Renaissance Man

Looking up.  Looking way, way, WAY up.  And I see his face smiling down at me.  Knee-high to a grasshopper, and he is the grasshopper, his legs stretch up to the clouds, his hands reaching down to pat my head.  My Papaw, Howard Kesler.

I wish my daughter could have known him.

Soldier, Mechanic, Musician, Storyteller, Hunter and Gatherer.  Grandfather.  So tall, strong.  Frail.

I do not remember ever climbing on his lap to cuddle, although I probably did, but I do fondly recall sitting at his feet to listen to his stories, or watch mesmerized as he played the fiddle or the harmonica.  I remember following him around in his garage as he tinkered with cars, my wiggly chatter to his hushed methods.  I tried hunting once or twice; he would watch in silence, and I would scare away the squirrels.  There was Lady, beautiful black dog following her master, and two squealing little girls chased them both while the older boy was off searching the woods for adventure.  Louisiana country life at its finest.  Soaring pines, rusty swings, sunflowers taller than me, lightning bugs and butterflies.  A Southern kid's dream.

Or nightmare, if you remember the wasp stings and ant bites, stifling humidity, incredible thirst, and the annoying little sister shooting her BB gun at you.  The truth is, I would have preferred being inside playing with the Barbies by myself, but I am thankful for the times my grandmother shooed me outside to enjoy the sunshine, and my grandfather's quiet company.

He died when I was sixteen, slowly withered away.  I still look for his deer head on the wall when I visit my Nanny, and I picture him in his rocker, his teeth out, jaw working overtime, telling stories and laughing like only he could.  I miss the carport full of tool boxes and that metallic smell of well-loved drill bits and hammers, familiar dust and sweat.  I can't hear a harmonica and not see his long, skinny arms moving, his head bouncing back and forth and foot tapping the beat as he hypnotized the crowd.

I did not inherit his memory or his penchant for spinning yarns, his Post-Depression-era habits, height or shape, but I am thankful to see some of his qualities passed on to my daughter.  She lives to tell stories about her day to anyone who will listen, and her delight shows in her eyes when others laugh with her.  She moves with music, cries with the sad songs and bounces with happy ones.  She loves puzzles and tries to fix things.  Like my Papaw, Angelyn can do anything she sets her mind to do, and she can do it well.  Angelyn may not have any memories of him, but his legacy is there for all the world to see.

And I have one of his harmonicas, one of my treasures, in my pink hurricane box, next to my daughter's first pair of shoes, my husband's favorite baseballs, and my wedding scrapbook.

First Aid 101: Bandaging a Cut

Saturdays are family days at my house.  Which translates to a little bit of cleaning and a whole lot of watching movies and lounging around the house all day.  Oh, and the most important part:  SLEEPING IN!

Who doesn't like to sleep in?

This past rainy Saturday was no different.  We were in the living room watching a movie when Angelyn asked for a cookie for a snack.  Fed up with me being so fat and hearing my daughter on her "is that healthy food?" kick, I bought some healthy choices the last time I went to the store.  I was so proud to be able to tell Angelyn to go get an apple, and quite pleased with myself to see her little face light up as she ran to pick out her "prize".

And, quite frankly, a little worried that she was that excited over being told to eat an apple when she had asked for a cookie.  Is that normal??

 

I shook my head and went back to watching the movie, thinking no more about it.

I didn't worry that she was in the kitchen for longer than it takes to pick up an apple.  The computer is tucked away in the corner, and she often runs back and forth between a movie and the Solitaire game on the computer (it's not hooked up to the internet, so we don't worry about her being unsupervised - that's for all you protective Moms and Dads out there!) and her DS and her room and playing with toys and just doing whatever she wants on Saturdays.  That's what Saturdays are for, after all.  No schedule.

That's when I heard the scream.  At first, I thought it was her "BUG!" scream.  But then it got louder and more intense, much like a fire truck wailing as it comes toward you.  And she ran up to me holding her left thumb.

"Oh my GOD!" I yelled when I saw the blood.  "Johnny, HELP!" and I cupped her hand in mine and ran with her to the bathroom.

I held her hand over the sink, shaking at the sight of all the blood, wondering what in the world she was doing to have cut herself so badly.

"We've got to take her to the hospital!  She's going to need stitches!"  I hollered to Johnny, as he ran down the hall towards us.

A word of caution here:  Moms should never, EVER say something like that in front of an imaginative, dramatic, terrified six-year-old girl!  Naturally, the siren became deafening at this point!

"Calm down, Nila, she does NOT need to go to the hospital.  Put pressure on it!  Angelyn, it's okay, you're okay."  Why was Johnny so calm when my daughter was clearly bleeding out in front of my eyes?!?

"But, Johnny, there's so much blood!"  And in my head, I'm conscious of the fact that I am freaking out worse than Angelyn, and jealous of Johnny's calm demeanor and attitude, and wishing I could chill out and remember my First Aid training - stupid, worthless Certification!  But here's Johnny, saving the day.

"Daddy's going to take care of you, Baby Girl, just calm down," I repeated over and over, silently wishing my heart would not keep pounding in my ears so fast, so loud!  I needed to think!  THINK!

Johnny gently ran water over the thumb, revealing the cut - deep, deep cut, it seemed to me, and so much blood!

