It's 11:00 a.m. on any given day and I talk to my mother on the phone.  She rattles off the list of people she's already talked to that morning.  Before I've got all the sleepy rubbed out of my eyes, she's had meaningful conversations with a string of family and friends.  She has a good friend who's also a widow and they talk first thing each morning to check on each other and make sure they both "made it through the night."  Then, she calls and checks on her sick friends.  She calls to keep in touch with friends who've moved away. She calls her cousins and elderly aunts in other cities and visits with them through the phone.  She calls the older ladies in her Sunday school class to see if she can help them in any way.  She's just the queen of keeping up with people.  And I'd bet that she's pretty typical for her generation. 



Our generation, well, we used to be good at that.  I mean, really good.  We'd talk and talk and talk on the phone for hours.  Our age ushered in the miracle of call waiting and caller ID and free long distance.  Exciting breakthroughs occurred on our watch. They were life changing in our phone centered world.  We'd call and check in with friends between visits.  We'd call to sing "Happy Birthday"....before Facebook.  We'd call to get a recipe.  We'd call just because we were bored.   


I remember having to shift the phone from one ear to the other to relieve the aching pressure points or to cool the heat radiating from the phone.  Pretty often, the phone would beep to warn me that it was about to go dead.  It had even had enough of my conversation.  I'd talked all the life right out of the battery laughing, telling stories.....maybe snorting.  I remember hanging up my cordless phone and seeing the call time being 2 or 3 hours.  My neck would be hurting from clinching the phone between my shoulder and cheek while multitasking in the laundry room or over the heat of the stove.  It was the way we'd always done keeping in touch except with the newfound freedom of not being tethered to the wall by a coiled cord.  Between visits and lunches and get-togethers, it's how we communicated with our friends. 

Our kids got older and they started this new texting thing.  We made fun of it at first.  Call your friends and actually talk to them, we'd preach with cordless phones stuck to our ears. We warned them they weren't going to know how to have actual conversations with other people if they didn't quit all that texting.  But, while we jeered at it, we also began to see the value of being able to shoot a quick message in a setting where a phone call wasn't possible or when we just didn't have time to spend in an involved conversation.  I mean, you have to admit it's invaluable in certain situations. 


But, then, our lives got so busy.  So, so busy.  Busy with our jobs and our families and we started leaning on it more.  I don't know how it looks from where you are, but, from here, life feels like it's spinning so incredibly fast, these days.  I don't remember it ever being this way.  People have so many commitments.  So many places to be.  We're all hanging on this twirling globe for dear life.  Just trying not to get flung off by the whirl of incessant activity.  Our time is so limited and we've become so very selfish with it.  I guess when you're running short on something, you tend to guard it more carefully.  Hover over it and hold it tighter than before.  


Well, we saw the time savings and easy maintenance that texting and social media provided in relationships.  I mean, after all, you could check in with someone without all the energy it took to sound chipper.  You didn't have to act like you were in the best mood if you weren't.  You didn't have to stop what you were doing to have a conversation.  You could carry on with your day without getting bogged down in details.  You just carefully crafted a message with a well placed emoji for emphasis and sent it and, just like that, you'd shown the recipient that they were on your busy, busy mind.  We lowered the bar a notch or two and soon became satisfied with the new way we were doing things.  We realized we'd discovered the easiest mode of maintaining a friendship and we're all about easy, these days.


Our kids, well, that's all they've ever known.  That's how they've always communicated.  How they've always done friendship.  But, us?  Well, we remember when it was different.  When it was better than it is now.  And, sometimes, I think we find ourselves feeling lonely.  Unsatisfied with our 900 Facebook friends, 400 Instagram followers, and phones that only ding and never ring.  It's like how we're doing it now just isn't cutting it. 


Yeah, it's easier.  But, maybe it's not enough.  I think if we were honest, we'd say that we find ourselves missing the voice.  The sound of the phone ringing and a friend being on the other end.  No typed word can replace that.   


