Are you good at your job? How can you tell? Increased salary? Accolades? More responsibility? Advancement? Maybe all of these together combined with an office and good health insurance?

I've never gotten any of that and having an awesome office in the future is unlikely. That's because my chosen vocation is a homemaker. Now, some of you may be feeling sorry for me about now, “Oh, that poor girl, locked in her house all day...” But, your pity would be wasted. You see, I'm a college educated, reasonably intelligent woman who's chosen to stay at home and take care of her husband and her children. I've chosen to be a homemaker when there were other options – easier options, financially rewarding options, intellectually fulfilling options. I chose, along with my husband, to be a homemaker, the maker of a home.

The responsibilities of a homemaker are great and I pile more upon myself because I'm loathe to buy bread when I can make it at home and I've actually taken to ironing the vintage napkins we use daily, passed down from Bobby's relatives. I pack lunches and cart the boys to school when they miss the bus. I occasionally meet my husband for lunch and try to start cooking dinner each night at 5. But, I also talk my 70 - something year old next-door-neighbor into going to matinee movies, and attend Bible studies and pray for the school my children attend.

What I don't do is sit around eating bonbons. Where did that idea come from anyway? If I spent all day on the couch (and I'm not saying it's NEVER happened), everyone in my house would know it and my punishment would be merciless teasing. There would be Pizza Hut for dinner and no clean socks. I have admitted before and will admit again to times of laziness – one more episode of Last Man Standing or just 30 minutes more of Elizabeth Gaskell's North and South. And, I am not as industrious as other women I know. But, I'm rarely afraid to open the door of my home to someone.

I'll be the first to say that I'm shockingly bad at a lot of the things my job entails. I make breakfast for my boys every day, but forget to deposit the birthday checks they received from grandparents. I used to sew adorable holiday outfits for my twin toddlers, but would let the dust lie on the furniture. My friend, LeeAnn, says she's a great “straightener” not a great cleaner. I can't say I'm great at either. But, I don't know that I was “great” at my other jobs either, definitely not all aspects of them. I've worked at a Hallmark shop and a dress shop, taught school and piano, been a missionary and a sous chef, handled customer service for a website and sold scrap-booking supplies. I loved parts of all those jobs and was really good at parts of them. Actually, they're probably the same parts I'm good at now – relationships and creating. I'm still terrible at organizing and repetitive stuff.

I know I'm extraordinarily blessed to be a stay at home wife and mom. I know that's not even a possibility for many and I count it a privilege. I'm grateful my husband thinks it's just as important as I do that I'm here – keeping the home fires burning.

But, it hasn't always been easy. This is a life of service, a life of duty and selflessness. That's hard for someone as selfish as I am. Though the people I serve most are super cute, I sometimes think they're impossibly demanding. I sometimes have to deal with pity and condescension (from within and without!), or others thinking that I have time for anything because I'm “just a stay at home mom”.

Before we married, Bobby introduced me to a song by Paul Overstreet called Homemaker. It talked about his wife's amazing abilities. She could have done whatever she wanted, “She could take this world and turn it on.” But, she chose to stay at home, “but, she takes her love and makes our house a home.” I felt so validated by that and by the fact that Bobby showed it to me.

When I get too whiny, I think of my Swiss friend's grandmother. Miriam's grandfather was a watchmaker. His hands were his livelihood, so he refused to do any manual labor. Miriam's grandmother was left to chop the wood and build the fires (literally keeping the home fires burning!) in addition to her other responsibilities. I can turn up the heat with the touch of a button and turn down the complaining with a prayer of thanksgiving.

I once heard a missionary say he wasn't called to the mission field, that instead he was compelled by Christ to go. I feel like that about staying at home. It's definitely a calling, sometimes it seems it would be easier to find a job. But, even when things have been financially hard, Bobby and I have both felt compelled for me to stay where I am. I think our lives are better for it, even if our savings or college fund isn't.

My Bible study teacher in college, Betty Thomas, was instrumental in opening my eyes to this way of life. She taught that being a homemaker was a high and holy calling and I've come to believe that it's true. She said that Ruth Graham, wife to Billy Graham, had a sign over her kitchen sink that said, “Divine work conducted here 3 times daily.” Preaching to thousands isn't the only form of divine service. Maybe making a great pimiento cheese sandwich and serving it with love is divine, too (especially, when it's homemade pimiento cheese and toasted until it's crispy and melted!).

Though the challenges can be frustrating, the rewards are worth their weight in gold. My children love to have friends over and we sometimes don't want to leave once we're all home. When we were packing to move from Nebraska to Pennsylvania, my son Davis threw himself on the floor of our basement in exhausted frustration saying, “Why do we have all this stuff?” I replied that it makes our house homey. Then, Davis shocked me by saying, “Stuff doesn't make our house homey. You do.” Awwww...

Though it won't fully fund our retirement account, that comment and ones like it are priceless and let me know I'm doing a good job.

Recently, a friend paid me a huge compliment. Faith had been by my home to borrow a necklace and I invited her to stay for tea. A week or so later she called to see if she could return the necklace and asked if she could invite herself for tea again. I smile to think of it. That blessing could easily have been turned down – uh, my house is too messy, I don't have any tea! But, I just threw the door open anyway and received a great blessing in Faith's visit and presence.

I'm not saying every woman should be a stay home wife or mom, just as I don't think everyone should be an orthodontist or pastor, and I know not everyone would want to. I'm just saying I'm thankful I can and you, my dear friend, can invite yourself over for tea any time!

