I was single until I was in my early thirties. I enjoyed my single life. Don't get me wrong, I got terribly lonesome at times, but I had a good time. I casually dated lots of guys, traveled, drove a yellow mustang, spent my hard-earned money, lived on my own, answered only to myself.
I turned lots of date requests down, turned the tables and asked the guy, went just because and for the lack of other social obligations. I was never rude, always thanked the lucky guy for my lunch/dinner and most of the time, politely turned down the next event. However, when I was on a date, the guy had my undivided attention...even if my mind was trying to find the nearest escape hatch.
Respect was drilled into me by both my parents until it because a part of me. I wouldn't dare flirt with another man while I was a guest of another. If the guy had the guts to ask me, shelled out the money for gas and eats, I would give him my presence.
When I was 29, I met this blue-eyed guy who is now my husband. We had our ups and downs in the 2 years and 10 days we dated. I once even broke up with him for 24 hours. However, we couldn't bear the thought of us not being together, so we gathered up our fancy duds and said "I do" in front of everyone we knew. Forever and ever, amen.
I have no doubt that my hubby loves me. Unconditionally. We have been through emotional briar patches together. We have cried together. We have laughed together. We have put up with each other - together. We are opposites. Opposite as light and darkness. As sour and sweet. He has a white hot personality. Mine is more of a cool blue. We sometimes don't like each other, but love - ah, the love that has survived everything.
I have found that love is the commitment that is made after the hype of a new relationship starts to fade. Love is the decision to stay when all I want to do is run. Love is the determination to work out differences and learn to fight it out if need be. Love is a commandment from God...not something to be taken lightly.
Love doesn't die. Love doesn't fade. Love doesn't look away. Love doesn't forget commitment. Love is a decision - a promise - a covenant. If there is love, there will be respect, honor and trust. There will be hard work, dedication and more hard work.
Although hubby and I have had our struggles, as all married couples do, I can trust him with me. I can lean on him when I get weary. I know he will tell me I am beautiful when I actually look like the railroad bum. He is my protector, my lover, my friend, the father of our wonderful son.
The very least I can do is give my hubby my undivided attention. I have no desire to follow another man with my eyes or a hidden part of my heart.Why should I want more when I have it all?!
Happy 11th Anniversary, Jay.
Saturday, December 22, 2012
Friday, November 2, 2012
A huntin' we will go...
Genesis 27:3
Now therefore take, I pray thee, thy weapons, thy quiver and thy bow, and go out to the field, and take me some venison;
Gage is following in Jason's footsteps. I can see him becoming just like his daddy...tough on the outside, soft and gooey on the inside.
Since Gage was a small baby, Jason has wanted him to be by his side. Jason has an almost obsessive hobby of hunting. Well, I don't know if it is so much hunting as it is sitting under an oak tree half the day watching the squirrels play and listening to the sounds of the woods.
Jason works long hours and despises being cooped up in the house on his days off. There is always some sort of hunting season going on, and whatever it is, he is partaking of it. And, if he's not hunting, he's fishing.
Now that Gage is big enough to be his daddy's sidekick, they go to the woods together in search of some sort of game. I have a dressed squirrel in the freezer. I keep putting off fixing it...hoping (in vain) they will forget about it. At any given time, there will be a duck, goose, turkey, rabbit, squirrel waiting to be fried. They like to varmint hunt as well, and get some sort of thrill out of making coyotes howl - to the terror of all the neighborhood dogs.
They have camouflage, boots, headnets, orange hats and vests, calls, rattling horns, scent blocker, bug spray, tick repellent, face paint, gloves, arm guards, insulated socks, thermal long underwear...quivers and their bows. For years, Jason hunted with a gun and compound bow. Then he decided to try a long bow. Not just any long bow, but a bow he made himself. He spent hours at the lumber yard and in the garage...sanding and shaping until it was just right. He ordered a bow string, wrapped the grip in leather with hand stitching and went hunting.
However, his project wasn't complete...another piece of wood, more hours in the garage with sandpaper, stain and files. A miniature of his bow emerged. One fit for a prince, worthy to be carried into the woods by his son.
Sunday afternoons are spent with me hearing the "thunk" of arrows hitting a target and hearing the excited little voice "Mom, you have to come look at this!". I lay down my Sunday paper and make the obligatory walk to see the new hole punched in the target paper. I brag on our young son, who is so happily training to be the Merry Man to complete his daddy's image of Robin Hood.
There is something about preserving the raw hunting skills of our ancestors...of being in tune with nature...seeing the turning leaves, the unfurling fern fronds, the scaly tree bark and sun dappled forest floor. I think the peace is what draws men to the woods. And being able to drag home something to eat is just a bonus.
Now therefore take, I pray thee, thy weapons, thy quiver and thy bow, and go out to the field, and take me some venison;
Since Gage was a small baby, Jason has wanted him to be by his side. Jason has an almost obsessive hobby of hunting. Well, I don't know if it is so much hunting as it is sitting under an oak tree half the day watching the squirrels play and listening to the sounds of the woods.
Jason works long hours and despises being cooped up in the house on his days off. There is always some sort of hunting season going on, and whatever it is, he is partaking of it. And, if he's not hunting, he's fishing.
Now that Gage is big enough to be his daddy's sidekick, they go to the woods together in search of some sort of game. I have a dressed squirrel in the freezer. I keep putting off fixing it...hoping (in vain) they will forget about it. At any given time, there will be a duck, goose, turkey, rabbit, squirrel waiting to be fried. They like to varmint hunt as well, and get some sort of thrill out of making coyotes howl - to the terror of all the neighborhood dogs.
They have camouflage, boots, headnets, orange hats and vests, calls, rattling horns, scent blocker, bug spray, tick repellent, face paint, gloves, arm guards, insulated socks, thermal long underwear...quivers and their bows. For years, Jason hunted with a gun and compound bow. Then he decided to try a long bow. Not just any long bow, but a bow he made himself. He spent hours at the lumber yard and in the garage...sanding and shaping until it was just right. He ordered a bow string, wrapped the grip in leather with hand stitching and went hunting.
However, his project wasn't complete...another piece of wood, more hours in the garage with sandpaper, stain and files. A miniature of his bow emerged. One fit for a prince, worthy to be carried into the woods by his son.
Sunday afternoons are spent with me hearing the "thunk" of arrows hitting a target and hearing the excited little voice "Mom, you have to come look at this!". I lay down my Sunday paper and make the obligatory walk to see the new hole punched in the target paper. I brag on our young son, who is so happily training to be the Merry Man to complete his daddy's image of Robin Hood.
There is something about preserving the raw hunting skills of our ancestors...of being in tune with nature...seeing the turning leaves, the unfurling fern fronds, the scaly tree bark and sun dappled forest floor. I think the peace is what draws men to the woods. And being able to drag home something to eat is just a bonus.
Tuesday, October 16, 2012
Sunday Babatizin'...
"Mom, when will I get babatized?"
You mean, baptized?
"Yeah, babatized. When I am going to be able to get in the water? Do I need to take extra clothes today?"
Two of my nieces were getting baptized after church one Sunday. It had been the talk of our house for a few days, and Gage was very excited.
No, I don't think you need to take your clothes today. You have to be sorry for your sins and ask Jesus to forgive you before you can be baptized. Do you feel bad about your sins and need to talk to Jesus about them?
"No, Jesus hasn't even started on me yet."
I hid a smile.
You do know that one day you will need to tell Jesus you are sorry for your sins so you can be forgiven and go to heaven.
"Oh, yes. I hear it every time Bro. Emmitt preaches. I've not done that yet."
Well, when you do, you can be baptized.
"Ok. I'll get babatized when I pray and ask Jesus to take away my sins. I hope it's not too long."
To some people I have met, religion is an idea that is good for others - just not themselves.
To some people I have met, religion is a once a week visit to a building with a steeple and stained glass windows.
To some people I have met, religion is a chore, a drudgery, an obligation.
To some people I have met, religion is a hardness that doesn't leave room for any mistakes or growth.
To me, religion is a way of life; has been since I was nine.
If you talk to me on Monday (or any other day of the week), my goal is to be the same person you talk to on a church day.
I am far, far from perfect. However, I want to live my life as a Sunday. I want to be consistent, steadfast, unmovable in my faith - which is the cornerstone of my life, the anchor of my existence.
My reason for such diligence is that I want to see our son, our very reason for living on this earth, accept Christ as his Savior. I want him to have the same peace and assurance that his daddy and I have found. I will not stop praying and teaching my little man until I know he has met the Redeemer.
I will be on that creek bank when he is "babatized". I will shout 'Hallelujah' and I will sing 'I Have Decided to Follow Jesus'. I will cry and be happy just like I did when his Daddy visited the creek. I will be thankful. I am holding on to my promise that as for me and my house we will serve the Lord.
Joshua 24:15
...choose you this day whom ye will serve; whether the gods which your fathers served that were on the other side of the flood, or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land ye dwell: but as for me and my house, we will serve the LORD.
You mean, baptized?
"Yeah, babatized. When I am going to be able to get in the water? Do I need to take extra clothes today?"
Two of my nieces were getting baptized after church one Sunday. It had been the talk of our house for a few days, and Gage was very excited.
No, I don't think you need to take your clothes today. You have to be sorry for your sins and ask Jesus to forgive you before you can be baptized. Do you feel bad about your sins and need to talk to Jesus about them?
"No, Jesus hasn't even started on me yet."
I hid a smile.
You do know that one day you will need to tell Jesus you are sorry for your sins so you can be forgiven and go to heaven.