I've got friends from different circles and from different moments of life.  Our varied groups try to get together as much as we can.  Even though we do a pretty good job at it, it's never as often as we'd like. I ran into one of those friends, last week.  She said something to me that I've heard so many times before...."I never talk to anybody and I need that in my life right now."

Maybe because, at our age, our kids don't require as much.  Some of our nests are emptying.  We don't feel quite as needed as we once did.  I'd dare say that many of us are struggling with the downshift in our roles as moms.  It's all we've known for a really, really long time.  Maybe we're starting to see more life in the rearview mirror than we see up ahead.  Life is changing and we just need our friends.  Maybe that's what she was really trying to say.  Maybe that's what I was thinking, too.     


I suppose time savings is a really good thing to look for when deciding how we should do our banking, our cooking, our housework, our taxes, our shopping.  But, maybe it's not the best way to do friendship.  Maybe the really important things demand an investment from us.  Maybe the good stuff refuses to come cheap.  Maybe because if valuable things came easily and without much cost, we wouldn't take care of them.  Just maybe there's no such thing as a shortcut to the things that really matter in life.     


I'm guilty. 


So guilty of taking the quick and easy way. 


Like trying to get a home cooked meal from a frozen dinner.  As quick and appealing it looks from the outside, we'll always find that the content just isn't the same. 


So, in the days ahead, if you hear a strange ringing coming from your purse, it may be me calling.


If I remember correctly, you would then pick it up and say, "Hello?" 




I'm going to try to do better.




Y'all have a good Tuesday!


And call a friend today!!   






  


        

On the typical summer weekday, I'd stagger out of my room around 9:00, greeted by my mother who was anxious to get us, kids, outside so she could commence with the house cleaning.  She'd get the bowl of made-from-scratch pancake batter from the fridge and melt the butter in the iron skillet.  I'd get out the Mrs. Butterworth syrup and tub of margarine then go put on my cut off jean shorts and pom pom socks while she finished cooking breakfast.  If it was a particularly busy day for her, she'd set out the box of Peanut Butter Captain Crunch and I'd pray the submarine prize would fall out into my bowl but, with two brothers, that rarely happened.  Anyway, on the days that she was on top of her game, she'd call us all to the kitchen where she'd fry up pancakes until we'd had enough.  By that time, I was hooked on the episode of Card Sharks playing on the TV and Mama would fix my hair into either a ponytail or pigtails while I watched to see who was going to win so I could move along with my day.


After Card Sharks, the Price is Right would start calling people to come on down and that seemed to be my mother's cue to have everyone vacate the house for the day.  It was like a fire alarm.  The Price is Right theme music meant "EVERYONE OUT!  MAMA'S GOTTA CLEAN!" If you were still in there when the Cliff Hanger yodeling started, you'd be assigned chores. 




With a full stomach, we headed outside into the Mississippi sun knowing we'd been evicted for the day.  By then, there was a small gathering of kids forming in the street.  A brief meeting was held as the crowd grew.  We'd kick the gravel on the road and break sticks as we discussed all the possibilities that the day held.  Country Jay, wiffle ball, baseball using a tennis ball, kickball, hide and seek, bicycle obstacle courses, fishing, fort building.  I don't know why but we always seemed to follow the sports seasons.  Basketball and football were reserved only for the fall and winter months.  Anyway, each possibility was carefully debated until one or two rose to the top.  I mean, we were going to need some careful planning to fill all the humid hours ahead and it usually required a patchwork of activities to get us all the way to the end of it. 


Baseball/fishing/bicycle follow the leader was always a popular combo.  Fishing was usually better in the morning so that was a good lead off activity.  We'd break up and everybody would head home to get their poles with instructions to grab some white bread from the Sunbeam bag while they were there.

