Daughter

Day 5 of thanksgiving moments begins with daughter #2.  Many years ago, after three rowdy little boys, my husband and I began talking about a situation going on in our minds and hearts.  There were and are, so many kids out there that don't have much of a chance.  Many don't have a mom or a dad, or maybe don't have either, and it began to bear on our minds.

There was such a young girl at our church.  She was a girl that came to church on one of the buses and was very faithful in her attendance.  So we began to take an interest in her, until finally we asked her if she would like to come and live with us.  From that moment on, she was ours.

She came to live with us when she was fifteen years old, had some health issues, and had many emotional needs, but she was ours.  Yep, we picked her and she picked us, so that was the beginning of our relationship.

I'm sorry I don't have any childhood memories to speak of or any childhood pictures, but we began making memories together as soon as she appeared on our doorstep. 

As I said, she was fifteen, so we immediately inherited teenage hormones and attitude and she inherited three spunky brothers.  So, to say the least, we all had to go through some adjustments. 

I had so much fun buying party dresses, fixing hair, putting on makeup and getting ready for dates.  She had never experienced it and neither had I, so we were learning together.  We went through weird hairdos, awkward boy moments, and braces.

As a young child, her lower jaw didn't grow as it should and we had to have some surgery done for that.  It was such a horrible time and I felt so sorry for her.  The doctors had to saw her lower jaw into, pull it forward and stabilize it with screws, then they had to wire her mouth shut for six, very long weeks.  They left a small place to put a straw in that she could drink through for those six weeks.  But, afterwards, when the wires were removed and she had worn braces for two, painful years, she had the biggest, most beautiful smile!  Oh, my, what a difference!    I know it was one of the roughest things to go through as a teenager, but it was so worth it.

Now, not only did she have this thick, long mane of shiny chestnut colored hair, she had a beautiful smile.  It didn't take long for a young man to take notice.

She met him, fell in love, and began planning a wedding.  She's just a tiny, little thing, so when she walked down the aisle with a dress on that was just ruffles from the waist down, she looked like a mix of something from Gone With The Wind and a Barbie princess doll.

We know how to push each other's buttons, my daughter and me, (as do most mothers and daughters) and we know when to put it all aside and come together. 

She has given us two beautiful grandchildren; a little girl, and a little boy that suffers from autism. I've watched her struggle, battle, fight for help, cry, and sometimes feel hopeless, but one thing I have not seen from her is quitting.  When most people give up when simple problems come along, she keeps going.  When most people face situations that are minor, she climbs obstacles that seem insurmountable.
Our daughter is a fighter.  Our daughter refuses to quit.  Our daughter is quite a gal.

I hope that she always knows that she is our family, she is part of us, she is ours and we love her.

Thankful for Son #3

Getting a late start on my thanksgiving moment because I was in church giving thanks this morning.  So, it's time for my thanksgiving moment today.

Day 4 I'm being thankful for my son #3, who has been a delight from the moment he was born.  Our little (and I use that word ironically) baby boy was 10 pounds and 3 ounces, had a head full of hair that was every color known for hair.  It was blonde, brown, red and maybe even a little touch of black.  The people that would come into my semi private room to visit the other mother, would come in saying, "Did you see that fat little baby in the nursery!" And she would point at me and say, "It's hers."  And I would smile, proudly.

Yes, he was a little chunk and went straight into 3 month size clothes.  None of that newborn stuff for him!

He was momma's boy from the beginning.  He loved his mommy.  He couldn't go to sleep without holding my hand...and this means in the car, also.  Yep, many trips driving down the road with my arm twisted backwards so he could reach it in the backseat. 

He had three binkies...one for his mouth and one for each hand.  He loved his binkie just about as much as his mommy.  We would listen to gospel music and he would pop the binkie out just in time to bellow out an offkey note at the very end of the song where they always hold out the tune, then pop it back it to continue on until the next last note.  He was such a funny little person.

