Biscuits and Gravy

It is hard to believe that my mom died sixteen years ago this month. One of my life goals is to write about her and try somehow to capture her essence. I plan someday to write a memoir all about her. She was a remarkable woman, complicated and magical all in the same moment. She died of cancer and fought to the end. Everybody loved her. Even when she was difficult, which was often, she was still loved. She had a quality that made her unlike anyone else. It was more than charisma and it is something that I find myself often trying to figure out in quiet moments. She had a gift for "telling things as they are" and strangely, people couldn't get enough of it. Perhaps the southern accent softened the blow somehow. I remember even as a child witnessing it. I knew she could get away with things that us normal people just couldn't. I'm not going to lie, it was sometimes difficult growing up in her shadow. I often wondered why I wasn't more like her and thought there was something wrong with me and my sensitivity to things that seemed to not phase her in the slightest. I didn't subscribe to her philosphy of as she put it, "lob it off and set it adrift". I had to deal with things and those things hurt and hurt deeply, unable to simply be brushed aside. Even so, I love her and miss her.  I often find myself wanting to call her up and ask her how she dealt with different aspects of motherhood. I try to tell myself that her answers wouldn't satisfy anyway as she wasn't one to reflect on things. She simply reacted the best she could in the moment and never second guessed herself or looked back and wondered what would have been. At least that is what I imagine her answer would be in order to lessen the pain of not having the possiblity of that conversation.

So in her honor I offer this short piece knowing that it does not do her memory justice. It is only a small hint of her personality. It also honors two other amazing women in my family who have all gone home. I do have peace in knowing that mom has family with her right now as she sits at the feet of Jesus and that some day I will be there with her too. 

Biscuits and Gravy 

Hearing the ting, ting, ting of a fork hitting the inside of a glass bowl in the kitchen always takes me back to simpler days when someone I loved was making breakfast. The smell of biscuits in the morning all buttery and steamy, hot with their fluffy tops and crispy bottoms is like heaven itself on a plate. There is nothing like waking up to the popping and sizzling hiss of bacon and sausage. I can still smell the smoky, sweet haze in the kitchen air. That spicy brown sausage gravy made with the pan drippings would make me want to lick the bowl or at least lick the stray gravy that would somehow get on my fingers. I swear I would have taken a bath in that stuff if I could have.

How I long for the comforting sight of seeing Mom flour her laminate counter top and mix the biscuit ingredients: Crisco, salt, baking powder, buttermilk, and flour. Of course the flour had to be White Lily. Only, my mom would pronounce it in her thick, melodic Alabama accent. Even the packaging claims that it has been a “Southern tradition since 1883”. No matter what state we had moved to Mom would hunt down the local grocery store manager and insist they carry it for her and they always would. There was a rhythm and a pattern to the kneading that I can still picture in my mind, but my hands won’t imitate it. It’s like knowing a song so well you can hear it perfectly in your head, but being unable to utter a single note.  She would use an old four ounce tomato paste can as a biscuit cutter. I don’t know if she even owned an actual biscuit cutter. Maybe she thought that it would affect the thickness of her biscuits or maybe that was just simply the way that her mom had always made hers. Regardless, the perfectly rounded flat circles with the one exception from the leftover dough which Mom called the “ugly biscuit” would be placed on a cookie sheet and left to bake into the perfection that we would race to the table for each and every Saturday morning.  

 I have seen that gravy made a thousand times if I have seen it made once and always by the masters: Grandmother, Aunt Lynn, Aunt Kay, and of course Mom. I can’t make the gravy even though I know the steps and the ingredients. I don’t think many of us cousins can. I have heard rumor of my older cousin Randy doing it justice and his older brother Jay told us one Thanksgiving morning that he knew how. Immediately, he demonstrated his skills and some brave soul actually ate it, but gluey, tasteless gravy is a travesty to me and one that I will not participate in for fear of the wrath of God himself. After all, gravy is sacred in the south, right up there with Sunday dinner after church and seeing your Mama on Mother’s Day. 

Sounds corny but maybe the missing ingredient in my biscuits and gravy is love. That is always how I felt when I ate them. I was special enough for someone to get up early, take the extra time, and mess up the kitchen. How I long to wake up one morning and smell that country breakfast simmering just for me. This time I won’t tell Mom that I’m on a diet. And this time I won’t tell Grandmother that I need to watch my weight. And this time I won’t tell Aunt Lynn that the fat count is too high. I’ll just savor it all and in the end, use my leftover biscuit to “sop up” the rest of that fried egg with the yoke running all over my plate looking like the sunshine that it truly is.

               

Memories

Some days I live surrounded by the past, especially today when so much I have done has been connected to a memory. While putting in my contacts this morning I was suddenly transported back to being 11 years old standing in my bathroom with orange carpet and orange wallpaper and my Dad standing over me trying to be as gentle as possible while putting in my first contact lenses for me. He would try his best to put those contacts in his daughter’s eyes each morning knowing how resistant she was through the tears and foot stomping refusals. That was the summer before 6^th grade which was literally a painful one as I had to learn to wear gas permeable contact lenses for longer and longer periods of time in preparation for being able to wear them full time when school began. They were a painful solution to my rapidly declining eyesight or as my doctor so eloquently put it, “They would keep me from wearing coke bottle bottom glasses” Great way to build up an adolescent girl’s already crumbling self-esteem. To say that they were awful was an understatement. Torture would be a more fitting description. I remember counting down the minutes that summer until I could take them out and feel relief each day.  

As I watered my tomato planters I am reminded of my Grandparents and the only week I spent alone with them just my sister and me. The big events of the week were going to Sears, eating at Morrison’s, watching tons of Wimbledon on TV, and eating the best garden fresh tomatoes sliced up on a plate as a side to every supper served that week. I also remember playing with their dog Gerky. I think by that time my Granddaddy had finally given up teaching me how to solve the Rubik’s cube. It was a relief for us both.

