ValerieDykstra.com

punk

People ask why I'm not blogging much. I use to have so many things to say. My kids were angelic and oh so very cute. Writing was easy because I had great subjects to write about. My kids ceaselessly delighted me.

Now, I'm not so easily delighted by them. To blog about their lives these days would make me feel very vulnerable, opening myself up to judgement. I don't want everyone knowing the jungle I'm living in. Daily I'm confronted with self condemnation. I haven't yet figured out just what I did that produced these kids who are so unlike my visions. Confessing our home life would be like hanging a sign around my neck saying something like, "Ask me what kind of stupid my kids did today?"

They still give me many times of joy but they give me moments (hours) of despair as well. That's why I'm a little quieter these days. I don't want people judging them, or me, harshly.

They are great kids and I know their beauty will surface again. But right now, they're kind of weird and I'm not in my proudest phase of motherhood.

That said, isn't my daughter Rachael (above) beautiful? She's almost 16. She has a lovely face and a lovely personality.

When she turns sideways it's a bit hard to look at her though, at least it is for this mama. This is her ear look. I think it's pretty ugly, but I definitely prefer looking at this profile to the opposite side. For when I look at the other side, this is what I see . . . 

 

How did Gordon and I, two very straight-laced people, produce a Punk? It's a great mystery to me.

She's a punk and proud of it. I just don't get it.

But she's got a beautiful heart and I love her with everything in me.

a wee safari adventure

One of the highlights of our visit in Arkansas was a trip to the Wilderness Safari. Here are some pictures from there. My favorite is the one with Roman covering his eyes. He wasn't comfortable with all the animals traipsing around the car so he covered his eyes. Surely if he couldn't see them, they couldn't see him!

Conversely, Avery couldn't get close enough and is standing in the window not wanting to miss a thing. Those two are like night and day.

A funny memory of the day was Roman seeing the gazelle or ibex (or whatever it was) and exclaiming, "What is that freakin' horned animal?"

 

emotionalism

I really suck as a mother to teenagers. I'm really really bad at it. I don't understand how I trained them so diligently to do xyz and now that they're teenagers they don't do xyz. I've been known to pitch hissy fits, I'll admit. But more than fit throwing, I tend to be a melancholy reflector. I sit for hours wondering what I did to make it all go wrong. Why don't they do xyz? Why do they do abc when they know damn well I'm against abc? I'm quite pathetic.

Among my common thoughts is that a good time for a mother to die is when she has teenagers. Truly, at that stage of her kids' lives, they won't miss her.

One day recently I ventured out of my pathetic reflective mode and demonstrated my fit-throwing prowess. I threw a towel, I said a swear word or two or three, and generally behaved unseemly.

About the time I got over it Deborah had an emotional breakdown. I rolled my eyes and whispered to Gordon, "All these hormones are about to drive me crazy."

Gordon, who had eyewitnessed my fit just moments earlier, droned, "Yeah, not everyone can rise above their emotions like you."

2010 christmas letter

December 2010

Merry Christmas from the Gordon Dykstra Family! I say this every Christmas, but it bears repeating: I love this time of year. One of the things that make it special is hearing from you and learning how the year was for you. We’re not the greatest at keeping in close contact with all our friends, but I try to connect at least once a year just to communicate that we still think of you and love you. If you’re reading this letter, know you’re thought of and loved.

Gordon is in his 13th year with Edmonton Transit and has had a good year in the Business Development Section; he’ll complete his 3rd year there in the spring. Early this year he took an occasional Saturday evening pad-his-wallet job driving a 16-passenger limousine. It turned out to be not so occasional in the summer; but he always has fun stories for us on Sunday. He stays busy, be it as a landlord, our go-to fix-it guy, or loving on all his electronic gadgets. That gadgety love is an area in which I go cross-eyed listening to his exciting tales. As a fix-it guy, he’s the best. He saves us thousands of dollars I’m sure. On more than one occasion I’ve said, “Can’t you please just let it die so I can get something new?” I’m grateful for his ability to fix almost anything – and so are our friends who benefit from his Midas touch. He went camping with friends in the summer and it’s been a long, long time since he’s done something like that without his estrogen-loaded family. He had a great time.

Our summer holiday consisted of camping in Bow Valley Provincial Park with our family friends, the Lozchuks. That was a good time too, as usual. Our kids really enjoyed each other, in spite of all the complications of teen life, and it was delightful for the adults to see. As icing on the cake, Deborah caught a big fat delicious walleye, her first fish ever!  It turned out to be quite tasty, and our girls overcame a bit of their general aversion to fish. It was quite a memory.

Deborah and I went to Arkansas in October. Rachael and Hannah went with me several years ago while Debs stayed home. Deborah finally got her trip this year. While there I saw extended family (cousins, aunts and uncles) that I’ve not seen in 20 years. That was one of my highlights. The main highlight was babysitting my grandkids, Roman and Avery, while Stephanie and John Mark went to Cancun. That was how the trip originated; Steph and John Mark booked a holiday and that seemed a prime opportunity for bonding, and it was. I enjoyed my grand babies so so much. And of course I saw my precious mom, dad, siblings, and my delightful son Christopher. He lives in Tulsa now and starts avionics studies in January. And did I mention I’m going to be grandma again? Stephanie and John Mark will welcome another little lady to the family in March.

Rachael is 15 and in high school. She has two paper routes, loves music, enjoys her friends very much and has a boyfriend who spends way too much time at our house. (Just joking. We like Scott.) She has had three poems published and loves to write. Her musical tastes are drifting seriously toward “hard rock”, which Gordon and I find somewhat hard to handle, and she is going to begin electric guitar lessons in the new year.

Hannah is 14 and in her last year of Junior High. Hannah gave us lots to worry about this year, and as you can imagine, that’s just what we needed. I am happy, very very happy, to report that she’s back to the Hannah I always enjoyed so incredibly much, but more “grown up.” It seems Gordon and I produced kids that morph into aliens for about a year around their 13th year. Two down, one to go. (If it’s going to happen again before they leave home, please don’t tell me. I can’t bear the idea right now. Ignorance is bliss, I maintain.)

Deborah is in grade 6 and I don’t know how she got that old. She got a lot more freedom this year and it’s been hard letting go. That’s a lie, I’m actually enjoying letting go. Gordon and I have dates whenever we want them and even got away to a marriage retreat this year which we loved. Deborah’s still the sweet and polite child (more often than not) that makes us look like decent parents. I’m glad we got one of those. She took up swimming this year and does lots of that - sometimes three or four times a week. She is growing up a bit earlier than her sisters did since she has them to emulate, oh gaity, bliss, oh joy. Sometimes it gets a bit scary, but we make steady progress in our own character and hopefully theirs too.

I started a new job in March and love it. At this time last year I had just started a new job. That turned out to be a very bad experience and I was “delivered” from it in March when I got this job as an office administrator. I’m incredibly happy to be back in this line of work. I’m working full-time for the first time in 18 years. I paddled again this summer. Although my dragon boat team didn’t do quite as well this past season, it was fun in its own pain-seeking way. I walk lots, read lots, write lots, and in January I start cross country skiing lessons. I published my first book of family memoirs this year and am pleased with my lovely book called Don’t Count the Cows. It was also big highlight of my year.