So, something strange happened to me this morning. I was dropping the boys off at school when a song came on the radio. It was a few seconds before I realized the song was vaguely familiar. I heard it for the first time about a month ago when a lovely, young lady sang it at church. The song is ”Just Be Held” by Casting Crowns: Hold it all together Everybody needs you strong But life hits you out of nowhere And barely leaves you holding on And when you're tired of fighting Chained by your control There's freedom in surrender Lay it down and let it go So when you're on your knees and answers seem so far away You're not alone, stop holding on and just be held Your world’s not falling apart, it’s falling into place I'm on the throne, stop holding on and just be held Just be held, just be held If your eyes are on the storm You'll wonder if I love you still But if your eyes are on the cross You'll know I always have and I always will And not a tear is wasted In time, you'll understand I'm painting beauty with the ashes Your life is in My hands Lift your hands, lift your eyes In the storm is where you'll find Me And where you are, I'll hold your heart I'll hold your heart Come to Me, find your rest In the arms of the God who won’t let go The song is beautiful and brings me back to the hurting and loss our church family was suffering when the song was sung. But, today was just a “normal” day. But, Monday wasn't. My son Allen got hurt in Monday night's football game. It wasn't bad. He walked off the field himself.  By the time he got to the parking lot after the final snap he was smiling despite a lot of pain. I wasn't even truly upset when play was stopped and I looked to see #40 laying on the field. He was moving his legs a little and soon took off his helmet. Then, he walked off the field with the trainer. I'm not sure what I was thinking while waiting to see what he would do; (my husband says he wanted to run onto the field, hug our son and tell him everything was going to be ok) but, I do remember, after the game resumed, having a hard time tearing my eyes away from the one son holding his arm tightly against his ribs to the other son who was still busting up plays and making sacks on the field. Today, when I dropped those kids off in front of the high school, I laughed as the hurt one dropped something and asked, none too politely, for his brother to pick it up. I smiled as I saw him, with his arm in a sling, holding the door open for several girls and a couple of friends. Then, as I pressed the gas to leave the parking lot something inside me snapped. Just be held. It could have been a really bad Monday night.  I won't go to the dark side here but, I will admit that I don't think I've ever had such a delayed reaction. What if... God has been showing me a lot lately that what I like to call MY life is really HIS. He can do whatever He wants with it. I could have been that lady who couldn't have kids or the girl who couldn't decide on a major so Auburn really did ask her to leave. I also could have been Miss America 1990 (because, you know, who didn't want to be Miss America?) or a ballet dancer in New York City or a judge. All real possibilities at one point or another, but none of these are part of my story today. I'm in a Bible Study about Hosea. Hosea is a shocking picture of letting God take control of your life. Wow. I'm sure as a young man Hosea wanted a bride who was pure and beautiful, a woman who would love him and give him children and be faithful only to him. But, that's not the story God chose for Hosea. I'm sure his kids would rather not have been named things like “No Mercy” (just imagine introducing yourself, aloud, to everyone at camp or in small group. “My dad was really creative...”). But, that was God's plan and that's our example of the great love the Lord had for His people and the love God has for us. Max Lucado has a thoughtful chapter in one of his books called “Out of the Carpentry Shop”. In it he talks about Jesus' last visit to his family's carpentry shop. Lucado says: “I wonder if He wanted to stay. 'I could do a good job here in Nazareth. Settle down. Raise a family. Be a civic leader.' I wonder because I know He had already read the last chapter. He knew that the feet that step out of the safe shadow of the carpentry shop would not rest until they had been pierced and placed on a Roman cross. You see, He didn't have to go. He had a choice. He could have stayed. He could have kept his mouth shut. He could have ignored the call or at least postponed it. And had He chosen to stay, who would've known? Who would have blamed Him?” I know, I know. Jesus was Jesus and he didn't have second thoughts and he didn't doubt his “calling”. But, what if he did? What if he wished for a life that was different or normal? But, that wasn't his story. That wasn't what God had chosen for him. And, he was completely and utterly yielded to it. He was ALL in. Committed, Surrendered, Resigned. But, he was also joyful. Yes, joyful. Hebrews 12:2 says, “Looking unto Jesus the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God.” Joy. Just be held. It's alright. God's got a plan. He's got you. This might not look like what you thought it would. It probably doesn't. But, God's got this. If you're walking through something that seems so yucky that it could only be an example to others and useful for growing you up, it's ok. Just let God hold you. Take a breath and trust Him. Hosea did and we still read about his righteousness. Jesus did and we still revel in his victory. You will and we'll all glory in your redemption. Now, we could talk about horrible situations being the consequences of sin or really, really bad decisions. But, let's not. Let's just assume you and I are doing our best to wake up every day and tell God we're ready for whatever He has for us, as long as He'll hold us up. Let's just assume that, ok? Allen with the hurt shoulder is going to be fine. But, until he heals he's got a sling to hold his arm steady and make sure the rowdy boys he's friends with don't jostle him too much. It would be embarrassing for me to clear a path through the hallways at school for him (but, you know I would totally do it!). But, even more, I know, no matter what, God is holding my kids. I know when they experience disappointments and frustrations and “why is life so hard?” moments that God is there, holding them. Their worlds won't be falling apart, they'll be falling into place. And, it's all part of His plan.

I recently came across this thing I wrote a while back. It's about my sister's wedding and it gave me a sweet, nostalgic feeling. Maybe you have a couple you need to celebrate or maybe you need to celebrate your own romance, or maybe you just need to remember how much you love your siblings. Regardless, I hope you like this and I hope it makes you want to write your own tribute for someone you hold dear.

The thing on my mind today is my sister’s wedding. She and Keith Forrester were wed on June 27, 2009 in Atlanta. It was so beautiful. When I saw the first pictures, I was overwhelmed. The photographer managed to make it look almost more wonderful than the actual day. It was amazing to see two people so excited about being in love and getting married. But, it was incredible to see two families and two sets of friends so happy for a couple. 

Let me give you and example; I’ve been to weddings before where people clap after Mr. and Mrs. Whatever are presented to the congregation. That’s weird and a bit demonstrative for those of us in the South. But, at the end of Sumarie’s wedding people not only clapped, they whooped and hollered and gave the bride and groom a STANDING OVATION! Can you believe that? A real live, every single person in the room laughing and smiling and crying standing ovation. It was so sweet, and so them. Well, I didn’t think anyone was more excited than I was, but I was wrong! 

I’m going to share my reception toast with you here (if you were there, just skip to the end) because it sums up my feelings better than me just trying to tell you how it felt to have my 40-something year old sister finally hitched.

I’m Sumarie’s sister and I’m excited to be here tonight. As Sumarie started planning her wedding I would get lists of things to do or help her with. My response was always the same, “I’ll take care of that.” Amy, we need to get these programs to the church. “I’ll take care of that.” Amy, Keith likes Krispy Kreme donuts and I’ve seen these cute wedding cakes made of them. We are NOT having a Krispy Kreme wedding cake, but maybe we could make a groom’s cake out of them. “I’ll take care of that.” (I did too and it was really cute!) Never on my list was giving a toast at the rehearsal dinner or reception.

Soon, Sumarie started talking about who WAS going to speak at the reception; Keith’s brother, Keith’s dad…and I told Sumarie that I could do that for her. Over a couple of weeks I offered several times and her response was something like this, “You don’t have to.” So, I became determined to talk to you tonight.

Like any good, older sister, Sumarie has had a profound impact on my life. She had very definite opinions about what instrument I would play in band in sixth grade. In high school, she told me I should wear make up to school at least once a week and I should shave my legs with hair conditioner (at this point I looked at Sumarie who was nodding earnestly to a perplexed Keith). And, she had very strong opinions about where I would go to college.

She began subtly influencing me in this decision by doing things like inviting me to her college apartment, which I thought was very cool. On these visits we would do all kinds of sophisticated college things like walking around campus learning the words to silly songs and eating a whole Pepperidge Farm cake in one sitting. When I continued to talk to her about going to Texas Christian University in Ft. Worth, she pulled out the big guns and said, “You know if you go to school in Texas you’ll only get to come home at Thanksgiving!” And, since that seemed like an eternity to an 18 year old who had never been away from home, I moved to Auburn. (Whoops and hollers from the Auburn people in the crowd.)

