I love the Christmas season. I love the music, I love the decorations, I love giving gifts. I just love it all! Around our house there is either Christmas music playing or Christmas movies showing on the television. I decorate the whole house and I put up five Christmas trees (well, this year I only put up two).
However, there is one thing I'm not allowed to do. I am not allowed to go to the tree farm and pick out the tree. When the boys were smaller, we would take a day, bundle up and go walking through all the pine trees until we found the perfect tree. It was a family affair with Tim leading the way. We didn't chop it down, we had it dug up and then we would plant it on our property as a reminder of one more Christmas together.
One particular year, I was chosen, because of schedules, to go pick out the tree. My daughter, Betty volunteered to go with me, so we set out with our mittens and knitted caps to find the most beautiful tree. We tramped through rows of trees for quite awhile until we spotted it. There it was, in all it's glory! Our Christmas tree!
We tied the ribbon around it so the men could go dig it up and we would go pick it up later. We were quite impressed with ourselves for finding such a beautiful tree and couldn't wait to see it decorated in all it's splendor.
A couple of days later, I got the call. "Mrs. Workman, your tree is ready." So, off I went in our truck to pick up our new baby. When I got to the shop and told them who I was I got some smiles and strange looks. Hmm, wonder what that's all about?? They told me where to go, so I went outside and saw five men gathered round a root ball the size of Mt. Everest.
Okay, in my defense, when you're out in a field of trees, all the root balls are underground and the size of the tree can be very decieving.
After much straining and grunting, the five men got my tree loaded, so off I drove with half of an enormous tree hanging out the back of my truck and my back tires squatting. I'm still telling myself "It's really not that big."
When Tim gets home and I meet him at the door, he doesn't give me the regular smile and hug, along with "how was your day". Instead, his face had a look of wonder on it. I was sure he was very proud of me for picking such a beautiful tree....well....until his face got all red and he said, "WHAT IN THE WORLD IS THAT THING!!"
So, we went about preparing to get the tree in the house, but instead of five grown men to unload it, there was a dad, who had a glazed look in his eye, a teenage son and me.
Backing the truck up to the steps...no problem. Getting it out onto the step...well, not easy, but we got it done. Getting it up to the next step...impossible. After straining, pulled muscles, grumbling, and red faces, it wouldn't budge. That's when someone (not me) decided we could use a jack to jack it up high enough to get to the next step. We will not be defeated!! After three hours, we had it up two steps.
I was asked to get out of the way (in not a very nice tone, might I add) and do something else, like cheering them on. Okay, I can do that. Afterall, I was a cheerleader all through my school years. No problem.
So, here we go...grunt, grunt, strain, strain, clap, clap. While they were straining, I was giving them the best cheers I could remember from high school, like, "Tim, Tim, he's my man, if he can't do it, nobody can!"
Finally! It's on the porch! Personally, I think it was due to my cheers, but I'll let them think they did it all by themselves. After we drag it through the house and into our living room (thank goodness for cathedral ceilings!), I began to appreciate how big that thing was.
We always set our trees in a wash tub, so as they leaned the tree over, I scooted the tub up under the root ball, they straightened the tree up and squashed the tub flat. We had to get a bigger tub.
It took lots of decorations, a couple of ladders, and quite a bit of time, it was done. That is, except for the final touch...the angel. So, as the drum roll begins, I go upstairs and reach over the balcony to place the angel on the top of the tree. It was easy, seeing as though I was eye level with the top of the tree from upstairs.
There it sat. Right in the middle of our living room. You had to sit around it, walk around it, and watch tv through the branches, but it was beautiful.
Getting it out was so much quicker. Dig the hole, back the truck up to the porch, attach chain to truck, attach chain to tree, and drive. There went our tree zipping through the house, bam, bam, bam, down the steps, struggling through the front yard, leaving a small trench behind it, drive over the hole and thump. There sat our tree in the hole.
So, you see, I'm allowed to decorate all over the place, I'm allowed to have boxes and boxes of decorations, but there's only one tiny, little thing I'm not allowed to do...pick out the tree.
Friday, December 16, 2011
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Thanksgiving Memories
Thanksgiving memories. We all make them. We all talk about them. We all cherish them.
The turkey's gone, the families are gone, and most of the leftovers are gone, but the laughs and conversations still echo through the house.
This year is a first. It's the first Thanksgiving where we had Marilyn, (Princess Marilyn is what she expects to be called). Marilyn was here, complete with a turkey hat and turkey bib that Gram bought her....
and I know that one day she'll look at the picture and ask who did this to her and I will calmly say, "Mommy and Daddy did it." It's her first year of seeing what damage a Workman clan can do to a fifteen pound turkey, not to mention the extra turkey breast, the stuffing, the ham, the vegetables and especially the pumpkin pies. She may be traumatized.
I remember, also, another Thanksgiving at the Workman house. It included Workman parents, a Workman brother and his family, a Workman sister and all her family, their children and spouses and kids, girlfriends and grandkids. What fun!
Another Thanksgiving included Borings, (yes, that's my last name and I've already heard all the "Boring" jokes). My dad was able to come up and the reason this is a special memory is because mom and dad divorced when I was three and he wasn't a big part of my life. But this particular season, he came up. It was the first time he had ever been to my house since I moved to WV as a young girl. I had made all the fixins' and because he was crippled with arthritis and almost completely blind, I was fixing his plate. I was asking him which things he liked and when I came to the sweet potato casserole, he said he didn't want any because he didn't like sweet potatoes. But, because I think I make the best sweet potato casserole and my pride wouldn't let me pass it up, I put a little dollop of it on his plate. So, when he finished his plate of food, I asked if he wanted any pie or anything else. He passed on the pie, but he said he wanted some more of "that stuff" pointing to where the casserole had previously been and all that was left there was a little smear of sweet potatoes. He said, "what was that stuff, again?" I said, "That was sweet potato casserole, Daddy." He said, "Oh, I don't like sweet potatoes." So I promptly went back and put two dollops on his plate. He ate it all. No, I don't mean he cleaned his plate. He ate all my casserole! I had to keep going back to get more, as we went through the whole "I don't like sweet potatoes" conversation again.
What sweet memories. Daddy is no longer with us, but Marilyn has a whole lifetime of Workman Thanksgiving memories ahead of her.
There are places at our table that were empty, but are now being filled with the newest generation. There are memories that we have to look back upon, but there are memories still to be made.
I'm reminded of my pastor's message on family, friends, and faith. I'm so thankful for my family, who is my strength, who is my happiness, who is my very heart. I'm thankful for my friends who are the bonus, who are the frosting on the cake, who are the "extra" blessing in my life. And I am thankful for my faith, which is very small sometimes, but God blesses anyway.
1 Thessalonians 5:18 In everything give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.
The turkey's gone, the families are gone, and most of the leftovers are gone, but the laughs and conversations still echo through the house.
