T'was The Day Before Christmas

Oh little mousey...residing in my bedroom wall. Come, come eat the feast we left for you this snowy Christmas Eve. It seems you might be hungry ~ as your anxious gnawing woke us early, me and Paul. Come, little mousey, come eat the feast, then sleep, oh sleep little mousey in blessed peace.

Expectations of Perfection

Long before my pea brain was fully developed in it's little pod, I had expectations of perfections.  I expected a perfect marriage, which meant a perfect mate.  God, in his infinite sense of humor gave me Paul. Have to appreciate a good sense of humor, right?  So as I was coping with that less than perfect expectation, I expected perfect children.  Once again, God saw the tremendous humor in that expectation and gave me Sarah Olivia, Julia Bernice and Jacob Ross.  It's great that God knows what we need, even if it's not the perfect expectations that we think we must have.

What if I had had the perfect marriage, the perfect mate, the perfect kids?  I would have missed out on so much imperfection, and all that imperfection has enriched my life is such a perfect way.  And really, who am I that I think I should have perfection?  Perfection is boring, I'm sure of it.  I have not had a boring life, and I'm thankful for my imperfect mate, imperfect marriage, my imperfect kids, my imperfect life.  Plus, imperfection builds character.  Just look at me, I'm full of character.

PS, I do, however, have the PERFECT grandchild.

For the Love of Typos

Is there anyone among us who has not made a typo?  No, there is not.  We are all guilty of typos, some are just more proficient at them than others.  I have a very dear friend who has made some of the best typos that I have ever read.  I really wish that I had kept a list of all of them, but I have not.  However, there is one that is very dear to my heart.  No one has ever before complimented my backside in such fine way.  The typo was hilarious, and was quickly blamed on the keyboard of the iphone.  Whatever.

I immediately received a text message telling me to get online NOW and delete that comment.  Well, I got online, but I could not delete the comment.  It was priceless.  She meant to say:  AWWWW so nice.  That's that not what she said however.  Granted the S key is just right there under the W key, and the iphone can take the blame....WHATEVER.  Along came the explanation:  OMG DELETE THAT OMG NOW THAT IS THE WORST TYPO EVER IT WAS SUPPOSE TO BE AWWWW   


This friend has now become the queen of typos.  Every typo she makes must be commented on.  I love how she tells me to shut up before I even have a chance to comment.  If I let one slide by, she becomes paranoid that I might not have noticed, and she is waiting for the slam.  


So often a typo is so good that it becomes the new word, or expression.  The same queen of typos, you just gotta love her and her typos, created the a new one for us.  She wanted to make a heart using the < key and the 3 key, which is supposed to make a heart <3.  I think she temporarily forgot the procedure and therefore shared a comment with 3333.  I'm glad she did this, because now I don't have to consciously think how to make the <3, I can just hit the 333333 key, and she knows that I heart her the most. 



While chatting on Facebook with another friend, I told her that I was so grustrated about something.  Now the two of us seldom are frustrated about anything, but sure do get grustrated about everything.  Another easy typo, and I wish that I wasn't so proficient at this one.  I will often type now in the place of know, or know in the place of now.  Of course, I don't see that until I have shared the comment.  In all of my writings, it doesn't matter how many times I read or re-read something I have written, I will always find a typo, or two, or three, after I have posted what I have written.  What was so difficult to spot in the readings before posting is now a flashing beacon in red.  And it is always followed by, IDIOT, IDIOT, IDIOT!


So...for the love of typos....just laugh when you see one, and now the person who wrote it didn't really mean to make the typo.  Know, not now.  See what I mean?

The Unexpected Blessing

One year ago on October 9th, we found out that we were going to be grandparents.  We weren't expecting that, but what a blessing Greyson has been.  As the months of Julia's pregnancy progressed, we planned for, and anticipated, and hoped for the baby that was due to arrive.  We talked about loving him, holding him, laughing with him, watching him grow, and the joy of experiencing each milestone.  We had no idea the joy this little guy would bring into our lives. 

From the moment we saw him, held him in our arms, we felt a joy that was unexplainable.  What a gift Julie and Dom had brought into our world.  From his tiny little hands, to his tiny little toes, there wasn't an inch of him that we didn't love.  It's amazing to me to see the work of love a little baby can perform, and also the power of transformation in those who love the baby.  It has been so much fun to watch "grandpa" turn to mush.  Never thought we would see the day.

A baby helps us to communicate and interact in our community.  If you don't believe that, just pay attention the next time you are in a store and see a young family with a baby.  The population gravitates to a baby.  People who never would've stopped to talk before are suddenly the most friendly people in the world.  The baby, in all it's innocence, and seemingly unknowing way, understands it's power in the moment, the baby will smile, and hearts will melt, and the joy is spread. The parents feel like they have the cutest and the smartest baby in the world after the encounter, and the strangers load is lightened because of a babys smile.  All is well at that moment.

I love to hold Greyson while he is sleeping.  It's my time to marvel at his incredible little being.  His chubby little cheeks, his roly poly belly, and his chubba hands and feet, those fat little thighs that just need to be kissed.  I love his snuggly habits, and singing him his special song. I love to watch him wake up and stretch, and then when he finally opens his eyes and focuses, ahhhh....the smile on his face, and the twinkle in his eye.

We weren't expecting the blessing, and we never would have known what we were missing.  Now we know, and we love him without measure. 

Exit Scene

I admire people who can make an exit scene that is both graceful and memorable at the same time.  You know the ones.  Those who make a solid statement by quietly closing the door.  No need to slam it to make your point.  Everyone expects the slamming door to seal the argument, but a quietly closed door just has more umph.

Well I made an exit scene today that was memorable, but it wasn't graceful.  It was even down right confusing for a minute.  As I was leaving Julie's place of employment this morning, I was chatting with Heidi.  I opened the door to head out, and....where did all these supplies come from?  I didn't see them when I came in.  Am I in a hallway?  I stood there for what seemed like five minutes trying to process what I was seeing, but I know it was just a matter of seconds.  Oh, well yes, this is the supply closet.  That would certainly explain the supplies gathered there on the shelves.

Then I had to turn around and face all those who saw my less than graceful exit..Well it wasn't really an exit, it was just a slight detour into the supply closet.  It was very memorable I'm sure.  I won't forget it, I know that!  Yes...well....I will just close the closet door....Nice closet by the way.  Lot's of handy dandy supplies in there....I will be on my way now...  Bye.

Good Help, Where?

I find it to be very frustrating these days that you cannot find good help.  Honestly!  I came within an inch of firing my housekeeper today, but if I fired her, than I would have no one, and what a mess that would be.  It's not like I ask a lot of her.  She actually has a pretty good deal.  A roof over her head, a bed to sleep in, food to eat.  Well, sometimes we do run out of groceries, and that's what started the whole thing today. 

It's really easy to see what a mess the refrigerator has become when there isn't a bit of food in there.  A gallon of milk will only hide so much.  All those jars of mystery contents hide a few things too, but not enough.  Why would anyone who knows anything about being clean, let a refrigerator get into such a condition?  It should shame the person, and make them do a better job.  But did that happen here?  Oh no!  I had quite a talk with her about it, and she agreed that it was a shameful thing, and she vowed to do better, but I know in my heart of hearts that she won't.  You just can't get good help.

