Countdown

In honor of Shuttle Atlantis, which finally blasted off yesterday, and because Cara likes it when I make lists like this, this week's blog challenge is a Countdown List. 10...9... 8... 7....

10 Things I Wanna Do Before I Die
1. Get published and paid for it
2. Wear a size 10 again
3. climb a mountain with my kids and Darren
4. take an Alaskan cruise
5. visit Italy and Greece
6. grow vegetables
7. hot air balloon ride at sunrise
8. visit Veronica and Melissa in Australia
9. spend Christmas in the mountains
10. take Dani to a Broadway show

9 Places I Last Spent Money
1. Wendy's (on drinks, this morning after singing all 4 verses of about 25 songs at Granddaddy's funeral) (Grandaddy is actually the grandad of some dear friends of ours, but we all called him that.)
2. Albertsons (groceries of course)
3. 7-11 (gas)
4. 7-11 (after school Slurpees)
5. PTA - bought wrapping paper for Aidan's school fundraiser
6. Walmart (replacement camera for Nookie)
7. Walmart (paper towels, deodorant, junk like that)
8. PayPal (for an album I needed for a client's job)
9. Post Office (mailed two packages)

8 Sounds I Routinely Hear Around My House
1. someone clacking away on the computer
2. the TV in the background
3. Dani's UIL choir tapes
4. Dani practicing for Region Choir tryouts
5. the phone ringing
6. the mail crashing through the mail slot in the front door
7. the swish of my photo trimmer
8. the creaking of old floorboards

7 Real Restaurants Where I Last Ate Out (Sonic doesn't count! lol)
1. a Mexican place in Shreveport with Cara last week
2. Macaroni Grill with Darren weekend before last
3. Pei Wei with Dani (our weekly date night)
4. Chipotle with Dani (the one time we deviated from our weekly Pei Wei)
5. Cafe Express with Jerica
6. Pappasito's with Cara and Kristi on the first day of school
7. Mi Cocina with our interns the last weekend they were here

6 Things I Scratched Off my To-Do List Recently
1. Finished a scrapbooking job
2. mailed stuff that needed to be mailed
3. filled in all of the kids' school activity dates on my calendar
4. cleaned up and organized my "favorites"
5. met with other Room Moms
6. cleaned and rerarranged the front room

5 People I Don't Know who I'd Like to Hang Out With
1. Ali Edwards, scrapbook artist/designer/all around cool gal
2. Oprah
3. Beth Moore -author and Bible teacher (she just seems like she'd be TOTALLY fun!)
4. Sting
5. some random Mom at my Room Mother meeting the other morning. She totally cracked me UP, she was all over the place, and she totally had bedhead with a bobby pin right on top. I could tell we'd be GREAT friends. LOL!

4 Songs That Make Me Happy
1. The Star-Spangled Banner
2. Soak Up The Sun -Sheryl Crow
3. Your Smiling Face -James Taylor
4. It Is Well (With My Soul)

3 Things I Hate To Do
1. Take medicine
2. Put away laundry
3. Put gas in my car

2 Things I'm Really Good At
1. expressing myself with written words
2. color and design

1 Really Bad Habit
1. I go to bed way too late!

Darren needs to borrow a gun license

ahem.
Dani likes a boy.
Has since the summertime.
Last week, the conversation at The Lunch Table went like this:

Brian: I don't think anyone likes me.

Dani: What? Of course people like you. EVERYONE likes you. People are constantly passing by saying hi to you.

Brian: No, I mean GIRLS. I don't think any girls like me.

Dani: Uh, I'm sure they do. I know of someone who does.

Brian: WHO?

Dani: Well, she has brown hair.

Brian: THAT narrows it down.

Dani: Seriously. I don't think anyone likes me either.

Brian: YES they do. EVERYONE likes you.

Dani: I mean a boy.

Brian: I know someone who does. He's in the class of 2008. He's tall. He has brown hair.

Dani: THAT narrows it down to about 250 guys.

Brian: I can narrow it down to one.

That night, over a Chipotle steak burrito stuffed with black beans, rice and plenty of avocado, Dani asked me, "What do I say if Brian asks me out?"

Now see, I wasn't caught completely off guard. I saw it coming a mile and a half away. And so I was prepared with an answer for my kid who until that very day thought she'd have to wait 'til she was 15 3/4 before she could go on a date with a boy, 'cause that's how old *I* was when I was allowed my first date. With Jeff, who wore his 80s bangs combed over one eye. My Mom could not STAND Jeff because of those bangs. But oh. Back to Dani...

I answered, "You tell him you'd LOVE to go out with him, but your parents have this lame rule about having to meet him before you're allowed to go out with him."

So that's what she told him. He's coming over for dinner Friday night, this boy named Brian. I sorta already like him, and I've never even laid eyes on him. Darren, however, is having serious reservations. A BOY?

WHO WANTS TO DATE HIS DAUGHTER?

He jokingly said he'll have to buy a shotgun before Friday.

He has 4 weeks to get used to the idea, 'cause Homecoming, the DATE IN QUESTION, is only 24 days away. :)

Angel Unaware

The Bible tells us that sometimes, we might meet angels unaware. It's referring to meeting angels, and us not REALIZING that they're angels. But today, I experienced a new spin on that. I met an angel, and I knew he was one, but I don't think HE knew it.

Somewhere in far East Texas lives a man. One Labor Day afternoon, he was barreling east on I-20, keeping up with the rest of the holiday traffic, when he noticed a suburban full of women - black and white, fat and thin, worried and laughing - stranded in the median. He flew on past, but almost immediately, realized that it was against his nature not to turn around and help. And so he did.

As he pulled up beside our suburban, I said to my fellow passengers, "He's a good guy. Look. He's drinking a Dr Pepper."

"Y'all need some help?" he asked. We explained that we'd just had a blow-out and were going to try to get back across the highway to the wider shoulder on the other side. He offered to help us right there in the grassy median. We said OK.

We'd had a massive blowout on the rear driver's side. The tire was completely shredded, the blowout so sudden and so severe that it pulled our vehicle across the lane and into the ditch. Kristi did an awesome job of retaining control at the wheel.

Dennis pulled a hydraulic jack from the back of his truck and went to work jacking up the Suburban. He strained and pumped, as the car inched up ever so slightly. Finally, I said, "We are LOADED DOWN with scrapbooking stuff. Would it help if we unloaded it?" Truly, we probably had about 500 pounds of paper, metal dies, and other scrapbooking doo-dads in the back end of that car. We unloaded it all onto the grass and watched the car lift up a little on its own.


Then Dennis went to work on the lug nuts. They wouldn't budge. His crowbar began to bend under the stress. In prickly grass and lying across ground that was peppered with fire ants, he kept tugging. Nothing. He was afraid he'd break the lugnuts if he kept pulling. Meanwhile, I was taking lots of pictures. 'Cause that's what a good scrapbooker does in moments of stress and potential fun layouts. :)



Kristi and I began making phone calls. No towing companies were answering their phones on the holiday. Others were giving us busy signals. The Highway Patrol never answered. Finally, Dennis got through to someone. An hour and a half after the blow-out, we finally had someone on the way.

We told Dennis thank you. I hugged him. He was the sweetest, most unassuming guy. Melissa kept referring to him as our angel. "God sent him," she said. I know she's right.

But Dennis wouldn't leave. He sat in his truck behind us and waited. "We're fine," independant, self-sufficient Kristi and I kept saying. "You've done so much already. Thank you." He stayed. "I just can't drive off and leave you ladies sitting here," he explained. "If something happened to y'all, I'd never forgive myself."

Eventually, the tow truck arrived. The guy driving it was a little loopy, and I can say with all honestly that we were all glad Dennis was still there. When the tow-truck guy and HIS big-daddy tools were unable to loosen the lugnuts, we decided to bite the bullet and let him tow us 20 miles to the nearest open tire center - a Walmart. All 6 of us women elected to ride with Dennis rather than the tow truck guy. After all, by this time, we were old friends. (But first, we hopped aboard the tow truck for a photo op!)


On the way, Nookie noticed that Dennis had satellite radio in his truck, and she took control of the remote. We jammed to Nelly, Monica and Ray Charles on the way to Kilgore. Dennis just kept grinning. Every once in a while, he'd look in his rear-view mirror and smile. Then he said to me, "Y'all are giving me an education today." I sort of mumbled an apology about the loud music, and he said, "Nah. I listen to all sorts of music. I mean, looking back there, I see what my girls are gonna be like."

Turns out, Dennis is a daddy to three daughters, ages 7, 6 and 3 weeks. When he looked at Nookie, Nikki and Lety in the back of his Suburban, dancing and clowning and laughing, he saw his future. I think it terrified him and electrified him at the same time. We all ooohed and ahhed at the photos he shared of his babies. (The man carries a digital camera in his truck. THAT'S A GOOD DADDY. Hey Dennis! Does your wife scrapbook? We can HOOK. HER. UP!!)

Dennis dropped us off at Walmart. Thirty minutes later, the tow truck arrived. An hour and a half later - FIVE HOURS after the blowout - we were finally back on the road.

We prayed at Taco Bueno. We thanked God for sending Dennis to our rescue, for his faithfulness and protection over us, and we asked God to not hold back a single blessing from Dennis and his beautiful family.

I told Dennis that I'd be posting his picture here tonight. I hope he checks it. I hope he knows how sincerely appreciative we are. We were a bunch of goofy, giggly, photo-takin', be-boppin' girls this afternoon, making the best of a situation that could've been wrought with stress and strain. But beneath all that silliness, we were a group of blessed women. Deeply appreciative. Humbly rescued by an angel unaware.

Thank you, Dennis. Thank you.

High School

This has been a weird flash-backy week for me.