Not to limit ourselves to just one bait, we'd dig for a few worms under the pine straw mound that Daddy kept down by the back fence.  The black dirt under that straw was a popular hangout for the long, slimy things. With black dirt under our fingernails and a can of doomed worms, we'd climb the barbed wire fence over into the adjoining pasture where the neighbors had a small pond.  On any given day, a couple of us would be left with long, bloody scratches down the back our legs from the rusty barbs but we couldn't be worried about lock jaw and things like that because the crabapple tree was just over the fence and they were the Sour Patch Kids of our time.  We'd stuff our cut off shorts pockets with the little sour gems and head to the pond.


The boys usually used the worms for bait because, while the girls didn't mind digging for worms, stabbing them with a hook was another thing altogether.  We'd use the white bread and toss our hooks in the water.  After an hour or so of catching various forms of small fish, we'd head back to see what else we could find to do.  Sometimes, a stop by the railroad tracks to lay out coins on the tracks before the train was scheduled to come by was in order.  We'd go back and collect the flattened currency after it had passed.  Children playing on train tracks must have been commonplace back in the 70's.  I guess our parents assumed we had enough common sense to know if a train was coming, we should get out of the way.  I guess they were right.   


By this time of day, it was usually humid and the southern sun was hotter than a $2 pistol as my Daddy used to say.  I'd usually run in the house to get a little drink before the gang got started on another activity.  Mama was usually vacuuming at this point with The Young and the Restless playing in the background so she'd shoo us away and bring a glass of Kool-Aid or sweet tea to the door. They weren't the most generous portions but we were warned if we went overboard on the drinks, we'd ruin our lunch.  Oh, the air conditioning felt so good from the door.....if only we were allowed to stay in and enjoy it.  But, there was cleaning still to do and the house hadn't yet reached an adequate saturation level of Pine-Sol fumes so we were sent on our way and told that she'd call us when it was time for lunch.


Lunch usually came after The Young and the Restless went off because, well, you didn't want the house full of loud kids when you were trying to see what was going on in Genoa City with Nicki and Victor.  This was about the time that Katherine Chancellor was presumed dead in the tragic fire so missing a day was not an option.  Now, thanks to me, my mother's Sunday School class knows that she watched a soap opera in the 70's and early 80's and for that I'm sorry.  I'm sure they'll extend mercy.     


Since there usually wasn't enough time for another lengthy activity before lunch, we'd all agree to play something like Follow the Leader on our bicycles.  Somebody would be selected as the leader usually through a process of eeny, meeny, miny, moe or something terribly sophisticated like that.  The leader would hop on her bike and we'd all follow.  She'd take her hands off the handlebars for a while.....and so would we.  She'd zigzag from one side of the street to the other .....and we would, too.  She'd pop a wheelie.  We'd pop a wheelie.  She'd ride off the side of a driveway and jump a ditch and we were right behind her.  The fact that nothing stood between our delicate heads and the pavement only made the game more exciting.  We looked like Hell's Angels all lined up in a row with the roar of playing cards flapping in our spokes.  Banana seats and streamers and fluorescent bike flags as far as the eye could see.


About the time we'd be getting tired of that, we'd hear Mama yelling for us to come have lunch.  It usually consisted of a hot dog or a fried bologna sandwich with chips, apple, and a piece of pound cake or a couple of duplex sandwich cookies.  By that time of day, there was nothing that appealed to us on TV so, after we'd eaten and gotten cooled off, we'd head back out.  The other kids would trickle back out from their peanut butter and jelly buffets and we'd usually decide to get together a game of kickball or whiffle ball.  Captains were usually selected by drawing straws or picking a number between 1 and 20 and then the draft would begin.  Of course, the older, bigger boys would go in the first round which included my older brother, Zane.  And while I don't like to brag, I went pretty early in the draft considering I weighed 70 pounds soaking wet and my arms looked like you could snap them like a twig.  Players were picked, one by one, until it was down to the tiniest, most uncoordinated of the neighbors......but there was a place for everyone in the backyard league.   


