a tick in your navel

Sooooo, coming back from Ft. Worth was a similar experience driving down - at least the first half. Once we hit Little Rock I made Kevin wake up so we could finish listening to "Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde" on cd, which we did. May I just politely request that Robert Louis Stevenson rise from his Samoan grave and rewrite the last chapter? One of the most fascinating stories in English literary history, and he nearly ruins it with the longest, most tedious, most anti-climactic ending ever written. But I digress . . .

Kevin woke, and after Karen (the GPS aussie navigational mistress) led us on an unfruitful wild goose chase for a non-existent, but much-craved Schlotsky's (which she pronounced "skaLAWTskies") we stopped at Carino's for lunch. About an hour post-lunch, Kevin expressed a great need to void his bladder. I reached up to his take-out cup, lifted the lid, and insinuated a porta-potty use for said cup. He looked at me with disdain and proclaimed, "You should stop talking. Seriously, Mom. You should take a vow of silence. I bet you can't do it for even 10 minutes."

I proved him wrong by 50 minutes. A complete HOUR of silence. Not only I, but the radio as well. Insanity for Kevin was soon to surface. He found the quiet, uh, disagreeable. Begging ensued. "Please talk, Mom. Please. You can break your vow of silence. You are driving me crazy. Talk to me!!!"

My son had no idea just how strong-willed his mother could be. For a very long hour, I became the Mrs. Hyde to my usual Dr. Jekyll persona.

Now, lest you think me the world's meanest mom either for not letting my baby sleep in peace on our Texas trek or for the 6o minutes of white noise, let me just share a couple of quotes with you about my precious boy:

From one of our church shepherds to my son:
"You're worse than having a tick in your navel!"

From a sweet girl Kevin knows from his drama class:
"I didn't believe in hitting people until I met you!"

He's a pest . . . make that Pest. Capital P. So, I took great delight in returning the favor on behalf of everyone he has ever annoyed. (Ahhh . . . I can almost hear the applause rising from all of you who know him.)

automotive narcolepsy

Officially I have driven over 1700 miles in the past 5 days. I like road trips - always have . . . of course, that's always been within the framework of traveling with Mom or Kacey. They talk. I like to talk. Especially on road trips. Frequently we have taken "books on cd" with us when we travel . . . we have yet to ever listen to one. We just gab. Or sing. Or play music/movie trivia games. It has generally been entertaining, quality family time.

This trip, however, was with Kevin. Just Kevin. Now Kevin likes to talk. And sing. At least when we drive around at home. But what I discovered about my son last Thursday is now being researched by the Center for Disease Control in Atlanta and may be documented in the January issue of the American Medical Association's Journal. My son has a disease of which I was heretofore unaware: I have named it "Automotive Narcolepsy". The engine starts, his brain stops. He slept. And when I say slept, I mean instantaneously and continuously. From Nashville to Fort Worth, as though comatose from an OD of Benadryl. For 13 hours he woke only to pump gas, eat sushi, and make a few snide comments about his mother.

a

This makes driving a very lonely business indeed. And I do not like lonely. I kept myself busy by the following means:

7:45 - 8:30 Texted both Sara and Mike who dutifully entertained me

8:30 - Took picture of Kevin sleeping

8:31 - Listened to a great mix cd with everything from RocketSummer, Silver Chair & Hoobestank to Eric Clapton, Elton John & James Taylor to Jack Johnson, John Mayer & K.T. Tunstall.

9:30 - Stopped in Jackson for gas and a Starbucks' Cranberry Orange Scone and Pumpkin Spice Latte.

10:00 - Speed conversation with Kevin (about the fact that he was born in Jackson) while he consumed his Starbucks.

10:03 - Took picture of Kevin sleeping.

10:04 - Chewed all of my cuticles off, until my fingers were pink and tender. Gross.

11:00 - Listened to the mix cd again, this time taking great delight in poking Kevin every time a new song came on to ask, "Who's this?" "Who's this?" "Who's this?"

11:59 - Took picture of Kevin sleeping

Noon - Misprogrammed the GPS on purpose just to hear Karen, the Austrailian navigational voice, tell me to take every exit north of I-40, which, of course, I did not really want to do. Then, each time I did not make her recommended exit she would say, "REcalculating!" At one point I'm pretty sure she cursed at me.

1:30 - Carried Kevin over my shoulder into Sakuro Sushi in Little Rock. Set him in a high chair and force-fed him a Sherwood roll with chopsticks.

2:30 - Made Kevin play music trivia with me until "Let It Be" came on the radio and I asked him which Beatle sang "Let it Be" and he replied, "George Hanson". My 20-minute lecture on John, Paul, Ringo and George HARRISON put him back to sleep. (Oh, and it's Paul who sings Let It Be.)

3:00 - Took picture of Kevin sleeping

3:01 - Took a text poll to find out what Baskin-Robbins flavors all my people like. Kacey is a Rainbow Sherbert girl, Nathan prefers Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough, Lindsay loves Raspberry Cheesecake, Mikey likes Strawberry (snooze) and Sara doesn't know. I, myself, am a Peanut Butter Chocolate fan.

3:30 - Learned that Moore's and Bradley House were burning and that McKayla's homecoming dress was lost in the fire. Prayed for those involved and felt bad for McKayla since homecoming was the next night.

4:00 - Took picture of Kevin sleeping

4:01 - Tried to remember the name of the sushi place, which was Sakuro, which reminded me of Sudoku. Attempt to work a Sudoku in my head, but when I try to work with numbers my eyes always drift up and to the left, making for unsafe driving conditions.

4:30 - Tried to wake Kevin by blowing on him through a straw. He mumbled something that sounded like "jam q-tips up your nose . . ."

5:00 - Took picture of Kevin sleeping

5:01 - Talked to Greg on the cell, wrote down his stall number, horse number, competition order, etc.

5:30 - Tried to learn all the words on Jack Johnson's "Sleep Through the Static" cd

6:30 - Took picture of Kevin sleeping

6:31 - Made faces at a small child in the car in front of me

7:00 - Explained the "Facts of Life" IN DETAIL to Kevin while he was sleeping. Concluded by singing the theme song from the "Facts of Life" tv show really loudly until Kevin woke up.

8:00 - Arrived at the "Saddle Boy" competition to find Greg's horse trailer/camper on a gravel parking lot about 6 blocks from the nearest building, and by extension, the nearest bathroom as well.

9:30 - Checked into hotel. Thanked God, and Priceline, for the Country Inn and Suites.

10:30 - Reclined comfortably in my own queen-size bed and asked Kevin what he wanted to watch on tv, but he was already asleep.

eye don't understand

My sister's eyes:

My niece's eyes:

My daughter's eyes:

My eyes:


Will somebody please explain the fairness of recessive genes?

it's that time again!

I am thrilled to announce that it is almost time for the Saddle Boy Competition in Fort Worth! (aka: Extreme Mustang Makeover) With gas jumping up overnight, and the cowboy & I driving separately, this little trek may cost us what is left of Kevin’s college tuition fund (now that his sister’s wedding is over). Anyway, the cowboy is quite excited about the whole ordeal, and plans to spend his Fort Worth evenings relaxing in the comfort of the aluminum shoebox on wheels (reference award-winning cockroaches and beaches manatees) . . .