I recently received a wonderful present from my cousins that is still sitting out in my kitchen. I haven’t the heart to put them up in my kitchen cabinet just yet. Every year we traveled to their home in Alabama for Thanksgiving and every year I remember seeing my aunt’s pilgrim salt and pepper shakers. She passed away a few years ago and out of the blue recently I received them in the mail. They are a perfect reminder of her as she will forever be linked to Thanksgiving in my mind. They remind me of home, family, good conversation, and of course incredible food. Special times. It makes me wonder how future extended family celebrations will be remembered by my girls as things now are so fragmented by distance and other time restraints. It seems so much harder to get everyone together in one place at one time anymore. Sadly, practically a miracle.

Leaving the mailbox today I see my oldest running down the long, hilly driveway toward our home and I am reminded of why we came to live in this house five years ago and why we decided to make a lifestyle change to move out of a large city with all of its conveniences to a more small town life. Riley runs with such freedom and joy, wild abandon really without a trace of fear at all. I want that fearlessness to remain with her always. Six years ago when we began to build this house I had visions of children running down this very driveway and I wondered who they would be and what they would look like. So magical to have a dream appear in flesh and blood before you. And all that comes to mind is the feeling of thankfulness as the past and present come together to collide in this one perfect moment. The explosion creating right now.

My Summer Manifesto

I recently visited one of my favorite blogs at http://aliedwards.com/ (excuse my ignorance here about how to create a link- I haven't learned how to do it yet!).  Ali focuses on everyday life but from a scrapbook perspective. Her website is a wonderfully fun collection of words and images focusing on celebrating your life and cultivating a creative spirit, two topics that really touch my heart.  Her work inspires me and encourages me to live life to the fullest by not only growing and challenging myself, but by appreciating and paying attention to those small but special everyday moments that often get overlooked in our hectic lives.

She posted a summer manifesto and I liked the idea so much that I decided to work on mine. I thought that with my oldest daughter’s first year of preschool coming to an end next week and our summer officially beginning,  now would be a good time to think about what I want our summer to look like and what I hope for all of us to get out of it. Perhaps my ideas will give you some as well.

My Summer Manifesto:

1.      Grow a tomato that tastes as close as possible to the fat, juicy ones that my Granddaddy used to grow so long ago.

2.      Make outside play time a priority.

3.      Visit new parks in the area that we haven’t checked out yet.

4.      Have picnics in our own front yard.

5.      Sit out on my front covered porch and enjoy watching a summer storm blow in.

6.      Enjoy the fireflies when they first come out at night.

7.      Make spontaneous ice cream runs as a family.

8.      Instigate “Spotlight Time” (I realize that this one needs some explaining. First of all my husband is a closet redneck. One of the things he loves the most about living on three acres in the country is the freedom to throw our watermelon rinds into the woods anytime he wants. He loves to shine a spotlight at night around our property and see what wildlife can be spotted or anything else interesting for that matter. The last time we did this we stood in the bed of our truck in our driveway and shone the light only to see a skunk walking around in our back yard. The sad thing is I didn’t even realize it was a skunk. He had to explain that they don’t all look like the cartoon character Pepe Le Pew. What can I say? Cheap fun and it would earn brownie points with him.)

9.      Read a novel in one of my favorite genres, young adult fiction, just because it is fun and makes me connect with myself as a teenager while bringing back old memories and dreams long ago forgotten.

10.  Check out our weekly kid craft time at the library.

11.  Actually play with the girls in the sandbox.

12.  Take the girls to the beach.

13.  Take the girls to the pool and forget about worrying what I look like in a bathing suit.

14.  Grill out often.

15.  Organize that neighborhood block party I keep talking about doing and everybody is sick of hearing me talk about doing.

16.  Take my oldest to the movies for the first time.

I feel like I could go on and on but the main thing I keep hearing in my head is to simply life this summer and to make time to have fun with my family. I want this summer to be one filled with happy memories, not items on my never ending “To Do” list. I would love to hear your comments on the subject as well. Will you join me in taking this challenge? Let’s make this summer one where enjoying our families is the priority, not just one of enduring all this extra time together since the kids are home from school.

The Power of the Pedi

I had a little mommy break the other day and it was AMAZING to say the least. I have had to start going to physical therapy twice a week now and because of that one of them is a late appointment in order for my husband to come home and take over for me to go. He was recently out of town for two weeks hence the reason that my blog postings haven’t been happening regularly lately. When he came home after his time away, we talked about my obvious need for a break. It didn’t take much convincing when the day he came home I went to bed at 7:30pm followed by a three hour nap the very next day. So it was decided that I would take the night off after my next appointment.

The appointment itself went really well which set the tone. I am beginning to feel stronger and my pain seems to be improving. I’m even breathing better. Afterwards I headed for a rare treat- a pedicure. I haven’t had one in so long. I opted for a more edgy purple color with sparkles that my daughter likes to call sprinkles. Every time I look down it reminds me that I need to take time to care for myself. Besides, I live in sandals and bare feet in the summer so it just makes sense. I used to do them for myself in my bk (before kids) days, but now it is rare to even take a bubble bath which used to be the perfect place and time to do them.

For me nothing says pampering like a pedicure. The very act feels indulgent. I love feeling the warm water on my tired feet. The sound of female laughter surrounds me and my writers mind loves overhearing the conversations. The candidness between two female strangers never ceases to amaze me in places like this. Somehow sitting beside another woman soaking your feet together makes it feel right to go deep and discuss anything and everything. I love the feeling of being taken care of for a change.  I catch snippets from talk shows- just enough to feel as if I am in the land of adults. I flip through the latest celebrity gossip magazines like I don’t have anywhere to be and nothing more important to be doing. The massage chair soothes as the vibration goes up and down my back.