I moved into the duplex our dad owned in Auburn as Sumarie was moving out. Once I was settled into 320 Genelda Ave. I was delighted to find that I had not only inherited most of Sumarie’s furniture, but several of her friends. One of those friends was Andrew Keys (here I motioned to Andrew who was sitting right by the dance floor and he promptly spit out the piece of cake he had just put into his mouth). Andrew introduced me to his roommate Bobby Britton who eventually became my husband. So, in a very real way Sumarie has influenced my marriage and adult life as well.

But, I want to let it be known that I had a part to play in bringing about this happy day. Several years ago I got a book called The Power of a Praying Parent and began praying for my kids Allen and Davis. (Here Allen waved to the crowd, Davis hid behind Bobby) I started praying for their education, their friends and their spouses. After several months, I began including Sumarie in those “spouse” prayers. I prayed them for a long time and I had fun imagining what “Mr. Sumarie” would be like. (had to pause here for the laughing to die down, didn’t realize this would be so funny…) In some things I was right on. I imagined he would love dogs, like to travel and be very close to his family. I also thought he would be very serious, quite liberal and tall. Keith, I’m so glad I was wrong. (Allen asked me later, “Mom, you’re glad Uncle Keith is short?” Well, no, Allen, I don’t really have an opinion on Mr. Sumarie’s height, good point.) 

I’m so thankful God let me see such a happy answer to my prayers. (Started crying here and really didn’t think I would. People started clapping for me. If I’d known that was all I’d have to do to get applause…) I only hope God will let me see such a wonderful answer for Allen and Davis. Sumarie, if they find someone who loves them as much as Keith loves you, they will be blessed indeed. 

Raise your glasses with me again to my sister and brother-in-law, to Sumarie and Keith! God Bless!

I told Keith later that I was surprised to see people laughing and crying. I thought my toast was so personal to me and my relationship with my sister. He said something about the human condition.  Anyway, it was all really sweet and wonderful.

Now, 6 years after the fact, I'm happy to say that Sumarie and Keith are still happily married. They travel and entertain and are a wonderful aunt and uncle. They love their dogs and old houses in Atlanta and their friends and family. 

They give me hope; not just that you can find love at any time in your life, but also that life is fun and good. I'm so thankful for my sister and I'm so glad I FINALLY got that big brother I never had.

Wisdom from Pinterest: “Before marrying someone, you should first make them use a computer with slow Internet, just to see who they really are.”  I don't think Sumarie and Keith did that, but I'm glad it worked out anyway.

I Wanna See You Be Brave

I've been thinking about being brave a lot lately. At MOPS, mothers of pre-schoolers, where I was a “soul” mom or older mom (I learned after agreeing to help out) our theme last year was Be You Bravely. I love that. Well, I love that idea. I love the thought of living this one life I have bravely, confidently, trying new things and bursting with excitement. But, I'm not sure that translates into my everyday life.

I have a wrapper from a piece of Dove chocolate pinned to my bulletin board. It reads, “Be the first to hit the dance floor.” I'm not often the first to hit the dance floor. I'm also not likely to be the first to raise my hand in a class or try out a new trend in clothes. I like to make sure someone else gives it a whirl first, then, if they survive, I may jump in with both feet. But, I won't be first, definitely not first.

So, does that mean I'm not brave?

And, what does it mean to be brave anyway? Do you have to face down gladiators like Russell Crowe in Gladiator? Do you have to single-handedly bring down a giant like David with Goliath? Do you have to be willing to have a section of your hair dyed purple?

In the dictionary brave means “to meet or face courageously; to brave misfortunes; to defy; challenge, dare.” My son, Allen, says being brave is doing the right thing, even if it hurts you.

I bet there are women out there who don't even think about being brave. They're just out there, doing their thing, living their lives, kicking butt. I bet bravery isn't even on their radar because they're so full of bravery they don't have time to ponder it. Or, maybe they're so busy, they don't have time to think about it.

Sara Bareilles has this wonderful song called “Brave” where she sings about telling people the truth and speaking up for yourself. The video of this song is adorable. I love it. In the video there are people dancing in strange and unusual places - a sidewalk by a bus stop, a shopping mall, a library, a farmer's market and, probably the most impressive act of bravery, a gym.

This video makes me laugh out loud, especially the man in the library. But, does dancing in a public place when no one else is dancing make you brave? I guess in a way it does. These people don't care what others think about them. Or, maybe they care, they just do the hard, or silly, or extravagant thing anyway.

Apparently, this feeling of not being brave isn't unique to me. In the movie You've Got Mail, Meg Ryan's character worries about her life. She writes, “ Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life - well, valuable, but small - and sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven't been brave? So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn't it be the other way around? I don't really want an answer. I just want to send this cosmic question out into the void. So good night, dear void.”

Well, I want an answer! But, I don't think I'm going to get one. Like most things that are important, I think I'm going to have to struggle through it.

I'd like to think I'm becoming more brave. I'd like to BE brave. I'd like to be like Eowyn from The Lord of the Rings. In the movie Return of the King, instead of staying safely at home and assuring her place as the next ruler of Rohan, Eowyn rides courageously into battle, confident and bold; her long, blond hair tucked under her metal helmet. At a crisis in the battle, Eowyn comes face to face with an awful, huge, faceless, witch king. He's about to kill her uncle, the king, when Eowyn steps in. The witch king takes Eowyn by the throat and says, "You fool. No man can kill me." At that point, Merry, a hobbit, stabs the witch king in the back causing enough of a distraction for the witch king to let go and for Eowyn to pull off her helmet, letting her wavy hair fall beautifully over her shoulders. Then, she delivers one of the most moving, inspirational, "girl-power" lines in the history of movies. She says, clearly and dramatically, "I am no man!" Then she stabs the witch king where his face should be, causing him to implode. It's AWESOME!

So, does bravery have to look like that?

Or, is bravery my friend who's a single mom of 4 boys who keeps getting up every morning and making breakfast and going to work and fighting to make sure her kids are treated fairly? Is it the lady at the farmer's market who paints her nails fluorescent orange or my friend who's a farmer and a woman and a blond in a profession dominated by men?

Does it even matter? Is bravery like so many things in life that looks different on each person who tries it on, like some sort of cosmic little black dress?

I love the way bravery looked when Lucy in Prince Caspian (from the Chronicles of Narnia) tried it on. At one point she, a little girl in a long dress and flowing cape, walks alone onto a bridge to face a huge mob of enemies. They laugh at her when she stands there, brave and proud. They can't believe her audacity and stupidity when she soberly stares them down then draws her tiny knife. But, she knows what they don't. Aslan, the Lion, the hero, the leader, who "isn't safe. But, he's good," is right behind her. Right Behind Her.