"Nila, where's the peroxide?"

 

Peroxide!  Yes!  I can do this!  Ummm….found it.  Handed it to him.

"Okay, I'm going to clean out your cut with this.  It's not going to hurt, it'll just feel like the water felt just now, maybe a little colder,"  I said.  No, wait, that was Johnny talking.  I back cowering in the corner, shaking like a leaf.

"That wasn't cold," said Angelyn, her screams dying down.

"And now we'll put a Band-Aid on it.  What happened?  How did you cut your hand?"  Still Johnny, talking in a normal voice.

 

"Well, I was trying to cut my apple!"

OH MY WORD!  "What?!?"  I jumped out of my corner, back onto center stage.  "Why?  You know you're not supposed to play with knives!  Why didn't you ask for help?"  Great job, Mom!  Come to your senses just long enough to scold the terrified child.  You're so awesome!

I took a deep breath and went on, in a slightly less hysterical tone, "Honey, I know you think you're grown, but you're really not.  There are some things mommies and daddies need to do for you.  Like cutting an apple.  And sometimes even WE miss and cut ourselves.  You can't be doing that.  When I said go get an apple, I just thought you were going to pick it up and take a bite like everyone else does.  I didn't think you wanted it sliced.  Next time, please just let me know and I'll help you!  I don't want my Baby Girl to get hurt!"

And the whole time in my head, I'm thinking Stupid, Stupid Nila!  Horrible, lazy  mother!  Watching a movie while your daughter tries to cut her own apple and nearly chops her finger off!  Stupid!  Stupid!

Meanwhile, Hubby is over there quietly working, putting the bandage on the little finger and inspecting his work.  The finger is fine, by the way.  No stitches necessary.  Apparently not as deep of a cut as I thought.  And not once since has she complained that it so much as hurt a little tiny bit, which is unusual, as she normally milks it for all the cookies it's worth!  We set her up with a snack (threw away the partially-sliced apple and gave her two Oreos and some ice water instead - turns out apples are not all that healthy after all!) and her very own movie to watch in her nice, safe bedroom.  She was perfectly calm by this time, just a little tired from the wailing.

Me, I'm a basket case!  Johnny and I go back to the living room, and continue to watch the movie.  It was long over and the next one started before I stopped shaking.  I don't even remember which movie we were in the middle of!  Like it mattered.  My Baby Girl was bleeding!  Real blood!

Geez, I acted like I had never seen blood before.  I have, and much worse than that.  Just never before was it My Daughter's Blood.  Well, except for minor nicks and scrapes.  I think what freaked me out the most was that by the time she got to me, her finger was covered in blood, and I couldn't see the source.  It was that Not Knowing that was so frightening.  I can deal with it when I see what happened.  But that was a jolt I would care to forget, and know I never will.  Such a minor little thing, but it still reminds me that life is precious.  And temporary.  And oh, so fragile.

And I was so proud of my husband for being so strong and clear-headed for our girl in this Family Crisis.  Well, I was proud after my jealousy wore off!

My next trip to the store, I bought a package of pre-sliced apples in a re-sealable bag.  Mom to the rescue!

Angelyn's Christmas at Age 6

What do you want for Christmas this year?

All parents start asking that well before Thanksgiving. Most kids immediately have something in mind. Mine? Not so decisive.


Ummmmm, I don't know, Mom.

Well, you have to have SOMETHING you want!

I can't think of anything.

Okay, let's see....how about a new book?

Okay.

Barbie doll?

Yeah.

Ummm.....do you want some new doll clothes?  Or a movie?

Sure.

My little sweetheart!  I just want to buy her everything under the sun!

So, this year we watched "Yes, Virginia" when it came on the local station.  I was a little nervous about what my child would think about other kids not believing in Santa Claus.  See, my husband and I had different views about whether we would actually promote the Jolly Ol' Guy.  I don't remember ever believing in Santa Claus, so it wasn't ever a big deal to me.  Johnny, on the other hand, vividly remembers (everything) believing in Santa Claus and waking up on Christmas morning to find that one, big, unwrapped gift from HIM.  And long ago he said we absolutely will play that game with our kid(s).

And we do.  Each Christmas Eve, Angelyn puts out milk and cookies, and after she goes to sleep, Santa Claus devours them and leaves her a present.  And sometimes Angelyn leaves Santa a note, and Santa writes one back!

So, how would she react to finding out that not everyone believes in Santa?  Well, apparently, she already knew that some kids think there is no Santa Claus and Tooth Fairy, because they had this conversation at school.  Someone informed Angelyn that they are not real.  And Angelyn adamantly argued that yes, they are real, just like God is real even though you can't see Him, either.  Because her mommy talks to them on the phone, and they send her letters and presents, so that's proof, right?

I do believe that by the end of the conversation she had the other kids doubting their doubts about the truth behind Santa and the Tooth Fairy!

I've always told her she'd make a great lawyer one day.  My boss agrees, although he's not sure she'll be out of law school before he's ready to retire, so he probably won't be leaving his practice to her.

Angelyn's Letter to Santa 2011:

Dear Santa,

May I have a toy? I trid to be good. I'll leave some cookies out for you. I love you! Have a safe trip.

Love,

Angelyn Gayle Coffey

My Letter to Santa 2011:

Dear Santa,

My Baby Girl is the sweetest little girl EVER!

