My girls-

So there's a virus. A quarantine and shelter in place.

Things feel weird.  Off.  I've been weird.

I am missing my daddy terribly lately.  I think of him so often.  If he were here I'd confide all my hidden thoughts and secrets because he'd know what to say.  Or maybe not.  But he'd hug me close, even though he wasn't a huger.  I can literally feel his hands.

Ask Daddy, he'll know what to do.

Funny, y'all say the same thing about your daddy.  

I had a dream last night, which is pretty much what prompted this post, along with a FB post from Tracey yesterday- which could be what prompted the dream.

In my dream I was a teenager, maybe 16, and I was lost.  You know how nightmares are- they circle and are dark and usually make little sense.  This was like that.  There were winding long stairs and my mama was climbing them, she was big like a giant- tall and large.  She was coming to my room and I was circling everywhere looking and calling for Daddy. My hair was long, down to my feet. I was really small.  It was my room but I was lost in a forest.

Then I was instantly on a ferris wheel ride, filled with people from my past.  I got off and turned back to see big steel bars clamping on another me till it enclosed me completely with only my large frightened eyes showing as the seat swung away.

That's it.  That's all I remember.  Enough, huh?  I could easily interpret this dream, but I won’t get into that. Y’all know.

On FB yesterday a friend posted about our senior year in high school and the paint/float parties.  I was never allowed to go to any of those, except one.  I went to one in September of my senior year.  I remember being miserable and leaving early and crying myself to sleep that night- which wasn't new.  I probably cried myself to sleep nine nights out of every ten that entire year.  I felt very much like an old person.  Don't get that confused with an old soul.  When someone is referred to as an old soul it usually means they are wise beyond their years.  That was not me.  I felt tired, sad, longing for something out of reach. Hopeless, helpless, and lost.

When I was in high school there were things I needed from my daddy that I didn't get.  Oh, he was a good man- the best.  But I think he was as lost as I was about how to help me.  I waited everyday thinking he'd scoop me up and fix all my problems but he never did.

So, my senior year I left high school after the first semester and started college in January.  I had big dreams and such high hopes.  I remember thinking all my problems would soon be fixed.  But, of course, they weren't.  They were actually just getting started.

So, my girls.  Y'all know I lived a very different life than you three have lived.

Reckless, desperate, searching. Many, many wrong decisions. So much y'all don't know.

I did, and still do, bombard you with so-called 'help'.  I've tried to be honest with you and protect you while still letting you sink in the deep-end if that is what you've needed- pulling you up at what feels like your last breath. So very grateful your deep ends were not like mine.

I drowned more than a time or two.

I've tried to shield you from nightmares.

2020 has brought great joy and great sadness so far.  Much laughter and many tears.  Just like every year.  But it feels different.  I feel different.  Is the air charged with this virus?  Am I experiencing a mid-life crisis?  Do I still grieve?  Will I ever be able to put a haunting past behind me?  What would my daddy say?

Bear with me right now, ok?  Overlook my moods.  Ignore my snapping.  Disregard my tears- they aren't you.  May is coming- sunny days are hopefully here and maybe I'll snap out of it.

That's what Daddy would probably say.  He'd probably tell me to just snap out of it- and follow it with tall tales of long snowy winters, cracks in the floor of the house, and eating shoe leather.

Love,
Mama

on this, your 24th birthday, forgive me, bluebird; it wasn't you, it was me, all me

I've always been quick to remind my sweet Shelby that her birth was one of the most traumatic experiences of my life.  Long and painful and just plain hard.

True, she was round as a watermelon, so the old saying...

And she was late.

And I was tired before I even got started...

But I think, after all these years, I've finally figured out the real reason it was such an excruciating time for me.  I've lingered long and hard over the agony of it all.  

It wasn't you, Shelby.  

It was Roman.  And John.  And Marlana.  

And oh, Bo.  Wild gorgeous Bo.

Let me try to explain.

Around my fifth month of pregnancy in 1991 I discovered Roman was not really dead but had been held captive on Stephano's island since the tragic day in 1984 that Stephano shot Roman and he fell off the cliff-  only to die in his brother Bo's arms, with the ever beautiful Hope weeping in the sand. 

And it was in a fit of rage and revenge that Bo ran to kill Stephano, leaving Roman's body to be swept away by the tide. Oh, Bo's guilt over the cruel twist of fate that was the tide! 

And the pure devastation of it all as Marlana received the phone call of Roman's death.  Life faded to black as she sat on her sofa curled into a ball grieving, phone still in her hand.

It was too much.  

It was just too much my dear Bluebird.

And then, seven years later and me five months pregnant to discover all this time Roman was alive! Held captive by the diabolical ;) Stephano as the "pawn" John was living Roman's life.  John loving Marlana back in Salem while Roman suffered in a cold cell.

I think the shock of it all just wouldn't let up.  I couldn't move past it.  I was so tired and post traumatic stress had set in and by January I was mentally and physically wiped out.

I was just a walking shell of a person when I delivered you.  

