But it's OK...they will grow up one day

Over the course of the years of my children growing up they have acquired through those years many friends between them. And during that time my house has been the setting for many sleepovers, bonfires and air soft wars. To some people that just isn't their cup of tea to have a bunch of kids running around and eating you out of house and home. But to some parents like me - I wouldn't have it any other way.
I've went through the girls having slumber parties and laying in their beds giggling and gossiping all night long to the most current stage of having 10-15 boys traipsing through the woods around my house shooting each other with air soft rifles. Right now as I type there are about 10 of them fully armed, decked out in camo, taking aim on each other and firing hundreds of little plastic air soft BB's as fast as they can load them.To this day I haven't understood the theory behind them trusting each other not to have their eye shot out. But  it's OK they love this kind of stuff and they have fun.
During the time that my kids have acquired all these friends my home has acquired them as well. The door in the kitchen from the sun room is a revolving door of kids running in and out grabbing drinks and Little Debbie's or whatever they can get their hands on. I'm thinking at this point it's fairly safe for me to assume that all the groceries I bought last night are nothing but a memory now. But it's OK - at least they are eating.
When my middle daughter has her girlfriends over it's usually a safe bet that I will be sleeping on the couch for the night, because for some reason my king size bed sleeps better than hers and they spread out like a warm breakfast for the night and snooze away until late in the morning. Meanwhile, I try to find a comfortable position while I lay there and dream of sleeping in my own bed. But it's OK because at least they are tucked in safely for the night.
After all the kids leave the house usually looks like something you would see on a Febreze commercial with dishes stacked up and things scattered all over the floor, hanging off the couch and slung over in a corner. Most mornings I wake up to a living room that looks like a Frat party took place the night before with about 10 or 15 empty Mountain Dew cans or water bottles twisted up where they have shot the caps off them at each other (and I continue to find those caps over the course of the next few days as a reminder of their visits). But it's OK because I know they have had fun.
Then when the kids are gone and the only ones left are my biological ones I get to catch up on what is going on in all their lives. (Or there are days that I don't even have to wait until they leave because at least one will always corner me to update me on a situation in their life that they have told me about before.) I get to hear about who is talking to who; who has broken up and who is fighting with who or who is who's new best friend. Some times I just laugh, some times I want to cry for some of the kids, and some times I just shake my head at the latest developments in the teenage world. But it's OK at least they are talking to me and sharing their stories.
With each set of friends that the kids have had; my oldest daughter's, my middle daughter's and my son's I have grown to love these kids and worry about them like I do my own. When they have gotten their driver's license their name is added to the list of those that I try to account for when there is an accident. When they suffer a broken heart I try to break out the "Mom handbook of advice to the lovelorn" and try to make them feel better. When they have an accomplishment I cheer them on and when they mess up I do with them the same as I do my own - I let them know I'm disappointed, but I still love them.
It's a crazy house around here on some days and some weekends I have a hard time keeping up with who all I have. There's not much peace and quiet and there's a lot going on usually the whole time - but it's OK because one day these walls won't echo the laughter, I won't get to keep up with what is going on with them, and although the peace and quiet will have been more than earned - I'll miss the days when they were rowdy, crazy and out of control. They are one adventure after another - but it's OK...let them be kids - because I sure will miss them when that day comes that they grow up....because that means I will have to as well.

The Story Our Christmas Tree Tells

When I was a child one of the things that I always remember with a huge smile and a happy heart is going to the woods with my Dad and Mom to cut down our tree for Christmas. I loved looking at all the trees while we were trying to decide on just the right one. Somehow though it never looked the same once we got it put up - either it suffered a little deformation on the journey home dragging it through the woods or it would be much shorter or entirely too tall when we got it ready to put in the trusty old green metal tree stand with red legs on it. But by the time we got done decorating it; well it always looked perfect. Every year I say I'm going to take the kids up into the woods and carry on that tradition with them, but I always end up taking the easier way out. Next year I'm going to motivate myself more to do it because it just adds more of a special touch when you pick it out, cut it down and haul it home; only to be either pleased or scratching your head over the end results of it's delivery into the living room.
This year was the second year since I have lived in my house that we have gotten a real tree for Christmas. For years I used an artificial tree that took hours to shape and sort out matching branches and then when Christmas was over there was the glorious task of trying to figure out how to make it fit back in the box. The whole process of packing it back up took an act of congress and two Philadelphia lawyers to figure it out. I just finally got tired of stressing over branches breaking and such from all the years of bending and twisting the branches to shape them just right. So last year I made the executive decision to get a real tree. We have gone to a Christmas tree farm both years to get the trees. It's not the same by any means as trekking off into the woods to get one, but it was still fun. I took the girls with me this year to pick it out, and with careful deliberation of sizing up the tree and visualizing it in our living room, we finally agreed on one to take home. We had the tree wrapped and loaded on top of the good ole Mazda Tribute and then took off on our journey home looking like Clark Griswold and his lovely family when they were hauling that monstrosity of a tree home on their station wagon.
Once we got the tree unloaded and put in the house we sawed and sawed on it to trim it down a little. I may have overestimated my living room ceiling's potential of housing that big tree, but nonetheless we got it up and the ropes were cut. (Let me insert a little friendly advice here...when you bring a tree in your house that resembles the size of the one that stands in the oval office - you need to stand clear when the ropes are cut, or well.....you get the picture and I imagine it's not a pretty one if it's the actual picturing of me with pine needles in my mouth, hair, down my shirt....etc.)
The lights were put on (which are never enough in my eyes - I like to have our tree projecting enough light that a plane could make an emergency landing on my house with all the light emitting from it). Once the lights were on the tree it was time to drag out the big box of ornaments. This is one of my favorite things to do because I love handing the kids ornaments that are a reflection of memories for them from all the years past. Every year I tell them stories about some of the ornaments and how they came about being such an important part of the tradition of Christmas. I have a beautiful pink ornament that has been hung on the tree for 23 years that is one of the favorites given to my oldest daughter Jess for her first Christmas from Auntie Charlotte. Then there are some of the extra special ornaments that have became a little weathered and worn over the years that are made simply of construction paper and yarn. The kids always express themselves with the usual line - "Mom why do you keep these???" It's simple...they are a memory of their childhood and a symbolism of their younger years when they would come busting in the door from school or church proudly displaying the masterpiece that they worked so hard on. I can remember the story behind every handmade ornament that I carefully re-pack every year after it is taken off the tree. I hope by telling these stories to the kids over and over that there will be a seed planted in their minds so that they can pass the stories onto their own children.
When I was younger my Mom always had our handmade ornaments on the tree along with a gazillion pieces of tinsel that we would love to blow off our hands onto the tree. When we would take the tree down and Dad would haul it outside there would be a trail of that tinsel from the living room all the way to where Dad took the tree. As much as I remember the tinsel, those old ornaments that my Mom hung on the tree with pride are still the things that bring back the sweetest memories for me when I see my kids hang their ornaments up.
I'm not sure how the tradition of the tree ever got started. But I do know that when we put that big tree in our living room that it lights up the holidays with it's presence and the memories that hang on that tree every year make my heart smile every time I look at them. Whether it be a store brought ornament bought by a friend many years ago or a tattered and worn piece of faded construction paper - I simply love the story that our Christmas tree tells.