Kevin and I have chosen accomodations elsewhere:
*A place where “cable” means television channels - not what is holding the fridge to the trailer floor.
*A place where “king” refers to the size of the bed, not the name of the horse in the next stall.
*A place where “3 stars” ranks the quality of our accomodations, not the number of Lone Star state flags flying in the parking lot.
*A place where “remote” means the tv controller, not the proximity to the nearest restroom.

In other news:
My niece borrowed my house key the week before the wedding, and I failed to get it back from her. The cowboy's key broke off in the door Sunday before last. Since then we have been passing Kevin’s key back and forth hoping that whoever has the key that day makes it home before those who don’t. We’ve been moderately successful.

We have had a new kitten for a month or so. I love her. She is the sweetest little cat on the planet. We haven't named her yet, though Zagnut and Nastia have both been tried and dismissed. I mean, just look at that face! She is saying, "Mommy, you can love me and squeeze me and call me George." She says she is happy to take daughter-face's place and will sit in my lap and let me hold her. I’ve never had a cat that would let me do that before. She seems to be almost as affectionate as I am. I love her. I really love her. But I forgot I don’t like animals . . . so nevermind.

Oh, yeah, daughter-face and Son-In-Law are moving to Indianapolis!
I am so excited for them, and bummed at the same time!
I’m really proud of S-I-L, but I’m really gonna miss daughter-face.

A couple of blogs lately have made me laugh uncontrollably - you may enjoy them as well:
Bu, bu, bu, chicken!
Honeymoon horror story


Enjoy and have a great weekend!

unladen swallows and online banking

So the cowboy asked me a few weeks ago if I wanted him to sign us up for online banking. (Yes, I know, everybody else has been doing this for 5 years now, but we tend to be a bit behind the curve when it comes to technology . . . you know, what with our Amish background and all.) Anyway, he asked me about this online banking thing.

Now, because I am the one who pays ALL the bills, my answer WOULD BE a resounding “yes” - PRVOVIDING I would be:
.....1) The only one looking at the bank statement
.....2) The only one inquiring about the bank statement
.....3) The only one holding myself accountable for the bank statement.
But knowing that my husband would now have full access to the account information, and knowing that he would now hold me accountable EVERY SINGLE DAY for EVERY PENNY SPENT, my answer was a firm and definitive “NO”. (I am woman, hear me roar.)

He signed us up the next day.

And my husband loves talking finances. Loves the idea of investments and insurance and retirement. I, on the other hand, hate it. Blue passion hate. When the discussion turns to finances my eyes glaze over and all the receptors in my brain move to “high alert” and begin looking for ways to circumvent the discussion (which is generally accomplished by reciting “The Princess Bride” in my head. The cowboy is talking about the rates on his mutual fund and I am mentally reciting, “Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die.” with an unfortunate British accent.)

My solution would be to just barter my way through life. (Though I’m not sure what I would barter in exchange for sushi, so I may have to rethink my stance on that.) My point is, up until now, we have been able to limit the financial discussions to once a month when the bank statement arrives via the good ol’ U.S. Postal Service. I can deal with that.

But now, in addition to his daily informative phone calls telling me all about his latest tractor discoveries or the new fungus growing in the horses’ hooves, I also get: “Honey,the mortgage check didn’t clear until the 6th. It’s due the 5th, you know that right?” (I’ve been paying the mortgage every month for 13 years. Yes, I know that.)
“Honey, you know I love you, but what is Chapman’s and why did we write them a $70 check?” (That’s where your son has been taking music lessons for the last year and they don’t like to be paid with chickens.)
“Honey, did you remember to record all your debit card uses? And did you remember to date them as well?” (Why? Why do I need to date them if you are looking at them online every single day??? )
“Honey, why did you go to Wal-Mart twice this week?” (Because I forgot to buy you ice cream the first time, and maybe if you have ice cream, the sugar-high will make you forget about online banking altogether.)
“Honey, the bank shows the amount of check #7384 to be $192.35, but you have it recorded as $192.33. You might want to fix that.”

Yeah, and I might not.

Oh, I’m gonna need an attitude adjustment on this one for sure!

"I have today"

"I have today" is my friend Sara M.’s blog title! It has also been sort of my parenting mantra. I mean this in several ways:

First, “I Have Today” reminds me of a conversation my sister and I had about drawing up our wills and who would raise our children if we couldn’t do it, etc. We were both convinced there was no one else who would raise our children the way we wanted to do it, no one else who would love them the way we did. She was right, of course. She died the next day. I don’t say that to be morbid or sentimental; I say that to mean, “I have today. I may ONLY have today. So don’t waste it.”

Second, “I Have Today” doesn’t mean you have to do everything everyday, and it sure doesn’t mean you have to pack each day with fun-filled activity. What it means, at least for me, is that I make the most of every opportunity every day. Take advantage of every teachable moment. Like when your daughter says, “I’m not sleepy” and you understand this to mean, “Come lay down with me and talk about something important.” Or, and this coming from a tv-junkie, choosing to NEVER watch a 9 p.m. drama so you aren’t tempted by anything that would keep you from reading with your kids and tucking them into bed each and every night. Or when you are driving down the road after a major afternoon thunderstorm, the most amazing rainbow becomes visible, and you pull the car over to the side of the road to retell the story of Noah’s ark to your 4-year-old with the hope that one day he will understand the reality of God’s promises.

Third, “I have today” takes on special meaning for me when it comes to discipline. You can’t let discipline issues slide. Not once. Not ever. CONSISTENCY. If kids know there is a crack in your armor, they will keep poking until they draw blood. Metaphorically, of course. Well, and literally, if you have boys. And those of you who know me know I am NOT a tough cookie. But “I Have Today” means that when your kids don’t finish their chores properly on Monday, then on Tuesday you wake them up an hour early so they “have time” to do them right, since that MUST have been the problem the day before. (If you know how precious sleep is to my kiddos, you would appreciate the effectiveness of this approach.) It means that when you say “no”, it ALWAYS means “no” - there will not be whining or begging or temper tantrums. Ever. Whining, begging and temper tantrums lead to a whole ‘nuther level of consequenses, and you REALLY don't want to go there. There’s a whole book’s worth I could blog about here, but that’s all for now.

I have today, so I’d better get busy.

ring. ring ring.

I am not a phone person. Now, this comes as no surprise to any of you who know me.

Maybe
. . . it’s learned behavior from my dad. Our adult conversations have mostly gone like this:

Dad: “Nnnnnyellow?” (I don’t know why it’s not “hello”, but his resounding bass voice clearly pronounces a series of “nnnn’s” to signify he is about to name the color yellow. It’s cute.)
Me: “Hey Dad!”
Dad: “Hey! Uh, here’s your mom”

Dad and I have a great relationship, it’s just that he talks on the phone all day as part of his work and I, well, I would rather stick those thin, dry off-brand cotton swabs deeply into my ear canals than chit-chat on the phone and he knows this.