As I write this, it’s -20 degrees Celsius (-4 F) and a good day to be inside thinking of all the people who’ll read this letter. I love summarizing our year as a family for my own recollection and I love hearing from our friends and family, especially those we don’t hear from all that often. I hope we’ll hear from you.

It’s a great time of year. I love, love, love this season. I hope you experience the joy, love, and peace that this Christmas season represents, and remember the greatest reason we celebrate.

God’s blessings to you all.

With Love,

Valerie, for the Gordon Dykstra Family

memaw's passing

(Memaw, left and Uncle Kelsey, 1917)

Elsie Eason Piearcy age 94 of Mena died Friday, September 17, 2010 at her home. She was born on Tuesday, June 13, 1916 to James Lonnie and Llewlyn Moore Ross Keen in Binjin, Arkansas.

Elsie was a loving wife, mother and grandmother. She was married to her first husband, Red for 50 years and raised seven children. After Red’s passing she married Bill Eason and was married 6 years to him before his passing. Family was very important to Elsie and they were her most treasured possession. She was a faithful member for over 50 years at the Pleasant Hill Baptist Church in Wickes and after moving to Mena she joined the Calvary Baptist Church in Mena. Serving and doing the Lord’s work was something Elsie took very seriously and hardly ever let a day go by without sharing her faith to someone, either by doing a good deed or just by the way she lived her life. For 15 years she worked at the Bogg Springs Missionary Baptist Camp and enjoyed seeing everyone year after year.

(Ma, Pa, Kelsey, Memaw, Inez early 1920's )

She is preceded in death by her parents James and Llewlyn Keen; her first husband Phillip “Red” Piearcy; her second husband Bill Eason; one son David Piearcy; one daughter Cleta Rose; one brother Kelsey Keen; one sister Inez Beasley; three granddaughters Deborah Jean Callahan, Cindy Gramer and Melody Smith.

Survivors include three sons and daughter in laws, Phillip and Beth Piearcy of Mena, Bob and Denise Piearcy of Mena and Jackie and Carla Piearcy of Perry, Arkansas; two daughters GeralDean Funderburk and her husband Bob of Mena and Vernie Jean Smith of Mena; one daughter in law Virginia Piearcy of Justin, Texas; one sister Betty Alexander of Little Rock; seventeen grandchildren; forty-nine great grandchildren; twenty four great-great grandchildren; several nieces and nephews and a host of other relatives and friends.

Funeral services will be Monday, September 20, 2010 at 2:00 P.M. at the Hall Funeral Service Chapel in Mena with Brother Donnie Jewel and Brother Doyne Cantrell officiating. Interment will follow in the Daniel Cemetery in Wickes. Visitation will be Sunday, September 19, 2010 from 4-6 P.M. at the Hall Funeral Service Chapel.

Pallbearers will be Michael Callahan; Greg Smith, Paul Piearcy, Todd Piearcy, Fred Rose and Derek Smith.

Honorary Pallbearers will be David Piearcy, Josh Austin, Philip Piearcy, C.J. Callahan, Jacob Gramer, Jeff Shreve, Jonathon Alexander and Hunter Piearcy.

(1936, Memaw, Jill, Mama, Inez) 

*********    

I thought the obituary in the paper was lovely. At the funeral my sister read her tribute to Memaw. It was even lovelier. I know Memaw would have been very pleased. Here is Diane's tribute:

(2010, at her 94th birthday party)

I am Memmaw’s oldest living grandchild.  I had occasion to live with Memmaw and Padad the first couple of years of my life.  Though I do not remember it, I have always felt that that circumstance created a special bond between me and them.  Actually, I thought that I was their favorite.  As the years have worn on, however, I realized that other cousins thought they were the favorite.  And in time, I had to concede that Iwas not the special one, but it was Memmaw.  She had the ability to convey to her abundant crew of descendants that each and every one of them held a special place in her heart.  I hope I can master that art like she did with my own grandchildren.

When I review my memories of Memmaw, I am glad that I can well remember beyond the last few years when she has been confined to a wheelchair and a little detached because she could not hear all that was being said around her.  I remember her as busy, somewhat robust, a hard worker, loving, and proactive before the term was popular.  I always smile when I think of Memmaw getting the urge to remodel her home.  Not of the modern school of thought that requires one to draw up the plans and get three bids, Memmaw—in her late sixties or early seventies—took a hammer to her walls and started demolishing them.  And all this in a dress!

(5 generations, 2009)

And speaking of dresses, I only saw Memmaw in pants once in my entire life.  Her church was having a Sunday afternoon baseball game.  Memmaw donned a pair of slacks and faithfully participated.  My mom said, “Mother will do anything for the church!”

I remember hearing one of my uncles bemoaning the fact that most of his friends’ “elderly” mothers were irritating because they drove too slow.  Not his mother!  She got speeding tickets.

And no tribute to Memmaw would be complete without mentioning the legacy of laughter she has passed down to us.  I used to think that all families were like ours—that when they get together, they laugh.  It has only been this year that I have learned through a couple of observant outsiders that that is not the case.  My earliest childhood memories are of Sunday afternoons at Memmaw’s house with all her kids and each of their little broods assembled for Sunday lunch and a full afternoon of laughter.  Memmaw had the ability to see humor in life—even at her own expense.  She would laugh at herself as quickly as she would laugh at anyone or anything else.

(Memaw visiting her parents' graves in Hugo, Oklahoma)

The greatest legacy Memmaw leaves us is a spiritual one.  From earliest childhood, I heard the term, “being saved.”  I knew that this was of the utmost importance, because on this subject, Memmaw did not laugh.  We were taught by word and by example that everything else in life was a far second to the knowledge that you were “right with God.”  This emphasis caused me to record and to always acknowledge the date of my salvation—June 30, 1969—because I intuitively knew that that date was actually more important than my “natural birthday.”

Memmaw, though minimally educated, was a student of the Word of God.  Her Bible did not collect dust.  She read it—even in the last weeks of her life, she read with the help of a magnifying glass.  She loved discussing it, not for the sake of debate, but because she truly believed that in the word of God are the secrets of abundant life.

(2010, our last picture of Memaw. Although she looks pretty, I was amazed how she looked nothing like herself, at least not to me. This is the first time I've ever seen her not smiling.)

Of all Memmaw’s gifts to us, the rarest one is her longevity.  And I am not speaking of her 94 years of life on this earth.  I am speaking of her devotion to Christ.  There are lots of good starters when it comes to following Christ, but very few who finish like Memmaw did.  She never looked back; she never considered a different path; she never threw in the towel when the going got tough.  She finished her course.

Her gentle transition from mortality to immortality has served as a reminder to me—to all of us—that this life is only the beginning; it is not the end.  I am happy for Memmaw; I know all is well with her.  I can only imagine the joy that she is experiencing now.  I think the reason we all weep is because we feel as if a part of us has died, a part of our roots, our history.