This year is a first. It's the first Thanksgiving where we had Marilyn, (Princess Marilyn is what she expects to be called). Marilyn was here, complete with a turkey hat and turkey bib that Gram bought her....
I remember, also, another Thanksgiving at the Workman house. It included Workman parents, a Workman brother and his family, a Workman sister and all her family, their children and spouses and kids, girlfriends and grandkids. What fun!
Another Thanksgiving included Borings, (yes, that's my last name and I've already heard all the "Boring" jokes). My dad was able to come up and the reason this is a special memory is because mom and dad divorced when I was three and he wasn't a big part of my life. But this particular season, he came up. It was the first time he had ever been to my house since I moved to WV as a young girl. I had made all the fixins' and because he was crippled with arthritis and almost completely blind, I was fixing his plate. I was asking him which things he liked and when I came to the sweet potato casserole, he said he didn't want any because he didn't like sweet potatoes. But, because I think I make the best sweet potato casserole and my pride wouldn't let me pass it up, I put a little dollop of it on his plate. So, when he finished his plate of food, I asked if he wanted any pie or anything else. He passed on the pie, but he said he wanted some more of "that stuff" pointing to where the casserole had previously been and all that was left there was a little smear of sweet potatoes. He said, "what was that stuff, again?" I said, "That was sweet potato casserole, Daddy." He said, "Oh, I don't like sweet potatoes." So I promptly went back and put two dollops on his plate. He ate it all. No, I don't mean he cleaned his plate. He ate all my casserole! I had to keep going back to get more, as we went through the whole "I don't like sweet potatoes" conversation again.
What sweet memories. Daddy is no longer with us, but Marilyn has a whole lifetime of Workman Thanksgiving memories ahead of her.
There are places at our table that were empty, but are now being filled with the newest generation. There are memories that we have to look back upon, but there are memories still to be made.
I'm reminded of my pastor's message on family, friends, and faith. I'm so thankful for my family, who is my strength, who is my happiness, who is my very heart. I'm thankful for my friends who are the bonus, who are the frosting on the cake, who are the "extra" blessing in my life. And I am thankful for my faith, which is very small sometimes, but God blesses anyway.
1 Thessalonians 5:18 In everything give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Falling Down
Falling down. I'm pretty good at it. I fell out the back door when I was pregnant with my first son. I fell while carrying my second son, as an infant, going up the steps to church. My third son was safe...no falls. I don't even want to mention all the falling that was involved when I was learning to ride a bike. I fell off a ladder when I was painting at home and had to lay there until someone came home.
I stopped one day to get some pictures of the lake on my way home from Princeton. It was a beautiful, sun shiny day. I got my new camera out, got out of the car to get a good angle. While I was concentrating on getting a good shot, I forgot to watch where I was going, or I would have seen that big hole before I stepped in it. That was a broken foot fall.
I fell down the front steps while my puppies ran around like lunatics. I fell over the flower border when my puppies were dogs, but they were still lunatics.
My latest fall was just the other day. I was casually walking out the boardwalk in front of our wood shed. I wasn't hurrying, just strolling, but unbeknown to me, the lunatic dogs run on that walk every day, thus coating it with a thin film of mud. I'm not sure what really happened, but I think there was a back flip involved and I ended in a split, then pitched forward by momentum onto both my knees. My thoughts as I was falling was wondering if my lunatic dogs were now grown up enough to be like Lassie. Would they go running for help and bark incessantly until someone would understand that an old woman was laying somewhere with her legs twisted on backwards? Would they go get a rope and pull me to safety?
Well, no. They ran in circles, barking and then ran around the house. They are still lunatics. I finally was able to put all my parts back where they were supposed to be and walked in the house, covered in mud, sat down and watched the dogs out the window run around like....well, like lunatics.
Like I said, I'm pretty good at this falling down stuff. I've made an art out of it. But everytime I've fallen, I've gotten up. That's the point. Anyone can fall, the hard part is getting up.
I've been knocked down alot in my life. Parents divorced...got up. Husband lost his job...got up. Financial hardships...got up. Betrayed and hurt by friends and family...got up. Lost a beautiful daughter...got up.
So, it's not how many times you've been knocked down, it's how many times you get up.
2 Corinthians 4:17 For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory
I stopped one day to get some pictures of the lake on my way home from Princeton. It was a beautiful, sun shiny day. I got my new camera out, got out of the car to get a good angle. While I was concentrating on getting a good shot, I forgot to watch where I was going, or I would have seen that big hole before I stepped in it. That was a broken foot fall.
I fell down the front steps while my puppies ran around like lunatics. I fell over the flower border when my puppies were dogs, but they were still lunatics.
My latest fall was just the other day. I was casually walking out the boardwalk in front of our wood shed. I wasn't hurrying, just strolling, but unbeknown to me, the lunatic dogs run on that walk every day, thus coating it with a thin film of mud. I'm not sure what really happened, but I think there was a back flip involved and I ended in a split, then pitched forward by momentum onto both my knees. My thoughts as I was falling was wondering if my lunatic dogs were now grown up enough to be like Lassie. Would they go running for help and bark incessantly until someone would understand that an old woman was laying somewhere with her legs twisted on backwards? Would they go get a rope and pull me to safety?
Like I said, I'm pretty good at this falling down stuff. I've made an art out of it. But everytime I've fallen, I've gotten up. That's the point. Anyone can fall, the hard part is getting up.
I've been knocked down alot in my life. Parents divorced...got up. Husband lost his job...got up. Financial hardships...got up. Betrayed and hurt by friends and family...got up. Lost a beautiful daughter...got up.
So, it's not how many times you've been knocked down, it's how many times you get up.
2 Corinthians 4:17 For our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Going to the Birds
"Going to the birds", "eat like a bird", "birdbrain", "birds of a feather". How about the Alfred Hitchcock movie, "The Birds?"
This is my life now. Birds. I have had FOUR birds fly down my chimney and get stuck in my wood stove in the last couple of months. And, yes, I know we need to put wire around the top of the chimney, but we have a two story chimney! I'm not climbing up there. I fall across flower borders, so I'm not about to take my chances on a ladder to the clouds.
Yesterday, after a tiring day of shopping, I just wanted to come home and sit down and not get up until absolutely necessary. Like if I need a snack or something. So, I'm sitting there on the couch, just enjoying the complete quiet (except for the men that are using chainsaws to cut wood outside my house). Other than that, it's quiet. Well, except for the washer and dryer running....and the tv on. Okay, people, so it wasn't quiet, but I was sitting on the couch.
Anyway, I was sitting on the couch and I heard this scurrying sound coming out of my woodstove. I've heard this sound before and it involves birds. So, I go open the front and side doors, grab a very long pole, the kind you change lightbulbs with when you have a twenty foot ceiling, carefully open the stove door and......nothing. Must be losing my mind.