Maybe
. . . it’s because I once heard someone say that after 5 minutes into a phone conversation the discussion always goes from “what” to “who”, and the topic begins to spiral downhill into gossip. I generally find this to be true, and prefer not to badmouth people ever again. (This is not to say I WON’T do it, I just prefer not.)

Maybe
. . . it’s because I’m afraid of calling people at the wrong time. I’m a firm believer in etiquette when it comes to the right and wrong times to use the telephone. I have always adhered to a strict “between 9 and 9” rule. Any earlier and you risk waking people, any later and you risk, well, waking people. It’s rude, unless of course it is an emergency. And by emergency, I mean death. A Saturday night 10:15 “Oh, Steph, I forgot . . . I’m not going to be there to teach in the morning because my cat has worms, so can you do it for me?” is NOT an emergency! And the reverse is true for our rural friends who call EARLY because they believe if you are still asleep after 6:30 a.m. you must have been worshiping Satan the night before.

So, while I’m on the subject of poorly timed phone calls, my mom has had issues with this on more than one occasion. When the husband & I were newlyweds, we became convinced she had a sixth sense about when to call . . . or rather a “sex-th sense”. No matter when Mom called, it was ALWAYS when we were, uh, well, you know. Bad timing. Sometimes REALLY bad timing. We decided to find it humorous.

Then, when we lived in Alaska, she would frequently forget which way the 3-hour time difference worked. She’d call at 8 a.m. . . . unfortunately, it was 5 a.m. in Anchorage. Add to that the fact that we had a 3-story condo with only one phone - in the kitchen on the main floor. If you wanted to actually ANSWER the phone when it rang, you had exactly 11.63 seconds from the first inkling of a ringtone to jerk awake, kick off blankets, bound out of bed, down the hall and down a flight of stairs (necessarily taking 2 at a time) just to grab the phone off the wall before said caller hung up. Many times I took a gold medal in this event, but there were many other times when my qualifying time just wasn’t up to par.

And speaking of this 100-meter-phone-dash . . . once the phone woke me out of a dead sleep. Or rather, it rousted me . . . I don’t think I was really awake. I stumbled down the hall thinking to myself, “I have to pick that thing up and SAY something! What do I say??? Isn’t there a WORD you’re supposed to say when you answer the phone? What IS that word?!?”

11.63 seconds later, I picked up the receiver and muttered, “HUH?”

Eloquent, as always.

Maybe THAT’S why I’m not a phone person.

they broke my happiness

First, if you recall my disgusting fast-food chain, “McGross,” and the 3-day old raw meat, melted margarine, and french-fry escapees that have littered my personal space recently, then you will appreciate the newly-added menu item: an entire Route 44 Cherry Limeade. Yep, we were on our way to deliver this Sonic Happy Hour giganticup to a certain someone who shall remain nameless (Mike) when I turned left and the cup turned right and Kevin wasn’t holding it and it landed upside down on his feet, his schoolbooks, and the already-bacteria-laden floor mat. So after a trip through the car wash to hose down the mat we headed back to sonic to repurchase drink part deux. (Sidebar: Why isn't it "Happy Hours" since it takes place from 2 to 4?)

Second, I love my new BPA-free Camelbak water bottle, except when it lives up to its “camel” name and spits water at me. Now, I don’t know how this happened. I should probably ask Bill Nye the Science Guy or Beakman or somebody skilled in the art of gas-siphoning, but anyway . . . I put my water bottle in the fridge. A few hours later I took my water bottle out of the fridge and placed it on my desk. I did not drink out of it, nor did I open it. The next morning, however, I placed it in front of me, and glanced to the left while flipping open the sippy-straw. By the time I realized “Old Faithful” had erupted from my water bottle, I was drenched. I’m talking a constant stream of water, shooting 8 inches above the straw for a good solid 4 seconds! Even my shoes were squishy.


Finally, the boys play ball in my office. Used to be a daily routine, but because of this summer’s wedding surplus, my office has been “off limits” to any of Mike & Kevin's recreational activities. Now that I have reclaimed my work space, so have they, and in true Olympic fashion they have announced, “Let the Games Begin!”

Now when I say they “play ball” what I mean is they take turns slamming rubber balls at each other as hard as possible in an effort to prove some sort of manly “bring it on big boy” something-or-other. Sometimes my head gets caught in the crossfire, and I have seen circling stars on more than one occasion. So last Friday, during one of their bouncy battles, the boys shattered my happiness. Okay, maybe “shattered” is too harsh a word, but with one fell swoop of the ball, they knocked over my Willow Tree “Happiness” figurine and broke off her hand. A hush fell over the guilty parties. Lucky for them it was a clean break, and Dr. SuperGlue was able to repair her. Unlucky for me, while I was employing Dr. SuperGlue and squeezing Happinessessess’ hand to her arm, I inadvertently glued the underside of my middle fingernail to my finger.

Does this kind of stuff happen to the rest of you . . . or is it just me???

seven? quirky things about me

I'm not a very private person. Not that I broadcast every thought or feeling, but I'm not out of my comfort zone when it comes to revealing my weirdness. So here goes nothing:

1. My hands HAVE to be busy. Always. I only use clicky pens, which I click constantly. Or I bite my cuticles. Or I double-click my mouse. Or I tear up paper. Or I text. Or . . . just watch me, you’ll see.

2. I’m a complete perfectionist about my blog. I will write it, post it, then edit it sometimes 5 or 6 times until I get it to sound exactly like I want it. Doggone it, I have a responsibility to you little people!

3. I have a brain for trivia, especially dates. I remember weird little things nobody else does. Back when people used to play Trivial Pursuit, I would usually win. Remember when Dateline NBC used to do the timeline things . . . they’d give you several events from a certain year and you’d have to pick the year? I ALWAYS got them right. Always. Even before they’d give the three choices. See, we moved so much when I was a kid, I have a frame of reference for every song, every political event, every movie, every fashion trend from childhood up until we moved here, making it fairly simple for me to identify and categorize by year. Adding to the quirkiness factor, I have no idea what I did yesterday, as my short-term memory is useless.

4. I love storage containers. I have more fun shopping for the containers than for the stuff that goes in them. I like to label my storage containers – “pens”, “glue”, “scissors”, etc. I love organizing closets, kitchens, offices, etc. just for the satisfaction of having everything in its place. I get the same sense of satisfaction in folding other people's laundry. But that may be a different quirk altogether.

5. Ironically contradicting the need for storage containers, I don’t keep anything. Except for my comical collection of disgusting family memorabilia which I keep in my jewelry drawer and which would completely freak out anyone who broke into our house to steal “valuables” (Kacey’s baby teeth, the cowboy's retainer, my gallstones and Kevin’s umbilical cord), I don’t collect anything. I like change. I hate clutter. When I get the mail each day, I go through it right then, throw away the junk mail, put the bills in my purse, read any personal correspondence then toss it. I don’t keep piles of paper or old catalogs or the extra buttons that come with new shirts or bad photographs or greeting cards or useless kitchen gadgets. For Pete's sake, I sold my wedding dress in a yard sale. There is, however, one thing I do keep. More on that later.

