Today is the Fourth of July, the birthday of America. I consider myself patriotic and, as I announced in church yesterday, I am "USA to the core". (Long story, don't ask.) I am celebrating today, along with so many of my fellow Americans, the day that this country, the greatest democracy in the history of the world, was formed. It is worth celebrating, and worth remembering.
But today, I am also thinking of July 5, 1776.
In my innocence, ignorance, and poor mastery of US History, I think I always imagined the 4th of July as the end of the struggle. The end of the War with Britain. It makes sense really, all of the celebrating, and the fire works, one would naturally conclude the celebrating was for the end of the fight. But it didn't happen like that. America declared it's independence from Britain on July 4, 1776, but the war didn't end. Britain didn't read the Declaration of Independence, and say, "Turn all of the boats around boys, they say they are independent now. They even wrote it down". Quite the contrary. They came at the petulant Americans with renewed fight, and vigor. They would show this pompous little "nation" what a real army was like, or so they intended.
The battles raged on, the casualties climbed. In fact, the famous words spoken by Nathan Hale when he was executed (without trial), "I regret that I have but one life to give for my country," were spoken after July 4.
It sits heavy on my chest when I read about life for those first Americans. The times themselves were brutal. Felling trees to clear land and build houses, log by log. Sleeping on hay pallets, and eating what you killed, or grew yourself. No plumbing, no electricity, limited healthcare (people died of diarrhea for Pete's sake) and an utter lack of anything the least bit convenient. But these people, with homes to build, land to cultivate, and families to feed were so convicted in their beliefs that they found the time to fight the fight. They didn't say, "Gee, I would love to help you Thomas, but my seven kids need me to plant the crops, and hunt the bears." They needed to be free from British control, and they needed to follow the call they knew was given to them by God. So, they did it.
I am painfully aware how lucky the pioneers of this great country are that I wasn't among them. If they were counting on me to fight the Brits, we would all still be saying, "bloody hell, and jolly good" because I am a victim of my own busyness- both real, and imaginary. I can't even stop and play CandyLand with Taryn sometimes because "I have to mop the floor". And I have a steam mop that I plug in and mop with! I don't even have to make soap and haul water up from the river. My goodness!
And it's not just the sacrifice that they were so good at, but their bravery too. The brutality of a war with musket balls and bayonets is frightening. A war where you didn't shoot until you saw the whites of their eyes. For the record, I do not ever want to be close enough to see the whites of the eyes of a person with a weapon who has orders to kill me. And on top of that, they had limited medical treatment, antibiotics, and pain relievers. You either died from your wounds, or died of infection. Not good odds! Despite that,they fought. Oh that I could be so convicted! Oh that I would have such a stirring in my heart for what I believe in that I would be selfless, and brave simply because I must.
Sure, I am patriotic. In fairness though, that's easy to say from my couch watching the Olympics, from my picnic blanket under the stars watching the fire works, or even in my seat near the dugout at the major league baseball game with my hand on my heart as I sing every inspirational word of the National Anthem.
I am grateful for true American patriots. Not just nostalgic Americans, like me, but people, throughout history and today who felt conviction for this nation, honored that conviction, and that gave their time, money, loyalty, and lives for this country. One of my former students just started his career at the United States Air Force Academy. He also happens to be the eldest son of my very best friend. I am proud of him. I am proud of him for what he knows that he has signed up for, and for what his seventeen or eighteen year old mind couldn't even conceive. I am proud that he is a patriot in the making. That he is giving the next decades of his life to this country. Giving back. Paying a debt that he knows, only to some extent, that he has. I hope the Air Force Academy, and military academies across our nation, are full of "Jamies" because it makes me feel better about the future of this country. That's the part he doesn't know that he signed up for. The part where his choice gives me hope.
Thank you patriots-young, old, and those alive only in history books and stories told around dining room tables. I am sorry if I have diminished the reality of your sacrifices and your bravery by calling myself a patriot. I guess I should call myself a theoretical patriot; that seems more accurate. Thank you for being actual patriots, and know that I do not go to sleep at night without thinking of my debt to you- without thinking of July 5.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Saturday, July 2, 2011
I Am Who I Am
I admire women who are quiet. I don't mean silent, or keeping their thoughts to themselves. I mean quiet, in a way that is full of grace and dignity. Who, when they speak, you listen. You listen because you know that they are not an endless fountain of words, but rather wait to speak when when something is worth saying. I am not one of those women. (Just ask Jayme.) I dislike that about myself. I always have something to say. Some sarcastic remark, or witty little quip. Something to make myself laugh, if nothing else. I am sure that my friends could find this exhausting because I do too sometimes. Not usually. Usually I am giving myself mental high fives for how funny I am. But always, I am striving to spend more time being still, and gracious, and speaking less, but more profoundly. Telling myself to learn to wait to speak until I have a little gem of wisdom to share.