I sit back down on the couch in the quiet house, except for the washer, dryer, tv, and chainsaws and resume resting. Another scurrying sound,,,,open doors, grab pole, and gently open stove.
Whoosh! Out went the bird, straight for the door and into freedom! Yay! I'm such a hero.
Shut doors, back to the couch, washer...dryer....tv....chainsaws...scurrying sound. What? Really?
Open doors, grab pole, open stove....nothing. So I get braver and stick the pole in and jiggle it around a little and out pops another bird. Only this bird is freaked out. It doesn't head for the door, it flies straight into our high windows on our very high wall under our high ceilings. Well, for heaven's sake.
So, I get the long pole and nudge it a little to try and get it headed in the right direction, but it has direction sense sort of like me and heads for our balcony. I run upstairs, nudge, and it flies to our ceiling fan on our twenty foot ceiling and perches. Back downstairs, nudge....back upstairs, nudge.
This goes on for about twenty minutes, I'm dehydrated and the bird is freaking out. It finally lands on top of the bookcase upstairs, so I slowly creep back upstairs. Not because I don't want to freak the bird out, but because I'm exhausted and can't breath. So, when I get up there, it's sitting there, very still, with it's mouth hanging open . I can relate.
This time I have a sheet to throw over it, so I can grab it and take it outside myself, since it so stubbornly refuses to go on it's own. But then I stopped and just watched it and could tell it was so frightened. It wasn't even trying to get away from me at this point. I just began quietly talking to it (well, what else do you do with a direction challenged bird) and walking toward it. It flew down beside the bookcase and I covered it with the sheet. I could hear it's tiny peeps but it didn't try to get away. I scooped it up and just held it there in the sheet for a minute to let it see I wasn't going to hurt it.
I walked outside, opened up the sheet, and let it gently fly away.
It flew north. Oh, well.
This is my life now. Birds. I have had FOUR birds fly down my chimney and get stuck in my wood stove in the last couple of months. And, yes, I know we need to put wire around the top of the chimney, but we have a two story chimney! I'm not climbing up there. I fall across flower borders, so I'm not about to take my chances on a ladder to the clouds.
Yesterday, after a tiring day of shopping, I just wanted to come home and sit down and not get up until absolutely necessary. Like if I need a snack or something. So, I'm sitting there on the couch, just enjoying the complete quiet (except for the men that are using chainsaws to cut wood outside my house). Other than that, it's quiet. Well, except for the washer and dryer running....and the tv on. Okay, people, so it wasn't quiet, but I was sitting on the couch.
Anyway, I was sitting on the couch and I heard this scurrying sound coming out of my woodstove. I've heard this sound before and it involves birds. So, I go open the front and side doors, grab a very long pole, the kind you change lightbulbs with when you have a twenty foot ceiling, carefully open the stove door and......nothing. Must be losing my mind.
I sit back down on the couch in the quiet house, except for the washer, dryer, tv, and chainsaws and resume resting. Another scurrying sound,,,,open doors, grab pole, and gently open stove.
Whoosh! Out went the bird, straight for the door and into freedom! Yay! I'm such a hero.
Shut doors, back to the couch, washer...dryer....tv....chainsaws...scurrying sound. What? Really?
Open doors, grab pole, open stove....nothing. So I get braver and stick the pole in and jiggle it around a little and out pops another bird. Only this bird is freaked out. It doesn't head for the door, it flies straight into our high windows on our very high wall under our high ceilings. Well, for heaven's sake.
So, I get the long pole and nudge it a little to try and get it headed in the right direction, but it has direction sense sort of like me and heads for our balcony. I run upstairs, nudge, and it flies to our ceiling fan on our twenty foot ceiling and perches. Back downstairs, nudge....back upstairs, nudge.
This goes on for about twenty minutes, I'm dehydrated and the bird is freaking out. It finally lands on top of the bookcase upstairs, so I slowly creep back upstairs. Not because I don't want to freak the bird out, but because I'm exhausted and can't breath. So, when I get up there, it's sitting there, very still, with it's mouth hanging open . I can relate.
This time I have a sheet to throw over it, so I can grab it and take it outside myself, since it so stubbornly refuses to go on it's own. But then I stopped and just watched it and could tell it was so frightened. It wasn't even trying to get away from me at this point. I just began quietly talking to it (well, what else do you do with a direction challenged bird) and walking toward it. It flew down beside the bookcase and I covered it with the sheet. I could hear it's tiny peeps but it didn't try to get away. I scooped it up and just held it there in the sheet for a minute to let it see I wasn't going to hurt it.
I walked outside, opened up the sheet, and let it gently fly away.
It flew north. Oh, well.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
The Cleft of the Rock
Ahhh...vacation. There's something relaxing about just saying "I'm on vacation." No deadlines,
no phone calls, no schedules, just vacation.
We took our boat to a lake this year for our vacation, so we could just relax, picnic, do a little
fishing, relax, picnic, and relax some more. We had taken our boat to this same lake last year and
it was disastrous, so we were really looking forward to seeing what all we missed the last time
around. It was gorgeous! Beautiful weather, hardly anyone else on the lake, fishing poles ready,
and a good book within reach. Couldn't ask for much better!
We love to pull our pontoon up into a cove, drop anchor and just listen to the water as it ripples
against the boat. It's so quiet you can hear a....sasquatch? Well, that was just a little creepy.
We were in a cove all by ourselves where it's so quiet you feel you have to whisper, and all of
a sudden, on the side of the mountain that secluded our little cove, came a hair raising scream!
Mountain lion? Possibly. Panther? Could be, but I'm sticking with sasquatch. We slowly moved to
the other side of the cove and resumed our fishing with a watchful eye toward the mountain.
We fished out of that cove, made our way on up into another cove just as an eagle was flying and
landed in a tree. Oh, my goodness, how beautiful! It sat there for a little while before it
got aggitated at us for trespassing in it's cove and flew off.
Awhile later we were kind of drifting back to the dock to pick up our son, daughter in law, and
dog, Lexi. We had plenty of time so we stopped at a little, cool spot under the trees to fish
and saw these skinny, long, ugly fish. I mean ugly! They were about as long as my arm (this is
absolutely true, it's not a fish story) and about as big around, but they had this really long
snout. Some were striped, some speckled, but all were ugly. We checked on this and found that
it was gar, and they have teeth! Eww. We tried everything to try and catch one, so when Tim finally
snagged one, we were all excited, I was running around the boat trying to find the net, Tim was
telling me to hurry, and when I came back with the net, he grabbed it and told me to get the pole!
So, as we switched off, and I was in control...well, never mind, just let it be noted that I didn't
know you weren't supposed to lift the fish out of the water first.
We made our way back and picked up our other passengers, and started out for another big adventure.