Making memories and carrying on tradition

The other night I was taking my son to meet up with his girlfriend. When I got to our usual meeting place her aunt pulled in to pick him up. I went over to speak to her and she told me that on the way to meet us she asked her niece who she was dating. She told her and said his sister is Kailee and his other sister is Jess. The aunt replied "tell me who her Momma is - that's who I will know." She told her who I was and she said - "Oh yes - now HER I know."
I got to thinking about that conversation coming down off the mountain and thought that is just one of the many great things about living in a small community. Chances are, unless you are a "transplant" in the area with no ties to anyone, then usually everyone knows you or has heard of you. It's [usually] a great thing to be able to relate to who the boy or girl is that your child is dating or running around with if you have someone to associate them with. All the kids that come to my house either belong to someone that I graduated with or someone that I met in school or someone who went to school with my siblings. Knowing who the parents are for the most part insures a little more security and a little less worry for your child to be associated with them; because more than likely they have inherited their parent's traits.
That same night I stopped at the local convenient store located in the town of Tellico. When I walked in there were two boys sitting at the table decked out, head to toe, in camouflage. One of the boys happened to be my boss's grandson. I threw up my hand and asked them "what are you all huntin' tonight?" [well in the south I could almost answer my own question, but I know how they like to have bragging rights to their plans and the results of the hunt. So I let them answer themselves.]
After I left there and headed home I continued on with my thoughts about the small community that I live in. I thought about the boys and wondered between the two of them how many years of tradition had been carried on by their fathers, uncles and grandfathers that had shaped these boys into experienced hunters starting at a very early age I'm sure. Trust me when you living in the south it means that the only thing more important than the local high school sporting events is the need to hunt or fish. When a boy (and some times a girl) starts to walk and talk they have already learned what hunting and fishing is about because they heard so many stories about it - beginning probably when they were in the womb!
I love driving down the country back roads and passing all the young teenagers in their pick-up trucks with their dog boxes in the back. To me that means that tradition still lives on and those boys are carrying on that torch for hunting and will pass it down to their children in a few years.
It seems like the older that I get, the more I focus on the simpler things that life has to offer. The future, while it is important, doesn't always seem to be the main topic of my attention. I seem to dwell more on the past and the memories that are associated with the things and the people that cross my path now. I look at these kids who run around with my own children and I can't help but smile thinking of the times I spent with one or both of their parents and the memories that we mutually share as adults from all those years ago.
I allow my children a little more freedom than I was probably allowed growing up, and some times more than the teenager that lives down the street. But when I look at these kids that infiltrate my home quite often, I look at them and my own children and I see me many years ago. So when I see them laughing and plotting out their plans I giggle to myself because I know that one day in not so many years their children will be doing the same things with each other....making memories and carrying on tradition.

Showing the respect...because you should

When I took my granddaughter to her first ballgame she was probably a year old. But nevertheless when the National Anthem was sung I put her little hand over her heart and told her to be very quiet. Although she had no idea what she was doing – every game after that her Mommy and I followed the same suit and at 2½ she does it as soon as the music starts. Now she probably doesn’t know still why she does that, but it has been instilled in her that this is what you “should do”. I did the same with my children and they weren’t much older than my granddaughter when that song rendered the same reaction to them.

I stand at ballgames now and I watch these kids that are teenagers who stand and giggle and are completely oblivious to what they meaning of that song is and the sacrifices are that were made because of what that song stands for. I blame the parents for that, for the fact that they had no more respect for the countless lives lost protecting this country than to take a moment and instill in their children the reverence that should be allowed when we stand to our feet and face that flag.

When Francis Scott Key wrote the National Anthem it was during the Battle of Baltimore at Fort McHenry. The enemy was determined to bring down the flag that stood there representing America. They bombed the area repeatedly and Mr. Key couldn’t comprehend how in the world that the flag pole supporting that flag remained standing through all of that. After it was over and there were only remnants of buildings left he journeyed to where the flag pole stood. When he walked inside what was left of the building it was then that he saw countless soldier’s bodies surrounding the flag pole and giving it the strength to stand as the enemy tried to take it down…and failed. It was then that he went and wrote our National Anthem.

So when I see grown adults and children (the age to know better) not standing there in reverence when that song is sung I get so upset. I have been to hundreds and hundreds of events where that song was sung. EVERY time my eyes fill with tears and my heart wants to burst with pride, because I know what that song means; I know what that flag stands for and I know how many lives were lost because of it.

What really saddens me the most is that in this melting pot of a country that we live in, that has so many different nationalities living here together, I will often see someone who came here for a better life paying more attention and giving more respect during the National Anthem than the man or woman standing beside them that has lived here their whole life. I can’t help but wonder where along the way that some Americans quit being proud of the Flag and what it means.

My greatest passions are my Lord, my family and America. I feel a distinct honor and privilege to be cloaked under that Flag, because it represents something about each of those passions; and I will always be thankful for the Veterans who have protected her through the years and those that unselfishly gave their lives because of their passion to stand up for what that flag stands for.

So not just today – on their special day – but every chance you get – when you see a Veteran thank him or her. Let them know that you appreciate what they have done. And the next time you are somewhere that the National Anthem is being played and that Flag is being saluted – remember that the man or woman standing next to you may very well be one of those that lost someone fighting for you to stand there and listen – or perhaps even fought themselves. Let them know that it wasn’t in vain.

Seeing love through the eyes of a child

One thing about me that those that are close to me know is that I am a sucker for romance. I’m all about those sappy love stories on the Hallmark channel, my eyes tear up when I watch an elderly couple still holding hands and I get all giddy and beside myself when the guy wins the girl’s heart at the end of a movie and they live happily ever after. I'm an old fashioned girl that still loves the thought of being "courted".

I’m not sure if romance is an emotion that you are born with or if it’s just a trait that you inherit somewhere along the way in life. Regardless of how it was obtained I am glad that I am that way.

There’s more to romance though than just the flowers and kissing the rain kind of things. I think romance is what warms the heart to make you appreciate little things. Sunday morning I was watching my pastor’s son who is 4. He was standing in front of me next to a pretty little girl who stood about 6 inches taller than him and was as cute as a speckled pup underneath a red wagon. He would look up at her and just watch her as she was oblivious to his affection in his eyes as she listened to the music. Then he would just put his little arm around her waist and lay his little blonde head against her shoulder. I couldn’t help but grin watching him just admire her without any words even being spoken. Earlier we were in the choir and I was holding my granddaughter who is 2 ½. Well she has taken to the pastor’s younger son who is an adorable blonde haired boy that is not much older than her. They would play hide and seek with each other hiding behind mine and his mommy’s necks and playfully grin at each other. I remember when asked why she tried to kiss him at their house one day she said “but I wuv him”. And she dearly does as it's obvious in her little grin when she sees him. He of course reciprocates and it’s just so darn cute.

I was thinking about these little displays of affection that these kids who are unaware of what romance even means and it dawned on me that they are the perfect example of what we lose as we grow older and become involved in relationships. They have this sense of admiration in the opposite sex that is innocence in its purest form. They are simply content with just exchanging playful grins and chasing each other around the church or outside. When we get older those things lose importance and they are replaced with the constant need and desire to try to impress each other with things that aren’t nearly as important.

When we are children we get all giddy over little notes passed between our friends over to the object of our affection with the check yes or no if you like me boxes. And if he or she checks the “yes” boxes then we were perfectly content with that and it was enough to manifest visions of the fairy tale wedding that would follow one day.

Later in life we become more complex and require things much more complicated to appease our desire for romance. Now don’t get me wrong – I am all about candlelit dinners, slow dancing to “You Look Wonderful Tonight” and cards for no reason. I think those things are wonderful, but it’s those little things that we become complacent with doing without when we get older that really makes me kind of sad. I suppose what I’m trying to convey is that – as simple as a little smile is between two people that have feelings for each other it’s really one of the most important things in a relationship. Because if you can look at each other and have that desire to simply smile because of the other person then that means your heart is happy and that’s what a relationship should be about.

It’s kind of ironic I suppose that as adults we are supposed to teach our children and other children the important lessons in life. But this time I was the one who learned a lesson from two little blonde haired preacher’s sons and a 2 ½ year little girl.

Life in a little town

 I imagine to some people living in a small town in just not their ideal lifestyle. A lot of people, probably a significant amount, prefer to live where they are minutes away from an Outback Steakhouse or some place to shop other than the local Wal-Mart. But to me, I don’t think there is any place else that I would rather have spent a majority of my life. I grew up in a country setting complete with a farm and gardens to each side of me where people worked out in them every day. I played in mud holes, rode dirt bikes through the fields, swung on grapevines and caught crawdads in the creek below our house. I never felt like I missed out on anything then and even more so now I realize what a wonderful childhood I had growing up being able to have those “luxuries”.

I can remember going shopping with my mom to the Five & Dime store in town and thought that was the greatest thing. Then when I got older I was able to take my granny to the old Sloan’s store to get her groceries. There would be someone in front of us a lot of times that was buying “on credit” and the cashier would just write their name in a notebook and how they owed or what they got.