We talked about what ever in the world that brown, sticky, gooey, whatever it is that was on the very bottom of the frig.  We couldn't decide what it was, and it just doesn't want to come off after being soaked.  Smells a little like syrup, and who knew that it would solidify and become permanently attached the bottom of the frig?  She sure didn't know.

While I was ranting and raving at her for the condition of the frig, I thought I might as well jump in with both feet and talk to her about the condition of the floor.  After all I was down there on my hands and knees, and I had a bird's eye view of all the crud that was accumulated there too.  I told her, in my most stern and authoritative voice, that she needed to find the time to get down on her hands and knees and scrub the floor.  It's a good thing we haven't had company in ages and ages.  Think what it would be like if they noticed the floor, and then they opened the frig and saw the on going science projects in there! My, that would just not work.

She agreed with me that it would not be a good thing, and again she vowed to do better.  Again, I know in my heart she won't.  You just can't get good help these days.  I told her that I was very tempted to fire her and send her packing.  Maybe to Florida.  How would she like that?  I could see the gleam in her eye, and then I realized my error.  She has friends in Florida, so what would be the punishment of that?  Scratch that!  Instead I told  her, in my most stern and authoritative voice, that as punishment, she would have to do all the laundry, clean both bathroom's, dust, vacuum, do the dishes, the ironing, the floors, and while she was busy with all of that, she needed to change all the sheets as well.  And really, why not organize the linen closet?  I noticed it was quite a mess the other day.

I know she wanted to quit then and there, but where would she go?  After all, she's such a part of me that she can't imagine life without me.  That's just the way of it these days.  You can't get good help!

Curious George

I will honestly admit to not being a fan of the story of Curious George.  I will always be thankful that my three children did not discover Curious George, and ask that it be one of the books that we read every single night for several years of nightly reading.  As it was, Big Joe the Truck Driver was tedious enough.  Each child had their favorites, and some were easier to read over and over than others.  I will say that I would have done all that was in my power to avoid reading about Curious George the rascally monkey.

Last night while I was babysitting a very special little girl, she asked me to read her new book.  The new book was none other than a book of EIGHT stories about Curious George and his antics.  I read them without complaint, and yes, I read all EIGHT of the stories.  When we finished the last story, she asked me to read the book again.  I firmly refused.  Once was enough for a lifetime.

Why would I be so adverse to a story line about a very curious monkey?  "Curious George was a good monkey.  Curious George was just a very curious monkey."  I think that I'm not as adverse to the monkey as I am to the "Man in the Yellow Hat."  The man in the yellow hat has a great way of disappearing and leaving Curious George to his curiousities.  The man in the yellow hat is not an attentive care giver, and he leaves that curious monkey to created some creative messes.  Those messes are then cleaned up and taken care of by other people.  The man in the yellow hat needs to practice some adult supervision with the curious monkey.  Granted the messes get cleaned up.  George, the curiousest of the curiousest, is always a hero in the end, but the man in the yellow hat needs to pay attention.

Frankly, my dear, I'm surprised the man in the yellow hat has any friends left.  We've all been around unsupervised children, and by the time they have destroyed everything in sight, we are regretting ever having made aquaintance with the adults in those unsupervised children's lives.  The man in the yellow hat just breezes back into the scene, takes Curious George by the paw/hand, whatever it is that monkeys have, and off they go with no thought to the previous destruction.  As a parent, wouldn't that just be grand to arrive at the home of a "friend" who had kept your children for the day, remark on the incredible destruction, and what heroic brats your children are, then grip them by the hand and off you go?  Oh to be the "Man in the Yellow Hat", and be oblivious to it all.

I continue to NOT be a fan of Curious George, and the Man in the Yellow Hat. 

Cretia

I May Be an Idiot

I may be an idiot, but I'm an entertaining idiot.  Allow me to tell you just how entertaining I am in my idiocy.  Earlier today, I signed online and was scrolling through the news updates.  I see one that states the following.  "Quack puts a crack in a national monument."  Huh!  Cute play on words.  Why don't they just say a duck put a crack in the monument, and be done with it?  Oh well, anything for a story.  Moving on....

This afternoon, after some nutrition and a nap, again I sign online and scroll through the news updates.  Again I read about the crack in the national monument, only this time I read it as:  Quake puts a crack in a national monument.  Oh well, why didn't they just say that in the first place?  We all know a quacking duck couldn't put a crack in a national monument.

I don't know if my failure to read comments correctly is due to the fact that I won't wear my glasses, or if I really am an idiot.  Either way, I had a good laugh over my idiocy.

A Dad and His Son

If you had told me a month ago that taking Jacob to college would be harder on Paul than it was on me, I would have laughed hysterically.  I just enjoyed watching Jacob be in control, making decisions, being cool, being okay with it all.  Paul, on the other hand, was a nervous nellie.

It's interesting to watch a father and his son try not to be emotional, to be tough in the goodbyes.  Shaking each others hands, and being gruff with the deep voices.  It's all about being the tough guy, and not giving an inch with the emotion.  I think it's a relief for them when I cry, because they can laugh about me crying, and take the focus off the tightness in their own chests, and the sun in  their eyes that's making their eyes tear up.

I had no idea that leaving Jacob in Las Cruces would be harder on Paul than it was on me.  Is it about a son, the only boy?  The need for Jacob to succeed, which is a positive reflection on Paul?  Is it about Paul never having gone to college, and him wanting this for Jacob?  I don't know why it was/is so hard on Paul, but I'm glad he cares.

There's an emptiness in the house without Jacob here.  It's not like he came out of his cave much, but he was there, and we knew it.  Julie mentioned the empty feeling the other night.  I find it amusing that she has needed to have Jacob's stereo on, when she would often yell at him to turn it down.  Paul isn't the only one missing Jacob.  We all do, but we're happy that he is enjoying being in college.

When Paul's only son comes home with his degree, you can be sure that Paul will be looking back at that day when we left Jacob at New Mexico State, and he will be a proud dad.

Dear Jacob

Dear Jacob,


Well the time has come for you to leave home and head off for college.  It's your time to write a new chapter in the Book of Jacob.  When you were in first grade, I asked you if you liked your title one reading class.  You said, 'Yes, I get to bring home books.  Today we learned the alphabet.  We only had to say half of it.  We only had to go to Z."  Now you know your alphabet from A to Z, you can write the new chapters in the Book of Jacob with all the knowledge gleaned through the years, and you can make the chapters about college fun, interesting, insightful and humorous.  Don't forget the humor.  I think in all I've taught you, I've taught you the value of a sense of humor.


This is an exciting time for you, and Dad and I and are trying to figure out how to let you go and be excited about it at the same time.  It's a big step for you, and it's a big one for us too.  Letting go of your kids is a bag of mixed emotions for a parent.  We want to let you go, we know it's necessary, but we want to hold on too.  We want you to be successful, to make your mark in the world.  We are proud of you and all that you have accomplished so far, and we want you to continue to be successful.  In letting you go, we know that the Jacob you are today will not be the Jacob that comes home for visits.  You will grow up and grow away from us.  That's all part of life, doesn't mean it's easy for the parents to deal with.