His best times was when he would find his favorite movie, get a blanket, and come to me and say,"Mommy, let's snuggle."  We would watch his favorite movies over and over and over. 

He was always affectionate.  He always like to hug, to touch and to snuggle.  He noticed the small things, like if I had a new pair of socks on or a different color eyeshadow, and he would always tell me how pretty they were.

When in elementary school, he would bring me home little plastic rings or bracelets that he would get out of the "treasure box" for being a good boy at school.  And he didn't pick me flowers, he picked me rocks.  I still have a small box of rocks that he thought were special enough for mommy.

I watched him grow and each phase of his life he was still the light hearted, funny, full of life boy.  His laughter always was, and still is, contagious.  It's a sound that makes my heart smile.

As he became a teenager, like his brothers, he was into sports.  And during this time, his father was his coach in basketball and I was the scorekeeper, so we had many ball trips with a bus full of crazy, loud, stinky boys, and it was one of the funnest times of my life.  If there was something going on, he was right in the middle of it, full of laughter.  We had overnighters at my house with xbox tournaments, loud boys, mounds of food, and boys piled all over the house sleeping in whatever spot they could find, if they slept at all.

He was never embarrassed to come up and hug me in front of his peers.  He liked hanging out with me and I loved every second we had together.  On one occasion, at a ballgame, I was in the score box on the second floor looking down on the boys warming up before the game.  It was noisy in the gym, and I saw him walk over under the scorebox and say something to me. I couldn't hear him, so after the game I asked what he was trying to say.  It's a moment that will always be seared in my memory, because he told me that he came over just to say, "I love you."

Just like his brothers, too, we acknowledged that he was our gift from God, and promised to raise him to know that same God.  He gave his heart to the Lord when he was thirteen.  Now, our family circle will be unbroken throughout eternity.

He's a loyal person.  If you are his friend, then you are his friend for life.  He fell in love with a little girl when he was in elementary school, loved her all through high school and college, and now she is his wife.  He never wavered in that committment to her.  She is the love of his life, literally, and now she is a part of our lives.  She is as quirky and silly as the rest of us, so she fits perfectly into our family.  And together, they have given us the greatest gift we could have ever recieved....a grandchild.(more to follow on that at a later date!)

He will always be my baby boy and he will always make me smile at that belly laugh of his.  I still love it when he comes in, and in spite of all the seating in the living room, he'll come in and sit down beside mom on the loveseat and put his arm around me.  That's my boy.

Psalms 127:3  Lo, children are an heritage of the Lord: and the fruit of the womb is His reward.

Son #2

I just want to say that when writing about my blessings, I don't, in any way, mean to give the impression that I think God has blessed me more than anyone else.  I know God doesn't do that.  But I do know that He knows what each of us need, what we desire, and what we can handle.  I also know that the "gifts" he has given each mother out there is as special to their hearts as mine are to my heart.  And I hope that in reading my words, you can relate with me and bring all your happy memories to your thoughts.

That being said...Day 3 of giving thanks for my blessings continue!

How precious it is to recieve, not just one gift from God, but two!!  When son #2 appeared, I was worried I wouldn't have enough love to go around, but I didn't have to spread it thin, it doubled.  There was my little boy all swaddled up, wearing his WV Mountaineer sleeper, sleeping peacefully and waiting on Dad and brother #1 to pick him up.

When I had son #1, he became the church baby.  Everyone thought they had some kind of claim on him, and they did.  They were my family and I loved watching him show off for them and make them smile.  But when son #2 came along, I decided he was going to be mine only.  I got a little stingey and selfish.

He was so beautiful.  I would put him on my shoulder and pat his back while he looked behind me at all the faces and would give everyone a big, toothless smile.  As a toddler, he had these huge blue eyes fringed with thick, long eyelashes and people would stop me in the stores to tell me what a gorgeous baby I had.  I didn't need them to tell me, I already knew it.

He would entertain himself for hours with matchbox cars, an old blanket, and his Fisher Price little people. 

