pets and in the warmth of a cozy fire.  These blessings envelope us in the cool breezes of autumn and in the flurry of a gentle snowfall.  These kinds of blessings can be heard in the harmony of beautiful music or seen in the smile of a baby.  They are felt in the quake of a belly laugh.  These are the blessings with which God has iced our cake..... just because He wanted to.  Our days are sprinkled with these kinds of blessings.  Sometimes, we're just too busy to notice all the embellishments that God has heaped upon our lives.  They're the little extras He does for us each day.  His finishing touches.                      
       
I think we all realize that, whether we have an impressive investment portfolio or just enough to get by, we, most likely, have over and above what many in our world could ever even dream of.  While many are in a struggle to find clean water and basic shelter, we're grappling with big problems like dark granite or light granite......cable, satellite, or Apple TV.......SUV or crossover......iPhone or Samsung Galaxy......tablet or laptop. 

A visual came to my mind.  Have you ever watched a spoiled child open presents?  One who has everything?  There's not much joy in that.  Rip the paper, throw it aside. Grab another.  Rip the paper, throw it aside.  There's little time spent on appreciating the gift or expressing gratitude to the giver.  I think we become like that, sometimes.  We have everything we really need and when we get more, sometimes, I think it doesn't even phase us that much.  "Yeah, thanks....just put it over in the pile with the others." 

God help us when we do find ourselves becoming desensitized to the abundance of our blessings that we not stay in that place for long.  God has most generously poured out His provisions over us......and then some.  In turn, He wants us to acknowledge Him, live in a spirit of thankfulness, and share what we have with someone who needs it whenever we can.    

I want to remain constantly aware that, without Him, I would have nothing.   

Well, it's Thanksgiving week and you know what that means.  Family gatherings.  All over the country, families will be coming together around tables of delicious food and lively conversation.  No matter where you live or how you celebrate Thanksgiving, I'm guessing that we all have some of the same guests at our tables.  There is a broad swath of categories into which, I'm sure, most of us could divide up many of the family members who'll be with us this Thanksgiving.  I thought we'd look at some of those today.    

The worrier. Every family has a worrier or two. They're the ones who fret that the kids will break the glass table and sever all their main arteries or that someone will get choked on a bone that was left in the dressing.  They're the ones who have visions of the turkey being undercooked and the entire family tree being hospitalized on Black Friday with salmonella poisoning.  The worrier can't help that he/she has the gift of a dark imagination.  After all, in the mind of the worrier, when 45 people are in one house, the odds of all of them leaving alive and well are slim to none.   
     
The organizer.  The organizers are always in charge.  The organizer is often a first born child which makes them natural born bosses.  They do all the calling..... compiling a list of conflicts....and ultimately deciding on the day and time at which the meal will served.  They make the assignments as to who will bring what ensuring that there will be plenty to eat.  They shop well in advance for ingredients so that the family will not be among those caught without French's Fried Onions atop their green beans when the grocery stores run out.  They have their system and it's best not to try to alter it.  Their way has worked for all these years and there's no need to change it now.  Until the organizers have been laid to rest, the family will follow his/her lead. 

The free spirit.  The free spirit can be found at Thanksgiving dinner in unconventional dress like board shorts, Black Sabbath tees, and sandals.  Facial hair and hairstyles may vary from year to year. Because of the free spirit's laid back personality, he is rarely in any hurry or distress and, as a result, will likely be around for more Thanksgivings than any of his contemporaries in the family.     
   
The politico.  The political one is always up to date on the latest politics and is ready to discuss them at a moment's notice.  "Did I hear someone mention the Republican debate?"  We have several of these in our midst.  They enjoy political banter and discussing what needs to be changed in the world.  It is best not to seat this guest next to anyone's new liberal girlfriend who is currently involved with the Bernie Sanders campaign and sporting a Planned Parenthood bumper sticker on her car. 
 
The child magnet.  There's always that one relative who attracts all of the children.  They hang off of the child magnet like monkey bars.  The child magnet is usually a fun uncle who's never had kids and doesn't realize the dangers of flinging children into the blades of a ceiling fan or grasp the concept of shaken baby syndrome.  This total disregard for safety is the very thing which draws the children to him.  It is best not to seat the worrier anywhere near the child magnet when arranging the place cards.