And now, 24 years later, Bo's untimely death of a brain tumor brought on by years of his own torture in Stephano's prison forcing him to be apart from his Fancy Face has been an awakening for me.  The blinders have fallen off my eyes and I can see clearly!   

I apologize, my sweet Bluebird, for all these years believing it was YOU.  I shall never tell the horror harrowing experience of your birth and what it did to me ever again to a single soul!

It was ME.  It was my inability to cope with the sheer sadness of it all.

Forgive me, bluebird.

Love,
Mamie

And now my girls, you understand my generations obsession with soaps. You're welcome.

letter to my pregnant daughter

Dear Delia,

I think, but I'm not certain, the last time he cupped his chubby hand all the way around my neck- all the way till his hand lay flat right at the center of my throat- was on a walk to the mailbox on a hot afternoon.  But I'm not certain.  Not certain that was the last time.

If I had known it was the last time she would place both hands on my cheeks to tell her story I would have looked closer.  I would have gazed into those great big beautiful eyes and memorized every detail.  I would have asked questions about that story till she grew weary if I had known it was the last time she'd place her hands on my cheeks to spill words.

I don't remember the last time Mamie or Mommy became Mama.  Just like that with no warning or foretelling it just became Mama.  I can't tell you the last time I cut up a plate of spaghetti or chicken breast when I'd never be asked again.  I didn't know the last time was the last time.

The last time I brushed your hair back into half ponytail and held round brush to your bangs was - I don't know.  One day in that eggplant colored bathroom before our world rocked hard.  

But I had no idea I'd never do it again.

How many nights did you crawl into bed with me?  How many nights did your daddy move to the sofa?  Probably way past when most would say it should have been, but not me.

But I didn't know the last time I felt the weight of your body wake me as it lay in the middle it was the last time you'd come.

When he'd never say po-wa-wa again and ask for popsicle next time.

When she'd never turn both feet in as she walked to just one day walk straight.

There's a last time for everything my darlin'.

And it rushes in like an unexpected wind and lifts away childhood one veined heart pounding moment at a time.

Carries it away into a swirling gathering of what Webster calls memories but what your mother calls a slow glorious death.

And only few times will you pause and wonder if it's happening.

Because car seats are heavy and bags are weighted and baths seem unending.  Meals come one after the other till you are weary and papers need checking and teeth need cleaning and you dig one after another after another of something from underneath the sofa and why did the dryer have to eat the very last matching sock when you didn't know someone was drinking the last drop of milk and payday is still two days away so there's too much to think about to think about last times?

You will see.  So listen closely now and take heed my love.

You didn't leave home the day you moved out.  You didn't leave home the day you married that red headed boy of yours.  You still came back.  You still lay with your head in my lap and cried over  problem and I knew you were still my little girl living in a woman's body trying really hard to be a woman. I'm sure you'll probably lie with your head in my lap again and cry - I hope so - but even if you do you'll be just visiting. 

Cause now, my darlin' baby girl,  you've left home.

And I know exactly when it happened.

Now she swells big tiny inside you and you look beautiful and you really do glow as you sit across the room and rest your hand on that spot that aches and now you've left home.

She's the one who has taken you away. 

And it is above all my moments of motherhood with you my love the most amazing glorious take my breath away moment of all.

And I know exactly when it happened.

Love,
Mama

Read the first letter here.  When I'm gonna be a grandma.

and how does a baby turn twenty-six when all you did was blink?

This was twenty years ago.  First tooth was missing and moments after this picture was taken you'd break your arm for the second time.

Five years ago when you turned twenty-one I wrote these words -

Words won't even come that seem powerful enough to express my thoughts at you turning twenty-one years old.

What makes this age so different?  You don't look different or act different.  The sun is still hot and the planets are still lined up.  Everything looks and feels the same.

Everything but me.

It's hard to describe.  It's almost a feeling of dread.  There is a heaviness in my heart that spreads into my arms when I think of today.  I physically feel it. 

Am I, for the very first time after twenty-one years of watching four children grow so rapidly before my eyes, just beginning to realize that I will never get any of that time back?  I know I've known this, I've even blogged about it - but I think it was only in my brain and tonight my heart is not taking the news so well.

Five years later and my heart's still not taking so well this growing up all of you are doing.  So.  Fast.

And today you turn twenty-six.  And you do look different.  You are carrying my first grandchild.  A baby girl and I know the moment I lay eyes on her I will be traveling in my mind back to a place and time that was the beginning of you.  You, my darlin'.  The beautiful baby girl born to your daddy and me.  

And these words I wrote are the same -

The first moment you were placed into my arms I felt a strange and powerful kind of love as I stared at you for the first time.  And I remember staring, for a long time - just staring.

You and I began to grow up together.  I seemed to know little more than you did.  And because of that you suffered many things.

And there's a heaviness in my arms - a longing to just hold you again. 

Just another chance to stare. 

Just another chance to say, Wow, I love you, baby girl.

Happy Birthday.

Love,
Mama

when i stuck that pin right in that hiney

I hope you overlooked my messiness I call a house when you came by yesterday!

The only thing I noticed was the waste of two wonderful looking enchiladas.