All I want for Christmas is many more years of her hugs and letters and goodness.

Love,

Angelyn's Mommy

Sunny Days: Pros and Cons

My daughter had her first science project to do as homework this year (First Grade).  A weather poster.  She was told to pick one aspect of weather (the usual ones were listed as examples: wind, tornadoes, hurricanes, rain, snow, etc.) and make a poster.  The grade was based on whether the poster had the key ingredients (title, illustrations, captions, etc.) and presentation.  I was thinking that, since we live in Louisiana and my daughter rarely sees it, she would choose SNOW.  Or maybe, because we live in Louisiana and we do occasionally experience them (there happened to be one in the news at the moment, actually), HURRICANES!


Like a really good mom, I gave her tons of time to choose a topic.  Too much time, actually.  Well, she finally decided two days before the poster was due.


Her final choice?


Sunny Days.


That's my girl!  Surprise em all!  That one wasn't listed on the homework sheet.  Way to get creative, Baby Girl!


I don't usually think of "sun" when I think of the weather.  I'm a little more depressing with my thoughts, I guess.


I think:


"Will it be so stinkin cold outside that I have to lug around that ugly jacket?"  I hate cold weather.


or


"Will a hurricane take my house this week?"  HOUSE, meaning TRAILER...wouldn't be too difficult.


or


"Dang it, I gotta carry around an umbrella!  Stupid rain!!"  This means I HAVE to wash my 6-feet-long hair tonight, whether I wanted to or not.


or the most recent one


"Will the wind blow my skirt in that embarassing Marilyn Monroe fashion as I'm walking into the office today?"  Yup, it happened.  And trust me, it's not NEARLY as hot when it happens to me!


So then I had to stop and think. Is "Sunny Days" considered "weather" or part of the climate? Or season? Or just somewhere in between?


But since my husband informed me that the weather channel has little suns on days with "sunny weather", it was okay to use it on a weather poster.  And then I could be proud of my daughter, choosing such a happy, positive thing to focus on!


So my daughter picked up her colored pencils and drew the picture which would be the centerpiece for her display.


"Oh, Angelyn!  You did such a great job!"  I said.  "I love the picture of you jumping rope on top of the trampoline (please, God, please don't let them call CPS because of that blatant safety hazard)!  I love how you put the sunny sky, the green grass, and even the dirt with the worms and things at the very bottom.  But why did you draw so many footballs in the yard?"  Puzzled, because she only has one football, and it's purple, not brown.  She's usually very detail-oriented with her drawings.


"Mooooooom," she rolled her eyes.  "Those are NOT footballs!  They are ant piles!  Don't you see the ants in the dirt, too?"  Oh.  The lines on top of the brown, oblong blobs are really the ants marching to and fro.


She proceeds to inform me that she only likes to jump rope on top of the trampoline because she is safe from the ants up there.


Wow.  So much for happy thoughts.


We then proceeded to pick out sentences for the poster.  I helped her along.


"Sunny days are fun because....."


"I can go outside and play on my trampoline and jump rope on it, too!"  Awesome.  That'll go underneath your picture.  Next.


"Too much sun is bad because....."


"I can get a sunburn?"  Too true.  So we took a smiley face sponge, put red paint on it, and slapped it down on the paper to show a red, smiling Angelyn, which is exactly what she looks like after an afternoon of jumping rope on the trampoline on a sunny day.


Okay, let's do one more.


"Not enough sun is bad because....."


"the plants may die."  Glancing over at the dying plant on the kitchen cabinet which was formerly a Kindergarten lima bean growing science project (sitting underneath a window now protected from all persistent rays of sunlight by blinds AND an awning), I grimaced.  Yup.  Lesson learned.  So we pulled some dead leaves from the plant and glued them underneath that sentence.


"I know another one, Mom!"  I am skeptical at this point.  "Plants and animals need sun to grow!"


Okay, yeah, that's right.  We'll add that.  And we also added a drawing of a fish, a cat, and a flower.  Just to prove the point.


DONE!


And it was beautiful.


And it was the only poster made on "Sunny Days".


And she got an "A" on it.

Patience is NOT one of my Virtues

Preaching to myself today.  For my text, I will use:

Revelation 3:7

And to the angel of the church in Philadelphia write; These things saith he that is holy, he that is true, he that hath the key of David, he that openeth, and no man shutteth; and shutteth, and no man openeth;

Sermon Title:  Shut Up When He Shuts It Up

Faith is not easy.

Sometimes I get myself in a situation where I'm sick to my stomach and ranting and raving and screaming, "What is wrong with these crazy, stupid people?!?!  Why can't they see what I see and just do things the right way?  MY way?!?"

But I'm not the one with the keys.  He is.  And when He opens the door, no man can shut it.  And when He closes the door, no man can open it.  And He's probably saying the same thing about me right now:

"Why can't she see what I see?  Why can't she just do things my way?  If she'd just trust me, her life would be so much easier.  I have it under control."

And yet I'm still banging on the door.  As hard as I can.  Screaming and hollering all the time.  Because I want the keys.  I want control of my life.  I don't like waiting, and hoping that everything will work out right.  I want to know, right now, that everything is done and taken care of.

Argh.  Patience is NOT one of my virtues!