The picky eater.  The picky eater looks at the long table of holiday food which stretches as far as the eye can see and can find nothing that is fit to eat.  The picky eater will ask if there are any Kraft singles in the house or simply settle for a roll and dessert.  The organizer is sure to make a notation of this and accommodations will be made for the picky eater at next year's gathering.
   
The Black Friday shopper.  The Black Friday shopper stretches miles of sales papers out across the floor and table.....making notes and lists and checking them twice.  They are comparing prices online, checking sale times, and charting their shopping attack.  The shopper may excuse herself a little early in order to get in line with the other 500 people in competition with her for the five iPads in stock at Best Buy.       

The observer.  The observer is seen but rarely heard.  He/she is content to sit along the edges of the room as a spectator of all of the family mayhem.  It's not that they aren't enjoying themselves or wish to be somewhere else, it's just not their style to get up in the middle of the action.  The observers and the free spirits blend nicely together in the seating chart. 

The entertainer.  If there is a piano, they will play it.  If there is a karaoke machine, they will sing into it.  If there is a hearth, it will be their stage.  The entertainer sees the family Thanksgiving as a holiday with a captive audience and will never let a good opportunity get by them.  The entertainers were born for times such as this.        

The hugger.  The huggers.....well, they hug.  A. Lot.  If you see them coming toward you, you should assume the hugging position because it's coming.  It is not unusual to be hugged by the huggers multiple times in one visit.  Once when you arrive.  Once when you leave.  And as many times as you pass by them in between.  The huggers are full of love for their family and want to express it.  Failing to do so could result in something bursting internally and that would be unhealthy.....and would require the care of one of the medics.   

The techie.  The techie is always on his/her gadgets.  They're texting, posting, checking social media.  They're Snapchatting, Candy Crush-ing, tagging, and scrolling.  If there are any news or weather developments during the gathering, locally or abroad, the techie will keep the family informed.  Oddly, the family could recognize the top of the techie's head from a mile away.  The Black Friday shoppers can benefit from having the techies' place cards close by. 
   
The fan. The fan is always rehashing the game, play by play, or looking for a television to catch the last quarter or the highlights.  They flip channels between ESPN, ESPN2, ESPNU, ESPN Alternate, and the SEC Network.  They always come dressed in their team's colors and seek out the fans of their rival team to torment.  The fan and the politico generally have nothing to talk about and should be seated apart. 
  
The sleeper.  Once the sleeper eats, it's game over.  You'll find them in the closest recliner to the table all stretched out and unconscious. The sleeper opens himself up to a number of embarrassing possibilities when he dozes off in a room full of people, all armed with phones.  This is a risk he is always willing to take.  The sleeper often wakes up confused as to what time it is and how long he's been out.....not realizing he's gotten over 100 likes on his drooling portrait which the techie has posted. 

The photographer.  The photographer wants to capture all family memories for future generations. It is their mission to photograph everyone in attendance at least six times.  The photographer will often wrangle different groups together to be photographed such as children, brothers and sisters, etc.  The crowd usually becomes disgruntled with the photographer.  The outdoorsman and the observers are especially intolerant of the photographer's quest to document their existence.  It is a thankless job that few appreciate......except for the entertainer and the fashionista, of course.         

The servant.  The servant wants to help everyone in attendance at family affairs.  They will hold your baby while you eat, refill your tea glass, wipe your toddler's nose, wash your fork if you drop it, fetch you another piece of pie, make your coffee, and take your plate to the kitchen when you're done.  The servant insists that she's not hungry and will eat right after she's cut all 18 children's turkey into little pieces. The servant is often left with the dark meat and sweet potatoes with no topping.   

The outdoorsman.  The outdoorsmen may arrive a little late to the gathering.  He is usually dressed in camo and could possibly smell of deer urine.  It would not be uncommon for the outdoorsman to have a deceased animal in the back of his truck while joy and merriment take place inside.  The children may find the discovery of Prancer's carcass especially disturbing this close to Christmas, so caution should be taken.  The Black Friday shopper and the outdoorsman may pass each other in the driveway.....leaving early and arriving late.

The medic. The medics are the doctors, pharmacists, x-ray techs, nurses, and physical therapists in the family.  Basically, any family member working in the medical field is fair game for free advice at any and all family gatherings.  Children who hit their heads or wheeze are rushed over to the closest medic. Questions regarding sciatica, rotator cuff pain, drug side effects, migraines, the shingles vaccine, and diarrhea with or without vomiting should all be directed toward a family medic.......but out of earshot of the worrier.        