Someone made mention that the clouds seemed a little dark, but we were too optimistic for things such
as bad weather. We were on vacation! We kept fishing our way up the lake and tried to ignore the
fact that the clouds were black and there were rumbling sounds which weren't coming from our hungry
stomachs. Okay, lightening, water, and metal pontoons don't really go together, but we were so far
up the lake we didn't think we could make it back, so we just had to look for someplace we could dock
and unload til the storm passed.
Just as we came around a point, we saw up in the cove a place we could dock and get out easily, so
we headed up toward the end of the cove. It was perfect. We pulled right up to this rock, that was
even with our door, and it made a perfect step for us to unload. This place was beautiful. It was
shaded by huge trees, it had a kind of crude road leading up the hillside that we could walk on. It
was easy for us, and Lexi loved getting out and running around.
Soon the dark clouds and rumblings turned into a full blown torrential downpour, with lightening and
crashes of thunder. We ran up the hillside to find some kind of shelter from the rain under the
trees when we heard our son yell for us.
He had found a place. He had found a shelter. He had found a rock. In the middle of this forested
area, was an enormous rock jutting out of the ground, leaning over slightly so that there was a place
to walk under and it was completely dry. There wasn't one drop of water under there. The ground was
so dry, it was almost sandy. And it was big enough for all of us, even one large, nervous dog!
We were sitting in the cleft of the rock. We were safe from the storm around us. If we took one step
out from under the rock, we would be drenched, but under the rock, we were dry and we were safe.
We didn't just "happen" to find that cove. We didn't just "happen" to see that rock. I truly believe
that when God created the earth, he put that rock right there in that very spot because one day a
family would be in the storm and they would need shelter. I believe he put that rock there for us.
When life is too hard, go to the rock. When depression hits, go to the rock. When the storms are
too rough, just get out of the boat and go to the rock.
Psalms 18:2 The Lord is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom
I will trust;my buckler, and the horn of my salvation, and my high tower.
Psalms 31:3 For thou art my rock and my fortress;therefore, for thy name's sake, lead me and guide
me.
Psalms 104:5 Who laid the foundations of the earth, that it should not be removed for ever.
Psalms 139 (please read the whole chapter...it's awesome!)
no phone calls, no schedules, just vacation.
We took our boat to a lake this year for our vacation, so we could just relax, picnic, do a little
fishing, relax, picnic, and relax some more. We had taken our boat to this same lake last year and
it was disastrous, so we were really looking forward to seeing what all we missed the last time
around. It was gorgeous! Beautiful weather, hardly anyone else on the lake, fishing poles ready,
and a good book within reach. Couldn't ask for much better!
We love to pull our pontoon up into a cove, drop anchor and just listen to the water as it ripples
against the boat. It's so quiet you can hear a....sasquatch? Well, that was just a little creepy.
We were in a cove all by ourselves where it's so quiet you feel you have to whisper, and all of
a sudden, on the side of the mountain that secluded our little cove, came a hair raising scream!
Mountain lion? Possibly. Panther? Could be, but I'm sticking with sasquatch. We slowly moved to
the other side of the cove and resumed our fishing with a watchful eye toward the mountain.
We fished out of that cove, made our way on up into another cove just as an eagle was flying and
landed in a tree. Oh, my goodness, how beautiful! It sat there for a little while before it
got aggitated at us for trespassing in it's cove and flew off.
Awhile later we were kind of drifting back to the dock to pick up our son, daughter in law, and
dog, Lexi. We had plenty of time so we stopped at a little, cool spot under the trees to fish
and saw these skinny, long, ugly fish. I mean ugly! They were about as long as my arm (this is
absolutely true, it's not a fish story) and about as big around, but they had this really long
snout. Some were striped, some speckled, but all were ugly. We checked on this and found that
it was gar, and they have teeth! Eww. We tried everything to try and catch one, so when Tim finally
snagged one, we were all excited, I was running around the boat trying to find the net, Tim was
telling me to hurry, and when I came back with the net, he grabbed it and told me to get the pole!
So, as we switched off, and I was in control...well, never mind, just let it be noted that I didn't
know you weren't supposed to lift the fish out of the water first.
We made our way back and picked up our other passengers, and started out for another big adventure.
Someone made mention that the clouds seemed a little dark, but we were too optimistic for things such
as bad weather. We were on vacation! We kept fishing our way up the lake and tried to ignore the
fact that the clouds were black and there were rumbling sounds which weren't coming from our hungry
stomachs. Okay, lightening, water, and metal pontoons don't really go together, but we were so far
up the lake we didn't think we could make it back, so we just had to look for someplace we could dock
and unload til the storm passed.
Just as we came around a point, we saw up in the cove a place we could dock and get out easily, so
we headed up toward the end of the cove. It was perfect. We pulled right up to this rock, that was
even with our door, and it made a perfect step for us to unload. This place was beautiful. It was
shaded by huge trees, it had a kind of crude road leading up the hillside that we could walk on. It
was easy for us, and Lexi loved getting out and running around.
Soon the dark clouds and rumblings turned into a full blown torrential downpour, with lightening and
crashes of thunder. We ran up the hillside to find some kind of shelter from the rain under the
trees when we heard our son yell for us.
area, was an enormous rock jutting out of the ground, leaning over slightly so that there was a place
to walk under and it was completely dry. There wasn't one drop of water under there. The ground was
so dry, it was almost sandy. And it was big enough for all of us, even one large, nervous dog!
out from under the rock, we would be drenched, but under the rock, we were dry and we were safe.
We didn't just "happen" to find that cove. We didn't just "happen" to see that rock. I truly believe
that when God created the earth, he put that rock right there in that very spot because one day a
family would be in the storm and they would need shelter. I believe he put that rock there for us.
When life is too hard, go to the rock. When depression hits, go to the rock. When the storms are
too rough, just get out of the boat and go to the rock.
Psalms 18:2 The Lord is my rock, and my fortress, and my deliverer; my God, my strength, in whom
I will trust;my buckler, and the horn of my salvation, and my high tower.
Psalms 31:3 For thou art my rock and my fortress;therefore, for thy name's sake, lead me and guide
me.
Psalms 104:5 Who laid the foundations of the earth, that it should not be removed for ever.
Psalms 139 (please read the whole chapter...it's awesome!)
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Baby Hugs
Fall is such a hard time for me. I can remember when I got excited when it came around because it meant back to school, getting reacquainted with friends, ballgames, cooler days and bluer skies. But after, the loss of our little girl on September 2, 1978, autumn took on a different meaning. It became a time of loss.
Later, though, when the boys were in school, I got some of the old feelings back. Lots of excitement about school days and fun times! And boy, did we have some good times. I loved every minute of it...well, maybe not the last minute "oh, this project is due tomorrow" minutes. Okay, come to think of it, I loved that too! I loved rushing around feeding anywhere from 3 to 10 boys everyday, trying to get them all to a ballgame or to practice. I loved riding the team van with a load of stinky, silly boys. I loved making plans for banquets, dates, and overnighters. I loved having the house practically, shaking off it's foundation from boys running and playing through one door and out the other.