God is right behind me, all the time, always there. He's got my back, he's on my side. But, how quickly I forget. As much as I'd like to think I'm courageous enough to slay monsters and face down armies, I really don't fit that mold. I get stressed out and spend afternoons watching Jane Austen movies while eating bowlfuls of white, natural Cheetos ("natural" Cheetos, right...). I'm busy and distracted. I'm impatient and critical. My natural inclination is to think that if God loves you, He must not love me. If He's doing something amazing and glorious in your life then I am less than you, I'm not as spiritual as you, I'm not as important as you.

How absurd. Like Lucy, I know that God is right behind me - The God of the Universe, the Creator of Man, the God who will Provide. Why in the world would I NOT be brave? Why in the world would I NOT trust? Why in the world would I ever compare myself to someone else when God is in control, when I know, I've seen that He provides?

Sara Bareilles says, “Show me how big your brave is.” Maybe my brave isn't as “big” as Queen Esther's who literally took her life into her own hands when she even approached her husband without an invitation, much less when she told him she disagreed with a proclamation her husband's #1 man made targeting her people. Maybe I'll never have to agonize over whether to quit my job or not because of something I'm being asked to do that's wrong.

Maybe my brave just looks like a mom who doesn't buy her kids a cell phone even if EVERYONE ELSE has one.

Or, maybe my brave just means hitting the dance floor first.

Pinterest

I'm an idea saver. Since I picked up my first Bride's Magazine in the free bin outside my local library, I've clipped pages of magazine pictures I love. I've cut recipes out of the newspaper and off boxes, copied inspiring quotes from books and articles and saved pictures of furniture and homes that I'd like to replicate. I have manila folders of garden ideas and tips on buying art. I've saved articles I need to re-read and lists of movies I need to watch. While this is wonderfully inspirational, it's also fairly bulky. My husband makes comments about my folders occasionally (which I may sometimes ignore) and I'm continually trying to work my way through a basket full of recipe clippings.

That's why I was so intrigued and excited when a cousin first told me about Pinterest. “It's fun,” Jamalyn said. “I'll invite you.” She did invite me and it's then my eyes were opened to this new world of virtual bulletin boards. Anything you can find on the internet (or webber net, as my son calls it) you can potentially save or "pin" to one of your “boards”. This was made for me, I thought. A virtual, “green”, file-cabinet-freeing, marriage-saving world of loveliness. I dove right in.

I happily pinned away for a year or so until I realized that, horrors, I was just willy nilly pinning and maybe never seeing these pins again. I was throwing craft ideas and recipes and fashion advice into another file cabinet, virtual it may be, and slamming the door.

You know that quote that says, “Have nothing in your home that you do not know to be useful or believe to be beautiful”? I wanted that to apply to my computer too. Pinterest was beautiful. But, it was less than useful.

So, I had an epiphany. I would go on a Pinterest quest. I would endeavor to Do, See or Make every single thing on my Pinterest boards.

Well...I have 1.3K pins divided between 28 boards. So,.... right. That's 1,300 individual recipes, outfit suggestions, places to visit and craft ideas. I'm sure there are people with many, many more pins. My friend, Cyndi, has 2,400 but, I'm not aware that she's trying to DO something with them all.

So, here's my low-down.

Of the 12 pins on my "Products I Love" board, I've bought 2. I've made about 5 of my 151 "Great Ideas to Make". One was a wreath for Easter made out of Peeps. It was adorable and I loved seeing it on my door whenever we came home. But, the sun is hot, even in Pennsylvania, and the Peeps didn't like that. They first faded, then, melted down the door sending me scurrying with a magic white sponge to clean it all up.

Often, I get confirmation of something I've already done or something I plan to purchase. My “For The Home” board helped me find what kind of bed I wanted and what kind of quilt should go on that bed. I was brave enough to keep the pink and purple rug that was supposed to be blue and green because I'd seen pictures of bright rooms and thought it could work.

I often revisit my “Quotes” and “Favorite Places and Spaces” boards for comfort and inspiration.

"My Style" is a pre-labeled board which I first thought was for anything that I liked, so there are clothing ideas, but there are also rooms and furniture that I love. I've since pinned more clothing style related pins and am often reassured that what I have in my closet can work. I would love to find the sequined cowgirl boots on there, but alas...

But, what I have most of is food / recipe pins. There are 239 pins on my “Recipes and Yummy Stuff” board and I've tried 78 or about 33%.

Some of my favorites are brownies that taste like they came out of a box (which is a good thing); beautiful and delicious strawberry cupcakes that really did come out of a box and got doctored up; the best pizza sauce and homemade crust recipe ever; and hot ham and cheese party rolls. The couple who posted the party roll recipe are pictured wearing paraphernalia from Auburn University which is my Alma Mater. Small world.

Some of my not so great recipe tries were tomatillo avocado ranch salad dressing, but I really shouldn't pass judgment on that one since I didn't have an avocado and left out a couple more key ingredients. Zucchini brownies were not a hit either. My kids told me I "defiled" the proud brownie name and they actually went bad sitting on the counter before I could finish eating them (the brownies, not the kids). Tacos assembled and then cooked in the oven don't stay crispy and taquitos completely fall apart. Rubbing half a cut onion on the grill before tossing meat onto it did NOT make our grill non-stick as promised and a ham I cooked for Easter was way too sweet.

But, oh, the strawberry grapefruit juice, oven roasted smoked sausage and potatoes, and one pan Mexican quinoa more than made up for it.

I could also mention cheesecake, lemon cookies and almond shortbread. Definitely more delightful successes than epic failures.

So, while I'd still like to arm knit a blanket in 45 minutes, paint my piano bright blue and visit the Betsy Ross house in Philadelphia, I'm content that I'm actually doing some things, making some progress, real and virtual.

In my life, most things have to be done over and over, like a stay-at-home mom's perpetual Groundhog Day.  It would be a boring movie, but it's real life around here.  So, it's encouraging, it feels productive and I know I won't HAVE to check these things off my list again, if I don't want to. And, that's worth a bit of space in my life any day.

Now, I'm sure you'll excuse me.  I've got to take the 3 Ingredient Beer Bread out of the oven so we can eat it with the Fool-Proof Melt in Your Mouth Fall Off the Bone Ribs.  80 recipes down, 159 to go.

Moving

I wrote this in November 2014, with a cross-country move looming, boxes waiting to be packed and sad kids dragging their feet in the hopes that if they didn't pack - we just couldn't move.  My husband was 1196.27 miles away which did nothing for my peace of mind.  Just so you know, that's where I "was" when I sat at the kitchen table and wrote this.




