Well, I survived the milestone birthday. I had one thing that happened, that day, which solidified the crossover.

Late in the day, we traveled down to the gulf coast to have dinner with Blair and John Samuel. They'd invited us to come down and go out for seafood and then back to their place for birthday dessert. We were going to spend the night and all travel back up for one of the family graduations, the next morning.

We met up with them at the restaurant, after they got off work, and I quickly asked where the restrooms were, while we waited to be seated. We'd been traveling and I was ready to locate one as I was now freshly 50. I took care of business and emerged from the bathroom, walked down the hall, past the bar, and through the main dining area, where a young waitress tapped me on the shoulder. She leaned in close and whispered, "your shoe" as she pointed down. I looked to discover that there I was, on the first day of my 5th decade, in the middle of a restaurant with a piece of toilet paper stuck to the bottom of my shoe. Well, I think "piece" doesn't really do it justice. Its length was more like that of the tail of a kite or a windsock. Let's just say that 2 or 3 people could have split it up and used the restroom with no problem as it was dragging along behind me for a good 4 feet.

Now, I wasn't sure what the proper etiquette would be for this type of thing. My Mama went over what to do in a lot of social situations, but, this, she never covered. I wasn't sure that reaching down and pulling it off was not really a viable option for me, the daughter of a germophobe. I mean, something that I picked up from the bathroom floor, which stuck to the bottom of my shoe by means of no telling what type of sticky substance and then pulled along behind me for about a quarter of a mile, well, I didn't really want to touch it with my freshly washed hands. So, with all of the discretion and grace that a southern woman in her 50's could gather, I extended my leg and shook it with all my might in hopes that it would become dislodged and go sailing quietly under our table.....which it did.....but not without the large party, seated next to us, seeing the whole thing and chuckling among themselves.

So, there's that. Just so you know.....I have officially arrived. My ticket has been punched. I'm in the books. Initiation is complete. I am 50.

And, today, was Mother's Day, which is what this post is really about.

I know I've told y'all this, but Carson cried the first five months of his little life. Well, I wouldn't really call it crying......it was more like a blood-curdling, spine-tingling, hair-raising type of screaming. One that would cause your ears to ring even after it had subsided. Bless his heart.....he was just miserable and so were we, to be quite honest. After several changes in formula, he eventually settled down and became the happiest, most pleasant baby that has ever lived....and has been an absolute dream ever since. He just really got off to a rocky start is all.

Well, since he was up practically all night screaming, during those months, I'd, of course, get up and do what I could to calm him. I mean, we did have another child in the house, who needed to get some rest. Davis, well, I wasn't as worried about how much sleep he was getting. You know, you kind of get that resentful kind of sleep comparison with your spouse during those newborn months. Sleep deprivation can cause you to get a bit snippy. Anyway, Carson had gotten pretty accustomed to me getting up whenever he cried and so, even when he was way past all the fussiness, well, he still wanted my company when he'd wake up in the night.

This went on a for a few months and I'd get up and rock him back to sleep. We rocked many-a-mile together in the dark of night, while the rest of the world slept. At one of his checkups, our pediatrician asked about his sleeping and I had to confess that he was still waking up and I was promptly getting up and rocking him back to sleep. Well, of course, he told me that I needed to nip that in the bud. It had become a habit and he needed to learn to get himself back to sleep, at this point.

We'd gotten the doctor's recommendation on getting him to sleep through the night and so he'd start crying and Davis and I would lie there, unable to sleep, and I'd tell him how hard it was for me to not go in, but I knew for my sanity and the nocturnal rest of our family, we had to do something. For a couple of nights, he'd cry and we'd lie there and listen. Little Blair staggered in our room, one night, all sleepy-eyed, and said, "Mama, Carson is crying." Bless her heart....like we couldn't hear him. Like the neighbors at the end of our street couldn't hear him.

Well, I was struggling with the process to start with because (A) I absolutely loved rocking them when they were little and (B) to deny him that and listen to him cry without responding to him was just killing me. Well, one thing about both of our kids was that they were very vocal. Very vocal. They talked early and could really express themselves at a young age. This wasn't always a good thing, especially in this situation. Something happened that just completely sabotaged our efforts to break him of his sleep disrupting habit. One night, he grabbed the rails of his crib with his little, chubby hands, pulled himself up to a shaky stand and, with all the emotion he could muster, he let out the most heartbreaking plea. "Mama, hold the baby.....rock together." I looked over at Davis and said, "Ok, bye". I didn't care if I had to rock him until he was 16, his Mama's heart couldn't resist answering such a heart-wrenching bidding from her precious baby. That sweet voice was just too much for me. The very worst pain I could ever feel is the pain felt by one of my children.