Today while the rest of the world is caught up in the hustle and bustle of trying to keep up with the Jones’ or should I say the modern day term – keep up with the Khardashians; I relish in the fact that I live in the quiet little town that I do. There’s still the local store up on the hill where you can go see Roger and still buy something on credit. There are plentiful gardens in the summertime at what seems like every other house that I see each morning on my way to work. For the most part, a lot of kids still ride their dirt bikes – well until they turn 16 then it’s their Ford, Chevy, or Toyota 4-wheel drive pick-up trucks. Everywhere you go there is someone that you know that wants to chat and visit a while. We have the local man that we refer to as “Mousie” that walks the sidewalks every morning in the town where I work. Every time you see him he throws up his hand and waves at you like he has seen someone of great importance or famous. You can’t help but smile every time; because he just makes you feel good.

This morning one of my children’s teachers sent me a text to inform me that my son had not completed his homework last night. I thought to myself how nice it is to live in a community that the teachers are so in touch with their student’s parents that they take the time out of class to call or text to let you know there is a problem. When you live in a smaller community you have that added advantage as a parent of either being friends with your child’s teacher, going to church with them or both and you can rest easy knowing they will watch after your children.  

We parents all stick together, we report on each other’s children if we see something that isn’t quite right, we car pool each other’s kids to and from practices when someone has to work late, and we treat each other’s kids as our own. We have our own little group at ballgames that sit and laugh and have a great time socializing while we cheer on not just our own children, but each other’s too. We hug each other’s kids, feed them, keep an eye for them and love them.

Yes, I imagine being able to drive to the mall in 10 minutes might be nice. Going to Red Lobster at the spur of the moment would be pretty wonderful. But having what I have here certainly makes up for those things. Although my dream is to move to the beach in 4 years, I imagine that I will still have to come back here from time to time - because I’m sure that as wonderful as it will be living at the beach - I might just need to be reminded what I was blessed with for all these years.

A little time on I-75 and some in the closet

As a single mom the one thing that you just don’t have a lot of is time for “just you”. I love being with my kids more than anything in this world - but sometimes the whole “mom job” does get a little overwhelming.

With that said – this weekend I took off to Ohio to bring my mother back home from her visit with our family up there. I had one of those very rare opportunities where I had more than 30 minutes to be by myself. I felt like I was on an exotic vacation and I was only in my Mom’s mini-van on I-75! I turned the radio up if I wanted to and sang to the top of my lungs. I kept the temperature below freezing and didn’t have to worry about someone begging for heat. I had over 6 hours with just me and my thoughts. My mind felt like a hamster on crack on a spinning wheel! To be honest if the trip had been 12 hours I probably would have came back a new woman completely!

As stressed out as my life is – I do love it. I wouldn’t change anything about going to 50 or 60 ballgames of different sports a year. I wouldn’t trade 7 or 8 hours of concession stand duty at every home ballgame. I wouldn’t give up having anywhere from 3 to 15 kids at my house on the weekends in exchange for a quiet environment, because I know that those times won’t last much longer.

 I just have to be reminded that every once in a while too, that the solitude of it “just being me” is needed for nothing other than me reconnecting with myself. In that short span of almost 7 hours I was rejuvenated and ready to go for the weekend when I got to my Aunt’s house.

In addition to my “me time” I got to follow up with a weekend of laughing continuously until my sides ached! I am so overwhelmingly blessed with an awesome family on both sides of the parental fence. My family on my mother’s side has to be the healthiest people on the face of the earth if the cliché “laughter is the best medicine” is actually true. From the minute I walk in the door until the minute I leave there is laughter echoing in our presence.

The one thing that a lot of us on the maternal side of the family have in common is that fact that we would rather scare each other than eat when we are hungry! So each trip consists of me scoping out every piece of furniture or anything else that I can hide behind; I have to even confess that I have even assessed the measurements of my Aunt’s new dryer just to see if I could fit in it. We will do anything for at the expense of a laugh. Some call us a little crazy; but for us it works.

We did A LOT of retail therapy (which shall be a blog within itself soon) and just hung out the last night playing a game of Guesstures; which required several trips to the bathroom for those of them that weren’t planning ahead and didn’t think it necessary to purchase any Depends. By the end of a very productive day I was exhausted from laughing so much, but still had enough energy to hide in the clothes closet one last time on my unsuspecting mother with the stints in her heart. I think she is probably out of the woods for the danger of another heart attack with all the training that has been put into scaring her every time the opportunity presents itself.

I always dread the loading up the vehicle part because I have so much fun with them and I hate to leave. But the trip served its purpose. I relaxed, I had fun, I laughed and laughed and most of all I had a little bit of an opportunity to reconnect with that inner part of myself that often gets pushed aside for the sake of something that I some times make more important than it should be.

As a mother I feel like every interaction that I have with my children and their lives is so vitally important. As well as what I give of myself to my perspective other, my family or my job - BUT I have got to get better at reminding myself that the interaction WITH myself is as equally important, because it makes me a better person. I don’t think you should always put yourself first by any means, but its okay to celebrate “just you” – it’s okay to remember that you are important and that sometimes the only person who is responsible for that happiness is you.

The older I get the more I am realizing that as much as I need to spend time with those I love – I also need to spend time with me. I might not always be my favorite person – but I am pretty special to me and I have to treat me with as much respect and love as I do others.

With all that said – if it’s been a while since you have had some “me time” – take an opportunity to do it. You will be surprised what a little road trip, some laughter or hiding in the closet can do for you.

Laughter, secrets and friendship

Here lately I have been reflecting a lot on the past and reminiscing on old memories. I suppose as we get older those reflections of yesterday become more special and to me they certainly have. A lot of these flashbacks have been about 4 very special women that have been in my life for over 2 decades.

I have been overwhelmingly blessed with some of the best friends in life that a person can ask for. What makes me even more blessed though is that those friendships just increase with value every day and with those friendships come some amazing memories.

I have different sets of friends; those that have been a part of my life since elementary school, those that I met later in life – but formed a bond with as though I have known them my whole life. With all these friends come so many recollections in every shape and form. There are those that I have laughed with until I have cried and those that I have came to crying that made me laugh. All of them hold their own unique and special places in my heart.

I have this one very special group of girls that I know without a doubt will forever be in my corner and that I can always count on. I worked with them over 20 years ago and through the years some of us lost contact with each other. Thanks to the world of Facebook though, we have reunited and to be honest I their friendships mean more to me now than ever! We all in have our own distinctive personalities in some ways, but that just makes our bond of friendship stronger and more enjoyable because we balance each other out. But then in other ways we are all so much alike that it’s kinda scary. The most wonderful thing about our friendship that we share is that I know that I will ALWAYS have someone there – no matter what time or where – each of them will do everything in their power to be there for me and they know that I would do the same for each of them.

We get together once every month or so when everyone’s schedule will allow and for hours we sit and laugh about the same things every time we get together. We hold secrets that we will take to our graves and that I know without a shadow of doubt will be guarded by them until the end. I can pretty much venture to say that even a slight amount or torture won’t break these girls to talk! Honestly when we get together we should probably make our waiters take an oath of secrecy for anything that they might overhear.

The laughter and the tears that we shed when we are with each other are such a special part of our friendships that we have and I cherish that aspect of it. More than that though I value the trust that we have in each other and knowing that no matter what I can come to them. I can say honestly that if I showed up at any of their doors with a body they wouldn’t ask a question they would just say let me get my boots and shovel. (Not that any of us are capable of that – just in case an ex from one of our lives goes missing and the FBI sees this blog.)

I talk to my kids about the friendships that they form in life and express to them that a true friendship is definitely one of the most precious of treasures in this life. When you find a true friend like the ones I have found in these women - you are very blessed. I want my children to have those kinds of relationships in their lives. I want them to know that when I can’t be there or when their “natural family” can’t be there that they will have someone that is equally as important in their lives. That’s what I have with these ladies and I can’t think of a more perfect example of friendship for my kids to have to follow.