We have to adjust to seeing the grown man before us, while remembering the little guy who wore his bike helmet all day long, his boots on the wrong feet, and riding his bike without training wheels at 2.5 years old.  Sometimes I feel like I'm still adjusting to the guy with the deep voice who answers your phone when I call you.  I won't admit to looking at my phone to see if I mistakenly called your dad when I thought I was calling you.  Even though NMSU thinks of you as an adult, you are still our child.  Who do they think they are telling me I can't just call up and get information about you?  Privacy laws?  I wash your underwear for heavens sake.  Okay, so you're an adult, we will adjust.


You will learn many things in College that we can't teach you.  I hope that we have taught you what you need to be a good citizen.  Be honest, be respectful, be diligent, be kind, be yourself.  When something needs to be dealt with, deal with it.  You knew that from a young age.  When the year 2000 was arriving, there were many who were concerned about Y2K.  In a discussion one morning with the kids at the bus stop, you told them that if that Y2K bug came to our house, you would just squish it.  You once told Grandma Minnie that if anyone asked you a question, you would give them the most intelligent answer that you could. So keep squishing the bugs, and keep giving intelligent answers.


You will meet a lot of different people, and your community will enlarge.  Kameron told Joyce and Kevin many years ago that he heard some very bad news.  He heard that there are more girls than boys in this world.  I reckon that's not such bad news to Kam today, and I reckon it's good news to you as well.  Treat the girls respectfully.  Be a gentleman always, because jerks are a dime a dozen.  Be cheerful around them, because a happy guy is a fun guy.  I know that years ago you told Diana Ricter that you could be her grouchy husband, because you were grouchy, grouchy, grouchy.  Grouches are boring.  Be happy!


Keep track of your time, and use it wisely.  You used to ask me, "Mom, did I do that last morning?"  I won't be there to be your alarm clock.  I won't be your reminder of what needs to be done, and what's important.  You need to keep track of what you did "last morning."


Be true to yourself, and don't be influenced in making decisions because of someone else's opinion. When you were in 3rd grade you told us about a conversation that you and Jerry had at school.  "Today Jerry said out loud that he has a crush on Brittany Spears."  I asked if you would ever say out loud that you had a crush on someone.  You said, "Sure, I have a crush on Brittany Spears too."  I asked if you knew who she was.  You said, 'No."  I asked, "Then how can you have a crush on her?"  You said, "Cause she's cool."  


When you are writing the chapters in the Book of Jacob, remember that we all love you.  Yes, even your sisters love you.  Don't forget to call home.  You once said, 'Mommy, aren't you surprised that I love you so much?"  No, I'm not surprised, I'm just thankful you still love me.  You even told me once that you loved me, and you liked me too.  In everything you do, remember that you are loved.  You might be far away from us, but you will always be in our hearts.


Life won't be always easy, and you've always known that.  You told me when you were little that life is hard and there's not a thing you can do about it.  You can make your life successful, happy and interesting.  Write well, because I want to enjoy the book.


I love you.


Mom

The Immeasurable Cost of War

Have you ever considered the cost of war?  If you are a citizen of the United States of America, on September 11, 2001, you became very aware of the cost of war.  We have been waging the war against terrorism for many years, and we as a nation understand the burden and the cost of war.  It's not just the monetary cost, but the loss of lives, families torn apart, sacrifices made, and many other cost that are hidden and lost in the battle being fought every day.

No family wants to open the door to find military personnel standing there with news of a loved ones passing.  When that happens, that family will be forever conscious of the immeasurable cost of war.  Yesterday our family experienced that, and now we are with every thought and every feeling made aware of the cost.  Never again will we think of war as a war being fought on a far off shore.  Never again will we hear of a soldiers passing, feel sorrow in our heart, acknowledge the loss, but not be touched to the very depths of our souls.  Yesterday, our family understood you cannot measure the cost of a war, because you cannot measure loss of a loved one in dollars and cents.  You cannot measure the depth of sorrow, of loss, of despair.

Yesterday, Nathan's parents and step parents lost a son.  How do you measure the cost?  Yesterday, Nathan's wife and daughter lost a husband and a father.  How do you measure the cost?  Yesterday, Nathan's grandparents lost a grandson. How do you measure the cost?  Yesterday, Nathan's brothers and sisters lost a brother.  How do you measure the cost?  Yesterday, Nathan's aunts and uncles lost a nephew.  How do you measure the cost?  Yesterday, Nathan's cousins lost a cousin.  How do you measure the cost?  Yesterday, America lost another soldier.  How do you measure the cost?  

Life will go on, because that's the cycle.  The aching wound will heal to some degree.  The void will not feel so empty over time, and can be filled with memories of Nathan, but it will always be there.  Through Ella Jo, echo's of Nathan will live.  As a family, we understand the immeasurable cost of war.

On Tuesday, Nathan's mom posted the following on her Facebook status. "A normal person has 1,000 wishes. A deployed SOLDIER only has one; to come home safe."  We read it, we hoped it would be true for Nathan, and all who serve.  Tomorrow Nathan's immediate family will arrive in Delaware to bring Nathan home.  When you think of that flag draped casket, remember the family and the service man who understand the immeasurable cost of war.  Don't think just of our family, remember all who have paid the price.


And today on Natalie's status:   Many brave men & women have served our country and some have paid the ultimate price. SPC Nathan Beyers, my beloved son, a loyal brother, a devoted husband and a proud father, was killed in Iraq yesterday. I am honored to have called him son and am eternally grateful for his sacrifice. Thank you, Nathan, you are my hero. I love you and I will miss you so much.

Who's Who? Not Me.

I received the following in an email today:

You have recently been selected as a candidate to represent your professional community in this year's edition of Who's Who among Executives and Professionals.

Your candidacy for membership was officially approved May 29th. You have been selected based upon your professional experience and achievements, and as such, we believe that your profile makes a fitting addition to our publication.

Seriously?  Who gave them my name?  I'm not an executive or a professional, and what have I contributed or achieved?  I'm sitting here going over my life and wondering what I could say if I actually filled out the membership request.  Hmmmm, can't think what to say.  I could make up some stuff, because we all know I have a vivid imagination.

I do have my MRS degree, and that could be considered a great accomplishment considering what a pain I am to live with.  I've managed to be married for twenty three years, and Paul still claims to love me, so having my MRS degree could be considered a success/achievement.

I have the MOM degree too, and that one was earned through many years of exhaustion, tears, joy, laughter, failures, personality conflicts, problem solving, teaching, undoing, re-doing, perseverance, defeats, success, and just plain old determination.  There should be executive pay for the MOM degree, and it should be acknowledged as the highest of the degree's a person can earn.  You earn the MOM degree without any training, no manual to read, no experience, just living the day, and making it all work.  You learn from your mistakes, and you hope you will be able to see positive results in the citizens your children become.  It's a thankless job at times, but it is also the most rewarding.