At this point in the day, most of us were barefooted.  Shoes were only for climbing barbed wire fences and pedaling ten speed bikes with the spiky pedals.  The side yard between our house and the neighbors' house was a popular ball field because of its length, width, and overall turf quality.  The bases were usually the bare spots worn in the grass from their continual use while home plate was always the water meter cover.  We'd play for innings and innings.  We'd move in when one of the kids with two left feet came to bat and we'd back up when it was one of the older boy's turn.  And if someone hit the ball out into the woods, we'd all go tromping through the brush to help find it. 


We always had the rule that you could get someone out, not just by catching, tagging, or forced outs, but also by pegging them with the wiffle ball/kickball in the head as hard as you could......or anywhere else on their body.  This only added to the allure of the game.  There was the occasional timeout called when someone would step on a sticker bush or, heaven forbid, a fresh pile of dog excrement.  Of course, rules were usually made up as we went along to fit the circumstances.  Like if the score was really lopsided, we'd declare that all the big boys had to bat left-handed or something like that. 


Sometimes, later in the day, we'd splinter off and do things in smaller groups.  If we were thirsty and Mama was mopping, we might get a drink from the hose.  If the coast was clear, I'd go in to cool off for a minute with a pudding pop but then I'd be ready to find the others and climb trees, play board games on the carport, run through somebody's sprinkler, play croquet, or find a swing set that we could make one of the legs pop up out of the ground when we'd swing really high.  I knew if I stayed inside too long, I'd be handed a rag and a can of Pledge and I wasn't real interested in that.   


We'd play until the sun started to go down.  The crickets started chirping.  The frogs started singing.  The mosquitos would begin nibbling on my skinny legs and, in the distance, we'd hear our Daddy whistle.  He had this loud, two-part whistle that the three of us recognized as our call home.  It didn't matter how far away we were, we could hear it and it meant it was supper time.  We'd pedal as fast as we could to a big supper of fried chicken, roast and gravy, or, sadly, sometimes, the dreaded salmon croquettes.  We had to get fed, bathed, take in an episode of The Waltons or Barnaby Jones, and then get some rest because, well, the next day, we had to to do it all over again.


And we couldn't wait.


Eric, David, Jennifer, Annabelle, Jeff, another Jeff, Paul, Ronald, Melissa, Stacy, Rush, Marsha, Michael, Suzy, Mike, Ken,Wesley.....and, of course, Zane, Lee, and Joni.  We had some good times on our little street.


Here's to summer days past.





Y'all have a good one.....and tell the kids to go out and play! 


It's not so bad out there. 


  












         


  


       
   

In the spirit of summer vacation, I'm currently sitting here sit relaxing in my fancy, new pajamas which my family gave me for Mother's Day.  I don't know if you've ever heard of PJ Harlow loungewear but you need to get yourself some!  The satin lounge pants are so comfy and so very fancy! I feel like I should reserve these as my good traveling with friends/hospital pajamas because they're so nice.  I mean, I'm just not used to that. On any given night, if you were to ring my doorbell, you'd likely find me in a sleepshirt looking a notch or two above a dust rag because, well, they're so hard to let go of when you've got them good and broken in and comfort is king when it comes to sleep.  So, if you need some comfy PJs that don't look like dust rags, I highly recommend.  
Last week was busy with all things graduation. My nephew, Casey, graduated from high school on Monday night and the weekend before that was spent in New Orleans for John Samuel's graduation.  I know your social media feeds have been stuffed with caps and gowns and proud parents asking where the time has gone.  It's the time of year to wonder about things like that. I couldn't help but think about how my Daddy would've loved to have been standing on the other side of Casey with my Mama.  Special milestones seem to emphasize who's missing from all the pictures. It's the kind of absence that everyone quietly feels inside in the middle of all the happiness. And it's all fun and games until you realize your baby boy, the only one standing between you and an empty nest, will be in the next graduating class.  But, I can't deal with that just yet.  I prefer to live in denial for now.  The wedding is all I can digest emotionally at this time.          