6. I pick stuff out of my bath water. Not that there’s a lot of stuff floating around, mind you. But I keep a cup in the bathtub so I can scoop out hair or towel fuzz or blobs of conditioner or whatever else might float to the top of my bathwater. I don’t want ANYTHING in my bathtub that shouldn’t be there. It’s a bit OCD, I know.

7. I don’t do drugs. And although I succumbed to 2 Excedrin PM the week before the wedding in an attempt to regain some sanity with one good night’s sleep (which, I might add, did NOT work), the last medication I took before that was 2 aspirin the month before I got pregnant with Kacey. I feel that I have blogged about this fairly recently, so for that I apologize, but it is, nonetheless, a quirky thing about me.

8. I buy lipstick obsessively. It’s more of a quest, really. I feel, in my heart, that somewhere out there is the perfect lipstick. It should be the right color, though I have no idea exactly what that color is. It should NOT be gummy, sticky, smelly, sparkly, too light, too dark, too wet, or too dry. It should not taste good so that I am tempted to eat it off my lips, nor should it taste bad for obvious reasons. It should be packaged with a lid that does not come off in my purse, inadvertently leaving gooey graffiti on my checkbook cover. It should stay on my lips more than 45 seconds. It should not dry in the corners of my mouth, bleed outside my lips, stick to my teeth, nor leave noticeable residue on anyone whom I might feel compelled to kiss. Maybe those Halloween press-on wax lips are what I’m really looking for. The problem with lipstick is that you can’t test it before you buy it, and once bought cannot be returned. And all those little color charts and swatches and fake plastic inserts in the tops of some lipsticks are never REALLY the color they should be. So, my quest is ongoing. And what do I do, you may ask, with all the lipsticks I buy and DON’T like? Well, that's the one thing I DO keep - in the bottom drawer of my bathroom cabinet. I have NO idea why.

9. I have a hard time limiting myself. If I am asked to pick a favorite, inevitably I will choose 2 or 3. If you ask me to list a favorite movie, I will give you eight favorites, each in a different genre. If you ask my favorite food, I may, at this point in time, just limit it to sushi, but I will be compelled to mention different ones of which I am especially fond. If you ask me to describe seven quirky things about myself, you will most likely get nine, because that’s just how quirky I am.

i once met a girl named maria

I always think about Maria at the beginning of every school year. I was 7 on the first day of third grade at Crieve Hall Elementary. Being the first day of school, Mom walked me in to get me situated. We were early . . . I was the second student in the classroom, and the only one who had her mom with her. The other student was a little girl standing alone in the corner of the room wearing a brown plaid cotton dress, and I remember even as a 7-year-old, thinking she looked really scared. I felt for her. Where was her mom? Why was she alone? I was scared and I had my mom with me. For a moment my heart was braver than usual, and I walked to the corner and said "hi". We instantly struck up a friendship, as is so easy to do when you're 7, and I was blessed to have her as one of my two best friends that year in Mrs. Cosman's class. Her name was Maria. Maria had been bused there by the Nashville city schools. They had taken this little girl miles from her home, her friends, and her family and "integrated" us by putting her in a classroom with 29 white kids. Even at 7 I knew there was something unfair about the whole situation. We moved to Longview. Texas after that school year, so I don't know what she did with her life. Anyway, I'm not sure what prompted me to share this memory, except that I am working on lesson plans and was thinking about that day.

That story reminds me of another one. One late fall day about 4 or 5 years ago, a dozen kids bounced off the school bus and into the church annex where we had our afterschool program. I was waiting at the door to greet them as usual, mini-corn dogs in the oven, juice boxes on the table. But today was a bit different. Instead of rushing in, dropping backpacks and heading to the bathroom to wash hands, the kids pushed toward me like salmon swimming upstream, each one trying to slide past the next to show me the contents of their large manilla envelopes that marked the arrival of school pictures. Missing teeth, crooked ponytails, dirty shirts – some cute, some comical, all precious. One 11 x 14, however, was particularly adorable. With my arm around his shoulders, I squeezed the little boy who was the mirror-image of this photo, and told him how much his mom was going to love his picture. His eyes hit the floor and his little voice trembled, with words that will never escape me, “I don’t have a mom anymore.” His eyes, and mine, welled with tears. I didn’t want to let go of him. My heart literally ached and I wanted nothing more than to make all the pain in his little life disappear. I couldn’t, of course, but I did make sure he got a hug and a smile and as much mothering as I could squeeze into 2 hours after school.

Some kids you just never forget.

a, b, c

Since I was tagged, so here goes:
(A.) Attached or single? The certificate says attached
(B.) Best girlfriend? Daughter-face and my darling friend, Sara
(C.) Cake or pie? My mom’s Rum Cake with dark chocolate icing after it has been in the refrigerator for 2 days. But pie is good too. Except for fruit pie. I don't particularly like fruit pie. Or meringue. Meringue is a weird entity that kind of freaks me out. Maybe that's because my mom always called it "calf slobber" . . . not exactly appetizing.
(D.) Day of choice? I love Mondays, but they’re all pretty good.
(E.) Essential item? My car. Or my cell phone. Though oxygen ranks right up there with them.
(F.) Favorite Colors - lime green/purple/turquoise
(G.) Gummy bears or worms? Bears, I can’t handle the feel of the worms.
(H.) Home? No, but I hope to be Someday.
(I. ) Indulgence? Joseph Schmidt truffles. Though one day I hope it will be a gorgeous jacuzzi tub and an unlimited amount of hot water.
(J.) January or July? January - I LOVE SNOW!!! Did you know I love snow?
(K.) Kids? 2 - my just-married baby girl and my sophomore baby boy
(L.) Life isn't complete without? Unconditional love. And sushi.
(M.) Marriage date? Sometime way back there
(N.) Number of brothers & sisters? 1 baby sister, Stacey, who is no longer with me physically
(O.) Oranges or apples? Oranges. I love fruit, but apples are one of my lesser faves.
(P.) Phobias? Escalators . . . but just the "down" ones.
(Q.) Quotes? “No thanks. Low on saliva and only prefer a bad taste in my mouth on Thursdays.” (That was from Mike when I asked him if he wanted to help me lick envelopes for wedding invitations.)
(R.) Reasons to smile? Hope. Blogging. Spending my days with goofy, entertaining boys.
(S.) Season of choice? Autumn
(T.) Tag seven peeps! Sleepy, Grumpy, Bashful, Happy, Sneezy, Dopey & Doc (You know who you are)
(U.) Unknown fact about me? Weddings stress me out. Haha. I don’t know. . . what DON’T you know? I tell all my embarrassing stuff!
(V.) Vegetable? Asparagus and pea pods. I love pea pods.
(W.) Worst habits? Biting my cuticles
(X.) X-ray or ultrasound? Never had an x-ray, but Kacey's in-utero ultrasound made her look like E.T. That was a little scary for me as a first-time mom.
(Y.) Your favorite food? Reduntantly, sushi. Specifically the White Castle Roll at Tokyo Sushi.
(Z.) Zodiac sign? Scorpio, which of course, is NOT compatible with Taurus. Guess what the cowboy is???

wuv, twue wuv

TIME-HONORED EVENTS, Part One
Today is Kacey's birthday. It's weird to not even be able to wish her a "Happy Happy" on her day! But, considering she is honeymoonin' in St. Maarten, I guess she's not missing my birthday greetings too awfully much.