 

Those of us who are walking with God can, no doubt, trace their spiritual heritage back to Memmaw’s influence and her prayers for us.  And it’s not over yet.  She has joined that great cloud of witnesses and now together with them she continues to cheer us on in our race here on earth.  Let us—those she loved the most—resolve to honor her memory in the most noble fashion: let’s follow her footsteps and finish well!

*******

Many of Memaw's descendants were with her when she died and were wowed by the awesomeness of the experience. When her heart rate was down to four or five beats a minute, the nurse told them she was in the process of passing. They put in a cd made by her son David (who passed away in 1987, I think). As he finished singing Beulah Land, she breathed her last breath. Truly a peaceful and very beautiful exit from this world. 

Memaw was very loved and I know she would have been (or was) very proud of her family right to the very end. Like Diane, I'm thankful for the Christian heritage she left for us. I want to follow in her footsteps and finish my race in life well.

me tootin' me up

Due to the overwhelming sales of my book, I'm working on volume two. The previous line is of course baloney. Stacie, mocking my sales numbers, said, "I better hurry and get mine before they're all sold out."

I am seriously working on volume two. In the process I ran across these sweet greetings I received many moons ago. You all know I'd rather walk on my lips all day long than toot my own horn. But these are too sweet not to toot up a little. So picture me walking on my lips as you read these toots I received for my birthday several years back. Yeah, I should have waited till I had a birthday to share them, but I was just so overwhelmed with the feely-goodies than I wanted to share them RIGHT NOW.

(Stacie and me, '71 or '72)

Stacie made my day with my first birthday greeting.

"Happy Birthday, Valerie.

You always write such eloquent birthday tributes to those you love and this simple greeting seems so pale in comparison.

What do I love about you: You have the most wonderful humor. You can make me laugh like no other and you laugh with me so whole heartedly. Your writing is so fun to read because it can make me laugh though you are so subtle in the effort. I'm so impressed.

You are a great listener. Truly. You don't interrupt (like me) and I always feel like you really hear. Poor souls that have no one to listen. You listen to me blab on about what I made for dinner, what I wore to work, all the places I went, blah, blah, blah. Wonderful.

You are a willing learner. I mean, you've learned to sew, candle make, quilt make, cake decorate, genealogy sleuth, write, etc? You do it with gusto and competently. I stop before I start because I know I can't be an "expert".....

You are humble. Yes, you are and no, you haven't always been.

You share freely and graciously your mistakes, mis-judgments, hurts, pain, embarrassments, social errors, mis-steps, etc. There is something "freeing" about it when you share your confessions so honestly. God bless this trait.

You are a wonderful sister. I love you so much and I am so blessed to have such a dear dear friend and confidant. You are important to me and I miss you ever so much. Happy birthday, Stacie"

*****

And then, lo and behold, my sister Diane wrote:

(Diane and me, 2000)

"My favorite thing about you is how much fun you are and how easy you laugh. I was thinking about this today, and I've decided that we Callahan kids enjoy ourselves like no others. I mean literally; we enjoy OURSELVES. I enjoy me, you enjoy you, etc., etc. No one laughs harder at our funnies than we laugh at our own. That's the mental picture I got when I was thinking about you today. I could see you making a funny comment and then slapping your knee real hard and laughing boisterously! I laughed just thinking about it (because that's what we do; we laugh at ourselves).

You and I have had soooo many fun times laughing at ourselves and at each other. Do you remember the time we were at the motorcycle rally in Colorado and a guy walked off after talking us near-comatose? Before he was out of earshot, you turned to me and said, "He bores me."

I could go on and on, but you have already written about most of our funniest times, so mine would be redundant and not near as entertaining. You are a great writer. I always laugh out loud when I read your blog.

On a serious note, I appreciate how transparent you have become. You used to protect yourself at all costs, but you have become very vulnerable and "real." I truly appreciate that, but especially since I know how hard it must have been for you.

I remember vividly the day you were born. Do you remember how much I doted on you when you were a little girl? I know, I know, you remember what a witchy older sister I was, but maybe in the recesses of your mind, you can conjure up a memory of when I used to call you "To-Val." Strange nickname, I know, but it was my pet name for you.

I love you and wish you the very happiest of birthdays. Diane"

*****

I couldn't have asked for more feely goodies in one day. But another one came from my aunt, Jill.  

(Twins, Aunt Jill and Mama)

"I love you because you are funny. I love you because you are articulate. I love you because you are intelligent. I love you because you so obviously love me! I love you because you are strong.I love you because you are warm and supportive. I love you most of all because you are you! Jill"

*****

Beautiful. I had all I needed for days and days of high spirits.

You know how I hate talking about myself. Ok, so that's a lie. But you know how it's so much cooler if someone else toots your horn rather than you tootin' you're own? Here's my rootin' tootin' niece Mindi tootin' me up:

(Dustin and his lovely wife Mindi, my niece)

"Valerie, I know that you cannot know what you mean to me. As a child I always felt a bond to you because I was often told that I was so much like you. Little did I know, that the adults in my life were referring mostly to negative traits that we had in common, namely stubbornness. As an adult, I still feel a close bond to you, and now it is because there are traits that I see in you that I admire and want to develop in myself. I admire you as a mother and a wife. I admire your commitment to your marriage, and your commitment to raising your children to be kind people. I admire your skills in the domestic life you lead, as well as the way you push yourself to try new things all the time, even if those new things lead to "butthole roses" in a cake decorating class. I admire your transparency. It is ever so humbling to admit our shortcomings. If you are anything like me, humility is not our strong point. I appreciate your open mind, and for proving that you CAN teach an old dog new tricks. I in no way think you are old or a dog, but I can't think of a better metaphor. Who would have thought that a little country girl from Arkansas, would grow into a tree-hugging, Wal-Mart boycotting Canadian. (All said in jest, of course.) I do admire you Valerie, and love you dearly. I hope your birthday is fabulous. *ching ching*

*****

When the goodness was just too much to imagine anymore,  my sweetheart added this to my day's blessings:

(Gordon and me, 1997ish. Perhaps that's a monstrous zit between my eyes.)

"I love you because you hung on. It has not been easy, but you kept getting up each morning and caring as you could, without going anywhere. I love you because you have learned through much pain to adjust to my weaknesses without kicking back. I love you because you keep trying new things, even when the last thing didn't work out like you planned - including things between us. I love you because you love our kids, and do your best to bring out their best, even after they have annoyed you into temporary isolation. And, I love you because you kept on laughing at my weird, silly, and sometimes asinine comments, and then went and cooked a meal or did the laundry or just prayed for all of us. I guess if you get right down to it, I love you because in spite of how life works out sometimes, you have been faithful to me, our kids, our life together, and our common Lord, in big and small ways, even when it was the hardest thing in the world for you to do. And I'm thankful to God for it. Will you be my Valentine, Valerie? Love, Gordon"

That day was a most glorious birthday. I don't think I've ever received so many kind words. I was truly blessed that day and re-reading them today, I was blessed all over again.

Thanks for listening as I tooted.

michael's hemorrhoid commercial

It's a holiday Monday here in Alberta. Instead of being at work I've been busy busy cleaning my office/sewing/hobby room. Here is a little something I came across during my organizing from my brother Michael. 