But I will sit still and wait.  Not because it's fun.  But because I know that exactly one month from now none of this will matter.  I will look back on this very minor issue and think, "What is wrong with me?  Why couldn't I just sit still for a little while and wait to see what happened?  And trust God?"

Galatians 5:22.  Love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith.  I really need to go back to Sunday School and learn to exercise these things.  They are all the fruit of the spirit, but it seems to me that they are also all choices.

I need to love the people involved, express joy and not fear, have peace knowing that God is in control, be patient that He will work it out in the right time, be gentle with my words (and actions and attitudes), do good works, and have FAITH.

It's just easier to scream.

Lucky for me, Revelation 3:7 was written to the church, and so was Galatians 5:22.  Apparently, I'm not the only one who knows better but still has trouble with these things.

I Will Never Forget: My 9/11

My pastor spoke about 9/11 Sunday morning, on the 10th anniversary of the tragedy.  He read several of the stories about the people who were there and some of the people who narrowly escaped their sure deaths for various reasons.  They showed a video of news clips and photographs of the event.  My daughter, now 6 and hearing about it for the first time, sat staring at the screens, tears streaming down her face.

"Mom, were you there?" she asked.  Did you feel the towers shake and crumble and fall?  Could you hear the screams?  How close were you?  Were you hurt?  Was someone you know hurt?

"No, baby, but I watched it on TV as it was happening."  And felt every bit of sadness and confusion and terror in my soul.  Heard the screams ringing in my head.

"Did this REALLY happen?"  Eyes wide, afraid of the answer.  The horror in her eyes depicted one more piece of childlike innocence lost, that innocence that believes nothing this bad could ever happen in real life.

"Yes, it did."  And her world crumbles.

"WHO did this?"  Surely not someone in my life, someone I can relate to, look up to, respect.  What kind of person could do something this MEAN?

Who, indeed.  The bad guys?  The enemy?  To them, we were the enemy and they were simply doing work they could be proud of in the afterlife.

We had special prayer at church for the families of the victims during that service.  Each adult who walked in to the church was given two strips of paper.  On each strip was one name of a person who lost their life on 9/11.  My daughter held those pieces of paper in her hands as I held her close to my heart, and we prayed and cried for their families.

Then we prayed for the families of the people who flew the planes into the buildings on that day.

Never, in my wildest dreams, would I ever imagine myself praying for them.  But isn't that what Jesus did while he was on the cross?  He prayed for God to forgive the people who put Him there.  And aren't we supposed to follow His example in all things?

Pastor said we all have our own personal 9/11.  Events in our lives that stand out like no other.  Times We Will Never Forget.  Where we were, what it smelled like, who was around us, how time stood still and nothing else mattered.  Sunday morning, as I held my daughter and watched her heart bleed for people she never met, was one of those moments.

I made this list of some important events in my life that have happened in the last ten years.  Some good, some bad.  And there are others so personal that I can not mention them.

In the Last Ten Years, I:

• Drove a van through a stop sign, across a busy highway, over a ditch, and into a wall of trees, crumpling the van like an accordion.  Neighbors pulled me out through the window, with not a scratch on me.  I survived.

• Slept for a week in the ER waiting room praying for a friend who was thrown from and run over by a truck, breaking his neck in the process.  You could see the tire marks across his shirt, but not a single rib was so much as fractured.  He survived.

• Married one amazing man and we have spent seven very extraordinary years together.  Full of laughter, tears, anger, joy.  And I love him more today than I did the day I walked down the aisle towards the man at the front with the red face and tears streaming down.  He survived (so far).

• Gave birth to a gorgeous ten-pound Baby Girl Coffey, with bright blue eyes and brown hair and fair skin.  In spite of many issues surrounding that pregnancy and delivery, she survived.

• Held my eighteen-month-old daughter as my last remaining biological grandfather was laid to rest.  Knew how special he was and how much I would miss the fact that my daughter would not remember him.  We survived.

• Watched the screen, horrified, as the second plane flew into the second tower.  Confused.  Terrified.  Praying.  Thousands survived.  Thousands Did Not Survive.

Survival is not a given, but if you are blessed to live through something, whether good or bad, make the most of it.

The Bible speaks of horrible things that will take place in the "last days".  I think of 9/11 as just the beginning.  However, we can remember the tragedy of that day without living in the fear of what may happen.  We can honor the memory of those who lost their lives without bunkering down and hiding from life.  There is a season for everything, a time to mourn and a time to laugh.

I choose to remember the heartache, but look forward to the hope we have, that all things work together for the good.  Keep your heart right, priorities straight.  Pause to reflect, then keep on reaching for your peace.

Procrastination Is The Key To Sanity

A friend of mine just said, "procrastination is the key to sanity."

Huh?

Hmmmm....

Well, maybe she's got something there.  Some things just need to be procrastinated.

The Obvious One Would Be Death.  Delay driving your car over that cliff.  You might just witness Something Spectacular.

