Endless Summer Nights

So… it’s awfully quiet around here. Yesterday the kids left to go live at the House of Fun, aka Grandma’s house. (Grandpa lives there too, but he’s not in on the ownership gig. He’s just the man who gives hugs, ice cream and drives them to McDonald’s whenever they feel like going out for the “World’s Best Fries” – that’s how the kids feel about them anyway… oh heck, that’s how I feel about them too. Anyway, Grandpa’s nice to have around, but Grandma is the big draw.)

So we did what any red-blooded American couple would do in our circumstances: we went to look at Macy’s Biggest One Day Sale of the Year. Because we’re wild and crazy like that. We like to throw caution to the wind and shop for new kitchen towels or a new trashcan without the kids. Heck, we might even buy a new kitchen rug!

What? You wouldn’t have done the same thing? Hmmm. Go figure. Well, we’re buying a house and we need some things, so why not get them at the Biggest One Day Sale of the Year in the Entire History of Mankind. That was such a huge buildup for a non-event. Even their sales need sales to make the items buyable.

Anyway, it was lovely to walk the aisles, holding hands and looking for ways to spend my gift card that I got for Christmas 2 years ago. (I know. I know. It's just further proof that I have no business being in a store.) No kids whining about wanting to leave. No telling them to keep their hands to themselves. Just nice, relaxing stroll through the store where we bought a Martha Stewart spice rack and a spoon rest.

You know, it's amazing how much I know I can live without after walking through Macy's. We had the hardest time coming up with something we would want to buy there. Even on sale, the towels were entirely too expensive, the rugs were pricey and the kitchen ware offered nothing that grabbed our attention. (That was probably because we had everything that we would want from there: Calphalon, Kitchen Aid, Cuisinart coffee pot). Most of it was impractical items that looked nice on the shelf, but would bring buyers remorse once we brought it home.

We came home to an empty house. Well, almost empty. Tenni the cat was trolling for some love. Knowing that the house had been empty most of the day, I felt sort of sorry for her. Only sort of, though. She is a cat after all and one that loves to ignore you whenever she feels like it (which is always, unless she wants a scratch behind the ears.) Other than that it was shhh everywhere.

What to do with ourselves?

1. Ate a quiet dinner at home (potato skins and wedge salad)


2. Watched The Bourne Supremacy


3. Ate ice cream openly, rather than under cover


4. Slept nekked, just as we did pre-kids

Woo hoo! Hey, maybe this “kids are gone” thing isn’t so bad after all.

I’ll keep telling myself until we go to see them this weekend, only because they’re missing us so much by then. (shuddup)

Never Saw This One Coming...

Last night when I was putting The Girl to bed, she called out, "Mom! Don't do the laundry in the morning when you get up. I want to do it so that learn how to start it and to finish it by folding it all."

Ummm, okay.

Tell me something that you never expected to hear your kids utter. I'm too tired to think anymore and I'd really love to hear from you today.

What The Girl Says

The Girl is really growing fast. Too fast if you ask me. How is it possible for an 11 year old to top me by a couple of inches?

Oh, yeah. I'm short. Well, as my mom said when I finally topped her at 14 years old, "Sha. It's no big deal. Three-fourth of the world is taller than me."

Great. Now I'm turning into my mother because I said the same thing to The Girl.

She's not only tall; she's funny too. Who'd have thought that those two things would go together? Hmph. You learn something new every day.

Thanks to Mr. Right, I receive mail from Republican offices because rather than put his name on a registration sheet, he put mine. Nothing says support like signing someone else to get the stuff. This time I received a letter from Laura Bush... to me... personally!

When the girl asked who the letter was from, I told her it was from the President's wife and that she knows me so well that she sent me a letter personally. See here? It has her photocopied name and all!

"Why would she send you anything, Mom?" she asked sarcastically.

"Since I'm so such a special friend to her, she sends me things all the time."

"Yeah, like a restraining order..." she said with a wiry little smile.

That made us bust out in laughter.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The other day, I was belting out a song in the car. It was good and loud. At the end of the song, The Girl looks up to the front and says seriously, "Mom, I want to say something and I don't want you to laugh."

Me: OK. Go for it.
TG: I think you need to try out for American Idol next year.

I couldn't help it. I laughed.

TG: Mom! You said you wouldn't laugh! I mean it. You should try out for it next year! You're really good and you'd be a natural on stage! Quit laughing! Why are you laughing when I mean it?

Me: (trying to keep the laughter in check) Well, I love that you have that kind of faith in my singing, honey, but people who try out for American Idol have to have, you know, talent.

TG: But you do Mom!

Me: I have enough talent for this car and a small stage, but I don't think I have what it takes to be front and center. Besides, I'm too old.

TG: Mom, you're not too old. What does age have to do with anything when you sound really good.

Me: No, I mean that I'm past the American Idol age limit. I think they only take people up to 28 years of age. I'm well past that, babe.

TG: Well, that's just stupid. And you look 28 so that shouldn't matter. And I still say you should try out. And next time, don't laugh!

You see why I'm not in such a big hurry to have her leave? She's my in-house good feeling producer. Even if she'll tower over me.

No Post Today

I was so busy swimming with the kids, playing games, reading, going through old boxes in the basement, spending time with Mr. Right (ahem), grilling, eating brownies and talking with Mr. Right's dad who took us out for ice cream that I didn't have time to write a post. Oh, and I took The Girl and two of her friends to a church camp yesterday. We sang loudly and excitedly over many a songs on that 2 1/2 hour trip.

So as you can see, I had no time to post at all because I still had to fit in dreaming about the house and sleeping.

My bad.

So what did you do this weekend?

Simply Amazing

You know what amazes me the most about this world? That it's not as standoffish or closed-off as it seems at times. Y'all amaze me with your offers of encouragement, support and readiness to pray for someone across the web. I don't mean just for me either. Kelli, Heather, missionaries, tsunami/tornado/earthquake/hurricane survivors, Compassion... Y'all are not even picky about for whom you'll pray. Thank you for your sweet embraces. You all have made me smile quite a bit lately.

You know what else amazes me? The way that God continually shows his power.

Take Mr. Right's bout with melanoma. Only God could orchestrate such a situation that encouraged not only us, but our friends as well. We've been able to share that story, giving God all the glory for his protection.