While we were in New Orleans, we met with the wedding venue's event planner and nailed down some more details.  One of the considerations we went over was the backup plan in the event of rain.  Instead of being under the oak trees, the wedding would take place on the balcony overlooking the trees.  We're praying for drought conditions during the month of October but the view would still be beautiful.  I'm just obsessed with all the beauty everywhere you turn.    

So, I don't think we've talked about the fact that I've started a wedding shape up program.  I mean, there was the twist board thing and then the twist board with weights but I needed to take it up a notch.  Not so much that I want to lose a lot of weight but I would like to shift some of it around and tone it up a bit since formal wedding attire offers a woman about as much muffin top concealment as, say, a piece of Glad Wrap.   


I've not really made any changes to my diet because I'm just not willing to go there yet.  That will be a last resort.  People talk of low carb and, I don't know why, but images of Hell come flooding into my mind.  I have made some small changes like I only eat dessert on Fridays and, more notably, I've cut out my tea.  My dear, precious tea.  I've given it up for its more tasteless counterpart, water.  Oh, water, you'd be so good if I were stranded out in the middle of the desert but that's about all I can say nice about you.....oh, and the fact that I use you to make tea.  My last self-imposed restriction is that I only eat at meal time.  Nothing in between.  Consequently, I go to bed hungry every night.  Every.  Night.   


Perhaps most noteworthy, since I'm not willing to give up any of the beloved food groups, I've started running with Blair.  Ok.  Well, running is a strong word.  A slow jogging.  Or an awkward trotting.  Whatever you want to call it, we walk/run/walk/run.  The only rule I've demanded is that we must run under the cover of darkness and, if a car passes by, running must cease until it is out of sight.  I'm not ready to run for the public just yet.


I bought these fancy running shoes and some of those tight workout pants that resemble a wet suit.    And after hearing me complain, Blair bought me a sports bra which is pretty easy to put on but if anybody has a good tip for getting out of one of those without becoming overwrought with rage, please let me know. To say that I'm well equipped for my new fitness endeavor would be an understatement.  I really look the part of someone who knows what she's doing.  You know, like one of those women you see in the grocery store straight from her kickboxing/spin/yoga classes, who's shopping for beets and kale for her juicer......only minus the beets and the kale.     


When we first started, I could only run/gallop/flounder from one mailbox to the next before I started to feel like I was experiencing some sort of fatal cardiac event but, now, I can go about 4 mailboxes before I feel death is near.  That's progress, I'd say.  I think I'll get a "4" sticker for my car.  Forget those 26.2 and 13.1 decals.  Pshhh.  I do experience some aches and pains in my knee, hip, and some of my other joints when I "run" but I suppose that's to be expected in an almost 50 year old woman.  I turn 49 this week and so I'm starting to get a little rickety when I do certain things that were once done with ease.  Don't worry.  This is all just a temporary effort.  After October 6, I don't plan to ever run again.........unless it's free tea day at McAlister's or something really pressing like that.        


To date, I've lost 6 lbs. but it's a very fluid situation.  A couple of weeks ago, I looked at a peach cobbler from across a crowded room and gained one back.  You know how metabolism stops being a team player when it gets to a certain age.         


Yep, I turn 49 on Wednesday.  Hanging onto the 40's by my fingernails.  I'm not old enough to remember a Victrola, kerosene lamps, or outhouses but old enough to know about Friday Night Videos, penny candy, tube socks, nurses in white hats, and Gee,Your Hair Smells Terrific.  So, I'm old enough, ok? 


I find myself at a place where it's difficult to know things like who I should "yes, ma'am", if my eyebrows need a pencil yet and whether that's a shirt or a dress.  I'm somewhere between ovulation kits and hormone patches.  I'm way past nesting and getting closer to empty nesting.  In most ways, I love it here where I am.  Other ways are a little sad.


But, I'm thankful for another birthday and everything God has given me in my 49 years.  It's been a good ride so far.




Y'all have a great Monday! 