I should do this more often. But I don’t. I should become someone they know by name. Maybe I will. For now, I will appreciate this moment and drink it up like I plan to drink that strawberry pineapple smoothie which will be my next stop on my way-too-brief mommy break tour.

Experts

I approach every change in my life the same way. I research. Sleep schedules? Check. Breastfeeding? Check. Temper tantrums? Check. Solid food introduction? Check. It gives me the illusion of control which I find comforting when facing a major life transition of which I am unsure. I can at least sound like I know what I'm doing when I can quote the material that I memorized on the subject. But who am I kidding? I'm not an expert on anything really. Besides, what does that word really mean anyway? A doctor recently told me that if you call yourself an expert, it is really an excuse to quit learning. So I guess I am in progress. Isn't that enough?

Battles

I’ve decided that some battles aren’t worth fighting with my oldest daughter.  It’s something I’ve known for a while now actually. Honestly, I’ve been fighting some of these battles simply because I worried about what others might think. Now I have finally decided that I don’t care anymore. My sanity is too important and if someone decides that I’m not a good mom because of them then so be it. I have enough going on in my bursting at the seams life right now so the thought of releasing some things and finally letting go feels really good.  So here goes the list of items that I am deciding just aren’t that important to me anymore.

1.      Clothes: If my three year old decides to wear head to toe floral prints that aren’t matching, then go for it. If she wants to wear long sleeves during this transitional period of warmer days then have at it. I tell her that she will be hot, but in the end it is her call. End of discussion. I surrender.

2.      Hair: No more hair style fights. If she doesn’t want anything to hold back her long hair I simply tell her why she might want to reconsider, but then I shut up after that. As long as it is clean and brushed, oh well.

3.      Shoes: Her preschool prefers that socks and closed toed shoes be worn since their play area has mulch which could get into sandals and hurt. Lately, sandals have become increasingly popular in my house. I can’t say I blame her as I hate shoes and prefer sandals any day myself and always have. However, I know that mulch in sandals really does hurt and makes it hard to play. All it took was one day of letting her wear her sandals in the car to school even after I told her that her teachers didn’t want her feet to hurt during play time outside. She must have been reconsidering during the car ride because once we got to school she wanted to change. The amazed look on her face when I quietly produced the tennis shoes from the front seat was priceless. So now when I remind her of why it would be better to wear tennis shoes to school, she always chooses the tennis shoes. Done.

4.      Food: Due to my food issues I don’t force everything on the plate to be eaten. I don’t want her to lose her natural ability to self regulate her eating which she does so well. I was a member of the clean plate club myself and all it got me was fat. I have decided that if most food groups are represented (I’m still hoping for more vegetables to make an appearance) and a decent amount eaten, then I’m calling it good. Now as far as variety goes I do wish that more than a handful of different foods were actually eaten. She was a much better eater even a year ago, but knowing that for my child it is a control issue, the more I back off and lay low the better. I just keep offering healthy choices while recognizing that at least the handful of items that she likes are healthy. I wave the white flag.

I don’t feel like I am giving in, just adjusting my parenting strategy. In the past, I think I looked at some of these challenges as “winner takes all” with me having to win. Nowadays, I realize that there is another person involved here, one who has strong feelings and opinions which do actually matter. My job isn’t to win but to direct and guide instead. Ultimately, I hope to raise a strong girl capable of making her own decisions. I’ve noticed already that by me explaining the “whys” behind things the battles seem fewer and farther between. A bridge of trust is being built so that she seems to realize that my recommendations are actually in her best interest too.  She seems to be more willing to yield to me in those areas.

I am overcome by the fact that God operates in exactly the same way with me. I fight him sometimes just to fight. I want control of my life no matter the cost. Self-destruction is guaranteed this way; it is in my blood. But when I yield to Him, He has my best interest in mind all the time. He has the best plan for me and for everyone. In fact, it is the exact plan that we would choose for ourselves if we knew everything that He knows. Yet, we want to continue fighting. It seems so crazy when thought of that way. The Creator of the Universe cares so much for me in this very moment as well as us all. He rejoices over me with singing much as I do over my girls. Who am I to say no to His plan for my life, especially when those plans involve giving me hope and a future?

By being a parent I see facets of His character every day and I see how completely lacking I am unless I yield to Him. There is nothing harder than that. Yet, in the giving up, I gain Him. There is nothing better than that. So again I say some battles are not worth fighting, not with my daughter and certainly not with the Creator of the Universe. I am reminded of the song  “White Flag” by Chris Tomlin. “We’re laying down our weapons now. We raise our white flag. We surrender all to you. All for you. We raise our white flag. The war is over. Love has come. Your love has won.” So true.

Going Home

It is interesting how something can start out one way and end up another. When I left my teaching job in Florida to move to Virginia I thought that I would never find another school as wonderful as the one I left. I was close to so many people there and I loved being there. I would go in early and stay late. I loved being around the kids. I rarely took a sick day in the three years that I taught there. Quite often kids would stay after school to help me do things in the room and I was more than happy to have them around for the company as well as for the help. The faculty became like my family. I loved being surrounded by their collective knowledge not only of their subjects but of the craft of teaching.

I gave my notice right before the start of the new school year when my husband started a new job in Virginia. I reported to work anyway to get things ready for my replacement. People wondered why I had even bothered to work when I could have enjoyed a few weeks of vacation time, but I couldn’t imagine not being there to help out at the beginning of the year which is such a busy time. The last few days I was there were spent saying good-bye and taking pictures. I was like a middle school kid who was having a hard time leaving her friends on the last day of school knowing that she would probably never see them again. It became a joke around school that if someone was looking for me all they needed to do was roam the halls. I could be found out there hugging someone.  It was so hard to leave. That final day I just kept hanging around. I actually sat in the front office making sure that I got to see everyone before they left for the day.