First, a couple of days ago, I suddenly thought about a scrapbook I'd made in high school. It was a senior composition class assignment: create an "all about me" project. It could've been an essay, or a collage, or whatever. There were specific questions that we had to answer, but other than that, we had freedom in how we decided to execute it. Mine, of course, was a scrapbook. I decided to search for it, and was shocked and stoked when I found it. Reading through its pages, I was astonished that I'm really not very different now than I was then. I still have the same basic personality traits, the same weaknesses and strengths, the same likes and dislikes. I wrote that one of my favorite pasttimes was scrapbooking. See, even back in the 1980s, before Creative Memories, before Heidi Swapp, before Creating Keepsakes and Basic Grey and Becky Higgins, I was a scrapbooker. Before it was cool.

The most amazing thing, though, is that the visions and dreams I had for myself back then have all come true! (well, if you consider my scrapbooking career as photojournalism. It's not exactly what I had in mind back then, but it certainly could qualify now - in a way!)

Well, hold on. The MOST amazing thing was that I thought about it and found it on what is almost exactly the 20-year anniversary of its creation. When I turned to the last page, I almost fell outta my chair. It reads, "Give me twenty years and I'll reflect back to my high school days and discover that I truly was... in love with life."

Yup. I was. Still am.

Tonight, I hung out with High School Dani. It was OPen House at her school, and I totally loved seeing myself in my element her in her element. She is just like I was. EXACTLY!! Every other person in the halls knew her. She was loud and crazy and bubbly and energetic and crazy. Truthfully, she was driving me NUTS, but I loved it. LOVED it. Walking the halls of her high school brought back a flood of memories of my own alma mater and its hallowed halls.

There are lots of differences: mine was built in 1983 and was thoroughly modern. Hers was built in 1936 and still boasts Art Deco features throughout the interior. Mine housed 800 students; hers is more like a small town, with 2500 students. It sprawls over 24.6 acres and its roof covers 235,440 square feet. Mine was predominantly white and black, with some Hispanics and a few Asian students. Dani's is a rainbow of diversity; I doubt there's an ethnicity that's not represented in the yearbook. There are computers in every classroom and Dani's teachers encourage emails from parents. My school had 2 computers in its computer lab. Not even the counselor's office (where I spent 2 hours a day working as a Senior) had computers. And my parents didn't know any of my teacher's names, certainly never went to Open House (did we HAVE Open House in high school?) and definitely never communicated with them.

But there were also similarities. The hand-written posters on the walls, the drumline which played at the beginning of the assembly (I have ALWAYS loved the cadence of a high school drum line), the choir which sang national anthem a cappella (I cried as soon as the very first note rang out), the crappy sound system in the auditorium, the craziness in the halls between classes, the bells.

As I passed from class to class, following Dani's daily schedule (but in 10-minute increments instead of 50-minute ones), I was overcome with two emotions: 1) astonishment that my KID, my little pig-tailed girl, my firstborn sweet precious thing, is a sophomore in high school, and that she is so much like I was; and 2), complete delight that my KID, my little pig-tailed girl, my firstborn sweet precious thing, is a sophomore in high school, and is so much like I was. I am.

I love that girl. Love her. I'd be her best friend if I weren't her Mom. Wait. I think I already AM that.

*happy sigh*

Hanging Out With Donna

A couple of weeks ago, someone asked the question, "Who do you wanna spend time hanging out with in Heaven?"

At first, I didn't know. My Grandma? My Grandpa? Yes, without a doubt. But I felt like those answers didn't count, because they're givens.

Then it dawned on me: Donna. I would wanna hang out with her.

Donna was my friend. She was everyone's friend. She was quick-witted and punny, intelligent and wise, giving and nurturing. It's easy to paint someone who's passed on in a glowing light, but I assure you that Donna's life WAS just that. Glowing. She lived. She shared. She made an impact.

In fact, today, two years to the day after pancreatic cancer robbed her of that life, her glow still warms. People who never knew her... know her. Because she was here. She lived. She shared. She made an impact.

One of the best decisions I ever, EVER made was to drag myself and two comrades to Manitoba. I'd never met Donna face to face before that epic roadtrip, but I loved her just the same. Meeting her was like being with an old friend. We fell into comfortable, easy conversation that was saturated with laughter despite the sorrow. I sat at her bedside, like a kid in a candy store, thumbing through her artwork, and gasping with disbelief when she kept saying, "Take more. No, really. I want you to have it."

I met Rick, her beloved husband, on that trip. Since, we've formed a friendship that I can't quite define. We keep in touch, and he routinely emails me just when I need a lift. He's good like that. He knows. He lives and shares and makes an impact, just like Donna did. I keep waiting for the day he'll show up at my door. (Hey Rick - I rode around town today with my car windows down, 'cause it has finally cooled off here. It was only 91 degrees F!) ;)

I only spent time with Donna face to face in real life for a total of about 3 hours. There wasn't time to play with paper, or to learn her braiding technique, or how to shade with tiny dots of ink, or any of the other myriad of talents she possessed. There was only time to laugh. And hug. And talk. And cry. And be.

And so it's Donna I want to hang out with in Heaven.
I'll bring the supplies, Donna, and the camera.
You just make sure we each have a 6-foot table of our own, and plenty of good lighting.

(((((Rick, Diana and Paige)))))

You can read more about Donna and the road trip here.

Rain Glorious Rain

Finally. Our dry, parched, panting yard has been given hope. There *IS* rain in them there skies.

I can't even remember the last time it rained on my street. It's been a long, oppressive, dryyyyy summer. Oh sure, we've had rain if you listen to the weather teams on all the local networks. "A trace of rain here, a downpour there." One week, it poured a mile away at Cara's house, but all I got was thunder. A week later, it rained 2 miles to the north and 3 miles to the east, but nary a drop in my yard. Last week, Darren and I hopefully watched the real-time radar on weather.com (Yah. We're nerds.) as a nice-sized thunderstorm popped up just west of us. Then it dissipated right before our eyes. A few days ago, Darren called from his office. He works in a high-rise and can see our neighborhood from his window.

"You're about to get rain!" he enthused. "I can see it over at Trinity Plaza!" That's just down the bluff and across the river from us. But alas. It dried up before it crossed the river. Stupid rain.

Today, I had JUST settled down at my desk and was sorting pictures when Darren burst through the door. "Come out on the porch with me!" he begged. "It feels WONDERFUL."

So I obliged him, and followed like a good little puppy, annoyed that I was having to get up and thinking, "How good can it feel? It's 100 degrees again."

As soon as I stepped out the door, I knew something was different. What was it? That smell. Like the mountains after an afternoon shower. That sound. Like the rustling of trees in the fall. That STICKINESS in the air. Could it be... YES! There's a drop! And another! And another and another and another!

"BOYS!!" I bellowed through the door. "Come out and play in the rain!"

And so they did.
Life. It's good. :)

Contents

I carry a tiny purse. Always have. I've actually carried the SAME tiny purse for going on 3 years. It's turquoise and brown, and actually matches very little of what I wear. But I fell in love with it three years ago (before turquoise and brown was even cool), and Darren bought it for me for Christmas. It's the most expensive purse I've ever carried, but I'm to the point now that I can justify its expense: after all, I've never carried a purse for more than 3 months, let alone 3 years!

It's tiny (10 inches long by 4.5 inches wide (at the bottom) by 4 inches deep) , but I can pack everything I need into it. Here's a glimpse of what's in it as I type:


1 wallet (no credit cards - don't use 'em, and no cash - 'cause I never have cash. I'd spend it on stupid stuff.) The rest of your usual wallet stuff is there though - driver's license, debit card, Costco card, insurance card, various business cards, receipts... and a newCingular sim card for Dani's phone. Nothing too exciting.

1 cell phone (old school. I don't qualify for a free upgrade until April, and I'm too cheap to just go buy a cooler phone. So I'll wait.)

1 Barnes and Noble gift card. (Darren's. He won the card at work last week, and we went to B&N on a hot date tonight and didn't even spend it! What's up with THAT?)

2 ColorBox ink pads (black and royal blue)
1 pair scrapbooking scissors
1 black Sharpie
1 white GellyRoll pen
2 mechanical pencils
2 Burt's Bees lip balms (regular and Champagne Shimmer)
1 Clinique lipstick (Deeply Rose. I hate the color. Why is it in my purse??)
1 pack Trident Cinnamon gum
1 Moleskine
1 empty Pappa's Restaurants mint wrapper
1 set house keys that don't work anymore (we changed the locks last week)
1 set keys (car and new house key)
1 DumDums wrapper, Cream Soda flavor
1 gold forearm (from Ian's Power Ranger, I think)
1 piece of cropped photo with a note written on the back
5 3/8" screws
1 eye hook
1 random, lone pen lid
1 wadded Orbit wrapper with chewed gum inside it
27 pennies
1 dime
4 of my business cards (need to restock those)
Usually my little CanonA80 is in there too, but I was using it to take the picture :)

My most cherished possession in my purse is my Moleskine. First of all, every artist/writer/thinker needs one of these. They come in different sizes and with different pages (I have the plain notebook, pocket size), and were used by such greats as Van Gogh and Hemingway. I use mine for quotes and inspirations.

I try to keep it in my purse, but inevitably, half the times I hear or read a quote I want to add to it, I realize that it's sitting at home in my studio. I reference it all the time when I'm scrapbooking. Seriously. All. the. time.

Tonight it happens to be in my purse because as we headed out the door to Barnes and Noble (where I bought my Moleskine a year or so ago, by the way), I thought to grab it. Well, see, I thought to grab it, but then I forgot. So I called Dani and had her meet me out front with it. Turns out, I didn't add much to it tonight as I scanned the books and magazines at B&N, but something I read reminded me of the quote Aidan provided the other day: "Mommy, I like loving you." Tonight, sitting at a table near the Travel stacks, it hit me. It's my newest quote, and my favorite. And it's attributed to Aidan Kocur, right next to "I love you more than yesterday, less than tomorrow" by Edmand Rostand.

I gotta change my purse soon. I have a brand new, beautifully-designed-by-Elaine Z Becky Brown bag sitting here ready to be packed. It's still smallish, but not tiny. It'll fit everything and then some. And my Moleskine will feel right at home there. :)

It's complementary, my dear

I used to keep a happy box. It contained cards, letters, notes, and clippings that made me happy. I still have that box. It's stuffed to the brim and sitting on my closet shelf. But I don't "keep" one anymore. Instead, now I have notes stashed here and there - in my email, in my PM box on ScrapShare, in the comments sections of this blog, in a clear acrylic box on my desk, on my bulletin board, in the top drawer of my chest of drawers....