Moving


If you google the word "moving", you will get 123,000,000 results in 0.48 seconds.  That's pages and pages of tips on everything from when to begin packing to where to get the best free boxes for your books to who to call for estimates on packing your belongings onto a truck.  There are tips on how to keep your friends happy once you enlist them to help and how to keep your pets from feeling insecure.  Did you know that it's a good idea to wrap your drinking glasses in socks for extra protection before placing them in a box, or that you should feed your friends something they can eat off paper plates with no utensils to keep their spirits and their stamina up? 

Well, I did.

I've moved 12 times and am about a month out from my 13th.  Most of these moves happened after I met and married the blond-haired, blue-eyed boy with the easy smile.  My parents didn't move.  Still haven't all these years later.  Today, I could magically appear on my parents' front porch and run my hands over the same beautiful, shiny, wooden door all my friends could unlock with the not-so-hidden key.  My saxophone and wedding dress are under my childhood bed.  And, the coffee table my sister kicked, hard, while we were making up dances in the living room is still implanted in the carpet.

That house with the magnolia tree in the front yard will always be home to me.  I breathe a sigh of relief when I pull up in the driveway and know there will be a pitcher of iced tea in the fridge, so sweet it will make my teeth hurt.  My children know where my mom has "hidden" the Krispy Kreme donuts and my husband doesn't hesitate to kick his feet up in the recliner in the den and commandeer the remote.

It's comfortable.  It's worn and familiar.

My children will never have that.  They've lived in 3 homes in 3 states in their lifetimes and will soon add a fourth.  Though I hope they'll feel peace and security when they come back to visit from their adventures, they won't have that same sense of place, that same feeling of belonging to one particular spot.  That's the life God has chosen for them, and I'm alright with it.  It's just so different from the life I lived til I was 22.

Their world is much, much bigger than mine was at 15 years old.  They've learned how to make friends much earlier than I did.  They know what it's like to wake up to breath-taking heat or intense cold outside.  They know what different accents sound like from the lips of people who've adopted them as family.  They've had to do adjusting and growing that can only help them be better men.  And I'm alright with that.

So, as I look at websites for packing tips, again, and wonder at all the quotes about "moving on" on pintrest, I wonder why there's not something out there about how to handle your heart as you move to a new place or unpacking those hard feelings that surface, get pushed down because you're too busy or overwhelmed to deal with them, and then surface again.

Moving is hard.  It's exhausting to purge, pack, load, clean, clean again and unpack. But, it's just as hard to find the right fit in a church, a home, a friend.  If you're like me, it can even be hard to find the grocery store without a map or figure out which gas station has cheap Coke from a fountain.  (Because the Coke from a fountain is different, I promise you.  You don't believe me, but it's true!  And, they don't put THAT on maps.)  It's hard to face the fact that you'll never be able to fit all your earthly belongings in the back of a pickup truck.  You may blame this on your wife and children, but you might want to clean out your closet before you do.  

In his novel Angle of Repose, Wallace Stegner says, “It's easier to die than to move ... at least for the Other Side you don't need trunks."  True, very true.  When you die and get to see Jesus face to face, you probably don't worry too much about the stuff you didn't bring with you.  You probably don't worry about the people you left behind either.

None of that is true of moving across the country.  If I leave something in this move, say, my new, long-wanted, Mary and Martha lazy Susan that sits regally and helpfully on my kitchen table, I'll be upset.  I may even need to return to collect it.  If I couldn't get back, I might make a very nice gift of it to a very dear friend.  But, I'd like to take it with me.  

I'd like to pack up my friends and take them as well.  I've fought and prayed and worked hard for these friends.  I've risked vulnerability and honesty and they've just begun to realize they love me.  And, I'm just really getting to know and love them.  I can't pack them up and take them with me, even if I wrap them lovingly in my socks.  They can't come because God has another plan for them that doesn't include the horrifying realization of how much dust has settled on the baseboards behind the entertainment center, or that it takes more than 50 boxes to pack up the stuff in their kitchen.  Those dear friends get to / have to walk the same aisles at the same grocery store and drive the same roads to the burger joint.  They get to / have to see the same people in Sunday school and sit in the same section at next year's high school football games.  I know it's not any easier than what I'm called to in this move.  It's just different.  

And, I'm working really hard to be alright with that.

My Charlotte Mason "Testimony"

My friend, Melanie, asked me to write something about my Charlotte Mason "testimony".  I could write and talk and think for days about Charlotte Mason in particular and education in general.  But, I'll try to be concise.  I'm sure I'll write about this again, but here is why we began a journey using Charlotte Mason principles to raise and educate our kids and some of the fruit I've seen along the way.

In my mind, when it came to educating our children, there were two possible choices:  public school or homeschool, using Charlotte Mason's ideas.  Over my children's education we've done both and we've experienced private, Christian school too.  All have been good in their way, and all have had faults.


Long before we began homeschooling, we starting "living" Charlotte Mason. Charlotte Mason said, "Education is an atmosphere, a discipline, a life."  Because of that, I try to create an environment at home that encourages slowing down, and appreciating the best - in books, food, art, nature.    

Atmosphere isn't just about what your home looks like, it's about what your home feels like.  It's the people in it and the ideas you share.  It's laughter and fun, and comfort and security.  Education is not about making a good grade, it's about living a good life.  Thus, it includes all things and continues throughout life, beginning with the earliest memories and only ending when we do.

I know some people who homeschool because they are afraid of public school.  Not me.  I'm a product of it.  I was awesome at school.  I could memorize and regurgitate almost anything for a test and, as a result, was Salutatorian of my graduating class.  But, ask me to tell you what was really happening in a poem or the deeper meaning of a book and I was hopeless, much to the amusement and delight of my friends.   

Part of my problem was that I was never really asked to form an opinion on anything.  So, I just assumed I was supposed to like everything.  I'm naturally agreeable and this missing piece in my educational puzzle took advantage of that fact.

While living in Fort Worth, when my children were in about 5th grade, the Kimball Art Museum acquired the first known painting by Michelangelo, "The Torment of Saint Anthony."  It's believed that Michelangelo painted this "masterpiece" when he was just 12 or 13 years old.  It is a picture of ghastly demons and fire, dark colors and wickedness.  We didn't like it at all, but it IS a Michelangelo.

We visited this painting several times to see if it would ever grow on us.  It didn't.  So, is it OK to say, out loud, that you don't like the first ever painting by Michelangelo?  Is it OK to say you're not crazy about Beethoven's 5th Symphony?  Is it OK to say that the Grand Canyon just doesn't do it for you?  When I was younger, I would have thought "No!  You HAVE to like these things.  They HAVE to move you deeply."  But, my children aren't afraid to have their own opinions.  I think that can only help them as they grow and explore and learn what really makes them tick.