TIME-HONORED EVENTS, Part Two
Monday was our anniversary, but since the cowboy was was working, my friends took me out to dinner . . . well, sort of. See, I gave a certain little friend a gift card and a little money of her own for being such an amazing wedding coordinator. She wouldn't accept it. Some nonsense about my being her doula last year and not accepting money for that, yada yada. Anyway, I made several attempts to force her into receiving this gift, which she finally did. Or so I thought. So Monday, when they took me out to dinner - SHE PAID with the gift card & money I had given her!!! Stinker! Regardless, I had a great time!

TEACHING
The first book I assigned to my co-op literature class this year was "And Then There Were None". This used to be a favorite book of mine, but I haven't read it in years. So, I picked it up the day after the wedding and began reading . . . the story begins on August 8 with an 8:00 p.m. dinner. SERIOUSLY??!?! (Isn't it ironic, don't you think? A little too ironic, yeah I really do think.)

TEXTING, Part One
Kacey: "Why do they call it putt-putt?"
Me: "Because you putt, and then you putt again."
Kacey: "Then why don't they call it putt-putt-putt-putt?"
Me: "Because then you would think it was a motorboat."

TEXTING, Part Two
When I was concerned (and rightfully so) last week about not being able to seat all of our wedding guests, my best friend texted, "I will stand. And I wil also sneak down to the Christian church (2 buildings down) and put 'Nathan & Kacey Wedding Here' so people will be confused and there will be plenty of seats!" (Any wonder why I love her?!)

TEXTING, Part Three
(The day of the wedding, from his lovely wife): "Want to laugh? Mike (the wedding minister) is in the shower reciting, 'Wuv. Twue wuv.' "



TENTATIVE
My bestie & I love going out to lunch on Mondays. But we hate deciding where to go. It's always the same conversation week after week. "Where do you want to go?" "I don't care - you pick." That sort of thing.
So one day she asks, "What's the story on lunch?"
I responded, "Once upon a time two good friends were hungry."
She came back, "And where did they go eat?"
I concluded, "In my story, the older one makes the younger one choose."
And we're back to square one. I say we makes a list of all the places we like to go and just mindlessly rotate through the list. That way the decision is already made. It's not really about the food anyway.

TRIVIA
So I was doing laundry as a favor for my friends when I ran across a shirt with the least threatening mascot ever. Apparently, just down the road from the "Coral Shores Hurricanes" the "Coral Gables Cavaliers" and the "Coral Reef Barracudas" are the "Key West Fighting Conchs." REALLY? Ohhhh, look out, it's an angry marine gastropod mollusk! Run away, run away! Sorry, just makes me laugh. Ranks right up there on the intimidation scale with the Toronto Maple Leafs. (And while we're on that subject, why isn't it the Toronto Maple Leaves?)

And, yes, I know I'm weird.

red capes and white veils

Okay, so I share texts a lot. Before I delete them all, I should share the funny Kacey related ones.

From Sunday, January 20, two days after we bought a wedding dress: "HE TOLD HIS MOM!!!!!"

From February 21 -
"I think I'm getting my ring on Saturday night."

From March 29 - "Nathan is videotaping me cooking" (Somehow, I feel the novelty of this will wear off for both of them . . . )

From March 31 after returning from volunteer work in the Netherlands Antilles - "I've decided to save the world. Will you buy me a red cape for Christmas?"

From Kacey after a couple of premarital counseling sessions - "Will you buy us a Wii?" (My answer was a resounding "NO"). Response, "Nathan says the Wii is the grown-up video game, created for social interaction. We just talked about 'recreational intimacy' in counseling and we've decided that our intimacy is going to come from video games."

From Kacey on May 3 - "You rock my socks!" (I don't remember why I rocked her socks, but I felt it important to document in case she ever denies it in the future.)

From May 4 when I told them they were a cute couple - "Yeah. We're quite ecstatic about ourselves." :o)

From Kacey when I asked her to give me a hint about what she claimed was "the greatest Mother's day gift EVER" - "It's very Matchy-matchy."

From May 12 - "I may have just gotten myself in trouble: what stinkin' color are my fiance's eyes???" (Honey, when you get engaged after one date, it's understandable.)

From May 17 - "My birth control is Sprintec. Sounds like a cell phone plan."

From May 30 - "I love you more than anything baby! Be careful and call me if you get tired." (It is POSSIBLE she intended this text to go to Nathan.)

From June 16 upon learning that their have been some snafus with their wedding shower - "Nathan says just tell people to bring gifts and he'll provide the Little Debbies"

Kacey's response to the fact that I bought her Wolfgang Puck cookware for her shower: "SWEET!!! I'm extremely stoked!" (Stoked? I'll just be happy if a year from now you aren't hitting me over the head with one for buying you something "domestic"!)

From July 4 - "I'm housesitting for Bruce Springsteen's drummer!" (Actually, she was babysitting for the woman who was housesitting for Bruce Springsteen's drummer, but still, kinda cool.)

From July 6 when Kacey's hairdresser told her she didn't need to have a lingerie shower 'cause all she really needed was a great pair of shoes. I asked her later if she told Nathan that, and she said, "He likes that idea." I told her to tell him he was not allowed to think about that yet and she said, "He says he's just thinking in future tense."

From July 10 when I asked if she loved "the boy" more than she loved me - "As the flow of nature is supposed to work! Daughter leaves mother and cleavers boy. Something like that."

From July 10 when I told her my best friend and I were going to "Thelma & Louise it this weekend" she had the audacity to respond - "Mom, going shopping out of town does NOT make you two Thelma and Louise. . . unless you're planning to bbq dad."

From July 10 after she had been texting me EVERY STINKIN' DAY for weeks asking me what she should cook Nathan for dinner and I got tired of coming up with new recipes and started telling her things like McDonald's drive-thru window - "But mom, apparently I'm a good cook. You have to help me keep up this facade!"

From July 11 when I told her I was going to pick up my nephew - "Your nephew? Are you talking about the dog??? Mom, you're hysterical."

From one morning EARLY when I was ACTUALLY sleeping, "MAWMY . . . wake UK (that's what she used to say when she was little and would wake up before I did). I'm going to keep texting you until you wake up and talka me!!!"

From Saturday, the day after her wedding: "Mommy, I got married last night. WHATTHECRAP???"

pretty pictures

08/08/08

Outside my office door sit two beautiful bridesmaids, two handsome best men, and an amazing wedding ceremony coordinator. Sixty feet away stand the most beautiful bride imaginable and her adorable groom. They are having their "moment" alone with just the photographer (the best friend I could ask for) before they head downtown for a wedding party photo session. Next door the "officiant", Pastor Mikey, is putting the finishing personal touches on his "all new material" service. I've only cried twice today, and they are happy tears (well, and those "where in the world did the time go?" tears).