I also have slips of paper where I've jotted down quotes that I liked, or snippets of conversations I had with the kids. Those things are strewn about as well.

Mostly, the things I've kept for the last several years have been compliments. Sometimes, when I come across them, my heart heaves with joy. I'm glad I keep those things. They've been my saving grace many times. I sometimes don't respond to the compliments that come my way. Sometimes I'm too embarrassed by them, sometimes they feel undeserved, and ... well, I'm just really bad about accepting compliments in any form. I don't know how to do it graciously. I'm more likely to roll my eyes and make a joke about it.

So now, I'd like to take this opportunity to say thank you. THANK YOU. You know who you are. You know the text messages you've sent me, the emails and PMs you've taken the time to type, the notes you've spent .37 on to mail me. Thank you. I may not have answered, but I kept them. I read them. I appreciate them.

Tonight, I received a compliment that made my heart happy. As I tucked Aidan into bed, he said, "Mommy? I like loving you."

If hearts could sing out loud, mine would've been doing so.

I'm thinking of gathering all the compliments into once place: a scrapbook. What should I title it? Would that be completely and totally egomaniacal of me?

Compliments.
They speak truth to my doubtful heart.
I should celebrate them more than I do.
I should believe them.
I should accept them graciously.

"I can live for two months on a good compliment." ~Mark Twain

Fortitude

Dani wanted to be in choir this year.
She wanted to be in the highly competitive A Capella Choir. So last spring, she started learning to sightread music, since that's a requirement of A Capella.

She auditioned in May and was dejected when she was placed in the Select Treble Choir instead.

Over the summer, she came to terms with being in Treble, even though her best friends were going to be in A Capella. She worked hard on her sightreading and realized that Treble could be a jumping point to GET to A Capella. She was ready to start her sophomore year with a good attitude about it.

Then came her schedule fiasco. Instead of one of her English classes, they put her in Art. (YES, my awesome writer of a daughter wanted to double up on English this year and got it approved by her academic advisor 'cause she's a Word Nerd like me and BOY does that make me proud!) In trying to get that fixed, they dropped her from Treble Choir to Concert Choir.

"Another new schedule," she texted me. "They put me in Concert Choir! Grrrr." She went and talked to the choir director about it (new director this year... not the one who auditioned Dani last spring), who said, "Well, okay. Let's audition you again right now." So on the spur of the moment, with no warm-up and while reeling emotionally, Dani had to sing. The director said, "I think you're in the right class." Dani was despondent.

"I psyched myself up all summer for Treble," she cried to me later. "And I was excited about it. I was gonna do my best. It's what I was PLACED in when I auditioned. And now the counselor just moved me to beginner's choir? And the Director is just letting it GO? The kids in there can't even carry a tune! They're tone deaf! That class doesn't even get to compete in UIL. This is not fair!!"

My heart broke for her. I remember 20 years ago auditioning for a Pop Singing Group and not making the final cut. To this day, it remains one of my most painful emotional injuries. I let her weep and wail and whine.

Then I reminded her that she KNOWS she can sing, that she has a beautiful voice, even. "You can survive this," I said. "It sucks and it's not fair, but it's what's been handed to you. You control how you handle it."

She decided to go in the next day with a good attitude. She sang out when they learned the school song. She sang the ALTO part out ('cause she can read music, you know). She smiled. She sat straight. She was her usual bundle of energy and joy. At dinner on the third night of school, she talked us into letting her take private voice lessons instead of guitar this semester.

On the 5th day, the director pulled her aside and said, "Dani, I was wrong. You belong in Treble." I'm not sure how Dani reacted in that moment. But when she called me at lunch, she was animated and ecstatic.

In 5 days, she had 4 different schedules. This week, finally, she's been able to settle in to 10th Grade. She's singing Alto. She's making friends in Treble. She's taking English II, English III, World History, 80-minute Algebra II/Trig, Latin III and Chemistry - all honors - along with Treble. And she's thinking about trying to walk on to the soccer team.

I hated that she had to live through all the turmoil of last week.
But I love that she proved to herself that she can handle it.
I'm so proud to be her Mom.

for-ti-tude  (fawr-ti-tood, -tyood)
noun
mental and emotional strength in facing difficulty, adversity, danger, or temptation courageously

He did it

Unflinching.
Smiling.
Waving.
Striding.
Almost bouncing, even.
Disappearing.

After school, he climbed into the van and said, "Let's go to Braum's."

We did.
'Cause he did.
:)

Kindergarten

Doesn't he look BIG? Doesn't he look PROUD? Doesn't he look PRECIOUS? He was!

The day finally arrived - the day he'd been anticipating since he was 3. The day that he expected last December when he awoke on his 5th birthday.

He sailed through the first day of Kindergarten with no problems. He loved it. After school, we celebrated at Cracker Barrel with any dessert the kids wanted. (We've been doing that since DANI's first day of Kindergarten. It's where she wanted to go that year, and we've done it every year since.) I tried to change the tradition, because our choices are so much BETTER now. "Are you sure you don't want Marble Slab? How 'bout Chili's? Wouldn't you rather go to Pappasito's?" Dani was aghast that I'd suggest such a thing. We went to CRACKER BARREL, thank you very much, 'cause that's what we've ALWAYS done. Okay then. It appears Dani is growing up, though. She had a salad instead of dessert. WHAT ABOUT TRADITION, DANI, huh?? HUH??




Aidan did great on day 2, too. But on Day 3, he woke up weepy and cranky. He hated the socks I laid out for him. He hated the way I brushed his hair. He hated his favorite cereal. And when we got to school, he hated it. He cried at his locker, and when I tried to walk him into class, he planted his feet and cried, "No no no no!"
His teacher came out, said, "What's THIS? One more hug. Bye Mommy!" As I walked away, I could hear his wimpers... "Mommy. Mommy, Mommy Mommy!" I wasn't as much SAD as I was bewildered. This just wasn't my Aidan. He's always been independent and ready for fun. I mean, ask Grammy and PapPap; they'll tell you: Aidan is the kid who cries when it's time to go HOME!

The next morning, he woke in a better mood, but still said he didn't want to go to school. It's not fun. All they do is learn rules. He doesn't get to play all the time. And he didn't realize that he has to go every. single. day. I left him in tears again on Day 4, despite the fact that I'd tried bribery and packed his lunch with S'more Sandwiches (graham crackers slathered with Nutella and Marshmallow Creme), Oreos and Fruit Roll-ups. (By the way. Don't try that at home. The teacher will send a note home that says "Please only pack one sweet in Aidan's lunch per day." LOL!)

Day 5 was good again. He was reluctant to go inside, but there were no tears. I rewarded him that night with a Mommy Date at Putt-Putt. :)

This weekend, I started talking to him about going inside by himself, something that I truly thought he'd DEMAND on Day 2 or 3. He freaked out when I mentioned it. "Maybe when I'm 6 I'll be ready," he offered.

Today was good. He was excited about school again, and was all smiles as we walked toward the building. He asked to go "the long way", so we did. THen he shoved his backpack into his locker, walked confidently into class, and turned around to give me a thumbs-up sign. I wish I had a picture of that. His crying and pleading last week didn't make me cry, but let me tell you. As I walked away this morning with the image of his thumbs-up and smiling face in my head, my eyes were moist.

This afternoon on TV, he saw a commercial for Braums' Banana Split Sundae. "OOOh. Can I have one of those, Mom?" he asked.

"Someday," I answered vaguely.

"When?" he prodded.

"On the first day that you walk into school by yourself, I'll get you one."

He was satisfied with that answer. Later at dinner, he announced that he was going to walk into school by himself tomorrow. Looks like dessert is on my schdule after school again. I'll let you know. :)

Remarkable

I have a friend who I tried to convert to scrapbooking for years. "I'm unremarkable. I have nothing to scrap. When I get a life, maybe then I'll do it," she always argued.

I always thought that was the saddest thing I'd ever heard. Of COURSE she had a life. She was (still is) beautiful. She had a great job. She was a Super Aunt to 2 adorable neices. She drove a Mustang. She had great taste in music. She thought her life was humdrum, so-so, unremarkable. But it wasn't. It was her life. I ached for her to celebrate it.

I have other friends who've started blogs, published a few entries, then abruptly stopped. "Why aren't you writing?" I ask. "I keep checking for an update." Invariably, the answer is the same: "I don't have anything to write about. My life's not exciting."

Neither is mine. I mean, really. I lead a pretty humdrum life. I get up at 7 most mornings, rush through the morning routine, get the two older kids off to school, settle down in my studio to work, break for lunch when I think about it or when Ian starts begging for food, think about dinner when Darren comes through the door at 6, stay up too late reading or scrapping or chatting, and start all over the next day.

Sometimes I have lunch with friends and drop a chipotle shrimp on my shelf without even noticing until my kid says, "Mom. There's a shrimp on your shirt."

Sometimes I get a call from Rodney (my beloved brother who lives in Seattle and whom I haven't seen in too many years) and we laugh and cry and snark and talk about stuff for 2 hours at a time until our sides ache and our smile muscles are weary and our hearts are spent.

Sometimes I swordfight with Ian in the front yard (he always gives me the BROKEN sword, little cheater that he is), dueling gallantly until he finally rips open my gut and chops off my arm and leaves me to die spectacularly in the overgrown grass under a 104-degree sun with who knows which neighbors giggling from behind their bushes or from the picture windows of their air-conditioned houses.

Last week, I packed for Aidan a lunch (it was bribery, I'll admit it) that consisted of S'more Sandwiches, 2 Oreo cookies and a Fruit Roll-Up, prompting a note home from his teacher which read "Please only send one sweet in Aidan's lunch per day."