I also admire women who are uninhibited. Not crazy wild, mind you, because that is just embarrassing. More like brave. Willing to try new things. All of my life I have had this issue with trying new things. Basically, I don't. I don't try things that I could quite possibly fail. I try new variations of old things. For example, I am good at basketball, so I will play on a new team. I can sing, decently, so I will sing in a new choir, because I have sung in choirs before. However, trying something completely unknown is not at all exciting for me. Jayme went to this boot camp class at his gym and came home telling me it was the best workout of his life, and I should try it. Quite frankly, I should. But going to a new gym to join a public exercise class absolutely terrifies me. I have never done that before. Not even anything like it. I have no frame of reference, but my imagination immediately goes to the worst case scenario. One in which I can't do any of the moves, and I hurt myself. It's awful to admit, but quite frankly the thought of trying the class makes me struggle to breathe. I am in a constant battle to live outside of my comfort zone because I admire women who do, and I want to be more like what I admire. Those women who don't even bat an eye before they run out to try yoga or join a zumba class, or sky dive. I have to think they are living life to the fullest, while I am living life safely in my mind.
I admire people who are organized. I am SO not. I have multiple junk drawers in the house, and I hate them. I organize them regularly, but an organized junk drawer is sort of an oxymoron. I mean, wasn't the junk drawer born out of a need for a place to throw everything that doesn't have a rightful place? I say yes. But still, having three is too many, and surely most of that stuff could be made to have a rightful place, or could be thrown out. I know it. And I fail to fix it. That makes me so disappointed in myself. I know, this is a bit dramatic, but that's my way. Disappointed in myself over my multitude of junk drawers, when there are so much bigger things for me to focus on. The junk drawers are just symbolic though. Symbolic of the unkempt areas of my life that I want to be better at keeping control over. So even as I reorganize my junk drawers for the twentieth time, I admire those people that I know exist, for whom junk drawers are just myths. They have a place for everything, and everything in its place. They are what I long to be.
I could go on for years, I admire women who are good cooks, and mothers who hide zucchini in the brownies to make sure their kids get enough veggies. I admire people who run in the rain just because if they didn't they would miss their work out for the day and that would drive them crazy. I admire people who can have a face to face confrontation without getting emotional, or who can express themselves verbally. I generally find myself wanting to say, "hold on, I would like to continue this disagreement but could we do it in writing, please?" In real life, that doesn't generally fit into the plan.
So what to do? Well, all that I can come up with is to keep appreciating and recognizing things in others that I admire. And honor them for those qualities, rather than silently appreciating them. I need to strive to add some of those qualities to my life, all the while realizing that I am me. I can watch Julia Childs on TV, but can never be Julia Childs. I could go skydiving, but I would hate every minute of it until it was over (at which point I would brag excessively about my bravery). I am who I am. I can be better. I can organize the junk drawers, and I can try new things when they aren't unreasonably risky, but I can't ignore the "Jen Blueprint" that God designed me with. Continue growing, reading, learning, and keep challenging myself to be the best version of me that I can be, and learn to be satisfied with that.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
A Hero is Born
Yesterday, I needed a hero.
I was in the midst of a personal crisis involving a Palmetto bug loose in my bedroom, and a terrified child who wanted to go to her Nana's house until the bug could be properly destroyed. I saw the two inch long, exoskeleton covered bug run through the middle of my room, and I felt instant fear. I like lady bugs, and am not afraid of love-bugs or plastic bugs, but that about covers it.
I looked around the room trying to find a lethal device, but all I could see were my book on Mother Theresa, my prayer journal, and an alarm clock. I immediately started to think like MacGyver, but in the instant that I searched for a paperclip and a piece of thread to fashion into some sort of pith, the bug vanished. Fear turned to panic. This bug could have been pregnant and now was off proliferating. It could be getting inside my walls or finding its way into pillows stacked on the floor. It could hide out until I go to bed and then would crawl in my mouth while I slept! HELP! Hero, where are you?
I have had many heroes in my life, and each one is so absolutely crucial to my sanity. Sometimes my heroes are my friends who are there to talk me through a parenting dilemma or a spousal misunderstanding. They send me cards in the mail, "just because" and surprise me with Starbucks, phone calls, and birthday luncheons. I love them for laughing with me, and sometimes at me, thereby healing my soul!
Always they are my parents, whose words are so ingrained in my heart that I cannot separate them from my own most times. The whispered reminders are telling me to be kind, to be still, to be courageous, and to make wise choices.
My brother and sister are heroes to me. Providing me with a much needed link to the past. A history. A place to belong no matter how strange I feel in the world. An anchor.
Jesus is my ultimate hero. The perfect model of love, of sacrifice, of courage, and the most effective teacher ever. His promises are what I count on both when times are good, and when times couldn't get much worse.
Usually, for me and the kids, Jayme is our hero. When the favorite plastic toy breaks, breaking a tender tiny, heart along with it, he has just the thing to glue it back together. When I can't open the juice (because they are making the covers more ridgy and they hurt my hands) he can. When there is a bolt in the tire of the Jeep from some unknown origin, he knows where to take it to get it fixed. He tells the kids how long the house has been standing, and how many storms it has stood up to, and they are no longer afraid of the thunder. And usually when Palmetto bugs are loose in the house, or lizards, or (twice) snakes, he saves the day. I know he doesn't ride around on a white horse or wear a cape or a uniform, but he is every bit as much my hero.
I hope that I am a hero sometimes too. My heroes deserve to have me save the day right back. I pray that I will get the chance, and will not be to busy, too self absorbed, too tired, too afraid... I think that, usually, when it is your turn to be the hero, no one can do it but you. Of course, there are times when there is no one else to turn to. That's when you get to be your own hero.