Considering those are the only two degrees I have, I don't have the qualifications for a membership to Who's Who.  In their eyes I would not be a professional, and MRS and MOM degrees just aren't worth mentioning in the professional scheme of things.  Little do they know the power of a MOM.  The MRS degree is like an associates degree.  It's a prelude to the Masters....which is MOM.  


So who am I?  I'm just me.  Mrs. Bittner and the mom of Sarah, Julie and Jacob.  Not worthy to be a member of Who's Who, but I'm the one who matters to Paul, Sarah, Julie and Jacob, and that's good enough for me.

The Joy of Friendship

Several months ago, I met a very special person on Facebook.  Our friendship began, and a plan was made for her to travel to the USofA to visit.  When the trip was first mentioned, it really didn't seem like it would be a reality.  Now it has become a reality, and my Australian friend and I had a wonderful week together.

It's easy to chat on Facebook.  You can be on your best behavior, you can delete things before you send them, and you can impress a person with your portrayed  perfection. To be together in person is a different story.  In person you see and hear the reality.  Lill and I started off being honest, sharing our feelings about life, about relationships, about children, about work, and when she arrived, it was like an old friend came home for a visit.

My kids tell me that Lill is my Australian clone, and if that is the case, then I would be friends with myself, because I love Lill and the wonderful friendship that we have established.  Her visit was much anticipated, and even though she came at a busy time for me, it made the busyness more enjoyable, the days more happy, and less stressful.  She made me laugh, she made me see my life, my family and New Mexico in a new light.  She made me think about our language, and even though we both speak English, she says many words differently  I will never again say the word water without laughing and remembering Lill.  Nor will I say path and master without wondering how they are really pronounced, and how did I say them so differently?

The two of us in her little rental car had one little adventure after another.  Sal riding along in the back seat felt compelled to set us straight a time or two, and that was fine.  We just let her have her say, and then we enjoyed her play acting when we arrived home, and she felt compelled to act out our antics of the day for the sake of Julie and Jacob, and for telling stories.  I am especially fond of Sal's reenactment of our brief stop over in Galisteo.  I wish I had taking a video of her reenactment.  Very entertaining, and right on the mark.  I don't care what Sal says, I do love those mailboxes in Galisteo and I don't know why.

I've never really enjoyed shopping, until I went shopping with Lill.  The joy of the best price cannot be surpassed with the joy Lill feels for it.  I can just hear her, "Aye, Creeesh.  Look at this price!  At home this would be.....I must have it, don't you reckon?  I could never get this at home for this price."  "Creesh, look at this!  What'da ya reckon?  Will this color look good?"  Shopping became a thrill, and I didn't mind carrying 90% of the stock on my arm to the dressing room for a session of trying on clothes.  I teased her about all her clothes, and told her that the "blokes" would be turning their heads for a second and third glimpse when she walked into the room.  The color and and vibrancy that is Lill just makes people look again, and then they smile.  I know, because I smiled a lot this past week.

It was a joy to walk into the kitchen in the mornings and see her sitting at the dining room table, computer up and running, and a smile on her face.   "Good morning!  Did you have a good night?  What's the plan for today?",  and we would be off.

I hope to go to Australia to visit her and Sal.  I know I will be welcomed there, and I know it will feel like I've been there before.  I know when I see her  it will be as if we never parted ways, and that there were no oceans between us.  I know that she plans to make me drive on the wrong side of the road, and I know she will fall forward when I slam on the brakes.  I know that when I want to go to the right, she will be there to remind me to stay left.  I know all the excuses to have when I want to stay right, and she yells for me to go left.  I know all the excuses, because she taught them to me.  And then.... we will laugh, and we might take a picture of me going right when I should be going left.  I will just tell her that I was tired and everything is backwards in Australia.

Maybe by the time I go to Australia to visit Lill and Sal, Lill will have made good on her promise to introduce drive up banking, and will have a chain of Sonic drive ins open and succeeding.  She will have introduced all of Aussieland to cherry limeade chillers, and she will be taking her earnings to the bank, and taking those earnings only to a drive up bank.  Sonic and drive through banking will be common place in Aussieland, and I will think nothing of it.

By the time I arrive for my visit, the "blokes" on bikes will have rebelled about wearing helmets and I won't even notice.  Babe Ruth, Reeces peanut buttercups, and S'mores will be common place as well. So common place that  I will just take them for granted.  If we decide to have Frito pie, it won't be a big deal, because Lill will have opened up the shipping to Frito Lay.  I might have to wait until I arrive back home to satisfy my green chili cravings.  I failed to convince them it's close to impossible to live without green chili.

By the time I arrive for my visit, Sal will have met her one and only.  You know who he is.  He's the one with the pick up truck, and not just any old pickup truck, but a Dodge Ram. No decent man would drive a FORD and win Sal's heart.  He will have horses for Sal to love, and a horse "float" to haul them in.  The horses will all have rugs, a personal dentist and vet, as well as a weekly "mass awge".

I've been blessed with an abundance of friends, and all of them have added so much to my life.  Without my friends my life would be so bland.  The joy of friendship is without measure, and Sal and Lill have just added more riches to my friendship basket.  If I could put all the joy into a basket, it would be full to over flowing, and like Lill often remarked when taking pictures, "Pictures just don't capture the beauty and the magnitude of it."   Words, as with the pictures, just can't capture all the beauty and magnitude of friendship... and the joys of it.

Cretia

Cretia

Motherhood: The Assumption

Motherhood doesn't really become easier with age.  I thought it would, but I was wrong.  It seems that I'm wrong more than I'm right, and I wish that wasn't the case.  I thought once the babies were toddlers it would be easier, this mothering business.  I was wrong.  The toddlers are just busier, eating things that they shouldn't climbing on things that they shouldn't be climbing, running you ragged by the minute.  Well then, since toddlers weren't so easy, then when they could talk, were potty trained, could feed themselves.  That would be easier.  I was wrong....Again.

Surely when they were teenagers, and I could reason with them, it would be easier.  Okay, so I was really wrong on that one.  Whatever made me think that I could reason with a teenager?  I was an unreasonable teenager myself once, but then I thought it was my mom that was so unreasonable.  Reason with a teenager!  Right!

When the kids are grown up, living on their own, making their own choices, paying their own bills, raising their own kids, getting their college education, then motherhood would be easier. That's the kickback and relax stage then.  Seriously, I don't know where my brain is through all of this.  Maybe living in a fairy tale of assumed motherhood.  I assumed it would all be perfect, and that's where I got stuck.  We all know about that word assumed and what it says about you and me.


I just assumed my mom didn't understand me, and that I would be far and above a better mother to my children.  I'm not saying that I had a bad mother.  Not the case at all.  My mom was a good mom, still is.  What I didn't consider in the assumption was...she had me for a daughter.  She had a tough job, and now I can see that she really had to work hard getting me raised.  I still give her grief, and not only that, I had three kids to add to her worry.  Now I understand some of her worries...worries that as a teenager I thought were so ridiculous.  I knew I was fine when I was out at two o'clock in the morning, why should she be worried?