He wrote: 

Every month I meet with a group of men for leadership training. This month is a retreat and the topic is public communication. Our homework has been to write a couple of 30-second commercials that we will do on video and then watch them to see our mannerism on camera. Here's one of mine.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Are you a hemorrhoid sufferer?

Does your anus feel like a fiery cauldron?

Do you refer to it as the "burning ring of fire"?

Have you worn a hole in the seat of your favorite pants from squirming due to itching?

Here at Tucks, we have the perfect solution.

(Holding up Preparation H Gel) The makers of Tucks Medicated Wipes know that you are not an automobile in need of a lube job.

(Holding up Preparation H Suppositories) We also know you aren't a jelly-filled doughnut.

(Holding up a canister of Tucks) Here at Tucks we say, "Wipe away your pain."

Four to five medicated wipes after every bowel movement, not only douses the fire and relieves the itching, but also leaves you feeling clean and fresh all day.

Tucks Medicated Wipes. Available over the counter at drug stores everywhere.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Michael's the funniest person I know.

colorful speech

One thing I miss about Arkansas is the picturesque speech. Actually it's not that I "miss" it, rather when I'm around it I realize how it's absent in my life.

The colorful speech that I grew up with is very effective and efficient in summing up emotions. When I was in hard labor with Christopher, Mama said, "I feel as useless as tits on a boar hog." My mom doesn't usually talk like that, but doesn't that sentence colorfully describe her feelings? Don't you hear her discomfort, her fear, her anxiety just by hearing her one sentence?

One of my great-nephews was three years old the last time I was in Arkansas. Once my dad asked someone, "Is he soft in the head?" I had never heard the expression, but I knew what it meant immediately. Soft in the head. It's not exactly clinical, but it is tender.

Set straight that Ezra was not soft in the head, Daddy defended his question, "Well, I was just wondering if he was runnin' at top speed."

When I go to Arkansas, that kind of talk bursts out my mouth with no warning. In Canada, they might think me soft in the head if I talked that way.

Last visit, riding somewhere with Stephanie, we had a stop sign. Not one to waste time on oncoming traffic, Stephanie punched it and we spun out of there with a vengeance. Grabbing the handle above my door, I yelled, "Hang on to your Kotex."

Another time I was riding with Stacie on the freeway. She was drifting into the right lane while passing another car. I brought it to her attention. She denied it. I replied, "Stacie, he was practically fondling me." 

I'm looking forward to getting back to my roots for a few days and smiling at their colorful speech.

Grandpa

(Grandpa and the girls)

Eight years ago today my father-in-law passed away. He was 67. It was a hard time for our family, but I have some sweet memories from that time that I cherish.

We told the kids that Grandpa was very ill and that he would get to go to heaven soon. Deborah was nearly three. Rachael was nearly seven, Hannah was nearly six. Each of them processed it very differently. Rachael acted like it was no big deal, but that's a regular coping mechanism of hers. We knew it was big to her.

Hannah was astute and forthright. During prayer time at church on the Sunday before he died, Hannah's voice rang out clearly as she asked for prayer. "My grandpa in very sick and he hurts really badly right here," she said as she pointed to her side. (He had liver cancer.)

I thought Deborah was too young to process it one way or the other. I was wrong. One day I was in the garden and I overheard her talking to herself in the tree-house. "Grandpa is very sick and he's going to heaven soon." She said it several different ways, several different times. At that point I knew she was agitated too.

The call came that he'd passed away and we went to his house. We gathered around his bed and his kids and wife told stories, we prayed and sang a few hymns. We learned that one of Eric's favorite hymns was "Morning has broken, blackbird has spoken...." We sang it.

When we cleared out of the room for the funeral home to come, Hannah asked if she could see him once more. She and I went back into his room alone. She held his hands and thanked him for being a good grandpa. She told him she looked forward to seeing him again in heaven and then she kissed him.

After the funeral home had his body on the gurney, the sons and son-in-law carried him to the waiting car. We all stood in the yard, solemnly watching them drive away. As soon as the car turned out of sight, 2-year-old Deborah jumped up excitedly and said, "Yaaay! Grandpa's in heaven." In Deborah's mind, when he got out of sight, that's when he entered heaven.

Over the next day or two, even Rachael revealed her heart. We had learned that "Morning has broken, blackbird has spoken..." was a favorite hymn of his. Rachael drew her therapy. It's a card. The front page is a blackbird in a limb.

 

Inside the card, there is Grandpa on his bed and Beppe phoning us to tell us he had just died. May always wore a bun back in those days. See her bun?

 

These memories and this card are precious to me.

My kids are... ?

(Precious Rachael and Hannah, in 2000)

Because I'm getting wiser with age, I resisted the urge to title this post, "My Kids Are Idiots." That was noble, I think.

In the 80's I loved watching The Cosby Show. In one episode Dr. Huxstable comes home to find Clare seething. She hisses, "I want you to go upstairs and kill your son." More than once I've said that to Gordon. Unfortunately he never watched The Cosby Show and he doesn't have a son, so my theatrics are sorely lost on him.

Quoting movie phrases is one of my coping mechanisms. Even though Clare Huxstable's saying is not perfectly suitable in our house, I keep it in my repertoire of fine things to say when I'm on the verge of snapping. Thank God for all the movies that have given me anti-snapping phrases through the years. I've not even come close to injuring a child, so there's proof they have served me well.

(When a potential employer asks how I handle stress I respond with a professional smile, "I tell my husband to kill the kids.") 

It's no wonder that sometimes mama animals eat their young. I'm guessing it goes something like this: Mama rat looks at baby rat rolling her eyes at her and thinks, "Yep, this one's liable to steal the family car when she's 13." Chomp chomp. "Took care of that problem."

I won't tell present problems, but I'll share one from two years ago. Rachael was 13. In some homes that might mean she's the cock of the walk, the boss, the indomitable force. In our house 13 means you're an idiot. (In a couple years I'll share our present woes, if I'm not doing time or rolled up permanently in the fetal position sing-songing, "They were such sweet babies.")

Dear sweet idiot child Rachael, with her friends, planned a boy-girl movie night. "We're going to the movie and then we're going to Adam's house." Gordon and I shook our heads like dogs hit between the eyes with tennis balls. Gordon gave me the shut-up-wife look just as I was forming the words, "Like hell you are."

I had an appointment that I could not miss so I had to leave. When I got home I asked how things had turned out. Gordon said he'd take her to the movie. He'd unobtrusively sit elsewhere in the theater. She could invite the kids to her house afterward. Rachael responded with, "Well that's going to be mildly embarrassing." Gordon responded, "Mildly embarrassing, eh? Sounds to me like mildly embarrassing is a good balance between wildly humiliating and uninvolved. You choose."

That little battle turned out well. Rachael went to the movies with friends, Gordon went too. She invited the friends over; girls came, boys didn't.

She was not bitter.

Rachael is doing well these days. Her mind is coming back. Slowly but surely, I see signs of sanity. She's kind of between stages, part idiot, part sane.

Hannah is 13. I think a lot about the above mama rat. 

Happy Birthday Stacie

(Stacie and me)

Today is Stacie's birthday. I spent time this morning thanking God for such a dear dear sister. She is everything a sister should be, everything I want in a sister. (Diane is too, but this is Stacie's day.) I love Stacie so so much and cannot imagine life without her.