I was my own hero yesterday, and I hated every minute of it. (It occurs to me that is often true. We would rather be rescued, than go through the saving of ourselves from a tough situation). I did it though! I tracked and hunted that bug like a pioneer trying to feed his family would track an animal. I found that wee beastie hiding among some blankets, and I killed that bug dead (may I add, there is way too much "splat" involved in killing palmetto bugs. Then, Taryn and I whooped and hoorayed like I had a caught one of America's Most Wanted. "Mommy," Taryn said, "You saved the day."
And so it begins. In her eyes a hero was born.
I was in the midst of a personal crisis involving a Palmetto bug loose in my bedroom, and a terrified child who wanted to go to her Nana's house until the bug could be properly destroyed. I saw the two inch long, exoskeleton covered bug run through the middle of my room, and I felt instant fear. I like lady bugs, and am not afraid of love-bugs or plastic bugs, but that about covers it.
I looked around the room trying to find a lethal device, but all I could see were my book on Mother Theresa, my prayer journal, and an alarm clock. I immediately started to think like MacGyver, but in the instant that I searched for a paperclip and a piece of thread to fashion into some sort of pith, the bug vanished. Fear turned to panic. This bug could have been pregnant and now was off proliferating. It could be getting inside my walls or finding its way into pillows stacked on the floor. It could hide out until I go to bed and then would crawl in my mouth while I slept! HELP! Hero, where are you?
I have had many heroes in my life, and each one is so absolutely crucial to my sanity. Sometimes my heroes are my friends who are there to talk me through a parenting dilemma or a spousal misunderstanding. They send me cards in the mail, "just because" and surprise me with Starbucks, phone calls, and birthday luncheons. I love them for laughing with me, and sometimes at me, thereby healing my soul!
Always they are my parents, whose words are so ingrained in my heart that I cannot separate them from my own most times. The whispered reminders are telling me to be kind, to be still, to be courageous, and to make wise choices.
My brother and sister are heroes to me. Providing me with a much needed link to the past. A history. A place to belong no matter how strange I feel in the world. An anchor.
Jesus is my ultimate hero. The perfect model of love, of sacrifice, of courage, and the most effective teacher ever. His promises are what I count on both when times are good, and when times couldn't get much worse.
Usually, for me and the kids, Jayme is our hero. When the favorite plastic toy breaks, breaking a tender tiny, heart along with it, he has just the thing to glue it back together. When I can't open the juice (because they are making the covers more ridgy and they hurt my hands) he can. When there is a bolt in the tire of the Jeep from some unknown origin, he knows where to take it to get it fixed. He tells the kids how long the house has been standing, and how many storms it has stood up to, and they are no longer afraid of the thunder. And usually when Palmetto bugs are loose in the house, or lizards, or (twice) snakes, he saves the day. I know he doesn't ride around on a white horse or wear a cape or a uniform, but he is every bit as much my hero.
I hope that I am a hero sometimes too. My heroes deserve to have me save the day right back. I pray that I will get the chance, and will not be to busy, too self absorbed, too tired, too afraid... I think that, usually, when it is your turn to be the hero, no one can do it but you. Of course, there are times when there is no one else to turn to. That's when you get to be your own hero.
I was my own hero yesterday, and I hated every minute of it. (It occurs to me that is often true. We would rather be rescued, than go through the saving of ourselves from a tough situation). I did it though! I tracked and hunted that bug like a pioneer trying to feed his family would track an animal. I found that wee beastie hiding among some blankets, and I killed that bug dead (may I add, there is way too much "splat" involved in killing palmetto bugs. Then, Taryn and I whooped and hoorayed like I had a caught one of America's Most Wanted. "Mommy," Taryn said, "You saved the day."
And so it begins. In her eyes a hero was born.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
All BecauseTwo People Fell in Love
College kids.
Fun, friendships, freedom.
Falling in love.
Basketball, softball and soccer games, Street Fighter.
Bible studies, dinners out...
Thinking we were all grown up.
Being so wrong.
Just kids.
Newlyweds.
Together. Stars in our eyes. Totally in love.
Dreams of the future. Not even sure what to dream.
Cold winter, ice storms, radiator heat.
Money earned. Money spent. Laundromat, pizza place.
Thinking love was all we needed.
Being completely right.
Being completely wrong
Being completely in love.
Growing up.
First baby. Shock, excitement, heartache.
Innocence lost. Crying, Sadness. Solitude.
Leaning on each other. Loving each other.
Trusting. Doubting.
Too young for broken hearts,
but that didn't matter.
Believing "it is well" though it didn't feel "well".
Being right.
Parenthood.
Completely worth the risks.
Definitely worth the wait.
Two perfect blessings.
Love like we have never known.
Worry, joy, laughter, pain...all magnified.
Juggling new hats. Daddy, Mommy.
Thinking we should have been required to take a test.
Knowing we would have never passed. :)
Learning day by day.
Smiling at them- at just the thought of them.
Smiling at seeing each other in their eyes.
Growing older.
Long in the tooth. :) Gray hair.
Aches, pains, sun damage.
Happy Birthdays for us...for them.
Finding our love has grown comforting.
Not thinking there is anything wrong with that.
Knowing our love is true. Still laughing, still happy.
More beautiful than ever.
Like good wine.
