Archive for the 'Joy' Category

Y’all Are So Flippin’ Cool!

May 2, 2008 | Give Aways, Joy

You all have no idea how much I have enjoyed the comments you left on the previous post about your mamas.  You have NO idea. I loved loved loved reading each and every one.    

 

Some of your comments made me laugh out loud, some made me sigh, many made me nod knowingly.  So many amazing women and so many amazing stories. I found myself wanting to call you up and find out more about your mom.  And of course, I did email many of you because I couldn’t resist telling you how something you said stirred me or tickled me in some way.

 

 I challenge each of you to take the thoughts you expressed here about your mom and expand upon them.  Sit down and write an essay about your mom or mom-type person.  It will bless future generations to be able read about her of your own hand. Do it, please. Don’t delay.

 

The first thing I realized as I started reading the comments is how important a name is. Knowing the name of your mother helped me visualize her in the story you told about her and made me feel like I knew her personally.  Thank you for that.

 

Some of your moms liked their names, some didn’t, some changed their names or the spelling of their names or went by a nickname, some were named unwittingly by someone other than their parents. Some found out years later their name was not what they thought it was.  So many different names, yet all the same name - mom. 

 

I think we’ll do this little exercise again in June for our daddios or dad-type personages in our lives. I’ll be casting about for another fabulous prize.

 

The only downside to this is that there is only one winner and I really hate that.  I want everyone to win.  If I were Oprah, you would look under your seat right now and find a Flip video.  But knowing the super nice people that you are, I know you all join me in congratulating Gale whose mama Linda was a charter member of the Monkees fan club.  I like you Gale, even though your mom and I are about the same age.  Congrats Gale and be on the lookout for an email from me!

 

Have a loverly weekend y’all and thanks for playing along.

Reach

June 22, 2007 | Joy, Photo Essays

Glee

May 29, 2007 | Joy, Photo Essays, Snips And Snails

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Not Just Because He Wears A Napkin On His Head

March 20, 2007 | Joy, Sometimes Sweet

The prevailing assumption in our culture is that parents can’t wait for their children to grow up and leave home. And yes, there have been a few days when I would have traded Sean for a margarita and a plate of nachos. But not many. At least not too many.

Maybe most people do feel that way, but I don’t. Maybe because I waited so long and so late in life for him and maybe because I thought I’d never be a mother, but I am not anxious for this time to speed by. I am fully aware that the day he leaves my house will be here too soon.

I remember one time when Sean was about a year old, we were seated in a restaurant booth and he was enjoying the thrill of wearing a napkin on his head as everyone does. He was having a good time and we were having a good time watching him have a good time. At one point, the lady seated in the booth behind us turned and said, “Don’t worry, only 18 more years to freedom.” Without thinking I blurted, “But I don’t want to be free from him!” Her face contorted in disgust and disbelief, as though I had just stated for the record that I enjoy sticking straight pins in my eyeballs. That was kind of a conversation killer, so she immediately turned back to her margarita and nachos.

But it’s true, I’m having a great time being a mom even though I’m chronically tired and most of the time I feel like I don’t know what in the heck I’m doing. I mean how often can you take someone to dinner and get them to dance on the table with a napkin on their head purely for your own amusement without buying them drinks? Not that often people. Not since college anyway.

Sean is a source of joy in my life. I like having him around. He makes me laugh. He makes me remember to breathe long and deep. With or without a napkin on his head.

The Strawberry

February 11, 2007 | Joy, Snips And Snails, Sometimes Sweet

Somewhere along the way, in the bumpy course of my life, my eyes had become crusted over with the cynical smog and gunk and goo of the world. Bad news for an artist. I had just stopped seeing the exquisite surprises that God puts in my path every day. And I didn’t even realize it. Until Sean came along.

Having a little boy to point out the spot of bright red in a sepia colored world has been a marvelous and soul-healing thing. Sean has opened the eyes of my heart to see the wonder of the world again through his eyes and this, for me, has been the gift of parenthood.

Not too long ago, we had breakfast at IHOP and if ever there is a place where the world gathers up her cynicism, it’s at IHOP. We always seem to get some world worn waitress named Blanche who is all business but calls everyone honey. Blanche is probably 53 but looks 73 from smoking three packs a day and having worked at IHOP since she was 16.

As Blanche sets down the plate of pancakes before us, Sean shrieks with delight, “Oh Mommy! A strawberry!” he gasps. “Look! She brought us a strawberry!” And then he looks up at Blanche and gives her a smile that would light up the dark side of the moon.

 But Blanche doesn’t take notice. “Anything else honey?” she asks instead. Sean claps his hands together with glee and laughs his own funny little staccato laugh over the sight of such a rare and unusal thing. He picks it off the side of the plate and examines it.