He was always the little perfectionist.  While other kids colored big blobs of colors on their pages, his were blue skies, smiling sunshines and all of it within the lines.  I once had a pastor ask me how we got him to be so quiet in church, while his little girl was causing chaos all over the place. haha.  It wasn't so much what we did, but rather, it was who he was.

He always had a gentle spirit and a gentle heart.  We used to sing and pray together when he was a little boy.  We always sung when we were in the car.  He was truly my gift from God.

His perfectionism carried over into school, sports, and anything else he decided to do.  He never accepted just doing enough to get by, he had to give everything he had to succeed.  During elementary and jr. high school he was a little smaller than the other boys, and it bothered him at times, but to the other boys he was someone they looked up to no matter his size. 

By the time he was in high school, he had become the boy others wanted to be friends with and to follow.  His teen years were filled with girls, school work and sports. 

The funny thing is, that as much as I tried to make him just mine, he was the most independent of all my children.  He didn't want to be seen too much with mom, and especially didn't want mom hugging on him in front of his peers, and definitely wanted to make his own decisions.

The teen years were as fun with him as with son #1.  There were boys at my house almost everyday.  They walked in wanting to know what was for supper, they ate all my food and I would have to hide my husband's food so it wouldn't be eaten before he got home. 

Even though he was Mr. Independent, we had so many good times.  We would go shopping or on a trip, just the two of us, and it never failed that something would happen to get us tickled and we would laugh hysterically, until I was in tears.  He has such a dry sense of humor.  He can just say a word or two and it can crack everyone up in the room. 

There was a life changing moment when he was a senior.  He and some friends went to see a skit that was put on by another church, and the things done and said in the skit began to work in his heart.  One Sunday after church, for some reason or other it was just the two of us, and he began to ask me a few questions about life and death and after death.  So, on our way home that day, I pulled over into the parking lot of a car dealership, cut off the engine, and had the priviledge of introducing my son to my Saviour.  As we bowed our heads, I watched the tears fill his beautiful, blue eyes and spill down his cheeks while he prayed and asked Jesus to be his Saviour too.  I will never forget that moment.

My son #2 graduated valedictorian, went on to a Christian college for a couple of years and dedicated himself to making good grades, found life long friends, and grew into a fine young man.  It was during this time he realized what God's will was for his life, so he finished college with honors, followed in his dad's footsteps, went on to medical school and now has his own practice.

As in everything else, he wanted to be exactly right in his decision about his life's companion, and he waited until God had placed the right girl in his life.  She's a perfect fit for him and for our family.  Now, they have given us another blessing, a perfect little girl, our granddaughter. (but that's for another thanksgiving moment!)

It was hard sometimes being mom to such an independent person, but it isn't hard, at all, to love him and be proud of  the man he's become. How I love to hear him talk of his goals, his plans, and his life.  What a joy to my heart when the phone rings and I hear that deep voice say, "Hey mom, whatcha doing."  

3 John 1:3  I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in truth.

#1 Son

Day 2 of giving thanks has me pondering on what should be next on the list.  Heaven knows that I have so much to be thankful for that it can't be narrowed down to just a few days, but I'm gonna try and just hit the high spots.

I'm so thankful for my children.  Growing up, my plans were always to be a wife and a mom.  That's it.  I felt so peculiar that I didn't want to have a "career".  All my friends had things they wanted to do and I wanted to be mom.  I'm definitely not the best mom, but I think I did okay.  My whole life has been dedicated to my husband and to my kids only.  I think that because this was my desire, God blessed us and I was able to be a stay at home mom through most of our family's life. 

So...since I have a houseful of kids, I'm going to take a day for each one of them and I'll start with my firstborn son.  He used to wear this little t-shirt that said #1 Son.  He was such a cutie patootie (sorry son, I'm sure you just cringed here).  He had the roundest blue eyes, the chubbiest cheeks ever, and a very grown up, serious disposition.  Even as a baby, he didn't want to be hugged and kissed on very much, just a hug when he had accomplished something fantastic, and some snuggling right before bedtime.