Not so morbid?  Okay, here are some other fun things to procrastinate that WON'T get you into trouble with your boss or Jesus or your spouse or your parents or whomever (not in any particular order):

1. Buying that incredibly expensive whatever thing that will go on sale next week.  Saving money is exhilarating (as I'll find out tomorrow, when I start saving my money).
2. Beating your husband over the head with a baseball bat.  Who's gonna take out the trash if you do that?  Think about it.
3. Getting sick.  Do that next week or something.  Too many fun things to do right now.
4. Road-raging at the teenager driving the car that cut you off, nearly causing a five-car collision.  Especially when your kid's in the car with you.
5. Having kids.  Love mine, but life would be easier if I graduated college first.
6. Shooting the neighbor's cat for making pawprints on your clean car.  Cause there are kids watching.  And you'd have to clean up the bloody mess.  And if you had my luck, you'd miss and the bullet would ricochet and you'd shoot your own eye out.
7. Eating broccoli.  Ewww.  All I can say is there has GOT to be some sort of medicinal use for that stuff that they haven't discovered yet, cause it COULDN'T have been meant for food!
8. Sweeping your floor when your kid wants to read a book to you.  Priorities, people!
9. Girls' Night Out when your hubby wants Family Fun Night In.
10. Burning bridges.  You may need to take an alternate route one day.

See?  I'm not a raving lunatic.  I procrastinate violence.  Be nice today, go Texas-Chainsaw-Massacre tomorrow!  Cause after all, tomorrow is another day.

Maybe she's right.  Procrastination IS the key to sanity!

Just be careful what you procrastinate.

EEYORE FOR PRESIDENT

A friend nominated me for Bloggers Choice Awards - Best Parenting Blog.

Has she READ my blog?!?!?  It's all about how I've failed my child!  Ants in her pants, hellooooooo?

I said, "Why are you nominating me for stuff you know I'm not going to win?  It's just embarrassing."

Her response:  "Quit being an Eeyore!"

My reply:  "I LOVE EEYORE!!!"

Her:  "Kinda figured you would.  Thought you might relate to him…[and, in her best Eeyore voice - sadly lacking the unenthusiasm, by the way]…. 'ho hum, glad you noticed.'"

 

My mind immediately stopped running through all of the visions of my favorite Winnie the Pooh character - losing his tail, having a balloon strapped to his behind, losing at Pooh Sticks - and eeeeked to a halt.

Whoops.

I AM like Eeyore.  I DO expect the worst.  I am pessimistic and faithless and certainly never hopeful.  In fact, as a teenager, I used to brag that my motto is "expect the worst but hope for the best."  Never really mastered the second part.  Eventually gave up the motto and went on to "oh well, it coulda been worse...I guess."

So, with that in mind, and in a certain-to-be-unsuccessful attempt to change my motto to "ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN", I will say click the Bloggers Choice link on this page

And

VOTE FOR EEYORE FOR PRESIDENT!!

 

I mean...vote for my blog as the Best Parenting Blog.

Because, after all, being a parent is about making mistakes.  And getting up and fixing it.  Or at least trying.

And if you vote for this as the Best Parenting Blog, aren't you, in a way, voting for my kid as being the best?  :o)  I mean, I can't be the best parent if my kid is the WORST KID EVER!

So, yes, I will say this IS the best Parenting Blog!

CAUSE MY KID ROCKS!!

And then go to www.abbygailmiller.blogspot.com and vote for hers as the Best Humor Blog.  Cause it is HILARIOUS that she would nominate my blog for Best Parenting Blog!  :o) 

Mow Power To Ya

It is HOT.  Louisiana Summer, middle of a drought (worst in decades, from what I hear).  Quite a few triple-digit temps.

And I love it.

If I didn't have places to be I would drive around town with my windows down.  Unfortunately, church/lawyer's office/grocery store/daycare is not exactly the place to be smelling like you live in a men's locker room.  So I keep my windows up and the air conditioner on.

You're welcome, world.

Well, two weeks ago I had the fantastic opportunity of going to my grandmother's house and mowing her lawn for her.  My grandmother lives on quite a few acres of wooded land which has been mostly cleared and still has a few stumps and quite a lot of trees.  My sister and I each got on a riding lawn mower, full speed, and spent the entire day mowing only about half of the acreage.  Turns out, it's slow going when you have to look out for holes where trees used to be and turning in and out of the ones that are still there and zig-zagging around giant limbs which were never picked up and eventually disappeared in the overgrown grass.  Some of them you just couldn't see until "thump-clank-twang-oopsy".

And maybe I shouldn't admit it, but I stalled a few times in the high grass because I didn't know what a choke was or that I had mine too low or something.  Dad and Poppa David came to my rescue with the pickup truck more than once.

Did I mention triple-digits in the Louisiana Summer Sun?  My bottle of water very quickly became too hot to drink.

And the drought?  Hello, dust!  I was kickin it up like I was plowing the desert!  The dust was so thick on me you could draw pictures on my arms.  I had to hose off twice just to come clean enough to walk through the house to the shower.  I was apparently still quite the sight to see.  My family was laughing at me and snapping pictures left and right (remember - this was AFTER I had stood under the water hose for about five minutes!).  I realized why, when I looked at myself in the mirror.  I didn't hose off my hair, which was completely dirt-colored, and the water didn't actually rinse the dust off.  It just made it look more like mud.  Streaked down my face, neck, and arms.

Luckily, I do NOT have any of those pictures, and thankfully, I have not seen any of them pop up on Facebook.  I have my suspicions that they are being held for future blackmail opportunities (I am scrambling to think of ways to earn enough money to buy back those photos - any suggestions?).