Powdered sugar snows down on everything between the plate and his shirt. He holds it to his button nose and inhales deeply leaving a dusting of white behind. He feels of its bumpy texture. He offers me a sniff by shoving it firmly up my nose. Then he looks at me and smiles. A strawberry! Tiny white teeth and dimples punctuate the moment — those dimples that daily prick the tender underside of my crusty, cynical heart. It is so hard to be crusty and cynical when there are dimples.

I look at him as he licks what’s left of the the powdered sugar off the strawberry. I think of his happy little heart, still pure and unstained by the world, a world which cannot, will not, be distracted away from it’s cynicism long enough to appreciate the beauty of a single strawberry on a plate of pancakes.

In that moment, the strawberry and the boy are so blindingly and shockingly and painfully beautiful that it makes my eyes hurt. And I want to eat them both up.

This boy, he has opened the eyes of my heart.

The Measure Of A Boy

December 11, 2006 | Joy, Snips And Snails, Sometimes Sweet

“Eighteen inches!” the nurse announced shortly after you were born. That’s officially how long you were. When I’m old and gray, I won’t remember eighteen inches. But I will always remember that you were the length of my forearm when your tiny soft warm head rested in the palm of my hand.

A line on the wall marks 30 inches. That’s how tall you were on your first birthday. 30 inches meant that I could hold you in the rocking chair with your head nestled into my neck and your knees tucked comfortably under you. 30 inches meant I could lift you over the crib rails and place you in your bed without waking you.

Another mark on the wall shows that when you turned two, you were 35 inches tall. I don’t remember 35 inches, I remember the leg hugs. You would exuberantly wrap your arms around my upper leg and bury your face into my thigh, squealing with delight and glee and slobber. That’s what leg hugs mean - 35 inches.

Now at three, you are 40 inches tall. 40 inches means you can sit in my lap and I can rest my chin on your head. And smell your hair. And whisper kisses and prayers down the back of your shirt without you knowing it.

I know that someday we will stand eye-to-eye and then there will be a day beyond that when you will rest your chin on my head. And I will still want to whisper kisses and prayers down your shirt without you knowing it.

Home Again Home Again

September 28, 2006 | Joy, Makes Me Sigh

Does anyone else find vacations exhausting, or is it just me?

We just returned from spending seven days in San Francisco, our favoritest of cities. On the plus side, we got to see some dear friends, do some hiking out on Pt. Reyes (where a family of deer bounded by right in front of us), see the sights, enjoy sleeping with the windows open, walk on the beach, feel good about our mortgage and eat, eat, eat and eat some more. We were all set to move there until we found not one restaurant that understood the true meaning of chips and salsa - and that was a deal breaker.

On the negative side, on the flight out I was convinced that two suspiciously nervous guys were terrorists. I spent the entire three-hour flight eating Tums like popcorn and clutching my smuggled nail file in my coat pocket and praying. I was ready for a Sally Hansen-style duel where I ended up landing the plane or they ended up with a bad manicure. Either way.

The other bummer was that the second day we were there, someone hi-jacked our credit card number and went on an $800 spending spree at Wal-Mart. As if someone could outspend me at Wal-Mart! The hoist was discovered when we tried to pay our dinner bill and the card was rejected. The waiter was nonplussed at our display of astonishment. When we indignantly informed him that this had NEVER happened to us before, his expression told us he’d heard that one before. Although it was true, it sounded false even to me, so I didn’t blame him.

Joining the credit card crud in the negative column, I lost my new sunglasses in Golden Gate park, our washing machine broke as soon as we got home with three suitcases of dirty laundry and now my computer is PMSing. And I am tired.

But, then as I’m looking through my pictures, there is this:

A little boy who was thrilled with every new thing — a bar of hotel soap, jumping on the hotel bed, a seashell, the “go-go-gay” bridge, a pinecone. I am tired. And it was totally worth it.

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September Rain

September 21, 2006 | Joy, Makes Me Sigh, Snips And Snails

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Sunday afternoon brought a warm and gentle (and much needed) rain to North Texas. Sean and I celebrated by grabbing our umbrellas and strolling around the neighborhood, making sure to stomp in every puddle along the way.

Too few are days such as these.

Fragile No More

August 9, 2006 | Joy, Makes Me Sigh, Snips And Snails

As I sit here watching my little boy jumping off the coffee table with a tiny toy guitar tucked under his arm like David Lee Roth, I can’t believe he is the same fragile four-pound baby that we brought home from the hospital just before Thanksgiving in 2003.

We are nearly three years into this parenting gig and sometimes Antique Daddy and I still can’t believe the hospital turned us loose with an infant that weighed less than my handbag. We were so clueless.

As we were packing up to leave the hospital, we told the doctor as clearly as we could that even though we appeared to be grown ups, we were only cheap imitations. We were terrified at the thought of being responsible for our baby. Beyond the fact that childbirth had left Antique Daddy with a bad case of the shingles and me an emotional and physical wreck — we had no idea how to take care of a baby, a premature baby at that. We knew about dogs, not babies and they wanted us to take home a baby, not a puppy.  We begged anyone wearing scrubs to come home with us. “We’ll take any of you, doctor, nurse, janitor — it doesn’t matter. Please! Just come with us!”