We are 2500 miles apart, but she's never more than a phone call away. We always pick up right where we are with no formalities needed. We dig right into sisterhood, friendship and sharing life. With us both working full time, our Ma Bell experiences are fewer than they use to be. However, Stacie is right with me all the time because I carry her so closely to my heart. I love her so much, enjoy her so much and share such an affinity that it seems in some strange way that we're always together. I'd like us to be closer in flesh, but am not convinced even that would make us closer in spirit.

Yesterday I was thinking of the road trip Stacie and I did a few years ago across the southern states. In the car for extended hours we really got "in the zone" thinking the same thing at the same time. We talked at length of our childhood church, singing the hymns of our youth (which neither of us is exposed to anymore), and usually in the spirit of imitation -- imitating someone from our childhood congregation. (My mom cringes right here as she reads this). 

We would finish a tune, laugh ourselves nearly crazy and then sink into our private thoughts, Stacie driving and looking straight ahead, me watching the countryside of kudzu, hills and oaks go by. Over and over these moments of reflection ended when at the exact moment we both burst into another hymn sung in the way so-in-so sang it.

It was on that trip I learned about incontinence first hand, always precipitated by violent laughter.

That is the relationship Stacie and I share. How very very blessed I am.

Stacie, I love you more than words can express. You are, forever, my bosom friend. Happy Birthday Swisser.

(Last picture, 2009, Stacie hammin' it up.)

Thursday Thirteen

I love Thursday Thirteen. It's a great way to catch up.

1. I've been kind of sad/contemplative/nostalgic lately. I've been busy scanning pictures from the days before digital photos. I've got a lot done, but still have a ways to go. Anyway seeing all those pictures of my little people . . . Now they are so big. It's enough to make a mama weep. A couple are grown. A couple morphed into a different species. And one is still a child. In a way it seems like a few days ago that Stephanie was born and in other ways it seems like a totally different life. Time keeps going.

2. As I looked at all the photos, over and over I saw evidence of Debbie Tannehill. She gave us sooo many clothes for the girls and all three girls wore them. Thank you Debbie. You are such a good friend.

3. Was reminded all over again how incredibly sweet my wee ones were.

4. Was reminded all over again how incredibly tiring Rachael was. She was a handful. I created a few "funnies" for the occasion.

5. Funny 1.

 

6. Funny 2.

 

7. Funny 3.

 

8. I love the smells of the season. I sat in the back yard last night and got intoxicated by all the floral scents in the air. I am sure heaven will have those same scents.

9. Do you remember that I'm working on a book? (Actually it's three books.) I'm getting pretty close to having the first one finished. I'm excited about the potential.

10. Hannah was such a writer/card giver when she was wee. This week I thoroughly enjoyed reading through a bunch of her sweet greetings from years ago. She doesn't write me love letters anymore. I miss those, but am thankful for the ones she gave me when she still liked me. {Sigh, people warned me about this.}

12. In case you can't see it, it says, "You are the best perins in the world. I love you. Have a Heavenly Day." See why I'm nostalgic and blue?

 

13. Reading through Hannah's photo album reminded me of some of her quirky ways when she was little. And she had more than a couple quirky ways. I had totally forgotten one until I read it in her album. In 2000 we went to Colorado and met all my family for Thanksgiving. For many, it was the first time to meet my Canadian children. Hannah was four and Deborah was still nursing. Hannah was often invited into people's lap to get acquainted. Hannah's method of getting acquainted was asking, "Do you have milk in your breasts?" and/or "How come your breasts are so small?"

stacie, hammin' it up

Life has had me by the tail ever since I got home from Arkansas and I've not captured many of my memories from the trip. I told about the photo shoot my sibs and I had with my dad. Before we had the opportunity to have a group picture made, my hammy sister Stacie captivated all the cameras. She is a ham-dinger. I wish I'd gotten a little more of that gene, but I didn't so I just get to enjoy her.
 

 

She is so funny and entertaining. I lub' 'er lots.
As you can see in these pictures, she put on a show. So unintimidated, acting like like a teenager getting her Senior pictures made. As you can also see in the pictures, we were all waiting for her to finish the production.
  
 

 

michael the farmer

I've been gone. I was negligent. I was overwhelmed. But I'm back, with bells on. Well not really, but you get the idea.

Life is good. My new job schedule is starting to gel and I'm getting the hang of my work. I told Gordon that until my probation is up (3 months) I'm going to be afraid of the boss saying, "this just isn't working." It's never happened before, but this job is the closest thing to feeling out of my league that I've ever had. (That of course doesn't count the cake decorating stint where being fired would have been just too cool.)

You know how I get all reflective and spend a lot of time navel gazing as each year closes, right? Well this week I've been thinking about the year and its blessings. I've had a number of blessings this year, but right now I want to hone in on my brother's heart surgery. Michael had a 7-bypass-open-heart surgery and came through with flying colors. I am grateful beyond words. Thanks be to God, he's better than he's been in years. That is the single best thing about 2009 for me.

 
 

Michael's my only brother and I love love love being around him. When all the siblings and my dad were at Michael and Lawana's in October, we decided to take some pictures. While Michael went to change shirts the rest of us went outside to hash out ideas on where to take some pictures. While we're chattin' it up, Michael walked out with an expression of "ok, let's get this over with." However, he had his sweat-shorts pulled up to to his chest. We all knew he was goofing off, trying to make us think he really planned on having his picture taken looking so ridiculous. And ridiculous just doesn't sum it up accurately. His shorts were up so high, well, I just can't describe it. But it was darn near vulgar. I started trying to take a picture of him, but in my hysterical laughing, I couldn't figure out the camera. So I got a couple shots, but by then, the shorts were already sliding down. If my fingers had been more nimble, even just two seconds earlier, you could have seen it yourself.

 
  
Michael, although he's usually the life of the party, is still mildly anti-social. When he first got on Facebook, I was both surprised and excited, thinking we'd "talk" more. That hasn't really materialized. While in Arkansas I asked him if he ever got on Facebook and he said he goes on Farmville. I've never been on Farmville so I know little about it, except it's wildly popular. (I have plenty of vices on the web, but Farmville isn't one of them). I asked what he does on Farmville and he said a simple, "I farm."

He sounded like a little boy with toy farm. He replied to my laughing with, "you may laugh but I have a million bucks saved." I realized he had a little addiction to Farmville at that point and I think I may have sat with my mouth open for a few seconds. Lawana chimed in by saying, "It's true Valerie. We work all day and then come home and farm all night."

Later my sister Diane told me that once Michael phoned home to remind Lawana to water the garden (that would be the Farmville garden) because he'd forgotten. Michael and Farmville. I never would have guessed they'd be so close.

I asked lots of questions about the surgery and saw the scar that you could drive a small car through. He told me he'd been having some problems for a long time. He'd told the doctor about his acid reflux getting worse and worse and the doctor kept prescribing new acid reflux meds. He said it was really cool that he had that relationship with the doc -- he'd tell the doctor the problem and the doc would prescribe the medicine he needed. Michael said, "only trouble is, I misdiagnosed."