As an infant, his dad and I prayed that God would bless our little boy and help us to be good parents to him.  We knew then that all children are truly a gift from God, so with the responsibility of being caretakers of this little gift, we gave him to God and asked God's blessing on him.  His dad had the privilege, during the nightly tucking in and prayers, to show him how that Christ could be his dearest friend and Saviour.  Our little boy prayed one night and told his dad that he asked Jesus into his heart.

When he was just a young boy, we moved and his dad had to be gone alot of the time during medical school for his medical rotations.  My son stepped in and became my little man.  He truly made it easier for me during these times.  He played hard, loved his younger brothers, and helped me take care of things.

I watched this little man being picked on by the bigger boys in our apartment complex, but he didn't run home crying or even complain about it.  He just handled it the best he could.  (Although I wanted to go ring their little necks and put a hurtin' on them) Later he ran into one of the "big" boys and my son's growth had surpassed the little runt, and  so had his character.  He could have given the boy a pounding, but instead showed great maturity, and was friendly with him and went on his way. 

When my son entered Jr. High, he bloomed.  He grew taller and his shoulders grew broader.  He seemed to always be laughing and having the time of his life.  I loved watching him enjoy life, playing ball, and flirting with girls (well, maybe not the girl thing).  Because of his disposition, his intelligence, and his abilities, he became a leader and an example.  He never tried to become these things, he never tried to make people like him, it was just a natural thing. 

Whoever said that raising teenagers is awful, was terribly wrong.  It was the funnest time of my life.  It was awesome watching my boy become a man.  I loved when he came in every day and told me what went on in his little world that day.  I loved when he came in almost every night, layed down beside me in my bed, and talked and talked and talked.  I loved having 15 - 20 boys staying at my house, playing, horsing around, and eating all my food. I loved my teenager.

Since then, he's gone through some struggles, we've gone through some struggles, and, in spite of it all, my love for him is stronger and than ever.  I've watched him make some good choices in his life, go on to pharmacy school, get engaged to a good girl, and make life long friends.

Our son has gone from our little boy to a man that I'm very proud of.  Things have almost gone full circle and now our son takes care of us.  He makes sure the driveway is plowed, makes sure we have wood for our fireplace, and generally just makes sure we're okay.

We don't have the long talks like we used to.  He has someone else to tell his secrets to, and no, I'm not upset over that, I'm thankful that God put a girl in his life that is glad to listen and be there for him.  But, occasionally, he'll tiptoe into my room and we'll talk.  When he leaves, I smile and think of those times not so long ago, that we layed in my room and whispered over silly girls, ballgames, and dreams of the future.

I love you, son, and I'm so thankful that God gave you to me, and that I get the privilege of hearing you call me Mom.

Psalms 127:3-5  Lo, children are a heritage of the Lord: and the fruit of the womb is his reward.  As arrows are in the hands of a mighty man; so are children of the youth.  Happy is the man that hath his quiver full of them: 

Thankful for My Best Friend

This is Thanksgiving month, so therefore, I'm gonna try to blog each day for something that I have to be thankful for and today I will give thanks for my best friend.

We met in high school.  I was a cheerleader...he was a basketball player.  I was the all out, fun times, laugh at everything, flirty teenage girl.  He was the quite, doesn't care what others think, smart, "I will succeed" type of boy.  Opposite in so many ways, but so much alike.

I could tell him anything and he listened to everything.  He made jokes and silly faces and I giggled incessantly.  He came from a solid family and mine was fractured.  But we fit.  From the first date, we were inseparable. 

He put up with alot and I gave him alot of grief.  He was focused and I was flighty.  But through it all, he loved me like no one ever had and I knew I had found a jewel.

We dated for five years, got married and have been married for thirty six years.  His family took me in and loved me, just as he did, in spite of all my faults and I loved them back with all my heart. 