Take when Mr. Right being let go from his job not even a month after we bought our house. God showed his hand of protection those few months that he was searching. Twice someone stepped up and anonymously paid our mortgage. We had more food to eat than we ever could eat. It seemed that we had more money in the bank than we did when Mr. Right was employed, all because of the outpouring of support and love from our friends and the church. When we would profuse our thanks to anyone, I can't tell you how many times we heard, "Stop right there. You don't know what a blessing it is to me to be able to do this for you. Thank you for letting me serve God through you." Wow. Talk about eye-opening. This lack of job stuff had more going on behind the scenes than we realized!

Take our house being on the market. When we put it on the market last year, we had this feeling that God was telling us to sell. Okay, Mr. Right had the feeling. I was pouting in the corner about selling my home. But God is good at using situations that deal with the physical world to make big changes in our hearts. Soon I came to see that selling the house wasn't about me and my wants at all. It's about trusting God to lead us and following whenever he calls. That lesson was totally worth the breaking of my selfish spirit and letting me see a bigger view.

Take the crummy agent (unbeknownst to us) who brought no clients nor advertisement. Our clean place saw a few visitors, but not many. When the basement had seepage after a huge rain (and we're on a hill, y'all!), we pulled it off the market thinking that maybe we misheard God's directions. Then we received enough money to fix the basement, buy a sump pump and replace the old carpet with a much better carpet. Due to some wonderful networking and finding a quality workman who made bids at a fraction of the cost of other workmen, we were able to save about 4K to throw into savings.

Next our insurance agent came out for something or other, and while there, he asked if we received any money for the hail that came through our area. After replying that we received a letter from his offers that basically said, "Don't even think about asking for money because we told you that roof had to be replaced when you bought it," he said that we must have read that letter wrong and that he would send an inspector our right away. By the end of the week, we had half the money to pay for the new roof. The other half was the from the money we saved from using the carpet guy. So we had a new basement and a new roof in no time, with little money out of our pocket.

This March we were still feeling the directive to put the house on the market. Many people around here said, "I don't know about this market... You might want to wait," or "You're selling it yourself? Are you crazy? You need someone who has the buyers to show your house. Well, good luck with that."

We always reply that if God wants it sold, he'll sell it no matter what the market looks like. Our God, he's the God of all things impossible. He likes to flex his muscles when he knows it seems like that there is not good end possible.

So, anyone want to guess what happened this weekend?

Let me give you a hint: we spent all day yesterday (after church, of course) looking at houses...

Nip and Tuck This Info Away

Did you know?

• Melanoma - Melanoma, the most serious form of skin cancer, is characterized by the uncontrolled growth of pigment-producing cells. One American dies from melanoma almost every hour (every 62 minutes) and is the most common form of cancer for young adults 25-29 years old and the second most common cancer in adolescents and young adults 15-29 years old. If detected in the early stages before it reaches the lymph nodes, melanoma has a 99 percent five-year survival.
• Breast cancer - Excluding cancers of the skin, breast cancer is the most frequently diagnosed cancer in women. An estimated 40,930 breast cancer deaths (40,480 women, 450 men) are expected in 2008. Early detection remains the single most effective way for combating the disease with regular mammograms suggested for women once they reach age 40. When detected early before it spreads, women have a 98 percent survival rate after five years.
• Cervical cancer - Cervical cancer is a disease in which cancer cells form in the cervix or the lower part of a woman’s uterus. While cervical cancer was once a leading cause of cancer death for women, the number of deaths has decreased dramatically due to prevention and early detection. When detected early before the cancer spreads, women have a 92-percent survival rate after five years.

About three years ago, Mr. Right had moles removed, tested and diagnosed as the worse cancer a mole could contain: Melanoma. Couple this discovery with this statement: “Although the incidence of melanoma is lower than other types of skin cancer, it has the highest death rate and is responsible for 79 percent of all deaths from skin cancer,” you could see why I would be “slightly worried.”

Do you want to take a gander at how often I was praying for a change? Not just me, but the church, friends, family? That pray without ceasing thing was finally understood by me. We had many friends who offered to help pay for tests and to do whatever it took to ease our burdens. We have mighty good friends is all I can say.

When Mr. Right went back to the doctors, the specialist was amazed. After rerunning the tests a third time, the moles weren’t just benign; they were shown to be healthy, with no hint at all that cancer was present. So not only did God remove the cancer, he sponged away any insurance comments that would have been left on a record. That God… he sure is good.

Now I have a new pray without ceasing moment: My gynecologist ordered that I have a hysterosonogram and an endobiopsy due to some abnormal results that "just don't look right" and some pain with my menstrual cycle. God’s been really good to me because I really don’t think about it. I have a good peace right now and I’m not worrying about it, but you know that I’m going to be there, checking things out despite the impending bills we’ll receive. Some things are worth the cost, especially knowledge.

So with that memory and my up-and-coming procedures running around in my head, I want to encourage you to head over to Karen’s place, Simply A Musing Blog. She has a wonderful Q & A idea that involves our asking questions and some doctors at Texas Oncology answering them. She’s doing all she can think of doing to “nip cancer in the bud with early detection.” Hey, like she says: “If we are only able to help save one life with early detection, it will be WORTH it.”



Here are a few details about the event, but please head over to her place to post your questions.

Her objective is to promote early detection and yearly screening as the best tool for preventing the deaths of thousands of women from skin, breast, and cervical cancers by taking is taking questions straight to the doctors at Texas Oncology to have them answered.

Leave your questions/send your questions to Karen starting today through Sunday. Comments will close Sunday, May 18 at 9pm central. By Friday, May 23, you can find the answers your questions back at Simply A Musing Blog.

We blog about all sorts of fun things, tidbit and memories. We share tips and recipes. Why not share something that just may help save a life or two or possibly yours?

Gratituesday 6

It's time for a little shout out to the Lord, so you know that it must be Gratituesday, where one can be vocally thankful for something in life.

Four days ago, when I was having an awkward day, I asked Mr. Right to make us some brownies. That sweet man knows me well; after pouring some into the pan, he handed me the bowl and spatula, making sure that he left quite a bit behind for me to lick clean.

Three days ago, when I had about 3 hours of sleep, Mr. Right gave me a massage to help relax me for a nap. He never once belittled me for being a lazy bum who read most of the day in hopes of it helping me to fall asleep. (I finally got an hour’s nap sometime in the afternoon.)