So today, I'm smiling at some of my brother's cute ways, even laughing a few times. And especially I'm again saying a thank you to God for taking him through his heart surgery safely.

Roman, the main man

It was wonderful to see Romie Boy again. I was a little "too present" for his comfort, especially in the beginning. He liked me in small doses but would be overcome with rudeness when he got up in the morning and I was still there. He took a precious amount of time warming up to me, but he finally did. Not before I'd said, "well that little t-u-r-d," a few times though. I said this rude comment when he countered my, "Good Morning Roman" with "Umph," which I interpreted as "Get outta my house."

 
This picture was made on my first evening there. He liked the I Spy quilt I made for him and really got into the game. It kept him occupied for quite a while.

 

On my second morning there, he came into the living room where I was sitting with his quilt draped over my legs. He rushed at me, grabbed his quilt and gave me a royal "Umph."

Roman finally warmed up to me, but not until I'd invested a bit of time. He loved playing outside, going for walks, and feeding the ducks with Beppie. I eventually became a friend.

Roman loves playing in his backyard and he and his daddy do it lots. But in a pinch, when Daddy wasn't around, Beppie could fill in. (I have several pictures from this little outing. When Rachael looked at them she said, "You're so pulling a dad-moment with those black socks and white runners.") Rudies (that's Dykstra-ese for "rude ones") abound in my life. :-)

 

Roman is a loving brother to Avery. I never saw any jealousy or ill-will, just love and affection. On my first morning there, I took Avery out to the porch swing. Roman started crying "Baby, Baby". It was kind of heartbreaking that he was afraid I was taking his baby.

Once when Avery was starting to fuss in her swing, Roman ran to the swing, dug around Avery and found her pacifier. He put it in her mouth and tucked her blanket back around her. Avery stopped crying and Roman beamed. It was precious.

 

Roman loves the outdoors and loved when we did outdoorsy things. This wagon ride was a bonding moment for us.

Roman is just 2 years old. But he can spell his name and knows many letters of the alphabet by sight. I'm pretty sure there's a college scholarship in his future.

When I left him this past Sunday, this is what he was doing; lining up his little animals in a nice clean circle or straight line. Then we drove off, and he cried, "Beppie, Beppie." I cried. And I just cried again as I typed that.

Lil' Miss Avery Claire

Howdy Ya'll.

I've been gone. Did you notice? I got home Monday morning after a glorious little holiday to Arkansas -- where I met my first granddaughter Avery. Needless to say, she stole my heart with her sweetness. She kind of liked me too.

In grandmotherly fashion, I have a few pictures to share.

I'm the first to admit this little picture isn't the hottest, but it captures Avery on the rag quilt I made her. Truthfully, she didn't seem too awed by the quilt, but maybe one has to be older than 6 or 9 weeks to fully appreciate it. You reckon?

 

Avery was considerate to reserve her first smiles for Beppie. She knew I came a long way to see her and she wanted to say thank you in her own special way. Her first smile was for Beppie. I love her considerate nature. 

Stephanie and John Mark had their 4th Annual Laney Harvest Party a few weeks ago. Avery was the resident Princess, all dolled-up and adorablish.

  
As in the above smiling picture, Avery is smiling for Beppie here too. Isn't she precious?

Here is a 5 Generation picture that we made at Memaw's house. Aren't we blessed to still have a Memaw and a Mimi?

Meeting Avery was the biggest highlight of the trip, but truthfully there were numerous highlights. Stay tuned and you'll be privy to a few more.

my summer holiday

This little cabin was home for the week.

We've been away on holidays. For the first time ever, we went to Family Camp with almost everyone in Gordon's extended family. Gordon and the girls had a fabulous time; definitely a highlight of the year for them. I crashed and burned and am quite embarrassed by the whole week.

I pride myself on being laid-back, easy going, well-adjusted, fun-loving, and a myriad of other positive things. :-) These characteristics cease and desist when I get around my in-laws. All my benevolence and patience and open-mindedness and well-adjustedness seizes up and dies, usually in an emotionally laden, fetal-positioned wailing-and-gnashing-of-teeth sort of way. Not a pretty picture. It's probably the single biggest flaw in my character and person-hood. I hate this about me.

Before the holiday I tried valiantly to prepare and equip myself to "be in the now". I had a plan and some ideas for how I was going to be grown-up and good. I self-imploded and never figured out how to "be in the now" in any way that was helpful. When I tried to focus and regain composure by "accepting this moment" all I could think was, but it hurts too badly. That to say, my experimentation with pop psychology was unsuccessful.

Gordon is a wonderful husband and our relationship is warm, stable and loving. These good feelings we share degenerate when we are with his family. However, only very recently did I realized that the problem is in my relationship with Gordon, not his entire family. I'm not suggesting my negative history with the family is imagined. It is not. However, it's my marriage that is the "issue", not my in-laws. Here's what I've only recently come to realize:  Mine and Gordon's relationship shifts dramatically when we're with his family. He changes, gets free-er. I change, get more up-tight. I clam up; he airs. I erect walls; he relinquishes all barriers. I tense up, ridiculously so. He becomes an open book revealing anything that comes to mind. What I realize is basically I don't like him too much when he's around his family. That's not very good, eh?

I don't really know what to tell you about our holiday. I usually show lots of pictures and tell some highlights. I don't have any to tell this year. It was all pretty traumatic. Again, my family had a GREAT time, but I couldn't even enjoy their having a good time because I was so wrapped up in my own bad experience. I reiterate that I truly hate this about myself.

Day 1 was good. Gordon and I went on a 40 kilometer (24 miles) bike ride and I enjoyed that very much. I took pictures and loved the country scenery.

Day 2 Gordon and I started going cross-eyed with miscommunication. By mid-afternoon I drove 30 minutes to the nearest city to "get away." I went to Chapters and bought a Christmas gift, visited my favorite thrift store, went out to eat, and then took in a movie (The Proposal). It would have been a lovely outing had my thoughts not been churning with negativity.

Day 3 I had to leave and come home before I completely lost my mind. I felt like an idiot for not being able to enter into the "good-time" everyone else was having, but knew I had to get out of there just to regain some emotional stability.I was smiling again before I got off the camp property. I felt hope.

It was on the drive home as I prayed and tried to figure out what had gone so sideways that I was able to articulate that this pattern in my life is a blemish on my marriage, not so much a blemish on my in-laws. That was the epiphany of the experience. Any epiphany at that point was a relief, even if it was hard realizing how it's me that's the problem (with some help from my beloved) and not someone "out there". The problem is me. I admit it.

So that was my summer vacation. The absolute worst I've ever had and hope to ever have. I'm happy for Gordon and the girls to do it every year, but I probably will only drop in a few times  instead of committing to the whole week. That seems like a fair compromise to me.

I hope you're all having a wonderful summer. I truly (aside from last week) have loved it. Only four more weeks till the kids head back to school. That kind of makes me sad as there are still so many summer things we want to squeeze in.

disgruntled mom

I'm sure you all well remember that I'm a basket case in my own appealing way. Which reminds me of the sitcom from the '80's called Designing Women. Once Julia went to bat for a demented woman -- I don't remember the details -- but in the end Julia got in someone's face in a polite genteel sort of way by declaring, "Here in the South, we are puh-roud of our crazy people." 