I drew smiley faces and hearts and flowers and a big swirly "DANI" on my 15-year-old daughter's lunch sack (she's too cool for a lunch BOX, you know), hoping she wouldn't be embarrassed of it, and half figuring she'd throw the sack away and stash her sandwich and chips in her purse as soon as she got to school. But instead, she was PROUD of that little sack and announced after school, "Hey Mom. Marissa loved your artwork. She said she wishes HER mom would draw on her sacks." Oh... I forgot to mention that in the bottom corner of the sack, I wrote boldly, "Dani has the coolest Mom EVER." :)

Thursday night, I went upstairs to kiss the boys goodnight. When I reached the landing to head back down to the family room, I was suddenly slammed with the realization that I was exhausted. I haven't yet changed my nightly routine. I'm still staying up 'til 2 or so in the morning, but rising at 7. By Thursday night, it'd caught up with me and I turned on my heel and walked straight to my bedroom instead of back down the stairs. I was snoring by 9:30.

Tonight, we ate at CiCi's Pizza, then Dani generously bathed the boys and put them to bed while Darren and I snuggled on the couch and watched "Anger Management". We laughed and laughed. Our fat cat snuggled with us and (weird cat that she is) kept licking the back of my neck. Eventually, Dani came down and watched the end of the movie with us. We didn't even have popcorn.

These aren't exactly the things that define an exciting life. It's unremarkable. But it's MY life. It's everything I've ever dreamed of. It's safe, it's warm, it's happy, it's peaceful.

I'm not clothed in physical beauty. I'm not showered with monetary blessings. I'm not overrun with talent or grace or wisdom.

But I lead a life that's fun to scrap.
I have a life worth writing about.
Celebrate it, 'cause so do you.
Get to it! Be remarkable!

"My students were middle-class kids who were ashamed of their background. They felt like unless they grew up in poverty, they had nothing to write about...I felt sorry for these kids, that they thought their whole past was absolutely worthless because it was less than remarkable."
-David Sedaris, from an interview in January Magazine

Photos - real and imagined

Tried posting photos again, both from my Image Event site and by uploading directly to Blogger. Tried copying code from a previous photo and changing the URL, but got the dreaded red X. Still using IE. Will try Firefox tomorrow, after I figure out how to get it and use it.

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In the meantime, let me see if I can paint a mental picture for you. (I don't have an actual photo anyway, so this should be fun!)

So Dani's in 10th grade now. LOVING not being a freshman anymore. She was mean on the first day of school and told some scared little Fish that there IS a 3rd floor at their school. There isn't. She made up for that later by walking another Fish to her class after she got lost.

But it was on the SECOND day of school that she really got knocked down a notch or two. Before class, she was sitting sideways in her desk, talking to her friend, with one leg thrown over the metal bar that connects the seat to the table part of the desk. When the bell rang and class began, she swung her leg over like she's done a hundred times before and started to swivel her butt into place when something went terribly wrong.

Before she could stop herself, everything went into super slow motion as she fell backwards... out of her seat, ONto her rear-end, landing on her purse and smashing the display thingy on her cell phone. Bummer.

While the teacher and most of the class was saying, "Oh my gosh! Are you ALRIGHT?", she was laughing hysterically. "I FELL OUT OF MY DESK!! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA...." she roared through embarrassed but wild, rocking laughter.

She is SO like me. That's exactly what I'd do if I fell out of my desk. In fact, yah. Um, it happened last week.

I was sitting at MY desk in my studio in the next room, while Dani sat here at the computer. Too lazy to get off my butt and walk 2 steps to my paper trolley, I instead leaned way over in my chair to grab the paper I needed. Suddenly, in slow motion, the wheels on my chair lifted off and I found myself flying towards the whole rack of paper. I started yelling, "HELP! HELP!"

I was stranded on my knees, with the chair on my back. If I moved in any direction, catastrophe would ensue. Paper would go every which way, I'd probably break the window behind me, and I'd knock every thing off the magnet board in the process. (My studio is TINY. Seriously. It's like a deck of cards in there... if one thing gets wonky and falls over, the whole room is sure to follow.)

So, like a champ, Dani came running in and saved the day, lifting the chair off of me and helping me to my feet. All the while, I was GUFFAWING at the top of my lungs. "Dork," she said as she moseyed back to the computer.

I wish I'd been in her Latin class when she fell out of her desk so I could have muttered "Dork" to her.

Like mother, like daughter.

stupid blogger and nasty snakes

I refuse to blog about Aidan's first day of Kindergarten or Dani's hilarious entry into 10th grade until STUPID BLOGGER DECIDES TO LET ME POST PICTURES AGAIN GRRRRRR THIS IS GETTING RIDICULOUS AND I'M SERIOUSLY ABOUT TO DUMP THIS STUPID FREE BLOG AND MOVE EVERYTHING TO TYPEPAD OR SOMETHING IF IT DOESN'T GET BETTER SOON.

Oh. my. Sorry about that.

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Last week, Samuel L Jackson called me on my cell phone!
It was hilarious. He called me by name. "Hey Stacy. This is Samuel L. Jackson." He started off by telling me to go see his new movie "Snakes on a Plane." And that I needed to stop doing my housewife stuff, stop driving around in my 'Suburban Utility Vehicle', stop getting pedicures and chatting online so much and to GO TO THE MOVIES. He said he was gonna kick my butt if I didn't. He got really snarly at the end of the call. I was CRACKING. UP!

Funny thing was, the call came from my friend's cell phone. So I called her back and said, "Jerica! Weird thing. Samuel L Jackson just called me from your cell phone."

She busted out laughing. "Was that HILARIOUS or WHAT??" she asked.

You can send a phone message too. Just go to

Clever marketing, but it ain't gonna work for me. I never saw Anaconda or Arachnophobia, and I SURE ain't gonna see Snakes on a Plane! Nasty.

Red

I didn't use to like red.
I didn't DISLIKE it exactly, but it certainly wasn't my favorite color. Then somewhere in my early-to-mid thirties, that started to change. In fact, I think it happened when we bought our first house, and I was able to (FINALLY!) paint and decorate the way *I* wanted.

I'd always said that my favorite colors were shades of blue.
But when I was shopping for house stuff and looking for inspiration, it was the reds that spoke to me and made me happy. I'm picky about my reds, though. I don't like tomato red. I like the color of Red Delicious apples. Red with blue undertones. Deep, dark reds.

I painted my family room a dark red. Darren was having a heart attack when I picked out the paint and brought it home. He couldn't imagine. A RED ROOM? We compromised by installing bead board on the lower half of the walls and painting it a creamy white. The red went on the top half. I love it.

I have little accents of red throughout my house - on candles, bookends, lampshades, stained glass, pillows, books....

My kitchen is dotted with red things. In fact, one of my favorite things of ALL is a simple little enamel colander that I bought at Target. (LOVE Target, too. Probably 'cause the whole STORE is red. Tomato red, yah, but red just the same.) When I had to buy a new toaster recently, I searched high and low until I found a red one. At the antique auction that Darren and I often attend, we've seen a gazillion old bread bins. I never was interested...until a beat up old red one came along. At Canton, I was frugal and thrifty... until I spied an old red bucket that I had to have - I could see it hanging from the pot rack in my kitchen. I talked the guy down 3 bucks, but still spent $15 on it. Don't regret it, either.

My car is red. Darren KNEW I'd love it.
I love reddish shades of lipstick. You won't catch me in pink.
My favorite shirts are reds and corals.
In our most recent professional family portrait (taken *gasp!* 4 years ago!), I made the whole family wear deep red. Still love that photo... us in reds and denims and khakis sitting in a field of Texas Bluebonnets.

Tonight, I googled "favorite colors", just to see what was out there. And I discovered that red means this:

The color of strength, health, and vitality, Red is often the color chosen by someone outgoing, aggressive, vigorous, and impulsive--or who would like to be! It goes with an ambitious nature but those who choose it can be abrupt at times, determined to get all they can out of life, quick to judge people and take sides. Red people are usually optimistic and can’t stand monotony; they are rather restless and not at all introspective, so they may be unaware of their own shortcomings. They find it hard to be objective and may blame others for any mishaps. Quiet people with a preference for red may feel the need for the warmth, strength and life-giving qualities of the color, or they blanket their true feelings under a sober exterior. Red is usually chosen by those with open and uncomplicated natures, with a zest for life.

I'd say that's mostly accurate - the good AND the bad.

But there's one red I most definitely do NOT like.
One of these is not like the others.
One of these things just doesn't belong.

Can you guess?
(aw MAN. I created a cool collage of all things red, but Blogger is being a punk and won't upload my photo. Will try to add it later. Until then, you can view it HERE.)

What's YOUR favorite color?

I'm skurt it's gonna hurt!

Back in May, Dani won 4 tickets to a local water park on the radio - a package worth $76! Today, on our last official day of summer break, we finally took the kids to that park. WHAT FUN!

We slid, splashed, dunked, squirted, sploshed, sputtered, floated, swam, plunged and squished our way through every square inch of the place. Ian was a CRAZY BRAVE BOY and went down even the scariest slides all by himself. He cracked me up, gathering his courage at the top of each one... stepping back, looking around, creeping forward again, then taking a big breath, lowering his octopus goggles (a GREAT find in Target's Dollar Spot earlier this summer!), and stepping off into the great unknown. He arrived at the bottom, every single time, with his mouth wide open in laughter, sputtering and spitting and catching his breath. SO PRECIOUS. Aidan, on the other hand, would've been content the WHOLE time just hanging out under the giant bucket of water, waiting for it to unload a torrent on people below, and behind the many squirt guns and nozzles, aiming at unsuspecting grown-ups.

Darren and Dani spent some time together riding the "big slides" - water roller coasters, if you will. Darren said it amazed him that even going UPHILL, the water's force is enough to keep you going, and going FAST. Fun fun fun!

We used SPF 50, waterproof, and used it liberally. Everyone else looks fine. Little burn. But ME? I'm a crispy critter. My forehead is the color of raw hamburger, and my shoulders and upper back are a nice shade of watermelon. (The meaty INside, not the stripey green outside, you sillies.)