As the NICU nurse handed over our tiny bundle of poop, she shook her head sadly — not sad because she wanted to go with us, but sad because she was required by law to send two idiots like us home with a helpless little human being. “You’ll do fine,” she lied. I knew she was lying and she knew I knew she was lying because she was the one who valiantly tried to teach me how to change a diaper. “Remember, picture on front,” she said holding up a diaper no bigger than a Kleenex. “Are you going to have some help at home?” she asked in the same pointed way that my mother does when she wants to disguise a suggestion as a question.

As we strapped Sean into the car seat for the first time to take him home, his little head bobbled back and forth and front and back like a drunk. Even though I had read every book in print on babies, on the drive home I convinced myself that I missed the one page with all the crucial how-not-to-kill-your-baby information. I was certain that I would not know something that everyone knows and I would accidentally kill him and then I would be a nightly news story of a stupid Dallas woman who accidentally killed her own baby doing something stupid and then everyone would say “I thought everyone knew that! How stupid!”

I was afraid that I would give him 1/8 of a scoop too little formula and kill him. I was afraid I would give him 1/8 of a scoop too much formula and kill him. I was afraid if I stopped looking at him, he would die. I was afraid if I stopped looking at him, I would die.

When we finally got him home (we drove so slowly that a 45 minute trip took about two hours) we laid him on the floor in the den on a blanket and stood back and looked at him. And waited. The dog moseyed over and sniffed him and looked up at us like “Now what?” Antique Daddy and I looked at each like “Now what?” and then we both looked back at the dog hoping she had thought of something.

As I looked at him laying there, just a tiny spot of baby on his little blanket, I noticed that he was not even as big as the stain on the rug where I spilled an entire pepperoni pizza face down on the brand new carpet the day before we moved into the house. My fears about doing something stupid were suddenly rationalized.

Before he was a year old, I had found my groove and relaxed and quit making myself crazy worrying that I might break him. I learned to wing it and appreciate my benign ineptitude. It turns out that, just like me, he’s of sturdy and stubborn stock and there aren’t enough Band-aids in the world to convince him that he can’t fly. Consequently, bumps and scrapes and bruises are part of every day and so far, I haven’t ended up on the nightly news.

This summer he is anything but fragile. He is all legs and energy and imp and tease. He is impossibly independent and fearless and he is so bright and delicious to watch at play that it makes my eyes hurt and my heart ache knowing that something so marvelous came from my battle worn body.

This boy is such a source of life and light and joy in this house. And though I now know that he won’t die if I stop looking at him, I still think I just might.

Top Left Photo: Cooper Ann and I are discussing what could be done with a crying baby.  She suggested that we offer him a milkbone or take him for a ride in the car. 

Bottom Right Photo:  Road Warrior

In Good Hands

July 29, 2006 | Joy, Makes Me Sigh, Snips And Snails

Saturday morning, we made the trip to the yonder reaches of the metroplex to see the tree house exhibit at the Dallas Arboretum.  Contrary to what you might think, the Dallas Arboretum is really spectacular, even at this miserable time of the year. If you’ve never been, you will probably be surprised.

The tree house exhibit was interesting. Sean is obsessed with tree houses right now and we were expecting to see more Swiss Family Robinson style tree houses but what they featured were 13 abstract tree houses. Not what we expected, but we had a great time nonetheless.

As we traipsed across 66 acres of beautifully manicured horti-scapes (I just made that word up!) with pergolas dressed in glorious sweeping vines and tidy stone paths lined with ivy and tiny budding flowers of every color and water dancing and leaping from fountains, we apparently became intoxicated with the grandeur of it all, because we would occassionally turn to each other and say, “Wouldn’t it be nice to do that in our yard? We could do that in our yard, couldn’t we?” After indulging ourselves in an eensy bit of delusion we finally snapped out of it and remembered that a) we don’t know squat about gardening, b) we stink at gardening c) we have a mole.

In spite of the heat and that it was well beyond lunchtime, Sean was in remarkably good spirits, so we decided to stop for lunch. Dining with a toddler is always an iffy proposition, but remarkably, we made it through lunch with no incident, so I decided a reward was in order. I suggested to Sean that we go outside and play in a little nearby playground area while Daddy finished eating and waited for the check.

As Sean and I climbed out of our side of the booth and headed out, he stopped and put his hand on Antique Daddy’s knee, looked him squarely in the eye and solemnly said, “Don’t worry about Mom, Daddy. I’ll take care of her.”

I was caught off guard. Laughter and tears caught together in the back of my throat in one sweet tangle. And at that very moment it did not seem unreasonable to reach into my chest, pull out my glowing, beating heart and offer it to him.

Before… And Ever After

July 24, 2006 | Joy

Before you were conceived I wanted you.

Before you were born I loved you.

Before you were here an hour I would die for you.

This is the miracle of life.

~ Maureen Hawkins