                                         


 

On Saturday, we hosted a small gathering of close relatives so we could get to know John Samuel's family and they could get to know us before the wedding festivities commence.  Of course, we'd met his parents and siblings but, you know, when your family expands, it's imperative that everyone gets acquainted with the Mimi, Papa, Nana, Pops, Granny, Grandma, Gramps and other important people such as that.  It was a wonderful day spent with delightful people and, as an added bonus, neither side called off the wedding due to gene pool concerns.       

Carson had an appointment with a specialist, a couple of weeks ago.  Nothing major.  The doctor's office was out of town and so we made a day of it.  We sat in the waiting room for a while with a lot of other kids and teenagers and, finally, they called his name and we saw the doctor and then we were sent to the lab. 


We sat in the chairs lined up outside the lab.  There were other kids already waiting so we knew it would be a while.  There was a young couple waiting with their baby girl.  She looked to be around 7 or 8 months old.  Such a doll and so happy.  She looked over at me and smiled and spouted out some gibber gabber.  I'm sure in baby language she was saying something like, "hey, lady, you want a couple of swigs from my bottle?"  You could tell her parents were so in love with her.  The daddy was lifting her up over his head and making her giggle.  Her mama was talking baby talk and feeding her Cheerios.  They had all the markings of first time parents.


We all sat together for several minutes and, from overhearing their conversation, it was apparent that their baby was no stranger to this office or this lab.  The lab work they were about to have done seemed to be something that was a regular thing for them.  They commented that she was so happy and oblivious to what was about to happen.  That's definitely something that babies have going for them.  Ignorance can be so blissful.  


Anyway, the baby's name was called and the little couple quickly stuffed her bottle and snacks in their bag and they all went into the lab.  Carson and I continued to sit in the hall with a couple of other patients and we couldn't help but hear all the commotion in there.  I'm not sure what the sweet baby had or what all they were doing to her but it seemed to have a lot of steps and just about the time they'd have her calmed down from all of her heart wrenching screams, well, they'd have to do something else that would make it start again.  This went on about 10 minutes and I was having a hard time listening to it and I didn't even know them.  I couldn't imagine how the parents felt.   


Finally, overcome by all her agony, the young father walked out of the lab....his eyes were red and swollen.  With a tear rolling down his cheek, he came out in the hall to walk off some pent up emotional energy.  With his daughter's pink diaper bag slung over his shoulder, he was taking some deep breaths and pacing to try and comfort himself.  He kind of made a fist and punched the palm of his other hand, seeming to express his frustration that he couldn't take the pain away from his innocent child.  His eyes met mine and I just said, "bless her little heart" with a sympathetic facial expression.  He said, "this is always rough" and then composed himself enough to go back in to be with his little family.


About the time that Carson's name was called, the little family finally came out looking like they'd all been put through the wringer.  The sweet baby was sucking her pacifier and doing that shuttering that babies do after they've been so upset.  It had been a stressful experience for them......and all of the rest of us who had to listen.


There's nothing that affects the heart of a parent like the pain experienced by their children.  Like most parents, I'd rather experience anything painful myself than to watch my children endure it and, this week, I can't help but think about Mary.  As Jesus' earthly mother, how did her heart survive seeing what she had to see......I just don't know.  How did it not just quit beating under the weight of her grief?  My mind can't even go there.  As His Heavenly Father, how did God sacrifice His only Son for a bunch of indifferent and seemingly ungrateful people.  I certainly don't know.  This selfish, old world would just have to keep waiting if it thought I'd give up my son to save it.            




I'm not sure about yours but my life has been so busy over the last two weeks.  I don't know if I'm coming or going.  I've got a to-do list that's a mile long but I've been too busy to make much progress on it because of other things that keep popping up.  It seems like spring gets like that.  It's all good stuff but between wedding details, prom duties, Easter related activities, work demands, and a sick friend who's needed me, I've been running.  And I know my life is not that different from yours. 