One Heart. Two bodies. 100 directions.
Always coming home to the same place.
Our Future.
Quickly becoming the past.
Wide open. Full of potential.
Uncertain. Unknown. Unlimited.
Planning.
Thinking we have time.
Being so wrong.
The future is not now.
The future was yesterday.
Together, we two.
In love. Happy. Side by side. Step by step.
Thinking we are blessed.
Being so right!
Jayme, I love the memory of falling in love with you, and the reality of staying in love with you. For the notes on my car, and the poems that you wrote. For the dinners you made, and the flowers. For when you get up with the kids, and when you chase them all around the house and make them laugh. For the smiles, laughter, and maybe even more, for the tears. Thank you. What we have done together, we never could have done apart. "...all because two people fell in love".
Fun, friendships, freedom.
Falling in love.
Basketball, softball and soccer games, Street Fighter.
Bible studies, dinners out...
Thinking we were all grown up.
Being so wrong.
Just kids.
Newlyweds.
Together. Stars in our eyes. Totally in love.
Dreams of the future. Not even sure what to dream.
Cold winter, ice storms, radiator heat.
Money earned. Money spent. Laundromat, pizza place.
Thinking love was all we needed.
Being completely right.
Being completely wrong
Being completely in love.
Growing up.
First baby. Shock, excitement, heartache.
Innocence lost. Crying, Sadness. Solitude.
Leaning on each other. Loving each other.
Trusting. Doubting.
Too young for broken hearts,
but that didn't matter.
Believing "it is well" though it didn't feel "well".
Being right.
Parenthood.
Completely worth the risks.
Definitely worth the wait.
Two perfect blessings.
Love like we have never known.
Worry, joy, laughter, pain...all magnified.
Juggling new hats. Daddy, Mommy.
Thinking we should have been required to take a test.
Knowing we would have never passed. :)
Learning day by day.
Smiling at them- at just the thought of them.
Smiling at seeing each other in their eyes.
Growing older.
Long in the tooth. :) Gray hair.
Aches, pains, sun damage.
Happy Birthdays for us...for them.
Finding our love has grown comforting.
Not thinking there is anything wrong with that.
Knowing our love is true. Still laughing, still happy.
More beautiful than ever.
Like good wine.
One Heart. Two bodies. 100 directions.
Always coming home to the same place.
Our Future.
Quickly becoming the past.
Wide open. Full of potential.
Uncertain. Unknown. Unlimited.
Planning.
Thinking we have time.
Being so wrong.
The future is not now.
The future was yesterday.
Together, we two.
In love. Happy. Side by side. Step by step.
Thinking we are blessed.
Being so right!
Jayme, I love the memory of falling in love with you, and the reality of staying in love with you. For the notes on my car, and the poems that you wrote. For the dinners you made, and the flowers. For when you get up with the kids, and when you chase them all around the house and make them laugh. For the smiles, laughter, and maybe even more, for the tears. Thank you. What we have done together, we never could have done apart. "...all because two people fell in love".
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Priceless
I feel like people should know about our last drive from Orlando to Cleveland, TN. We were going for different reasons, Jayme for a car show about thirty minutes from my sister's house, and the kids and me to spend a few glorious days with my sister and her family.
In our pre-child days, this is a little bit less than a nine hour drive. With kids, 9-10 hours is doable, as long as the kids "hold it" for as long as possible between bathroom stops, and there are no dinners at Cracker Barrel. This drive,however, did not go as planned...at all, in any way.
We left our house at 8:15 much to Jayme's dismay because he had wanted to leave at 8. We were meeting a friend of his on the highway, in order to convoy to Chattanooga where there was a Volkswagen show that they were attending. We got gas, and got going. We headed to the predetermined spot on the highway where we were to wait for them to drive past and then follow them to TN. We waited for them for about ten or fifteen minutes. It was fine, not a bad wait, other than my brain convincing me that being pulled over on the side of a highway, with my precious children singing songs in the back seat, is perhaps the deadliest place in the world to be. "Good thing we didn't leave the house on time", I lovingly pointed out to Jayme. "Otherwise we would have had to wait with a bulls-eye on our car for a half hour". Sometimes, I am fun to be married to, and sometimes I am just...not. Anyway, they passed us and we pulled out behind their car, ready to get to the business of the trip.
About ten minutes later we got a call from the car in front of us that they had to pull over. They were towing a car to the VW show, and needed to adjust something on the car. We pulled over again, in the deadliest place on earth, and after five minutes or so, started driving again. Just as we took off to merge back into traffic Taryn started making a choking sound, and when I looked back, she was covered in throw up. Gross! If you know me at all, I do not do throw up. Her mommy (I like to refer to myself in the third person when I do stupid things) had given her a bowl of dried cranberries to eat, and she had eaten about 50 craisins in about 2 minutes. She had started to choke on some, and voila...threw them up. We called the car in front of us to tell them to pull over so we could handle the "situation".
We got Taryn cleaned up and settled down, but the stop at the rest area took almost an hour. She was hysterical. This was only the second time in her life that she had thrown up, and she was afraid to throw up again. She just wanted to go home. In fact, I believe at this point she had volunteered to walk home. In addition to the getting sick, she had a meltdown in the restrooms because they were automatic flush toilets, and she is terrified of them. I knew there was no way that we were stopping again for a bathroom break, we were already WAY behind schedule, so she had no choice. The people outside of the bathroom probably thought I was being abusive, but I assure you I was not. Taryn had her hands over her ears (although it was completely silent in the bathroom) and she was screaming, "Get me out of here! Just let me GOOOO." I did not let her go. Eventually, she used the bathroom.