The worship center has been completely transformed. It is gorgeous and looks like the picture I have had in my head, which is good. Kacey is pleased and said it is everything she dreamed. The weather today could not be more perfect. Low 80's, no humidity - perfect for afternoon pictures!

There is much to tell, which I will share over the next few days, but for now I have to go get ready to give away my baby girl.

the calm before the storm

Today is the calm before the storm. Either that, or we're in the eye of the hurricane and just haven't realized it yet. Mom & Lindsay finished up the shopping this morning by getting all the supplies for the punch and getting the little fan-tailed goldfish that will grace five tabletops. From there they went back to the house with Kacey and finished up the programs, and then proceeded to Billene's to finish dress fittings and alterations. In the meantime, I finished printing food cards and programs, paid my bills, did prep work for my co-op literature class, changed the time on my hair appointment, and ordered ZOE cd's for the praise team. At 12:45 I found myself . . . with nothing to do until my 2:00 class!!! I wasn't even thinking about wedding things because I feel completely prepared for the next 56 hours. (Operative word: FEEL. I could be completely delusional.)

Kacey bounced into bed with me last night a little after midnight and we talked until the wee hours of the morning. It was nice. She's going to be a good little married person.

The rental stuff arrives in the morning at 8:30ish. From there the day will be non-stop decorating, which I'm kind of looking forward to. Mikey is stressing because we have told him he has to come up with "all new material" for the wedding. No repeats from David & Halah's 2 weeks ago! :o)

Our communication skills in general have left a lot to be desired. It's funny how you think about something so much but manage to neglect ever telling anybody else what is running through your head. I'm sure people have felt "left out" of this whole process, but there has been so little work to share. Mostly, I have to admit, because I can be a control freak. Ryan & Lesli have done the entire video production, which has been a huge project. Vicki & Glen have given the kids their honeymoon, plane tickets and all, and Vicki is undertaking the rehearsal dinner for a fairly huge number of people! After helping with the first 6, I turned over my florist hat to mom and let her run with all the centerpieces. It is definitely "her thing". Sara has been my right hand for the last six months - she made it so much more fun than if I had been doing it by myself. Sara M., my little green friend, has jumped in as ceremony coordinator and taken away most of my stress the last week or two by putting everthing on paper and helping us think through logistics. Other than that, there just hasn't been much else to share. Kacey has made most of the decisions, and I have done my best to execute. There have been crossed wires and Bridezilla moments, but nothing we can't chalk up to two hormonal women who love each other deeply.

I am so looking forward to sleeping in on Monday. Maybe even until 6:45. :o)

That's about it for now. Not much else to do until after church tonight when we can finish moving the chairs, vacuum, move in the stage & the food tables, take down the artwork, etc.

the "to-do" list

The things in blue have been accomplished since yesterday! We are moving along! The linens arrived via FedEx today, so that's one worry gone!

Finish printing the programs
Finish assembling the programs
Alter straps on outfit
Go to florist
Paint foamboard
Mount the artwork
Finish the placecards
Review RSVP's & placecards to make sure everyone has been included
Do a seating chart for 24 tables
Move chairs out of the worship center
Build song lyrics for the screen
Distill water for the fish
Buy fish
Get final fittings and alterations for bridesmaids
Email/Facebook clean-up crew
Buy coffee and creamers
Transport remaining glass pieces from home
Call hairdressers
Buy plates and punch supplies
Order lunch food for set up day & wedding day
Pick up food for set up day & wedding day
Buy drinks, snacks & such for above
Call rental company and add bistro tables
Call Trees & Trends to arrange pick up
Remove artwork and podium from worship center
Hang wedding artwork
Turn off the baptistry so it doesn't make noise
Cover & decorate the foyer bulletin board
Hang curtains in the foyer
Steam curtains once they are hung
Move in 2 sections of the JAM stage
Move in food tables
Put table & bins in hallway for dirty dishes
Find 17 extension cords (okay, 5)
Set up the upstairs classroom as a dressing room
Vaccuum
Rehearsal Dinner
Hair appointments
Nail appointments
Photo session

104 hours. This is the short list. Won't be blogging until next week. Pray for productivity and sanity. Kacey & I have a "code phrase" for when we're getting on each other's nerves: "Don't eat my chicken!" You can't say it and stay irritated. This is actually fun again, but I'm really, really, really, really REALLY glad my younger child is a boy.

can you say, "McGross"?

Margarine melts when heated. And not just margarine in a tub, but also those 1/2 cup paper-wrapped sticks. They become bubbly yellow liquidy goodness . . . when you leave them in the floor of your car.

Can you say, "oh, so greasy!?"

Combine that with the 3-day-old meat in my purse (reference my last blog) and the who-knows-how-old french fry escapees that litter the floor mats, and I may have created the most disgusting fast food chain ever.

I so need a vacation.

junk in the trunk

222 hours.

I am pulling my hair out, which might be a good thing as I have already paid a hairdresser $35 for practice wedding hair - once to make me look like Shirley Temple and once like Carol Brady, only more "mullety". Either option is not good, so bald may be the answer I'm looking for. Works for my friend, Mr. Nagel. Suggestions anyone?

My house is a wreck. Every single minute of every day for the rest of this week is booked. My office looks like a hurricane in a florist shop. My cell phone battery is losing its "umph" and is starting to die on me halfway through my days. I have the same 3 Netflix movies I have had since April. I don't think we have been home one single night all summer, to which my husband will attest!

Sushi is wonderful, but birthday sushi is especially wonderful. We celebrated with the Darling's last night and laughed a bit. After Sushi we hit Sam's (isn't that where all significant birthday celebrations conclude?) and as we were leaving with the cart full of paper towels, dog food, etc., and heading toward Miss Donna, the very efficient "check your receipt" lady at the exit door, I told Kevin to go ahead to the car and see if there was junk in my trunk. No sooner had I spoken the phrase than I regretted this badly chosen, howevermuch appropriate, wording. The guys laughed entirely too much.

My daughter is sending me soft porn hoping I will purchase something suitably sexy, not slutty for her personal shower from the examples she is sending via email. Sort of a "What to Wear, What Not to Wear" kind of thing!

Oh, and one more thing. I cooked dinner one night last week at the Darling's house. There were 2 leftover strips of steak I didn't use, so I stuck them, still rare, in a baggie in their fridge. SEVERAL nights ago I grabbed them out of their fridge to take home to cook for the cowboy. I folded the baggie over and stuck the rare meat in my purse. And forgot about it. I found it today.

I love my life.

genghis khan and the red purse

Today I blog about Philip. I think Sara should blog the following stories, as Philip belongs to her, but she says I will tell it better. Oh, the pressure . . .

So, a few Sundays ago after worship was over, Philip needed something in the office. I was in the back of the worship center visiting with friends when he found me and asked for my office keys.