Today, I was waiting in a restaurant to talk to the owner about catering a family party we have on the horizon.  The restaurant was so busy and loud.  There were people everywhere.  As I waited, a young man, who was seated by himself, caught my eye.  He was in work clothes and from the looks of them, he'd been working really hard all morning.  Suffice it to say that he didn't have a desk job.  He got his food and there, in all the noise and commotion, he folded his hands and bowed his head and he gave thanks.  That's not an unusual sight here in the South.  I'd even go so far to say it's commonplace here but, for some reason, it stood out to me today. 


I think because it was a real life illustration that I needed of how when life is loud and busy and when there's a swirl of commotion all around us, we have to be deliberate in our efforts to make room for worship.  And even when life has us worn down and scuffed up from all its labors, we need to stay faithful....bowing our heads in thankfulness.  Thankfulness for the sacrifice that was made for us.  Thankfulness for the punishment Jesus took in our place.  Something that profound and gracious should never be allowed to drown in the chaos or become lost our busyness or blend in with the routine. 


Even in all that I have to do, I need to quiet myself and live in gratitude that God sent me a Savior. 


What a sacrifice that was that He would give His son, His child.....for us. 




Hope you have a beautiful holy weekend with your family.     


                       


   

It's prom season again.  Just about every weekend in April, you can count on social media being packed with prom pictures.  Such a sweet, sweet time.  I don't know what it is about it but I'm just a sucker for seeing the kids all dressed up with ties that match dresses and looking all nervous as they try to maneuver the corsage and boutonnière application.  Maybe I love it because it brings back the more traditional style of dating for a night.  Picking a girl up at her house and meeting her parents.  Assuring the dad that they'll be home by a certain time.  Being all dressed up, opening doors, and using the manners your mama taught you.  I just love all that.       


April and I drove to Brookhaven on Saturday to shop for our dresses and it was, apparently, prom day there.  (I finally said "yes" to a dress at a shop there but we'll talk about that later.)  Anyway, everywhere we turned, there were color coordinated couples all dressed up and getting their pictures made at different scenic spots around the charming, southern town.  The boys looked so handsome in their rented clothes and the girls, well, there's no telling how long it took them to get ready.....that whole day and weeks before that.  I'm sure their mothers were at home having collapsed from the exhaustion.   


We were stopped at a red light and I looked over at the car next to us.  There was a young man in his tuxedo and his date was all dolled up in the passenger seat.  It appeared they were in his parents' newly washed car.  His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly in the 10 and 2 position almost like his life had just been threatened by her father if he wasn't cautious with his daughter in tow.  I could see the rose on his lapel and his eyes were wide like he'd just seen a ghost and she appeared to be just as tense.  They both looked straight ahead and, from what I could tell without staring too much, there weren't many words being exchanged.  Both were probably new at this date thing and were just in awe of each other.....likely trying desperately to think of something to say.  Anything!  So, so sweet.
 


Carson's prom is this coming weekend and we, mothers, will be busy with the all the preparation going into the pre-prom party given by the parents.  This will be my first prom as the mother of a boy.  Oh, I served my time as a girl mother.  As a teenager, Blair went to three proms and a couple of lead outs.  We'd search and search and search for the perfect dress but, oh, that was only the beginning.  Your work was just getting started when you found the dress.  There were the shoes, the jewelry, the hair appointment, the nail appointment, the makeup.  It was no small undertaking.  Well, with Carson, he went right by himself to the tux rental place and, after a brief encounter with a tape measurer, they asked him what color he wanted and, on Friday, he'll pick up a bag containing everything he needs......down to the shoes. 


I must admit that I'm liking that.  I am really, really liking that.  You, boy mothers, have been keeping this effort inequality from us, girl mothers.  After having a girl, being a boy mom is kind of like being on vacation.    


Sons and daughters.  They both have their own worries.  Their own joys.  Their own challenges.  Their own blessings.   


I'm glad I've been able to experience both. 


And I can't wait to see my boy all dressed up this weekend!  




Y'all have a good Wednesday!