"Oh, yes. I hear it every time Bro. Emmitt preaches. I've not done that yet."
Well, when you do, you can be baptized.
"Ok. I'll get babatized when I pray and ask Jesus to take away my sins. I hope it's not too long."
To some people I have met, religion is an idea that is good for others - just not themselves.
To some people I have met, religion is a once a week visit to a building with a steeple and stained glass windows.
To some people I have met, religion is a chore, a drudgery, an obligation.
To some people I have met, religion is a hardness that doesn't leave room for any mistakes or growth.
To me, religion is a way of life; has been since I was nine.
If you talk to me on Monday (or any other day of the week), my goal is to be the same person you talk to on a church day.
I am far, far from perfect. However, I want to live my life as a Sunday. I want to be consistent, steadfast, unmovable in my faith - which is the cornerstone of my life, the anchor of my existence.
My reason for such diligence is that I want to see our son, our very reason for living on this earth, accept Christ as his Savior. I want him to have the same peace and assurance that his daddy and I have found. I will not stop praying and teaching my little man until I know he has met the Redeemer.
I will be on that creek bank when he is "babatized". I will shout 'Hallelujah' and I will sing 'I Have Decided to Follow Jesus'. I will cry and be happy just like I did when his Daddy visited the creek. I will be thankful. I am holding on to my promise that as for me and my house we will serve the Lord.
L-R Bro. Nathan, Jason, Bro. Emmitt - Clarkson, KY
My sweet Jason when he was baptized. So thankful I was allowed to be in his life when this happened!
There is nothing better than a husband who can walk this road with me and be a Godly daddy to our son.
Joshua 24:15
...choose you this day whom ye will serve; whether the gods which your fathers served that were on the other side of the flood, or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land ye dwell: but as for me and my house, we will serve the LORD.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Fried Bread for breakfast...
Ecclesiastes 9:7
Go thy way, eat thy bread with joy...
My mom taught me how to cook, southern style. I learned to cook by feel more than I learned to cook by a recipe. I love to bake and to cook. When I am in the kitchen, I am in my own world - where I am in charge. I can sling pots and pans, grease muffin tins, bang spoons, dodge flour clouds and splattering grease. My heart is content.
When I finish, I always have lots of dirty dishes...which my sister can't stand. 'You have all these dishes because you cook so much. Why don't you all eat sandwiches or something?' Well, we could. Then I wouldn't have the pleasure of making my 'concoctions', as Hubby calls them.
So in the midst of crock pots, dutch ovens, iron skillets, chicken tacos, blueberry muffins, and white gravy, I thought I would share one of my favorite breakfast recipes that my mom taught me. She used to make this for my brother and me before school. Slather it with butter and some grape jelly, and it is the perfect unhealthy breakfast that makes me feel all warm inside.
Fried Bread
Ingredients needed:
iron skillet
canola oil
1 cup self rising flour
milk
butter/margarine
jelly, etc.
Heat skillet with a tsp of oil over medium heat.
Meantime, in a small bowl, add enough milk to the flour to make a thinish, pourable mixture.
Pour a small puddle into the heated oil, and spread out with the back of a spoon until batter is a thin layer. When the edges start to turn golden and bubble, flip. Cook until browned. Place on paper towels to soak up extra oil. Or you can drain on a layer of coffee filters. They work as well or even better.
While hot, spread with butter and other good things.
Keep cooking and eating until the batter is gone. It's good, it's fattening, it's artery clogging and it's simply delicious.
Go thy way, eat thy bread with joy...
My mom taught me how to cook, southern style. I learned to cook by feel more than I learned to cook by a recipe. I love to bake and to cook. When I am in the kitchen, I am in my own world - where I am in charge. I can sling pots and pans, grease muffin tins, bang spoons, dodge flour clouds and splattering grease. My heart is content.
When I finish, I always have lots of dirty dishes...which my sister can't stand. 'You have all these dishes because you cook so much. Why don't you all eat sandwiches or something?' Well, we could. Then I wouldn't have the pleasure of making my 'concoctions', as Hubby calls them.
So in the midst of crock pots, dutch ovens, iron skillets, chicken tacos, blueberry muffins, and white gravy, I thought I would share one of my favorite breakfast recipes that my mom taught me. She used to make this for my brother and me before school. Slather it with butter and some grape jelly, and it is the perfect unhealthy breakfast that makes me feel all warm inside.
Fried Bread
Ingredients needed:
iron skillet
canola oil
1 cup self rising flour
milk
butter/margarine
jelly, etc.
Heat skillet with a tsp of oil over medium heat.
Meantime, in a small bowl, add enough milk to the flour to make a thinish, pourable mixture.
Pour a small puddle into the heated oil, and spread out with the back of a spoon until batter is a thin layer. When the edges start to turn golden and bubble, flip. Cook until browned. Place on paper towels to soak up extra oil. Or you can drain on a layer of coffee filters. They work as well or even better.
While hot, spread with butter and other good things.
Keep cooking and eating until the batter is gone. It's good, it's fattening, it's artery clogging and it's simply delicious.
Peace in the middle of the mess...
There are times that I think I may not be normal. I mean, the way I do things is a bit backwards, confused, mixed-up, what ever other adjective I care to throw out there.
I love to stay up at night and sleep during the day. Hubs has finally given up on me, and said if I want to clean house at night that's fine, just don't bang the dishes. This works unless Gage is home from school and I can't take a nap.
I don't like to clean house. I tend to let it all pile up, then have a mega cleaning day. Drives everyone crazy but me.
I love to babysit. If I could have a house full of other people's kids, I'd be happy. I get to enjoy them, and then they go home to their mommies. It's like playing Grandma!
I don't like to shop. I'd much rather stay at home and enjoy what I have. I get out once a week to go to the grocery and pay bills. However, I do like to travel. My Jason and I used to take a trip every six weeks - that was pre-son years.
I love to cook. Give me pots and pans, spatulas and stirring spoons, and I am very happy. I don't measure many ingredients...just stir it all up until it "feels right."
I don't like to wear shoes. My feet bones hurt, and have for years and years. If I am at home, I am barefoot, and wear clogs or flip-flops whenever possible. I own a pair of athletic shoes, but only wear them when situations demand them.
I like old-fashioned things. Things like glass doorknobs, splatterware, iron skillets, and my finds of an aluminum cake plate, age-old yellow glass canisters, and a butter churn make me happy.
I wear the same style of clothes almost all of the time. I dress for comfort. Most of my wardrobe consists of black/navy skirts (dark colors are supposed to make one look thin - haha) and a comfy top. I want to look nice, but am through with vanity.
My poor hair. It's at least half gray. It does it's own thing. And, I find myself running so short on time, that I usually let it air dry during the week. I do a side part, twist it up with a hair clamp on the back of my head, grab my glasses and off I go. When I am not trying to read or see where I am going, I shove my glasses onto the top of my head. Weekends, I will pull out the hair dryer and doody myself up a bit more.
I am forgetful - have always been. I have to write things down or I just go on my merry way without a care in the world. Jason and Gage both are good at reminding me...I am afraid it's only going to get worse as I cruise on through my 40s...ha!
I am comfortable in my own skin nowadays. Yes, there are times that I still get self-conscious. I am too chubby, I am a procrastinator, I am not very good at alot of things.
But, I am going to choose to focus on the things I am good at.
Things like loving my husband and son so much I could pop!
Like enjoying babysitting my nieces and nephews.
Like cooking chicken and dumplings.
Like writing and taking pictures.
Like getting my son to school or at the bus stop on time.
Like being a friend and loving my friends.
Like being thankful for my many blessings and my salvation.
This is what gives me peace in the middle of the mess.
Isaiah 26:3
Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee.
I love to stay up at night and sleep during the day. Hubs has finally given up on me, and said if I want to clean house at night that's fine, just don't bang the dishes. This works unless Gage is home from school and I can't take a nap.
I don't like to clean house. I tend to let it all pile up, then have a mega cleaning day. Drives everyone crazy but me.
I love to babysit. If I could have a house full of other people's kids, I'd be happy. I get to enjoy them, and then they go home to their mommies. It's like playing Grandma!
I don't like to shop. I'd much rather stay at home and enjoy what I have. I get out once a week to go to the grocery and pay bills. However, I do like to travel. My Jason and I used to take a trip every six weeks - that was pre-son years.
I love to cook. Give me pots and pans, spatulas and stirring spoons, and I am very happy. I don't measure many ingredients...just stir it all up until it "feels right."
I don't like to wear shoes. My feet bones hurt, and have for years and years. If I am at home, I am barefoot, and wear clogs or flip-flops whenever possible. I own a pair of athletic shoes, but only wear them when situations demand them.
I like old-fashioned things. Things like glass doorknobs, splatterware, iron skillets, and my finds of an aluminum cake plate, age-old yellow glass canisters, and a butter churn make me happy.
I wear the same style of clothes almost all of the time. I dress for comfort. Most of my wardrobe consists of black/navy skirts (dark colors are supposed to make one look thin - haha) and a comfy top. I want to look nice, but am through with vanity.
My poor hair. It's at least half gray. It does it's own thing. And, I find myself running so short on time, that I usually let it air dry during the week. I do a side part, twist it up with a hair clamp on the back of my head, grab my glasses and off I go. When I am not trying to read or see where I am going, I shove my glasses onto the top of my head. Weekends, I will pull out the hair dryer and doody myself up a bit more.