Dani just slathered me down with aloe vera. I can feel the burn rising. I'm skurt it's gonna hurt!

the view

I think I've blogged before about the view from my master bathroom window. Every morning, first thing, I sit down there and peer through the shutters at the world below. This morning at barely-dawn, I saw that Dani had taken the trash cans down to the curb the night before, I saw that the neighbor behind us had her lights on already, I saw birds and squirrels scampering about. I noticed that we still have chairs scattered about from our last barbecue (need to put those back in the garage), and that my plants need watering. I love looking out at the backyard every morning. It's one of my favorite activities of the day. (Gee, you think my life might need a little more activity??)

But this afternoon, I struck upon a funny observation. My OTHER favorite view is from the tiny bathroom downstairs. It's situated beneath the stairs, and is sunken several feet below the rest of the house. When I sit THERE and look out the window, I'm gazing UPward instead of down. And this is what I see:


I love the steep pitch of my neighbor's house against the brilliant blue Texas sky. I love the Crepe Myrtle trees with their smooth bark and their fuschia blooms, even in the scorching heat (yes. They're pink. I must be softening.) I once saw a small snake slithering and winding its way up the trunk of one of the trees, and I must say, even though I knew it couldn't "get me", I couldn't finish my business and get out of their fast enough! Now I always check for snakes in the tree when I'm gazing. I love the frame that hangs in the window. I love the birds and the geckos that hang out, and I love how the trees bob and dance in the breeze, when there IS one.

In this oppressive summer heat (today was the 25th day we've hit 100 or above this summer), we keep our drapes drawn and the shutters closed, to help keep the house cooler. But when I'm in that tiny bathroom, I always pull open the shutters and gaze at the world up there.

I love the view. It's a simple one, really. Not much to see.
But I find myself feeling lifted somehow when I gaze up from below. Thank God for the little things.

Short People Got No Reason

This, from Dani's blog:

grim news

I went to the doctor for a well-child check-up today, and also to get my Tetanus and Hep A shots. We went through the routine: blood pressure, height, weight, etc. The nurse kind of gave me a funny look and marked something on her sheet. Anxiously, I waited for the doctor to come in. Again, we went through the routine: "Breathe in deep, say 'ahhh', bend over and touch your toes." Then she pulled out the chart.

"How bad is it, Doctor?" I asked.

"Better than we anticipated," she replied. "We've seen some progress, but I do admit that it is minimal. But there's still hope."

I let out a sigh and prepared myself for the worst. My doctor gave me the Look; you know, that sympathetic, 'I feel your pain' look that they get when they're about to break the bad news.

"We can expect for you to grow to 5'0, or 5'1" she finally said.

I felt the tears flood my eyes as I let the heartbreaking news overwhelm me. I had never held out much hope, but that last bit that I did cling to was now completely squashed.
We discussed my options, how I could still live a normal life, and I allowed myself to accept the reality that is my height.

Please keep me and my family in your prayers as we deal with the trauma. Thank you.

posted by Dani @ 8/08/2006 10:36:00 PM

I'm 5'2". Darren's 5'5". Poor Dani.
She's short, but isn't she GORGEOUS?

The Year (so far)

I scrapbooked for ME today. YAY!
(click the image to see it larger)

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Tonight, after the boys were tucked in for the night and the others of us had settled down to relax, Dani suggested that we watch a movie. Nevermind that it was 10:45. Darren and I both agreed, and within minutes, I'd popped popcorn, tossed in some M&Ms for good measure, and we were all sitting in front of "The End of the Spear". oh. MY. If you haven't watched this movie, go directly to Netflix and move it to the top of your queue. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200 dollars. At first, you'll be asking each other, "What just happened? What's going on?" But stick with it. It'll all make sense, and it comes together BEAUTIFULLY. Watch it. Seriously.

Around midnight, a little voice rang out from behind us. "I SMELL POT CORN." It was Ian. Aidan was standing right behind him. Both of them were sleepy-eyed, and I can just imagine what happened. They were in dreamland when the smell of popcorn wafted into their room. At first they thought they were dreaming, but soon the aroma was enough to pull them out of slumber and down the stairs. They felt completely betrayed. I remember feeling that as a kid, too!

For years, my Mom and Dad would serve themselves heaping bowls of ice cream after we kids were in bed. I'd hear the clinking of their spoons against their bowls, and it always brought with it a feeling of betrayal. How DARE they have ice cream without us kids?? Tonight, I felt so badly for the boys that I almost invited them to snuggle up to me on the couch and dig in.

But I didn't.
They're kids.
They need their sleep.
Besides, they're not old enough for "End of the Spear".

But you are.
Go. Watch. It.

baseball

Summer almost got away from us without me having to sit through a dreadful 9 innings this year. But ALAS. Yesterday, Darren noticed that our minor league team, the Fort Worth Cats, was having KIDS NIGHT tonight. And so, along with our friends, the Carmans, we went.

"The only redeeming thing about a baseball game is the hot dogs," I groused as soon as we found our seats. One hot dog, way too many peanuts, 2 diet cokes and a Tums later, I must admit I was wrong about that. There were MANY redeeming factors tonight:

It was Dale and Kristi's 18th Anniversary, and while we were all aware of that, we were UNaware that Dani had secretly made her way to the announcer's booth and requested that they wish the Carman's a happy one. That is, until we heard their names come blasting over the speakers. That was cool.

As Darren chauffeured the boys to the bathroom, little 2-year-old Jonathan tagged along. Aidan put his arm around Jonathan's shoulder and walked with him like that all the way down the sidewalk. It was sweet to watch.

Toward the end of the game, we broke the sad news to the boys that there would be no "running of the bases" after tonight's game. For some reason, the announcers hadn't mentioned it at all throughout the whole night, so we assumed it must've been a last season thing and they weren't doing it anymore. Both boys cried, because they were SO looking forward to it. It's the one thing they remembered from last year's Cats game.

As soon as we won the game, we were treated to a fireworks show. I laid on my back across the bleacher and watched as the bombs burst in air directly above me. FANTASTIC. Suddenly, ash started raining down on me. It was kinda cool. Some of it was ashy and papery, but some of it felt like sand. And the smell of fireworks... totally love that. When the pelting of sand-ash finally started getting to me, I sat up and saw sweet little Faith in her Mommy's arms, looking up at the fireworks, TOTALLY mesmerized, with the biggest grin I've ever seen her wear stretched across her face. It was beautiful, and brought tears to my eyes.

After the fireworks, the lights came back up and... guess what?? The kids got to run the bases!! Aidan and Ian couldn't believe it. Dani and Katherine took Aidan, Ian and Kristopher to the first base line and ran with them. Aidan tore around the bases in his "super-fast mode". We cheered for all three boys as they rounded third toward home. It was so, so cool to see the pride on their faces as their parents hooted and hollared for them. LOVED that.

No photos. My batteries died as soon as we got there. What's up with THAT? I usually take precautions against such things.

On our way out of the park, we noticed a bunch of people peering through a crack between the grandstand seats and the empty underbelly of the stadium below. Down there, strewn about for some reason, were a half dozen tombstones. Engraved. One of the death dates was 1969. What on EARTH? It was bizarre, and I intend to write The Why Guy at Channel 8 to find out WHY. Kinda creepy, when you consider that the Cats play at historic LaGRAVE Field.

Hmmmmm.

So anyway. Baseball. Eh. It's alright, I guess. :)

Something's wrong with me

You know that miniature Three Musketeers that Darren brought me the other night?

I still haven't eaten it.

little things (again and again)

Today, cloaked in a plastic breastplate and weilding an inflatable sword, Ian cried, I'm a WARRIOR!!!" in his best battle voice. Seriously. He can roll his voice as well as any actor I've ever heard. Then he calmly followed with, "I'm a dwarf warrior. 'Cause I'm really small." Cracked. me and Dani. UP!

A few days ago, Aidan said, "Mom. Are you gonna take a shower?"
"WHY?" I asked.
"'Cause you smell bad."
"Thanks for letting me know," I scowled.
Hmpf.

Dani came bounding into my scraproom and just about tore my head off in a gigantic squeezy hug.
"WHAT ON EARTH?" I asked. "What's that about? What a sweet hug!"
"Meh," she retorted as she turned on her heel and walked away. "It's from Martha. She just told me to give you a big squeeze from her [on IM]."

Darren came home late tonight from work. As I was throwing dinner on the table, he slipped into my hand a miniature Three Musketeers bar, undoubtedly pilfered from somebody's candy dish at work. That man knows the way to my heart. <3

"Want me to put the boys to bed tonight?" asked my daughter.
Should I ground her for asking stupid questions? No?

We had kielbasa, mashed potatoes and green beans for dinner tonight. Aidan made islands with his mashed potatoes that got smaller with each bite. "OH NO! Another wave!" he'd say as he scooped up a slice of island onto his fork. Meanwhile, Ian forked a piece of sausage and yelled, "RUN FOR YOU LIFE! METEOR!", as he twisted and hurled his meteor through outer space. As it neared his mouth, he yelled, "TURN!"... and it did. Aidan planted green beans in his potato islands. One fell over. "The tree is DEAD," he explained. "Gotta eat it now." Ian kept spearing meteors until he had 5 on his fork. "METEOR! METEOR!" he exclaimed. "They're called MEATY ORS! BWAHA HA HA HA!" I said. "MEATY ORS!" Ian just looked at me. He didn't smile. He didn't laugh. His eyes just danced and said, "Mom is lame."

"He doesn't think it's funny because HE didn't make it up," quipped Darren.

True, that.

Playing with your food at dinner.
Gotta love the little things.

Champions

I'm participating in an online workshop with several scrapbooking friends. We're using the book "The Artist's Way: a spiritual path to greater creativity" by Julia Cameron. In Chapter One, we were challenged to write about our creative champions - those people in our past and present who cultivated our talents, cheered us on in our creative pursuits, believed in us even when we didn't believe ourselves, etc. It's easy for me to think of people who've championed me over the years. The first four who came to mind...