That same day when Mr. Right called one of our friends with whom we always eat Sunday lunch to ask about the Mother’s Day plans, he spoke briefly to one of the other men. We were all to go to someone’s house for a barbeque. I inquired as to what they wanted our family to bring. The look I received lead me to believe that bringing something never came up. Another call to our friend indicated that we could just bring a side and a dessert.

“So, what do you think you should make?” asked Mr. Right.

“Are you really asking what you think I should make to bring to a Mother’s Day lunch?” I inquired, arching my eyebrows to give the look.

“Ummm, I probably shouldn’t have asked that,” he meekly replied with a smile.

Two days ago, I awoke around 6:30 in the morning with a smile on my face. Ahhh! Mother’s Day! Rolling over to gently wake the man in charge of the morning festivities, I whispered, “If you want to make me breakfast in bed, you’re going to need to get the kids up and get started.”

“Huh?” and a glare at disturbing some sweet dreams is what I got from him. I repeated my statement, adding, “If you’re not doing breakfast in bed with the kids, then I’m getting up.”

“Oh. Yeah. So what do you want?”

“Are you really asking me that?” I asked for the second time in 24 hours.

“Ummm, I probably shouldn’t ask that either,” he meekly replied again.

40 minutes later, after quickly hiding the book I was reading and looking as if I was asleep, I “awoke” to a kiss from The Boy. Next, The Girl sang me a sweet little serenade to the tune of James Blunt’s You’re Beautiful song. “You’re beautiful. You’re beautiful. In every single way. Happy Mother’s Day.” After that came Mr. Right with a huge chocolate chip pancake, bacon and coffee that was going to hit the spot. Homemade cards, morning snuggles and breakfast in bed… it doesn’t get much better than that, no matter what day of the week it is.

The rest of the day was fun with multiple families and as relaxing as I’ll get out. (Oh, and he decided to bring chips and brownies to the bbq.) That night he cooked us steaks. They were so good, I even helped him with the dishes. (They were that good.)

I’m grateful that God has given me such a sweet man who has a funny sense of humor, as well as the insight as to how to treat me like a queen, his queen. Not only is he good to me, he encourages our children to show their affections in their own unique ways. I thank God for His goodness that is so visible through the people in my life.

1987

Tragedy struck the summer before my sophomore year. Mandy, my dear friend and confidant, had to move. Being in our military town certainly had its advantages: new friends, cultural diversity, southern upbringing, the determination to hold dear to others while they were around. The major disadvantage was that most everyone had to move just when you formed a beautiful friendship. So before our second year of high school began, I had to help my best friend pack up and move halfway across the state to Murfreesboro. So with many tears and as many promises to stay friends, I waved my sweet Mandy off to a new year somewhere new. As much as it hurt to say goodbye, at least I had the stability of familiarity and an established community of friends. Mandy was starting all over in high school. That’s not always an easy move.

However, God had a funny twist in store for me. Our home rooms, that first 10 minutes of accounting for each student’s presence, was divided up by last name. I was in the room that held M-P, which allowed me to start the day with my friends Danny and Jennifer… always a good thing when you’re in many of the same classes. We really helped each other with the homework not done (wink, wink) But suddenly there was a new boy in the room. He was quiet and well-mannered, but that didn’t stop me from walking up to him, plopping down beside him and commencing to hold a conversation with him. (I know, it’s shocking that I would make a big jump out there like that, huh?)

I soon discovered that I would have several classes with this boy named Ken. Like me, he elected to take the AP classes in almost everything: English, Trig, chemistry. Unlike me, he was artistic in an entirely different way. Where I was all about the vocal and dramatic art, he was an actual artist who left something of his talent to be seen by others. And he played something rather unheard of at that time – soccer. I had no idea what it was, but I soon found out.

So out stepped Mandy and in stepped Ken. God is good in so many ways. He knew that I needed Ken to keep my balance and perspective. He was logical, grounded – you know, typical male characteristics – but fun and witty, but not as the same caliber as me. He appreciated my outgoingness and sense of adventure as much as I loved his steadiness and outlook on life, not to mention his more intelligent answers to a number of math questions. He was a great conversationalist and (eventually) a wonderful movie/dance/pal-around mate. We made a great pair from day one.

It’s rather odd having a guy for a best friend. Well, not for me, but it was for most other people, probably my parents too. Most of my friends kept asking if Ken and I were an item. “No, we’re just really great friends,” was my usually reply. The funny thing was that as the year advanced, Ken decided that he wanted to be more than just friends. I distinctly remember the note declaring his affections for me. He also asked me out to a school dance in a group date setting. It was exciting but weird and unsettling at the same time. I didn’t know what I felt about Ken except that he was my best friend, that I could talk to him about anything and everything and that I spent more time with him than anyone else. Knowing that I was closed to dating age (16) and that his parents would be taking us to the dance, my parents let me go. They had met Ken enough to know that he was a decent guy.

We went. We had a great time as usual, but in my heart, I knew that I couldn’t see myself with him. Why? He was Catholic. I didn’t want to get involved with someone where religion might eventually play a huge factor in our relationship. (Please don’t ask how I knew that was something to consider. It seemed like such a mature decision at the time.) Sure I loved most everything about him, but I valued his friendship so much more. After explaining all these feelings to him, he was upset for a bit but then accepted them gracefully, and we agreed that our friendship was worth more than what might have developed over time… because he was staying Catholic and I wasn’t converting. Fortunately, he was a man of his word. We didn’t have any kind of breakdown in our relationship. If anything, it was stronger afterwards.

The school year progressed beautifully, full of more love of English with Mrs. Dobson, fun in French II, a new found love of chemistry (Loved Mr. Como and his teaching style, not to mention the experiments!), and of course Concert Choir. Yes, readers, I progressed enough to make it into the top choir. Woo hoo! It didn’t matter that I went from a first soprano to an alto. I was just so happy to be in the class. Don’t ask. I don’t understand it either. And the bonus was that there was a new teacher whom I adored, Miss Morrow. I loved being around her so much that I was soon given the nickname Shadow. Unfortunately for me, she was only there for a semester because she was getting married. The nerve of her! (At least she let us sing at her wedding.)

So we had a new teacher, Ms. Thomas; she was just as likable and kind to us. We were quite pleased with her as a teacher, even if she did start the semester off track. She was in an accident and began her classes a week late on crutches and with a black eye. Hey, at least everyone listened well to her out of pity.