I am forgetful - have always been. I have to write things down or I just go on my merry way without a care in the world. Jason and Gage both are good at reminding me...I am afraid it's only going to get worse as I cruise on through my 40s...ha!
I am comfortable in my own skin nowadays. Yes, there are times that I still get self-conscious. I am too chubby, I am a procrastinator, I am not very good at alot of things.
But, I am going to choose to focus on the things I am good at.
Things like loving my husband and son so much I could pop!
Like enjoying babysitting my nieces and nephews.
Like cooking chicken and dumplings.
Like writing and taking pictures.
Like getting my son to school or at the bus stop on time.
Like being a friend and loving my friends.
Like being thankful for my many blessings and my salvation.
This is what gives me peace in the middle of the mess.
Isaiah 26:3
Thou wilt keep him in perfect peace, whose mind is stayed on thee: because he trusteth in thee.
Monday, August 20, 2012
Cutting line...
School is back in session...full swing. I am still sorta lost - especially when I go somewhere by myself.
I don't have to dig a small person out of clothes racks or threaten him with bodily harm if he doesn't quit handling all the raw hamburger packages at the grocery. When I don't have to do things like that, I have time to look around and actually, maybe, come home with what I went for in the first place.
I also have time to sorta notice the people around me. My sister and I went to Cave City to take care of some business for our Consignment Sale and since we were childless for the day, we decided to stop at a few shops.
We went shopping for our kids (imagine that!) and were standing in line to check-out our items. We were waiting patiently when an elderly couple walked up, cut in front of us and acted like the devil himself was pushing them toward the register.
Now, both us gals are easy going and try to be courteous. If the couple had just walked up to stand in line like the rest of us folks, we would have insisted they go ahead in front of us. They only had two items (table cloth and alarm clock) and the transaction only took a few minutes because they paid with cash. However, that wasn't the issue. We both stood with our mouths hanging open, catching flies, at their rudeness.
My sister remarked, "I guess we'll let them go in front of us." I replied that it looked like we didn't have a choice in the matter unless we were going to make a scene. We neither had a desire to take on a couple of stooped, older people.
I have thought about that incident several times in the past several days. How differently we would have thought about those two folks if they had behaved politely. Oh, someone cutting line has happened to me many times before. However, this time it reminded me, yet again, to take time for others.
I sure hope that I don't lose my respect and patience as I get older. I don't want someone to walk off and think I was a cantankerous ole woman who didn't think of anyone but herself. What a disgrace that would be!
I will continue teaching my child to put others before himself - something that is extremely hard for an almost 7 year old to do.
His daddy and I have alot of reminding ourselves, along with praying, to make sure we are teaching him to follow the Master.
Colossians 3:12
Put on therefore, as the elect of God, holy and beloved, bowels of mercies, kindness, humbleness of mind, meekness, longsuffering;
I don't have to dig a small person out of clothes racks or threaten him with bodily harm if he doesn't quit handling all the raw hamburger packages at the grocery. When I don't have to do things like that, I have time to look around and actually, maybe, come home with what I went for in the first place.
I also have time to sorta notice the people around me. My sister and I went to Cave City to take care of some business for our Consignment Sale and since we were childless for the day, we decided to stop at a few shops.
We went shopping for our kids (imagine that!) and were standing in line to check-out our items. We were waiting patiently when an elderly couple walked up, cut in front of us and acted like the devil himself was pushing them toward the register.
Now, both us gals are easy going and try to be courteous. If the couple had just walked up to stand in line like the rest of us folks, we would have insisted they go ahead in front of us. They only had two items (table cloth and alarm clock) and the transaction only took a few minutes because they paid with cash. However, that wasn't the issue. We both stood with our mouths hanging open, catching flies, at their rudeness.
My sister remarked, "I guess we'll let them go in front of us." I replied that it looked like we didn't have a choice in the matter unless we were going to make a scene. We neither had a desire to take on a couple of stooped, older people.
I have thought about that incident several times in the past several days. How differently we would have thought about those two folks if they had behaved politely. Oh, someone cutting line has happened to me many times before. However, this time it reminded me, yet again, to take time for others.
I sure hope that I don't lose my respect and patience as I get older. I don't want someone to walk off and think I was a cantankerous ole woman who didn't think of anyone but herself. What a disgrace that would be!
I will continue teaching my child to put others before himself - something that is extremely hard for an almost 7 year old to do.
His daddy and I have alot of reminding ourselves, along with praying, to make sure we are teaching him to follow the Master.
Colossians 3:12
Put on therefore, as the elect of God, holy and beloved, bowels of mercies, kindness, humbleness of mind, meekness, longsuffering;
Thursday, August 16, 2012
Books, Bananas, Birds and Worms...
My only child has a bunk bed. No one sleeps on the top bunk, but it sure makes the lower bed cozy - like his own personal 'little boy cave'.
The only drawback to this cute little set-up is that there is lots of room under the bottom bunk to store treasures and whatever else his little heart desires to hide. And momma can't reach it when it's in the far corner.
I was reading Gage his bed time story and kept smelling bananas. I thought I was crazy. We had eaten all the bananas - I thought. I read a while and sniffed again. I stopped reading and looked under the bed. I could really smell bananas.
"Do you have a banana under here?!?!"
"Um..."
"Answer me! Do you have a banana under your bed?"
"Um..."
"Gage Scott! What are you doing with a banana under your bed?!"
"I put them under my bed so I could have a midnight snack"
(Them?! There's more than one under there?!?!?!?!?! Oh, my.)
I looked again. I turned on the ceiling light. There were FOUR bananas under the bed. A nice yellow bunch of bananas...way back in the corner.
I was afraid to ask the next questions, but necessity demanded it. "Do you have MORE food under there? Anything else?!"
"No, just bananas."
"I can't reach them. You get under there and get them right now!"
"I know why you can't reach them, Mom. You're just like a big bird that's eat too many worms."
Bird? Worms? Where did THAT come from??
"I didn't ask for your opinion of me, I told you to get the bananas out from under your bed."
"But Mom, it sorta does look like you've eat too many worms. I mean, not real worms, but if you were a bird, it would be real worms." Forever more. How did we get from reading a bedtime story to comparing my pudginess to big birds and worms?!
I took the bananas back to the kitchen counter where they belonged. Told my boy to NEVER put bananas, or any food for that matter, under the bed again. Finished the bedtime story. Said thankful prayers. Turned the night light on and the lamp off. Gage found his favorite blanket and was almost asleep by the time I staggered out of his room.
I used to not have to worry about bananas under beds. I also didn't have a small son to raise. It's a big responsibility...this part of my life I prayed for. In my pre-baby prayers I promised God I would give our child back. I promised I would rear him to serve God and respect man. I just didn't realize I was going to have to eat so many "worms" to have the energy to do it!!
1 Samuel 1:11
And she vowed a vow, and said, O LORD of hosts, if thou wilt indeed look on the affliction of thine handmaid, and remember me, and not forget thine handmaid, but wilt give unto thine handmaid a man child, then I will give him unto the LORD all the days of his life...
The only drawback to this cute little set-up is that there is lots of room under the bottom bunk to store treasures and whatever else his little heart desires to hide. And momma can't reach it when it's in the far corner.
I was reading Gage his bed time story and kept smelling bananas. I thought I was crazy. We had eaten all the bananas - I thought. I read a while and sniffed again. I stopped reading and looked under the bed. I could really smell bananas.
"Do you have a banana under here?!?!"
"Um..."
"Answer me! Do you have a banana under your bed?"
"Um..."
"Gage Scott! What are you doing with a banana under your bed?!"
"I put them under my bed so I could have a midnight snack"
(Them?! There's more than one under there?!?!?!?!?! Oh, my.)
I looked again. I turned on the ceiling light. There were FOUR bananas under the bed. A nice yellow bunch of bananas...way back in the corner.
I was afraid to ask the next questions, but necessity demanded it. "Do you have MORE food under there? Anything else?!"
"No, just bananas."
"I can't reach them. You get under there and get them right now!"
"I know why you can't reach them, Mom. You're just like a big bird that's eat too many worms."
Bird? Worms? Where did THAT come from??
"I didn't ask for your opinion of me, I told you to get the bananas out from under your bed."
"But Mom, it sorta does look like you've eat too many worms. I mean, not real worms, but if you were a bird, it would be real worms." Forever more. How did we get from reading a bedtime story to comparing my pudginess to big birds and worms?!
I took the bananas back to the kitchen counter where they belonged. Told my boy to NEVER put bananas, or any food for that matter, under the bed again. Finished the bedtime story. Said thankful prayers. Turned the night light on and the lamp off. Gage found his favorite blanket and was almost asleep by the time I staggered out of his room.
I used to not have to worry about bananas under beds. I also didn't have a small son to raise. It's a big responsibility...this part of my life I prayed for. In my pre-baby prayers I promised God I would give our child back. I promised I would rear him to serve God and respect man. I just didn't realize I was going to have to eat so many "worms" to have the energy to do it!!
1 Samuel 1:11
And she vowed a vow, and said, O LORD of hosts, if thou wilt indeed look on the affliction of thine handmaid, and remember me, and not forget thine handmaid, but wilt give unto thine handmaid a man child, then I will give him unto the LORD all the days of his life...
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
I am not alone...
Sometimes I get so wrapped up in my issues of the day, week, month, year, century...that I forget that others have frustrating things happen to them as well.
Sometimes I think I am the only one with a cross to bear...with a budget to keep...with not enough hours in the day.
Sometimes I think I am the only one with a tired child who won't sit still or be quiet and says "I have to pee" during the church sermon.