Aging gracefully or aging with grace

Last night I was coloring my hair to prepare myself for the “fall look”. As I was coloring it I was thinking to myself how much money I have spent over the years doing maintenance to myself or attempting some self-preservation of my aging body. I have probably spent so much on facial creams, moisturizers and oils that I should in all fairness own stock in Proctor & Gamble. I have colored my hair so many times that to be honest I can’t remember without looking at old pictures what my natural hair color even was. To be perfectly truthful I’m actually surprised that I haven’t woken up one morning with all my hair on my pillow where it has fallen out from all the colorings, treatments and products I have used over the span of the last 30 years. I wish I had nickel for every ounce of Cajun Shrimp nail polish that I have applied over the past few years in an attempt to make my hands look youthful and attractive.

Those ladies Miss Clairol and Cover Girl have become my best friends over the years and honestly I probably don’t appreciate them as much as I should, because without them I’m fairly certain I could make a freight train take a dirt road with how I would probably look without all their years of their support and therapy.

I don’t know why it is so hard to just age gracefully in a dignified manner without all the hoopla of chemicals, foundations and lotions. I think that surely the Lord intended for us women to strive to look good or else all these products wouldn’t be out there. But sometimes I think that we tend to go overboard. I can look in the mirror and see a gray hair that stands out like a Baptist in a liquor store. I go into panic mode and the next thing you know there’s an emergency trip to Wal-Mart or Walgreen’s at 10:00 at night to make a made dash for a box of color before anyone sees that pesky little varmint that has taken up residency on my head!

I have been blessed fortunately through good genetics on my mother and my father’s side when it comes to being almost wrinkle free. I shudder to think though how I will react when I wake up one morning and have a well defined example of “crow’s feet” around my eyes. I will probably just go back to bed and mourn for a day or two. It’s probably a good thing that I will never be able to afford to live in the world of Botox and liposuction because I’m fairly certain I would probably feel the need to require it more often than not.

In actuality, I don’t know if we (as women) do it to ourselves because we want to look good so that we will feel better about ourselves or if we do it because we feel like society has mandated it for us to do it in order to look better for them. Either way – I think that it’s important that we worry to a certain degree how we look not just to the public but in the mirror as well. I see some women (mainly in Wal-Mart) and I think to myself “bless her – didn’t she ask someone how she looked?” Then there are others that just plainly don’t care as they come to shop wearing SpongeBob pajama pants and a Dale Earnhardt t-shirt from her significant other’s closet. Heck I felt so bad the time I went in with my skirt tucked in my pantyhose with all my glory showing that I didn’t go back for a month and trolled the “People of Wal-Mart” website 3 times a week nervously anticipating that my hind end would be on there (literally).

So as I sit here thinking about how much time, energy and money I have invested in trying to age gracefully and I wonder if I have aged with grace; because that is what’s important. I think it was best said by Robert Brault when he said “Who does not wish to be beautiful, and clever, and rich, and to have back, in old age, the time spent trying to be any of them.”

Thank Goodness for The Lord and Cymbalta

This has certainly been one of those weeks and it's only Wednesday! It's been a combination of running here and there trying to make time deadlines for church, volleyball games and work. On top of that my bedroom floor has an issue that is causing in to buck up and it's like walking across a small hill to get to my bed. My house is close to be 40 years old and I'm quite certain that whatever the fix is for the problem it's going to result in me taking off work to clean out my bedroom. I'm the world's worst "if I can't find a place to put something - then under the bed seems like a logical place" kind of person. I'm not certain after 5 years of doing that just how much stuff has accumulated. The thought of that alone scares me! Although after it's all said and done I'm sure I will find that black pump of mine that has been the catalyst of me losing my religion on numerous occasions when I could only find the one. It's one thing to lose a sock in the laundry but to have 5 pairs of shoes without a match is a little ridiculous. For all I know I could have a lost kid under that bed!
It seems like the older I get the more hectic life has become. I would've thought that when I had 2 out of 3 driving that my time on the road would have ceased some - but it's actually the opposite. With hind sight being 20/20 I think I would have been better off to have gotten a hybrid car because I am running here and there so much. With so much time away from home it's no wonder that I am 3 seasons behind on spring cleaning. If I don't give it a good cleaning soon I'm afraid I actually will lose a child in there.
I get asked all the time when I take on another task like high school concessions or another board to sit on - "when are you going to learn to say NO?" I know that I have too many irons in the fire and therefore when a dilemma comes up - like a bedroom floor being replaced - I normally panic a bit, cry a little and stress A LOT. But recently I finally gave in and went to the doctor because I was overly stressed and he put me on that wonderful little blue and green capsule of a miracle! Well let me tell you - I'm not much on being medicated, but that baby has changed my life! I feel quite certain that I am the epitome of a spokesperson for the company that makes them!
With the combination of that and learning to pray a lot more than I used to I have succeeded in overcoming that habit of stressing and worrying until I have worked my way into a corner and want to scream. I think my children were on the verge of trading me in for another model! But that's what stress will do to you.
I have a friend of mine the other night that was talking to me and she just couldn't hold back the tears of frustration with how stressed her life is. My heart broke for her because I have been there! It's not easy to just "not let things get to you". Not taking anything away from the testosterone side of the fence - they have stress too - but on the estrogen side of the fence there seems to be so many more things to stress over. Making sure the kids are dropped off, picked up, fed, cleaned and tucked in on top of the everyday hustles and bustles and those themselves are overwhelming sometimes. Then on top of that trying to maintain a career and take care of a household - the list goes on and on.
I have learned through medical assistance and praying that sometimes you just gotta laugh about it or even just forget about it from time to time. Now don't get me wrong I still fall victim to certain stresses - like, road rage - heck I think Mother Teresa probably does too if the truth be told. There is NO AMOUNT of medication that can heal my desire to shoot the tires off of some one's car that pulls out in front of me just to turn off 50 ft from where they pulled out.
But my other stresses seem to getting better. It's either contributed to the fact that medication is really what it's cracked up to be, the fact that the Lord is hearing my prayers or the fact that I have become so complacent with being stressed  that I just don't let it worry me anymore. I'm not taking any chances on it being the last factor so I believe to be on the safe side and to insure that my kids will let me live with them longer; I will hold onto the medical miracle and try to stay in the Lord's good graces.

Just smile and say thank you

After my child bearing years were over it seemed like I lost all confidence in how I looked. My body felt like it had been run through a ringer with my last child and I felt like that's exactly what I looked like. Then after I turned 40 it seemed like losing weight has been an uphill battle. I found it much easy to jokingly put myself down than to ever find anything positive about me to say.
When you are no longer have the body that you had when you were 20 (something) you start to feel a little less of a woman. But this week a friend of mine pointed out in no uncertain terms that a woman is not measured by her weight or how she fits into her jeans; because beauty is not measured in the numbers 36-26-36.
When I was in my younger days I dressed to the hilt and in a manner that I was screaming for a compliment. But as I have gotten older I'm more conservative in how I dress and a lot more modest about my body. When I have received a compliment in the past I didn't really it serious - I took it more in the context of someone just trying to make me feel better. It's not really a pity party that I have; but more so a reality check that I am not in my 20's anymore and I shouldn't expect to look like I am.
My family has been blessed with great genetics. My Mom looks 20 years younger than what she is and I have cousins that I swear stopped the aging process at 30. So I am spending a lot of time doing some wishful thinking that the gene has been passed on to me and that by the time I am 50 that I won't look like the running gears of destruction.
Regardless though of how we fit into our clothes, how many times we cover up the gray or how many new signs of age that we develop - the beauty that we have should project from the inside of us. Now I am more guilty than most women of standing in front of the mirror praying for a miracle in the form of Oil of Olay. Sometimes that miracle comes and sometimes it doesn't - but regardless of how gracefully we try to age - it's going to happen and we just have to make the best of it.
After I stopped having the body that I had when I was in my 20's and part of my 30's my dad would remind me each time I took a cookie that I didn't need that if I wasn't careful my hind end would end up 3 axe handles and a butcher knife wide. I didn't listen to him and so it came to pass. The only thing that is good about that though is that apparently in the eyes of most of the younger generation I tend to have the right equipment for something referred to as twerking. But by all definitions of that I'm quite certain that activity would require a hip replacement in the near future.
I have brought myself down to earth and realized that I will never be 20 again. I may never have the physique of Jennifer Aniston BUT I don't have to settle for achieving the goal of having the physique of Rosanne Barr. I can still be beautiful in my own way - just like every woman can. We should never put ourselves in the mindset that in order to be considered gorgeous that we have wear a size 2 jean. Sometimes
a woman in a size 12 can be just as appealing.
The other day I got brave enough to post a picture of myself on Facebook because I had gotten a new haircut. If you know me then you know I'm not one to pose in the bathroom mirror and take pictures every day. Several people commented and everyone had something to say complimenting the new look. I felt like I was on cloud 9 with all these sweet things that were said. The difference in that and someone trying to pay me a compliment before that? This time I chose to accept the compliments and it felt pretty darn good.
As women we are expected to look good. To fix our hair, put on our make-up, wear high heels and doll up in prissy outfits. I don't think we always have to go that extreme - heck there are days I go to Wal-Mart without make-up. But we should always put forth an effort.
Putting forth that effort is just part of the battle though. You have to accept the fact that you have your own beauty. In doing that it means that when someone compliments you then accept the compliment and simply smile and say thank you. That's what I did this week and I have to be honest it felt pretty good!