I forgot to put them up!!!  Ugh!!!  I truly am sorry for leaving my mess everywhere in the house growing up!  I never understood your frustration until now!

Well I guess that helps -  a smidgen.

And I told her I cursed them.

My darlins, it's time you knew - I cursed you all.  Somewhere in the back of my tired brain I remember wishing and hoping that one day y'all would have kids just like yourselves.  Messy.  Sloppy. Sometimes just down right disgusting.

Told her I had little dolls they never knew about.

Some call them voodoo, I call 'em revenge.  
Secret stashes to get me through the mad days.

heh-heh-heh

And the time the smell wouldn't go away and I got down on hands and knees to search out the sour milk was the time I stuck a pin right in the knees of that doll.

And when I threw away the plastic containers instead of washing them cause the hairy green stuff had found a way to also grow on the outside of the container - that was the time I stuck a pin right in the hiney of that doll.

And the time I stuck little pins all up and down the sides of the dolls. One for every cup I threw away with mold floating in it and every dish I soaked for days just to get the dried mac and cheese off.

And when I had to go out and buy all new forks and spoons cause ours all disappeared. Disappeared with the bowls and saucers and plates that got lost in the abyss of under beds and behind furniture and under clothes.  The day I bought all new silverware - I stuck pins right in the eyes and ears of those little dolls.

So yeah, your apology makes me feel just a hair better.  But knowing what goes around comes around, priceless.  

And those dolls, those dolls probably saved your lives..

Muahahahaha!

when I'm gonna be a grandma

So, there was the option of a dewy eyed sentimental post about becoming a grandmother.  With pictures such as this

that would make my heart flutter with the idea of my baby having a baby.

But I decided to go with this instead.  It was a coin flip.  Tails won. 

Dear newly pregnant Delia,

I'm still getting accustomed to the idea of being a grandmother.  There are babies, children, teenagers, young adults, parents ...

grandparents.

I have mixed feelings about this.

In one corner I cannot wait to hold your baby just so I can give it back when it starts screaming or projects stinky formula across the room (you were too young to remember). But in the other corner, with the much larger more buffed opponent, I'm not very enthusiastic about becoming officially old. Because, as everyone knows, if you are a grandparent you are, officially, an old person.

So here is a list of a few things - some words of wisdom you should commit to memory and some demands, um, requests.

Bear with me.

Demands Requests:

I am in the process of creating a list of pleasantries for your child to call me.  Nana is taken, so is Grandma (thanks be), which wouldn't be in the running anyway (refer back to the dirty word old) because it just sounds so ... OLD.  Granna, which is absolutely adorable, is taken because apparently Tammy has put more thought into this than I have. 

I like the following options.  Please let me know which one you and Ruben like, although at my age I've earned the right to not select it.

1.  Mamie (long a sound)
2.  Mamsie (long a sound)
3.  Zsa Zsa (might be the closest to glamorous I'll ever be)
3.  Auntie  (which I guess is out of the question)
4.  Deary
5.  Slim (which is currently my favorite)
6.  Grand

And finally, simply put, never tell me I cannot say or give something to your child.  It's a losing battle. Just ask Nana and Grandma. And soon to be Granna and Slim. 

Now the advice, which has been earned the hard way, and is golden.

Turn up all the TV's, radios, and CD players in the house to full volume.  Train your baby to sleep through anything.  At first it may seem heavenly to have total quiet, but eventually nothing is worse than having to tip-toe during nap time, in fear that your angel will wake up the dreaded TOO EARLY.

Don't worry if you don't breast feed.  Have no guilt my darlin'.  To be honest, being the only one who can feed the baby is not all it's cracked up to be.  But think carefully about this. You can always pump breast milk so Ruben can feed and bond with baby. You get to do this alone in a quiet room.  Let's face it, no one wants to be in a room with a breast pumping hormonal mommy.  And it could become your only down time.  Think even more carefully,  I did not breast feed. Refer back to my breasts in above cartoon. 

Projectile spit-up cleans up easily with a magic eraser.

People who publish books about child rearing have probably broken their own rules often.  Don't buy these books.  Ask Granna or Slim.

Toys are nice.  But nothing beats a good 'ole pot and spoon.  Clean out at least one lower cabinet. Your baby will spend hours in there during which time you can pretend you are back in your newlywed days.

But don't ever sit down, because as soon as you do ....  Never mind this one, I think I'll let you learn it the hard way.

Pacifiers are like crack to a baby.  And you can find a dealer on every street corner, but you must buy up stock in the one your baby loves.  He/she will want one in the mouth and one in each hand. And if the apple doesn't fall far from the tree, one stashed in the diaper.   Take it from your daddy and me,  finding a new one at three in the morning because just one has disappeared or baby has sucked a hole in a favorite is nearly impossible.  Okay, it is completely impossible. The thumb is always an option, and according to the Jones' next door your child will need braces.  So, go with the thumb.  Trust me, go with the thumb.

Sleep is overrated.  Sleep is overrated.  Sleep is overrated.  Say it often.  You may begin to believe it. Or maybe not.  But it doesn't hurt to try.

