Posted in Childhood, Family, Motherhood, Thanks

‘Twas the end of the summer, it just wasn’t right…

Twas the end of the summer,
It just wasn’t right.
Every beach chair was packed up,
And so were the kites.

Last grains of sand,
Shaken out of the flip flops.
With dim hopes that fall shoes
could be found in mall shops.

The children were crying
all mad in their beds,
With visions of homework
crammed in their heads.

And papa in his lounge pants,
And I in my shorts,
Were ready for anything,
Definitely done making “forts.”

When checking our phones,
To see what’s on our plate,
We couldn’t believe it,
It was already past 8.

Away to the kitchen,
I made a mad dash.
To see if we had snacks.
“Oh no, forgot the trash!”

The moon was all shiny,
Its man poking fun.
“Summer is over,
caput, gone, YUP, done!”

When thoughts to my wandering
mind did come clear,
The fall is upon us,
There are things we can cheer.

Like football, Like pumpkins,
Like lattes, Like scarecrows,
Like apples, Like sweatshirts,
Like cider, Like warm clothes.

To the ice cream truck songs!
To the fireworks all night!
Now dash away! Dash away!
Dash away! That’s right!

Make room for the soup
The outdoor fireside chats.
Make room for the leaves,
Thank God, no more gnats!

As I came to my senses,
And was settling down,
A smile snuck to my lips,
No longer a frown.

I’ll be dressed in all manner of
sweatpants and hoodies,
I’ll feel so so cozy,
All ready for some goodies.

That Halloween will bring,
Thanksgiving too.
It won’t be just eats,
It’ll be lots of hugs, true.

I spoke no more words,
But went straight to my bed,
Said a prayer filled with thanks,
For what lies ahead.

And laying my head,
And closing my eyes,
My heart felt more settled,
“My goodness! Time flies!”

I rose one last time,
To check on my crew,
“Happy Fall, my sweet ones,
I’m thankful for you!”

Posted in Health, Marriage

Manly, Girly or Me

Screen Shot 2020-08-05 at 6.46.07 PMI got a leaf-blower for Christmas.

Not a girly, light leaf-blower.

A manly, heavy-duty, back-pack, professional leaf-blower.

Last fall, we moved to a house in the woods and there were lots of leaves once the trees said “goodbye for now” to their petals of yellow and orange.

Lots of leaves.  Everywhere.  Constantly.

Enough to jump in and be lost for days in a pile of them.

You get the point.

I begged my husband for said leaf-blower and when I opened my bright shiny Christmas package, I giggled with glee.  My kids nodded in amusement because they just know.

What do they know?

They know some out-of-the-box, but very cute things about me.  Okay, not so cute.  More out-of-the-box.  Or at least out-of-the-gender-culture-box.

I like those things about me.
I like them a lot.

I am who I am.

I am not super girly.  Or more true, what culture says girly is.

I like NFL football.
I like being physically strong.
I like spreading mulch.
I like feeling powerful.
I like taking care of myself. 

IMG_2405

I really like rescuing people.  In fact, I just did it this afternoon when my husband texted and said, “I have a flat tire.”

I like being a little manly.  Or more true, what culture says manly is.

I am who I am.

You know how parents get a lot of things wrong?

This is a BIG DEAL one that my parents GOT RIGHT!!

They never ever told me who I should be.  They let me be ME.  Fully.  Always.

If that meant being strong, so be it.
If that meant traveling alone in Europe at 21, so be it.
If that meant moving to North Dakota on a whim, so be it.
If that meant loving football, so be it.

Yesterday, we had a huge storm.  Leaves everywhere.  Branches down.  The yard was a mess.

Guess what I did?

I woke up and declared mightily, “I am going outside.  Where is the leaf-blower?”

You know how spouses get a lot of things wrong?

This is a BIG DEAL one that my spouse GETS RIGHT!!

He never tells me who I should be.  He lets me be ME.  Fully.  Always.

If that means spreading mulch, so be it.
If that means having a fantasy football team, so be it.
If that means rescuing him on the side of the road, so be it.
If that means taking a picture of me donning my leaf-blower, looking powerful, so be it.

(SIDE NOTE:  My hubs chuckled with admiration as he watched me…maybe he thought I was sexy with this giant backpack, conquering leaves and sticks and yard debris.  I sure thought he was sexy when I went back into the house and found out he made the bed.)

One last thing.

Sometimes, I am not so strong.
Sometimes, I need help.
Sometimes, I am a girly girl.  Or more true, what culture says girly is.
Sometimes, I can’t pull the throttle hard enough to turn a leaf-blower on.