Sometimes I think I am the only one who is behind on the laundry, has dirty dishes piled in the sink, has stepped on two Matchbox cars, breaking off the wheels.
Sometimes I think I am the only one who stresses over how my child is going to "turn out" when he is grown, and wonders if he will pick out an occupation that will cause him to get shot at.
Sometimes I think I am the only one who can only focus on the "one day at a time" theory. Tomorrow will just have to take care of itself. Today has to be lived through before I start thinking about any additional information.
Sometimes I think I am the only one who has to count to 10 (at times even a higher number) so I don't end up in time-out myself.
Then something happens to let me know that I am not alone.
I took Gage to the bus stop this morning...we waited an extra fifteen minutes. I was beginning to worry that something had happened. It had.
His frustrated driver finally arrived. The door was broken on the bus. She had to undo her seat belt, get up, go down the steps, push open the door, and sit back down.
Gage got on the the bus. The driver got up out of her seat, manually pulled the door shut, sat back down, buckled in and took off to the next stop.
I could see the stress on her face. I could hear the aggravation in her voice. But she was still driving the bus, still taking care of her route. Still driving safely, however more slowly, taking a full bus of other mommy's blessings to school.
I took time to say a prayer for her. A miraculous working door would be nice - but if not that, maybe the "fixing" process will go smooth.
I also had a renewed sense of hope. I got back to the house, turned on all the lights and threw a load of jeans in the washer.
I am not alone in this race of life. All our broken doors can be fixed - if not today, maybe tomorrow. Sometimes, it just takes alot of effort to keep opening the door to all the blessings in my life.
Matthew 6:34
Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.
1 Corinthians 10:13
There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.
Sometimes I think I am the only one with a cross to bear...with a budget to keep...with not enough hours in the day.
Sometimes I think I am the only one with a tired child who won't sit still or be quiet and says "I have to pee" during the church sermon.
Sometimes I think I am the only one who is behind on the laundry, has dirty dishes piled in the sink, has stepped on two Matchbox cars, breaking off the wheels.
Sometimes I think I am the only one who stresses over how my child is going to "turn out" when he is grown, and wonders if he will pick out an occupation that will cause him to get shot at.
Sometimes I think I am the only one who can only focus on the "one day at a time" theory. Tomorrow will just have to take care of itself. Today has to be lived through before I start thinking about any additional information.
Sometimes I think I am the only one who has to count to 10 (at times even a higher number) so I don't end up in time-out myself.
Then something happens to let me know that I am not alone.
I took Gage to the bus stop this morning...we waited an extra fifteen minutes. I was beginning to worry that something had happened. It had.
His frustrated driver finally arrived. The door was broken on the bus. She had to undo her seat belt, get up, go down the steps, push open the door, and sit back down.
Gage got on the the bus. The driver got up out of her seat, manually pulled the door shut, sat back down, buckled in and took off to the next stop.
I could see the stress on her face. I could hear the aggravation in her voice. But she was still driving the bus, still taking care of her route. Still driving safely, however more slowly, taking a full bus of other mommy's blessings to school.
I took time to say a prayer for her. A miraculous working door would be nice - but if not that, maybe the "fixing" process will go smooth.
I also had a renewed sense of hope. I got back to the house, turned on all the lights and threw a load of jeans in the washer.
I am not alone in this race of life. All our broken doors can be fixed - if not today, maybe tomorrow. Sometimes, it just takes alot of effort to keep opening the door to all the blessings in my life.
Matthew 6:34
Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.
1 Corinthians 10:13
There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.
Thursday, July 5, 2012
School shopping...
Gage and I have been shopping for school clothes. So far, we are having lots of fantastic fun - believe it or not.
I have learned from past experiences to let him help me pick out his shirts...if he doesn't like something, it sure is hard to get it on him at 6.30 in the morning.
We have a stack of tee shirts with lots and lots of stripes. Yes, he loves stripes. We have solid color tee shirts in red, blue and his favorite: green. A trip to Old Navy's sale had us leaving with four tee shirts and three of those high bounce balls that they sell for 25 cents each.
There are three new pairs of jeans. There is new underwear. Not just any sort of underwear, but the ones which have motorcycles, cars, monsters and rockets on them.
Now, we need socks and shoes. Socks are easy. That is one item I can just buy and put in the drawer and he's none the wiser, although they have to be the thick ones...not those thin kinds. Shoes will consist of an afternoon or maybe two or three afternoons of shopping.
Then, when Wally Word, Staples and Office Depot put school supplies on sale, we'll be hitting up for the few things he needs for second grade! He isn't required to take as much to class this year...so that is going to feel nice. I usually stock up for my Sunday School class as well - I need enough scissors for everyone this year. Sharing doesn't work really well when there is a whole gaggle of kiddos and we are on a time crunch.
I now need to clean out Gage's closet, remove all the out-grown things and tag them for consignment. Then I need to put all the new school clothes in. The next time I turn around, we'll be shopping for cover-alls, snow boots and gloves. Oh the joys of a growing boy!!
I have learned from past experiences to let him help me pick out his shirts...if he doesn't like something, it sure is hard to get it on him at 6.30 in the morning.
We have a stack of tee shirts with lots and lots of stripes. Yes, he loves stripes. We have solid color tee shirts in red, blue and his favorite: green. A trip to Old Navy's sale had us leaving with four tee shirts and three of those high bounce balls that they sell for 25 cents each.
There are three new pairs of jeans. There is new underwear. Not just any sort of underwear, but the ones which have motorcycles, cars, monsters and rockets on them.
Now, we need socks and shoes. Socks are easy. That is one item I can just buy and put in the drawer and he's none the wiser, although they have to be the thick ones...not those thin kinds. Shoes will consist of an afternoon or maybe two or three afternoons of shopping.
Then, when Wally Word, Staples and Office Depot put school supplies on sale, we'll be hitting up for the few things he needs for second grade! He isn't required to take as much to class this year...so that is going to feel nice. I usually stock up for my Sunday School class as well - I need enough scissors for everyone this year. Sharing doesn't work really well when there is a whole gaggle of kiddos and we are on a time crunch.
I now need to clean out Gage's closet, remove all the out-grown things and tag them for consignment. Then I need to put all the new school clothes in. The next time I turn around, we'll be shopping for cover-alls, snow boots and gloves. Oh the joys of a growing boy!!
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Gage-isms...life from a young perspective...
Before Gage was born, I didn't take time for the important things. I had a career. I worked long hours away from home. I had a dog. I got manicures on a regular basis, fixed my hair EVERY morning, wore Spanx and control top pantyhose. I had matching outfits, suits, wore heels, hired my house cleaned, made regular trips to the dry cleaners, had a standing date with my husband on Wednesdays, attended power lunches, taught supervisory classes and mingled with the powers that be.
I traded all of that for late night crying, puking, sleeplessness, flip-flops, coupon-cutting budgets, cleaning my own house plus yard duties (that's why things look like a train wreck the majority of the time ha), cooking, and the opportunity to receive sticky kisses that taste like grape kool-aid, holding a little hand, and hearing "Yes, I know what you are going to say...I love you too AND I love you MORE!" What a grand thing happened when Jay and I welcomed Gage into this big, wide world.
I still remember the day when Jay told me..."I can't wait until he starts talking!" Well, Gage did start talking and he has never shut up...
Gage-isms
I used to be scared to death when we went to Kroger. He would sit in the cart and talk to the guy bagging the groceries. Gage, being the very outspoken child that he is, told a guy with lots of hair: "You have a big fuzzy head." The bagger ignored him, so Gage felt the need to say it two more times. That's how long it took me to drop my purse and make a grab at him.
We were with my sister and her two kids at Sonic. While we waited on the food, I got out of the car and opened the passenger door where Gage was sitting. Gage yelled out of the car to a passerby "hey chicken-head!" I was trying to quiet my child while laughing at the look of horror on my sister's face.
Gage was quite young when we were driving through town just before Christmas. Someone dressed like Santa was standing on the sidewalk waving at everyone. Gage was (and still is) terrified of Santa Claus. "Give me my gun. Hurry, and I'll shoot that thing." He wore that pop-gun out.
In addition to not liking Santa, he's not keen on the Easter Bunny, Chuck E. Cheese, nor the cow from Chick-fil-a. We were eating at Chick-fil-a one night and the cow came out to visit the patrons. Gage climbed us both in a panic. "Don't let that...that...that...that...farm animal come get me!" And each word was louder than the last.
"Hi Old Lady!" He was sitting in the WalMart buggy. I finally figured out what he was saying after I kept getting dirty looks from women of all ages. All shopping came to a complete halt and we had a manners lesson reminder.
"Want me to jerk your arm off?" He told this to the little girls in the pew in front of us during church. He was made to apologize profusely.
"Lift your belly up so I can see what's under there." Good grief - it's time to stop undressing in front of my kid.
"I like your belly. It makes a good pillow." I don't know whether to feel all warm and fuzzy inside from the compliment or be insulted.
His second day of Kindergarten, he stepped up on the bus and announced: "Good Morning, Folks. Glad to see you all again today." Needless to say everyone about cracked up.
"You need to go to Ms. Johnson's Zumba class, mom. But, you'd probably have a stroke." His first grade teacher is a Zumba instructor.
"Is that a bowling ball holder?" He was carrying my bra through the house. No, it's not. Go put it back where you found it - NOW.
"If you fall asleep, I am going to kiss you on the lips and you'll wake up married." No thanks, young man. That has happened to me already and once in a lifetime is enough.