When Blair was little, she had this thing she did when she was excited about something. She'd put her hands down by her side and wiggle her little fingers on her thighs and kind of bend her knees and go up and down. It was something that indicated that she was experiencing so much joy, at that moment, that it had to come out, somehow. She just couldn't keep her excitement bottled up and that was her outward expression of it. Those little fingers wiggled on her thighs on occasions such as when she was on the Barbie aisle at the store, when we were headed to the beach or zoo or any of her favorite spots, or when guests started to arrive at her birthday party. Any event that produced more excitement than she could contain within herself would spur this release......this outward explosion of joy.

A couple of years ago, Blair worked in Atlanta, during her Christmas break, as an intern in a field she was exploring as a possible career. The line of work had absolutely nothing to do with her college major, so she was anxious to see if it would be something she'd like. She learned a lot of good information there, gained valuable experience, and was introduced to a lot of different companies and their owners and managers, and, by week's end, had several job offers extended to her upon her graduation from college.

I was in Atlanta working for a few days, toward the end of her time there, and I met her for dinner, one night, downtown. She hadn't had time to talk to me on the phone, but had texted bits and pieces about all the exciting things that were happening. When we met, she seemed a little breathless. A mix of adrenaline and excitement and exhaustion, I suppose. We were seated and she began to give me a complete run down of the promising week she'd had. I told her not to leave out any of the details and, as she talked, her pretty, brown eyes just danced. They were sparkling with excitement and her voice was singing with enthusiasm as she was just one semester away from graduation and so many doors had opened for her in such a short time. In between her jabbering, she kept acknowledging that it had all been a God-given gift and, for that, I was thankful that she recognized that all of the unlikely unfolding of circumstances offered no other explanation except His hand working on her behalf.

Besides the dancing eyes, the enthusiastic tone, and the face lit with excitement, I thought I picked up on something else as we discussed her week. As she talked, she had her hands in her lap, but I could see her arms moving in an old, familiar way. While she laid out all the possibilities for her future, her fingers were wiggling on her thighs, ever so slightly. She wasn't standing and bending her knees up and down or being really obvious with her thigh slapping, finger wiggling, but.......ever so faintly and, oh, so subtly.....in a manner that only her mother would notice, she was doing her little childhood expression of excitement under the table. At almost 22 years old, my child was so blissfully caught up in the joy of the moment that she had defaulted to her old and familiar way to release it. As her mother, my heart just melted right there. To know that she was as outwardly joyful as she was at her Barbie birthday party, well, I was on a cloud, myself. Nothing that I could ever personally achieve or attain could have ever given me half the joy that watching her eyes, that night, gave me. The most thrilling joy I could ever experience is the joy of my children.       
       
I guess that's the number one thing about being a mother. A child's hurt has the potential to permeate his mother's whole heart and mind and completely block out any other thoughts and supersede any concern she has for herself until his hurt has passed. And a child's joy is magnified 1,000 times in her mother's heart and surpasses any joy that the mother could personally experience in her own life.

"Making the decision to have a child- it's momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body."  Elizabeth Stone

And for all the wonderful women, who aren't biological mothers, I know that there are lives, which you're investing in....whether they're nieces, nephews, godchildren, students, foster kids, a friend's kids, adopted children, children at church, kids you tutor, stepchildren, even foster pets, and countless other possibilities. To love and care for them is completely a selfless choice on your part and maybe the most noble commitment of all. You don't have to give birth to make a difference in a life or to be treasured by young souls.

Both of my children have beautiful, caring women, who invest time and energy into them and devote themselves, out of the goodness of their hearts, to their enrichment. Devoting their own gifts to lives to which they have absolutely no obligation. A choice of the heart. I can tell you that these are among the most loved and valued relationships that my children have. Women, who love them because they want to. Because they choose to. Never underestimate the admiration you garner from those young lives. Never discount the impact you have. You make a difference. You are loved.  

It's graduation week and we're booked 4 of the next 6 nights. My guess is that I'll see y'all after this week is all over. Next week starts my slow season. My really, really slow season. I'll look forward to checking in more often.

Have a good one!