Yep, there were times when I didn't know if we'd make it, but we started together, and because we didn't put divorce into the equation, we will end up together.  Because we have put God and family above all else, we have been blessed beyond anything I could have dreamed as a young, directionless girl. Yep, there are times I don't like him and he doesn't like me, but our love and commitment stand in the gap. And, yep, we both have many faults, especially me, but decided a long time ago not to dwell on them.

We still have silly moments where we chase each other around the house (when we don't have back pain, joint pain, or general listlessness).  Our favorite times are when all the kids and grandkids are in the house, making noises, watching ball games, yelling, eating and causing chaos, and the times when no one is there but us, our feet propped up, watching tv, and talking about the kids, the grandkids, and all the chaos. 

He likes to pick at me, laugh at my southern accent and ways, and tell me how pretty I am. (You have to understand, he still sees me as the cute, giggly teenage girl he fell in love with, so don't tell him otherwise!) 

He's never been a laugher...never just rared back and guffawed, he's more of a smiler with a twinkle in his eye, so I've always thought it my responsibility to make that twinkle show up.  I love to do something that makes him grin, and even, occasionally laugh out loud.  I feel such an accomplishment that I can do that when no one else can.  And, yes, I'll do just about anything goofy to see that smile appear.

He knows all my secrets and I know all his...I think? hmm.  Better check into that.  He knows what buttons to push and I'm not sure, but I don't think he has buttons.  He's always calm, well almost always, but generally calm. 

He's been my rock during emotional upheavals, the death of our daughter, trials, and I've been his crutch during financial problems, long separations because of work, and the death of his parents. 

I don't know what's ahead for us, but I do know that we'll face it together.  I know that whatever it is, I'll have my best friend by my side.  Of that, I'm very thankful.

Creepies

I hate creepy things, and it seems like lately, I've had my share of them.  I don't like snakes, spiders, beetles (those little kamakaze kind that dive bomb into anything), mice, or bears.  Okay, bears is stretching the "creepy thing" concept, but I don't like them.

The other day my husband and I were working our patooties off cleaning, pressure washing, and staining our decks and porches.  We had taken a break and was sitting on the patio, when I decided that I would go work on my screened porch.  I was walking merrily on my way, and getting ready to pick up some flower pots beside my step, when I saw it....just creeping through the grass like a snake.  Well, it was a snake, thus the creeping.  I'm pretty sure my eyes bugged out as I threw up my hands and screamed, moonwalking back to the patio.  I looked like some crazed woman in the throws of a spiritual attack.  I was expecting my husband to come to my rescue, and he did, once he was able to get his breath from laughing so hard.  He thoroughly enjoyed replaying my spiritual dance to me many times.  Thanks, hon.

A few days ago, I decided to sit on my beautifully stained screened porch.  It was late evening, I was relaxing in my chaise, which was turned with the back toward the field and woods.  I was sitting there reading a book, listening to the crickets chirp, frogs doing whatever it is they do, and heavy breathing.  What?  I could swear that I heard some very loud, heavy breathing behind me.  Creepy.  Just in case I was losing it, I decided to move my furniture around so I could face the woods, and pretend that I didn't just hear heavy breathing.  Okay, I heard it again.  At that point, I yelled at my husband (the mocker) to come out on the porch.  He asked what was wrong and I told him that I thought I heard heavy breathing.  You just have to imagine, here, the look he gave me...like he expected me to say something else...something other than I'm hearing heavy breathing outside on my porch.

So, while I'm trying to mimic what I had just heard (which was entertaining in itself), we heard it.  Not just the heavy breathing, but lots of wood banging, wood breaking noises. I was just waiting for an out of shape Sasquatch to walk out of the woods breathing heavy from the exertion, when we saw a bear walk through the field toward all the noise.  This is when we heard wood hitting wood, branches breaking and something clanking its teeth together...another bear!!  The first bear come shuffling very quickly out of the woods and everytime it would walk back, the noise would start up again. 