Plays became a vital part of my high school experience. We had a new drama teacher, Mr. Collins. He was a large, gregarious, young teacher who brought new life to the stage. His first production was Godspell, and though I didn’t win a part, I took on a backstage role as a set maker and a props assistant in order to learn all that I could from theater experience. One huge role that I took great pride in doing was being the daisy pusher-upper. (In one scene where Jesus was talking about the flowers, he made them “grow”. My being the skinny-minnie, 80-lbs-soaking-wet person that I was, I was the one deemed small enough to crawl under the slightly raised platform to handle that task. I relished that distinction.)

I worked on the other plays as well: The Star-Spangled Girl as the Prop Manager, and finally I had my chance to be on stage as an extra in Grease. I was a pink lady and other various extras throughout the play. My favorite part was at the opening of the second act where I was one of the many people getting ready for the big dance. During the rehearsals, Mr. Collins let us do our own thing to see what would come out of it. For my part, I started stuffing my bra with tissues, making me much more endowed than God had in mind. He watched me, started busting out laughing and then told me to keep that bit, no matter what. Later in the dance scene, when some girl stole my date, I reached into my bra, pulled out a tissue and started wailing as I ran off stage. I got more laughs out of that little gesture. That made me happy.

In 1987, I turned 16. My friend Jennifer threw a huge surprise party for me and all our friends. It was wonderful, not to mention really crowded… I felt so good that night. My hair looked good and no pimples the size of Ireland. I was wearing my oversized white button down, my beige pants that were rolled tightly against my legs, my slip-on tennis shoes and my really cool Swatch Watch. As a matter of fact, it was so cool that Jennifer asked to see it to show it to someone else. Then Danny said that it was a warm party night and everyone should take off their shoes. Then Ken asked me to go out to the back yard with him to say hi to those out there. As soon as I hit the back yard, the next think I knew two guys had me up and over the side of the pool. I’d say that it bothered me, but that would be lying. I used that time to splash everyone else. My only problem came when I realized I was wearing a white shirt… Ummm, white and water do not a good combination make. Laughs all around, along with a towel and a new set of Jennifer’s clothes and the party was a lot of fun.

It was actually a great start to that fun summer and the joys of being allowed (finally) to drive.

The Birthday Fun

Sorry Mom and Chris... you'll have to wait til next Monday for the high school memories and the really great music.

Thank you all so much for the sweet birthday wishes. I did indeed have a wonderful day! It's amazing how much fun you can have when you and your family are pretty footloose and fancy free.

I posted the birthday list before we did anything that day, so there were a few minor additions to it.

First of all, the weather was supposed to be rainy and cold, but one of God's gift to me was a beautifully sunny 70 day. The kids and I took the opportunity to plant some flowers while Mr. Right was mowing the lawn. The hanging pots were missing from our pretty view.

Secondly, our neighbor, the one who works for AMC, came over to see if we wanted to go see a movie. (He gets free tickets and he offered them to us.) So we went to go see Iron Man, which I must tell you was thoroughly enjoyable. There were a couple of parts that I wish the story left out - like a one night stand, but they only implied the one night stand, not showed it. But the story was witty and enjoyable, the graphics were phenomenal and the time was well spent. Oh! And stay to the very end past the credits. (We always stay to find the caterer... don't know why, we just have always done that.) Anyway, we stayed to the end and there was an extra little bit at the end.

Dinner couldn't be any better... except maybe if Addie and Ben could have made it. The food was delish and the company was even better. I think we all had a great time together.














Everyone came back to the house for desserts, wine and fun. The funny part about the evening was that a couple stopped by to pick up a sheet for the house and began looking in the back yard. The Girl came running in to say that a weird man was checking out the house, so Mr. Right went out to check him out. Next thing I know, the man is inside looking around the house. Ummm, did I mention the fact that it was my birthday and I didn't waste anytime cleaning a thing? So there were unmade beds, dirty laundry and a kitchen that had the telltale signs of baking. I ran up to at least try to compile the dirty underwear into one place and to put away the ironing board. Next think I know, the man's wife is looking at the house, and I begged someone to come upstairs with me to make the beds and to clean the toothpaste out of the sink. (Thank you, Laura!) The funny thing is that if that couple buys this house (and they did seem very interested), then that will prove once again that it's God in control, not us, because we broke every house-selling rule that day. We had guests, we didn't have a clean house, our kids were climbing the trees, and we literally aired our dirty laundry. I find the entire situation truly humorous and fitting to the honor of God. Kind of like the walls of Jericho falling down with only some people walking around and blowing trumpets. We'll see if they want it, but if not, it's at least a great story...

The rest of the night we relaxed, played charades and SWAP! and enjoyed each other. (Oh, and I received some wonderful gifts. I'm geared up for chocolate, coffee, there's a new planter on the front porch, an AMC giftcard, a new Bluetooth piece for when I'm willing to talk on the cell, and three wonderful massages in my future. Oh, and my kids made me the most precious coupons to use with them later. I can't wait to use them!)

I plopped into bed, tired and happy. I couldn't have had a better birthday at all. It's good to be 37.

I've taken the day off to go on a field trip with The Boy. I'll catch y'all on the flip side tomorrow.

37

What does turning 37 mean to me?

1. Lunch the week before with my boss (steak with blue cheese crumbles)
2. Gift card to favorite Chinese restaurant
3. Lunch the day before birthday with coworkers for worlds best salad
4. Thoughtful gifts from them (I'll be smelling really great for a while.)
5. Smiling at the number of “birthday gifts” from my online friends (Yay y’all!)
6. Waking to kisses from the not so little ones
7. Morning snuggles from them (still!)
8. Coffee in bed with the man I love
9. Biscuits and gravy
10. Morning serenade
11. Homemade cards
12. Special gifts from the kids
13. Checking to see if I still look young
14. Having a day with no plans (that I know of anyway)
15. Being waited on hand and foot
16. Time alone with Mr. Right (ahem)
17. Reading next P.D. James book in series
18. Not having to make lunch
19. Spending time with my favorite people
20. Calls from the family with well wishes
21. Dinner at my favorite place (see #2)
22. With lots of friends
23. Much laughing
24. Much conversing
25. Returning home for games
26. Charades
27. Strawberry pie
28. Apple pie
29. Brownies
30. Decaf coffee
31. Wine
32. Opening gifts
33. Tucking tired-but-not-sleepy kids into bed
34. Thanking friends for their love and the pleasure of their company
35. Falling into bed happy
36. Knowing that I have an extremely blessed life
37. Thanking God for giving me another wonderful year

1986

High school: The start of where you really learn about life, who you are and who you didn’t want to be.