Arriving at my new school was a shock. It seemed so technology and test-score driven. Once again I put in long hours trying to advance my craft. The teachers there didn’t seem as friendly and I felt alone most of the time my first year. The collaboration that had happened so naturally at my previous school just didn’t exist at this one. Instead there was a feeling of competition that I had never experienced before. Sharing wasn’t very open in my department and those things that were shared seemed contrary to what I knew the teaching research showed.  My department head at the time was stressed out and seemed on the verge of a break down.

The kids seemed more distant too. I was used to kids who had little so the time and attention you gave them meant everything. These kids were used to adults doing things for them constantly. I will never forget that first year when I was told that my duty period would consist of running forgotten lunches to kids whose parents had brought them to the office and making sure that kids got the messages that their parents had phoned into the office.  It proved to be challenging going from teaching 6^th graders who still loved and wanted you (almost too much!)  to teaching 8^th graders who were too cool to give you the time of day. They were intimidating and they were so much bigger than my 6^th graders.   

Over the years though things started to change. New teachers came to our school with fresh ideas similar to the ones I had brought with me originally. A spirit of collaboration was born. I began to appreciate the technology and looked at it not as a hindrance but as a way to reach students who I might not have reached otherwise. I began to view testing as simply one way to measure my success in the classroom, but I remembered to keep it in perspective. As I put in my hours I became a better teacher for it. The parental involvement became a blessing when it came to dealing with discipline issues. The 8^th grade attitude became a strength once they were sold.  If they were sold on me they would do what was asked of them. Once the toughest critic in the class was sold you had them all.  I began to love the challenge that each day brought. I looked at my classroom as a living, breathing experiment that I got to be a part of every day. It was exciting.

Slowly over the years deep relationships with other teachers began to form. The Art teacher became a friend as we would discuss how art and literature could be used together many a Friday afternoon when all had left and the halls were dark and silent. The Librarian and I would discuss our desires to write while sitting in her office planning my latest attempt to make research more real and exciting for the kids. The Reading Specialist and I would discuss new reading strategies that we had tried to help our kids become better readers thus allowing an entire new world to open up to them. The new English teacher across the hall and I discussed at length and almost daily how we could engage our kids in writing and we both attended a summer college class that would help us to answer that very question. That class marked a turning point in my understanding of writing and thus put me on the path where I am today.

I loved getting paid to learn, and I got paid to sell kids on the joy of learning. I got paid to teach kids that their voice matters and that their story matters. So how could I give up all of that to stay home? How could I give up a job where there were so few days when I didn’t want to be there?

I ran into one of my teacher friends randomly this week when I was picking up my oldest from preschool. She was planning to enroll her son there for the fall and she happened to mention that Spring Fest was that night at school. Spring Fest is a way for the students to showcase their talents. Guests eat a fundraising dinner while enjoying performances by the chorus and band to name a few. There is an art exhibit and the book fair is also going on in the library. I knew immediately that I wanted to go and for some reason I had thought that it had already happened so I was even happier that the possibility had presented itself. It would be a great opportunity to see my teacher friends and for them to see the baby. Most had not seen her since she was a few months old.

It proved to be a wonderful evening. I took the baby and even students who I had never taught came running up to me calling my name to tell me how beautiful she was. I was able to get some hugs and catch up on the latest Young Adult fiction which is still one of my favorite genres. It felt familiar and in a way it was like going back home. But you can’t stay at home because to stay would be to refuse to grow.

I am on to the next chapter. Staying home for me is not giving up. I feel as though I am making room. Writing takes room mentally. So this feels like the natural progression. All those teachers did for me what teachers do best- encourage. I am so thankful to them for supporting my decision to leave. Not one person said anything negative about my decision to stay home. Not one person gave me a funny look. My principal even ended my resignation conversation with a hug and told me I was always welcome to come back. They would be waiting. It was such a comforting thought at the time. One I needed to cling to as I wondered if I was making a huge mistake. Could I really make it and be happy as a stay at home mom? Would I be miserable? Would I be good at it? I am better because of them in so many ways- a better teacher, a better mom, and a better person. I want to grow. I want all that God has for me. I want to do now what I have been encouraging my students for years to do. I need to tell my story as only I can because for some reason not entirely known to me, it matters.  And quite simply, I must be obedient to that call.

Treasure

I feel a freedom this first week back at home that I haven’t felt in a long time. For the first time in a long time I am enjoying being home instead of feeling like my house is controlling me and running my life with constant bombarding thoughts such as, “I should be doing this right now”. Most days my mind felt scattered and it was difficult to concentrate on the task at hand.  Every day felt like a treadmill that I was unable to escape from. Sometimes you have to say goodbye to something that isn’t working even when you want it so desperately to work.

I had a discussion with my dad while visiting him. I actually wrote down in my day timer that I needed to talk to him about the way he organizes his calendar since he is one of the most organized people I know and has recently transitioned from working to being retired. That is how my mind is working these days. If it doesn’t get written down it might not happen and very likely won’t. Such is life right now. I’m hoping that one day when I get to sleep through the night that will change, but for now I am accepting it as it is and trying to get over it. My day timer system just isn’t working for me now that I’m not working outside of the home. There are too many things to write in it now that I don’t have a work calendar at school collecting the bulk of my day, those work related items and leaving only personal items on my personal calendar. Limited personal items I should add since most of my time was spent working. Now with my oldest in preschool and with my activities and new responsibilities that I have both in the home and out, the old way just hasn’t been adequate. I purchased a daily checklist calendar to supplement my current day timer to remind me of chores that needed to get done. It also included seasonal cleaning items. As much as I wanted and needed that system to work it began to create in me a feeling of bondage. It began to be a reminder of things that hadn’t been done and it became an unconscious source of stress. During our discussion my dad told me that I was micromanaging my organization. He should have just told me that I was being neurotic. He would have been entirely correct.