For awhile, fall was a funtime again. But now, the house is full of quiet, no ballgames, no parties, no overnighters of a house full of kids.
This past week was a very difficult time for me. There are some times of such an overwhelming loss that it physically hurts and this was one of those times. But then, I got a call...."hey, mom, me and Jess are gonna come home and watch the ballgame with you and dad. Oh, and I'm bringing a friend, so make plenty of hot dog chili!" And, I got another call..."mom, me and Melissa are going to the game, so we were wondering.....can you watch Marilyn all day Sunday."
Wow! I'm having a party!..... food, boys(only much bigger boys), ballgame, friends, and family! Not, only am I having all that, but I get to have baby hugs, too!
Oh, what a healing I got when I wrapped those little dimpled arms around my neck and held on. How fun it was to hear, "mom, is it ready, yet!"
God has never failed to give me what I need when I need it. "But my God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus." Philippians 4:19
Later, though, when the boys were in school, I got some of the old feelings back. Lots of excitement about school days and fun times! And boy, did we have some good times. I loved every minute of it...well, maybe not the last minute "oh, this project is due tomorrow" minutes. Okay, come to think of it, I loved that too! I loved rushing around feeding anywhere from 3 to 10 boys everyday, trying to get them all to a ballgame or to practice. I loved riding the team van with a load of stinky, silly boys. I loved making plans for banquets, dates, and overnighters. I loved having the house practically, shaking off it's foundation from boys running and playing through one door and out the other.
For awhile, fall was a funtime again. But now, the house is full of quiet, no ballgames, no parties, no overnighters of a house full of kids.
This past week was a very difficult time for me. There are some times of such an overwhelming loss that it physically hurts and this was one of those times. But then, I got a call...."hey, mom, me and Jess are gonna come home and watch the ballgame with you and dad. Oh, and I'm bringing a friend, so make plenty of hot dog chili!" And, I got another call..."mom, me and Melissa are going to the game, so we were wondering.....can you watch Marilyn all day Sunday."
Wow! I'm having a party!..... food, boys(only much bigger boys), ballgame, friends, and family! Not, only am I having all that, but I get to have baby hugs, too!
God has never failed to give me what I need when I need it. "But my God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus." Philippians 4:19
Wednesday, August 31, 2011
A New Room
I was just thinking about all the back to school hustle and bustle. Frightened kids just starting kindergarten; "know it all" kids starting junior high; and "I have arrived" kids starting high school.
Ahhh, I remember those days with some sadness, some gladness, but all with sweet memories. It's like this great big house and you've been living in one section of the house. You've decorated it with memories, you've made it comfortable with routines, and you've cleaned it with discipline. Then, one day you notice another door and it's been locked up until this moment. When you notice that it's unlocked, you're uncertain about going through it.You're very comfortable in the room you're in, but you've outgrown it, so with some quick breathing of anticipation, you walk through. Umm, it's kind of empty and it's sad that you've had to leave the other room because it was so complete. You can still look into the room you've just left, but you can't go back there.....sooo...time for some housework in the new room.
Kindergarten days full of crayon pictures; huge writings on those pages with three lines for one letter; dress up days for special programs; new songs. Everything is new. New school, new teacher, new schedule, new clothes, new lunch boxes, new backpacks, new friends.
Whew! What a change! After you get over the shock and lonliness, you notice you have time to actually clean house, take a bath, comb your hair! Hmm...this may not be so bad afterall. Your days become routine, building up to the climax when you see your little cherabim running out of the school building, grinning from ear to ear, waving the newest addition to your refrigerator collection of art.
Uh, oh, looks like another door. It has written on it JUNIOR HIGH SCHOOL. How did I get here so fast? And when did my little angel's favorite words change from "I love you, mommy," to "whatever."(the last being said with an eye roll) New stuff again. New ideas, new (strange) clothes, new activities, new girlfriends?, new eating habits because they're way to cool for lunch boxes now.
Oh, wow. You have car pools to sports games, after school activities, overnighters, controversies (everyday). It's all so exhausting.....but it's all so fun!!!!! I don't know who said that raising teenagers is awful, but they were totally wrong! It's amazing! Those little people that you used to read stories to, now come home with stories for you of who said what to who, and who did what, and who got in trouble(again). It's stories of crushes, of sports victories, and heartaches. Oh, my! I love this room!
But, alas, there's another door....HIGH SCHOOL. Umm, I don't think I'm ready for this one. I really want to just stay where I am, but there's this pre high school kid behind me pushing and shoving as I'm trying to hang on to the door facing. As, I pick myself up off the floor, I see this kid doing high fives, running around the new room like a lunatic. Okay, I can do this. I start by looking at this kid and realizing he doesn't look so much like a kid anymore...more like a younger replica of me or his dad.
Again, this room was amazing! Probably the funnest of all the rooms to decorate. It was all a blur of new accomplishments, new directions, new relationships. It was finished way too fast. I can't make it last any longer, I can't add one more thing. It's done.
I've gone through rooms of college, grad schools, relocation. It's all difficult and it's all good. I'm working on a new room now. It's full of toys, baby beds, bicycles, and story books. Hmm, it kind of looks like the room I started out with, only now, I can sit back, relax, and revel in it.....I really love my new room.... I really love my house.
Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am therewith, to be content. Phillippians 4:11 KJV
or
Whatever room I'm in, be happy. JV (Joy's version)
Ahhh, I remember those days with some sadness, some gladness, but all with sweet memories. It's like this great big house and you've been living in one section of the house. You've decorated it with memories, you've made it comfortable with routines, and you've cleaned it with discipline. Then, one day you notice another door and it's been locked up until this moment. When you notice that it's unlocked, you're uncertain about going through it.You're very comfortable in the room you're in, but you've outgrown it, so with some quick breathing of anticipation, you walk through. Umm, it's kind of empty and it's sad that you've had to leave the other room because it was so complete. You can still look into the room you've just left, but you can't go back there.....sooo...time for some housework in the new room.
Kindergarten days full of crayon pictures; huge writings on those pages with three lines for one letter; dress up days for special programs; new songs. Everything is new. New school, new teacher, new schedule, new clothes, new lunch boxes, new backpacks, new friends.
Whew! What a change! After you get over the shock and lonliness, you notice you have time to actually clean house, take a bath, comb your hair! Hmm...this may not be so bad afterall. Your days become routine, building up to the climax when you see your little cherabim running out of the school building, grinning from ear to ear, waving the newest addition to your refrigerator collection of art.