XOXO's are never optional.

And finally, and most importantly, cherish your tush the way it is now. Admire it often in the mirror. It will probably be a lot lower for the rest of your life.

And welcome, my beautiful Delia, to the world of stretch pants.

Love,
Grand

And just for the fun of it -

when it's a bad day

It was a bad day yesterday, wasn't it darlin'?

For me, too.

I spent my day anxious, worried, concern - how many adjectives are there for a lack of faith?  Too many.

I went from the hours of a morning we will remember the rest of our lives into an afternoon that found me falling and failing.  Found me allowing hurt to seep in from someone's unkind words.   When I should have walked away found me lashing back. 

Found me judging, criticizing.  Found me breaking the golden rule. 

That simple little rule we learned in grammar school so we wouldn't steal pencils or break in line or tease the ones with glasses or gaps in their teeth or hair or skin the wrong color. 

The ones we think are less that make us feel more. Shamefully more.

Yeah, it was a bad day baby girl.

And now in the early morning hours of a new day I sit here and write, wondering how you are.

I've written my apology email to one I made feel unwanted and unwelcome and checked my phone to see if there was one for me.  I wonder why women hurt women.  I wonder why I play the game.

And I wonder how to help you.  You my sweet girl, still so young and unknowing.  You taking a giant step into the unknown and me still fledging stumbling around in it all these years later.

It's grace.  It's a prayer of mercy.  I'm praying God give you mercy and grant you all you need in strength and wisdom to not stumble but finish this race that is won with a lowly crawl.

Because that's where you find the answer sweet girl.  Low.  Face down arms outstretched at the foot of the cross.

Always low at the foot of the cross.

You are never "alone as a solitary bird on a roof."

                                                                 Psalm 102:7

 

 

   

love huge

When I held you in my arms twenty-three years and one day ago it was an impossible thing for me to imagine twenty-three years later.  You were the kind of labor nurses made you walk the hospital halls through. Slow.  Not far enough along.  Slow.  Tearing.  Stitches.

The kind of labor most young women today do not go through unless they choose to.   Even eight years ago baby Max was a walk in the park compared to the walk in those halls.  Modern medicine has made having a baby much easier today than then.  And much easier then compared to a century ago.  My, my.  Time.  What it does.

What time does rears itself to me much lately.  It took that baby face, perfectly round like treasured gold piece, and created a woman.  First steps and double digits and driving and falling in love and marriage and now the desire that won't let go for a perfect baby face of your own.  It's time you say, to start your family. 

A woman with dreams bigger than time can conquer because they take time to conquer.

Plans that sometimes start small and grow big and bigger and then one long day from now there's a sign on a door that says Open.  And smells of sweetness delight the nose and then the mouth. 

But time, my darlin', is a gift.  Because one day you will see that a long day from now seems like only yesterday. 

Remember this . . .

When the dreams of what you have now seemed like a lifetime away. 

My sweet Blubird, time brings sweet things.  And it brings choices.  And letting go and living small to live huge.  Because you brought love huge and Daddy and I never would have chosen a perfect moment because there isn't one to bring that perfect love that you breathe hard through.

And life is full of choices.  And all things good do come.  And all choices, if you let them, bring happiness.  If you let them. 

Happy Birthday.  Love, Mamie

When you accidentally on purpose read

I'm probably gonna get in trouble for blogging about this.  There's really no probably about it.

Isabela is taking a literature co-op class that Shelby took years ago.  She didn't want to take it.  Izzy doesn't like to write.  She doesn't think she is good at it.  But Shelby took this same class from Jennifer years ago and the progress she made in writing was encouraging.  So when we were given the blessed opportunity for Izzy to take it I didn't hesitate.

I'm not supposed to read what she writes.
 I'm not to correct it or hint suggestions or just look at her the wrong way so she knows to fix something.  And for me, if you know me, that is a hard one.

I sit down at computer to check bank (yep, still doing that.  Won't it be nice when the day comes that I don't have to check in everyday to be sure there's enough to make it through that day?  I have a feeling I'll be living a heavenly life before that happens.  And that's okay.) 

And there is her writing.  She didn't click off or exit out or whatever.  And I look at it.  But I don't read.  And there it is.  That ever knawing gut feeling that I get when I'm about to do something I'm not supposed to do.

Ever get that?  Sure you don't.  Can anyone say I'm a mama?

I swivel in the chair and look the other way.  I ponder.  I swivel back and the other way and ponder some more.  I minimize it.

I ponder.

What will it hurt to read it?  It's not her journal writing.  It's just a writing on a children's book she read.  Just for practice.  It's not private.  And Jennifer is my secret twin and she would read it if in the same boat and she is the teacher so after a short time of rationalizing I click on and read. 

She writes this book she reads reminds her if she is ever some place she doesn't like she can simply turn her head and walk the other way.  She writes the book makes her feel good and as if she can accomplish anything.  That the book reminds her she'll struggle and fall and that friends will come and go and that one day she might end up alone.  She says she knows there will be bumps in her life she has to crawl over and that life is going to be harder than she expects and that there will be smaller bumps on the big bumps but there will always be a way to make it through. 