I assumed that I would be such a great mom that my kids would be perfect.  In their perfection, I would be perfect, and all would be perfect in our perfect little world.  That's what I assumed.  I should have known better than that, but I didn't.  I just didn't think it through past the assumption of perfectness.

I guess what I need to consider in all of my assumptions is the fact that I'm a mom, I have 3 kids, I will always be their mom, no matter what.  I put my all into being a mom, and sometimes I just... well I just fall short.  Welcome to motherhood. It's not perfect....it's not always rewarding...it's not always easy...it can be heartbreaking...it can be tiring...it can be disheartening.  It can also be very rewarding.  In all the drama, the heartache, the weary days, when just one of the three says, "I love you mom." it makes it all worthwhile.

When your adult children are in pain, you can't just gather them up onto your lap and kiss the pain away.  You can listen to them, cry with them, try to console them, help them see other options, be there for them, but you can't kiss away the pain.  When your oldest calls, and just needs to talk, you listen, but you can't just gather her up in your lap and kiss away her pain.  When your middle child is struggling, you can't just gather her up onto your lap and kiss away her pain.  When your youngest is soon leaving home, you can't hold him in your lap and just keep him there.  You put on your brave face, smile and tell him you're proud, and wish that someone would kiss away your pain.


Twenty two years ago I started on this journey called motherhood, and I wouldn't trade it for anything.  I might want to change some things.  I might want to change my mind, change some actions, some words, some thoughts, my attitude.  I might wish that I had been more understanding, kinder, listened instead of talked, hugged instead of being angry, been more peaceable, more present...I might have changed some things, done some differently, but I will never, ever regret being a mother to my three children.

Ready or Not

Yesterday Julie and I picked Jacob up from school, and all the questions I asked him were answered with one word or less.  The Or less would be a shrug and a ummmhhhh.  In other words, MOM STOP WITH ALL THE QUESTIONS.  I told him that so many things about him are important to me, and I need to know.  You can imagine the look that got me.

I was thinking about his childhood and his future, and trying to see myself as he sees me.  Yes well, I won't get too descriptive about what he might see.  I'm sure it's not a pretty picture.  I know he wishes that I would just tamp down on the curiosity concerning his senior goodbye speech for FFA.  He tells me he has it covered, just not written. I told him I want the plaque with his speech on it, and he told me not to worry, I'd get the plaque. He is sick to death of me reminding him that his grades are important, and he really does not want to discuss life at NMSU, and his behavior at the number one party school in NM.  When he lowers himself to answering me, it's always with the following, "Don't worry mom.  I'll be fine."  I know that...sort of.

After our non-discussion about school, speeches and grades yesterday, he came into the house ahead of me, and just casually dropped his cap and gown package on my desk chair. He didn't even tell me that he had them.  Oh sure, it's no big deal really.  Other than to slam it home to my heart that this graduation of my youngest child is really going to happen, and in only a couple of weeks.  I just picked it up and held it, and thought of when I first held him in my arms 18 years ago, and never saw myself looking at an 18 year old, ready to graduate, move away from home, and be a person without me.

I went through this emotional roller coaster with Sarah and Julie too, but with Sarah, I knew I still had Julie and Jacob at home.  With Julie, I still had Jacob, but with Jacob....what? who?  Yes, I will have my little buddy Greyson, but he's Julie and Dom's.  Maybe they will remember to invite me to all the special events.  I guess the question that begs an answer is:  Who will I be now?  My kids are grown.  Who will I be now?  My kids can make their own choices and mistakes.  Who will I be now?  They have their own jobs, their own ideas, their own lives.  Who will I be now?

Jacob eventually wander back into the den, and I said, "Oh sure, you just drop this package on my chair like it's no big deal."  He just smiled at me, opened the package and put on his cap and gown.  It's hard to swallow around that boulder sitting in my throat.  He said, "Hey mom, you still have Sarah and Julie's caps and gowns right?"  Yes. "We should all put them on, and you can take a picture of all your graduates."  My heart should just shatter too, but he's right, I would love a picture of the three of them together in their caps and gowns.  They all three accomplished what I never did.  I'm proud of them.

Who am I now?  I'm their mom.  I will always be their mom.  I haven't lost my identity, I've just added more accomplishments to my mom resume.  Babyhood for three babies, done.  Toddlerhood for three toddlers, done.  Adolescents for three adolescents, done.  Teenage agony for three teenagers, almost done.  Adulthood for three adults, in progress.  Motherhood, never ending.

So in all his casualness, his lack of response to my millions of questions, his "I've got it covered", and so on, I know he really loves me, and I know he will be okay.  Sarah is a success, Julie is too, so why should I worry?
And ready or not, life goes on.

Cretia

Waiting for Greyson

Julie is 34 weeks along now, and we are anxious to hold Greyson in our arms.  He's been in our hearts for the past 8.5 months, and there he will always remain.  We just want to hold him now!  Julie said that she wishes she could have one more ultra sound.  I wondered why she would want another one, he would just turn his back on the tech.  The little stinker.

I like the openness of today's modern mom's.  I would never have thought of doing a belly cast, and if I had thought of it, I wouldn't have had the freedom of self to do one.  That's just me being honest.  I have to say though, that I love the one that Julie has done.  It will be something special that she will always have.  We've come a long way since my Grandmas day.  I remember Grandma Lewis telling Aunt Bell to tell Jane and I that we should not say that a woman is pregnant.  That wasn't nice. When my mom was "expecting" my brother, and then me, women in that day continued to dress in styles that would hide their pregnancy, wearing loose fitting clothes.

Now "pregnant" women pose for pictures with their pregnant belly exposed, and some times more than their belly is exposed.  They have family pictures done with the mom, dad and baby naked, and post them for all and sundry to see.  Pregnancy is not something to be ashamed of, to hide, to talk quietly about.  It's a time of joy, and it's celebrated.

I still have my reservations about some of it, and I know that's just my raising peeking through.  I'm thrilled to have a grandson, and I've enjoyed the past eight and a half months with Julie, and the soon to be Greyson.  I'm looking forward to all the years ahead with Greyson, and the joy he will bring into our lives.

Cretia

I'm Not In It Alone

In recent days, I have become the care taker/taxi driver/go to person for Uncle Huey.  I have also been helping mom by driving her around since she broke her foot.  Her foot is healed, and she is back to being independent.  What I've noticed in recent days is how many people my age are helping their aging parents.  I've felt some comfort knowing that I'm not alone in the journey.

The other day, mom and I were waiting for an elevator at Lovelace Medical Center, when I happened to become aware of three people having a rather loud conversation.  Two older people, a man with a walker, hearing aid, and some obvious health problems.  His wife, who was explaining, in a rather loud voice, to their son that the urine specimen had obviously gotten lost between the lab and the doctors office.  They needed to come back to the doctors office that afternoon.  While the wife was yelling at the son about the missing urine specimen, the husband was holding onto the walker with a death grip, and asking the son if he would be available that afternoon to bring them back.  The wife then yelled, "I could drive us here."  The expression on the son's face was priceless.