So I said goodbye to my little checklist this week. Sometimes the tidiest of things can cause the most trouble. I decided that it doesn’t matter that my house won’t win any awards for cleanliness like it would have for all those years without kids. People always used to comment on that when they would come over. Besides, who really is going to inspect my drawers but me?

I find it easy to get fearful of freedom and I suspect that it is a common issue for us women. I tend to want to fill empty spaces of all kinds with stuff of any sort. You name it- activities, bargain hunting and couponing, food, pointless computer surfing, wasteful shopping, and of course obsessive cleaning and its good friend organization. Then I have to ask myself, “What am I running from?” So often it is unpleasant, uncomfortable feelings. I read today in my devotion that things that cause us the most anxiety can also be the source of the most growth. So true in my life.  This school year staying home has made me realize that. I actually went into this stay-at-home mom stage of my life with very mixed emotions including a huge helping of fear. How could I manage my spirited preschooler while tending to the needs of a baby, manage a household, and step up my church volunteering all without losing myself and having  it all come crashing down on my head? In my mind there was so much to do, but the day seemed to stretch forever. What if I got bored? It sounds almost comical to me now.

It has all been a process this year of trying out different strategies to see what fits my mothering and homemaking styles and what works for my family. A checklist approach sure sounded good until I began to see others as a hindrance to my list of items to accomplish for the day. I began to suspect that I was in over my head when I read someone’s internet comment about this checklist approach telling the creator of it that she loved the system but she wanted to know when was she supposed to make time for her own “to do” list.  It was a wakeup call as I realized that I barely have time for my own list let alone someone else’s ideas of what needs to be accomplished.

So now I am trying a more flexible approach to homemaking. Emptying the garbage when the moment presents itself with a Monday/Friday routine ideal but knowing that life and people will get in the way of that sometimes and that is okay. And really, what pictures do I carry around to show people- not ones of my shining sink that is for sure.

The Bible says, “For where your treasure is there your heart will be also.” I don’t want my treasure to be in things or even in accomplishments.  I don’t want my kids to say one day, “Mom really kept an organized and clean house, but she didn’t make time for us.” That would really be a tragedy. So it is that the chains fell off this week and I am free. It turns out that the key was within my reach the entire time.

Reflections

“To live life to the fullest, share every last drop with the people you love.” (From Tea for Two by: Bob Fuller) 

It’s good to be back. Don’t get me wrong, I love visiting family, especially my dad and step-mom. There were visits to the zoo, parks, and the local children’s museum. I was able to catch up with my step-sister and my two nephews who I hadn’t seen in several years. I also visited with some long time family friends over dinner and saw an aunt, uncle, and cousin on my mom’s side over brunch. We flew a kite with my uncle and his wife on my dad's side, or maybe I should say the kite flew us. The kids got spoiled with way too many wonderful things. We celebrated Easter and my dad’s birthday. I also bonded with my dad over shopping for a new daytimer (I know, I’m a nerd) and bonded with my step-mom over shopping for kindergarten preparation materials at the local teacher store.  I enjoyed three worship experiences at their church and there were multiple trips to Wal-Mart and Costco for essentials. I can’t say it was relaxing, but I feel ready to get back to my life which is a good way to feel after being without many responsibilities for two weeks.

It always feels good to see my house as I pull up in the car from being away and feel that tug in my heart that says that I am meant to be here. It felt good waking up in my bed to a sun shining  morning  in a house surrounded by fully budded trees rich with spring foliage.  I could see those trees and the vibrant green out of every window in our house. It felt good unpacking, sorting and opening my mail, and catching up with correspondence and emails.

Strangely, I do feel rejuvenated and ready for the work at hand that remains- preparing for vacation Bible school, the end of the school year busyness, finalizing summer plans, and the like. Something missing a few weeks ago has been found. Something I had not even realized was missing until now- a love of home.

So often when I used to return home after a long, tiring day of teaching I would see my home come into view and feel a happy sigh escape my lips. I could feel the day slip away in an almost  amnesia-like moment where the negatives disappeared and just didn’t really matter anymore. After all  it wasn’t real life, just work.

Staying home it all becomes more serious. The glaring imperfections in the surroundings shout failure and everything becomes a measurement. Those bits of leftover crackers still on the floor from several meals past. The pile of items that need to find their home. The never ending battle with toys strewn about the floor. The enrichment activity strategically implemented that somehow bombs anyway. In all those things the simple joy of being home is trampled over and the gift is forgotten. The joy stolen.

For me it was renewed when my husband sweetly and quietly reminded me of why he had chosen to stay home the day after picking up his girls from the airport by saying, “Today is supposed to be a family day.” So I put the pile of mail I was sorting to the side. I savored the indoor quiet for a moment due to a baby napping, enough to last me a while, and instead chose to go outside and jump with my three year old and her daddy on the new trampoline that he had assembled while we were gone. A welcome home/ welcome spring present meant to help our spirited daughter tire herself out. “Jump me Mommy! Jump me Daddy!” rang out in the air like music along with giggles all around.

Later we enjoyed a cook out on the deck, the first of the season. I looked around at our trees blowing in the light breeze sending golden seed pods of all kinds raining down and I thanked God for bringing us here to this place both literally and figuratively. I thanked him for the gift of home. Both a place and a feeling. I thanked him for trips that allow us to fully love and enjoy those we visit but also allow us to fully love and enjoy those with whom we live. What a gift.

Freedom

An amazing thing happened today. The minute I came home my husband asked how physical therapy went today and I immediately responded by yelling, “The baby will take a sippy cup!”