And I'm looking at the grammer and how she quotes the book and wondering if I should tell her I accidentally read it so I can help her make corrections. 

But then I read the last paragraph.

And I forget to breathe for a moment.  Because this is being written by the girl everyone thinks has it all together.  But she doesn't.  Who does?  And she lives every day with the knowledge that some people choose to not like her.  That some of the people she is to respect have chosen to put her in a neat little box they think she belongs in because they have put other girls in it.  And she doesn't belong there.  And she knows it.  And I know it.  And it can be hard.  And it hurts her.  But she is learning to live with it because that is what people do and this is what one does when they do. 

And I read her last words.  That it is important to her to keep her head on straight.  That she never wants to forget who she is.  That she doesn't want to look toward something that appears grand and wonderful to discover she should have turned away from it. 

And then in this little paper I wasn't supposed to read, this little paper that is just what a children's book makes her feel like, she writes that she wants to be guided by the One that created her and everything around her. 

Isabela's not perfect.  Who is?  She puts toothpaste on her pimples at night and longs to have a mole she thinks is ugly removed and hasn't memorized all her time tables and can't keep her room clean.  She knows what it is to be selfish and all-consuming when she should be aware.  But who doesn't?  Certainly her mama does.

But children's books make her think of her future and her future includes God by her own choosing. 

So to my darlin' sack of baby bones - yep, this world can be hard and there are huge bumps on top of the hugest bumps but you will be just fine.  And you will never, ever end up alone.  That is a pinkie promise.

when it is right but feels like rain

The hail back in April gives us a new roof.  I lie in bed and listen to this rain that is deep in such a short time and remember the moment I first held you in my arms.  Deep can happen quickly and drowning in sweet newborn love gives you no way back and no way out.

And it had happened before and would happen again. 

You send phone writing to a beloved older friend and leave off the Ms.  Is that what happens when leaving home forever is only days away and you are growing to love someone more than the ones you are leaving behind?  I can't remember.  Did I feel older and equal and love stronger for what was coming than for what was going? 

I roll over and look at him and yes I did.

So you feel happy and grown and strong and only slightly frightened.  But one day you'll feel small and afraid and think this is not right. 

And when that happens know that you do not need a yellow brick road to find your way back home.  To me. 

So I can send you back and tell you it is only for a moment - so you can love him more than me.

when it was only twenty-four hours later

God loves each of us as if there were only one of us.  ~ Augustine

Isn't it something when God shows off?

 

Congratulations, Bluebird.

 

But you, O Lord, are a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness. Psalms 86:15

 

when the perfect home is the grace that is the palm of God's hand

I'm sorry you didn't get what you wanted.

I wanted it for you, too.  I thought it was perfect for you.  I had no concerns or hesitations about it.

I could have written these same words for your sister that was Sycamore Cove.  She's had disappointment, too.  She spoke wise words to you last night when she said it will not matter where you are, you'll be happy because you will be with Joe.  Yep, she went and grew up on us. 

But even now I'm thinking it would have been great for you and Satan stuck his ugly evil face in it and ruined it for you.  Thousands of years ago he slithered his ugly evil being in and ruined this for you.

 

Maybe he did.  I think probably so.  But what do I know?  Not much, baby.

So, every time you don't get what you desire - what seems to be perfect for you - does that mean it wasn't God's will for you in the first place?

I don't think so, Bluebird.

 

Sadly, I don't think so.

God does not will for us to sin but we do anyway.  We were never created to be sinners, but we are. 

So, no, just because you didn't get it doesn't mean it's necessarily God's will for you not to.

Which brings us to the worst part of all - anything in our life that is out of God's will - either by our design or not at all because of us, just the results of a sinful world.

This is when the great big marvelous God of the universe and God of you reaches into what could be considered a great big marvelous bag of goodies and pulls out Plan B - which He will redeem by grace for you as if it was Plan A in the first place.

This I know firsthand.  You know what happened to us eight years ago.  I still don't think that was God's will - to destroy what I still believe was a beautiful fellowship - but just look what God has given us, especially your daddy, in return.  Beautiful. 

One of the greatest Bible promises is this:

“And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.” Romans 8:28

You can trust God to use this.  And I can promise you from experience that sometimes the end result can be so beautiful that you will then wonder if God must have planned the original event that led you to where you are. 

Was it God’s will that you didn’t get that house? I don’t know.

Maybe it wasn’t really as good a house as it appeared.

Maybe God saved you from a disaster you’ll never know about.

Maybe God has a better house in mind.

 

Maybe it is God's perfect will for the people that did get it. 

Maybe it would have been a great house and the devil stuck his evil face into it and now you are here. 

Here in this perfect place that is the palm of God's hand and you will wait and trust for the good work that He will create for you. 

Last night I told you to believe this was God's will.  I lied to try and make you feel better.  And this morning and every morning till I die I won't know if it was or wasn't.  And we may never know why it happened this way.  So go ahead and cry and pout some and be angry and cry some more.  It'll make you feel better - just like you said last night.