"This is my brain." He was stretched out in the bathtub looking down at his privates. I silently agreed...
I asked his Sunday School class (which I teach) what would happen if they were mean to other people. "You go to where the devil lives and get poked with a pitchfork and get your hair pulled." He hates his hair pulled.
Told him multiple times to be quiet while we were in the grocery store. When he just couldn't control his lips, we started to make our way toward the rest room. "Mom, are you going to blister me?!?!" Great, now everyone will think I beat my child.
He was teaching me how to open a pudding cup..."grab the top between your thumb and booger-pickin' finger".
We were in town and I overheard him tell his dad..."I might find some women. I should have brought a big net." Oh my...
"I need to find a wild woman and bring her home with me." That remark was made while we were sitting in the truck eating ice cream. Jay told him that was the last thing he needed to do, since Momma ruled the house and there would be no wild women invited. To which Gage replied "Well, you used to chase wild women, Dad. In fact, you probably chased them around that Dairy Queen sign, didn't you?!"
After numerous threats and finally getting Gage in and out of the bathtub, he informed me "You're like Oscar the Grouch, only you're Mom the Grouch".
Jay arrived home from work early...and met the bus to pick up Gage for the first time his first grade school year. Before stepping off of the bus, Gage told his bus driver "Stay calm. That's my dad." What was he expecting to happen?!?!?!
"Mom, what was life like back in the 80's?" Oh my...well I was in high school...it has been a long time, hasn't it?!
"Dad, did you have toys when you were little? Were they made out of wood?" Jay was quite put out with that question and answered with "We just had sticks and rocks, son." Gage came to me and said, "Mom, we need to buy Dad some toys."
He was going to town with his Dad. He stopped by the front door on his way out, made a sweeping motion with his hand and said, "I expect this house cleaned up by the time we get back." Yes sir...I'll get right on that.
I offered Gage a Nutty Bar and glass of milk before we went outside to work a while..."No thanks, I've cut down on my sweets about three pegs. Have you seen the Reese's Cup Cookies?"
"I had a broke toe nail, but I chewed it off." Don't do that!! That's what clippers are made for. "Why? I can reach it with my teeth."
"I'm going to run away. I'm tired of you telling me what to do." Sorry kid - someone telling you what to do will last the rest of your life. "Well, I'll be glad when I'm big enough to tell you what to do." I hate to be the bearer of bad news...
"Are we going on a road trip? I'd like to have some ice cream. But I don't want to go if i have to ride forever. We aren't going to Alabama are we?" He won't ever forget that long ride.
"I'd like to have a little sister, Mom." A brother? "No, I don't need one of those." Well, he's going to be disappointed. One child is enough for this momma.
Gage was hunting for a little Matchbox car and recruited my help. When asked if he could remember where he had it last, he replied "I think it got legs and walked away."
He found a little blue, plastic piggy bank that I had put some quarters in. He was terribly excited and told us that he had "enough money to take us on a long vacation to Holiday World." If only life was that simple...
I woke up one morning to noise...He was curled up in the corner of the living room, watching Swamp People on the computer and eating cookies. Well, he was eating ONLY the cream filling and had almost demolished a two pound bag of cookies! What in the world are you doing?!?!? "I knew you wouldn't like me having a good time, so I didn't wake you up." Yes, I was a party pooper that morning.
With all his jeans in the dirty laundry, I pulled out a pair of jogging pants for school. Chaos and disaster! "I am not wearing soft pants to school today. I'm a country boy and I wear blue jeans!" The least dirty of the pile went on my kid to school.
When I turned 40, he knew it was a big milestone for me. "Mom, I hope you have a great final birthday." Well, give me a couple more years...I'd like to see you graduate from Kindergarten before you dig me a hole to lie in.
We were at the grocery and I commented that we should get items for a wienie roast. My poor son grabbed himself and said "with a fire?!?!?"
He got off the school bus one day with band-aids covering his leg. What happened to you?! "Oh, nothing happened to me, Mom. I just found some band-aids in my backpack and thought I'd use them."
Gage and I met Jay/his Daddy at work for lunch one day. When he got into the truck with us, Gage asked "Dad, where's that guy who doesn't have the sense of a duck?" It's sorta fun to watch my husband at a loss for words.
His evening school bus driver this past year has been very strict. "We can look straight ahead or out the window, but we can't turn around and we can't talk to each other. But sometimes I forget and get into trouble. It's alright if I forget, isn't it Mom? I'm still little. I'm just in first grade."
Yes, son, it's fine that you sometimes forget. If we get so perfect that we don't forget, life would be a very dull place. Memories are made from the times we forget. We are all imperfect...though we strive toward perfection inside the love of Christ Jesus. And that's the reason I can love our boy so much!!!
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
New foods and moving on...
Those of you who know my Gage very well, know that he operates from a limited menu selection. He eats the same "stuff" day after day after day.
Our goal this summer is to eat a chicken nugget before second grade starts. Will we get to that goal? Maybe. Maybe not.
Our boy loves his fruits and veggies. He loves bacon, crackers, peanut butter and pop tarts.
Pizza? No way.
Hamburger? No way.
Chicken Nuggets? No way.
Bread with Jelly? No way.
Anything else that most normal kids love? No way.
However, he has grown like mad on his self-imposed limitations. And baby steps are beginning to be made. He ate a bite of waffle, after tearing it into minute pieces. And Sunday morning, he ate one bite of biscuit without holding his nose.
We have tried very trick and bribe we know. We have taken and tried the advice of pediatricians, grandmas, aunts, uncles, friends and acquaintances. But it took me meeting one mom last summer whose daughter had an even more limited food group to exist on, that made me feel comfortable about my son's different eating habits. She had accepted her daughter's decisions (like there is something we can do to change them, anyways!!) and accepted the fact that as her daughter grows up, she will more than likely choose more foods to try.
I stopped stressing over my child. If another mom could accept that fact, so could I. Oh sure, I still wish he would eat a wider variety. I know he wouldn't get so hungry and probably not be so nervous if he would eat different types of foods. However, I do know that rounds of crying and puking are all that come out of me pressuring him out of his comfort zone.
So, we will move on. One bite at a time. That's how we all conquer our fears and our problems...one bite at a time. One day he might, just might, find out the rest of the food is good. Until then?! Pass the crackers!
Our goal this summer is to eat a chicken nugget before second grade starts. Will we get to that goal? Maybe. Maybe not.
Our boy loves his fruits and veggies. He loves bacon, crackers, peanut butter and pop tarts.
Pizza? No way.
Hamburger? No way.
Chicken Nuggets? No way.
Bread with Jelly? No way.
Anything else that most normal kids love? No way.
However, he has grown like mad on his self-imposed limitations. And baby steps are beginning to be made. He ate a bite of waffle, after tearing it into minute pieces. And Sunday morning, he ate one bite of biscuit without holding his nose.
We have tried very trick and bribe we know. We have taken and tried the advice of pediatricians, grandmas, aunts, uncles, friends and acquaintances. But it took me meeting one mom last summer whose daughter had an even more limited food group to exist on, that made me feel comfortable about my son's different eating habits. She had accepted her daughter's decisions (like there is something we can do to change them, anyways!!) and accepted the fact that as her daughter grows up, she will more than likely choose more foods to try.
I stopped stressing over my child. If another mom could accept that fact, so could I. Oh sure, I still wish he would eat a wider variety. I know he wouldn't get so hungry and probably not be so nervous if he would eat different types of foods. However, I do know that rounds of crying and puking are all that come out of me pressuring him out of his comfort zone.
So, we will move on. One bite at a time. That's how we all conquer our fears and our problems...one bite at a time. One day he might, just might, find out the rest of the food is good. Until then?! Pass the crackers!
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
School's out...and there goes the rest of my mind
Today was the last day of 1st grade for my little guy. He has a summer cold and is coughing...and is a contrary ape. This summer break is going to be time for us to focus on more manners (KEEP YOUR LIPS CLOSED WHEN YOU CHEW!!) and teaching my rough and tumble boy how to be a bit more gentle. He received the Citizenship Award for Good Manners in his first grade classroom, but there is always room for an improvement in a man's world.Whee...mothering a boy never ends!
Vonda (my sister) and I picked up our boys from school (Justin just finished Kindergarten) and stopped at Lakers and celebrated with Cokes and M&M sundaes. The boys love to sit at the picnic tables under the trees, watch the buses and cars drive by, and talk about everything under the sun. Gage blows kisses and waves at the girls, while Justin thinks this behavior is just appalling. Gage is the Romeo of the family. He really appreciates the girls! Gonna have to do some teaching in that area as well...
Let the summer begin. Let the good times roll. It's time for breakfasts and dinners on the porch. We are going to catch lightening bugs and grasshoppers. There are snails, lizards, frogs and garden snakes to catch, hold and release. Bedtimes are pushed way back, and there is no more trying to go to sleep when "the sun is still shining outside". The window sills will be full of jars with holes in the lids...and a tired momma and crazy boy will survive. And we are going to be happy. Every day.
Vonda (my sister) and I picked up our boys from school (Justin just finished Kindergarten) and stopped at Lakers and celebrated with Cokes and M&M sundaes. The boys love to sit at the picnic tables under the trees, watch the buses and cars drive by, and talk about everything under the sun. Gage blows kisses and waves at the girls, while Justin thinks this behavior is just appalling. Gage is the Romeo of the family. He really appreciates the girls! Gonna have to do some teaching in that area as well...