It's okay - have a cupcake for breakfast

Some times there are things in life that happen solely for the purpose of us gaining a new perspective on life or for us to learn a valuable lesson. This week I have had the opportunity for both of those things to happen to me at the same time.

For the last two weeks I have undergone the worries and stress of waiting on some test results to come back. Normally I wouldn’t worry myself too much, but this was with an Oncologist so my human nature kicked in and to be honest, I have let the fear of the worst case scenario play havoc on my mind and my emotions for the last 14 days.

In the midst of all my worries a good friend of mine made me some cupcakes. Now first of all, let me emphasize on the fact that when Cori makes you cupcakes she is not JUST making you cupcakes. These are not the standard run of the mill cupcakes – these are ones that could compete on cupcake wars! Second of all, my friend had no idea what these past two weeks have consisted of, so therefore the cupcakes were just an added blessing; because she didn’t make them under the pretense that she thought I was dying.

Since I began my journey “over the hill” a couple birthdays ago I have to admit I’ve packed on a few (that’s being modest) unwelcome pounds. So bringing cupcakes to a woman who swears everyday she’s going to diet is just opening the door to temptation.

Well I am weak – I admit it – I’m not proud of it – but I am weak. So needless to say I have had a balanced diet of cupcakes for breakfast, lunch and dinner a couple days this week.  After I would eat the cupcakes I would beat myself up for having no willpower, give myself mean looks in the mirror and engage in battle with my jeans to get them zipped (more so than usual).

So needless to say when I went to the doctor this week my favorite part of the visit was not stepping up on the scales! I knew that once I took that step and the end result flashed before me that I would try every way possible to kick myself in the hind end. It was bad enough that I was a nervous wreck awaiting my test results, but the added depression of going up on that dreaded slide instead of down made it worse.

But as I stepped off the scales and proceeded back to my room I overheard the conversation of a lady that had apparently been going through a battle much worse than mine. She had been diagnosed with cancer, had continued to lose weight and by all indications her prognosis wasn’t a positive one. I started to think about what awaited me on the other side of the door. Was what lay in store for me the same thing that this poor lady was going through? Was my life about to change completely?

Without making the story any longer than it needs to be and not going into the lengthy details – for now the results were far better than what I had worried myself into anticipating.

During my drive home I couldn’t get the lady in the other room off my mind. I thought about how much she would probably love to be able to eat a cupcake for breakfast, actually have a choice about wanting to and being able to exercise or how she dreads stepping on the scale for the exact opposite reason that I do.

I realized that life is so short and so much more precious than we give it credit for. It shouldn’t matter if we want to have a cupcake for any meal of the day. We shouldn’t put so much emphasis on the importance of how we fit into the society designed image that we should have. I think that life should be enjoyed – every minute of it. I think we should wake up every morning with a new goal, a new embrace on life a step closer to our dreams.
I still have a few tests to do - but whatever the outcome is - I hope I never lose sight of the fact that it's okay to eat a cupcake instead of a pancake some times and when I do I'm going all out and licking the icing off my fingers too!

Finding a treasure in an old cardboard box

I must make a confession. I am a pack rat in a bad way - not in a way that could land me a starring role on the show Hoarder’s kind of way – but still pretty bad. I have mementos of every decade I believe and on occasion find one tucked away here and there. Not too long ago I was looking for something in the family community storage building and I found a box that had been battered and beaten through time. It was marked in teenage handwriting “APRIL’S – PERSONAL – DO NOT OPEN!” Well first of all – apparently I thought I must have been under some ridiculous misconception that just because I wrote it in capital letters that would emphasize that I meant business and it wouldn’t be opened. (Yeah right – with two brothers who would have loved to have gotten something on me to embarrass me with and a mother and father who cared too much about what I did – I’m sure it wasn’t opened). I looked at the box a few and of course over the span of (X) amount of years I had completely forgotten about the box and its contents. I shuddered for a moment at the thoughts that it could contain something that could leak out to the press should I ever run for office. So I dusted it off and opened up. Inside of it must have been every note that I wrote and received in school. There were old love letters and notes to and from my friends that we had evidently passed to each other in class while the teacher had their back turned. I must have stood there and read notes for half an hour. There I was by myself grinning like a Cheshire cat at some of the memories. What a pleasant surprise that flashback of memories was!

I got to thinking about my kids and wondering if 30 years from what they will have to look back on. With the world of technology being much more advanced than it was back then the only communication that they have is text messaging and social media. It made me kind of sad to think that one day when they stumble across a box from the past that it won’t hold precious possessions like the one that I had found.

One of my favorite things to come across is something that represents a memory. It brings to mind things that otherwise I had just forgotten about. That secret cardboard treasure chest that I had discovered held in it pinkie-promise secret crushes that us girls talked about and from the heart emotions that we only confided in one another with. Today all the secrets are in found on the kid’s smart phones and deleted when the memory starts to get too full. And when they do delete it – it’s gone – buried in a cyber graveyard never to been seen again and certainly not to be reflected back on a few decades down the road from now.

I love to find little notes that my kids used to write me when they were in elementary school and would leave on my pillow or stick on the fridge. Now they just send me text messages that I have to lock to make sure I don’t delete them and if I get a new phone then they are gone for good.

Some times technology is a good thing. I love being able to catch up on Facebook, post a new picture on Instagram and Google what I need to know. But sometimes I just like to have a crumpled up old piece of paper handwritten by someone special. It just seems to have more of an impact.

The other day I was putting away some clothes in the kid’s bedrooms. I opened one of my daughter Kailee’s drawers and in moving some stuff around to make room I can across a sheet of paper all folded up. Thinking it was an old assignment or a test she thought I didn’t need to see I opened it up. Low and behold it was a note that she had passed back and forth in class with one of her girlfriends obviously quite a few years ago (judging by the writing). I couldn’t believe my eyes! I just giggled to myself, folded it back up and stuck it back where I found it and smiled at the thought of what that little piece of paper will mean to her when she finds it one day. I hope that she will smile and consider it a treasure too.   