We got the binoculars and watched this for quite awhile, but it was almost completely dark, so we could only catch glimpses as the bear would come back out into the field.  Everyone tells me that it was another bear that was making all the noise in the woods, but I'm not completely convinced.  I'm still leaning toward Sasquatch.

So, on my way to church tonight, as I was backing out of the garage a spider landed on my windshield.**shiver**  Anything with more than four legs is just way high on my creep meter.  I couldn't take my eyes off it.  I didn't want to turn on the wipers because I could just imagine smear marks with lots of little legs on my window, so off we go down the driveway.  I thought it would blow off because I was throwing gravels as I sped out, but noooo, it just hung on.  I was afraid to slow down because I was afraid it would make its way to my door and just wait until I opened it, and jump on me, so as I got to the end of my road, I didn't stop, I just slowed enough to see it was clear, then floored it.

Going fifty five down the road and it was still hanging on with all those tiny legs. Ew.  As I neared the interstate, I was gaining confidence I could blow that thing off doing seventy.  At this point, I was talking trash to it.  As I hit the ramp, I could see it move, but it was just getting a better grip.  It's legs were spread almost straight to gain traction, and I believe it had two legs over its eyes, but I'm not sure.  Man, that was a tough little creepy thing. 

I went about five miles, when it disappeared.  Yay, me!!  Oh, wait.  What if it just blew into that little space around my door and was waiting on me to stop.  I'll never know.  I won't know if it is still there, or maybe crawled inside.  I may have to trade my car in.

I hate creepy things.

I Got the Shubble

My husband and I were sight seeing while we were on vacation in Atlantic Beach, North Carolina.  We went to Fort Macon to look around and take some pictures.  It was a beautiful location and such a glimpse into our nation's history.  I always love going to these places where I can walk where people walked decades and decades ago.  I love picturing in my mind the clothes they wore, their speech, and their daily lives.

As I was walking around in triple digit temperatures with humidity hanging around 90%, I was thinking about the soldiers wearing those wool uniforms and how miserable they would have been.  Then I started thinking about the "southern belles" sashaying in pantaloons, hoops, coursets, and long dresses. No wonder they swooned all the time.

Anyway, as we were leaving the fort, there was a family getting out of their truck, toting fishing poles, coolers, tackle boxes and all sorts of paraphenalia.  The fort was right on the beach, so there were many there just to take advantage of the water.  They were hustling around trying to get all their stuff together and we heard them yelling at each other..."hey, John, did you get the tackle box?"...."who got the fishing poles"..."mom, did you get the picnic stuff?"  And then we heard one little voice say, "I got the shubble."

She was standing there in the midst of all the urgency and chaos of grown men, fidgety boys, a haggered mom.  There were little chubby legs protruding from a tiny pink swimsuit, blonde curls touching her shoulders, and a red shovel gripped in dimpled hands.  She was ready.

I kept thinking about that little girl and her "shubble" and thinking how that what is important to some may not be important to others.  Some people need all the bells and whistles and some people just need a "shubble". 

I look back at my Grandma and Papa.  Papa never drove a car.  Grandma didn't wear the latest fashions.  Almost everything they survived on they either raised, grew, or made themselves.  We had to walk outside to use the bathroom, we took a bath in a big tub in the middle of the kitchen, and the kids all slept in one big bed under quilts that grandma made. 

Grandma and Papa weren't wealthy people, but they had something they passed down to each of their kids and each of their grandkids...love and kindness and memories.

I've thought about Grandma and Papa alot in the last week.  Because of the storms, we had no power or water and I felt very inconvenienced, but this is how Grandma and Papa lived each day.  They raised all their children and a few grandchildren this way, but I never, ever heard either one of them grumble or complain.

Yes, they did get plumbing and electricity later on in life, and they even had a phone which was on a party line!  Yet, they still lived simply.  While everyone was hustling and bustling to get new cars, new houses, new clothes, new things, Papa and Grandma lived in the same house, with the same furniture, the same dishes, the same clothes....and it was wonderful.