I have been nursing almost exclusively for eight months. Early on she took a bottle and had to in fact because she was jaundiced and apparently had a form that was connected to breastfeeding. I had to give her formula in a bottle for 24 hours in order to cause her bilirubin levels to drop. Fortunately they did and I was left knowing that she could take a bottle. Even at six weeks I was able to go out to dinner with some girlfriends while leaving her at home with visiting family knowing that they could feed her. Somehow things changed and with those changes I began to feel claustrophobic.

An undercurrent of stress always existed from knowing that all feedings were on me.  There are women who love nursing. I am not one of them. Don’t get me wrong, I love the closeness that comes from nursing. I love the fact that I am doing the best for my baby. However, when the first birthday comes into view I am ready to give it up, move on with my life and get my body back all the while cherishing the memories.  

I had actually talked with a lactation consultant at one of my Mothers of Preschoolers (MOPS) meetings recently about my predicament. My fears were confirmed- it was too late to try to get her to take a bottle. I could, however, try a sippy cup. She told me to try the kind with a straw. I was skeptical. How could she possibly suck on a straw? She was the expert I reasoned, so I decided to follow her advice precisely. I got two different kinds. Neither of them worked. In fact, both ended up on my wooden floor more times than I cared to count. I finally gave up trying realizing that all they were good for was creating ding marks on the floor.

So it was by chance (although nothing ever really is) that I happened to mention to one of my mom friends the issue I was having with sippy cups not working. She simply and matter of factly told me to get the starter sippy cup with the two side handles. I almost dismissed her advice not wanting to buy yet another sippy cup. But, I thought to myself, she does have three kids plus watches several more in her home. I figured it might just be worth a try.

On a whim I decided to pack the newly purchased sippy cup with formula for back up during my physical therapy appointment. It was not an ideal situation any way you looked at it having to take my baby to the appointment. Fortunately, a neighbor friend had offered to take my oldest.

So while I was in the middle of the appointment after having completed exercises with a fussing baby on the floor at my feet and having to get my hips realigned with her actually sitting up on my chest, I handed her the sippy cup. At this point I was waiting for electrode therapy and a deep tissue massage. She was sitting in her car seat. She instantly got the hang of it and began feverishly lapping up the formula all the while making little happy baby noises. It was amazing. Nothing else mattered in that moment. Not my continual pain. Not the annoyance at having to bring her there in the first place. Not the fact that I would be hitting rush hour traffic on my way home which happened to be an hour away. I had been set free and I instantly felt it. Spa day with my MOPS friends was not a dream now but a reality. All kinds of options were open to me now that had previously been closed tightly shut. She could have yelled her head off the rest of the appointment and it wouldn’t have mattered a bit.  So what is the moral to all of this one might wonder. Ultimately, mommy advice is the best advice of all and should never be disregarded as coming from the true expert.

Real Life

So life got in the way of my usual Friday post last week. It is kind of comical now to look back on what exactly happened or I guess I should say what didn’t exactly happen. Both kids barely napped and I have been very tired lately as well. I was hoping that they would nap so I could nap. None of that happened. Add in a baby fussy from teething and it even gets worse.

My oldest was very sassy most of the day and we spent a lot of time discussing what having an attitude meant and how exactly a child should talk to their mother which was frankly exhausting. During her so called “nap” she got into her sister’s drawers and pulled out every blanket. She also got on a stool and moved a Lenox Winnie the Pooh honey pot and a Winnie the Pooh snow globe that were on a high dresser in her sister’s room. Neither was broken thank goodness. Then I went into the bathroom that both girls share to find a large rocking chair lying on its side. I never could get an explanation for that one that was coherent. She kept saying something about how she wanted me to rock her. Why it couldn’t have stayed in her room for me to rock her is beyond me. The highlight though was going into her room and finding multiple lipstick stains in the carpet, but no lipstick around. She is very clever that one. I think she thought if she could hide the “smoking gun” sort of speak then the charges wouldn’t stick due to lack of evidence. Diabolical.

By the time my husband came home I was ready to go to bed- forever. I was ready to call this motherhood thing quits. I was ready to surrender while admitting that I suck at this job of mine and call my old principal and see if we could work out a deal. My old life working might have been busy and crazy but it wasn’t as messy that is for sure. It didn’t eat at your self- worth every moment of everyday.

So fast forward to today. I was able to get some cleaning done first thing this morning as well as get several loads of laundry going. My oldest and I worked at getting both girls’ bedrooms picked up. I cleaned up the lipsick stains from Friday while my oldest repeatedly told me that she was sorry and she sounded sincere. Breakfast dishes were put away promptly and the kitchen cleaned. The baby took a great morning nap for over an hour which is unusual. I had some educational play time with my daughter.  She had fun finding letters that spell words in this Melissa and Doug puzzle that we have and she was doing really well with it too. After the baby got up we all went outside for some play time and a leisurely walk. Then back inside for lunch. The kids played well together in the den with this electronic phonics set while I was able to get food prepared. So no one was crying or underfoot, highly unusual these days. I was even able to read this new children’s devotional that I recently purchased and my oldest seemed receptive to the message. After lunch my sister called and we were able to catch up briefly and talk about some scrapbooking ideas which was a nice treat in the middle of the day. Afterwards, both kids went to bed for their naps at close to the same time which rarely happens in our house. All great things. Until I sit down to start this post and realize that one of my writing notebooks is upstairs. I go upstairs to my room to retrieve it and who is on their stool quietly, stealthily rummaging my jewelry box? I guess I can’t catch a break. Now what?