Uh, oh, looks like another door. It has written on it JUNIOR HIGH SCHOOL. How did I get here so fast? And when did my little angel's favorite words change from "I love you, mommy," to "whatever."(the last being said with an eye roll) New stuff again. New ideas, new (strange) clothes, new activities, new girlfriends?, new eating habits because they're way to cool for lunch boxes now.
Oh, wow. You have car pools to sports games, after school activities, overnighters, controversies (everyday). It's all so exhausting.....but it's all so fun!!!!! I don't know who said that raising teenagers is awful, but they were totally wrong! It's amazing! Those little people that you used to read stories to, now come home with stories for you of who said what to who, and who did what, and who got in trouble(again). It's stories of crushes, of sports victories, and heartaches. Oh, my! I love this room!
But, alas, there's another door....HIGH SCHOOL. Umm, I don't think I'm ready for this one. I really want to just stay where I am, but there's this pre high school kid behind me pushing and shoving as I'm trying to hang on to the door facing. As, I pick myself up off the floor, I see this kid doing high fives, running around the new room like a lunatic. Okay, I can do this. I start by looking at this kid and realizing he doesn't look so much like a kid anymore...more like a younger replica of me or his dad.
Again, this room was amazing! Probably the funnest of all the rooms to decorate. It was all a blur of new accomplishments, new directions, new relationships. It was finished way too fast. I can't make it last any longer, I can't add one more thing. It's done.
I've gone through rooms of college, grad schools, relocation. It's all difficult and it's all good. I'm working on a new room now. It's full of toys, baby beds, bicycles, and story books. Hmm, it kind of looks like the room I started out with, only now, I can sit back, relax, and revel in it.....I really love my new room.... I really love my house.
Not that I speak in respect of want: for I have learned, in whatsoever state I am therewith, to be content. Phillippians 4:11 KJV
or
Whatever room I'm in, be happy. JV (Joy's version)
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Chivalry is Dead
It's been a long day. Did laundry all day, cleaned house (a little) and then went to church. Just a little tired, but I have a big day planned tomorrow of canning some veggies from our little garden, soooo unfortuately, I have to stop at that place that sucks us all in. It's like a black hole that just pulls and pulls until your car is forced to turn into the parking lot of, none other than, Wally World!
I've got my little list of all the necessities for canning pickles, green beans, apples, squash, and maybe even some peppers. I'm singing to the CD in my car, feeling all domestic about canning, and just a little frightened of the full parking lot I see.
So, as I turn toward a very close parking space, I have my signal on, so that all involved will know that I'm heading into that spot. But, you all can guess what happens....yep, she just zipped right in that spot before I could say bread and butter pickles.
I keep telling myself that I just got out of church and decide to do what all good church going people do.....I start quoting scriptures to myself....... "Vengence is mine, saith the Lord, I will repay." Now. I feel a little better.
Entering the store, it becomes apparent that because school starts tomorrow, all the bedraggled parents are there to grab the last pencil and sheet of paper in the county. I heard one frazzled dad on his cell phone, saying through gritted teeth, "There isn't one single #2 pencil in this place."
Finally, after dodging buggies, avoiding teens having cart races through the store, and kids crying, I make it to the check out lines.
You have got to be kidding!! Three aisles open! Really? So, I get in line and I end up somewhere between the Misses super skinny t shirts and the Men's underwear aisle. I hear bits of strained conversations between parents, kids, and the poor dad still on his cell phone stressing over the #2 pencils.
Wait! Can it be!! Another aisle is opening! But by the time I get in shopping cart gear, someone else is racing to the same spot. Uh oh. I'm scrambling to make it in the passing lane when out of nowhere comes a man from church, jumps in the line and waves for me to get in front of him!
Yay! I won! However, there are still about four people in front of me and the check out guy is slower than cold molasses. I've seen my grandma move faster than that! How can you be that slow without trying??
Can it be?? Is there another aisle opening up?? Yes!! So, I back up to get traction and make a dash, but just as I get ready to cross the victory lane, some man cuts me off. Unbelievable! Where is chivalry?? Where is good manners?? He just stands there and looks at me with this little smile, no, I believe it was a smirk, on his face.
As I weasle my way back into my line, I wait for Mr. Molasses to finish, head out to the car and wonder if there is any possibility someone would help a lady put a forty pound bag of dogfood in her trunk. I guess not. "Vengence is mine, saith the Lord, I will repay."
I've got my little list of all the necessities for canning pickles, green beans, apples, squash, and maybe even some peppers. I'm singing to the CD in my car, feeling all domestic about canning, and just a little frightened of the full parking lot I see.
So, as I turn toward a very close parking space, I have my signal on, so that all involved will know that I'm heading into that spot. But, you all can guess what happens....yep, she just zipped right in that spot before I could say bread and butter pickles.
I keep telling myself that I just got out of church and decide to do what all good church going people do.....I start quoting scriptures to myself....... "Vengence is mine, saith the Lord, I will repay." Now. I feel a little better.
Entering the store, it becomes apparent that because school starts tomorrow, all the bedraggled parents are there to grab the last pencil and sheet of paper in the county. I heard one frazzled dad on his cell phone, saying through gritted teeth, "There isn't one single #2 pencil in this place."
Finally, after dodging buggies, avoiding teens having cart races through the store, and kids crying, I make it to the check out lines.
You have got to be kidding!! Three aisles open! Really? So, I get in line and I end up somewhere between the Misses super skinny t shirts and the Men's underwear aisle. I hear bits of strained conversations between parents, kids, and the poor dad still on his cell phone stressing over the #2 pencils.
Wait! Can it be!! Another aisle is opening! But by the time I get in shopping cart gear, someone else is racing to the same spot. Uh oh. I'm scrambling to make it in the passing lane when out of nowhere comes a man from church, jumps in the line and waves for me to get in front of him!
Yay! I won! However, there are still about four people in front of me and the check out guy is slower than cold molasses. I've seen my grandma move faster than that! How can you be that slow without trying??
Can it be?? Is there another aisle opening up?? Yes!! So, I back up to get traction and make a dash, but just as I get ready to cross the victory lane, some man cuts me off. Unbelievable! Where is chivalry?? Where is good manners?? He just stands there and looks at me with this little smile, no, I believe it was a smirk, on his face.
As I weasle my way back into my line, I wait for Mr. Molasses to finish, head out to the car and wonder if there is any possibility someone would help a lady put a forty pound bag of dogfood in her trunk. I guess not. "Vengence is mine, saith the Lord, I will repay."
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
All Shook Up
I love my life. I love my family. I love my relatives (for the most part...hehe). I love my friends. I love my God. However, (unfortunately, there is always a however), sometimes things get "shook up". (I just had a mental vision of Elvis singing and I know that wasn't good grammar)
I got "shook up" this week and I can't seem to "shake" it. Why is it we can get hundreds of compliments and well wishes, but we get one itsy bitsy negative response and it rattles our world?? Anyway, that's how it is for me. Actually, my world hasn't been rattled, but I can't seem to let this tiny little thing go. I'm probably just waaay too sensitive, and I get lots of responses of "just let it go" or "don't let it bother you", but will someone just please tell me HOW!!