The fashionista.  Everyone anxiously awaits the arrival of the fashionistas to see what the new trends are.....the hottest colors.....the latest styles.  The fashionistas always come in dressed to the nines.  Throughout the gathering, they can be heard answering questions concerning eyeliner application and hair product preferences.  The fashionista next to the outdoorsman doused with doe urine may not be the most ideal seating arrangement.   
     
The destructive one.  It's best to keep your eye on this one.  If you don't know where the destructive one is, you better be finding out.  Candles, fireplace matches, key rings with mace, fire pokers, scissors, electric knives, and fingernail polish should be kept on lockdown when the destructor is in the house.  The destructive one should be carefully watched, but never put in the care of the child magnet.

The vulture.  The vultures come ready to do some damage to the holiday spread.  The organizer will need to know if the vulture will be present or not because his/her attendance can be a game changer in the grocery shopping.  The number of turkeys needed could even vary based on their attendance.  When everyone else has moved on to the dessert table, the vulture is just getting started with his third helping of dressing, turkey, sweet potatoes, and fifth roll.  The vultures are blessed with the gift of consumption and they have no preferences as to who they are seated near as long as there is food. 

Who's coming to your Thanksgiving dinner? 


I hope y'all have a great start to this holiday week!

I was so productive today.  I got Carson out the door this morning and slipped back in the bed for a couple of more hours of much needed sleep.  I stayed in my PJs and cleaned house until 1:00, at which point, I finally showered, got dressed, and headed out with my most impressive grocery list.  We were out of everything.  Not just food, but things like shaving cream, detergent, shampoo, toothpaste.  Putting off the trip to the store was not an option.  It was no longer just a matter of our nutritional needs being met, but our hygiene was on the line as well and we couldn't have that. 

I ran a couple of errands first and decided to run through the Chick-fil-a drive through to get a sandwich and some tea before I went to shop.  One needs to be well nourished and hydrated when entering a store with a list so wordy that it could be mistaken for the Magna Carta.  I placed my order and everything was going fine.  I pulled around the building to pay and that's when it happened. 

As I waited for my turn to pull up to the window, my eyes wandered around the parking lot in front of me and I happened to catch a glimpse of a woman running over to some nearby bushes and vomiting into them.  I know.  Vomit is a terrible word.  And the thing is......there's no really nice way to say vomit.  Throw up.  Puke. Upchuck.  No, here at Motherhood and Muffin Tops, we'll stick with the more medical seeming terminology, vomit. 

I know you're familiar with the car wreck phenomenon.  You want to stop looking so you won't see anything you don't want to see but you can't.  I tried to look away, but I suppose, in a sick and twisted way, I was curious to see if she was done and just had to get a second look.  Just in time to catch a second explosive wave spew into the poor holly bushes. 

Oh, man.  There I was waiting on my grilled chicken sandwich with melted Colby jack cheese on a whole wheat bun and I'd gone and done this to myself. 

Poor lady.  She was probably out shopping when the stomach bug hit her and she had nowhere to go but the bushes......and right at the exact time my car was pointing in her direction.  Why did I look?  Why? Why? Why? Why?  

My stomach started to feel a little rumbly as I pulled up to claim my sandwich and tea.  The lady handed me my food and told me it was her pleasure and all that polite stuff they say at Chick-fil-a.  How could something sound so good on one side of the building and so repulsive on the other?  I pulled off determined to eat my lunch.  I thought, "I'll just think about something else.....like butterflies, rainbows, and ponies."  I bit into it and started to chew.  "Rainbow, butterflies, ponies, rainbows, butterflies, ponies, rainbows, butterflies, ponies.......oh, no......and a woman vomiting in the bushes."  I tried to swallow the bite of sandwich without gagging.  Drank some tea.  Got it down. 

I'd just paid good money for this sandwich and hadn't had any lunch, so I was determined to eat it.  I changed my strategy.  I'll turn up the music and focus on that.  Yeah, good idea.  Luckily, one of my new favorite songs was playing......"Hello, can you hear me?  I'm in California dreaming about who we used to be."  Yes, the music was helping.  I was singing along and went in for another bite as Adele continued with her heart wrenching phone call......  "When we were younger and free. I've forgotten how it felt before...oh, no....the woman vomited in the bushes."

I managed to eat half of my sandwich with the air conditioner blowing cold air in my face, but my stomach churned all the way through the grocery store and all the way to the checkout where the lady said, "Your total is $247.79, ma'am."  Oh, my stomach.   