My sister is one. She has always, always encouraged me to write. When I visited her recently, she championed me at the scrapbook store. The owner started talking about techniques, and I was listening patiently and attentively, when Bobbie interrupted with, "Oh. Please. You're talking to the pro here. She can teach YOU techniques." I was embarrassed, especially when she went on and on about it. Then at the hair salon, the lady who COMPLETELY BUTCHERED MY HAIR BUT I DIGRESS said, "Stacy, your sister is so pretty. Tell her that she doesn't need to hide behind long hair and to keep it short." Now see, I've heard that all my life - that my sister is SO PRETTY. And she is. But this time, Bobbie overheard it, and interjected with, "Stacy is SO TALENTED. She can do everything. She can sing, she takes such good photographs that ALL her friends make her do their family portraits, she writes, she makes amazing scrapbooks that people pay big bucks for...." and she went on. Again, I was embarrassed and tried to discount it all. But how I love her for championing me when I won't champion myself.

My friend Becky has always championed my writing. She has a file of newsletter columns I wrote in the 90s. *I* didn't even keep copies of those! But Becky has them, and refers to certain ones from time to time. She still reads them. That amazes me. Whenever I think that my writing could never appeal to anyone, I think of Becky. And that refocuses me everytime. She sometimes asks if I'm submitting things for publication, and when I say "no", she curls her lip at me and gives me the hairy eyeball. lol!

My friend Bob. Bob champions me by revealing truths to me about myself. Bob is never afraid to speak the truth, even when it's ugly, even when it's hard. But at the same time, Bob constantly affirms me by telling me that I'm worthy, beautiful, fun AND funny, talented, giving, and loved. Bob challenges me to be better in every aspect of my life - creatively, spiritually, physically and emotionally. I'm actually sad for the people in this world who don't have Bobs in their lives!

And finally, Darren. No woman on earth has ever had a husband who is so accomodating, so in touch, so totally supportive of her creative pursuits. He constantly urges me to blog. And every SINGLE time I've threatened to delete an entry that I felt was too honest, too personal, too whatever, he's pursuaded me to keep it. Because after all, this blog is for me and mine. Someday, I'll be glad it's all here - the good, the bad, and the ugly. Darren champions me consistently - by nurturing me, by believing in me, by bragging on me, by being interested in what's interesing me. Whether it's painting a wall at church, or writing quotes around all the window frames in my office, or glueing rope to the walls in the boys' room, or rearranging the family room furniture AGAIN, or painting a mural on the playhouse, or scrapping until the wee hours of the morning, or writing a play for VBS... whatever it is I'm doing, Darren is my biggest champion.

Who are your champions?

trees

Dumb blogger won't let me upload any pics. Grrr. I'll try to add 'em later when Blogger's in a better mood.

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You might recall that back in April, our big cedar tree declared itself dead and fell on the neighbor's roof.

Well, ever since that day, Darren has slowly sawed and hacked away at that tree, starting with the lowest limbs and working up. It had gotten to the point where he was using a pole chain saw, above his head, standing 20 feet up on a ladder. I was not amused. I insisted that he CUT IT OUT and call a tree man.

Flash forward to last weekend. I was driving home from Tennessee and called Darren. When he answered, he was out of breath.

"What's up?" I asked.
"Workin' in the yard," he answered.
"What are you doing?" I pressed.
"Uh. Gettin' in trouble," he said slyly.
"What. Are. You. DOING?" I insisted.

"I topped the tree."
"You topped the TREE??? DARREN!"
"And it broke one of the family room windows."
"You topped the freakin' TREE?"

He apologized over and over about the window. But I did not care one WHIT about that dumb window. To his credit, he had nailed plywood over the window he thought the tree MIGHT hit. He had even placed a sheet of plywood on the porch roof, to ward off any damage should the tree land there. But as trees often DO when they're cut, it twisted and fell slightly off course. WHICH IS WHY I DIDN'T want Darren to top the dumb thing.

"You're lucky it didn't twist and land on your sorry self," I murmured. He tried to convince me that he'd been very careful and was completely out of harm's way. I didn't care. I was pissed.

"If you'd've been killed," I said, "at your funeral, I'd be like Valerie, Miracle Max's wife on The Princess Bride, and I'd be saying, "Boo! booooooooooo!"

Hmpf.

In other news, we were all sitting on the front porch Friday night when Darren's mom and I started hearing crackling sounds. At first, I thought someone had leftover bottle caps from the 4th of July and were popping them out in the street. Then it got louder, and I stood to look, 'cause it sounded like a fire crackling. And then it happened. A huge branch came crashing down out of one of the pecan trees out front. NOT DEAD. Totally green and healthy. And totally heavy-laden with nuts. Enough weight to break this huge branch right off. It landed right in the street along the curb, where our neighbor ALWAYS parks his car. Only that night, it was parked across the street in another neighbor's driveway, 'cause they were on vacation. How's that for luck?

Darren was only too happy to get out the chainsaw again and chop it up... and now we have good pecan wood for smoking meat this fall.

Stupid trees. Can't trust any of 'em.

:)

the gift

All week long, my seester was excited about my birthday gift. She couldn't give it to me, though, 'cause all the pieces hadn't yet arrived. I couldn't imagine what on earth it could be.

On Friday, the boys and I drove two hours to Nashville to meet up with my dear friend Elaine, who lives two hours away in Alabama. Another friend, Amy, happened to be two hours away as well, visiting her brother in Chattanooga. We spent Friday evening stolling around and taking a boat ride through the Gaylord Opryland hotel, which was very, very cool. Then on Saturday, Elaine and I took the kids to the Nashville Zoo. It was low-key and relaxing, and I loved watching our kids interract so well and become friends. Today, Elaine told me that her youngest daughter (who's 2) asked when Stacy is coming to her house. Aww!!

When I arrived back at my sister's house, the gift was waiting for me on the kitchen table. It was a pink and brown canvas bin thingy filled to the brim with my favorite things. My sister had stalked my blog to come up with things that I love! There was a gift card to Sonic, Aveda Hand Therapy lotion, 3 Tyler candles, a Mary Engelbreit mouse pad, a precious silver heart charm with my name engraved on it, a sign for my scrap room that says "Stacy's Parking Only - all others will be towed", and a book: In Her Shoes.
It was the sweetest, most thoughtful gift.

On Sunday, we drove to Mississippi for Brittani's swim meet. It was her first meet in her new age bracket; at her most recent meet, she had the best times in the 11-12 group, but they were still below the slowest times in the 13-14 group. But Brittani will not be beaten! With determination and skill, she ROCKED those lanes, coming in 2nd and 3rd in all her four of her heats. I was so proud! As I took photos from the seating area above the pool, I felt tears gather in my eyes. Her butterfly stroke is absolutely beautiful. Brittani moves with such grace and artistry in the water. She definitely has a gift.

Both of my nieces are undeniably precious. They're considerate, polite, kind, loving, conscientious, reliable, smart and beautiful. I'm so proud of them! (And my sister for raising them!)

Much of the week, I was pretty emotionally absent. I can't explain why or even HOW I felt, but I found myself being withdrawn and quiet and not even making excuses for it or apologizing about it. Bobbie never once chided me or tried to coax me out. She just let me be. She let me rest. She let me wonder and think and reflect and pray. She let me be ME. She loved me anyway, even though her usually fun and energetic sister had come all that way only to be a big blob. And THAT was the best gift of all.

I love you, Bobbie!

an open letter to Kyla...

You'll have to come out of lurkdom and comment, because I'm on to you! Isn't it freaky how NOT anonymous the internet is? We had this discussion with our 15-year-old daughter tonight. ahem.

Anyway, I checked my stat counter tonight... something I haven't done in months... and saw that some people had visited my blog via a link on YOUR blog. And I thought, hmmm. I don't know a Kyla. So I followed the link and read what you wrote about me.

"Blogs I read: stacy: I don't even know this woman in real life. I came across her blog randomly and now I check it everyday. She usually writes about her family, but I find myself strangely connected to her and her emotions. I can identify with her, and I have a weird sense of understanding even though I have no kids. She is creative, talented, and funny. Her humor and openness leaves me longing for updates."

I cannot TELL you how uplifting your words were to me! I haven't felt like blogging all week. I logged in a few times and started to post, but each time I deleted it all and moved along. Tonight, I was stalking my favorite blogs (I read strangers' blogs too! And I never comment... 'cause then they'd think I'm a freak or somethin'. But have you ever heard of Ali Edwards? AMAZING CREATIVE scrapbooker extraordinaire and one heck of a good Momma. She seems REAL. I wish she lived next door, 'cause I swear we'd be best friends. I love her and would tackle her with a big hug if I ever ran into her at say, the airport or something. I've never met her - she's never even heard of me - and yet, I'd be devestated if anything ever happened to her. So see - we're connected in that way, too.)

ANYWAY. I haven't felt like blogging all week. I have so much to say about my trip to Tennessee. I have photos to share. But at the same time, I'm wading through a grayness right now that's washed all the color from me. (That in itself is another blog that's rolling around in my head - based on a profound analogy my friend Elaine made last weekend.) Your single paragraph made me wanna blog.

Are ya happy? I am! You say you're longing for updates. That makes me happy. You say I'm open and HUMOROUS. I can't tell you how happy that makes me. 'Cause I KNOW I've been open lately, but I gotta tell ya. I haven't felt real funny.

Thanks, Kyla. You make my day.

p.s. I created a scrapbook last fall for two retiring employees at your alma mater. The woman was the school nurse and her husband was the bus driver. Know who I'm talking about?? :)

Also... a student from your alma mater is living in my house this summer.

Small world! :)

Dani's Fun Fifteenth

So. My daughter is fifteen today. How can that be?
Just yesterday, she was wacking off her baby curls with a pair of my craft scissors.
Just yesterday, she was jumping from the chair and nearly biting through her tongue when her chin hit the corner of the table. She was singing to her baby cousin Brittani, just two years younger than she. She was shooing me away from her classroom on the first day of Kindergarten. She was telling me not to walk on the grass, 'cause the sign said not to. She was building her first snowman, coming down with chicken pox, winning her first essay contest. She was nursing her first bad sunburn, her first broken heart, her first real fight with me. She was crawling, walking, running, laughing, learning, growing, crying, writing, singing, soccering, guitaring, eye shadowing, flirting... and now she's fifteen. So soon. Isn't she lovely?