I've been judged. Yes, that's right, I've been judged. However, (there's that word again) I haven't been judged by a judge. I have been judged by people that don't know me, that haven't been involved in my life, that are gossiping, and that are stirring up lies.
Okay, so after writing that, I'm already feeling better because I just realized that they don't matter. My husband that sees me everyday (at my worst and without makeup, I might add) and still loves me, matters.
My children that I have raised, loved and nurtured, who still call me mom, who still call me, who still say "I love you, mom", matters.
My friends that shop with me (and let me boss them on what to buy), that go to church with me, that like my oddball behaviours, that cry with me, that listen to my problems, matters.
My family and relatives that have been a part of my life, that have shared my griefs, have shared my table, have shared my successes, matters.
So, to those others, that judge, gossip, and are just basically hurtful......ppppttttthhhhffffttttt!! You're judgements and opinions of me don't matter!
I got "shook up" this week and I can't seem to "shake" it. Why is it we can get hundreds of compliments and well wishes, but we get one itsy bitsy negative response and it rattles our world?? Anyway, that's how it is for me. Actually, my world hasn't been rattled, but I can't seem to let this tiny little thing go. I'm probably just waaay too sensitive, and I get lots of responses of "just let it go" or "don't let it bother you", but will someone just please tell me HOW!!
I've been judged. Yes, that's right, I've been judged. However, (there's that word again) I haven't been judged by a judge. I have been judged by people that don't know me, that haven't been involved in my life, that are gossiping, and that are stirring up lies.
Okay, so after writing that, I'm already feeling better because I just realized that they don't matter. My husband that sees me everyday (at my worst and without makeup, I might add) and still loves me, matters.
My children that I have raised, loved and nurtured, who still call me mom, who still call me, who still say "I love you, mom", matters.
My family and relatives that have been a part of my life, that have shared my griefs, have shared my table, have shared my successes, matters.
So, to those others, that judge, gossip, and are just basically hurtful......ppppttttthhhhffffttttt!! You're judgements and opinions of me don't matter!
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Too Much Drama
No matter where I go there's drama. I don't plan it, I don't want it, I don't even like drama, but there it is....staring me in the face...snickering....waiting.
I went shopping with my daughter in law the other day and we were having a really good time. I wanted to check out a baby items consignment shop, so that's where the fun started. We asked the lady in charge if there were any other consignment shops that sold baby items around town. You would have thought we asked her to eat fresh roadkill. Her face puckered up and she got this look that said she smelled something nasty, and she said, "The other place just accepts...."donations." She said the word "donations" like it didn't taste good. She informed us that they paid for their stuff, but the other place just took...."donations." However, she reluctantly gave us the directions and made me feel like I needed to go stand in the corner some where.
We really didn't realize there was a consignment shop class system. So, we left the top of the consignment shop hierarchy to go to the lower class, peasant consignment shop.
When we arrived, we saw a really cute book shelf that would be so pretty in the new nursery, so we went in and checked it out. Sixty dollars! Really? In the peasant shop? We didn't stay long. We asked directions for the servant consignment shop.
As we were leaving, I heard somewhere in the parking lot, a small, little yapping sound. Uh oh. Here comes the drama.
It was ninety seven degrees outside and we heard the sound of a little puppy coming from inside a parked car. NINETY SEVEN degrees people!! We drove around to see if we could find it, hoping that it would be in a vehicle with the windows down, but noooo, that would be way too easy.
There it was, in a car with the windows up to about 1/2 inch, it had on a little doggie sweater, it's leash was hung on something, and it was crying. It was licking the window and licking a bottle that was in the cup holder.
You can call me a redneck, or you can call me a hotheaded red head, but I was furious!!! We asked a young lady if it was her car, she said no but that she would go back in the store and ask. No luck. So, my sweet, little, soft spoken daughter in law went in to ask around, while I stood guard outside. She asked an older lady if it was hers, and the lady was quite taken aback. She said she would never do such a thing, but that Della should yell it out in the store. HA! Well, of course, Della was too conservative for this, so the older lady took it upon herself to yell through the store for the owners and when they were located, the yelling didn't stop. She yelled to them that if they didn't go RIGHT NOW and take care of that puppy that she was going to call the police.
So, as they left their overloaded cart of peasant consignment shop goodies, I saw them begin to say something to my daughter in law.
Number 1...don't leave a puppy in a hot parked car with the windows up.
Number 2...don't ever, and I mean EVER, talk bad to my daughters in law.
Number 3...always take heed of a mad, redheaded woman standing by your car, patting her foot, with her phone poised to dial 911.
Well, after we said our words, and I used the word "stupid" several times, they got the message, got in their car and left.
After my blood pressure came back down to normal and my daughter in law quit shaking with fury, we headed out for the servant consignment shop and began to giggle about our little confrontation.
I don't recommend parking lot confrontations, and the right course of action would have been to call the police, but I did, and I didn't. My bad.
See what I mean....drama.
We really didn't realize there was a consignment shop class system. So, we left the top of the consignment shop hierarchy to go to the lower class, peasant consignment shop.
When we arrived, we saw a really cute book shelf that would be so pretty in the new nursery, so we went in and checked it out. Sixty dollars! Really? In the peasant shop? We didn't stay long. We asked directions for the servant consignment shop.
As we were leaving, I heard somewhere in the parking lot, a small, little yapping sound. Uh oh. Here comes the drama.
It was ninety seven degrees outside and we heard the sound of a little puppy coming from inside a parked car. NINETY SEVEN degrees people!! We drove around to see if we could find it, hoping that it would be in a vehicle with the windows down, but noooo, that would be way too easy.
There it was, in a car with the windows up to about 1/2 inch, it had on a little doggie sweater, it's leash was hung on something, and it was crying. It was licking the window and licking a bottle that was in the cup holder.
You can call me a redneck, or you can call me a hotheaded red head, but I was furious!!! We asked a young lady if it was her car, she said no but that she would go back in the store and ask. No luck. So, my sweet, little, soft spoken daughter in law went in to ask around, while I stood guard outside. She asked an older lady if it was hers, and the lady was quite taken aback. She said she would never do such a thing, but that Della should yell it out in the store. HA! Well, of course, Della was too conservative for this, so the older lady took it upon herself to yell through the store for the owners and when they were located, the yelling didn't stop. She yelled to them that if they didn't go RIGHT NOW and take care of that puppy that she was going to call the police.
So, as they left their overloaded cart of peasant consignment shop goodies, I saw them begin to say something to my daughter in law.
Number 1...don't leave a puppy in a hot parked car with the windows up.
Number 2...don't ever, and I mean EVER, talk bad to my daughters in law.