Snails, puppy dog tails and a snake in the house

When I was pregnant with my son Eli and they told me after the ultrasound that I was having a boy my reaction in my mind was - "a boy!!! I don't know how to raise a boy!" Don't get me wrong I knew that I would love him with all my heart and I was thrilled to know that everything looked good and that by all appearances he was a normal healthy baby. You see I had two girls though and the estrogen factor was all I knew how to deal with. Snails and puppy dog tails was something that I knew nothing about!
He came into this world raring to go and ready to teach me a thing or two about the other side of the fence. From the time that child could crawl he was the definition in Webster Dictionary of "boy". He was into everything and gave a whole new meaning to the word mischievous. If I could paint a picture for you of what I mean I would tell you about the time that he decided he wanted to be the Grinch and proceeded to color himself green with a permanent Sharpie marker starting with (and I don't know why) a certain body part that shall remain nameless, and by that indication I'm sure that you know what I mean. For days I was greeted with that reminder each time I changed his diaper. We ended up at the E.R. one night and imagine my embarrassment when the doctor went to examine him and was about to draw the conclusion that gangrene had set up and he looked at me bewildered as he wanted to ask but couldn't find the words - "just how did this happen?"
That was just the beginning. I could write a book I'm sure on all the adventures that this boy has put me through during his 13 years. From the making sundaes in his sister's hair as she slept, covering the
Chihuahua in Elmer's glue, attempting to chisel a hole in his bedroom wall while in his bedroom for time-out (thank you Shawshank Redemption for giving him that idea) to short circuiting the house by cutting the lamp cord in half - he has been one adventure after the other.
With age comes wisdom? Not so much so. Not in his case anyway. He as a freshman in high school is still as adventurous as ever and with the years the adventure has simply become an art to him. He is all about discovering new ways to peak my curiosity and make me ask the question more than once - "what else can he come up with?"  I have holes in my vinyl siding from air soft wars in my sun room, lids found in the yard from countless water bottles used to make baking soda and vinegar bombs, and enough evidence of burning stuff "for the heck of it" that an amateur fire marshal could have an open and shut case. Now don't get me wrong he's not mean and he doesn't do the things he does in a younger version of Butch Cassidy kind of way. He's just a typical boy. He hates to brush his teeth, has to be reminded that he can't wear his socks two days in a row, and loves to look at himself in the mirror and flex his muscles.
Where as my girls were all about fixing each other's hair at a slumber party he's the "let's take this snake we found in the house and scare my sister" sleepover kind of kid. Did he do that too? Well yes as a matter of fact this past weekend he sure did. Imagine my surprise as I am fixing pancakes for a house full of kids and I hear them say - "we thought it was dead - it must have got out." So the whole day consisted of me threatening to put him on Monday's child if he didn't locate the said snake and remove it from the premises. 11 hours later the snake was captured and he was still allowed to call me Mom.
I have gone through the innocent stages of Thomas the Train, Ninja Turtles and Power Rangers to the fear for your safety if he gets ahold of you WWE and run for your life Wyatt Earp stages. I have threatened him within an inch of his life over his "hold my Dr. Pepper and watch this" antics and just eventually have given in to shaking my head and rolling my eyes as he attempts a new feat from time to time to "one-up himself" from the last go around. Some days I just laugh and some days I thank the Lord that he didn't manage to blow a finger off with a firecracker.
He's a one of a kind that son of mine and to be honest that may be a good thing -because two of him I'm not sure I could handle (because I'm really partial to my new windows). But at the end of the day, no matter what excitement he has brought my way - he always without hesitation tells his mom "I love you" and still hugs my neck as he walks off to go to bed and I say for the 2,456th time - "son don't forget to brush your teeth."

 

Sometimes Spandex is just not an option

Over the course of the past couple of days I have spent entirely too much time out in public. I’m used to my 8 hours of being secluded away from the rest of the world with my job and don’t have much interaction with the outside world unless it’s election time or I have to go to a place where there is a bigger percentage of people. It’s not that I am not a social butterfly – it’s just that when you work a job that is just you and another person all day your interaction skills aren’t what they used to be.

During my time of being with the public I have made several observations and have come to a conclusion about something. Women just don’t take pride in themselves like they used to. Women today (not all but A LOT of them) really could care less what they look like when they go out of the house. It’s really quite embarrassing to the female race to see so many women not caring about their appearance and how they present themselves.

Have you ever just took a seat at your local Wal-Mart and observed some of the women that come in there? I can’t believe that a woman can actually leave the security and privacy of her home and go shopping in Sponge Bob pajama pants, camouflage flip flops and a Dale Earnhardt T-shirt from one his first races – and not feel bad about it. Now I realize that not every woman can afford to go to Belk or Macy’s to do their shopping; in fact I can’t. But is it too much to ask of yourself to at least match when you walk outside to greet the outside world? I admit that sometimes I go to the store with my hair whipped up in an attempt of a messy bun and at times during the summer I even brave it and go without make-up. But there is just no excuse for a woman these days to look like some of these women do. And don’t even let me get started on the women that “should be wearing” something from the plus side of the women’s section but instead they are making a feeble attempt to squeeze into a pair of short shorts that require a search warrant to find where they begin and end.

 I have tried through the years to emphasize to my girls how important it is to “pretty yourself up” – sometimes they listen and sometimes they don’t. I don’t want to ever encourage them that looks are what is important – but rather the image that you present.

I am a single mom as I have established several times. I don’t have a lot of extra money for maintenance on myself, but I at least improvise. I do for the most part color my own hair. Sometimes this works out and I get compliments and praise – other times not so much – then it’s a ball cap or staying inside until the legal time limit is over (according to the box of hair color on sale that week) and I’m allowed to attempt it again. I’ve had maroon hair, yellow hair, orange and even a hint of green in it before. I make several attempts to wax the places that didn’t have hair before menopause and sometimes my chin and more cheek looks a little red like I’ve just been in a fight and suffered some blows to face. I even attempted the Listerine/Vinegar soak to make my feet look better which resulted in a slight discoloration of the skin for a while. The point is that it just takes a little effort to look presentable. I may not look ravishing when I go out in public, but I at least don’t want to have a look that would make a freight train take a dirt road.

I wish that we still had women like Jackie Kennedy that made women want to take pride in the way that they looked by the way that she presented herself. Even if it was in a pair of Capri's on the beach, she still had class and made you take notice of her. I hate to say it, but now the only women that there are for other females to follow their suit are women that have had so much Botox and liposuction that you don’t know what’s real and what isn’t.

Now I’m not trying to pick on the female population and leave the men totally out of this equation; because let me tell you I could write a chapter or two on some of the men I see too. But that’s for another day and another blog.

Let’s just do the female race a favor and try to encourage the women in our lives to strive to live up to what a lady should be and how she should present herself. Granted I know you can’t convince some women that there is more to life than a banana clip and spandex (that is entirely too small) but sometimes it just takes a little nudge and someone saying – “you really shouldn’t go out in public like that.”

When did my babies grow up?

This morning was the first day of school for my son Eli and my daughter Kailee. She is a senior and he is a freshman. I got them up and they got ready for their first big day. When it was time for them to leave they hopped in the car together and off they went.

I had bragged all summer that there would be no more driving the kids to school for this mom; that now that Eli was in high school his big sister could take him. A few days ago I asked him “well how is it going to feel that your mom doesn’t have to take you to school?” He replies [I think in an attempt to make me feel better] that I can still take him if I want. At this point however, I am thinking that I was glad to have reached that point in my life that I can finally have that much deserved and earned extra 15 minutes of sleep time on school mornings and it seemed to sound pretty good to me; so I replied with “it’s okay son – don’t want to embarrass you.”

But something unexpected happened this morning. In the midst of relishing those few extra times of hitting the snooze button it dawned on me that for the last 18 years my job has always been to cart 1, 2, 3 or more kids to school. In fact, at one time in an effort to help out a friend I was picking up two extra kids and delivering 5 of them to 3 different schools. It has been 18 years of hurrying in the morning trying to get everyone delivered on time, rushing around like a chicken with my head cut off and breathing a sigh of relief when I got them all to their perspective places in record time – feeling accomplished like I had just scored a position in what should be an Olympic event designed for only parents.

Suddenly in my revelation of the end of an era I just wanted to cry. It seems like only a few weeks ago that I was walking them into Kindergarten, holding their hand and wiping tears from my eyes as they were finding their place in the world of independence as they walked in like a big girl or boy and found their seat. In those few moments of curling back underneath my blankets this morning I was overwhelmed with flashbacks of the past school years. I thought about the pictures that they would bring home to hang on the fridge, the funny things they would write in their journals, and the stories of what exciting things happened on the playground. Suddenly my kids growing up and being independent didn’t seem so glamorous - in fact it was rather depressing. That thought of not feeling needed anymore seemed to replace the joy of me not having to experience the hustle and bustle of school day mornings.