It's an awkward place to be for all involved.  As a daughter/niece, I find myself trying to find that fine line of being supportive, and letting mom and Uncle Huey have the dignity of being self sufficient, and trying to make sure that I don't dishonor them in anyway by taking away from them.  Uncle Huey and his walker can be dangerous, so I feel like a cop on traffic duty.  The other day when we arrived at his doctors appointment, there was long line of people waiting to check in.  The walker picked up speed, and Uncle Huey was stretching out behind it with his lame foot dragging.  I was trying to get ahead of the walker and Uncle Huey before he wiped out the long line of people.  After we got him stopped, and everyone ahead of him was safe, he told me that one of the brakes wasn't working properly.  Okay!  Need to remember to bring along the set of Allen wrenches the next time and tighten that.

As I'm observing other people with their parents, I know that they are also observing me with mine.  We can feel overwhelmed, alone in the process, but we aren't alone.  I don't know these other people, or their parents, but I understand their struggle.  The day of role reversal came sooner than we thought, and we feel we're not ready to deal with it.  Ready or not, here it is.  Just like parenting, we didn't have a manual then, and we don't have one now.  It's a learn as we go process, and there will be some set backs.  There will be some things we wish we would have done differently, but we just have to forge ahead.

One thing that I have learned in all of this, I need to be a nice person now, because when I get old, I don't want to be a pain in the back side of my three children.  It will be hard enough for them to take care of me without me being mean to them. Not that mom or Uncle Huey are being mean to me, but I have seen that in others. I should probably get a hearing aid now, so I can practice talking with my "inside" voice.  I don't need to be yelling to the world about all my ailments when I'm 93.  I don't need them yelling back at me that I can't drive the car anymore.  It might be best if I continue to observe others who are caring for loved ones, and I can learn from them what I should, or should not be doing.  In the mean time, I have learned to walk in front of Uncle Huey and his run away walker.

Cretia

I've Lost My Funny Bone

I can usually find the humor in every situation, but today my funny bone seems to be misplaced.  Yesterday when I got online to check my bank balance, I discovered a charge that shouldn't be, I was frustrated, but thought it was fixable.  While on the phone with the bank, my cell phone died.  There was just enough life left in it to ring a couple of times and then it died.  I saw that it was Jacob calling me, so I asked Julie to call him back.  As I was saying this to Julie, her cell phone rang.  It was Jacob.  He needed to tell me that he had been in an accident.  Great!  Here I am with Sarah, Julie, two nurses aides, Uncle Huey, and the bed he is occupying.  We are all jammed into an elevator on the way to fourth floor, which will be Uncle Hueys abode for a couple of days.

I talk to Jacob, make sure he is okay, then decide to call Aunt Mary to see if she will go help Jacob.  I had to use Julie's cell phone, which is a Blackberry Bold.  Just saying that makes me think it ought to be an incredible phone, a phone with super powers even.  It might actually be that incredible of a phone, it might even have super powers, but I will never know.  I can't see the numbers or the letters on the keyboard, and it doesn't matter how many times Julie tells me that the keyboard on this incredible phone are just like the keyboard on my computer, I still want to throw the phone across the room.  The letters and numbers might be placed in the same order as my computer keyboard, but they are so tiny that one, I can't see them, and two, my fingers aren't that small.

It takes me ten minutes just to find the number side of the keyboard, and then I can't squint enough to see the numbers once I've located them. I also can't stretch my arm out far enough to bring the miniature keyboard into focus.  It's easier just to have Julie call Aunt Mary, and then she can just keep answering the phone for updates.  It's not that I wasn't heart sick about Jacob being in the wreck.  I was, and I wanted to just snap my fingers and my Nimbus 2000 broom and my invisibility cloak would appear, and I would be off to Edgewood in a flash.  Life, at least my life, doesn't happen that way.  I was at the hospital with Uncle Huey, and I had to be there for a while longer.  It's a good thing I am WOMAN.  I was able to listen to Julie's side of the conversation with Aunt Mary, while listening to the nurse brief me on Uncle Huey's condition.  I might not be able to physically  be in two places at once, I might not have a Nimbus 2000 broom to fly on, and I might not have an invisibility cloak, but when my hearing works, I can multi-listen.

I managed to comprehend all that the nurse had to say, made sure that my phone number and name were on record as the one to be called if Burl couldn't be reached, visit with Uncle Huey, make sure he was comfortable, and at the same time, I  knew what was happening at hwy 66 and Pony Express.  I was calm, cool and collected....on the outside.  Inside I was jumping up and down with frustration, worry, and the need to be two places at once.

This morning I checked my checking account, and wouldn't you know it....someone thought they could use Paul's hard earned money to purchase one hundred and sixty five dollars worth of flowers. Who needs that many flower?  They also thought they could use Paul's hard earned money to purchase something from gift gifting, whatever that might be.  Paul and I beg to differ.  I attempted to call the bank.  Now this is where my funny bone was no where to be found.  It's not funny when someone else is spending our money, and it's really not funny when Verizons cell phone service is spotty at best, and non-existent at worst.  I had already dealt with Verizon's poor service this morning while trying to get an update on Aunt Liz.  Dropped the call, call lost, no service, where should I stand in the house to get the phone to work?

I took my purse, my wallet, my checkbook, my phone and sat in the car, because that seemed to be the only place my phone would work.  I managed to get the process of fraud investigation under way with the bank, cancel my existing debit card, and then began an hour long process of working with Verizon about our phones.  You can't trouble shoot one phone while talking on said phone.  Into the house to get Julie and Jacob's phones.  The poor Verizon tech.  Not only am I technology challenged, I can't see the keyboard on either INCREDIBLE BLACKBERRY phone.  She is describing what the key should look like and on which side of the keyboard, and I'm squinting to see this.  I even put my glasses on, and still couldn't see. She asked if there happened to be the word SOS in red letters up in the top right hand corner of Jacob's phone.  Well, there is something red there, but it looks like 505, which is our area code.  She laughed, so I guess she found my funny bone.  I sure didn't have it with me.  In my defense, the SOS was very, very tiny.  It was a very tiny blur, and squinting at the tiny blur didn't make the SOS clear.  It was red, I could see that, but it was a blurry red.

My phone will now work all over the house, and so far this afternoon I haven't dropped, or lost one call.  Not even any static on the phone while I'm trying to hear what is being said.  Jacob's phone is beyond repair, and a new one is being shipped.  I can't help but wonder if I had been able to see the SOS sooner, if it would have made a difference for the life of the phone. :)

I hope the bank fraud department can find out who wants to use our money.  I also hope the bank is kind enough to let us have our money back, because there are so many others in line who want to use our money.  Like Verizon.  Even though our service is horrible at the best of times, they still want to be paid for all those dropped calls and no service times.  EMW Gas Co. thinks we should pay for the gas we have used.  Bank of America thinks we should make our house payment this month.  State Farm, who insures the van that is no longer drivable, thinks we should pay for the insurance they have provided all these years.  Crooks need to work for a living! That's what the rest of us do.  And I'm not laughing! Get your own money!

Cretia

What Did You Say?!!!!