Number 3...always take heed of a mad, redheaded woman standing by your car, patting her foot, with her phone poised to dial 911.
Well, after we said our words, and I used the word "stupid" several times, they got the message, got in their car and left.
After my blood pressure came back down to normal and my daughter in law quit shaking with fury, we headed out for the servant consignment shop and began to giggle about our little confrontation.
I don't recommend parking lot confrontations, and the right course of action would have been to call the police, but I did, and I didn't. My bad.
See what I mean....drama.
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Lovin' those Grandkids
I'm not sure how it happened. I was blindsided. The first time I looked at my little granddaughter, I was smitten.
When I became pregnant with my second son, I would sit and wonder how in the world I would be able to love him as much as I loved my first son. I don't know about you all, but it was a real concern for me. Maybe I'm just a little neurotic, but I just didn't see how that was possible, and how would I go through the rest of my life keeping the little secret of "mommy loves you better than the other one."
No one gave me a heads up on the whole kid thing. And what if I loved the second one more than the first?? It was all so confusing. It was like I had this bucket of love and I had to use some of it for one child, then use up some more for the other one, and then heaven help me when I became pregnant with the third one! The bucket would be dry!
I remember the day that I was going home from the hospital and I was loving my second baby so much that I was having the whole love conversation in my head. I walked to the window and saw my husband holding Josh's hand as they walked through the parking lot to come pick up mommy and baby brother. As I stood there, I was overwhelmed with love....love for son #1, love for son #2, and love for my sweet husband, and I realized I needed to forget the whole bucket thing. It wasn't a bucket, it was a waterfall!
And I'm here to tell ya that when the grandbabies start coming, that waterfall just keeps pouring. I think grandbabies are God's way of letting us parents have a second chance. All the times I said, "wait a minute, mommy's busy" or "I don't have time right now" is now replaced with setting everything aside to just get a flash of a smile....a hug with little dimpled arms....a bouquet of weeds...a candy covered kiss...and yes, even a chance to change a diaper.
I get phone calls from my older grandkids about what they want for their birthday, what they did at school, and how well they ride their bikes. Now, I'm looking forward to conversations with Princess Marilyn (yes, she's a princess and I'm her loyal subject), I'm looking forward to colored pictures to hang on my refrigerator, and I'm looking forward to seeing her manipulate her Poppy into wearing funny hats and having tea parties.
We parents are so busy in raising our kids that sometimes we miss the special moments, so God gives us grandchildren to love, to give our undivided attention, and to spoil so rotten their parents can't stand them.
So, I'm just gonna enjoy every minute possible, quit worrying about how much love there is to go around, get as many hugs and kisses as I can, and spoil my grandkids as much as possible.
When I became pregnant with my second son, I would sit and wonder how in the world I would be able to love him as much as I loved my first son. I don't know about you all, but it was a real concern for me. Maybe I'm just a little neurotic, but I just didn't see how that was possible, and how would I go through the rest of my life keeping the little secret of "mommy loves you better than the other one."
No one gave me a heads up on the whole kid thing. And what if I loved the second one more than the first?? It was all so confusing. It was like I had this bucket of love and I had to use some of it for one child, then use up some more for the other one, and then heaven help me when I became pregnant with the third one! The bucket would be dry!
I remember the day that I was going home from the hospital and I was loving my second baby so much that I was having the whole love conversation in my head. I walked to the window and saw my husband holding Josh's hand as they walked through the parking lot to come pick up mommy and baby brother. As I stood there, I was overwhelmed with love....love for son #1, love for son #2, and love for my sweet husband, and I realized I needed to forget the whole bucket thing. It wasn't a bucket, it was a waterfall!
And I'm here to tell ya that when the grandbabies start coming, that waterfall just keeps pouring. I think grandbabies are God's way of letting us parents have a second chance. All the times I said, "wait a minute, mommy's busy" or "I don't have time right now" is now replaced with setting everything aside to just get a flash of a smile....a hug with little dimpled arms....a bouquet of weeds...a candy covered kiss...and yes, even a chance to change a diaper.
I get phone calls from my older grandkids about what they want for their birthday, what they did at school, and how well they ride their bikes. Now, I'm looking forward to conversations with Princess Marilyn (yes, she's a princess and I'm her loyal subject), I'm looking forward to colored pictures to hang on my refrigerator, and I'm looking forward to seeing her manipulate her Poppy into wearing funny hats and having tea parties.
We parents are so busy in raising our kids that sometimes we miss the special moments, so God gives us grandchildren to love, to give our undivided attention, and to spoil so rotten their parents can't stand them.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Laughter at Aunt Joy's House
I'm writing my first blog! I feel so...so...technical!
Well, last week was full of cleaning, cooking and family. We had a three year old in our home for several days and boy, does that make things interesting! He wanted to know why I was cooking, why I had dogs, why I had stripes on my shirt. He was "spiderman" so I was tied up with imaginary spider webs all week. We went down to our pond and played in the desert (the dirt around the pond)
And no matter what I cooked, he always ended up with mac and cheese.
How I loved hearing the big voice. You know the one. When he's a seargant and sees the enemy, his voice gets deeper, his steps get bigger and he walks around giving orders.
And of course, there's the ever present cape (only it wasn't a cape, it was a fake beard that he tied around his neck with the beard hanging down his back). That cape holds special powers that only kids know about.
I pulled toys out of the closet that I haven't seen in twenty years! They're universal. They work for any kid in any time zone. They worked for my boys, and now two generations later, they still hold the fascination. (and by the way, I watched Toy Story 3 and now have a surreal attachment to them)
So,(despite the feeling that the toys get out and play at night while no one's watching), I love watching how games, imaginations, and pretend voices are still the same in my house, even after all these years and that little boys still have fun and make memories at Aunt Joy's house.
Psalms 9:2 I will be glad and rejoice in thee; I will sing praise to thy name, O thou Most High.
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| Riley in the desert |
And no matter what I cooked, he always ended up with mac and cheese.
How I loved hearing the big voice. You know the one. When he's a seargant and sees the enemy, his voice gets deeper, his steps get bigger and he walks around giving orders.
And of course, there's the ever present cape (only it wasn't a cape, it was a fake beard that he tied around his neck with the beard hanging down his back). That cape holds special powers that only kids know about.
I pulled toys out of the closet that I haven't seen in twenty years! They're universal. They work for any kid in any time zone. They worked for my boys, and now two generations later, they still hold the fascination. (and by the way, I watched Toy Story 3 and now have a surreal attachment to them)
So,(despite the feeling that the toys get out and play at night while no one's watching), I love watching how games, imaginations, and pretend voices are still the same in my house, even after all these years and that little boys still have fun and make memories at Aunt Joy's house.
Psalms 9:2 I will be glad and rejoice in thee; I will sing praise to thy name, O thou Most High.
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