Blessing Mommy

Today was one of THOSE days.  Since I am the writer and you are the reader, just fill in the blank with a bunch of drama and anxiety of your own flavor and add a times ten to it.  Yes, several pats on the chest reassuring myself that this is simply anxiety not a heart attack in my late thirties.

So as I am washing the dishes after dinner relishing in the five seconds standing alone with no deadlines or drama I hear a faint chorus coming from the bedroom, “we’ve got to go bless…Mommy…”

Dancing to the kitchen island with a Macbook in hand appears a working Daddy with a singing Eden.

“We have to bless Mommy with our presence…”  the two continue to sing without any shower to blend their tones.

At this point the song goes completely south including all kinds of bodily functions and then plummets into an ensemble of all of my most embarrassing moments and to top it off they added some human smells to the music.

I am rolling – a full snort adds to their noise.

Ironically enough, although the two of them took away my quiet moment, ambushed me with insults and terrible songs – they blessed me.

My heart quit palpitating.  I laughed.

All is well in the world again.

Concluding a Chapter

Change has been such a constant in my life, like most of you I am sure.  Just about the time I think I have perfected my schedule, relationships and so on – well, they change.  Most of the time with plenty of warning yet still so unexpectedly.

I am a wimp to change.  My reaction nine times out of ten is the same one I had as a seven-year old girl.  I cry a little at first, then pull some crazy sour grapes rationale out of the air until I end on some Pollyanna, nonsensical mantra that I pour out to everyone in hopes that one day I will believe it.

I think this time I am going to pull up my big girl pants and attempt a new philosophy, “I am concluding a chapter.”

We all have concluded many chapters.  Lost loved ones, changed jobs, broke up with the opposite sex – whatever, doesn’t matter what the content is the feeling is usually the same. We can stop and reflect, pull out the memories we want to save, pull out the memories that require forgiveness, and pull up to the bar or pew in conversation.

The chapter I am finishing has been a beautiful chapter about people, programs and a building – a church.

As a newly married couple, my husband and I found ourselves on the back row of a church quietly easing into the body one conversation at a time.

Over the years, each sermon hit closer to home.  Some sermons and relationships actually caused our course to change.

People, being woven into our lives, became our friends – brothers and sisters in Christ and in life.

Each year holding memories that are burned in my heart and soul forever.  Memories of being the first-ever Kindergarten teacher at the preschool.  Memories of studies upstairs, coffee talks downstairs, updates on loved ones in the halls – memories made all over the building.

Watching our friends marry one another.

Two funerals, burying both dads and celebrating each of their lives in the same chapel surrounded by love, service and most importantly – my friends.

I could write a whole, lengthy chapter of all of the shaping, molding and imitating of wonderful people in that building, but I won’t because most blog readers like it quick and swift with a point.

Well, the point is this:  Wherever you are in your life, whatever you may be concluding – finish well and read it until the full chapter is finished.  Then, and only then, can you look back with gratitude for the characters, and appreciation for the wisdom gained, and hopefully – laughs and lots of ‘em.

Family Traditions

When I was younger, I was enamored by family traditions.

My Mom’s side of the family always had a wonderful Thanksgiving tradition.  The kids (me and my cousins) all played together while the big people put all of the dishes in some kind of order to make walking through with your plate a bit easier for everyone.  My goodness, we must have had over fifty people every year.  Some years that line was at our house, or my Grandma Shirley’s house and then finally to end up at my Aunt Novella’s house where it remains today.

I wouldn’t trade a single Thanksgiving Day for all of the money in the world.  My cousin, Jeanean, was one of those cousins I played with, looked up to and shared that tradition with back then.  She is no longer with us, but there hasn’t been a Thanksgiving since that I haven’t shared a memory of her and our times playing in the yard or listening to music.

Traditions, I have decided now, are created by adults who understand this concept of making memories.  Adults who know that each day is a gift and that time is flying by so it is important to reserve the time for those you love.  Those you want to always say, “remember when…”

Eden’s Nana understands this concept.  Since I joined the family as Brian’s girlfriend at eighteen, she has always hosted a Sunday dinner.  A spot on all of our calendars to come together and enjoy her infamous cooking.