That's Brittani (all grown up herself), Dani, Marcus (Dani's friend in Memphis whose family shared dinner with us tonight at Olive Garden - Dani and Marcus met earlier this summer when his youth group came to Fortress to do mission work!), and Brianna.
:)

Thirsty

This afternoon, out of the blue, Ian walked up to Aunt Bobbie and said, "When people hurt my feelings, I run out of energy."

She looked and him, cocked her head to the side, pouted her lips, and said, "Awww. When people are mean to you, you run out of energy?"

"Yah," he answered. "And when someone is REALLY mean to me, the only energy I have left is right here," he said, pointing to his big toe.

"How do you get your energy back?" Bobbie asked.

"By drinking."

ROFLOL!!!

Ian is thirsty. ALWAYS thirsty. That kid arrived in this world begging for a drink. When he was about 3, it actually worried me enough to ask the doctor, "Could he be diabetic? 'Cause he begs for water all the time!"

He loves water. But it has to be cold - from the filtered water thingamajiggy in the fridge. Now that he's tall enough, he's happy to help himself to all the water he can drink. I think it's cool that he's so in touch with his thirst and so adamant about having it quenched NOW.

I'm not that way. Sometimes, I'll get a headache and the first thing that I think is, "Ah. Probably dehydrated. I haven't had anything to drink all day long." (There's a spiritual analogy to be made here, I just know it.)

Ian's right. Drinks DO give you energy. And he's entirely correct that mean people sap it right out of you. Makes me wonder, though. He's only 4. How many mean people experiences has he really had? Sometimes, his wisdom scares me. Am I smart enough to raise this precious kid?

Tonight, as we floated around in the pool (I was the Mommy Shark, he was the Baby Shark and Aidan & Brianna were the doomed teenagers on inflatable rafts. lol), he asked, "Mommy. When sharks get thirsty, what do they drink?"

See, Bobbie's pool is salt water. I told the boys to stop drinking it the first day we were here, 'cause pool water isn't healthy for you. I told them it was salty like the ocean. Ian is now worried about sharks and what they drink when they need energy.

What DO sharks drink? I answered the way any Mom worth her salt would answer:

"Let's ask Daddy."

:D

It starts with SH and ends with it

Dani and I had a heart-to-heart tonight. More accurately, I had the heart-to-heart and she sat there in stunned silence. It was dark out. The only light came from the Tennessee moon. We sat on the pool's edge with our feet dangling in the water, watching the ripples make the moon's reflection go all wonky. That kind of atmosphere is condusive to honest speak. I need a pool in my backyard.

Sometimes, the truth is, when you need to make a point, there's only one word that'll do. Shit. There it is. I don't cuss often, and never around my kids. (Although, I do confess to having a potty mouth. I say "crap" way more than I ought to). I think that's why tonight, when the S word came out of my mouth, Dani sat up straight and listened.

Here's the deal. When I was 16, I came within 3 feet of killing myself and 10 friends who were crammed into my car with me. I was drunk. That night scared the SHIT out of me. I never drove drunk again. I never drove TIPSY again. Tonight, Dani needed to hear that story. And try as I might, I could not come up with a word that made my point any better. I know many of you will disagree. (My sweet husband is one of you.) But hey. I'm feeling honest.

And while I'm at it, there's this:

A beautiful, sweet, very observant friend mentioned to me that I've seemed distant. Funny thing is, she hasn't seen me or spoken to me in person. I've seemed distant online. Well. All I can say is, you should see me in person. I. am. not. myself. Most of my local friends haven't noticed because I've made myself scarse. A chronically, chemically depressed person becomes skilled at hiding it. I am the master.

As much as I hate it, it's time to admit that I need my medicine. The doc told me last November to get on it and STAY on it, and not to wean myself off or else. I weaned. Now I'm dealing with the "or else". Again. Depression is a beast. It's hideous. I fight against it because I don't want it to own me. I stop the medicine because I don't want to be "depressed". I am not a depressive person. I hate the label. It is not ME. My natural state of mind is that of JOY. When I feel the depression building, I compound the problem by getting angry at it. I know it's medical and that if it were cancer, I'd have no problem treating it. I KNOW THAT. But as always happens, I fight fight fight it until I just don't have anything left to fight with. And when that happens, I crash hard. This time, I'm catching myself mid-air. I won't crash. At least not hard.

Even so, as I sit here and admit to the world - to complete strangers and new acquaintances and people whose opinions of who they think I am are changing with every word I write - as I sit here and get honest and acknowledge the beast, the words that come to mind are: Shit. How did I get here again?

And the next words... the ones that sprang to the forefront of my mind and my soul and my heart as I typed that last sentence... are these:

Make me new, Lord Jesus. Make me new.
For it seems that in so many ways, I'm not enough like you.
Take this weary vessel I am in
And mold me once again.
Take my life, take my spirit, make me new.

Tennessee or Bust!

The kids and I set out from Fort Worth yesterday at 1:30. 9 hours, 7 stops to potty and a tank and a half of gas later, we arrived at Bobbie's house.

I'd forgotten to print the mapquest directions before we left home, and this was my first visit to see her since she moved to Tennessee. So on the phone somewhere along the way, I told her I'd call as soon as we got to Jackson, and she could talk me in. But instead of calling Bobbie, I called Darren, and he mapquested for me. Soon enough, I was pulling into her driveway. As soon as my headlights hit her house, the phone rang. It was her!

"How close are you?" she asked.

I thought for a split second that she knew we were right outside, but I decided to test my theory just in case. "Uh, we just crossed the Mississippi River into Memphis." I answered. She was totally bummed that we were still over an hour away. As soon as we hung up, the kids and I giggled and squealed and snuck up to the front door. Dani tried it, and it was unlocked, so we waltzed right in.... down the hall...into the kitchen, where Brittani turned and SCREAMED. Then Dani screamed, then much hugging and squealing and screaming ensued, both from the two of them and from my and my beloved Seester.

Within 60 seconds, Brittani and Dani jumped in the pool, fully clothed. Aidan and Ian were right behind them. Never mind that it was almost 11 o'clock at night. This morning, that's the first thing the boys wanted to do again. :)

So here we are.
SO GOOD TO BE WIH MY SISTER AND HER FAMILY AGAIN.

the wall

Recently, I had the privilege of seeing a vision become reality at Fortress Youth Development Center. I'd long wanted to create a photo wall featuring the kids we minister to. Turned out, my sweet friend Cara shared the same vision. When Exec. Director Michael approached us about sprucing up the Big Room, we already had a plan in mind, and he loved it. "Go for it," he encouraged. So we did.


Weeks of planning: 5
Photos sorted through: 350
Frames purchased: 25
Minutes spent on the phone with Weezie while she worked some photo magic for me: 25
Cost of photo developing: $240
smallest photos: 8x10
largest photos: 24x36
Hours I spent installing the wall: 12
(plus 9 from Darren and 5 from Cara)
Times I almost wet myself 10 feet up a ladder when Cara made me laugh: 3
Times I almost fell off said ladder when I tripped on my gauchos: 2
Paint pens used for words: 2
Watching kids' faces as they spotted their mugs on The Wall: Worth every penny. Worth every minute.

:)

I carry your heart

I just watched "In Her Shoes". Have you seen it? It's an adaptation of the book by the same name. I've been remiss and haven't read the book yet, but I think, judging from the movie, that it's gonna be one that I'll buy and keep.

The story focuses on two sisters - the older one and the younger one. The frumpy one and the pretty one. The protective one and the reactive one. In so, so MANY ways, I identified with them. Rose and Maggie are Stacy and Bobbie. It's no wonder I cried buckets.

I'm taking the DVD with me to Tennessee next week, on the off chance that Bobbie hasn't seen it yet. If not, we'll watch it together. If so, we'll watch it together!

I love my seester. I can't wait to see her again. (IN TWO DAYS!!!!! I'm not excited or anything.)

i carry her heart with me
(i carry it in my heart)

(read the full text of e.e. cummings' poem here.)

the blues

Got an Elton John song rollin' through my head, and it ain't "Crocodile Rock".

I Guess That's Why They Call It The Blues

Don't wish it away
Don't look at it like it's forever
Between you and me I could
honestly say
That things can only get better

And while I'm away
Dust out the demons inside
And it won't be long before you and me run
To the place in our hearts where we hide

And I guess that's why they call it the blues
Time on my hands could be time spent with you
Laughing like children, living like lovers
Rolling like thunder under the covers
And I guess that's why they call it the blues

Just stare into space
Picture my face in your hands
Live for each second without hesitation
And never forget I'm your man

Wait on me girl
Cry in the night if it helps
But more than ever I simply love you
More than I love life itself

Music by Elton John and Davey Johnstone
Lyrics by Bernie Taupin
Available on the album Too Low For Zero
© 1983 Big Pig Music Limited

I don't know why I have the blues, really.
Just today, I've felt sort of... weary.
Kinda blue.

--------------
Cranked out 32 client pages today. You'da thunk THAT woulda fired me up.

--------------

Made a gourmet meal of mac and cheese tonight, and when I went to drain the macaroni, I let the pan slip and all the noodles went straight down the disposal. I handled it OH so well by exclaiming, "HOLY CRAP!", then by throwing the pan in the garbage. Then I cried.

Darren rescued the pan later, washed it, and put it away.

I love that man. I'm sure he doesn't understand what in the WORLD is wrong with me today, 'cause I don't even understand. But boy, does he GET it. Makes me cry all over again.

(((((DARREN)))))

Cool Water

This 6-pack is for Zach, a totally awesome college sophomore who's spending his summer working with inner city kids in Fort Worth. The heat can be unbearable. The road can be parched and barren. I pray for him COOL WATER. In abundance. (And a few IBCs along the way.) :)

I love, love, love being a secret pal!