I moped around the house, dragged my feet getting ready and tried to find anything to think about other than how life with my kids has passed by so fast. I tried to think about school years past and the days when they depended on me to get them to school; the times when I got to slip another “I love you – have a good day” in as they got out of the car. I tried to convince myself that I still have more school functions to go to, more parent/teacher conferences, and more ballgames. Feeling rather unsuccessful in accomplishing my goal of still feeling needed my phone chimes with a text. It’s from Kailee - “I forgot my volleyball bag”. Ah, that sweet kind of text that reminds a mom that she is still needed. I smiled and shrugged off that feeling sorry for myself attitude and realized that no matter how old they get they still are going to need me – even if it’s just for a volleyball bag.

A true friend is the rarest treasure

I have been overwhelmingly blessed in this life of mine with wonderful friends. I cherish each friendship that I make, and if I am fortunate each of those friendships will last throughout life. Today I celebrate the birthday of someone who isn't just a good friend; not just a best friend - but a true friend. Those kinds of friends are few and far between.
I met Shelli in 1987. We almost instantly hit it off and have been friends ever since then. Now there were a few times that we didn't always see eye to eye, but we were young and stupid and didn't know any better.
I have shared more laughter with her than any other friend that I have had. We have experienced heartaches together, helped each other through broken relationships, and have so many secrets that we will take to our graves that I don't think there will be room for our caskets. We have taken road trips that will go down in history as some of the craziest things we have ever done (like the 12 hour visit in Ohio and then coming back home). In fact when 9/11 happened we were together in Nashville and not knowing what lied ahead for our country and for our safety we got through it and became even closer because of it.
She was dubbed my children's Aunt Shelli at the birth of my first child (where she hid behind the curtain in the delivery room) and she has maintained that relationship for 23 years and has now extended that to being a great Aunt Shelli to my granddaughter. I have no doubt that should anything ever happen to me that my children will never need for anything, because that bond that she has with them is more than just an "aunt by proxy."
There may be weeks and sometimes longer that we go without seeing each other; without talking on the phone and only keep lines of communication open through text messages here and there. But she has always been there for me - no matter what the circumstance, the time or the place.
She is without a doubt one of the most original people I have ever known. In the span of over 25 years I have never once seen her in a bad mood or not enjoying life to the fullest. She's one of those people that you just have to say once "let's try it" and she's all in. Now she does have a few faults - she relies too much on what Dr. Phil says and puts entirely too much faith in Oprah. I think they have conned her into every self-help, feel-good-about-yourself and make-the-most-out-of-life books that have ever been published. But over the years I have learned to overlook those little idiosyncrasies  :)
It is very rare in life that one finds a lifelong friend that sticks by you no matter what. One that tells you what you need to hear and not what you want to hear. One that will always be that one person you can always trust, that you can always turn to and one that will never judge you when you fall short of their expectations of you. I have that in my friend Shelli and I am so blessed.
Don't get me wrong - I have more friends in this life than I deserve to have. It's just that once in a while there's that certain person who goes far above and beyond the requirements of friendship and instead becomes a part of your family, and when you have that person they deserve to be celebrated.
She has always said that she is my biggest fan - and she probably is; she always encourages me - never doubts me and pushes me constantly into the direction that I want to go but I am sometimes afraid to. It's a two way street though because I am in awe of the person that she is and I am so highly favoured by God that He chose to place someone like her in my life.
Happy birthday Shelli! I love you!

Making the change...FINALLY

Well I have finally taken the big step. Is it what I thought it would be? Is it going to be worth all the effort into making this relationship what I want it to be? I suppose that only time will tell. When you have lived your life a certain way for so long it’s hard to make such a drastic change. When you reach a certain age you become rather complacent with things being just the way they are. No need for change, no need to rock the boat, no need to fix what isn’t broken….blah, blah, blah. This is not “just” a contract – it’s a complete change of lifestyle. Yes, life has dramatically changed since the last time that I blogged. I have done something that I said I would never do….I have switched to a smart phone.

It has been a big adjustment and I have to say there are still nights that I lay awake and miss my trusty old flip phone. That phone and I have been through a lot. It had more water damage than the Titanic and had been dropped more that Taylor Swift. But yet that good old reliable phone served the purpose until lately and eventually I could just hear it screaming at me “Retire me already – I AM WORE OUT!”

So….I gave in to peer pressure, to the endless taunting of my friends and family, to the embarrassment of being the youngest person in the doctor’s office with a phone that was probably created around the time that Rhianna still had some class. To say it has been a little stressful would be the understatement of the year. I can’t figure out how to get to my voicemail; but yet I have conquered Instagram. I am rather fond of the speaking my texts into the phone instead of typing them the old fashioned way. To be honest, I thought I was only a pre-cert away from carpal tunnel surgery just from using my thumb 3,654 times a day texting my way through life. There’s just something to be said about how people look at you like you are in the Secret Service as you speak quietly into your hand where your phone is concealed. [It is, however, a little bit of a struggle with my southern accent – there are some times I wonder how in the world the words that came out of my mouth turned into what is on my screen!]

Moving forward isn’t as bad as I thought it would be, although I have to confess, it can be rather intimidating to someone as old fashioned as myself. I’m sure than in time this will become easier. In fact, I may even get to the point of actually liking it. I have a daily class with my kids and/or Patrick to teach me something different on my newly acquired friend and in a few days….or 6 months, I might even be allowed to go somewhere alone without supervision and not be afraid of being alone with my electronic pal.

I feel accomplished. I feel like I am slowly catching up to those that have advanced at warp speed ahead of me in the world of technology. Heck, next thing I may try is something called an Ipod.

We are the new Griswold's

If you were to see me out in public in one of my rare occurrences where I am dressed to the hilt toting my Coach purse and wearing my Pandora bracelet (both of which we gifts from my better half Patrick) you would probably think that I am an average person with a little bit of class.
Now on the other hand if you were to spend a day or two living with me you would find that I am really quite the opposite. Let me paint a picture for you of what my life really consists of. I live in the country in a quaint little house. I own a pig. I have stray animals that just show up randomly so any given morning I may wake up the proud owner of what could be 1 dog or it could be 6. Usually I have at least one or two canines that we commonly refer to in the south as being "in heat" so there are several times that I have to rush my granddaughter in the house because I don't have the vocabulary to explain to a 2 year old what it happening in my front yard and why she can't just go pet two dogs at one time. I have a 13 year old son that thinks nothing off walking outside in broad daylight at 10 in the morning wiping the sleep from his eyes and peeing off my patio for the cars that might be driving by. My daughters and myself walk around half the time in our pajama pants with hair that looks like it has been combed with a firecracker and no makeup. Usually every weekend I have enough teenagers who drive at my house that my driveway way looks like Fast Eddie's buy here - pay here car lot. On those weekend mornings I usually wake up to what looks like the morning after Woodstock with passed out kids lying all over my living room floor and I require a road map to get to my kitchen without stepping on one of them. I have neighbors across the field who in no uncertain terms have more of a hate relationship than love and because of their outburst of their profanities and screaming. I can practically summon the police by method of telepathic communication chanting repeatedly in my mind "they are at it AGAIN???"
Now that you have had a glimpse inside the life of the author of this blog, I will say that on some days it isn't as bad and on some days it's much more than I have described and I'm fairly certain that Jeff Foxworthy could use my life for one of his stand-up comedy routines. I try to convince myself that I and my tribe that live here with me are not "THAT much" of an example of a true redneck. But then something brings me back to reality.
Last night my jolt of reality came in the form of a conversation that Patrick and I had on the back from a really nice date. He proceeds to inform me as we drive down the interstate that he has found us an RV. [Now those of you that have read some of my blogs know that I dearly LOVE camping - so for a brief moment I was thrilled]. I inquire who for's and what not's of the proposed RV and he then tells me that it is a 1986 Toyota RV that will be perfect for us. He then goes onto say "when I get it all fixed up we can drive it on a date and on the way home I want you to walk back in the back and bake me a cake." Yep reality has set in....we are the new Griswolds!