Then do your best to forget about it, which will take time, and make what will become yours the perfect home for you and Joe.

God's already promised his help - take Him up on it. 
And p.s. - I'm sorry I can't fix it.

 

when there is so much more to celebrate than just years

Mama stood Daddy up on their first date.  She didn't want to, but they had no phones so she couldn't contact him that she'd be going home for the weekend.

But on their next date they drove from Carthage to Kosciusko to get a Coke.

Then there was a ring in tiny box under car seat and my daddy said to my mama -

 

If I bought you a ring would you wear it?

That was over fifty years ago.

To be quite honest, I've been praying my daddy would live to see this 50th anniversary celebration my sisters and I had to keep secret because they didn't want a fuss.

That he would live to see fifty years with his Tot. 

And God is good.

It could only stay a secret for so long - 'cause Mama would have been angry with us if she had not been given an opportunity to have her hair done.

So we celebrated my mama and my daddy.

We celebrated obstacles and hurts and happiness and crazy life and near death and years of barely getting by that they conquered to stand aged and worn and tired and beautiful together. 

To my darlins and lovely nieces and nephews -

Grandma and Petepa have not always had an easy time of it - as most couples can say after fifty years - life has given them some hard blows and challenging times.  But they are together now to see and hear the beautiful and hilarious HeeHaw tribute from all of you because they never gave up on each other and their love.  They fought to obey God's word and stay together. 

And their prayer for each of you is that you find the same happiness and have the same strength to bear life with only one person by your side.

Our family is on a near impossible streak, and to be honest again it would be a miracle for all thirteen of you to not have one broken marriage that cannot be humanly repaired. 

But miracles happen every day. 

Giving your grandparents up one day will be hard for each of you.  But on the day that you gave them the beautiful gift of laughter and honor -

you can know that each of you have made them proud and created for them a legacy of love.

All of you have made the long drive from Carthage to Kosciusko to get a Coke so much more than just worthwhile. 

Happy Anniversary Mama and Daddy, James and Martha, Pete and Tee-Texas-Tot.

 

I love you.

 

We all love you.

 

when i fell off the pedestal i've always teetered on in the first place

Last night I said words to my children I never thought I'd say.  And I think, in the process, I fell off my pedestal.

Years ago, in a way-too-common scenario for this world, I lost my beloved church.  My home church.  A new pastor, new staff, and disagreements that couldn't, or wouldn't, be fixed drove my family and dozens more away. 

I loved the church, I loved the people, and almost everything I did in my life was for, or because of, that church. 

I grieved for a very long time.  Few deaths could have been worse than the loss I felt then. 

I think I did okay in how I managed to compose myself and keep my mouth shut.  I did say some things my children should not have heard and contributed to the pain of others in ways I shouldn't have, but for the most part I managed to be good and remembered to love.  I don't think they were ashamed.

Just a few years before that I lost my best friend.  She and I were inseparable, you could compare us to giddy schoolgirls.  But she divorced and went through terrible pain at the same time I was going through the physical illness of a difficult pregnancy and then she fell in love and was missing in action.  She needed me and I wasn't there.  I needed her and she wasn't there.  It's strange.  We had shared so much pain together but could not manage to survive this.  She moved only half an hour away and all those years ended - just like that.  Really, it was like the blink of an eye.

There were no harsh words and I still feel only the greatest of love for her, but I did go through pain and a feeling of abandonment.  And since then my children have seen me shy away from close friendships and harbor the knowledge that women hurt women.  But you do what you do and just keep putting one foot in front of the other and move on.

So, in my life when I've gone through pain, I have tried to let my children see good in me.  I've tried to say and do the right thing and recognize the teachable moments that come from suffering and hardship.  And I fail often, because they know me well, very well.  But I do try. 

One of the advantages of homeschooling is that you know your children.  They can't manage to hide much.  But on the flipside they know you.  I can't manage to hide much.  But usually I'm okay with what I say and do, and with age it gets easier to look for the reasons behind people's actions - and easier to forgive.

But now there was last night.  And a pain from months ago that has not gone away struck hard and  I broke and shattered and fell hard and told my children that I did not care about doing the right thing.  I said I did not care about the hurt anyone else was going through.  I said I only cared about myself and how I felt.  I said I was helpless to make this situation better and I was finished trying.  I told my children that it was time that I and all the people that love me think about me and only me.  I do not care to think about what is kind or what is right.  I only care to think about the hurt I have felt and what I have loss due to it.  I cried until my face was swollen and shouted until my throat was sore and my head hurt. 

I received a text from my child gratefully missing all this and read the problem she was having away at camp and I texted back exactly the opposite of what I would have told her to do just earlier in the same day.

I said and did those things.  I really did.

And I fell off the pedestal that I've always teetered on but managed to stay on.

So I lie in bed last night and wonder if one can destroy in one night all they have tried to be and teach for decades?   Can a moment of pain that causes utter selfishness break a person?  And I didn't even pray to feel better this morning.

And I don't - feel better.  I feel tired.  And a little lost.

And grace falls like rain.