Tahoka, Texas

Back in May, my friend Joe blogged about missing his hometown: Tahoka, Texas, population Not Many. He's been terribly homesick, and mentioned that anybody finding themselves in West Texas should stop in and visit his folks. "They'd love to have you over," he wrote.

Well. Turns out, we were planning a trip to Colorado, which most definitely would take us through West Texas. So I challenged Joe on his offer. "I hope you mean it," I commented, "'cause we're heading toward Tahoka next month!" Within days, he put his Mom and me in touch with each other and it was official. My family and I were on our way to Tahoka, Texas.

Glo had instructed us to turn on Ave O once we got to town. When we got there, I snarked, "Maybe she meant zero. I don't think there are enough streets in this town to GO all the way to O." Darren quipped, "Maybe the streets are T, A, H, O, and K." We laughed. We had fun cutting down the little town in the 48 seconds it took to drive through it.

"This is one of those towns I'd pass through and think, 'Wow. People live here? Glad I'm not one of them,'" I snorted.

Then we pulled up to Joe and Glo's house. (My friend Joe is named after his Dad. To minimize confusion, from here on out in this story, I'll call my friend what his parents call him - Joe Clyde - even though I know he'd probably thump me in the head if he were here in the same room with me.) Glo received us warmly, saying over and over, "I'm SO glad you're here." Inside, she led us straight back to the patio, where iced tea and root beer awaited us. The local preacher sat with Joe, and stood to shake our hands. Joe tried to shake my hand, too, but I refused. "Uh uh," I protested. "I want a hug." I think he was taken aback just a bit, but he hugged me anyway. Joe is the smilin'est man I've had the pleasure of spending time with in a long time. He's just happy.

And Glo. Well. Glo needs a category all to herself. She joined the kids in the pool, claiming that she couldn't bear to see little kids splashing around and not splashing with them. At first, I sat on the edge, with my feet in the water. She scolded me, and said, "The rules at this pool are, if you're gonna sit close, you better not whine about getting wet." I got wet. I did not whine. In fact, I was soon in the water with them, even though I'd forgotten my suit. Glo just invites that kind of fun. I imagine it would've been a delight growing up with her for a Mom. It made me happy for Joe Clyde.



The Hays's backyard is truly an oasis. It's lush and green, with flowering plants hanging from the eaves and the trees and lining the pool and the waterfall. The whole yard is set apart from the rest of West Texas by a stone wall. I kept forgetting we were in the middle of flat, dry farmland. I was a world away in tiny Tahoka, Texas.

By the time we left the next morning, I understood why Joe Clyde's so homesick. It's not the spot on the map he misses. (Well, maybe it is.) It's the people. It's the Oasis that is his childhood home. The friendliness, the familiarity. After swimming and dinner, Joe and Glo drove out with us to the city limit sign so we could take this photo (which will be part of Ira's Scrapbook Project).

On the way back to the house, we followed behind their truck, and wondered where they were going when we passed Avenue O without turning. I wondered (with a little silent laugh) if they were planning to show us the local sites. Sure enough, Joe pulled his truck over, pointed over the top of it with his left hand, and then pulled back onto the street. I yelped with glee when I saw it:


I envy my friend Joe. I don't have a hometown to get homesick for. I totally understand why he misses his. In fact, now, after spending only 15 hours there, I miss it for him.

the voice of truth

A couple of months ago, I received an email from an online acquaintance. It read, "Hey, we know the same person. I emailed my friend K and mentioned your scrapbook ministry, and she said, "OH! I know Stacy. She's adorable!"

Those sweet words came on the heels of another email I'd just received that blasted some pretty outrageously hateful vemon in my face. I knew the accusations were false, and yet, I started to believe that I should be punished for them. I knew that I had all kinds of people who'd have my back if I'd just allow myself to vent to them about the problem, but I didn't do it. (Still okay with that decision, actually.) I recognized that God has blessed me with countless friends and acquaintances who are quick to encourage, love and edify me. But even so, I believed the email - things which I knew to be lies, I believed anyway. I identified the attack as being a direct hit from Satan. And YET, I kept allowing myself to be hit. Over and over. I read and re-read the email, pouring salt on the wounds each time I did. WHY? I do. not. know.

Even as I'd get the kindest letters and emails that were meant to lift me up, I'd discount them. "They're just being nice," I'd tell myself.

But for some reason, the words from K kept creeping into the front of my mind. "I know Stacy. She's adorable!" Every once in a while, I'd think, "Hmph. K thinks I'm adorable." And that truth would power me through the rough spots.

I hadn't seen or spoken to K in several years, but I emailed her on Wednesday.

"I know this must sound ridiculous," I wrote, "but then again, I know that your sweet spirit embodies an understanding that I don't even have to try to reach. God used you to speak truth to me. You didn't even know it, but those few little words hung out in the back of my mind, waiting for my self-doubt and -loathing to rise up. At those times, "She's adorable" would ring out. Just as I recognized the other words as being lies of Satan, I recognized yours as being Truth from my Father.
"Of all the voices calling out to me, I will choose to listen and believe the Voice of Truth."
I've been listening. Thank you for being the Voice."

Within hours, she'd responded.

"Isn't God amazing!! And Oh how powerful are words....both for God and for Satan. My dear, you are more than adorable (although, you are totally adorable)....you are a daughter of the King. He created and formed you and has equipped you to do mighty things for His kingdom and you have been obedient! Stacy....thank you. Thank you for recognizing God's voice and truth and your honesty and your precious spirit. YOU ARE ADORABLE and I'm so glad that God continues to cross our paths in His random ways....that's why He is so awesome and so sovereign!!!"

There are all kinds of voices calling out to me. But I will LISTEN, and choose to believe the Voice of Truth. And even more, I will be the voice of truth to those around me.

'Cause I'm here to tell you. The Voice of Truth is MUCH more lovely to the ears and soul than the voice of lies.

Go. Be the voice of truth to someone you love. Be the voice to some random person at the grocery store. When you feel prompted to encourage someone -even in the smallest way- LET YOURSELF DO IT. Your voice might be the only one that keeps repeating itself. Your voice might be the one they finally believe.

It's powerful for all involved. Just ask K.

Just ask me.

:)

owie owie owie!

The boys both had check-ups today.
They both needed shots.
I tried to prepare them without scaring them.
Ian went first.

BIG MISTAKE.

As I held his arms, the nurse expertly jabbed the first needle into his thigh.
OWWWWIE! OWIE OWIE OWIE!

The next four went in relatively fast, and with each one, Ian screamed louder and with more terror, to the point that Aidan, sitting in a chair not 6 feet away, started to scream WITH him. "No, no, nonononoNO!" Aidan cried.

Then it was his turn. He was as white as a sheet. He started to tremble, and begged, "No, Mommy. I don't wanna do it. No, no no...."

I looked at the nurse. She looked back at me as if to say, "I don't have time for this."

So I held Aidan as he received his four shots. He wriggled and fought and screamed like a banshee the whole time. It was horrible. We all had tears when it was over.

After the boys calmed down, after we all wiped our tears, and after I loved on them with every ounce of love my heart could muster, we walked down to the lab to have their fingers pricked. They were understandably apprehensive. Aidan looked at me with pleading eyes. I promised him it wouldn't hurt like the shots did. I promised him it was only one little stick. I told him that he had to go first, 'cause Ian had gone first for the shots.

My heart swelled as I watched The Big Brother muster all his courage and climb up on the chair. My eyes watered as he reached out for my hand and squeezed it. He bravely took his finger prick, and we talked about how cool it looked when the lab tech squeezed tiny drops of blood into the vial. I told him how happy I was to see that his blood was RED. That meant he was healthy, and most importantly, NOT AN ALIEN. We laughed.

Then it was Ian's turn. Before Aidan hopped down from the chair, he looked Ian right in the eye, and in the most loving, sincere voice I have ever heard in my life, said, "Ian. Don't worry. It doesn't hurt."

I embarrassed myself when I let a little gulp of cry escape from my throat.
So tender.
So sweet.
So protective.
Such a good Big Brother.

out of touch

Perched in the Colorado High Country, we were cut off from the world and its excesses. No phones- not even cell coverage, no TV or radio, no newspapers. No Google (can't even remember why we needed it now), no weather.com (s'okay. Storms blow up on the mountain every afternoon, but clear out in time for the stars to dance. Figured that out withOUT weater.com), no traffic reports (watch out for the chipmunks playing Chicken, for the occasional deer, and for the slow-moving cattle being driven down the road by leather cowboys). By the end of Day One, we were quite over our loss of communication. We decided we really DIDN'T need it.

The cabin was equipped with a propane generator, which we fired up twice a day - for showers and washing breakfast dishes in the morning and for dinner dishes at night. After breakfast that first morning, our media-addicted boys begged for a movie. We put in "Cats and Dogs" and told them they could watch half of it. You should've heard the wailing and screaming and gnashing of teeth when we turned it off.

"NO FAIR!" they screamed.
"I don't WANNA do anything else!" they cried.
"We wanna finish the movie!"

We spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the mountain. We hiked around and looked for animal tracks, discovered what Aidan labeled as "PokeyPine" trees 'cause they have pokey things like porcupines (which he pronounces as pokeypines), tryed out the 4-wheelers, and breathed in and enjoyed the crisp, clean, dry air. Dani and I started reading the books we took, Darren split some logs, and the boys ran up and down the meadow out front, bringing me flowers and watching the hummingbirds. When the afternoon storms blew up, we gathered around the table to play Uno. I was surprised at how quickly the boys caught on, and that they understood how to strategize and WIN. We had hours and hours of fun playing Uno. Ian cracked us up when he had TWO cards left in his hand one time. He yelled out, "Dos!" He knew it was funny. I 'bout fell out of my chair.

Later that night after dinner, we turned the generator back on and suggested to the boys that it was time to finish their movie. You should've heard the wailing and screaming and gnashing of teeth.

"No fair!" the declared.
"Movies are BORING!" they professed.
"Movies take too long!" they insisted.
"We wanna play more games!"

I laughed. Out loud.
Mission accomplished.
THAT didn't take long.

:)