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That was probably the best way I've spent a Saturday in a LONG TIME!

Three days later, however, I received proof of what I had suspected at the time I was mowing.  One portion of my grandmother's land has a smallish patch of what appeared to my inexperienced eye to be the dreaded poison ivy.  And I mowed it.  I winced as I ran over the leaves, but continued along my way for several reasons:  1) it was just too late to turn by the time I realized what it was; 2) I had never actually seen poison ivy and was only going on assumption based on other people's descriptions of the leaves; 3) at least Poppa David wouldn't be the one to mow it.

Let's just say it was an interesting, itchy two weeks.

But the really crazy thing?

The heat, the sun, the drought and dust (although maybe not the poison ivy) - LOVE IT!!!

The peaceful roar of the motor drowning out all sounds outside of my head.  The intense heat searing the back of my neck.  Children sitting on the porch eating ice cream out of a cone as it melted, dripping down their little arms.  Women pulling weeds out of flower beds, men fighting with the weed wackers.  The solitude in the middle of the most amazing, loving family on Earth.  Being useful.

I probably wouldn't love it if my skin were a little bit whiter and I burned in the sun like my husband does.  I probably wouldn't love it if I were incredibly allergic to poison ivy the way some people apparently are.  I probably wouldn't love it if I had to mow that lawn every week instead of having a landlord who does it for me.  I probably wouldn't love it if I were using a push-mower instead of a riding one.  And I know I wouldn't love it if I were in my '80s.

But for now, I can't wait to get back up on that mower and go another round!

Does anyone have a lawn that needs mowing??  Poison Ivy Optional.

Happy Birthday, Angelyn Gayle

My darling little Baby Girl Princess Angelyn,

I called you Princess, because, like I have told you before, if you are the daughter of the King of Kings, that makes you a Princess.  You are one special little girl, and you are loved.

You are turning six today; so very hard to believe.  Just yesterday you were cuddled in my arms as a newborn baby, asleep on my shoulder.  Today, thankfully, you still want to snuggle up to Mommy (I'm not delusional - I know this phase will probably end some time this year), but sadly, you are just too big for me to hold anymore.  I still can't resist those big eyes looking up at me, arms outstretched, so sometimes I push my back to the limit and pick you up.  And pay for it the next day.  But I do treasure our moments together.

When you were five, you: lost four teeth all at once, learned how to swim without floaties, beat me in air hockey, rode a horse for the second time by yourself, learned how to skate, took the Wii to your room, were attacked by ants (which Daddy and I then annihilated for you), completed Kindergarten at the #11-ranked public elementary school in the State of Louisiana with a 97 in Reading and 95 in Math, made several new friends, met Cinderella and Tiana, fell in love with Rapunzel, and realized that you like oranges and "groovy smoothies" from McDonald's (but only the wildberry flavor).

You also learned how to read this past year.  First, I read your children's Bible to you, and now you are reading it to me!  Today, you can pick up any one of your children's books and read them with all of the inflection and soul that I do, without hesitating to sound out words.  You have your daddy's memory - once you have seen or heard it once, you know it forever.  And you have my love for reading and learning.  The most awesome combination I have ever wished for you.  You are the perfect blend of Mom and Dad.

You have some of our not-so-great qualities, too, but those are such that you can learn to live and thrive with them.  God made you this way for a reason; it is up to you to figure out what that reason is, and use your personality to do good things.  You are a sensitive soul.  People touch you profoundly, but also hurt you deeply.  Do not fear things that may or may not  happen.  Bad things will come, but so will the good.  If you can learn to let the bad things go and grab hold of the good in people and situations, then you will do well.

Never lose sight of what is most important - God and family will always be there for you, no matter what.  My arms will always be a safe place for you, no matter how old you are or how far apart we seem.  And if, by God's plan or man's interference, I am not able to be physically there when you need me, you will have my words, memories, and love to hold you tight.

To succeed in life, you will need a good work ethic, pleasant personality, and the best education you can get.  With your love of learning, you will not have to struggle with the education; you just need to keep going.  Don't let life distract you.  A college degree is the smartest investment you can make.  To not receive your degree is the biggest waste of all those years you worked in school.

One last thing before I quit with this year's birthday letter:  I have added a page to my blog about your childhood birthday wishes.  I want you to go back and look at the things you used to want when you were a child.  Look at that, study it, and remember that God, like Mom and Dad, sometimes says NO because it is in your best interest.  But then there are those sweet times when we say yes.  But whether the answer is "yes", "no", or "wait", we all three love you and we want you to be safe, happy, and successful.

I love you, always, no matter what.

Mom

Drama Queen of Hearts

My daughter is a drama queen.  With a really big heart.  God has BIG plans for this little girl.  And so do I.

She has been having recurring nightmares about little kids burning in a house fire.  I don't know if it is because of that one night when we were driving down the road and actually saw a house with flames shooting out of the windows and around the roof even before the firetrucks arrived, or if she overheard Johnny and me talking a few days later about a different house fire where a little boy saw the flames and told his mom and they reached the house just in time to save the people inside, or if she learned about Hell at Sunday School (or maybe all of the above).