Though I don't believe either of my boys will turn into a great and profound artist, I'm glad they've been exposed to great art.  I'm glad they've had to make their way through many an art museum and that we've hung beautiful pictures on our walls at home.  I'm also thankful their world has been broadened by wonderful music and by nature study.  All these "subjects" have this in common:  they serve to develop a habit of attention in people who might otherwise rush through life attentive only to their "to-do" list or their cell phone.  Believe me, I know that of which I speak.

Our boys were leaving to catch the school bus one morning when my husband, Bobby, noticed Davis bent over on the front walk with his hands on his knees.  Thinking Davis was sick, Bobby hurried outside only to find Davis looking at a caterpillar. While I swell with pride and think how wonderful it is that this young man is so attentive and curious and adorable, it's really all Charlotte Mason's fault.  She told me to go outside and let my children NOTICE and I did.

Another time during our life in Fort Worth, we were driving on the interstate when we saw a billboard advertising an upcoming exhibit at the Kimball.  On the billboard was a painting of a woman.  We had recently studied that very painting in artist study at home.  One of my children saw the huge painting on the billboard and said, "Hey!  We know her!"

I'm sure there are many children out there who would notice the same things - caterpillars and art.  But, I believe it's a characteristic that MOST "Charlotte Mason kids" share.  It's a part of who they are and how they embrace the world.  When they begin to notice, they begin to connect what they notice with what they've read and studied and heard which makes a greater and deeper and more interesting education. 

I'm having to learn those things now.  The habit of attention is hard, especially when you didn't cultivate it while growing up.  But, it's enriching and addictive and lovely.  It leads to a deep, beautiful, meaningful life.  And, that's what I really want for my children, myself and for your children too.

In addition to NOTICING and easily forming their own opinions, my children have developed a love of learning.  They read for pleasure and don't wait until the last minute to complete assignments.  The down side of this (if you can call it that) is that they have very little patience for what Ms. Mason calls "twaddle" - anything that has little redeeming value, books that are trite and silly.  You know, twaddle!  They also have little patience for others who don't value learning.

In his book, Teach Like Your Hair's on Fire, Rafe Esquith says the "danger" of public education (or any education!) is the tendency to a "systemic conspiracy of mediocrity."  He says that to combat this, children need to learn to love to read.  He says, "If a child is going to grow into a truly special adult – someone who thinks, considers other points of view, has an open mind, and possesses the ability to discuss great ideas with other people – a love of reading is an essential foundation."


Reading is definitely a discipline.  I continue to learn about education being a discipline.  Whether it's reading a book on my own, making time for fresh air and exercise or making sure my children actually study for a test, it all takes discipline.  If I'm honest, it takes a bit of discipline to make the bed and floss my teeth too, but those things also make my life better.

Education is a life, it's appreciating more than what might come naturally, it's being challenged to try something new.  It's reaching out to someone else and taking time to make yourself a cup of tea.  Education is ALL of life.

I felt a tremendous freedom in homeschooling as Charlotte Mason suggested.  Offer a wonderful "feast" for the mind and imagination, set the children's feet in a "wide room" with many options, and let God guide them to what they need.  Let them take in whatever is most "nutritious" and beneficial to them at the time and leave the rest.  The Lord will show them what they need.  It's up to Him to move and educate, and open their eyes.  Just like in the kitchen, I need only prepare the feast in the schoolroom and lead the children to it.

While I'm thankful for the academic knowledge my children are developing and the varied insights and experiences their Charlotte Mason education has provided them, what I pray for most is for them to be the kind of men that you want to have living next door, coaching your kids' little league team or marrying your daughter.  I want their lives to be enriched by "little" things like appreciating a beautiful sunset, knowing when the space station will pass overhead and running outside to see it, or noticing when the daffodils bloom.  I want them to be men who love and serve the Lord with everything they have in them, whether that's in a pulpit or a bank or a gym.  I want them to recognize beauty and truth and holiness and seek after those things.  I believe Charlotte Mason has given them a great start to get there. 

 

Bored / Boring


I had the strangest, most vivid dream recently.  I was sitting in an audience somewhere, looking up with pride as my son gave a speech.  I don't know if it was graduation or his inaugural address.  It was just a speech and he was brilliant.

He started out telling the listeners that some of them were bored.  Some of them persisted in being bored and some of them thought it was just cool to appear to be bored.  Then, he said that if they insisted on being, or appearing, bored they were doomed to a life of boredom;  that those people are, themselves, boring.

It was a good, dream speech.  And, like all good speeches, it made me think.

Is it true that if you refuse to be interested in anything, you will cease to be interesting?

I googled this concept, of course.  I found mostly "boredom busters".  Pages and pages of stuff you can look at and click on that will supposedly keep you and / or your children from being bored.  I completely disagree with the premise that if you're bored you should surf the internet.  I know that's our society's answer to everything, but really, if you just surf the internet, isn't that inherently boring?  Doesn't that behavior lead to a virtual life instead of a REAL one lived with REAL people and REAL things?

The most interesting article I read was on New Republic by Amanda Ripley.  In her article, she talks about boredom in school and the mischief that comes along with it.  I think this is a real problem.  Bright kids, forced to sit through  hour after hour of twaddle and dumbed down classes will undoubtedly let their thoughts wander and potentially wander onto topics that aren't good for them.  Kids should be kept interested in the subject at hand, not through busy work and endless worksheets, but through real, meaningful interaction with subjects and thinkers and stories who can challenge and uplift them to places they haven't even dreamed of.


I confess to feeling a good bit of boredom in recent weeks.  Sitting in the same place on the same couch night after night, watching people live their lives on TV while mine is swishing by too rapidly (even if it is an awesome TV show like Suits which we recently discovered on Amazon Prime).  It's just unsatisfying.

I'm embarrassed to admit that last week I asked my family to go to a movie with me.  That's not the embarrassing part.  My husband agreed, then backed out when tempted by comfy clothes and his spot on the couch.  Now, he works hard and I don't begrudge him his nightly Jeopardy fix.  I just felt that I NEEDED a change of scenery even though, as he was kind enough to point out, we would just be trading in our screen at home for a bigger one at the theater.  One kid wasn't interested unless he could get another family to join us.  The other kid was willing, but we didn't go, in all honesty, because it was just too much trouble and I couldn't be bothered to swim against the tide of home-bodies.

There have been some breaks in our monotony since then, and it's a good thing.  Boredom leads to mischief at home as well as at school.  Fresh air, exercise and a sense of accomplishment help.  When I feel that I've accomplished something, however insignificant, I feel happier with myself in particular and with life in general.  When I feel happier, my family seems to feel happier too.