My family ganged up on me last night and I'm none too puh-roud of them for that. What they all need is a kick in the butt and a bit of experience living in the South and growing up with chores. Huh!, chores! What a lame word. I didn't have "chores" when I was a kid. I worked like a man starting at 4 years of age.

Last night I told the girls to make the sandwiches for lunches. You'd have thought I'd asked them to construct the Golden Gate Bridge. The (usually) fine husband and father of these darlings didn't even take up for me. I was none too happy. It wasn't one of our finer evenings.

It got worse. After they expressed their opinions about making sandwiches, the horror of horrors that that is, they tried to saddle me with guilt. "We never see you. You're always gone." They started naming all the commitments I've had this year, only one of which is still a weekly evening commitment. It's true I WAS over-committed but I quit every dang one of those commitments except Tuesday evening. No more Weight Watchers, no more dragon boating (I cried).

I'm sure as an astute discerner of spirits, you've figured out that I'm just a little peeved. And as I've done in the past, I'll share some of this little family's humor. It always blesses my socks off to tell funny things my fam has done. I'm blessed indeed with a (usually) good-natured, fun-loving family.

In The Cinderella Story, a girl flick that my girls really like, the evil stepmother in her nasal voice says to the teenage stepdaughter, "You're not very smart and you're not very pretty. I'm glad we had this talk." Well that line has become a regular in our house. It's one of those little things we say to make sure everyone maintains a healthy self-esteem. Hannah particularly likes to say it, probably because she knows she'll get gales of laughter from me because she does the imitation so well. I might ask, "Hannah does this blouse look ok?" to which she'll look up and down my long svelte body and reply in a most nasally voice, "Well, you're not very smart and you're not very pretty. I'm glad we had this talk."

Sounds warped, I know. But it makes us laugh. It makes me puh-roud.

Several weeks ago my poor Rachael got a short lived little flu. She's usually healthy as a healthy horse so when I heard her puking I ran to the bathroom to find her hugging the toilet. Forgetting to check my humor at the door, I said, "Oh Lord, I hope this isn't that swine flu that's killin' everybody." Even in a puking state, Rachael started laughing and vomit dribbled out her nose. I know, sounds un-motherly and warped. But we laughed and that makes me puh-roud.

Deborah, the social butterfly, lives in fear of missing out on something. None of my children have had as many play-dates and social gatherings as Deborah. And every time we pick her up from one of them she asks, "What did you all do while I was gone?" Sounds healthy enough, but what she really means is did I miss anything? Not one to let the opportunity pass to damage a child, I reply along these lines. "We had a party with ice cream and every candy you can imagine. Even pop, lots of pop. I hired a clown and he came with his donkey." As I'm saying my part, the rest of the family is adding theirs. Everyone belts out their input: We went skating. Kalyna called to see if you could sleep over, I told her no. We went for pizza. We laugh as we all try to outdo each other's good time.

Ok, I THINK my family is back in my good graces. At least till I ask them to lift their pretty little fingers to help me out.

Hmm, maybe I spoke too soon.

gone postal

(Stacie's house sits just beyond the trees.)

My sister Stacie, for the second year in a row, did not receive her Christmas card from me. I am positive I put the right address on it.

Stacie lives in the Appalachian Mountains on a lovely hilly lane that cul-de-sacs three houses beyond her. A couple years ago, she had a mailman that was clearly dealing with some pent-up anger. He drove furiously down the road never slowing down for the several neighborhood dogs that snooze lazily on the quiet road. These dogs are truly neighborhood dogs. Everyone calls all the dogs by name, feeds them if they're at their house at doggy meal time, pets them, and of course looks out for them.

(Several months ago Stacie's next door neighbor got a new beagle pup. They wanted to teach their new pup to stay home so they put him on a really long leash so he could have lots of freedom, be part of the tight-knit canine community but still be grounded to home base. Stacie came home one day to find the little Beagle catching some zzzzz's in the middle of the road. He was still on his leash tethered to the owner's porch. Can you picture the cuteness?)

I got terribly off track telling that, but it sort of helps my real story about the mail-delivery guy. Another side note: My mailman is the best mailman in the world. His real name is Don, but my kids started calling him Mr Berry because once he gave them some berries. They were very little so and were convinced that Mr Berry was his real name. Anyway, Don calls my dogs and my children by their names. Actually he calls Deborah Lizzybeth. He was our mailman when I was pregnant with her and at that time we called her Lizzybeth. Don still does. And he always gives Lucy and Bear treats if they are out front when he comes by. You can imagine why I think Don is such a good mailman.

Back to Stacie's Mad Mailman... He drove too fast for her quiet neighborhood where the dogs are free to roam and be neighborly. Stacie noticed a number of times that the mailman had no regard for the dogs. If it were just that, she probably wouldn't have approached him, but there were other things too. Once she received a parcel that didn't fit in the mailbox. Mad Mailman just threw it in her yard for the neighborhood dogs to chew on. But the real clincher happened on garbage day when the guy at the end of the lane hadn't removed his empty garbage cans from the road. Unfortunately Mad Mailman couldn't get to the mailbox for the cans.

Stacie watched from her porch as Mad Mailman went partially postal. He got out of his car swearing and kicking. He picked the blankety-blank-blank garbage cans up and hurled them down the ravine. Stacie wasn't impressed, but then again, Mad Mailman had never impressed her.

She went out in the road and stood expecting Mad Mailman to stop. He drove toward her angrily and she feared that he might run over her, not as in run over her on accident. She thought he may be aiming at her. Anyway she started waving her arms so he'd stop. He came to an angry halt and Stacie asked him, and I quote, "Why can't you be a nice mailman?"

He got all belligerent on her and took off. Stacie wasn't through discussing the matter. She grabbed the door around the open window and hung on as he started to roar off. She hung on and ran with the car as long as she could pleading with him to "just be nice." He didn't stop.

She phoned his supervisor and reported her observations and personal experience. Mad Mailman wasn't her mailman for a while. When he came back to her route, he drove a little slower but gave her dirty looks.

Do you think there's any connection between Mad Mailman and my Christmas card not getting to her two years in a row?

 

lexie's lingerie

I have a friend, let's call her Lexie. Lexie is about my size (size 6/7). Baw-haaaaa. Actually she shops in an "above average" store. Last week was her husband's birthday. I guess she has a tradition of buying herself lingerie on his birthday. She's of a modest persuasion and hates actually going into a store to buy underwear, much less lingerie. But she does,-- evidently every year for her hubby's birthday. She discreetly chooses something, tries it on, and tries to pay for it without being noticed.

Last week she went through this ordeal and turned beet-red as she relayed the embarrassing experience to me.

She picked out the lingerie that she wanted and tried it on. It fit. She was relieved not to have to go back to that section of the store. She got in line to pay. The lady being checked out was buying sexy nighties too. She was a large lady and didn't mind the mental imagery games that talking about the purchase would provide. She spoke openly about how this piece was for her boyfriend but that it would be a few days before she saw him. She got the opinions of those around her: Should she or should she not send a picture of herself in this nightie to him via email. Would that be cruel since he couldn't have her for a few days? Ugh.