It was now almost 10:00, and we were only about thirty minutes from home. I was stressing out. We got to driving, and finally got some good miles under our tires when we got a call from the car in front of us, "after we cross into Georgia, do you want to stop for lunch?" I informed them that would be great, we just needed a place with grilled cheese, or chicken nuggets and other than that could stop anywhere. The restaurant of choice, Cracker Barrel. So, I was freaking out in my travelers mind. Cracker Barrel? Oh no. Good food, but slow service! "Relax", my brain told me. "Enjoy the day. Stop watching the clock. You have kids, and they would probably like to get out of the car for a while. You are on a relaxing trip, no one is keeping time. It's not a race." I responded that plan sounded fine, and we went to Cracker Barrel.
The kids were excited to get pancakes for lunch, but Taryn was still afraid to throw up if she ate again, so she only nibbled at hers. Her desire to eat was further diminished by the fact that Cracker Barrel gives real Maple Syrup for pancakes, and Taryn (like her mother) despises real Maple Syrup. We only like pancake syrup in my house. We asked for sugar free syrup, which tastes like aunt Jemima, and she ate a few bites, but still almost nothing. (Oh well, can't live in the Cracker Barrel waiting for Taryn to be brave enough to eat delicious pancakes!)
Back on the road, and thirty minutes into the drive Taryn announced that she had to go potty. I reminded her that she just went, but she apparently had to go Number 2. (Of course she did). We told her we were looking for a place and would stop as soon as possible. We were able to play out that scene for about thirty minutes before she couldn't hold it, so we called up to the front car, and pulled over. Guess what kind of toilets were at the rest area? That's right!! Automatic toilets. Taryn had a panic attack...again. She refused to go...I made her try, she did a drip of pee pee and we were back in the car again. Shortly, we had to make a routine stop for gas and I took Taryn in to the grossest bathroom that has ever failed to be maintained. It was the kind where you get the key inside and walk around back to use it. I opened the door and wanted to run away screaming in terror, but not Taryn. Her eyes lit up! "Mommy!!!! It doesn't flush on it's own!!!" (OK, so apparently I am going to enter this filth hole. No problem Taryn,let me just use every Wet Wipe in my purse to clean the general toilet area and then you can have at it). She went (all numbers), and we got back to driving.
At this point we were basically to Atlanta. We had already been on the road for ten hours, and I just couldn't get it out of my head that we should ALREADY be there! Just as we got into the heart of Atlanta the sky opened up and the rain started falling in sheets. We could barely see. It was 6 pm on a Friday and traffic was bad. There were minutes where I don't think I took a breath. (As if the passenger of the car holding her breath helps the ride be more safe?) I couldn't help it. I think the kids were being good, but truly, I don't remember. I just remember the fear.
The rest of the two hours went smoothly. We persevered through the torrents of rain, dropped Jayme off at his hotel, about thirty minutes from my sister's house, and then the kids and I kept going until we reached Cleveland! I called Chrissy when we were almost there and she met me off the exit. In the rain, and having been too long since our last visit, I knew full well the possibility of my getting lost. I still get lost in my own home town, sadly. I followed her to the house, and have never been so happy to be done with a drive. I checked my watch. 8:30. It just took us twelve hours to make a 8 and a half hour trip, Aaaaaaggghhhhh!!! Substandard!!! Had I known before we left that we would have been substandard and traumatized travelers, then I may have chosen to stay home.
Three days later though, when I was leaving my sister's house to go pick Jayme up from the hotel, all I could think was that it was totally worth it. Gas: $200 Driving time: 12 long hours, frustrations: plentiful, three days with my sister: PRICELESS!!!!
In our pre-child days, this is a little bit less than a nine hour drive. With kids, 9-10 hours is doable, as long as the kids "hold it" for as long as possible between bathroom stops, and there are no dinners at Cracker Barrel. This drive,however, did not go as planned...at all, in any way.
We left our house at 8:15 much to Jayme's dismay because he had wanted to leave at 8. We were meeting a friend of his on the highway, in order to convoy to Chattanooga where there was a Volkswagen show that they were attending. We got gas, and got going. We headed to the predetermined spot on the highway where we were to wait for them to drive past and then follow them to TN. We waited for them for about ten or fifteen minutes. It was fine, not a bad wait, other than my brain convincing me that being pulled over on the side of a highway, with my precious children singing songs in the back seat, is perhaps the deadliest place in the world to be. "Good thing we didn't leave the house on time", I lovingly pointed out to Jayme. "Otherwise we would have had to wait with a bulls-eye on our car for a half hour". Sometimes, I am fun to be married to, and sometimes I am just...not. Anyway, they passed us and we pulled out behind their car, ready to get to the business of the trip.