My New Helper

These days I have a new helper in the kitchen. This helper is very small but really gets the job done well. I no longer have to live with cracker crumbs under and around my table until the next cleaning day arrives. Which to be honest these days is a guessing game even though I have read plenty of homemaking books telling me how to organize my schedule. So far the wonderful suggestions and ideas just aren’t manifesting themselves into my daily life- yet. I’ll try to remain positive. Despite my shortcomings though, my helper is always waiting. These days when I pull my little aqua helper out, the color of happy I might add, my oldest begins to clap. The helper has an audience as I tell the girls to gather around to witness the miracle. I have made a celebration of sorts out of its appearance. There is cheering and clapping. I’ll admit the person cheering the loudest is me.  

I suppose that if the old saying, “If Mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy” is true, then the opposite must true as well.  Well, this Mama is happy so everyone else better be too. My helper makes me smile and was worth every bit the $25 I so willingly laid down for it. I even did research on this little helper prior to bringing it home to live with us in the pantry in the kitchen. Yes, it is that small which makes me love it even more! It got glowing reviews. It is very popular and beloved by many besides me. I no longer dread the mess of meals. The crumbs are no longer starring at me for days on end as a reminder of my failures.

And I have to say thank you to the company that made my little helper, for understanding the dilemma of a homemaker. Thank you for putting the joy back into mealtimes. Most of all I thank you that I no longer have to walk on crumbs. I no longer have to fight with my big vacuum around tight corners and move chairs around. My back thanks you as well for a weight of only four pounds. You have put the fun back into cleaning as it feels like a toy, but actually works! I love you my eureka! Quick Up 2 in 1. My day just got easier because of you.

Rock Star

I’m a rock star. Really I am. Let me preface this by saying that I am a little addicted to shopping consignment sales.  I get an adrenaline rush from shopping them. It has become a form of entertainment for me these days. There are two big local ones that happen twice a year, once in the spring and once in the fall. So I end up going to a total of four large consignment sales throughout the year. Each one has almost a carnival aspect to them. The air is buzzing with anticipation and lines form early. I spend weeks preparing for the sales by pricing, tagging, and hanging my clothes.  Then I drop them off and all the while I am hoping that my time spent agonizing on the prices doesn’t go to waste. My husband jokes with me that I end up breaking even with what I make and what I sell but that’s beside the point.  Quite often the night before the big sale I have a hard time sleeping.  I go over the list in my head of items that I hope to score.  In my mind I plan out which section of the sale I will go to first in hopes of snagging the best deal. I have the layouts of both sales memorized such as where the toys are located, the big items, the clothes, the shoes, and so on and so forth. I just want to walk out of the sale feeling the thrill of victory in saving some cash.  It is a sad competition I have with myself. I love sharing my good fortune with whoever happens to be around, “You won’t believe the deal I got on this umbrella stroller! Only $7 dollars and it has a canopy, a mesh holder for odds and ends and even a holder for my water bottle!”  It is validation for a job well down when validation is hard to come by these days as a stay-at-home mom.

 I consigned some clothes at one of our recent spring community consignment sales and because of that I was able to shop the sale early. So I guess you could say that I was a VIP of the sale. Anyway, I went to check out clothes for my oldest first. She has become so picky lately so I knew I needed hunting time. I found not only a set of princess PJ’s but also three princess t-shirts. Can you tell that princess stuff is huge around my house? The best part is they were all only $2 a piece and they all looked new. I immediately began envisioning my oldest seeing them and giving me a hug and saying, “Thank you mommy!” so I had to get them. Actually this scenario isn’t a fantasy if you can believe it. She might be a very demanding child, but she is also a very grateful one. A friend of mine recently gave her a pair of white sandals with butterflies on them and she immediately wanted to call her and tell her thank you. Somehow the multitudes of being grateful discussions from the past took.

Later in the day I presented my finds to her and waited for the reaction. Sure enough she immediately clapped her hands together and began jumping up and down yelling, “Thank you mommy! They are my very favorite! They are so pretty! I so excited! Thank you for getting them for me!” She then proceeded to hug and kiss me as well as each and every princess item in her hands. So I really am a rock star, if only in my daughter’s eyes.

A Magical Memory

We spent a magical time outside the other day going on a nature walk. It was the type of activity that I had always fantasized that being a stay-at-home mom would be filled with- time to linger, time to laugh, time to breathe the fresh air and notice those important things like the leaves beginning to bud on the wild blackberry bushes, and the cricket hopping crazy beside the gravel driveway. It was a time to discuss the types of birds that we saw and enjoy the crunch of the gravel beneath the tires of the car stroller as a kind of music. It was a time to hunt for the elusive “blow flowers” that my oldest calls dandelions. It was a time to notice new tree branches that had fallen to line the road. We enjoyed the space to sing the Peter Pan song about following the leader without worrying who we would bother or who would hear.  My oldest insisted on being the line leader and marched along with her stick much like a high stepping drum major wielding her baton. Again I say it was magical. A moment that will live on in memories of what life was like during these years of staying home with young ones. Everyone was happy. There was no arguing whatsoever or fussing. Anyone seeing us would have seen a mother and her brood spending time together in perfect harmony. It was a Hallmark card moment.

That is until we arrived home.  My oldest wanted to eat the last carton of her baby sister’s yogurt instead of her own yogurt.  An academy award winning meltdown ensued while we were outside trying to enjoy the first picnic of the season. Fortunately, we do not live close to neighbors or anyone nearby would have thought my child was being tortured instead of simply being upset over yogurt. So it is that our beautiful time outside came to an abrupt ending. Such is life with young ones.  But I know that in the library of memories in my head, the walk outside will somehow over shadow the meltdown memory in the way that our mind creates amnesia of sorts often allowing us to remember the pleasant over the painful. Of that I can take comfort.