Being the nerdy, school-loving person that I was, I could not wait to start ninth grade. The shear joy of signing up for my choices, finding out how much time I would have to run from one class to another, discovering who would be my classmates for the next four months (or if it were a full semester class then for eight months all together.) Oh and the clubs! We could join clubs of all sorts. Really, I was a social butterfly that first year: Thespians (All the hazing during pledge week! Every time a member approached, Danny, Jennifer and I had to fall to our knees and loudly proclaim “Oh great Thespian I adore thee!”), Choir, FCA, Pep, French… and others that I can’t think of at all right now.

Bummer. I only made it in Girls Chorus. Oh well, I could sing Soprano there as well as in Chorus. And then of course I had to take the dreaded PE class that every upper classmen swore was better to get out of the way early rather than later in the high school way of things. But at least I had Mandy in that class. If I’m going to look like a dork in that ugly goldenrod t-shirt and those black shorts, we’ll at least do it together. But I did make it in all the AP classes I wanted, which was probably a miracle of sorts because most of my friends were smarter than me. (I’m not saying that I wasn’t smart; I know I was. I’m just saying that on the smart scale, I was on the lower end of the smart stick. Hey, I’m just keeping it real.)

First day there, I started making additional friends. Being outspoken and witty at the right moment can do that for you. (Or not, I have no delusions that everyone loved me.) But the transition from attending a school with 600 to a school with 1600 wasn’t too hard on me. Of course I worried about being cool and fitting in, but for the most part, I didn’t worry about being liked or making my mark. Amazing, when I think about it. Who goes into high school completely comfortable with who she is? Sure I worried about the *cough, cough* occasional zit and the complete lack of datability, but overall, I really liked who I was, where I was at and who was traveling that road with me.

Football games were fun and freeing. I often met my friends for the game. Cheering, laughing, yelling and enjoying those warm Southern nights… A Friday night really couldn’t get any better. Saturdays nights often turned into sleepovers or Youth Group activities. Oh, and it was due to sleepovers that I really discovered how weird I was. I was often awake and out of bed by 7 AM. How boring it was to be at a friend’s house when everyone slept until 10 AM. Sigh.

PE – not coed, thank goodness! Freshmen girls have a hard enough time dealing with the way they look without having any of the guys as onlookers as well. Mandy and I had a great time learning how to pretend that we could do anything athletic. Wait a second, athletics was an area where I was very insecure. I was 5’ 1” and a whopping 80 lbs, if that. I’d always been the shortest and smallest in class and therefore the last to be picked on teams (a tradition I loathe, by the way. Lucky for those elementary educators that I didn’t allow myself to be scarred for life and have traumatic emotional issues over always being unwanted…) But AHA! Mandy and I learned to kick boo-tay in Volleyball and guess who took first place in the Badminton Championship? Uh-huh! You got it! We bad! We bad! Hey, it made our entire torturous time in that class well worth it. Leave me be in my glory days.

One class that I couldn’t wait to attend was English with Mrs. Werner. Oh if only everyone had a mentor or encourager like her! She was the first teacher to bring English to life for me. She expected top notch and, if she didn’t get it, she would send your submittal back to you with instructions to do better. She encouraged reading and opinionating what you read. She delighted in reviews, creative writing and the idea that books are something to be enjoyed, not endured.

Girls Chorus was unique. There I made friends with a myriad, most of whom were named Jennifer pr some variation of the name. Some became really close buddies. We laughed, enjoyed music together and, well, mostly we felt sorry for our teacher, Mr. Svelte. Poor man. He tried so hard, but he had such a spineless way about him. This characteristic did not bode well for anyone teaching teenagers. I cannot count the number of times that year that he came to school in the same clothes because his wife kicked him out of the house and refused to let him enter, even for necessities. He was a nice man, but slightly off-kilter due to a number of factors. Our chatting, giggling selves couldn’t have helped at all.

I discovered the joy of working a play. Building a set, painting, rehearsals, long hours memorizing lines... and the camaraderie that is naturally built when working several hours a day together, only getting longer and longer as the performances drew near. These were the moments that I loved. With these surroundings came a kind of vitality on which I could almost feed. I just knew that I had found another niche, one that could bring me joy from a different perspective. Although I didn’t make it into any of the plays that year, I vowed that I would the next. That was a promise I intended to keep…

1985

Eighth Grade

What can be said about this year?

It was a year that brought me face to face with so many things. Some good, some that no child should have to know.

I was in my first wedding that year. My mom’s best friend’s daughter was marrying and she asked for me to be her flower girl. Yeah, at 13 years old. Well, I felt lovely (though not beautiful) in that long pink gown. I can remember the pictures of my standing next to Sean, the ring bearer. He too was 13 years old and a member of our youth group. I’m sure that he was only in the wedding because his mother made him be in it. That made for great pictures, let me tell you…

In school, we began the process of having multiple classes with other students. Though the classes were assigned, I remember the thrill of walking down the halls to attend with different friends. Danny remained in my music and English class. It was in this English class where I learned, really learned, the value of a good debate. (Oh how I wish I could remember the teacher’s name! He was a huge man who looked exactly like a gorilla and he had the condescending way of looking at his students over his glasses.) It was in his class that I sparred verbally for my earned A in the class. He was tough, intelligent, but not unbendable. I do believe I received my A, not only because of my work, but because I was willing to challenge him on a intellectual level rather than whining.

Fortunately Mandy and I still had three classes together, one of which was Social Studies with Mr. Cumming. That man was a hoot! He definitely brought out the ornery in me. Mandy and I were often trying to pull some sort of mischievous deed on him.

Unfortunately, it was also in Mr. Cumming’s class that I received my first migraine. As I was sitting in class, my sight slowly started to fade into white spots. Eventually, I became scared enough that I poked Mandy in the back and pleaded with her to ask Mr. Cumming if she could take me to the office to call my mom. I must have looked the part of scared well; she didn’t even question me. She went straight up to make the request. To which he told her to sit down and for me to quit starting trouble. I think I was able to sit five more minutes before I had Mandy take me up to Mr. Cumming. I recall with clarity the calmness that I had while describing what I could and couldn’t see. And then I broke out into tears. He then let Mandy take me to the office. I think he figured out I wasn’t fooling at that time.