About ten minutes later we got a call from the car in front of us that they had to pull over. They were towing a car to the VW show, and needed to adjust something on the car. We pulled over again, in the deadliest place on earth, and after five minutes or so, started driving again. Just as we took off to merge back into traffic Taryn started making a choking sound, and when I looked back, she was covered in throw up. Gross! If you know me at all, I do not do throw up. Her mommy (I like to refer to myself in the third person when I do stupid things) had given her a bowl of dried cranberries to eat, and she had eaten about 50 craisins in about 2 minutes. She had started to choke on some, and voila...threw them up. We called the car in front of us to tell them to pull over so we could handle the "situation".
We got Taryn cleaned up and settled down, but the stop at the rest area took almost an hour. She was hysterical. This was only the second time in her life that she had thrown up, and she was afraid to throw up again. She just wanted to go home. In fact, I believe at this point she had volunteered to walk home. In addition to the getting sick, she had a meltdown in the restrooms because they were automatic flush toilets, and she is terrified of them. I knew there was no way that we were stopping again for a bathroom break, we were already WAY behind schedule, so she had no choice. The people outside of the bathroom probably thought I was being abusive, but I assure you I was not. Taryn had her hands over her ears (although it was completely silent in the bathroom) and she was screaming, "Get me out of here! Just let me GOOOO." I did not let her go. Eventually, she used the bathroom.
It was now almost 10:00, and we were only about thirty minutes from home. I was stressing out. We got to driving, and finally got some good miles under our tires when we got a call from the car in front of us, "after we cross into Georgia, do you want to stop for lunch?" I informed them that would be great, we just needed a place with grilled cheese, or chicken nuggets and other than that could stop anywhere. The restaurant of choice, Cracker Barrel. So, I was freaking out in my travelers mind. Cracker Barrel? Oh no. Good food, but slow service! "Relax", my brain told me. "Enjoy the day. Stop watching the clock. You have kids, and they would probably like to get out of the car for a while. You are on a relaxing trip, no one is keeping time. It's not a race." I responded that plan sounded fine, and we went to Cracker Barrel.
The kids were excited to get pancakes for lunch, but Taryn was still afraid to throw up if she ate again, so she only nibbled at hers. Her desire to eat was further diminished by the fact that Cracker Barrel gives real Maple Syrup for pancakes, and Taryn (like her mother) despises real Maple Syrup. We only like pancake syrup in my house. We asked for sugar free syrup, which tastes like aunt Jemima, and she ate a few bites, but still almost nothing. (Oh well, can't live in the Cracker Barrel waiting for Taryn to be brave enough to eat delicious pancakes!)
Back on the road, and thirty minutes into the drive Taryn announced that she had to go potty. I reminded her that she just went, but she apparently had to go Number 2. (Of course she did). We told her we were looking for a place and would stop as soon as possible. We were able to play out that scene for about thirty minutes before she couldn't hold it, so we called up to the front car, and pulled over. Guess what kind of toilets were at the rest area? That's right!! Automatic toilets. Taryn had a panic attack...again. She refused to go...I made her try, she did a drip of pee pee and we were back in the car again. Shortly, we had to make a routine stop for gas and I took Taryn in to the grossest bathroom that has ever failed to be maintained. It was the kind where you get the key inside and walk around back to use it. I opened the door and wanted to run away screaming in terror, but not Taryn. Her eyes lit up! "Mommy!!!! It doesn't flush on it's own!!!" (OK, so apparently I am going to enter this filth hole. No problem Taryn,let me just use every Wet Wipe in my purse to clean the general toilet area and then you can have at it). She went (all numbers), and we got back to driving.
At this point we were basically to Atlanta. We had already been on the road for ten hours, and I just couldn't get it out of my head that we should ALREADY be there! Just as we got into the heart of Atlanta the sky opened up and the rain started falling in sheets. We could barely see. It was 6 pm on a Friday and traffic was bad. There were minutes where I don't think I took a breath. (As if the passenger of the car holding her breath helps the ride be more safe?) I couldn't help it. I think the kids were being good, but truly, I don't remember. I just remember the fear.
The rest of the two hours went smoothly. We persevered through the torrents of rain, dropped Jayme off at his hotel, about thirty minutes from my sister's house, and then the kids and I kept going until we reached Cleveland! I called Chrissy when we were almost there and she met me off the exit. In the rain, and having been too long since our last visit, I knew full well the possibility of my getting lost. I still get lost in my own home town, sadly. I followed her to the house, and have never been so happy to be done with a drive. I checked my watch. 8:30. It just took us twelve hours to make a 8 and a half hour trip, Aaaaaaggghhhhh!!! Substandard!!! Had I known before we left that we would have been substandard and traumatized travelers, then I may have chosen to stay home.
Three days later though, when I was leaving my sister's house to go pick Jayme up from the hotel, all I could think was that it was totally worth it. Gas: $200 Driving time: 12 long hours, frustrations: plentiful, three days with my sister: PRICELESS!!!!
My little girl
I have been reflecting on the incomprehensible fact that my baby girl, Taryn, is almost a whole fist full of fingers old. In nine days, she will be five. She is super excited for cake, and a party, and to grow up. Always wanting to grow up. Sometimes I tease her, and beg her to stop getting older. She gets very serious (as she is wont to do) and says, "Don't worry, Mommy. Even though I am getting older, I will never be too big for you to hold." But she will. I know that someday soon, she will. Still, the pride that I have in her, and the joy of watching her grow up usually drowns out that sad, quiet little voice that is saying goodbye to her babyhood with each passing day. Usually. At birthday time, though, I allow myself the indulgence of a little bit of happy sadness. Laughter mixed with tears! My baby is growing up.