So, the moral of the story is this......curiosity kills the appetite.  When in doubt, don't look.  If you do, there's nothing that even Adele can do to help you "unsee" what you saw. 


Hope y'all have a great day, people!

                

Well, I'm back.  I was gone a little longer than I expected as I was sick this week in the midst of trying to get the second store decorated for the holidays.  Both open houses are over now (Hallelujah and Amen!) and I'm feeling much better, so things are looking up for me...... but not for Davis and Carson who've started showing signs of falling to whatever it was that I had.

I would've gone to the State game Saturday, but I had some last minute work to do and, not to mention, I just didn't think I had the energy.  I would've considered it if I'd been able to get someone to meet me at the car, throw me over their shoulder, tote me across the campus, find my seat, plop me down into it, and ring my cowbell upon command.........and then, 4 quarters later, repeat the process in reverse.  But, since there was no one who seemed interested in that, I sent the boys and watched the slaughter while stretched out on the couch......much like Dak was stretched out on the turf for much of the game.  Bless his little heart.         

Anyway, it's been two weeks since I've exercised, cooked, been to the grocery store, or sat at my own table to eat.  It's been one week since I blogged, cleaned my house, or eaten a vegetable.  And I've missed all of that......except maybe the cleaning house part.

And as much as I'd love to write a post tonight, my brain's low battery light is flashing.  Worse than that.....it's starting to make that chirping noise the smoke alarm makes when it's time for a new 9 volt.  So, I'm going to recharge my battery and should be back up and running in a day or two.

I just wanted to say, "Hey"!
           

     

Well, I have Christmas open house #1 under my belt.  It's been a long week and a long day!  We had a great turnout and the weather FINALLY turned cool so we'll list this day over in the success column. 

So, when I got home tonight,  my feet were killing me.  I had this achy, cold feeling all over.  And I was starving!  I'd been in my church clothes and heels all day, so I changed into something more comfortable, took a couple of Advil, and told Davis that I thought it would be a good idea if he took me out to dinner.  I'd been gone almost every night last week and I just wanted to unwind and spend a little time with my two boys.   

Davis, Carson, and I walked into the restaurant and were seated by the hostess.  I scanned over the menu, looked up, and spotted my old Ob/Gyn sitting across the room.  He'd delivered both of my children, took care of me after a miscarriage, tied my tubes, and served as my overall female reproductive health coordinator until he retired many years ago.  If ever a man deserved a nice, quiet retirement, it would be him. 

I suppose most women have a fondness for the doctors who delivered their babies and cared for them during the various hormonal stages of their womanhood.

We just do.

Well, I don't know what Emily Post's recommended protocol is for speaking to your former gynecologist in the middle of a restaurant so I just winged it using the utmost sophistication and class that could be mustered for such a time as this.  I could've let the poor man go about his merry way but I thought......"well, contractors like to visit jobs they've completed...teachers take great pleasure in seeing their success stories....architects like to see buildings they designed..... preachers like to run into couples they've married.... artists long to see how their artwork is displayed in buyers' homes.  Surely, the OB/GYN takes some delight in seeing the children that he's dragged out of their tired, bloated mother's gaping womb, while kicking and screaming their heads off.  And as an added bonus....the chance to see that their mother didn't actually end up in a padded cell rocking back and forth like he might have suspected she would." 

Stands to reason that he'd like to see the fruits of his labor just like any other professional.

So, after our meal and on our way out the door, we stopped by his table and spoke.  I mean, what kind of people would we be if we denied him the thrill of seeing us in the middle of a meal he was enjoying with his wife?   Exactly.  Terrible, that's what kind.    

He had an instant look of "I know you" in his eyes.  He was kind and engaging and seemed to be tickled to see one of his many achievements.  Of course, he could've been thinking that he'd seen enough of me in his lifetime and had made great strides in putting those memories behind him and I could've mistaken that for him being engaging and kind and tickled and stuff......but still.  He said Carson looked a lot different than the last time he saw him......probably meaning less blood in his hair, more clothing, and not nearly as cranky.

     
As the night went on, the worse I began to feel but we needed to stop by the grocery store on our way home.  I told the guys that I'd stay in the car.  Davis and Carson got out, locked me in, and took off to grab the few things that we needed to start the week. 