Guess what my husband did?

My tall, flower-loving, bed-making, likes-to-shop-at-cute-little-shops partner still let me be ME.  Fully.  Always.

“Yes.”  He said, “I’ve got you.  I can turn that on for you.”

I am who I am.  Period.

Manly.  Girly.  Me.

P.S.  Our yard looks beautiful again.  Driveways clear.  Walkways clean.  Sticks gone.  Leaves blown.  Yup.

Manly.  Girly.  Me.

 

Posted in Celebration, Childhood, Faith, Family, Grief, Motherhood, Thanks

It’s Strange Here

I sit by my fire alone.

It’s strange here.

A year ago, my third-born was bursting through the door, overstuffed college laundry bag in hand, ready for a week of “rest” in the “best bedroom ever,” along with eating the ultimate “Taylor ham and egg on an everything bagel” sandwich every morning of his time with us.

This afternoon, I was driving him to the airport.  He is off to see his younger sister 2,726 miles away on the left coast.

A year ago, I was picking up my exhausted college baby girl up at the same airport, joy filling my heart as we chit-chatted on the way back to a house filled with family.

Today, my phone buzzes. “Can you send me Josh’s flight info?  Also, can I have the famous jello salad recipe?  I’m going to make it for Thursday.”  She is headed to buy the ingredients to make her favorite Thanksgiving dish at a grocery store I don’t even know the name of.

A year ago, my oldest fed her baby our family-secret sweet potato casserole in the same booster seat we used for her, surrounded by oohs and aahs from cousins and great-grandparents.

On her commute home from teaching second-graders earlier, she chatters away on the phone.  “When do you leave, Mom?  I’m hoping to get my grad school papers done on Friday.  We are just going to eat out with my mother-in-law on Thursday.  I might make the family-secret sweet potato casserole just to have leftovers.  ”  Her two-year-old babbles in the background, “I want to go that way.  I have a raccoon sticker.  I see a tractor.”

A year ago, the second child of my heart was on his way home from a land far away, new puppy in tow, ready to cuddle up on his favorite sofa, eat his favorite NJ pizza, and see his favorite friends.

“Just landed in Florida.  I hope you have a wonderful week” lights up across my laptop screen on Sunday morning.  He’s with his girlfriend spending the holiday with her family.   I can’t even tell you what town he is in.  Maybe somewhere near Palm Beach.  Not sure.

I sit by my fire alone.

It’s strange here.

Feelings bubble to the surface, unlike any I’ve had before.  I’m not sure what to make of them.

Thanksgiving has been together for 27 years.  The three of us.  Then the four of us.  Then the five of us.  Then the six of us.  PLUS, a whole bunch (and I mean a WHOLE BUNCH) of other family and friends and anyone who wanted to join the mayhem.

Pies.  Parade.  Mashed potatoes.  Dog show.  Family-secret sweet potato casserole.  Puzzles.  Turkey.  Football.  Ham for those who hate turkey.  Cousins.  Gravy.  Games.  The famous jello salad.  Beer-tasting.  Pictures (the one at the top of this website being last year’s).

I sit by my fire alone. 

It’s strange here.

No overflowing shopping bags filled with cranberry sauce and giant foil roasting pans.  No beds being prepped for guests.  No Costco runs for last-minute hors d’oeuvres.  Not even one decoration in sight except a pumpkin candle burning slowly behind me.

My husband, away on business, calls in the middle of all the feelings.  “You’re alone.  How are you?”

“I’m okay.”  I say.  “I like it in many ways.  I am glad for tonight.  But I’m glad I will see you soon.”

Tomorrow, I hop on a plane myself to spend a few days with my parents.  My man hops on his own plane the next day to join me.  I won’t be alone for long.

But right now, this alone thing gives me space.  Space to sit with my Savior and sort out this new normal I find myself in.

This new normal filled with sorrow that I am not seeing ANY of my four children.  To shed the tears that need to flow.

This new normal filled with thanks that I am seeing my parents, my groom and a grieving childhood friend.  To allow a warm smile to curl to my lips.

This new normal filled with bewilderment that this is actually where I find myself on the journey (I think Costco might send a search party).  To sit quietly, a questioning “hmmm” filling my thoughts.

This new normal mostly filled with hope that I might have just done this mom thing okay.  To embrace the idea that my kids are doing exactly what they are supposed to be doing:  building lives of their own, going on new-found adventures, loving those they are with and best of all, making family-secret sweet potato casseroles and famous jello salads.

I sit by my fire alone. 

It’s strange here.

But it’s really good. 

I am grateful.