Of course, there are proponents of "boredom" out there.  Maria Popova, who writes an amazingly interesting and thought-provoking blog called Brain Pickings, argues that there is value in boredom.  I guess the difference lies in the kind (?) of boredom.  On Brain Pickings, Popova quotes Bertrand Russell:

"Russell recognizes the vitalizing value of this greatly reviled state, outlining two distinct types of boredom:

Boredom, however, is not to be regarded as wholly evil. There are two sorts, of which one is fructifying, while the other is stultifying. The fructifying kind arises from the absence of drugs and the stultifying kind from the absence of vital activities."

I don't think boredom automatically leads to being a bore.  But, my dream, speech-making son does have a point.  We've all known those people who were too indifferent to be bothered by the effort and concentration it takes to be engaged.  Who wants to live like that?

Maybe we can't truly appreciate the times of fruitful activity until we've experienced lapses of the mundane.  I know there's a certain holiness or beauty in the routine-ness of life, but that's not what we're talking about here.  We're talking about wallowing in boredom and refusing to lift your head to see the possibilities.

So, I guess I should go out there and find something to do, some "vital activity".  Maybe I'll find I love something I didn't know I loved or that I'm good at something I didn't know I was good at.  I'll never know if I sit at home, bored.

Doylene

While living in Texas, eating amazing Mexican food and superb barbeque, I was surprised about many things.  People actually DO wear Wranglers and cowboy hats, cowboy boots and huge belt buckles, like all the time, to the grocery store and to church.  I was surprised at how much wealth people have and how much money people spend - $75 to PARK at Cowboy Stadium on game days, seriously?  But, I wasn't surprised that we were so whole-heartedly welcomed into the arms of the Britton/White/Bowen family.  Not one little bit.  And, of course leading the charge to acclimate us to Texas life was Bobby's Aunt Doylene.

I am truly grateful that Allen and Davis got to spend some time with her, get to know her.  Eat pizza at her dining room table and take naps on her couch.  Help themselves to drinks from her fridge and take her out to lunch.  It was a pleasure for me to get to know her on a deeper level too.  I spent many a pleasant afternoon talking stuff over in her den, shopping for Christmas gifts and carpet, and discussing movies and books.

Unfortunately, we lost Aunt Doylene about a year ago.  It makes me so sad to think that I won't be sending any more letters or cards to "Austrian Way", or that I won't potentially slam the back of my van into a meter buried in her neighbor's yard as I try to back out of her driveway.

Aunt Doylene was a short little Texas lady who loved earrings and having her nails done.  She was passionate about education and women's clubs.  She loved looking at store flyers and decorating her home.  She couldn't pass up a good deal and she loved her family.  Man, did she love us.  I'm thankful that I can include myself in that group and I'm kinda sorry for all y'all that can't.

Though we will always (always) miss Aunt Doylene, there are some things we learned from her that are a part of us now.  Just after she passed away, our family took some time to remember her.  Here's what we think of when we think of Aunt Doylene.

1.  You might as well go ahead and say what you're thinking.  Everyone else is probably thinking it too.  But, say it gently and, if possible, with a smile on your face.

2.  If you have an extra bedroom, someone might as well live in it.  This is a splendid trait inherited directly from her mom and dad, Nana and Papa.  Bobby was a recipient of her hospitality for almost 5 months when he first moved to Texas.  What a blessing that was for us!

3.  We must have been crazy, but when our twin boys were about 5 months old, Bobby and I drove from Alabama to California for a conference.  God had graciously placed friends and family about a days' drive apart, all across the country.  We stayed in hotels during the conference and two other nights.  But, every other night, we were at the warm home of a family member or friend.

One of those nights was spent with Aunt Doylene.  She took so much pressure off of this new mom.  She held babies and fed babies and dressed babies for the whole time we were there.  I still love her for that.

It was a special trip.  Allen and Davis discovered the joys of watching clothes dry in a laundromat dryer and playing with their toes on that trip.  But, one of the highlights was watching Doylene plop baby Davis on her kitchen counter and feed him his breakfast.

4.  This goes along with #2, but Aunt Doylene was incredibly welcoming.  We loved visiting her and DID literally take naps on her couch and help ourselves to drinks in her fridge.  We always knew she would be glad to see us at her door.

5.  We also learned that September 16th is a really good day to have a birthday.  Doylene shared that with Allen and Davis and always declared them her birthday present.

Thanks, Doylene, for these memories and more.  I can see you blushing and laughing and saying, "Welllll..."  We love you.

It is a fact universally acknowledged that stuff I whine about and put off and dread doing is usually not as bad as I think it's going to be.  For example, it takes less than 10 minutes to brush my teeth, floss, wash my face and moisturize before bed.  But, sometimes it seems like too much trouble. 

For another example, doing something creative is often less painful than I expect it to be.  We "inherited" a mirror from my husband's parents.  I don't think it's particularly precious, but it is particularly heavy.  It's about 3.5 feet by 2 feet and the frame is painted an interesting speckled green.  It hung in the foyer of my dear in laws home in Nashville and in the tiny, dark entry of our home in Birmingham.  Since then, it's followed us from state to state, never to show it's face again.  I did prop it against the wall in Nebraska and think hard about hanging it in the foyer there, but never did.  So, it's funny that after living in my present home for just 5 months, it already has pride of place opposite the front door.

I've put off hanging it in other places because it's so big and heavy.  I'm afraid it's going to awaken us in the depths of night by crashing to the floor.  And, though it has a regal sort of beauty, I'm not crazy about it.  I have grand ideas of painting the frame, but haven't gotten around to it.  Then, in a flash of brilliance, a motivating idea came into play.

I would give credit for this to someone, but I can't remember where I saw it or read about it.  I didn't pin it on pintrest and I don't think there's a magazine page folded down anywhere.  But, I'm sure the idea isn't original.

Here's the deal, I should paint a quote on it.  Simple.  So, why did it take me years to do it?

I could say I did it in stages - 1. Get an idea, 2.  Gather supplies,  3.  Execute idea.  But, that's not what happened.  I just needed the motivation to get it done and don't know why it happened just now, exactly.  It happened just after a visit from those dear in laws, but not before.  Weird, I know.

Also, it's not finished.  I didn't paint the frame.  I just bought paint pens (a long time ago), came up with a great quote, painted the quote on and hung the gigantic mirror up.

Maybe it's because I just had knee surgery.  I've got a new knee, so I can check that off my list and get on to other stuff.  I don't know.

After getting my kids to lay the mirror on the kitchen table, it took me about 6 minutes to decide which color paint pen to use (purple), basically block out where the words would go (they ended up slightly crooked), and paint it on.  It took another 6 minutes for my strong, curl-headed boy to help me carry the mirror to the front door, eyeball where I wanted the Hercules hooks to go, hang the mirror, realize the hooks were too low, reinsert hooks and rehang.  It took an additional 5 minutes to do a happy, hurt knee dance and get Bobby to the front door to admire my handy work.  He also ate up a minute or two pretending that I had misspelled something.