Facing reality and chasing dreams

There comes that time in your life when all of the sudden reality sinks in. You have grown up! You wake up one day and suddenly it hits you that more of your life has passed than what may be ahead of you. With that realization comes a lot of satisfaction with the things that you have accomplished and a lot of regrets for the things that you haven't.
I've been thinking a lot in the past few months about growing older and the things that I have yet to check off my list of things to do. Don't get me wrong - I have succeeded in life with things that have mattered and things that are important. I have been incredibly blessed with 3 beautiful children and a precious granddaughter. I have basically been healthy - if you don't consider the daily aches and pains associated with the aging process. And I have been fortunate enough to have worked hard and made my way in the world without having to ask for help too many times and I have known love. But like most people, there are things that I would love to be able to have or to have said that I have done.
I try to teach my kids the importance of taking opportunities when life offers them to you and even when they aren't handed to them in a nice gift wrapped package they are still out there for them to pursue and succeed at accomplishing. But....like me when I was young I thought about tomorrow more than I thought about the present day. With age will come wisdom for them - the same as it has for me and they will hopefully see what I have tried to convey before they reach that point in life that I have reached where I have one or two too many regrets for things that I wish I had done.
Five years or so ago I was seriously contemplating going back to school and making a career for myself. But either due to fear or failure or a lack of enthusiasm, I talked myself out of it each time that the conversation played itself out in my mind. I imagine I could still do it - although to be honest any career choices that I had before wouldn't be quite as easy at the age I would be when I received my degree. The satisfaction though in merely completing the task and telling myself "I told you so" would probably be as valuable (if not more so) than the actual career itself.
But instead, I have put my thoughts into focusing on the things that I can achieve, the dreams that I can fulfill and the goals that I can reach. I have resigned myself to the fact that I am closer to retirement than I am to beginning a new career choice and have come to the conclusion that in place of feeling sorry for myself that I can't take a vacation this year, that instead I am setting my sights on a few years down the road from now; rather than thinking about the remainder of a boring summer.
While my dreams still consist of owning a camper and spending weekends at the campground or perhaps taking the kids to Disney World; I have extended my realm of dreaming to further down the road to where I can envision myself living at the beach.
Since it is obvious to me that I will never be the world traveler that packs her bags in a moment of spontaneity and heads to an exotic place picked out randomly. Perhaps living at the beach (even if it's just part of the time) seems to me like it would fulfill any void left by a lack of frequent flier miles. I love where I live; there's no place to me more peaceful than the quaint little town I have spent most of my life - but the ocean has and always will be my Heaven here on Earth. So rightfully so that's where my heart longs to be in the future.
So if I must accept the cold hard truth of getting older and live with the regrets of not doing things that I should have done, then I can at least concentrate on dreams of what my future can be. I may not be the age anymore where playing in a sandbox will bring contentment to my heart, but I can think about having a place where I can sit with my feet in the sand and stare into oblivion at the endless ocean before me. I can chose to think of the dreams that have passed me by and live with those regrets or I can pursue the dreams that are still ahead of me and pray that it will be in God's favor for me to see them come true.

A town and it's traditions

Today is the annual Square Dance in Tellico Plains. It's always on the Saturday before the 4th and has been a tradition for over 50 years. When the tradition first started it was to launch the wagon train that left for Murphy NC and it actually consisted of real square dancing and a lot of it. I remember in the 2nd grade my teacher actually taught us square dancing and I'm fairly certain some of my fellow students in my class really showed off their talents that year of dosido'ing. Through the years the square dancing has slacked off. There's still a few who showcase their ability of the lost art but not like there used to be when it first started. There's still the music and people gathering in the streets of town to visit and celebrate the day.

 The wagon train was a huge deal. People came from all over with their covered wagons and  supplies packed up ready for the yearly journey through the mountains. Men, women and children alike made the journey and most of the town would be there to send them off. One man (Chester from a previous blog) actually walked the entire trail behind the wagons one year. Charles Hall who was the Mayor of Tellico Plains for many years was a big part of the wagon train (these are his pictures from his museum that has pictures through the years of the wagon train history).

The original theme of the 4th of July Square Dance may have lessened in popularity over the years but the fellowship is still the same. Quoting Patrick Hawkins (the Mayor) from his interview with the paper, "It's more like a family reunion now with friends and family." The important part is that the town has maintained the tradition.
In the winter we have the candlelight walk. The town is decorated as far as the eye can see with luminaries that are lit with candles all down the streets and the sidewalks. The local businesses open their doors for cups of hot chocolate, the Methodist Church opens it doors to people who want to warm up by the fire outside the church and they have homemade cookies galore, hot chocolate and coffee to whoever wants it. They even take turns carrying trays to the bottom of the hill to wait for the next horse and buggy that comes through with passengers to treat them. We even have our own Grinch and his cave. And there are characters from The Christmas Carol who mingle throughout the crowd. And my personal favorite it the Cookie Caper sponsored by the Cherokee Women's Club where you can buy cookies of any flavor that your heart desires. The evening festivities are started off with the Mayor (Patrick) lighting the town Christmas tree. Oh and I can't forget to mention the gingerbread house competition that brings out the artistic creation of all ages.

 

 

A tradition is not always in the form of a town celebration. It's something that through passion and desire to pass on to generations to come. My own children have followed suit with the simple tradition of jumping off the steel bridge that is up on the river. They have gone with friends and family over the years and carried on the tradition that was started more years ago than I can count. During the hot summer days, on any day of the week, you can drive up the river and see kids and adults too standing there patiently awaiting their time to jump into the cold river to cool off. I imagine that like the yearly 4th of July square dance and the candlelight walk this tradition will go on long after I am gone.

 

Traditions are a wonderful thing. It's something that is more than a date circled on the calendar, it's something to look forward to and something to look back on. It's not just yearly a yearly get together event, it's something that becomes a part of you through the years. Whether it be a square dance, a candlelight walk or jumping off the "made famous" bridge, it's nice to be a part of history and it's a chance to make a memory.

My sun room...my refuge

A couple years ago when I decided to buy the house that I grew up in I made a few changes here and there. One of the things that I wanted was a sun room. I have to say it was probably the best decision I made with all the remodeling.
I'm sitting in that sun room this morning drinking my coffee and thinking about how much I love this addition to my house. I never realized just what this little room means to me. I can sit here and watch the kids play basketball on the court to my left or watch my granddaughter play outside. Or I can look across my driveway and see my brother sitting on the porch relaxing before he goes to work or look up the hill at my mom working in her flower garden. I can't count the nights that I have had my "alone time" sitting her on my computer or just drinking a glass of tea and listening to the katydids. I have had heart to heart talks with my mom in this room, lectures with my kids and late night talks with friends or a bunch of teenagers telling me about their day before they retire in the house for sleepovers. During the summertime almost every meal we eat of a night is eaten in the sun room. It's a room that is my refuge for solitude while I watch the rest of the world around me go on and a room of fellowship when the chairs and the floor are full of people and the laughter seeps through the screens to chime in with the music of the crickets. I have sat here in this room through thunderstorms and watched the rain and sat here in the peace and quiet and watched the lightening bugs illuminate my yard at night.
I sit here and watch the hustle and bustle of the busy back road that is traveled by neighbors, friends, family, sight seers and even an occasional scene out of Cops when someone evading the law thinks they can escape by the means of a country road. Then there are mornings like today when there isn't much to see going on but I can sit here and listen to the wind blow through the trees and savor the blessings of God's handiwork all around me. There's just something about this room that puts life into a different perspective.
I wish that my dad were still here. He would have loved this room as much as my mom does. I know that he and I would've have had many talks in this room. I can see him now getting all to comfortable with a cup of coffee and a cigarette as he settles in to talk a while.
There's just something about this room that offers a sense of tranquility and peace; even when there's air soft wars going on outside and 7 or 8 teenagers romp through here in pursuit of a Dr. Pepper or a Mountain Dew.
To some people I'm sure it's just an addition to my house, an investment that raises the value, or a room to pass through into my house. To me it's worth every penny that I put into it. It's a haven that has housed many hours of laughter and more memories than I can count. The corners seem to pile up some times with odds and ends; it's nothing elaborate or decorated with expensive furniture. It's just a simple room with a wonderful purpose - peace, laughter and solitude.
The world is just a better place in this little corner of my house. Yes, I think everyone needs a sun room.