God has blessed me way beyond my worth and given me a best friend again.  And I have done to her what I have done way too many times to her in the past - talked too much and listened too little.

So even while losing my battle last night I still managed to remember that my baby girl is in a bad spot and struggling with loyalty and my friend needs me right now - not the other way around - and I recognized old friends inside myself - concern, empathy, love.

And I like that Rie better than I like this one.  This one today that feels beat up from a lost battle.


And to my darlins' I would say this - I'm sorry you saw the ugly person your mama can be.  What was there before Jesus got ahold of me and somehow always finds its way back out when I forget or don't care about the greatest commandment of all. Thanks for treating me with love and grace.

Don't be a doormat.  Stand up for yourself and stand your ground.  But don't forget to love - especially your enemies.  And when you do forget or just plain choose hate, because you will, do whatever you have to do to find your way back.  Fight and claw the old and get back to the new creation. 

It's really the only good place to be.  Love, Mama

When Another Birthday Comes Much Too Quickly

Darlin' Izzy B,

Why do you feel you have to remind me of your birthday coming so soon? 

Is it because  I forgot Bluebird's?  Is it because you think if we cut my brain open it would be a tangled mess of everything but the most important? 

Or, is it, deep down in the deeper, that you are still the silly little girl full of excitement that climbed the doors like coconut trees?  That feated up when you were hot and touched my cheek when you told stories?

Or, maybe, deep down in the deepest, you are growing up quickly right before my eyes and can't wait to get there?  Yes.

It was the day before you were to be born.  She walked into the largest of the baby suites - the one they had set me up in because I was to be there so long, the one big enough for your sisters to bring sleeping bags and stay with me at night, the one you would be born in - and she looked at my iv. 

It needs changing again.  There's no place left to put it but your neck or foot. 

I probably cried.  I was tired.  I could not wait for you to get here.  Could this pregnancy get much worse?  It all began the day I passed out in the dressing room of Limited Too and your Uncle Markie scooped me up and carried me to the waiting ambulance. 

When a tear was found in my gallbladder and there was nothing they could do but wait for you to come.  When every bite made me sick and I slept with a bowl by my bed just in case I couldn't make the bathroom.  When your big sister was so afraid she slept right at my side. 

She held off on the iv change and less than 24 hours later they made me so comfortable I never felt a moment's pain and you brought more than just a new baby girl into our lives.  You brought joy and happiness matched only by the two before you and you were mothered by three and they were bigger mama lions than I was.

To know you is to love you.  And I'm so glad you are back.  Back from that dark place that held you in fright - but could not keep you because of our God bigger than dark or fright or uncertainty. 

You work hard and do everything I ask - as long as we leave your bedroom out of the picture.  You change diapers and wash dishes and fold clothes and cook supper and dig clothes from behind the dryer and climb the cabinets I can't reach and text all my words and never ask for anything in return. 

You put the music in your ears and help your daddy and can I tell you there aren't many out there who would do it with such a sweet and understanding attitude?

You don't complain and only occasionally pout and my only complaint is how long it takes you to get ready and that you've got me obsessed with Downton Abbey.

So, my little sack of baby bones, I haven't forgotten your birthday and there is more than a tangled mess in my brain and you are not a silly little girl but a beautiful young woman and people have much worse pregnancies and even though they don't always show it the two joys before you still ache to rock you and would plant a sleeping bag next to you at any moment you needed them. 

And fourteen years later I have never felt a moment's pain from you and when I do - because it will come - never forget that to know you is to love you. 

And I love you the most. 

Mama

Dearest Blubird,

It is New Year's Eve, around six, and we're getting ready our normal way - you sitting criss-cross applesauce at the hall mirror and me at the bathroom mirror. I'm in on another little secret - and you are not.

You walk to the doorway and flash that great big beautiful smile and tell me you are really trying not to get your hopes up because you don't want to be upset if he doesn't ask. You say you know he's not going to tonight, and you know he's trying hard to earn the money for the ring, but you were disappointed last year and you don't want to be this year. You are waving a brush around.

You laugh.

You say it all with that smile on your face. That little wall you build up. The one you have when you smile big so it doesn't look like it's a big deal but it really is.

I've got your number.

I say all the good motherly stuff. Like it will happen when it happens and time will fly and all that good stuff. You laugh again and wave the brush around.

I try to let enough time pass before I tell you to look pretty. Do your hair good and put make-up on 'cause I'm going to blog about the party and I want some good pictures. You don't really believe me about the blogging part with my track record and you say you just want to wear your sweats, but I insist on my pictures.

And I've seen your ring and it looks just like mine with silver instead of gold.

But I can't tell you that.

And I can't tell you he wanted to ask you on the ice but there's rain. And that he texted me earlier that he was nervous and I teased you might say no and he texted back quickly, WHAT? That he typed he is crazy about you and he'd probably be sweating by midnight.

That I commented on my future red-haired cajun grandbabies when he showed up at the door after he had talked to your daddy. When he showed up to ask me to give you to him.

Like that's ever gonna happen.

I'll only do what I'm required to do - no matter how much I love the fella' - and I'll never give any of you away.