But her biggest fear right now is fire.  She flips out if I light a candle.  She starts crying at really random times of the day and asks me if I know of a little kid who got burned in a fire.

Well, of course I have had fire safety talks with her since this all started, and tried to calm her fears about my candles, telling her how super careful I am, and never leave them unattended or near anything that might catch on fire.  When that didn't work, and she was scared that I might burn myself, I even did the really cool magic trick where I ran my finger through the flame and proved to her that it didn't hurt because I am SuperMom.  I know, that's risky, but I was at my wit's end!  You don't know how many HOURS I stayed up with her, wiping away her tears!  I had to show her that her Daddy and I know how to handle little candles and we are super careful.

And she doesn't believe I'm SuperMom anyways.  She's never seen me fly.  And there was that one time, when she asked me a question and I said, "I don't know."  Her reply?  "Ha!  I thought you said you know EVERYTHING!  You don't know everything, do you?"

Pedestal destroyed by my five-year-old.

But, surprisingly, the magic trick worked.  She is no longer afraid that I will burst into flames if I go near a burning candle.  And since I told her that I do not personally know any children who have been burned in a fire, she has stopped asking that question.

So that's her greatest fear at the moment, temporarily subdued.  Her previous one?  That someone would come through her window and try to take her.  Her reasoning?  I told her she was the most beautiful little girl in the entire world (coupled with the first time she watched Rapunzel, where the mean Mother Gothel stole the baby and snuck out through the window).  After weeks of trying, unsuccessfully, to convince her that no one was going to steal her (because Mommy and Daddy would protect her, because there was furniture blocking her window, because she was too big, because she talks too much - I tried everything I could think of), I finally broke down and told her the one thing no parent EVER wants to tell their child.

I told her she was not, actually, the most beautiful girl in the entire world.  She is beautiful, and sweet, and smart, and precious.  But there will always be someone more beautiful, sweeter, smarter.  I almost cried when I told her that.

Sadly, it worked.  And succeeded in breaking my heart.  I'm a terrible mother.  In trying to help my child, I hurt her, although she won't realize that pain until later on in life.  At that moment, she was just relieved that no one would be trying to take her.  She no longer fears being kidnapped.

Now, she fears fire.  But not for herself, strangely enough.  She is afraid of fire for me and for other little children she does not know.  Random children.  Big heart.

And have I ever mentioned what her one wish would be?  We were talking about the Bible story of when God told King Solomon that he could have anything he wanted in the world, just name it.  He asked for wisdom.  And because he chose wisdom, and not riches and the life of his enemies, God gave him the wisdom, and the riches, and the lives of his enemies.  So, I asked Angelyn what she would say if God told her she could have anything in the world.

My daughter said she would ask that God give every person in the entire world their own house.  Because there are some little children who do not have a house and a family like she does.

I have never been more proud of my baby girl than at that moment.  And a little disappointed in myself.  I think I would have wished for a BIGGER house for myself.  Well, I know I would have.  Read my post about my dream home.  I wrote that just a few days before my Baby Girl made her wish.

Maybe, instead of my little girl trying to be like me, I should try to be like her.

Seven Years of Wedded Bliss(ters)

Bliss:

• Family grows - A gorgeous 10-pound baby girl with blue eyes and brown hair, just what we dreamed!
• A shoulder to cry on
• A friend
• Second income!
• Family trips to a ballgame

Blisters:

• Watching our baby go through two surgeries before the age of three
• Heart problems
• Job loss
• Several wrecks
• Deaths in the extended families
• Late nights with a sick child
• Disagreements over minor things, and some major things
• Dreams put on hold
• Four moves in five years

More Bliss:

• Family movie night
• Sitting on the "Perry Pew" at church with my husband by my side and my daughter in my lap
• Teaching Angelyn to swim and watching her run around laughing and screaming, "No more floaties!"
• Receiving love notes from my kindergartener that read, "I love you Mommy you are the Best and I love you" and then watching her write the same one for her Daddy
• Hubby sees how tired I am and tells me to go lay down and he will tend to putting Angelyn to bed
• Hugs on demand, and sometimes unexpected
• New Dreams
• Amazing jobs
• Anticipated move
• Mommy's Night Out With The Girls
• Family

Here's to seven(ty) more years of wedded BLISS!  Happy Anniversary (on Sunday), Johnny!

I love you.

Wal-Mart. Nuff Said.

Have I ever mentioned that I hate Wal-Mart?  They are always - ALWAYS - out of at least one thing on my list, and they move things around so often that I can't ever just go in, grab something, and run out.  Oh, and they never have enough cashiers.

Never.

Ever.



So, my general practice (when I can't avoid going to Wal-Mart because they do carry some things that Kroger does not - assuming it's in stock when I get there), is to leave Angelyn home with Johnny and block out several hours for a "quick trip" to the store.

I try to be patient with the fact that there is an obstacle course made up of buggies left in the middle of the road and crazy people driving the wrong way down a one-way and non-handicapped people trying to figure out why the Wal-Mart wheelchair stops working in the middle of the parking lot (if they were handicapped, why wouldn't they park in one of the bajillions of handicapped parking spaces?).