Next up to convince: my mother. I don’t mean to say that I cried wolf a lot. I didn’t. But I’m sure it will come as a huge surprise to you that I was a drama queen. (I can hear the gasp from here!) When I got Mandy to call her, I started bawling about not being able to see and my head hurting and could she please come and get me. She came and got me and we went straight to the naval hospital. There I was told that I had to stay up all night with nothing in but water and then come in the following morning for an EKG or an EEG or something with a G. That was another fun night let me tell you. My parents took shifts to make sure that I stayed away. Can I just share with you how much there wasn’t on tv at zero dark thirty in the morning?

Cut to the quick: The guy put all this plaster around my head, stuck some wires to my noggin and turned on a machine. I still don’t know what it was all about, really. All I know is that I remember wanting to fall asleep each time I closed my eyes, but the guy didn’t say that I could or couldn’t so I jerking my eyes open. Guy pulls wires from my head, eventually someone comes to tell my mom that I have optical migraines, but no worries! Mine are triggered by a combination of types of food (lots of junk) and lack of sleep. Ta da! And then he sent us on our merry way to get that plaster our of my very, very long hair.

What’s the first thing we do? We eat at El Toro Taco, the best hole-in-the-wall place that served Toro Burgers, which is basically taco meat in a hot dog bun, served with the secret sauce and cheese. Yum! It was heavenly after that fasting. However, getting all the plaster out of my hair wasn’t. It took 3 washings to remove it. My poor mom, I'm sure she was transported back to the time when I was three and full of sand...

Fast forward to Pep Rallies, school games and “dances” (You know – the times when music was played, but no one would get out there to dance because no one would ask the other to dance. Instead there was lots of talking above the music and head-bobbing all around.) Cheerleaders and players. Yelling for your team and laughing with your friends. Comforting someone who ran to the bathroom in tears because her boyfriend of two weeks broke up with her and now she’s destined to thwart love forever! (Not me by the way. My time came when I was much more mature – like in 10th grade.) These were the moments that made up 8th grade.

Sleepovers and playtimes. Makeup and daydreams. Wanting to grow up, yet still enjoying being a kid. Getting to go to a movie without a parent. Eating cold pizza and guzzling a good portion of the 3-litre of Coke. These were exciting times in the life of a 13 year old. Things were changing, and we were just along for the ride.

But not all change was good. Jenny A., a sweet, likable girl who seemed to have it all – a nice jock-boyfriend, a position on the cheerleading team, the latest in clothes, she took her life one day – shot herself without fully thinking of the ramifications of what it would mean to those left behind. Though I was not bosom buddies with her, I remember crying and being stunned, over the loss, over the sadness, over her hopelessness. I still don’t to this day know why she did it. I do remember thinking that if she had just held on a little longer, things might have been different for her…

Why did life have to be so confusing and unstable? We were just kids!

But thank you God for short-term memories. Life resumed at its normal pace, and the thrill of living returned soon enough. School and its work did not stop. Church activities still blossomed, creating more and more endearing relationships with those in the same group. Life as a middle schooler continued with a determined hope that things would never be bad enough that it couldn’t be handled in the here and now. I’d rather live and cry than to die and to miss out on the things to come – whatever those things happened to be.

Summer came and with it came thoughts of my biggest challenge yet – high school. I wouldn’t be a fish in the pond any more. I would be a little minnow in a sea of faces. 1 in 1,600 because we had a large high school… but I was ready for it. I had energy and hope to spare and the friends to help with all the fun to come.

Not-So-Perfect Timing

Having a hormonal daughter aligned with a hormonal mother may just mean that we’re going to have fireworks a time or twenty-two… Poor Mr. Right. He’s going to be there to witness it all. Or maybe not. Maybe he’ll think that having Guy Time with The Boy would be perfect right about now.

Until 2015.

It's not even bad right now, but from all that I hear and all that I remember, it's going to come, no matter how good/sweet/gentle of a person she is. It’s the patience that I’m going to need that gets me to thinking. If you’re gonna pray for my sanity, please pray for that. I’m going to need all the serenity and fortitude that I can get, not to mention healing for my tongue for all the times I'm going to bite it in hopes of an showing love.

What can I do that will help The Girl and me with our tidal waves of emotions? Along with patience, I could use some wisdom from experience too. Think back to your adolescence. What happened that was a comfort to you? What do you wish could have happened to make this transition easier for you? What did you do as a parent that worked wonders with your pubescent children? What would you change if you had that chance again?

Spill it, people! I need help, one blogger to another.

1984

Take a stroll with me, would you? Here, I'll even give you some walking music.

Ahhh yes, 7th grade: the time when everything was different - clothes, school, the body itself. It was here that I first learned to change classes every hour. It was here that I discovered how truly inept I was at Social Studies/History (Sorry Mr. Webber... I really did try! I just couldn't make those dates stick in my head.) It was here that everything held more meaning than it should have. Any action was fraught with emotions from all sorts of causes - a broken pencil, a ton of homework, parents not understanding me, the fact that Jeff W. wouldn't acknowledge that I was alive.

Oh yeah. These times? They were, like, you know, kickin'. (Not to mention full of many tears, moments of frustrations and questions about whether I was good enough. Good enough for what, you ask? Well, for anything.)

And yet...

7th grade was also when I met my best friend Mandy, the first girl that I felt actually understood me and truly liked me anyway. Shy, quiet Mandy teamed up with loudmouth, outgoing me... We were like the Laurel and Hardy of the middle school. She was blonde, pretty and extremely talented with the art pencils. I was brunette, acne-covered and not good at much except making others laugh. However, we were both pretty smart. We had that in common and we were in the same classes all day long. (It was in 7th grade where we began changing classes, but we did it as a whole class. I think the administrators thought that it would help us to slowly work in changes.) Boy did we make a great team in each class! She was my chum, the sister I never had, my secret keeper, my bosom friend.

This was also the year that I became friends with Danny. We had earlier due to the fact that his sister and my brother were in choir together in high school. Both of our parents helped with all choir activities and trips. So we had met, but had never taken the time to befriend each other. Here is where it happened: in the cafeteria and in our own music class - one class where they did join some of the students. There we had our common ground that lead to other eventual common grounds.