You're just on loan - for a lifetime.

So you powder your nose and color those lips and I watch you walk out the door to your future - knowing you'll come home never the same.

Me, too.

Happy New Years Eve 2013 Blubird,
Mama

When You Watch Their Moment Unfold . . .

I don't remember everything about my children clearly.  I don't remember the moment Delia was born and I don't remember her first steps.  I do remember how her finger curled around mine when she slept and how she ended all her first words on a high octave note - sing-song style. 

I planned her first birthday party for weeks, probably months.  She wasn't walking yet and when she held my finger and toddled in the room - birthday crown perched on top of that silk blondness - I think I felt like the most important person in the world - being her mama. Oh, the pride.

What followed were birthdays at the park and the pool and the western ranch and with each one I could close my eyes and remember how hair silk felt each time I tied ribbon.

But with all that goodness I will never need to ask her favorite birthday.  Because I love a man, so I know exactly what she would say.

Concerns are natural for a mama at a time like this.  It's not personal or protection or hovering or any of the adjectives one could give it.  It's just natural.  But there is something about harboring a secret that your baby love is moments away from experiencing one of the happiest moments of her life that pushes that back into the far corners of the mind.

Everyone was pretty much giddy all night trying to keep the secret.  Her birthday was celebrated in its normal grand style - at Nana's house side by side with whom she had always shared birthdays with.  Sometimes it's easy for her to forget he's her uncle because he's always her friend.  And to me, he's always ten.

With a Chick-fil-a diet coke and seeing a new house seperating her from us we all hid in the bushes.  Yes.  Yes. We. Did.  We hid in the bushes.  And I prayed.  In those moments I prayed for that young man I love that will be my son.  I watched him pace the deck and knew seconds must be feeling like minutes and minutes like hours and knew that he knew she'd say yes but what does that feel like?  To already have lost your heart but still feel it quickly beating while you wait to do what makes you a man?

And I knew she had been trying to wait patiently until the moment was perfect for him.  And I was in on this little secret and I tried not to close my eyes and feel the silk and tie the ribbon because I'm still not sure they know that tears don't always come because of what my darlins' are doing in the moment - tears sometimes come just because of the moment. No one understands bittersweet more than a Mama.

He made it lovely for her and I watched the moment unfold and didn't need to see her face to know her joy.

 

 

And in that moment there were no flashbacks of ribbons and crowns and candles and hair that felt like silk. 

For in that moment I was back to before baby girl.  I was sitting on the floor of my childhood home when laughter turned into the moment he pulled me close and asked words I didn't expect.  Back to when I laughed and asked him if he was serious.  Back to when I wasn't in on the secret and our moment was spontaneous and beautiful and I asked him to ask me again.  Back to when I said yes and kissed a smile I'll never forget and began a life that led me to here.

And here is beautiful.  And the pride, oh my.

When There Is Only One Thing That Matters Now and Only One Thing That Will Matter Later

I remember I thought the beautiful brown stainings on all the moldings of the church and the orange carpet didn't match gray paint.

I thought it was ugly.  Cold gray against the warmth of the other?  I thought it was ugly.

And I said so.  I was just several years out of school with my design degree and young enough to think that should count for something.  It didn't.

It's been close to twenty years and I can't remember what I said.  I can't remember what she said.  I just remember one thing - I'm not proud of how I acted. 

And I say this to her as she cries through the phone.  When I want to reach out and touch her and hold her to me and hear the heart that beat closest to mine before any others. 

Years from now, baby, when all of this is only a bad memory, there is only one thing that will matter.  It won't matter what anyone said,  who talked about you and who didn't,  who hurt you and who didn't.  There is only one thing that will matter.  How you acted.  When you remember this you will only remember how you acted.

Trust me.  I know.

So I tell her it is okay.  I take a deep breath and remind myself that I would fight lions for her and I give her permission to take care of herself - not me.  To stop crying and stop thinking and stop fighting and be what I raised her to be.

Kind, loving, forgiving, respectful. 

And later I lie in the bed and remember the carpet and the paint and tell myself it doesn't matter what anyone thinks.  We're good and I know it.  I say -

Remember, Rie - if you'd fight lions for her you can do this.  You can do this.

She is the only thing that matters in this great big whole mess.  The only thing.


Ten years ago it was she - the one who ten years earlier had liked the gray paint - and I - the young disrespectful  one who didn't - that redecorated that lovely building from one end to the other.

She and I who redid everything - except the gray paint - together.  Who put down new carpet that makes gray and brown work and ate lunch together and shopped together and laughed together.  She who became one of the greatest mentors and friends I ever had. 

And eight years ago when I stood beside her grave and listened I thought about that.  Those good times.  I don't remember thinking about the argument, maybe I did, but I only remember looking at the flowers on her grave and knowing I would miss her.

Because- if you let it- time heals, baby girl, time heals.

Trust me, I know.

So today when more pain layers on I keep reminding myself - remember your lessons learned.  Remember God's grace displays in lessons learned.  Remember, you can't teach her what you won't do yourself.  Remember, Rie.  Remember.