After applauding myself for surviving the parking lot, I grab a buggy and begin my shopping.  But, because of the way they lay out Wal-Mart, I have to start at the back of the store where the soft drinks and laundry detergent are, make my way up the aisles toward the bread (otherwise my bread would be smooshed by my Diet Coke in the buggy), and then go all the way BACK to the BACK of the store at the frozen foods and start my way back up toward the meat, so my cold stuff stays as cold as possible.  And then I realize that the vitamins and toothpaste are on the opposite side of the store, so my carefully-planned road map is moot.

Then comes the fun part:  Checking Out!!  Wooooooohooooooo!



Like I said, there are never enough cashiers.  So I choose the shortest line, only to find out what everyone else apparently knew:  this is the slowest cashier in the history of Wal-Mart.  What would have taken someone else about 5 minutes took this girl 25.  No kidding.  I timed it.  Okay, not really, but it felt like 25 minutes.

I finally get to where I'm next, and the lady in front of me is paying out, when there is another delay (as if her holding up the lady in front of this one to go search the store for a gas card to save her ten cents per gallon wasn't bad enough).  The cashier hollers something to this effect:  "Hey, Mr. So-and-So, I need dimes!"

Okay, no big deal.  She needs dimes.  Wait.  What?  Dimes?  So this girl 1) waits until she is completely OUT of dimes to ask for more; and 2) doesn't realize that she can use nickels instead?

By this time I'm just laughing to myself.  It's quite funny, actually.  I didn't want to embarass her by suggesting nickels, so I waited, patiently.

As she was scanning my items, she said, with surprise in her voice, "Do y'all eat a lot of ketchup?"  I was a little confused, because I only bought one bottle (granted, it was the BIGGEST bottle they had), and had to laugh out loud.  "Well, yes, actually, we do,"  I replied.

What I didn't tell her is that this one bottle of ketchup just MIGHT last us a week.  I usually get two or more of them.  I have even bought the restaurant-sized ones before, the kind with the pump, that's like HUGE.

I left Wal-Mart laughing.  Which is much better than how it usually turns out.

Always an Adventure.

:o)  Gotta love Wal-Mart!

Favorite Part of Vacation

Are you coming or going?

For the longest time, I thought the best part of vacation was BEING on vacation.  Until this year.  I finally realized that while I am on vacation, I am usually disappointed that I am there (although having a great time) and not counting down until time to go on vacation (only three more days of vacation, etc., etc.).  What a waste of a perfectly good vacation that is!  To always be worried that soon we'll be on our way home, and then it's just "back to the ole grind" as they say in my family (do they say that in yours?).

And why should the "ole grind" be that bad?  I finally have a job that I absolutely LOVE.  Compared to some other jobs I've had (mostly involving changing dirty diapers or cleaning dirty tables), sitting at my computer, typing legal documents and answering the telephones while sharing funny stories with Abby across the hall, I've got vacation every single workday!

Nevertheless, no matter how wonderful your job is, everyone NEEDS a restful vacation and the casual weekend adventure (even if said adventure is played out between the bindings of a book while I sit soaking in a hot bubble bath on a Saturday evening).

So, last week, my family took a vacation.

And when I say "my family," what I really mean is my almost-ENTIRE extended Perry family.  I believe there were 25 of us in a cabin, together, for an entire week.  Twelve FAMILIES (think small children screaming and racing up and down the stairs, shooting each other with water pistols) under the same roof!

Scared yet?

In my personal opinion, with a couple of exceptions, that is the BEST way to have a vacation!  Granted, it was a twelve-bedroom, twelve-bath chalet called Morning View Manor at the Preserve Resort, not some dinky little cabin in the woods.  And it was set on the very top of a mountain the Great Smoky Mountain range, just outside of Pigeon Forge, Tennessee.  The view from the many balconies looked very much like this:



Heaven.

With our own little suite for Johnny, Angelyn, and me, and a car to help us escape when we got "cabin fever," we had a great time.  Thanks, Mamaw, for such an awesome vacation home, and for being the Matriarch of the most AMAZING family EVER!

But I still caught myself thinking, "only three more days of bliss, and then it's 'back to the ole grind'".  Ugh!  Get out of my head!  I spent the 52 weeks before vacation counting down to the day we left, and spent the week we were gone miserably counting down until we had to return.  Thankfully, while we were there, Mamaw reserved another cabin for us for next year, so I have something else to count down to.

But why do I always have to be either coming or going?  Why can't I just BE somewhere and enjoy myself?

Looking back on the week, we had a blast.  I taught Angelyn to swim, she rode a horse, we went to shows and museums and drove around the mountains "getting lost" and seeing how long it took to get back, we went "bear hunting" at Cade's Cove, Johnny ziplined (you won't catch me DEAD hanging by a wire over a mountain valley!), and we all just had so much fun.

But that's just it.  I'm looking back.  I need to learn to quit counting down to the next Fun Time and create one here, now.

I don't want to come or go.  I want to be.

Today, I may not be in the hills of Tennessee, but I am in my favorite state in the U.S.  I'm home in Louisiana, with sunny skies and green grass (well, mostly - we are in a record drought, you know) and fabulous heat and humidity.  I have a husband who loves me, a child who wants to be like me when she grows up (so she said this morning), parents who still look after me, and one amazing church to go to tonight.

"This is the day the Lord hath made.  I WILL rejoice and be glad in it."

"For I have learned that whatsoever state I am in, therewith to be content."