In a couple of minutes, I started hearing a man's voice.  I looked around the car to see where it was coming from and noticed a man in the car next to me talking on his cell phone with his window cracked open a little.  He obviously thought that everyone had vacated our vehicle and had gone into the store as I started hearing him say things like, "I mean if you break into someone's house, you don't........indiscernible gibberish.........expletive, expletive."  Then, he continued, "I break into places that I know I won't".........indiscernible gibberish......and more expletives containing the word, mother."  I slinked down in my seat hoping that I wasn't accidentally hearing something that I'd need to be killed for later.  It was raining and so the darkness and the raindrops on the car window helped hide me from the oblivious, talkative criminal.  After another round of expletives, I heard several statements about not being caught by the police and that's when I sank farther down into my seat.

I'd been out there a while and started thinking, "Where could the boys be?"  Well, Davis knows his way around a grocery store about as well as I know the layout of the Auto Zone.  Suffice it to say......not very well.  About that time, I got a text from him.  "Where are the Hot Pockets?"  Oh, lordy........I'm out here in the parking lot trying not to be detected by one of America's Most Wanted and have my cold, dead body stuffed into his trunk and my only hope of being saved is dependent on Davis finding the pepperoni microwavable sandwiches with a flaky crust in the sea of freezer cases in a timely manner. 

I was doomed.

Suddenly, the man grew quiet.  Maybe this was it for me.  Maybe he spotted the glow of my phone.  Maybe he finally noticed my sunken silhouette.  Whatever happened, he cranked his car and eased out of the parking space.  I was relieved to see him leaving.....and without discharging any weapons into my vehicle.

So, that is my report for today.  Such as it was.   

It was a long day.  I am tired.  And I feel bad.  Did I mention that already?



Hope to check back in a couple of times this week! 

Y'all have a great Monday.     

      

So, this coming Sunday is Christmas open house at one of the gift shops and next Sunday is open house at the other one.  With the first one being only a few days away, you would be right in assuming that we're working late hours and getting all things Christmas put out and displayed. 

I know.  I know.  It's only early November.  But, we've not neglected Thanksgiving and have a whole table devoted solely to it right at our front door, so don't you fret about that. 

It's been so warm down here for the last couple of weeks.  Summer just will not die and, here on November 4, I'm ready to take an ax to it.....or hack it to death with a machete.  Heat apparently brings out thoughts of gory violence in the usual peace-loving me.  Y'all know warmth is not my friend and its attempt to seep over into months in which it doesn't belong is just making me cranky.  I mean, warm weather gets more than its fair share of time down here and it's cutting into my time now.    

So, this week, we've had to crank the air way down and turn on the Christmas music to try and capture the least bit of Yuletide spirit in this ridiculously humid heat wave.  I mean, it's just hard to get in the mood to put out snowmen and the Baby Jesus when you're perspiring and swatting mosquitos.  But, we do what we have to do down here in the South.  They're forecasting highs in the 60's by the weekend, so we'll all feel like Elsa has paid us a visit.     

Before I go to bed tonight, I'm setting my alarm for 4:45 a.m., y'all. 

Yes.  Me.  4:45. 

That's like 30 minutes before the Proverbs 31 wife gets up. 

My mother, aunt, two cousins, and I are going on a little girls' shopping trip tomorrow........one of those Christmas markets......with early admission tickets.  And for the safety of everyone, I am not driving.

This time of year, the lingering heat also presents wardrobe issues for us, southern girls.  I mean, if you're going Christmas shopping, you don't want to look like you could be going to a Memorial Day BBQ or a luau, but you don't want to sweat through your scarf, sweater, and boots either.  The struggle to look seasonally appropriate without suffering from heat exhaustion is real down here.  It just is.

So, I better turn in soon.  I'm one of those people who can't fall asleep if they know they have to get up early the next morning.  I lie there and think about how I'm not sleepy yet and then look over at the clock and start worrying about how much sleep I'm not going to get.  "If I fall asleep right now, I'll get 5 hours."  And then I start thinking about how terrible I'll feel the next day if I only get 5 hours of sleep and I think about it until it's down to 4 hours.  And so on and so forth.  The struggle of the nighttime peg trying to fit in the morning hole is also real.            

My posts may be a little spotty this week and next week but, hopefully, once that is all behind me, I'll have a little reprieve from all the busyness.

Wish me luck with this predawn thing.

Night!          