"They're in my purse up on the 3rd or 4th row," I resonded, "it's a red purse. Just dig through it 'til you find them."

Philip queried, "You don't mind me going through your purse?"

"Not at all!" I replied.

Now, if you know me at all, you know I'm not a really private person, at least not about most things.

Sandy, on the other hand, is.

So you can imagine her feelings of personal violation (apparently rendering her speechless) as she stood nearby and watched Philip pick up HER purse and pillage through it like Genghis Khan and the Mongol hordes ransacking the Great Wall of China (Metaphorically, I suppose Genghis wanted "the keys" to China, so I think the analogy works.) Needless to say, they were both embarrassed. I have since bought a green purse.

A week or so after the purse incident, Philip was leading worship. At the intro, he said, "Before we begin, let's sing Happy Birthday to someone really special," and he instantly began to lead as the crowd joined him.
"Happy Birthday to You"
"Happy Birthday to You"
"Happy Birthday Dear . . . "
And just as people are realizing they don't know whose name to insert here, Philip, standing grandly at the podium, raises both his arms and points to himself as he continues,
"Happy Birthday to ME"
"Happy Birthday to Me!"
It was hysterical. But maybe you had to be there.
Either way, I think everyone who knows him would agree that Philip really is someone special!

to be or not to be

The heightened sense of enthusiasm before a new school year is always fun. Lesson plans. Expectations. Lofty goals. The excitement of things to be learned and things to be taught. This year Kevin has quite a schedule. Together, he & I are doing Spanish 2, and Joshua/Judges for Bible. ReighAnne is teaching his chemistry and his Algebra 2/Geometry (in exchange for my teaching her 4th grader reading, spelling, grammar, vocabulary and critical thinking); for the co-op portion, Kelly is teaching a college writing course, Sandy has government, Marcia economics, and I have literature. This year's reading list is: And Then There Were None (because co-cop starts before the wedding is over and I need an easy-read at the beginning!); The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde; The Picture of Dorian Gray; Lord of the Flies; The Old Man & the Sea; The Great Gatsby (which we complete just in time for the Jazz Program at the Carson Center); Brave New World; Hamlet; and Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Dead. We're taking a "Human Nature in Literature" approach to this year's curriculum and I think it will be fun.

Now, the big question is: How do I give grades to six students based mainly on in-class participation?

Double O What?

So I texted Kacey yesterday and told her I needed a superhero idea, complete with costume.

She replied, "For Mystery Night?"

I responded with something that implied it might be put to use in some kinky fashion where her father was concerned. To which she replied, "AWKWARD!"

Once she started talking to me again, she gave me these ideas:

"You could be the Bubble Boy and blow bubbles at your enemies"

"Be the Coughing Queen. You cough up clues and attack your enemies with cough syrup."

So I suggested Grammar Girl - I correct your English and diagram sentences. She added, "Then you could make Kevin the Conjunction Munchkin." (But Kevin already has his Superpower and costume, so that won't work.)

Then I decided I liked "The Conjunctionator" - My superpower is that I connect sentences, and all I say all night is "SO?" "AND?" "OR?". She said, "That's no good. You think it's amusing, but the kids won't think it's that funny. You need something sillier. If you want to be the GrammarNazi and dress up like Hitler and carry around diagrams . . . THAT's funny. All your military awards could be punctuation marks and you could tell people your mustache is a dash."

I told her she was freakin' hilarious.

Next she suggested,
"You could be the Bunny Hopper. You solve all the world's problems with a silly dance."

"The Juicer. Walk around calling everybody 'Lemonhead' and squeeze them for information. You could put one of those fruit things on your head."

"Be the Weggie Meister and walk around giving everybody weggies."

Then I suggested the Purpler . . . sneak around trying to hold everybody's hand. (It's a Camp Barnabas thing. Boys are blue. Girls are pink. The two should never make purple at camp!)

She said, "Be The Connector and give all your clues in connect-the-dots."

I told her she used to be freakin' hilarious.

"Okay, you could be The Pea Shooter with obvious implications."

"You could be Alpha Bravo and spell everything you say. When they ask what your real name is, tell them 'double O - the letter, not the number."

Okay, she's hilarious again.

"Be The Tangler and go around messing up everybody's hair. You can vanquish your enemies with aerosol hairspray."

"Be The Pickler and carry around a bottle of vinegar."

"Be a Musketeer and spray everybody with musk."

My personal favorite superhero is The Invisible Boy from Mystery Men - he's only invisible when no one else is looking . . .

It's time for the happy pills

I'm losing it. Seriously. I'm loopy from stress. I'm likely to cry for no reason, and I'm unable to process anything unrelated to the matrimonial event. Driving has become a near disaster. I'm turning the wrong way onto one-way streets, backing up without looking (and almost running over a cyclist), texting while driving (yep!), and turning north to St. Louis when I should have been going west. (You'd think the setting sun in my left window would have been an indication of a navigational error on my part, but again, I'm loopy.) If I hadn't been through this once before after the death of my sister, I'd be really worried, but I know it will pass. And SOON - 23 pre-wedding days to go.

I made the mistake of glancing over the "wedding checkbook" a few days ago and that did not help the stress level. And most of the BIG things still have to be paid for - photography, caterer, and rental items.

The guest list has climbed to 174 as of today, and I feel we will see several more in the mail before the week's end. At 8 people per table and a venue that will hold maybe 24 tables . . . well, you do the math. If you are helping with the wedding in any capacity, all I can say is . . . you better wear comfortable shoes 'cause it's gonna be a long night of standing! :o)

As for me, I've decided to go barefoot. That decision was reached after we shoe-and-jewelry shopped for 12 hours last weekend, and I came home empty-handed because I am apparently insane. (Reference paragraph #1) I think my Skechers flip-flops and a really good pedicure will be just fine . . .

I can assure you of two things: the bride is BEAUTIFUL, and the food is going to be amazing! Key Lime/Dark chocolate mini-cakes, cheesecake tarts, pistachio cream cupcakes, mint brownie bites, decadence biscotti, key lime cookies, truffles, mango/coconut patties, and 3 chocolate fountains (dark, milk & white) surrounded by fruit. And, hopefully, the wedding will be different enough to be memorable . . . including an explosive grand finale! I love being a non-traditionalist.

It's 4:15, so I'm off to the mall to shoe shop on my own. If you should find me wandering in circles muttering to myself, please call the men in the little white uniforms.

mosaic me

too much for my little brain

So just how involved is God in all of this? Is His hand in everything? Nothing? Just the "big stuff"? Just the things "for kingdom purposes"? Regardless of where you are on the deism scale, there is no denying that God allows suffering in this world. (No, that wasn't His original intent . . . ) Does He have the ability to eliminate suffering. Absolutely. Does He choose not to? Well . . . here's where it gets sticky, huh? Does He choose to heal you and not heal me? (And if so, why?) Does He keep His hands out of it and allow "nature" to take its course? (And if so, what's the point in prayer?) Does He work only in the big things and not in the small things? (If "yes", then where is the dividing line between big and small?) Or bigger yet, does He choose to "bless me" in small ways while 18,000 children die of hunger every day?