Let the summer begin. Let the good times roll. It's time for breakfasts and dinners on the porch. We are going to catch lightening bugs and grasshoppers. There are snails, lizards, frogs and garden snakes to catch, hold and release. Bedtimes are pushed way back, and there is no more trying to go to sleep when "the sun is still shining outside". The window sills will be full of jars with holes in the lids...and a tired momma and crazy boy will survive. And we are going to be happy. Every day.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Truthful to myself...
Everyone has a different personality.
Everyone has a different outlook on life.
Everyone handles their issues in their own unique way.
I understand this completely.
I have my own eccentric ways.
I sometimes don't even understand myself.
However, I try to be true to myself and others.
What you see is what you get.
That's why I feel sad when I find out people aren't what they present. To find out someone lives "two lives" is a really strange feeling: a weirdness that is hard to explain - an affair that damages a friendship.
Maybe it's the information super highway, and we learn too much about each other.
Maybe it's because nothing is held sacred and secret any more, or maybe it's just because etiquette and manners are becoming as obsolete as chicken teeth.
But, in the last few months, I have found that the secret lives that people live will ultimately come out...like a werewolf sighting during the night of the full moon. And it's just as scary.
I don't want the things I find out about my friends to affect the way I feel about them.
A word to us all...either keep that skeleton shoved so far back into the closet no one ever knows it is there but God, or get the boney thing out and put it in the garbage.
My goal is to have a life that is true. True to God, myself, my family, my friends, strangers and mere acquaintances. I want to have one true color that won't surprise my friends. Sometimes boring truly is nice.
Everyone has a different outlook on life.
Everyone handles their issues in their own unique way.
I understand this completely.
I have my own eccentric ways.
I sometimes don't even understand myself.
However, I try to be true to myself and others.
What you see is what you get.
That's why I feel sad when I find out people aren't what they present. To find out someone lives "two lives" is a really strange feeling: a weirdness that is hard to explain - an affair that damages a friendship.
Maybe it's the information super highway, and we learn too much about each other.
Maybe it's because nothing is held sacred and secret any more, or maybe it's just because etiquette and manners are becoming as obsolete as chicken teeth.
But, in the last few months, I have found that the secret lives that people live will ultimately come out...like a werewolf sighting during the night of the full moon. And it's just as scary.
I don't want the things I find out about my friends to affect the way I feel about them.
A word to us all...either keep that skeleton shoved so far back into the closet no one ever knows it is there but God, or get the boney thing out and put it in the garbage.
My goal is to have a life that is true. True to God, myself, my family, my friends, strangers and mere acquaintances. I want to have one true color that won't surprise my friends. Sometimes boring truly is nice.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Left over candy canes...
"Mom, taste of this! It is very good." I looked down at my 6 yr old who was holding a smeary candy cane up at me as I stood at the sink washing dishes.
"I found some candy canes. You can have one." I assured him that he could have them all. Soggy left - over candy canes just didn't appeal to me. The red peppermint sticks were all broken at the crook of the cane. The sticky candy probably had some lint and who knows what else adhering to it. But, that didn't bother my boy. Candy is candy, new or old.
I could hear him crunching the semi - hard candy as he played with his toys. How many of those things did he find, anyways?! I think there were three...two traditional peppermint and one green one that smelled strongly of sour apple flavoring. He chomped and chewed, enjoying himself immensely.
Small trucks rammed into the refrigerator. Tractors plowed carpet. The Pink Panther danced across the computer screen that was propped up on the coffee table. And still he crunched. And then I heard him sing..."Happy Christmas to me, Happy Christmas to me. Happy Christmas to mmmmmeeeeee-e-e-e-e..e Happy Christmas to me!" He was in his own little world, playing with his toys and letting his imagination run free. And he was celebrating Christmas in February.
All this excitement brought on because he found some left - over candy canes. I hope he never loses this joy, this happiness. A mom can hope, can't she?! And when the cares of life take the innocence of his childhood and he faces the big world...I will have to find a candy cane in February and give it to him. I will sing "Happy Christmas to you..."
Why? Because my happiness as a mom started with the birth of a scrunchy little baby boy who means the world to me. Because our Savior was born on a day that we celebrate as Christmas...and our happiness started out with a Lord who forgives, saves and keeps us. So let us all sing..."Happy Christmas to me, Happy Christmas to me!!" in February, and in March, April, May...and all year round.
"I found some candy canes. You can have one." I assured him that he could have them all. Soggy left - over candy canes just didn't appeal to me. The red peppermint sticks were all broken at the crook of the cane. The sticky candy probably had some lint and who knows what else adhering to it. But, that didn't bother my boy. Candy is candy, new or old.
I could hear him crunching the semi - hard candy as he played with his toys. How many of those things did he find, anyways?! I think there were three...two traditional peppermint and one green one that smelled strongly of sour apple flavoring. He chomped and chewed, enjoying himself immensely.
Small trucks rammed into the refrigerator. Tractors plowed carpet. The Pink Panther danced across the computer screen that was propped up on the coffee table. And still he crunched. And then I heard him sing..."Happy Christmas to me, Happy Christmas to me. Happy Christmas to mmmmmeeeeee-e-e-e-e..e Happy Christmas to me!" He was in his own little world, playing with his toys and letting his imagination run free. And he was celebrating Christmas in February.
All this excitement brought on because he found some left - over candy canes. I hope he never loses this joy, this happiness. A mom can hope, can't she?! And when the cares of life take the innocence of his childhood and he faces the big world...I will have to find a candy cane in February and give it to him. I will sing "Happy Christmas to you..."
Why? Because my happiness as a mom started with the birth of a scrunchy little baby boy who means the world to me. Because our Savior was born on a day that we celebrate as Christmas...and our happiness started out with a Lord who forgives, saves and keeps us. So let us all sing..."Happy Christmas to me, Happy Christmas to me!!" in February, and in March, April, May...and all year round.
Never call a girl fat...
I found this post on http://www.pintrest.com/. It is oh, so true. Words can hurt almost, if not more, than physical blows. Words stay with us for years and years, especially if they are uttered by those we love. Well, even if they are spoken by mere acquaintances, words can be like blows from a sharp instrument.
I cringe when I hear someone criticize another's appearance because of the lasting impression words make. We can change our attitudes. We can change our habits. We can change our routines. We can change our locations, friends and even family if we so choose. However, we are stuck with our bodies. With our facial features. With our bone structure. With our height. Unless we spend our life savings supporting surgeons who give us new noses and ears, we learn to utilize our features to the best of our ability.
In fact, the way we perceive ourselves is not how we look at our reflection in a mirror each day. We measure ourselves by how we think others will perceive us. Our happiness is dependent on what others think of us. Are we too fat? Are we too short? Are we too tall? Does our ears look funny, nose too big? Do we have too much gray hair? Is our hair line receding? Do we have crows feet? Do we have frown lines between our eyes...heaven forbid, do we have "laugh lines" bracketing our lips?!
Do we have scars we hide? Do we have blemishes which we feel that only ourselves are unlucky enough to be cursed with? Do we have sagging skin, growing softer with age? Do we have stretch marks that we look upon with disdain instead of happiness - because they brought new life into our otherwise dull existence?
Looking back into my teen years (almost 30 years, now) I realize that I wasn't fat at all. I was a developing young woman. In my 20's I wasn't fat. I was a young woman who wasn't made like a stick. I didn't believe my daddy when he told me over and over that a man doesn't like to hug a "bag of bones".
My grandmother, who obsessed with appearances, always had a quip about my inherited hips. An aunt always had an opinion as to why I didn't have a steady boyfriend: "when you lose some of that weight..." never mind that I was a teen, with plenty of time to find a significant other.
My cousin insinuated that I wasn't in style because I was "too big". I was "too big" because I was several inches taller than she. That guy at high school who snickered and called me names every day when I walked by "his" lunch table; just because my parents saw to it that I dressed in a conservative way each day. The girl in my lunch time class who always picked up her tray and moved whenever I sat close by: because my nails weren't painted, my skirts not short, my lips not red and my home life included a farm.
When I was a teen it was torment. I hid the majority of my feelings. No one knew I felt shaky and insecure when I was around many family members and school classmates. Why did no one know?
First I have the ultimate Savior whom I leaned on and prayed to each evening. I cast my burdens upon Him, because He cared for me. Second, I had a handful of faithful friends, whom I still have to this day. Friends who loved me for the person I was and am, not for the person I could never measure up to.
And over time as I have lived and learned to accept myself, I realized that the perfect people were not so perfect after all. I also realized that even though I am not beautiful, I am me. I have the capacity to love who I am - a woman who has traveled many roads to come to the place where I am now.
I have laugh lines around my eyes. I have wrinkles on my forehead. I have a nasty, unsightly scar in my tummy that isn't repulsive to my loving husband. I have a saggy belly riddled with stretch marks from carrying a baby boy for 38 weeks. I have gray hair that has taken over my head. I still have those "Hodges" hips...they go with me every step I take.
I found a "steady boyfriend" who turned into my husband when I was 31. I had an active single life of learning and building a career while scooting around in a yellow Mustang. Being taller than the majority of the girls I knew isn't an issue now...since my hubby is much taller than I. And even if he wasn't...he would be secure in his manhood enough for me to wear high heels. He tells me I am pretty; that I have beautiful eyes; that he doesn't remember the girlfriends he had before he met me; I know he loves me.
My skirts are still not short and my lips aren't red. My shape is more round than curvy now and oh boy, am I starting to sag. But I am content in the state I am in. Oh, of course, there is vast room for improvement. There's this thing called exercise that I could get more of. There are virtues like patience and understanding that I pray for daily.