There are so many things that I adore about Taryn. One of my favorites is that she loves her baby brother ferociously. Sometimes literally! I have to count to three and only let her hug him for three seconds because if not, she would never let go, and Trevor feels strongly about that.
I love how funny Taryn is. Most of the time she doesn't try to be funny, she just has this silly, creative mind. When we made turkey cookies for Thanksgiving, she named them Turkey Butt cookies, and when she couldn't figure out how God can see her when she can't see Him, she decided in a split second that He must have huge googly-eyes. I love how her little button of a nose wrinkles all up when she thinks something is really funny, and how she throws her head back when she laughs.
I like how she shouts, "I'm ok" from the other room after I hear her fall down, and I love kissing her boo boos when she isn't ok.
I love her conscience. She confesses everything she does wrong, and it is sweet, and pure and refreshing. I hope she never learns to lie about her mistakes.
I love when Taryn puts on a puppet show for the family. She hides behind the coffee table, but not quite all the way. Her puppet, Puppy, sometimes yells at us to be quiet, and tells Trevor not to get up. And at the end, she says, "Thank you, thank you, thank you". Always three times, and always with a fun "performer" voice, while Puppy takes a bow.
Taryn's dance moves are like none other, but the best thing about them is that she says, "check out my moves" before she dances. She is also a terrific twirler. She spins, and spins, and spins, around and around for minutes on end. She gets dizzy eventually, but it seems to take much longer than it does for me, and she loves every minute of it.
Taryn is a comforter. Sometimes she looks at our 11 year old dog (who she generally pays no attention to) and asks, "Why is Molly sad today?" I always tell her, usually too briskly, "Molly's fine, she's just like she is every day". But then, as I walk away, I hear Taryn saying, "It's ok sweetie pie,you don't have to be sad". Melts my heart right there on the spot. She is that way with Trevor too, rubbing his back if he cries and trying to give him his favorite toys. And if daddy shouts from the garage, and it sounds to be a shout of pain, she runs to the door to say, "What's wrong Daddy? Are you OK? She hasn't learned to tune out other people's pain. I hope she never does.
Taryn loves sweets. She loves ice cream, which I believe she inherited from my mom's side of the family. (Ask them. They will agree!) She loves chocolate, jellybeans, cookies, cakes, lollipops...anything and everything sweet. Except Moon Pies. Those she does not like one bit! She and Trevor were M&M's for Halloween in honor of her adoration of sweets. We don't allow much sugar, but we know that when we do, Taryn is going to be overjoyed.
I love that Taryn isn't typical. She loves airplanes, rockets, trains, and race cars. Her favorite color is blue, and her second favorite is pink. She thinks a lot for a four year old and possibly over-thinks situations that she's concerned about. When she heard the local weatherman on the news tracking the hurricanes in the Gulf we had a three day discussion about what hurricanes are, and how to be safe. Don't get me wrong, it can be exhausting, and it is frustrating sometimes that she won't just BELIEVE me, and let it go. On the other hand, I think it is a neat quality that she wants to make sense of everything, and takes everything to heart. She has been that way since she was a baby! I remember that after a dinner with friends when Taryn was maybe five months old,the friend said, "Jen, your kid is too serious". It's true. Sometimes she is--and I love it. Maybe its because she is also too silly, and too funny, and too sweet, and too compassionate, and too in love with sugar...it just makes sense that she is too serious.
Taryn's baby years were precious. I would not trade them for anything. The four million photos I took, and the five outfit changes per day just to wear all of the cute stuff. She was like a little diva baby! The floppy hats, and the kisses, cuddles, and that baby smell! The big toothless grins, and the fuzzy little head. It seems like yesterday, and I loved yesterday! But today is even more amazing! Today Taryn counts, counts in Spanish, and counts by tens to 100! She rhymes like Dr. Seuss himself, and she is starting to sound out words! She makes me laugh when no one else can, and I love how she thinks my drawings are true works of art. "Wow, Mommy", she always says. "That's amazing!" It amazes me that anyone could look at my art and think anything nice about it, but to my little girl I am amazing! My heart is at least 5 times bigger and more full of love than it was five years ago, and my life is at least 5 million times brighter! If that isn't something to celebrate, then I don't know what is!
Taryn, I could not celebrate this day enough to do it justice if we celebrated it for 365 days straight! Happy birthday! You are my beautiful, bright, growing up-girl, and I love you---right up to the moon and back!
There are so many things that I adore about Taryn. One of my favorites is that she loves her baby brother ferociously. Sometimes literally! I have to count to three and only let her hug him for three seconds because if not, she would never let go, and Trevor feels strongly about that.
I love how funny Taryn is. Most of the time she doesn't try to be funny, she just has this silly, creative mind. When we made turkey cookies for Thanksgiving, she named them Turkey Butt cookies, and when she couldn't figure out how God can see her when she can't see Him, she decided in a split second that He must have huge googly-eyes. I love how her little button of a nose wrinkles all up when she thinks something is really funny, and how she throws her head back when she laughs.
I like how she shouts, "I'm ok" from the other room after I hear her fall down, and I love kissing her boo boos when she isn't ok.