It was in this time that I found secure footing at church. As a new Christian, I wanted to be useful. So I became a JOY Bus teacher, singing and telling stories every Sunday morning as we picked up kids for church. I, along with all my church friends (who also became school friends since the middle school had many of the elementary schools merge into one) also became a more involved with the youth group. Attending their teen times, getting to be one of the "elite" (you know - how you thought those older than you getting to do things you couldn't - they were just so cool!), joining in the youth activities, youth rallies and mini-mission trips where we would help others. But the big thing we were able to do was to go to Chickasaw... the memorable, fun-filled week of summer camp that everyone looked forward to attending. Never mind that it was the Middle School version of the High School week. All that mattered is that we arrived.

Although I look back at seventh grade and see the typical questions of abilities or being acceptable to others (and always - I saw myself as not pretty... I think that comes with the territory of being a tween), there was still that spark of something inside of me that knew I was valuable, that I was okay. I was, for the most part, able to be myself without too much worry about what others thought of me. I actually liked me! (I only wished that God had saw fit to at least give me a chest. That might have helped with the self-confidence in 7th grade...)

Surprisingly, in this tumultuously rocking boat on a sea of change, where several of my friends fell, I found secure footing in who I was and what was slowly molding and defining me. I was pretty comfortable with the way was God making me, who he brought around me to shape my mind and emotions and into what he was making me: a likable, funny girl with a heart ready to take on what the world would give.

That, my friends, was worth more than anything I could think of value at the time, even more than Jeff W. noticing me.

(Strangely enough, The Girl is fast approaching these same years. I have hope, as I watch her now, that she will in fact, turn out to be my daughter. This is when I truly hope she takes after me.)

Dear Drivers

Dear Sirs and Madams of any and all vehicles:  

I would like to share my noted observations for several of you who "share" the road with me.

1. While I may not pay as many taxes as you do, Mr. Hummer or Mrs. BMW, I still do pay them.  Therefore, the road is mine as well as yours.  Please cease and desist from acting as if you are the sole owner of the pavement.
2. Mr. Explorer, when you bob and weave in traffic every morning, making dangerous lane switches and causing those behind you to slam on the brakes, you do not in fact get any further down the road than I do.  On most mornings, I catch up to you at the lights.  I just thought you should know that.  It might help you to calm down and to realize that we all eventually get there in time.
3. I'd like to give a Shout Out to every single driver that wouldn't allow me to switch lanes when I sat there with my blinker on behind a stalled vehicle, waiting for someone to slow down and show kindness rather than speed up.  Those were a good three minutes, I'm telling you.  You really were showing some driver love then.  Thanks.
4. Mrs. Morning Mascara Applier:  Ummm, don't.
5. Mr. Black-Smoke-Coming-Out-Of-My-Muffler:  Please get your vehicle off the road and into a shop for repairs.  It smells awful, the other drivers sometimes have a hard time seeing, and I know that you're not doing wonders for the environment.  Please, please, please get that fixed.
6. Mr. Caddy, I think everyone who is capable should be able to drive.  However, if you cannot at least drive within 10 miles of the speed limit, would you please delay your driving time until after the bulk of rush hour is pass?  You sweet thing, I, as well as your fellow commuters,really would appreciate making it to work on time.  Thank you!
7. Mr. Ride My Tush, since you can't seem to make a correlation of my reaction to your driving, let me just say for the record that when you ride closely to me trying to get me to hurry for your benefit, you bring out the ornery in me.  Every. Single. Time you drive so closely to me, I will match the speed of the car next to me, even the speed of the aforementioned Mr. Caddy.  The reaction on your face is worth this juvenile behavior on my part.  (The funny thing is that I would totally make it so you could get by if you wouldn't follow so closely.  I thought I would just let you know.)
8. Mr. and Mrs. I-Must-Be-First, when there is a road that has two lanes and it merges into one, it is common courtesy to allow the drivers in the merging lane to be added to your lane.  It is not illegal for the other drivers to be in that lane and those drivers are not out to get you.  They just want to merge as the road indicates.  Please stop speeding up and not allowing drivers to merge.  It's nothing personal to you.  I promise.
9. To every single talking-on-the-cell-phone-while-driving driver, if you cannot do both safely, please either refrain from chatting or pull over to finish your discussion.  I'm tired of having to practice my defensive driving skills around you all... and there are many!  Oh and when you do use your cell, please understand that your hands are for driving, not for talking.  Your caller can't see your gestures, in case you didn't know.  You're welcome.
10. BLINKER!  Hello?  Anyone?  Beuller?  Beuller?  Beuller?
11. Oh and on that note, just because you turn on your blinker, you do not have the right to move over immediately.  You must look first, and if it is open, then you can switch lanes.  By "open", I do not mean one car space; I mean ample room.  The two blinks of your yellow tail light does not give me enough time to slow down nor does it give you the right to cause an accident.  I'd like to remind you that you have a thing called a brake on your car.  There will be times when you will need to use it.  This would be one of them.  Thank you.
12. Mrs. I-don't-have-a-car-seat-for-my-child, please get one.  You create more worry by trying to deal with your jumping toddler in the backseat.  And I'm not only talking about the times that you swerve into my lane.  I'm talking about safety here, for us and for your child.
13. To all cigarette smokers:  Your window is not a trash can.  Please refrain from flicking your cigarette butts out the window, especially when they're still hot.  Please use your ashtray and empty it later.  If your car doesn't have an ashtray, please add one to your vehicle.  Thank you.
14. To Mrs. Sing Along: We're driving sisters, do you know that?  I was right there with you with the "Total Eclipse Of The Heart" production we did in our cars.  I was right there with you.  See you on the stage tomorrow, same time, same station.
15. To Miss-Change-Her-Clothes-At-The-Stoplight who sat in the car behind me:  Dude!  You have brought back some great high school memories for me!  So that's what I looked like as I shimmied into my jeans...  Thanks for waiting for the red light.  I totally was hoping that it would be enough time for you, and it was.  You were getting your last sneaker on as it was time to move our cars.  Sweet!  May you be blessed with many more ample moments should you find yourself needing to pull a Superman...

Sincerely,

Shalee

What would you tell other drivers if given a chance?  I know I missed some stuff that probably needs to be said...