And what about all those "God things"? You know, the job you got because you were in the right place at the right time and knew the right people. Or the $400 you gave a friend who really needed it, only to get an unexpected check in the mail that very week for the same amount. Are they really "God things" or just big coincidences? (For you Seinfeld fans: "There are no big coincidences and small coincidences, only coincidences!")

If Deism is a "1" on the scale, what I believe about God falls nothing short of a "10". I believe He saturates everything. I don't believe anything is too trivial for His attention. Yes, I think sometimes He chooses not intervene because: a) we need to learn something (like patience or frugality); or b) the result doesn't matter (which job, which house, which school - it's not about the choices so much as it is about WHO you are in those choices).

No doubt, He allows suffering - sickness, starvation, poverty, depression, death. He could prevent suffering (if not, then how can He be God?), but chooses not to because . . . ??? And if he can prevent it, but chooses not to, is that the same thing as causing suffering? (Ex: Your hand is on the doorframe. I walk up and slam the door on your hand. OR Your hand is on the doorframe. Someone else bumps the door and it begins to close on your hand. I see this happening. I can stop it, but choose to let the door slam on your hand anyway. The first one is "caused", the second one is "allowed". But if I have the ability to prevent it and don't, isn't it pretty much the same thing?)

All of this causes me to ask lots of questions in my little brain. Questions I can't answer. Questions that either build faith or nullify it. Pretty deep for a Tuesday morning when I should be working on wedding plans. . .

when imaginary friends won't play with you . . .

When I was posting a couple of weeks ago about Kacey's first camp experience, I mentioned her imaginary friends. Before I get too far removed from that post to remember, let me tell the story . . .

Until Kacey was almost 7, she was an only child. Now, it's pretty "normal" for only children to create imaginary friends, and Kacey was no exception. Her "playmates" joined our family when she was around 4: Sam, Julie, and another girl or two I don't remember. I heard their names often as I listened to her play "make believe".

One day, after Sam & Julie had been part of our family for a couple of years, I walked by Kacey's bedroom and listened to her playing. She was talking to completely different "friends"! Sam & Julie were not mentioned. So I stuck my head in and asked, "Where are Sam & Julie?" Kacey replied, "They wouldn't do what I wanted, so I had to get new friends."

In retrospect, maybe therapy would have been a good idea. I mean, what does it say about you when your IMAGINARY friends won't play with you???

delusions of (summer camp) grandeur

I am going to camp on Saturday! Nine hours in a van filled with noisy kids. Seven days as a cabin co-counselor for 8 and 9 year old girls. Heat. Mosquitos. Uncomfortable beds. The smell of sweaty teenage boys permeating everything. Can I just say . . . I CAN’T WAIT! Kacey has wanted me to go to camp every year since she was 12 and this year apparently Jupiter has aligned with Mars and I am South Carolina-bound! Kevin, I might add, is not as excited as his sister. There is something innately uncool to a 15-year-old “guy” (‘cause he’s not a “boy” anymore) about his mom going to camp with him. I will try not to embarrass him more than a couple of times every day.

So, a few weeks ago, Kacey bought me, what she referred to as “the coolest Mother’s Day Gift of all time!” - a camp survival kit: Red sweatshirt, red mini-hairdryer, red water bottle, red electric fan, red rain poncho . . . you get the idea. Now, the gift itself could definitely not be considered the coolest of all time, it is the sentiment behind it that makes it cool. Maybe I should tell the whole story. It all started the summer before we left Jackson . . .

Kacey was a wee little thing. Seven to be exact, and she was going to camp for the first time. (Not PBC, but one a bit closer to home.) She was uber-excited. Talked about it every day. See, Kacey has never known a stranger. Every time we walked out the front door she would make a new friend. (Not counting her imaginary friends, but that is a VERY different story suitable for another blog day.) So camp was right up her alley. New friends, swimming, activities, singing. So, being the “cool mom” that I am, I got her all matching stuff for camp. I bought pink and yellow towels to match her pink sheets and the yellow blanket with pink buttons sewn on the top side that I made for her. We bought a pink rubbermaid container to use in place of a suitcase.

And then there were the practical things. I taught her how to do her own hair, ponytail style. We worked on it for days and days so she could get it just right and be the cutest little angel at camp. I also rolled her clothes so they wouldn’t wrinkle, and marked them according to each day. Shorts and tops rolled together with clean undies on the outside (so they could be easily gotten the night before because she would be showering each night before bed, per my instructions, thus keeping her sheets and her pj’s clean all week). Anyway, her clothes were rolled into 6 little rolls, one for each day of the camp week and secured with matching socks and scrunchies to complete her ensembles. It was going to be a perfect week.

Sunday afternoon came, and we drove to camp and got her registered. At 112 degrees fahrenheit with 99% humidity, I opted not to stay the afternoon, but to let her go on and do her own thing. As I told her we were leaving, a look of panic swept over her face. “You’re not going to stay???” No, honey, mommy is going home, but I will be back to pick you up on Friday evening. (Minor detail. What we have here is a failure to communicate. I ASSUMED she knew I wasn’t staying the week. She assumed I would be playing Tonto to her Lone Ranger in the bunk below her.) As I got in the car and backed up, I caught my baby’s face in the rear view mirror . . . crying. CRYING??? My baby doesn’t cry. Oh, what kind of mother am I???? But in my heart I KNEW she was going to love camp. I blew her a kiss and I was off. I sent her goofy letters all week. Some written backwards that she would have to read in the mirror. Some in multiple envelopes with only one word per page. I even sent her ice in a baggie so she could “stay cool”.

Friday evening did not arrive any too soon. I drove up the gravel road, envisioning my daughter running to meet me (wearing the cute little navy and green polka-dot fish outfit that was labeled for Friday with her hair neatly ponytailed). Instead, she was nowhere to be found. I checked the pavilion, the dining hall, the tennis court . . . but no. So I went to her cabin to begin loading her things into the car. And they were just as I suspected. Neat. Clean. Pink rubbermaid box tightly closed . . . with all her clothes still inside neatly folded and scrunchy-wrapped! I stuck my head out of the cabin door just in time to catch a glimpse of somebody’s nasty little child wearing . . . wearing the same clothes that Kacey was wearing when I dropped her off on Sunday!!! Only this child had matted hair and a grubby face and she was wearing a cap that she had made in the craft shack. She could have served as the poster child for "Save the Children". Her first words to me were not, "I missed you, Mommy!" nor were they "Boy am I glad to see you!" . . . they were simply, “Can I stay another week?!”

Needless to say, she loved camp. I knew she would. She continued to love it 12 or 13 more times. I think by the second year she even showered and changed clothes a time or two. Now it’s my turn. I haven’t been to camp since my counselor years during college, and Kacey has made it come full circle for me. Instead of the pink towels and sheets and rolled up scrunchies, I have an “all red camp survival kit” - the coolest Mother's Day gift of all time. And the coolest daughter a mom could hope for. (Oh, and Kacey, I bought myself a red suitcase to complete the ensemble. I knew you'd be proud.)