Evidently this loosened up the atmosphere at the register. Lexie laid her lingerie choice on the desk. The lady opposite her yelled, "Wooohooo, is someone gonna have a good time tonight!!" Lexie about died as the clerk held up her sexy piece for everyone to see. As she held it up she loudly asked, "Are you gonna get some black pumps too?" Without waiting for Lexie's response (thankfully), she went on to loudly tell Lexie how good this nightie was going to look on her.

Lexie very near died right there. But she was able to whisper, "You're embarrassing me." The lady became apologetic telling Lexie she was a beautiful woman who had nothing to be ashamed of. The ladies began to boast about how good they felt about themselves and Lexie said she wanted to say, "Look, I don't want to be a member of your 'Proud to be Fat Club.'"

 

what says love

These are some answers from 4-8 year old kids asked to define love. There's some good insight here.

"When my grandmother got arthritis, she couldn't bend over and paint her toenails anymore. So my grandfather does it for her all the time, even when his hands got arthritis too."

"Love is when a girl puts on perfume and a boy puts on shaving cologne and they go out and smell each other."

"Love is when you go out to eat and give somebody most of your French fries without making them give you any of theirs."

"Love is what makes you smile when you're tired."

"Love is when my mommy makes coffee for my daddy and she takes a sip before giving it to him to make sure the taste is OK."

"Love is when you kiss all the time. Then when you get tired of kissing, you still want to be together and you talk more. My Mommy and Daddy are like that. They look gross when they kiss"

"Love is when you tell a guy you like his shirt, then he wears it everyday."

"Love is like a little old woman and a little old man who are still friends even after they know each other so well."

"During my piano recital, I was on a stage and I was scared. I looked at all the people watching me and saw my daddy waving and smiling. He was the only one doing that. I wasn't scared anymore. "

"My mommy loves me more than anybody. You don't see anyone else kissing me to sleep at night."

"Love is when Mommy gives Daddy the best piece of chicken."

"Love is when Mommy sees Daddy smelly and sweaty and still says he is handsomer than Robert Redford."

"Love is when your puppy licks your face even after you left him alone all day."

"I know my older sister loves me because she gives me all her old clothes and has to go out and buy new ones."

"When you love somebody, your eyelashes go up and down and little stars come out of you."

"Love is when Mommy sees Daddy on the toilet and she doesn't think it's gross."

And a few from closer to home:

When Gordon was in grade 5 or 6 he had a pair of purple plaid pants that he loved. A drop of bleach hit them turning them white in that little dot. With a marker, Gordon's mother colored that spot purple every time she washed those pants.

When I was little and sick, I had to sit in a vaporizer mist. I sat in Daddy's lap and he sat in the mist with me because it scared me.

Once I got really sick at the hospital at night. Mama came to the hospital and as she was running in she dropped her keys. She couldn't find them immediately so she just kept running. I was more important than her keys. I found out about it when a man who witnessed it brought the keys to my room.

Once when Gordon's family was on a camping trip things went from bad to worse to worser. After a couple days of rain, Gordon's dad told everyone to get in the car. He packed them up by himself in the rain while everyone else got to sit in the dry car.

Gordon feels loved when I touch him during an argument.

Hannah feels loved when I sew for her.

Rachael feels loved when she know she deserves a bigger discipline than she gets.

Deborah feels loved when she gets taken on dates.

to the bank

Have you ever been broke and gone to the bank for help? The experience is hard on the self-esteem. I remember once I was collecting door prizes for an event and a loan officer at my local bank had agreed to donate. So I went to the bank to collect the promised donation. I sat in the waiting area and watched as the loan officer (let's call him Tom) went to the secretary and saw my name on his appointment list. He put on his most professional look and came to me with an outstretched arm. He escorted me into his office and I got the feeling he thought he was about to save my soul. He motioned for me to sit and as he got comfortably situated behind the big mahogany desk, he put on his most sympathetic, compassionate face and said, "Valerie, what can I do for you today?"

I realized at that moment that he thought I was there for financial help. I stammered a bit but finally said, "I'm here for a door prize." He had an epiphany at that moment, jumped up and said, "Well slap my face. I forgot all about that."

It seems loan officers at "lending institutions" come in two flavors; arrogant asses or syrupy saps. My Tom was a syrupy sap. But I've heard some pretty good stories about the arrogant-ass kind of loan officer who acts as if he's lending out his own personal money.

I think we can all identify with the humiliation of being young and desperately in need of the bank's assistant, whether buying the first house or car, or borrowing to pay off the baby.

When Michael (my brother) and Lawana were just starting out they went to the bank and unfortunately got an arrogant ass for a loan officer. (We'll call him Alan). After some discussion, Alan left the office to see what he could do for them. He came back and said, "Mr Callahan, are you aware that your bank balance is 15 cents?"

Michael is well versed in turning a horrible and humiliating situation into a comic show. Assuming the ass would enjoy a laugh as well, Michael said, "Do you mean to tell me we've not gained 1 cent in interest?" The loan officer didn't laugh. Michael then turned to Lawana and said, "Lawana, I think we should get our money and take it somewhere where it'll work for us."

pregnant thoughts

Stephanie recently told me about some of her unrealistic desires and expectations prior to Roman's arrival. I was amused by these as I did the exact same thing with every single pregnancy. I got these grandiose ideas of things that had to be done before I could possibly have a baby. Before Stephanie's birth I had to wallpaper above the kitchen cupboards. So at 41 weeks pregnant (she came at 42 weeks) I lumbered up and down the kitchen counters wallpapering.

I was so tickled to learn that others, Stephanie namely, got these same weird ways of thinking during the last days of pregnancy.

For one, Stephanie insisted that her back yard be fenced before Roman came. She fretted and spoke openly about this need. Her father-in-law saw the obvious flaw and eloquently suggested that Roman wouldn't be playing in the backyard for a while.

Another thing that Stephanie insisted on was looking good for delivery. This tickled me too, as I rolled my hair in hot rollers and put on makeup before I went to the hospital for Stephanie and Christopher's births.

Stephanie told me about getting a new hair cut "for delivery." Post-birth she saw how silly this was. She said, "I don't know what I was thinking. I knew he wasn't going to come out and say 'Woe, are you ever cute!'"

I was amused.

mangy doll

When my sister Diane was little, she had a doll that she was attached to and carried everywhere with her. Unfortunately the doll was quite ugly - clumps of hair having fallen out. Once a mangy dog appeared on the scene and my Uncle Corkey observed aloud, "That dog looks like Diane's doll."

 

electric windows

Tonight in the car I absentmindedly rolled up Rachael's window while her arm was hanging out. After apologies, I chuckled at a long-ago memory.

Diane and Herbie had just gotten their first car with electric windows. Jeff was very young, I'm guessing about four. Once he had his head hanging out the window when Herbie rolled the window up, trapping Jeff''s head. After freeing Jeff's head, Jeff sat back and mused aloud, "That's what I don't like about these cars. You never know when the windows are gonna go up."