I thought I heard you say something that I'm sure you didn't mean to say.  With my hearing loss becoming more and more noticeable, I've been thinking about days gone by when I could hear, and what I heard someone say that was just unbelievable.  Those someones were usually my children.  Sarah and Julie learned very quickly not to repeat the unbelievable when I asked them, "What did you just say?"  Jacob, not such a fast learner, but his sisters clued him in quickly.  I remember the day he referred to someone, using a not so nice name.  I said, "What did you just say?"  So he repeated it for me.  Sarah and Julie immediately jumped into the conversation with, "JACOB, when mom asks you that, NEVER repeat what you just said.  You are SO in trouble."  He didn't have a clue what the name meant, and when I told him, it was immediately funny to him.  It was funny, I admit that, but it wasn't nice.  Sometimes funny isn't nice, but it's still funny.  I admit that my kids could make me laugh, when I needed to be stern.

When the kids were little, we often called Sarah, "Bossy Boots".  Rightfully so, since she was the oldest, she knew more than her younger siblings, and she needed to boss them.  My mom was in the beginnings of her hearing loss time in life, so she often heard them say things that they really didn't say.  Jacob was about three years old at the time, and he was slightly irritated with Sarah.  In his state of irritation and frustration, he called her Bossy Boots.  Mom heard him call her Bossy Boobs.  When I got home from work to pick up the kids, she said that we needed to have a talk with Jacob about respecting his sisters.  It really isn't nice to call Sarah Bossy Boobs, and where in the world would he get that from anyway?  She was so upset. She was in such a snit over the whole thing.  It didn't help that I immediately started laughing.  Poor Mom, her lot in life to have me for a daughter has been such a trial.

What I heard and what you said are often not the same.  But you need to listen to the tone of my question when I ask what you said.  If I just ask, "What did you say?", it means I really didn't hear you.  If I say, "WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?", it means you might want to rephrase your answer.

Cretia

Math: A Word Problem

I must say that Life is a Word Problem, and I was never good at Math or Word Problems, therefore I struggle with life, which is just one big Word Problem.  I quit school half way through my junior year.  I have lots of reasons for quitting school, one of those reasons being....WORD PROBLEMS that haunted me from day one, and the never ending class of General Math.

I hated school from the first day of first grade.  The only redeeming factor about first grade was my teachers last name.  Her name was Mrs. Nestle, which reminded me of chocolate, which I happen to love, even back then.  And like chocolate, she was very sweet.  I cried every day at school, and she was very sweet to me.  Mrs. Dennison, my second grade teacher was not sweet, she was even more bitter than bitter-sweet chocolate.  I didn't like her, and I cried every day in her class too.  Mrs. Ensminger was the sweetest of the sweet, and I cried every day in her class too.  Mrs. Murphy, she was just flat out mean, and I was too afraid to cry in her class, so I toughened up in fourth grade and didn't cry anymore.

Then along came high school.  The days that I showed up were just awful.  General Math awaited me.  Word problems were meant to torture those of us less fortunate than the brainiac kids. Coach Hewitt didn't like me when I first arrived in his class my freshman year, and he liked me even less when I appeared again my sophomore year, and he really didn't like me the first half of my junior year.  Not only was a math idiot, I was not of cheerleader quality. I was doomed, and I was taking him along with me into doomnation.

Some nightmares continue to show up in our lives, and math, accompanied by word problems are stuff that nightmares are made of. At least for me they are.  Just tell me the numbers involved in the equation and let me go from there.  I don't think the alphabet, or words should be involved in math equations.  I don't even care how fast the train was going, and I care even less what time it arrived at the station, at the speed it was going.  And PLEASE don't throw in useless information to confuse me more. It doesn't matter what color the train was. Just give me the schedule for the train, and I will be at the station to meet it.

Last night I was visiting with a friend, and she was telling me about a fund raiser that her daughter was having at school.  For some reason unknown to me, I decided to tell her what the profit would be for this fund raiser.  What in the world was wrong with me?  For me to do this, I had to create a word problem that involved numbers, and words, and useless facts, like that all the roses were red. I don't know what possessed me.  She didn't even ask me if I knew, or even if I cared what their profit would be.  BUT, I jumped on that train that was speeding to the station, at the speed of what, I did not know, and I will never know, because I don't care.  I created the following word problem all on my own, and still got the wrong answer.

 A group of students had a fund raising project.  They purchased a dozen roses, and paid fifteen dollars for the dozen.  They sold each red rose for two dollars a piece.  What was their profit?

My answer to that question, that was never asked, and I should never have offered an answer to, was that they made a profit of fifteen dollars.

You do not want to know how I arrived at that brilliant answer, and because you do not want to know, I am not going to tell you.  Create your own word problem, and figure it out for yourself.

Will You Marry Me?

Today I was remembering that in February of 1988, Paul asked me to marry him.  He wanted to get married in March, and I said March was too windy of a month to get married, how about April.  On April 8, 1988 we were married.  We had hurricane force winds that day.  Shows you what I know about the weather!

Today I was reading the Independent newspaper and they had some love poems to read.  I came across a poem that I had kept in my wallet for years.  Don't have a clue what happened to it, but I put it in my wallet soon after Paul asked me to marry him.  I loved it then, because it made me laugh, and I love it now, because it makes me laugh.  Love does funny things to a person.  Read on.......

"I climbed up the door and opened the stairs,
Said my pajamas and put on my prayers,
Then I turned off the bed and crawled into the light
All because you kissed me goodnight~!"

Author Unknown

Happy Valentine Day!

Why Did I Do That

I am often amused/amazed at the stupid stuff I do, and I do more and more stupid things as the days go by.  Just stupid stuff, like putting the milk in the cupboard, the laundry soap in the frig, getting up from my desk to go do something, only to forget what it was, but while I'm in the room that I don't know why I'm there, I might as well change the sheets.  Never mind that I just changed them the day before.  Stupid stuff!

This evening I received a very funny email from the daughter of one of my cousins.  She who must not be named.  I'm not naming her, because I don't have her permission to tell the story, but it needs to be told, so she remains nameless to you.  She also doesn't have Facebook, so not only will she be nameless in this story, she will be clueless that it was written.  That works well for me, and for her.

The daughter is in the kitchen cooking the meal, which I think was breakfast.  Can't remember which meal, doesn't really matter.  My cousin rushes into the kitchen and starts pushing buttons on the microwave.  Not just a couple, but enough buttons are being pushed that it would seem she is going to cook Thanksgiving dinner in the microwave.  Her daughter is watching all of this and wondering what in the world her mother is doing.  She finally decided she might should ask.

"Mom!  What are you going to cook that requires that many minutes?"  Her mom, without missing a beat, or in this case, a number, replies, "I'm calling the bank to get my checking account balance."

Stupid stuff, brought on by too much on our minds, too much stress, too many irons in the fire, too many cooks in the kitchen, too many numbers to dial to reach the bank.  It makes perfect sense to  me.  No wonder I've been having so much trouble with dropped calls lately.  I've been using the microwave.  Now, why is the microwave on with no food in it?  WHO TURNED THE MICROWAVE ON?