Thanking Those Who Deserve It Most

Somehow my post for today pales when compared to an email that I received last night. So I'm replacing whatever mundane thing I had to say with these wonderful words that were written from a loving parent.

Whether or not you support the war in Iraq, it does not diminish the fact that men and women put their lives on the line for their fellow human race. They do it not for glory or for accolades, but because it is their beliefs that their country is worth the dangers of fighting and that every human deserves to be protected.

First, please go to this post and this post, reacquaint yourself with SSG Heathe Craig, a man who perished for the sake of serving you. Then you will understand the reason I received the following from his father, Jeffery Craig.

Dear Shalee,

I would like to thank you for your July 2006 remembrance of PFC Brian Bradbury, and, SSG Heathe Craig. It has taken me some time, (as you can see) to tell you thanks. I am the proud father of Heathe Craig. I am also the proud father-in-law to Judy. She is a wonderful person, and always a part of our family. The two of them created two very beautiful children, and we love them all dearly. But we do miss them. The distance between is hard, but, we try to stay in contact as good as we can. Judy, the children, and, Judy's mom and dad were here to visit last summer for 2 weeks, and , we had a great time with all of them. My wife Sheila and I are planning a trip to Germany later this year to see all of them again. We would certainly love to see all of them more often, but vacation time and $ make it a little more difficult.

I know Judy has told you much about Heathe, and, I also remember those times of him as an adult, but, I also remember the little boy. Laying on the bed with him as an infant, just watching in amazement at the little being before me. I also remember the scraped knees, bloody noses, sickness, laughter, and just watching him grow so fast.

Heathe was always a very compassionate kid, always willing to help, and, feeling right along with anyone in pain. He always had a very big heart. It didn't surprise me to hear that he wanted to be a medic. To help other people. I never saw him turn away from a chance to help. It was his nature. To him it seemed like his destiny.

We as parents spend our children's young lives trying to teach them everything that's right. The rest is up to them. Heathe mastered the right way to do things. I feel I could use a few pages out of his book. I always thought as Heathe's father, someday I would be his hero. Quite contrary. Heathe is my hero and always will be. He will live on in my heart forever. I will be with him again someday.

My wife told me once that she felt that I was making myself a victim. I suppose at the time she was right. No longer am I a victim, but, just a father dearly missing his son. They say it gets better with time but they never said how much time.

My prayers are with all of our military people all over the world. Without them I would probably not be writing this now. We have them to thank for our liberties.
                                                                                                                                                                       Thank you once again, and, sincerely,

Jeffrey Craig

Dear Jeff,

I'm so sorry that you and your wife have been put into the position of missing your son. But I thank you for raising Heathe to be brave, caring and concerned for the welfare of others. Your words are full of love for not only Heathe, but for your daughter-in-law, Judy. You're right. It is because of heroes like Heathe that we have the security and freedom today. Thank you for sharing so eloquently and beautiful the value of each soldier. They are all somebody's child, full of life and part of someone's memory. 

May God grant you continued peace and healing,

Shalee

What A Perfect Weekend

Some weekends are just so perfect, you don't want them to end. I'm really happy that we have Monday off as well. We're going to soak in the beauty of an extended break.

Well, you know that the best thing in the entire world happened Friday night. The Girl specifically requested that it be a small gathering with selected friends. "Not that I'm ashamed to get baptized, Mom. I just don't want to do it in front of everybody!" So we chose Friday night, after work and in time that her grandparents could join us for the festivities. It was such a beautiful, special time for her and for us.

After she had been baptized, I had a special moment with her in the changing room. As I was blowdrying her hair, she asked me what it was like for me when I was baptized. Thinking back to that special time, I recalled how I, too, was 11 years old. One Sunday morning, I had this feeling, this shivering, exciting feeling inside of me that made me step out into the aisle during the invitation. I knew, deep down in my heart that it was time. As I walked up to the front, I walked right by my parents. I could hear my mom say to my dad, "Don, that's Sha!" I think it surprised them because they hadn't discussed it with me, but because my dad was the evangelizing type and because I'd gone to church for as long as I could remember, I knew what I must to make myself right with God.

My dad baptized me that morning, April 10th to be exact. I've a baptism certificate somewhere, but I don't need it to remind me of that day. It's ingrained in my memory.

As I was talking to The Girl about my baptism memory, she was nodding, as if agreeing that that was exactly how she was feeling at the moment. And for just one moment, I had a glimpse of how it will be when she has her wedding day. That moment of connection when we're on the same page about the events that we will share. It was an exhilarating, yet mind-boggling thought. I'm not ready for her to grow up, yet I can't wait for her to have her special times.

Most everyone celebrated the entire event with a run to Dairy Queen because nothing caps the night like a hot fudge sundae! (Yes, Susan, we did see your son there. He was slaving away in the back.) Laughter, joy, family gathering... these were just icing on the cake to complete this most glorious day.

Saturday began with homemade biscuits and sausage gravy (Grandpa's favorite!) and really great coffee. The rest of the day involved working around the house some more (will we ever be ready?!), a run to get our taxes done (yay, we're getting enough back to pay off the last credit card! Hallelujah and thank you God!) and because we knew we were getting money back, we splurged for pizza that night. Ahhh, no dishes to clean... see, I wasn't kidding when I said it was perfect.

Sunday was church, where we witnessed The Girl taking her first communion. I cried. Oh, what joy to celebrate all over again. We had lunch with our friends and we asked them if a couple of their kids could spend the night that night. The kids have played well all night and all this morning. I can hear the boys playing some kind of superhero imagination game as I type and the girls are upstairs doing girl things.

Today, at this moment, I am realizing how God has blessed us and is continuing to bless us in ways that are beyond my comprehension. Isn't it such a humbling thought when you realize that though hard times will always cycle into life, goodness and blessings will always be prevalent too? May we all have such realizations today.

I Call Dibs On Sitting By Her In Heaven...

Guess what family just got a little bigger....

Yours, I hope!

Say hello to your new sister.

There is no greater joy for a mother than this moment!

The angels are rejoicing in Heaven...  What a glorious day Friday turned out to be!

Would you mind saying a salutation to The Girl, your new sister in Christ? (But I wouldn't recommend that you pull the old "Now go around the room and tell everyone's name bit" yet... Give her a week and then pull it on her.)