Brian and I even drove home from college each weekend to keep the tradition of the Sunday dinner.  Obviously, no one had to twist our arm, we were broke and happy to get an incredible meal for free.  We also found ourselves loving the game of Scrabble with his parents.

Over the years that tradition alone kept our family close.  Megan, Brian’s sister, graduated from college herself and began a career.  As her schedule has become even more demanding and her life crazier than I can remember, she still tries to keep the ancient tradition of Sunday dinner – thus keeping our Daddy’s girl in our lives.

We have had seasons of busyness for all of us.  Yet, the perpetual date of Sunday dinner remains on all of our calendars.

This year, I have decided to quit being enamored with traditions and start creating them.  To start thinking about ways to set dates on the calendar to say, “I care about making memories with you.”

Because I do.  Money has never lured my affection, but people caring to make memories with me will get me every time.

I Heart Ree Drummond

I am sure that Ree Drummond has entered most of your homes, blog readers, through your stomaches.  She has posted incredible recipes that have real substance for you to feed your families.  Or maybe she entered your home through her fabulous photography of the range.  Either way, I am sure you’ve had privy to her adorable antics long before I entered the ranch and met the infamous, Pioneer Woman.

She entered my world, through my heart.  I just finished reading her book.  Her love story, told through the purest voice of transparency, reminded me of the beauty of falling in-love with a man.

As I tucked my daughter in bed and clutched the book as if it were an animal that might get away, I found myself getting lost in her story.  Following her journey through self-discovery and flashing lights, I was reminded of the young, naive girl I was when I met my man.

She met Marlboro Man.  I met Vanilla Ice.

She dated a man on his ranch.  I dated a man in his car most of the time.

She found herself creating a lot of embarrassing moments.  I am unfortunately no different on this one.

She fell in-love when she already had other plans.  I fell in-love and couldn’t even remember my previous plans.

I had never planned on reading her book.  I don’t read books about love and romance.  I read practical books with statistics and human behavior as it pertains to death and divorce.  (No, I am not a Debbie Downer, just my book club meets at Laureate.)

So, how I ended up glued to her book and forfeiting sleep to get through it, I will never know.

But I do know that I would not take back one page, because each page brought back the memories of nineteen years ago – memories of dating my true love.  Memories that made me laugh, turn red, and lust all over again.

I can now only say – thank you, Nana, for forcing me to take the book home and thank you, Russ, for suggesting I follow her blog so many years earlier.  Now, of course, I wish I had.

I Heart Ree Drummond. http://thepioneerwoman.com/

 

Are You My Mother?

Not too long ago, I found myself visiting with an old friend from an era that felt like forever ago, yet seemed unresolved. As we talked about old times I started to see those old times from an adult perspective.  Some of those were really rough old times.

My memory took me back to my first year of college and the misfit feeling of being the only one of my friends from a divorced home.  Whispers.  ”Bless her heart…”  I could only fit into these families at the expense of myself.  At the time, I was willing to spend it all.

This wasn’t the only time I found myself being punished for being lost.  I could rattle off many, many more stories of searching for my perfect fit.  Enough so, that as I was reflecting my heart came to a stand still.  I was completely taken back by the drastic difference of the traveling girl I once was to the solid woman I am today.  When did I change so dramatically?

“Fix me.”  At some point, I requested from God.

His reply came with a visual of a picture book, not surprising considering I love them so very much.

A picture book that illustrates perfectly the relationship I have always had with Him.

A baby chick hatches looking for his mother.  As you turn each page, you see the chick asking things and people who don’t resemble him in the least – simply, “are you my mother?”

The things and people tell the chick exactly why they could not possibly be related, leaving the chick as a misfit with each turn of the page.

As the pages turn, the isolation and obvious differences sadden the chick.  As the reader, you cannot help but want to rewrite the story and make some of these things and people want to adopt the chick and embrace the similarities, but you can’t cause you are not the author.

But a greater relief is to come – see, at the end of the book the chick is scooped up and loved by a beautiful creature that looks just like him.  A mother that went away for food to feed her young one.  A mother that always had a plan.

I found my resolve the day my Father revealed Himself to me.  That day I realized my real family tree – and the book shut.