But if I don't enjoy my life now, when will I? Will I let folks who mutter about me behind my back dictate who I am? No. I will hold my head high. I am not perfect. But I am in a perfect part of my life. I am a wife, momma, business owner, and a person.
And since my third mammogram in a year came back with a clean bill of health, I am going to kick up my unpainted toenails...drink my coffee...kiss my husband...hug my boy...squeeze into my clothes and say a prayer of thankfulness. A prayer of thankfulness that I no longer have to measure myself by the dictates of others and be a stepping stone for their insecurities.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
The dump truck arrives...
It was before Christmas. Jason, Gage and I went to Indiana to see some of my family. There are several stores in that area we love to browse - Bass Pro, Hobby Lobby, Old Time Pottery, Salvation Army, Rural King, Harbor Freight.
Most of the time, I like to branch off from my "men" and let them pursue their manly interests. However, one store we all like to go to is Rural King. They have the best popcorn in the world. Popped in that big commercial oil popper and given free to their shoppers. Gage is our popcorn lover, and he always has to have a bag full or two.
The trip was festive, exciting and we looked at all the toys and gadgets that lined the shelves for the Christmas gift-giving season. Hundred of trucks, tractors, toys...and Gage looked almost all of them. There is a brand of toys that are German made, name brand "bruder". There were several quite large trucks that Gage took a shine to, of course. Which little boy wouldn't?! However, I almost fell over when I looked at the price tag. The dump trucks were over $50 each. What?!
Gage and I looked at the dump trucks. We felt of them. We opened their blue doors. We raised the hood and looked at the detailed molded plastic motor. We admired the tiny bulldog ornament on the hood - because it was a Mack truck. We admired the movable tailgate and the shiny side mirrors. What a nice truck, we both concluded. It even had a license plate and mud flaps!
I felt almost as sad as Gage when we put it back on the shelf. $50 was just too much to pay for one dump truck. Christmas morning came and went. We put the figurines of Mary, Joseph and Baby Jesus back in the box with the manger. We took down our decorations. We put away the lights. We took the nutcrackers and snowmen out of the window sill. And yet, Gage still mentioned that blue and yellow dump truck. And I still thought about how his tiny heart yearned for that toy.
My sister and I drove up to visit my Mom and Tom and go shopping Tuesday of this week. We stopped by Rural King to check on an item completely unrelated to the big truck. And there...at the end of the aisle was a huge sign that said CLEARANCE. I couldn't believe it...a dump truck. THE dump truck. One dump truck. The only dump truck in the store. And it was on clearance: $8.75. I left my sister guarding the box, and ran back to the front of the store for a cart. That truck was going home with me.
My son was so happy, so excited. And because he was so happy and excited, so was I. So was his daddy. We have all enjoyed the dump truck. Right now it is sitting in the middle of the living room floor while Gage sleeps in his twin bed with his Snoopy blanket.
It is a sign to me. It gives me faith. A dump truck giving me faith?! Yes, because I believe that truck was saved for my little boy, our special little man. A wonderful gift that he would not have received had the truck not have been on the clearance section. It was the very last one in the store. I was an hour and half away from home; visiting my family, running around town with my sister and having a much needed day away from my work. I was in the right place at the right time.
God works in mysterious ways...and no desire is too small for him to bestow upon us. He saw the wishes of a small boy's heart. He saw the desire of a mom and dad who would really like for their son to have that dump truck. And He saved it just for us. Who am I to doubt the workings of a wonderful Heavenly Father, when we are His children and the apples of his eye?! And if our desire is a plastic dump truck, it is not too hard for him to do.
Most of the time, I like to branch off from my "men" and let them pursue their manly interests. However, one store we all like to go to is Rural King. They have the best popcorn in the world. Popped in that big commercial oil popper and given free to their shoppers. Gage is our popcorn lover, and he always has to have a bag full or two.
The trip was festive, exciting and we looked at all the toys and gadgets that lined the shelves for the Christmas gift-giving season. Hundred of trucks, tractors, toys...and Gage looked almost all of them. There is a brand of toys that are German made, name brand "bruder". There were several quite large trucks that Gage took a shine to, of course. Which little boy wouldn't?! However, I almost fell over when I looked at the price tag. The dump trucks were over $50 each. What?!
Gage and I looked at the dump trucks. We felt of them. We opened their blue doors. We raised the hood and looked at the detailed molded plastic motor. We admired the tiny bulldog ornament on the hood - because it was a Mack truck. We admired the movable tailgate and the shiny side mirrors. What a nice truck, we both concluded. It even had a license plate and mud flaps!
I felt almost as sad as Gage when we put it back on the shelf. $50 was just too much to pay for one dump truck. Christmas morning came and went. We put the figurines of Mary, Joseph and Baby Jesus back in the box with the manger. We took down our decorations. We put away the lights. We took the nutcrackers and snowmen out of the window sill. And yet, Gage still mentioned that blue and yellow dump truck. And I still thought about how his tiny heart yearned for that toy.
My sister and I drove up to visit my Mom and Tom and go shopping Tuesday of this week. We stopped by Rural King to check on an item completely unrelated to the big truck. And there...at the end of the aisle was a huge sign that said CLEARANCE. I couldn't believe it...a dump truck. THE dump truck. One dump truck. The only dump truck in the store. And it was on clearance: $8.75. I left my sister guarding the box, and ran back to the front of the store for a cart. That truck was going home with me.
My son was so happy, so excited. And because he was so happy and excited, so was I. So was his daddy. We have all enjoyed the dump truck. Right now it is sitting in the middle of the living room floor while Gage sleeps in his twin bed with his Snoopy blanket.
It is a sign to me. It gives me faith. A dump truck giving me faith?! Yes, because I believe that truck was saved for my little boy, our special little man. A wonderful gift that he would not have received had the truck not have been on the clearance section. It was the very last one in the store. I was an hour and half away from home; visiting my family, running around town with my sister and having a much needed day away from my work. I was in the right place at the right time.
God works in mysterious ways...and no desire is too small for him to bestow upon us. He saw the wishes of a small boy's heart. He saw the desire of a mom and dad who would really like for their son to have that dump truck. And He saved it just for us. Who am I to doubt the workings of a wonderful Heavenly Father, when we are His children and the apples of his eye?! And if our desire is a plastic dump truck, it is not too hard for him to do.
Saturday, January 21, 2012
Working into the night...
So far this year is looking like a busy one!! Someone must think I need to stay out of trouble...
It is past midnight, so technically it is Sunday. Gage and Jason just now went to bed, and I have been working up a wedding photography quote. Working from home has it's advantages...but also disadvantages.
There is no such thing as leaving my work at the office because my home is my office. And since my business is still in it's childhood, I can't afford to set hours. I'll take the call at whatever time it comes. That being said, I really enjoy my photography. I try to keep it low key enough for me to enjoy what I do and still enjoy my family. However, I like to be busy with it. Being busy is what spurs my creativity.
I am excited to be commissioned to photograph two new babies this year - when they arrive! Babies are somewhat a new venture for me. Have had lots of children at the other end of my lens, but not very many tiny ones. Am so looking forward to those new, sleepy babes!
Of course, I schedule several weddings during the year. I have to say, weddings are my favorite. I like other sessions, but weddings are special. They always bring warm and fuzzy memories of my own wedding back to me.
Weddings are like handmade items...even though there is a pattern, each item is different from the rest. I have shot weddings that made me want to marry my man all over again. I have shot weddings that left me staring in disbelief. I have shot weddings that have followed traditions I never heard of. I have shot weddings in the extreme heat and in the cold.
In the midst of all the craziness that surrounds a wedding day, I am usually very relaxed. Even though I have been known to run from the back to the front of the church, then back again to the balcony and choir loft, I still feel that I am in my element. I love to be part of the beginning of something wonderful and new.
I was once part of something wonderful and new - and I have to say even though I was only the princess for the day, the golden band that was placed around my heart that night hasn't grown dim. Bring on the busy year - am happy to be part of it!
It is past midnight, so technically it is Sunday. Gage and Jason just now went to bed, and I have been working up a wedding photography quote. Working from home has it's advantages...but also disadvantages.
There is no such thing as leaving my work at the office because my home is my office. And since my business is still in it's childhood, I can't afford to set hours. I'll take the call at whatever time it comes. That being said, I really enjoy my photography. I try to keep it low key enough for me to enjoy what I do and still enjoy my family. However, I like to be busy with it. Being busy is what spurs my creativity.
I am excited to be commissioned to photograph two new babies this year - when they arrive! Babies are somewhat a new venture for me. Have had lots of children at the other end of my lens, but not very many tiny ones. Am so looking forward to those new, sleepy babes!
 | ||||
| Sweet baby Reid www.gsalmonphotography.com |
Tonya and Josh - one of the last weddings I shot in 2011.
Such a sweet and generous couple.
Weddings are like handmade items...even though there is a pattern, each item is different from the rest. I have shot weddings that made me want to marry my man all over again. I have shot weddings that left me staring in disbelief. I have shot weddings that have followed traditions I never heard of. I have shot weddings in the extreme heat and in the cold.
Andrew and Katie - a photo from the first wedding I shot
as a gift to my husbands (and my) nephew and his wife.
In the midst of all the craziness that surrounds a wedding day, I am usually very relaxed. Even though I have been known to run from the back to the front of the church, then back again to the balcony and choir loft, I still feel that I am in my element. I love to be part of the beginning of something wonderful and new.