I love her conscience. She confesses everything she does wrong, and it is sweet, and pure and refreshing. I hope she never learns to lie about her mistakes.
I love when Taryn puts on a puppet show for the family. She hides behind the coffee table, but not quite all the way. Her puppet, Puppy, sometimes yells at us to be quiet, and tells Trevor not to get up. And at the end, she says, "Thank you, thank you, thank you". Always three times, and always with a fun "performer" voice, while Puppy takes a bow.
Taryn's dance moves are like none other, but the best thing about them is that she says, "check out my moves" before she dances. She is also a terrific twirler. She spins, and spins, and spins, around and around for minutes on end. She gets dizzy eventually, but it seems to take much longer than it does for me, and she loves every minute of it.
Taryn is a comforter. Sometimes she looks at our 11 year old dog (who she generally pays no attention to) and asks, "Why is Molly sad today?" I always tell her, usually too briskly, "Molly's fine, she's just like she is every day". But then, as I walk away, I hear Taryn saying, "It's ok sweetie pie,you don't have to be sad". Melts my heart right there on the spot. She is that way with Trevor too, rubbing his back if he cries and trying to give him his favorite toys. And if daddy shouts from the garage, and it sounds to be a shout of pain, she runs to the door to say, "What's wrong Daddy? Are you OK? She hasn't learned to tune out other people's pain. I hope she never does.
Taryn loves sweets. She loves ice cream, which I believe she inherited from my mom's side of the family. (Ask them. They will agree!) She loves chocolate, jellybeans, cookies, cakes, lollipops...anything and everything sweet. Except Moon Pies. Those she does not like one bit! She and Trevor were M&M's for Halloween in honor of her adoration of sweets. We don't allow much sugar, but we know that when we do, Taryn is going to be overjoyed.
I love that Taryn isn't typical. She loves airplanes, rockets, trains, and race cars. Her favorite color is blue, and her second favorite is pink. She thinks a lot for a four year old and possibly over-thinks situations that she's concerned about. When she heard the local weatherman on the news tracking the hurricanes in the Gulf we had a three day discussion about what hurricanes are, and how to be safe. Don't get me wrong, it can be exhausting, and it is frustrating sometimes that she won't just BELIEVE me, and let it go. On the other hand, I think it is a neat quality that she wants to make sense of everything, and takes everything to heart. She has been that way since she was a baby! I remember that after a dinner with friends when Taryn was maybe five months old,the friend said, "Jen, your kid is too serious". It's true. Sometimes she is--and I love it. Maybe its because she is also too silly, and too funny, and too sweet, and too compassionate, and too in love with sugar...it just makes sense that she is too serious.
Taryn's baby years were precious. I would not trade them for anything. The four million photos I took, and the five outfit changes per day just to wear all of the cute stuff. She was like a little diva baby! The floppy hats, and the kisses, cuddles, and that baby smell! The big toothless grins, and the fuzzy little head. It seems like yesterday, and I loved yesterday! But today is even more amazing! Today Taryn counts, counts in Spanish, and counts by tens to 100! She rhymes like Dr. Seuss himself, and she is starting to sound out words! She makes me laugh when no one else can, and I love how she thinks my drawings are true works of art. "Wow, Mommy", she always says. "That's amazing!" It amazes me that anyone could look at my art and think anything nice about it, but to my little girl I am amazing! My heart is at least 5 times bigger and more full of love than it was five years ago, and my life is at least 5 million times brighter! If that isn't something to celebrate, then I don't know what is!
Taryn, I could not celebrate this day enough to do it justice if we celebrated it for 365 days straight! Happy birthday! You are my beautiful, bright, growing up-girl, and I love you---right up to the moon and back!
Friday, May 6, 2011
Mother
You loved me.
Unconditionally. Truly. Deeply. Always.
Even before you knew me, you loved the thought of me.
When I was unlovable, you loved me still.
You are my mother.
You sacrificed for me.
Your body. Your finances. Your independence. Your sleep.
And with a smile on your face and a happy heart,
you went without, to make sure that I never did.
You are my mother.
You taught me.
Manners. Courage. Strength. Beauty. Perseverance.
You taught me by your example, and by your words.
I learned to be what I saw in you.
I learned without knowing I learned.
You are my mother.
You let me go.
Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually. Graciously.
When everything in you wanted to hold on tighter.
You trusted me enough to say goodbye, and know I would return.
You are my mother.
And now...
I love them.
I sacrifice for them.
I teach them, and one day...
I will let them go.
I am their mother.
Unconditionally. Truly. Deeply. Always.
Even before you knew me, you loved the thought of me.
When I was unlovable, you loved me still.
You are my mother.
You sacrificed for me.
Your body. Your finances. Your independence. Your sleep.
And with a smile on your face and a happy heart,
you went without, to make sure that I never did.
You are my mother.
You taught me.
Manners. Courage. Strength. Beauty. Perseverance.
You taught me by your example, and by your words.
I learned to be what I saw in you.
I learned without knowing I learned.
You are my mother.
You let me go.
Physically. Emotionally. Spiritually. Graciously.
When everything in you wanted to hold on tighter.
You trusted me enough to say goodbye, and know I would return.
You are my mother.
And now...
I love them.
I sacrifice for them.
I teach them, and one day...
I will let them go.
I am their mother.
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