Issues

For the past two days we have had some spilling issues around here. I can’t even blame them on the girls as much as I would like for that to be the case. So I guess I should clarify and say that I have had some spilling issues. The strange thing is both instances occurred with breakfast type beverages. The first one involved orange juice splattering all over our new phone. It happens to be the one that my husband got me for my birthday just last week. I was reaching to get a plate which was stacked behind a bowl when the bowl fell and broke on the counter causing the full glass of juice, not a juice glass mind you since those just aren’t big enough for me, to fall over onto the phone. There was juice everywhere, on the counter as well as actually in the phone along with pieces of juicy pulp. It was the type of accident where someone would have been seriously yelled at except that someone happened to be me. For a moment all I could do was stand there in shock watching the orange flood flowing down the counter. I finally snapped out of it and could only think about how the phone was not going to work now and how would I explain something so stupid to the hubby. Sorry honey, I have a sick game that I play with myself and the dishes called “Will it fall this time?” only this time it really did and now the brand new phone doesn’t work and I know that it won’t be covered in the warranty. And then somehow I heard Ricky Ricardo yelling at Lucy telling her that she had some “splainin” to do. After those thoughts quickly left I began mopping up the juice and repeating the simple prayer, “Jesus have mercy” over and over again. I truly thought the phone would begin smoking any moment and it would be rendered useless forevermore. Fortunately, miraculously, that did not happen and it actually worked right away. One disaster averted.

The second one happened the very next day oddly enough. I had gone to the grocery store and was putting up groceries quickly trying to get lunch prepared for my three year old who was underfoot and cranky. I was initially very impressed with my ability to buzz around and get lunch prepared for not only her but also the baby and myself as well when I reached into the refrigerator and noticed a milk waterfall. I immediately squealed (way to go mom and keep the kids calm). Somehow, and I still don’t understand how this happened, the handle of the milk  jug split causing all the milk to gush from the gallon jug and down the front of the refrigerator. After hearing my reaction, my oldest immediately asked, “What’s going on Mom?” in her high little voice. I think I yelled something about having a milk catastrophe. She simply said in a soothing tone, “Mom, it's going to be okay. I’ll pray.”  Thanks baby. I apparently really need it lately.  

Confession Time

I have a confession to make. It is super embarrassing. It is one of the worst secrets that a mom with a baby can have actually. I’m feeling ready to come clean though even in the midst of food crumbs crunching beneath my notebook as I explore these words on my page right now. Okay are you ready for it? I am still in maternity clothes. You heard me right. After having a baby seven months ago I am still wearing maternity clothes because the size I would have to buy right now is just unbearable for me to face so I refuse to do it. I don’t mind buying size large yoga pants somehow or large t-shirts but facing a number staring at me from a label is just too impossible right now.

I have started walking even though my sacroiliac joint hurts all the time and it is difficult to bend down in the mornings due to stiffness. I feel like I am eighty most mornings actually. My physical therapist tells me that my last baby being breech is a main factor in all of my issues. Every time I go there they have to yank on me and pull on me to put my joints back into place like I am some sort of doll that has been badly mistreated. All rationalizations aside though I am still in maternity clothes. There is always room for one more though. They are actually my smaller size maternity clothes but still.

When I am out I feel the need to check the belly band lest my secret be revealed to those whose opinion matters most to me these days- other moms. According to all the celebrity moms you are supposed to be able to be red carpet ready in a matter of weeks after having a baby not months or even, heaven forbid, a year which is quickly advancing for me. In fact, my little one will be eight months this week, actually in two days which means that even in my confession I have let the truth become muddled.

So what am I going to do about it you ask? Good question. Well, I’m going to finish eating this piece of birthday cake I just cut and like Scarlett O’Hara the great mind who my southern mom so often quoted, I will simply say, “After all, tomorrow is another day" while thinking to myself those butter cream roses sure taste good, especially in a quiet house where everyone is napping.

Happy Birthday to Me

I'm 38. Today. I started the day wondering where did the time go. What do I really have to show for this life of mine? I have two beautiful daughters. I have a home that I always dreamed of back when we were first starting out. It stands on wooded property large enough for young ones to roam about and safely play. I have a husband who still looks good to me after 17 years of marriage (and yes I know...I was a baby when I got married, but that is a conversation for another day). I am now embarking on a new adventure of being stay-at-home mom after years of working in dead end jobs that I hated until finally finding my calling as a teacher just eight years ago. Middle age is advancing quickly. I hear it calling to me in the distance. Yet, strangely, I feel peaceful about it. So I have more wrinkles now and my body has battle scars from pregnancies and childbirth. Somehow those things don't matter today. They represent strength and wisdom.

Honestly, I never liked my twenties much. I was always second guessing myself and my life. I always felt that there was a better life out there and a better self out there that I never could find. It was always hiding from me somewhere and not finding it was just another example of failure. All my friends seemed to find jobs in their fields that sounded so wonderful and I wasn't even sure what I was supposed to be doing with my Psychology degree.

I finally found my calling when I pursued becoming a middle school English teacher in my thirties. I loved everything about it from my nutty kids just starting the temporary insanity of adolescence to the smell of my green spiral bound grade book. It brought back the joy I had felt as an eight year old playing school with my very first student who conveniently happened to be my sister. Incidentally, she happened to go on to become a doctor so I must have been pretty darn good if I do say so myself.

So here I am now. 40 right around the corner and sitting at my great grandmother's kitchen table with hand prints all over the protective glass top and a daisy print bib thrown haphazardly on the corner. Motherhood is my calling now. I would be lying if I said it was easy. It takes all that I am and then some making me rely on a God that I always knew but in an entirely different way now. Even as I write this my oldest comes running in saying, "Can I sit on your lap?" So I am paid in as many hugs and kisses as can be gathered up in a day. I have to admit it is a wonderful job perk. Some day sooner rather than later I know I will be writing here at this same table wondering where all the time with my girls went and I will be missing those ordinary extraordinary days.