So, all added up, it took way less than an hour to execute the plan, but literal years to agonize over how to get it done.  And, I LOVE it.

Growing up, my husband had a neighbor named Amy Ashcraft.  Way ahead of her time, young Amy had a catch phrase.  She would say, "Bobby Britton, you is smart and goo-oo-od lookin too!"  The phrase stuck in Bobby's family and in Bobby's mind and he continues to use it off and on.  We still use it in our family when someone does something particularly noteworthy.  "Davis, go put your baseball stuff in the van.  I already did, Mom.  Wow!  Davis Britton, you is smart and goo-oo-od lookin too!"

So, that's what I painted on the mirror.  "You is smart and goo-oo-od lookin too!"  It makes me happy to know that anyone coming or going from my front door will receive that positive message.  It makes me laugh and it warms my heart.

So, why in tarnation did I not do it earlier?!!

It's like dreading washing the dishes or cleaning the shower.  The dread is much worse than the activity.  Nike says "just do it" and I suppose they're right.  I don't think we ever end up saying, "Man, I wish I had put off cleaning out the refrigerator just a little longer."  So, it is a fact universally acknowledged....

What have you been putting off?

Fashion

My sister has a friend whose mom is French.  Growing up this friend's mom said "You can indulge in food or you can indulge in fashion."  I imagine her saying it with a very heavy French accent and beginning the sentence with "Darling".  I enjoy clothes and looking nice in them.  But, I've never been able to translate that into walking away from a second or third Oreo.

I have this pair of weird boots.  I love them.  I got them at Goodwill and they're awesome.  They come part of the way up my leg, are a patchwork of brown leather, they zip up the side and have a gigantic heel, maybe 5 inches with a small platform in the front.  They remind me, vaguely, of a pair of platform shoes my mom had in the 70s.

I love lots of things about these boots.  They go with everything, I'm not quite as short next to my towering family when I wear them and they make me feel confident and attractive.

My son asked me once why I love those boots and I answered, "Because they make me feel imposing."  Who doesn't want to feel imposing?!!  Who doesn't want to feel like they're the master of all they survey, that they're a kind and benevolent queen for the day?

Happy with my answer I turned to my son.  He nodded once then said, "You should wear them all the time, then."

Hummmm....

Well, I can't wear them ALL the time.  They definitely wouldn't go with shorts, even though I said earlier that they go with "everything".  But, is it possible to get that imposing feeling without the 5 inch heels?  Maybe...

I often pin outfits on Pinterest and I've previously subscribed to MissusSmartyPants all in an effort to feel good about myself and what I wear.  It has helped some.  I do have outfits that make me feel cute or fashionable or yes, even imposing.  But, all the time, every live-long day?  Nope.

As I write this I'm wearing a t-shirt that's at least 6 years old which I got for free for changing a prescription to a new pharmacy; hand-me-down bright red slippers from a son who outgrew them; and incredibly comfortable sweatpants that have a paint stain on one leg and a small but noticeable rip in the derriere.  I would think twice about walking to the mailbox in these clothes and my husband would like me to get rid of the sweats.  I'm comfortable and cozy and surrounded by people who, thankfully, don't care what I look like.  But imposing?  Not even a little bit.

Do I need to feel imposing at the moment?  Would I be a better wife, mom or friend if I did?  Probably not.  But, if I looked like this constantly, day in and day out, I'm sure it would begin to affect my self esteem and therefore the rest of my life.

There's a quote by the Curly Girl that says, "I'm fairly certain that given a cape and a nice tiara, I could save the world."  And, that's the point, isn't it?  We all want to feel capable and confident.  That we can make a difference, help someone out, even change the world.  Shouldn't we all make an effort to feel like that every day?  Whether that takes a tiara, an amazing necklace or a pair of funky, fabulous boots, I say do it!  Go for it!  Then, when you feel so amazing, maybe you'll feel like indulging in something besides oreos.

Father's Day

I have mixed feelings about Father's Day.  On the one hand, I get to celebrate my husband and the amazing man he is.  I get a dedicated day to tell him how thankful I am that he's my kids' daddy.  I get to ply him with food he loves and pleas for him to go ahead and buy the nice sunglasses he's been wanting already.  I'm thankful for Bobby's dad and the relationship Bobby has with him and the fun things he does with my boys.

But, my Daddy passed away just about 8 years ago, my Mom's Dad died when she was 8, and my Dad's Dad passed away when my Dad was in his 20s.  So, there's sadness too.  I'm thankful today for my Daddy in ways I wasn't before I had kids and in ways I couldn't imagine before I had teenagers. 

I was a majorette in high school and tried out for majorette in college.  Daddy would know this was happening for months in advance and would hear talk of practices and music and bruises and uniforms.  But, he wouldn't get involved until the night before.  When I was in the yard making my final adjustments and running through my routine for the last times, he would appear on the steps of the house with a "show me what you've got" look.  He would watch my routine through once, tell me to "look it in" when I dropped and disappear into the house.  I knew he didn't care one bit about me making majorette or not, and if he was pressed, he would rather me not.  But, he cared about me.  So, he cared about that dance I did to 'I Go to Rio'. 

When my baby
When my baby smiles at me I go to Rio
De Janeiro, my-oh-me-oh
I go wild and then I have to do the Samba
And La Bamba

(Yeah, that routine was AWESOME, believe it or not!)
I didn't get any of my Dad's sense of direction or his math computation skills.  That's all my sister.  But, I did get his love of a good joke, the outdoors and feeding people.  If there was a party, Daddy was filling people's mouths with bites of delicious-ness.  I would venture to say that if there's a grill in heaven, Daddy is handing out bites of bar-b-que to Saint Peter and my Great Uncle George.

I will always miss the perfect gifts he gave my boys and the near endless rides he gave them on his golf cart.  I wish he were here to watch them play another baseball game, take them to the beach, and teach them to swing a golf club.  I wish he were here to laugh when I yell, "Look it in!" when the boys are up to bat.  I want to hear him call pants "britches" and see him find the best parking space in the lot while everyone else has to circle for forever.  I want him to arrive at my house with his toolbox and fix anything I ask him to while we all trail behind, handing him tools and watching in amazement.

I want him to kiss me on the forehead and say, "I love you sweetie."  Or, "You better behave" as he said while taking a father-daughter picture on my wedding day.  (Seriously, on my WEDDING day.  What did he mean by that?!!)

I just miss him.  Before he passed away, I had a come-apart in front of my lifelong friend, Laura.  "I'm too young to not have a Daddy" I cried.  I still am and I still cry about it sometimes.

So, while Father's Day is wonderful and I don't want to stop having it or anything (then we would stop having Mother's Day too and that would be BAD!) it just makes me feel kind of lonely, a bit melancholy and nostalgic.    

I love you too, Daddy.  Thanks for everything.