Middle Age?

It seems everyday I am trying to find words to define how I feel about my spot in the aging game.  Someone told me recently that I'm not really middle aged.  I would have been middle aged around 35.  Well, I plan to live past 70, so I had to disagree.  In reality, none of us know when we are middle aged, because not one of us know when we are going to die.  I think I was probably middle aged at 40, because heaven help me if I live to be one hundred, but I think I might make it to 80.

I feel like Chicken Little.  I think I might run through the streets yelling, "The sky is falling.  The sky is falling!"  I feel that everything is pouring down on me, but I know that is slightly dramatic.  It's just the time and the circumstances of life.  Being fifty, I see my mom, aunts and uncles all aging, and getting to an age that they might not be around much longer.  Not being negative here, but considering their ages, it's something to think about.  They need our attention and help more than they did before, and we are use to them being a help to us.  It's a tough reality for me.  They are now depending on me for help, and I still feel like I need them to help me.  They've always been the strong ones, and I'm not feeling as strong as they have always seemed to be.

On the other side of the hill, I see my children maturing, becoming adults, and they are thinking they don't need me as much.  Unless it's midnight and they just discovered their car has been stolen.  Or it's an early afternoon on a Saturday, and they discovered they are going to be a mother.  Or it's January and ACT papers haven't been filled out, and the ACT test needs to be paid for.  What about senior pictures, and a graduation party?  Maybe we could have a baby shower too, and could I please tell them how to get to Charlie's Sporting Goods?

I'm still needed, just in a different capacity.  Maybe that's why I feel like Chicken Little.  It's a new sky I'm living under, and I just need to adjust to the fall out.  I remember when I was pregnant with Sarah, and I was afraid.  I mentioned a concern to the Doctor, and said, "I've never had that pain before."  He said, "You've never been pregnant before either."  As I stand here on the hill of fifty, it's a place I've never been.  I've never had adult children, and I've never had a parent, or aunts and uncles that were this old.  It's a new adventure, the sky isn't falling, and I will just stand strong.

Friendship

I was just thinking about Friendship and what all my friends mean to me.  The thought occurred to me that there aren't enough words to write all my feelings.  Every person that has come into my life has enriched my life in some way.  Some in huge ways, and others in small ways, but enriched my life just the same.  Some friends have been around for a lifetime, others have just passed through, but all have left their mark.

I have friends that are my family, and friends that are like family.  We all have special people in our lives, and we all refer to someone as our best friend.  I have so many best friends, and they are all my best friend for their uniqueness and their specialness.  Words to describe them all, fail me.

Today when you are thinking of what to be thankful for, be thankful for all the special people in your life that you count as a friend.  For those whom you don't count as a friend, be thankful for them too.  They have touched your life too, maybe not in a good way, but they have taught you something.

Thank you all for being my friend.

It's Not About Me

It's not about me, but I had a melt down anyway.  Not because it's not about me, but because I want the me it's not about, to at least look nice on the day that isn't about me.  I know I'm just the mother of the bride, and it's not my day.  I had my day when I married the father of the bride.  Is it really so bad for me to want to look nice at Julie's wedding?

I had a slight meltdown when I couldn't find a miracle outfit.  I wanted something that made me look young, skinny, beautiful, and way to young to have a daughter getting married.  Then I went into major meltdown mode when it occurred to me that my maid of honor was coming to my daughters wedding, and she is still young and beautiful, and she will look better than me.  ME, the mother of the bride.  That can't be, even though it will be.

I'm done with the meltdowns, and moving on to reality.  I am the mother of the bride.  That in itself is joyful, and I will be happy to share the day with my beautiful daughter.  I might not be the prettiest mother of the bride that ever was, but I'm Julia Bernice's mom, and we are going to take on the day!

She's old, not Senile

Yesterday as I was helping mom, I realized that some people think that old means senile.  Sunday evening Mom broke her foot.  Yesterday mom and I spent three hours at urgent care seeing the doctor, getting pictures of her foot, and then getting fitted for a walking boot.  Thankfully, Aunt Mary had a wheelchair that mom could use, and I was able to get her around in that, and keep her from walking on her broken foot.

I never think of my mom as weak.  She's always been strong, and she's learned how to do things on her own, and is very self sufficient.  She rarely asks for help, and will try doing everything on her own before she even thinks about asking for help.  To see her in the wheelchair yesterday was a little hard to take, but I knew she was only sitting there because she had no other choice.  It never once occurred to me that she might be senile.

Just because she is sitting in a wheelchair, doesn't mean that she can't think for herself, answer questions asked, or that she has forgotten her date of birth, her name, or the reason she was there.  I was just the person pushing the wheelchair, but you would think I was the only one between us with a brain. That in itself is funny.  I sometimes wonder if I actually do have a brain.  I rolled mom up to the receptionists desk, and she completely ignored mom.  All questions were directed to me.  "What is her name?", "What is her date of birth?", "Why is she being seen?".  I was just answering the questions without thinking about it, until I realized how that must make mom feel.  I should have said, "Ask her yourself.  She's not senile!"  Granted, we often joke about her being crazy, but she's not senile.  She knows her name, her date of birth, and she could've even told them which foot was broken.

When we went to the lobby to wait for mom's turn to be seen, I asked her how that made her feel to be ignored?  She said, "Oh, I'm use to it.  People treat old people like that all the time.  I noticed it when clerks in the stores started calling me honey."  Oh that will not work for me when I'm old!  Paul is the only one that calls me honey, and I detest it when another woman calls me honey, or dear, or sweetheart.  I can see it now, I will be a grouchy old lady, telling these young whippersnappers that I am NOT their honey!

Once we were called in to see the nurse, she ignored mom and asked me the questions.  She did ask mom where she got her blue eyes.  Mom, she's much nicer than me, and never thinks up sarcastic answers that just roll right off my tongue.  I would have said, 'Well duh!  I was born with them."  Then she asked mom where she got her accent.  Mom just answered her very politely and said she was from Mississippi.  Back to the waiting room we went.  I said to mom, "I didn't know you had an accent.  Do you think that you do, and we just don't hear it?"  Maybe I'm senile, but I don't hear her accent. And anyway, what does that have to do with getting her foot x-rayed, and in a boot so we can get out of here?  

I've learned from all of this that I need to be aware of how I talk to older people.  I need to remember that they might be old, but not necessarily senile.  They might be riding around in a wheelchair, but they aren't brain dead.  They probably know their full name, their date of birth, and what they had for breakfast.  They need to be treated with the respect.

New Year

This new year, 2011, will be filled with unexpected blessings.  I want to have the courage to face them all, because not all blessing look like a blessing at first.

When I get discouraged about money problems, I want to remember that I'm very wealthy in so many ways.

When I feel sad, I want to take the time to think about what makes me the happiest.  My family and my friends.

When I feel happy, I want to remember the struggles that built the strength of character.

Every day I want to give thanks for all that I have, and for all that I don't have, because there are a lot of things I don't have.  I don't have a miserable life.  I don't have an unhappy marriage.  I don't have children that dislike me.