I remember my childhood with such fondness.  I had the best parents.  Lived on an awesome street with a cul-de-sac, which was rich with playmates.  Such good memories of my sweet church and the activities and friends I had there. Attended a small, Christian school and it was such a warm and close knit place, too.  I can't think of anything that I'd change about any of it, really.  We didn't live in a big house or drive the fanciest cars.  We didn't have the latest and greatest.   Didn't have many alligators or polo horses on our shirts.  But, when I look back, all I remember is how warm, loved, and secure I felt.  I just remember being happy and carefree. 

Let me tell you some things about my growing up years...... 

My Daddy made a living for us as a structural detailer.  He stooped over a drawing board and drew the steel specifications for the construction of bridges, buildings, and I don't even know what all.  I'd look at his blueprints and none of it made any sense to me.  Beams and bolts and measurements and equations.  All I knew was that he had really fun stuff to play with out in that office like mechanical pencils, an electric eraser, a lot of calculators, a wide assortment of templates, and a stereo......which was always playing classical music, Simon and Garfunkel, Johnny Mathis, and .....well, you know, stuff like that.   

He was self-employed for most of my childhood and had built himself a small office in our backyard.  So, he was around our house most of the time.  That could be a good and a bad thing.  "Wait until your daddy gets home" didn't exist at our house.  No, we were just sent straight out to that office for our swift and certain punishment. 

He'd come in and eat lunch and then take an hour for napping from 12:00-1:00.  Every day.  Without fail.  We had an intercom system that he'd use to tell us he'd like some coffee or tea or that he needed my mother to deliver a set of plans somewhere for him. 

In his line of work, there was always a deadline.  They always needed his drawings yesterday and so he was under a lot of time pressures and sometimes had to work on the weekends and into the night.  He was busy but he was always around if we needed him or just wanted to go out to his office and visit.  I liked that. 

All three of us, kids, attended private school through the sixth grade.  We all had everything we needed......maybe not wanted, but certainly needed.  We took piano lessons, art lessons, and played ball.  Had cars and trucks.....but not from the showroom floor, of course.  And we all graduated from college not owing one cent to anyone.  All because my Daddy worked so very hard in that little office in our backyard. 

I could never say enough good things about him.....not just as a provider but as a loving Daddy and spiritual example to us.  Daddies are such an important part of the family.  The way that they love us or don't love us, in some cases, can affect us for our whole lives.  Not to diminish their role but today's post is mostly about mothers.  I just couldn't pass up a chance to talk about him for a minute.

My mother. Well, she was/is the heart of our family.  She never worked outside our home.  Well, I take that back.  She worked for a handful of years when my older brother and I were in college at the same time. It was all hands on deck then.  Other than that, she was our stay at home mom.  Let me tell you the things I remember about her from my childhood...... 

I remember how she kept a cake under the cake dome most of the time......buttermilk pound cake usually or marble cake.  She baked the best crisscross peanut butter cookies from the red checked Betty Crocker cookbook and we'd eat until we thought we'd be sick.  We had a homecooked meal every single night of the week.  Eating out was a very rare thing.     

She took us to our lessons and our ball practice.  We each had one thing that we did outside of school and church.  She also drove her turn in the neighborhood carpool rotation to our little private school. 

She liked to do art projects with us using just construction paper, glue, pinking shears, and maybe some glitter.  Nothing fancy, but always fun.

She'd set up a "grocery store" in the backyard using two saw horses, a piece of plywood, some brown lunch bags, a few canned goods, and a calculator.  My friends and I would play checkout ladies and she'd be our tireless customer.

I remember her sitting in the recliner with me all night long when I had stomach viruses......doling out Sprite one tablespoon at a time.  I remember her getting up in the middle of the night and changing my bed during those awful bedwetting years.   

She sewed our Christmas tree ornaments and stuffed them with batting.  She laid our Santa gifts out just so and made the anticipation so exciting. 

I remember her reading stories to us or just telling us stories off the top of her head.  She was a good storyteller and would have us captivated.  She taught us all of our nursery rhymes, too.  She'd say the first few words and let us finish them.   

I remember how she'd never buy anything new for herself.  She had three kids and a husband who she always put before herself. 

I remember how she came into my room each night and would call the boys in there and then read the Bible to us and have a little devotion and prayer time. 

She was the best at helping us study for tests.  She had a way of helping us remember the answers we were having trouble with.  We'd sit down to our tests with all sorts of acronyms and rhymes that helped us recall the correct answer. 

I remember how she taught me to play fun, little duets with her on the piano.  Sometimes, she'd play the top part and sometimes I would. 