I was once part of something wonderful and new - and I have to say even though I was only the princess for the day, the golden band that was placed around my heart that night hasn't grown dim. Bring on the busy year - am happy to be part of it!
Josh and Linda...so sweet were the
vows Josh promised to Linda's small son.
The way things are now...
Had to go to the bank and the grocery today...the air was so cold and the bright sunshine hiding. Gage and I scurried and hurried in and out of the stores, then settled in for our drive home.
We drove home through Cecilia. Usually we go the other way...it is faster, but it isn't as scenic. Gage likes to look for tractors, and there are several farms on that route. The fields are now brown and muddy, farmers are feeding hay. We saw several cows, goats grazing and a few horses, too. Of course, that made Gage's day...to see the animals running in the crisp air.
We drove past where my maternal grandparent's lived. They didn't have a farm house, but a little square brick home. It still looks nice and neat. But it has changed so much. No longer are there climbing rose bushes that grew on each end of the front porch. There isn't a porch swing rocking in the wind. Those green awnings are no longer over the windows. There isn't a fishing boat in the building. There isn't a Mamaw and Papaw there either.
On Sundays when I was growing up, it was the place we would go after church. All mom's family would gather there. I remember my mom, Mamaw and aunts cooking and the men talking in the living room - or sleeping on those vinyl couches. We kids would play in the basement and fight over the GRIT newspaper. Downstairs, Mamaw had a box of old hats that thrilled me. There were also pictures. Lots of pictures; on the walls and in boxes. I loved looking through them and wish I had just a few of to remember the family by.
Mamaw had a tin breadbox that always had sandwich creme cookies and suckers. We kids knew we didn't have to ask for some, just help ourselves. My cousins were all older than I - their lives always going in another direction. I haven't stayed close with any of them. Life happened. Pettiness raised it's ugly head and instead of enjoying each other's company, cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces and nephews forgot the love that once knit us all together. Mamaw and Papaw would be sad to know their family isn't what it once was. I miss days of hearing my mom and aunts wiping tears of laughter as they recalled silly events.
I guess that's the reason I let things slide since I have become an adult. I don't nurse hard feelings. I don't give jealousy and envy a parking spot in my heart. There is no such thing as a "big I" and a "little you" in my life. I can agree to disagree. I let hard feelings go and even though I can't forget because I am human, I can forgive. I will be your friend, your family until you tell me not to be.
Gage has cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents. I am teaching him to love them. Unconditionally. No matter what. Teaching him that we all have bad days that need to be overlooked. Teaching him that we will have differences and be different, but that doesn't mean that we are better off without them. Teaching him that there is no such thing as harboring ill feelings and angry thoughts - they are poisons that will eventually make hearts hard and ugly. We need our extended families. They teach us to be tolerant, to understand, to realize we are all different, but we can still have love. We can still have each other's hearts. The world is too big to not have our families in our corner of the ring.
I don't want to go back to the way things used to be. I want things to be the way they are now. Looking at life through they eyes of a 6 year old boy. I am thankful Gage is full of love and full of sauce. I am thankful he is taking my advice and is learning to love, tolerate and respect, yet be his own individual. I am thankful God gave me a soft heart to give to my son. And I thankful to know that even though I am way far from perfect, that I have been blessed with love. For that is the greatest commandment of all, that we love one another.
Mark 12:31
And the second is like, namely this, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. There is none other commandment greater than these.
John 15:13
Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.
We drove home through Cecilia. Usually we go the other way...it is faster, but it isn't as scenic. Gage likes to look for tractors, and there are several farms on that route. The fields are now brown and muddy, farmers are feeding hay. We saw several cows, goats grazing and a few horses, too. Of course, that made Gage's day...to see the animals running in the crisp air.
We drove past where my maternal grandparent's lived. They didn't have a farm house, but a little square brick home. It still looks nice and neat. But it has changed so much. No longer are there climbing rose bushes that grew on each end of the front porch. There isn't a porch swing rocking in the wind. Those green awnings are no longer over the windows. There isn't a fishing boat in the building. There isn't a Mamaw and Papaw there either.
On Sundays when I was growing up, it was the place we would go after church. All mom's family would gather there. I remember my mom, Mamaw and aunts cooking and the men talking in the living room - or sleeping on those vinyl couches. We kids would play in the basement and fight over the GRIT newspaper. Downstairs, Mamaw had a box of old hats that thrilled me. There were also pictures. Lots of pictures; on the walls and in boxes. I loved looking through them and wish I had just a few of to remember the family by.
Mamaw had a tin breadbox that always had sandwich creme cookies and suckers. We kids knew we didn't have to ask for some, just help ourselves. My cousins were all older than I - their lives always going in another direction. I haven't stayed close with any of them. Life happened. Pettiness raised it's ugly head and instead of enjoying each other's company, cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces and nephews forgot the love that once knit us all together. Mamaw and Papaw would be sad to know their family isn't what it once was. I miss days of hearing my mom and aunts wiping tears of laughter as they recalled silly events.
I guess that's the reason I let things slide since I have become an adult. I don't nurse hard feelings. I don't give jealousy and envy a parking spot in my heart. There is no such thing as a "big I" and a "little you" in my life. I can agree to disagree. I let hard feelings go and even though I can't forget because I am human, I can forgive. I will be your friend, your family until you tell me not to be.
Gage has cousins, aunts, uncles and grandparents. I am teaching him to love them. Unconditionally. No matter what. Teaching him that we all have bad days that need to be overlooked. Teaching him that we will have differences and be different, but that doesn't mean that we are better off without them. Teaching him that there is no such thing as harboring ill feelings and angry thoughts - they are poisons that will eventually make hearts hard and ugly. We need our extended families. They teach us to be tolerant, to understand, to realize we are all different, but we can still have love. We can still have each other's hearts. The world is too big to not have our families in our corner of the ring.
I don't want to go back to the way things used to be. I want things to be the way they are now. Looking at life through they eyes of a 6 year old boy. I am thankful Gage is full of love and full of sauce. I am thankful he is taking my advice and is learning to love, tolerate and respect, yet be his own individual. I am thankful God gave me a soft heart to give to my son. And I thankful to know that even though I am way far from perfect, that I have been blessed with love. For that is the greatest commandment of all, that we love one another.
Mark 12:31
And the second is like, namely this, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself. There is none other commandment greater than these.
John 15:13
Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Beagles, Boys and (maybe) Rabbits...
Those are my guys...in deep discussion...waiting for their Beagle puppies to catch up.
It was Sunday evening, and the sun was disappearing, the wind was picking up and the coolness was coming back for nightfall. Jason and Gage turned out their puppies and took them for a walk. I watched them through the window for a while, then grabbed my camera and walked out join them.
If you know me well, you know that I am not the outdoorsy type. Considering I was raised on the farm, fed enough bottle calves and milked enough cows to last me the rest of my life, then raked hay until I turned crispy...one would think that I love being outside in the sunshine, but I don't.
I used to go deer hunting with Jason. In fact, I went two years with him and carried my own gun. I shot at and missed a buck. But that happened back when we were dating. A girl will about go anywhere to please a good looking blue-eyed guy. However, when we married I started our nest. And I am quite happy feathering and rearranging the sticks and twigs in our nesting box.
I go outside to play with Gage, to observe Jason and Gage running through the weeds with their dogs, to watch them target shoot with their bows, to feed and water their dogs while they are gone...but I'll leave the outside territory to them. Their Sunday evenings are spent with nature, and all the wonders thereof.
My Sunday evenings are spent watching them. And reading the Sunday newspaper after dinner. What wonderful family time I have and share with a man, a boy and two little Beagles.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Better than Cake...
"Mom, you are better than cake."
Coming from my child, that is a huge compliment!! He loves cake. In fact, we are making cookies (his second favorite food) and since I am letting him run the mixer, measure the flour and break the eggs, he is one happy little person.
Tomorrow he will be back at school. But for now, we are making cookies and he loves me more than cake.
Sometimes being a mom is the hardest job I have ever tackled. And I've had some tough jobs.
I do believe that anyone who tells me that motherhood is the most rewarding job in the world is telling me the complete truth.
I do believe that anyone who tells me that motherhood is the best thing is the whole world is being completely honest.
I do believe that anyone who tells me that I'll never regret giving up my life to mold another little human into existence is completely right.
I do believe that anyone who tells me that motherhood will be the most rewarding and satisfying experience is full of wisdom.
I do believe that anyone who tells me that motherhood is easy...a tip-toe trip through the tulips...is an evil liar.
No one told me while I was riding the high of being a sick pregnant woman, that I wouldn't know what it was to go to the bathroom by myself for the next several years.
No one told me that I wouldn't have a good night's sleep for years.
No one told me that I'd live on caffeine for so many days that being nervous as a tortured cat would be a normal feeling.
No one told me that I'd call car seat manufacturers bad names when I was wrestling that contraption into the truck and bumped my head on the door not once, not twice, but three times.
No one told me that my house would be a constant wreck.
No one told me that I would go to Wal Mart with my greasy hair and flip-flops and just be glad I had the presence of mind to get back home once I got there.
No one told me that I would have to teach this small person that we don't say certain words...especially at the table, in front of Granny, and heaven forbid...not at church!
No one told me that I would be so proud when my son finally potty trained that I would tell complete strangers.
No one told me that I would being sad yet relieved when my son went to school.
But most of all, no one told me that being a mom is better than cake.
Yep, I'll have to agree.
What a wonderful feeling to be better than cake!!
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