She taught us to sing song after song after song......"Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree", "On top of spaghetti all covered with cheese", and "Way down yonder and a great way off, a jaybird died with the whooping cough".

I don't remember her sending us out to play on the swing set.  I remember her swinging with us on the swing set or singing to us while she'd push us.  

I remember bringing friends home after church for the afternoon and how she'd always have something for us to do.....even if it was to just play in the lawn sprinkler and make homemade ice cream.

Our house was clean and Pine-sol was always in the air.  She was a big believer in sunshine and fresh air so our windows were flung open every day the weather allowed it.

On our birthdays, she made our favorite meal with our favorite dessert.  We didn't have a birthday party every year, but some years we did.  They weren't anything fancy.  Sometimes, just a cake and Kool-Aid in the backyard with some neighborhood kids sitting in folding lawn chairs.

I remember her playing our Christmas albums on the stereo during our Christmas break and how she'd set the table with red candles and red napkins. 

When I look back 40 or so years, everything I remember most didn't cost a lot of money or come from a nice store or cause her to be busy doing other things.  Everything I remember most was simply rooted in love and time. 

I don't remember what the invitations to any of my parties looked like or if my mother made themed treat bags for the kids who came.....or even if there ever was a theme.  I don't remember any of the gifts I was given for my birthday as being extraordinary or very expensive.  The snacks she sent for my Christmas class party don't really stand out in my mind as having been super creative or memorable in any way.  I can't remember her hiring a photographer for any of our milestones......one trip to Olan Mills a year had to suffice.  I don't recall having elaborate Halloween costumes unless you define elaborate as a plastic mask with a rubber band or a homemade black cat costume that my brother and I both wore.  I certainly don't remember there being piles and piles of gifts at Christmas....just a few things that we really wanted or had circled in the Sears catalog.  I don't recall my parents giving us gifts and rewards for every little thing we did.....just a pat on the back and maybe a trip to get ice cream.   

I've been thinking.  When did what our mothers did for us become not enough?

Seems like I look around now at mothers my age and younger and I see a lot of tired, stressed, overstretched women. 

At some point, we decided that so much more was necessary to make a good life for our kids.  We decided that, even though we had awesome childhoods, it just wasn't good enough for our kids.  

Maybe it's because we've got phones in hand at all times checking the status of other families and what they're doing instead of just enjoying our own.  Maybe comparison really is the thief of joy, Teddy Roosevelt.  Maybe we're so busy trying to check all of the boxes, cross all of the Ts and make sure that our kids aren't the only ones who don't have a   fill in the blank_ that we've forgotten how to just enjoy what's in front of our faces.  Maybe we've forgotten how to just keep our eyes on our own paper and be thankful for what we see there.     

It's ok if their birthday party is just a cake and ice cream with no event coordinator, $25 treat bags, calligraphy invitations, and live circus animals.  It's all right if you can't make all of their 25 teachers a crafty, breathtaking Christmas gift with an inspirational handmade tag, which is all so clever and thoughtful that it touches the deepest part of their souls resulting in endless tears of joy and gratitude. 

Mothers are running themselves ragged taking kids to extra curricular activities all week.....certain that it will make them more well-rounded, increase their scholarship chances, broaden their social circles, and possibly cultivate the next child prodigy.  Would they rather be at home on their bike or in the backyard?  Would they rather eat dinner at the kitchen table than in the backseat? 

Who are we doing it all for anyway?  The kids? 

We're worn out.  We're stressed out.  And all the kids will remember is the time and love we gave them.  Not how crafty we were or how many pictures we posted or how many pins we pinned or how many compliments we received on our unmatched ability to perfectly form each and every Frozen character from fondant.  Did we have time to rock, play, laugh, teach them songs, and play in the leaves?   

I wonder if we're losing something in this churning sea of comparison and rising standards.  Are we really giving our kids something better than what we had?  Or are they having to give up some really, really wonderful and important things in exchange for our "higher bar"?

I wish we could dial it back to the days of running through lawn sprinklers, Old Maid cards in bike spokes, Tupperware popsicles, being whistled to dinner at dusk, and cut off jean shorts and dirty, bare feet.  

What was wrong with that? 

When did we decide that there was something wrong with that?

It was good enough for us.

I don't know about you but I look back and I can't think of one thing I'd change.

I wonder if our kids will say that. 



Y'all have a great day, ya hear?