I think i'm like everyone when it comes to Friday night football. Nothing beats an evening with like-minded people, pulling for the same outcome, encompassed by the sights and sounds of high school football. Few people, when asked, could accurately describe the atmosphere that surrounds a friday night on the field, in the stands, or tailgating in the parking lot before the game, though most would give a valiant try. Much as we like, words just don't do it justice. Despite that, years later men recount their days on the gridiron with as much detail, passion, and pride as the boys who actually played in the game the night before. To them, the picture in their heads is as clear as it was twenty years ago. Often, their stories sound very similar. And that's a good thing. It's nice to know that no one can take away our moments and our memories, even if they're only in our heads.
The next best thing to our actual memories are the photographs that capture a moment that may never come again. When our memories fail us, when words just aren't enough, we can flip to the photos and all of a sudden we're back to a season, a game, a place we thought we'd left behind. We remember a friend, a coach, a teammate, and a moment that defined us. And sometimes a picture pops up and answers an often-asked question and explains something that some people have never understood, until then.
I'll admit, when i first became a coach's widow, er wife, I really had no idea what i was getting myself into. Sure, i expected practices every afternoon, and of course the big game on Friday. I was ready for that, and excited to be a part of it. But the rough stuff? Let's just say it's a live and learn kind of thing. The first time you hear your husband's name shouted from the stands with an epithet and not a cheer, it hurts; and the second and the third . . .? nah, it doesn't get any easier. Fortunately, skin gets thicker as the games add up. And as the games add up, so too does the real picture of football. How many times do our coaches give rides home to kids who wouldn't play football if they didn't? How many times do coaches hand out lunch money to kids who may not eat that day? How many times do coaches open their homes to boys who, at that particular moment, have nowhere else to go? I'll say it again--that's the stuff I was totally unprepared for. Yet, THAT'S the stuff that I love the most.
A couple of years ago, I attempted to answer an oft-asked question about the coaching profession. Why would anyone put in the hours, put up with the criticism, the uncertainty of a career determined by teenagers, for what equals out to less than minimum wage? Sure, it sounds great going into it. Teach a couple of classes, math or social studies maybe, then spend the afternoon calling plays, leading drills, and blowing the whistle. Sit back at the end of the day and watch the film, making notes while sipping a glass of sweet tea from the comfort of the recliner.
Ha! If only the job were that simple, yet the game really is. Take a group of young men, share with them your knowledge, inspire them with your passion, and teach them to respect the game. In between that, teach them to catch a pass, throw a ball, read a defense, run a route, and handle wins and losses with equal grace.
When I first saw the picture on the left, it hit me. There's the answer: Why do coaches spend more time with each other than their own families? Why do they stay up late writing reference letters for kids they haven't seen in two years? Why do they take a fall sport and turn it into a year round job? Because some day one of those boys will call and ask you to be the best man at his wedding. Because one day the kid you put your arm around will show up at the field to watch you coach the state championship game. One day the kid you were toughest on will come back and thank you for not letting him quit. One day the kid you thought hated you will tell you he hopes one day that HIS kid will play for you.
Thanks, Abbey, for the great picture from Friday night. We have no idea what is being said between those two, and that's the point. Some things are better left between a coach and his player.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Thursday, September 16, 2010
What Mom Really Means
Last week i wrote (vented) about words and phrases that Tucker and Tanner frequently use that, how shall i put this, drive me nuts. Well, i figured that if i were going to dissect their language and all the hip, new things kids are saying these days, it would only be fair to analyze my own vocabulary, all the unhip, old-fashioned things we moms keep repeating. After thinking long and hard about this blog, and all the important statements, questions, commands, complaints, etc, I should address, i realized that this will not only be good for Tucker and Tanner (and one day Tot), but billy might also really benefit from a deeper understanding of many of my utterings. What really got me started was at dinner tonight as i'm serving up chili in bowls. The utensils are on the table, the drinks have been poured, and the condiments for chili within arm's reach. Coach looks at me and says, "Do we have any onions?"
Now let me just set the stage. It is thursday night, after 8:00. the three of them have just returned from football practice and it is almost the end of a very busy week: practices, revival, bootcamp, homework. I, too, had just returned from a shopping trip with a less than willing partner who decided that since i wouldn't share my chick-fil-a coke with him, not only would he not eat his nuggets but he would also scream the whole way home, the whole 17 miles from exit to exit, screaming despite the radio and the music HE likes, despite the windows rolled down and the wind whipping through his golden blonde hair, despite my promises of his own drink when we get home.
Ahem, back to the onions. What Coach really means by asking if we have onions is "I want onions with my Chili." So what Mom really means when she says, "no we don't have any" is, you have a better chance of growing hair on your head right now than getting me to cut onions on a Thursday night at 8:15. So that led to this and all the other WMRM's:
What Mom Really Means When . . .
I ask you, "Tucker are those your shorts on the floor in front of the TV?"
WMRM: PICK those shorts up and do with them whatever needs to be done!
I ask you if you want me to help you study for your test.
WMRM: Bring me your study sheets we are GOING to study.
Has anyone checked the mail?
WMRM: somebody/ anybody has about 5 seconds to thrust a handful of junk mail and bills into my face.
Is Tate in there?
WMRM: Basically the same as the above. SOMEONE put a hand on that baby and get him out of the toilet, off the kitchen table, or away from my wallet PRONTO!
This is your school project and it's your job to do well on it.
WMRM: You and i are working on this project together buddy, b/c don't you realize that if you turn in some piece of crap project the teacher is going to think I"M the one who is lazy and uncreative. your name may be on the posterboard, but my reputation is at stake.
"Hey, let's do something different for supper tonight. that sounds fun, right?"
WMRM: Daddy is working tonight and you boys are stuck with me, so basically it's whatever i can find in the fridge/freezer. now smile:)
Don't stay out too late tonight--film can wait."
WMRM: I'll see you about 4:00 this morning after you've watched film, done laundry, and eaten God only knows what after midnight. Just be careful coming home:)
And finally, You boys are killing me!!
WMRM: Despite the fact that i rarely get a moment of rest, diapers never go away, and homework is sometimes a nightmare, I couldn't imagine my life without y'all!
Now let me just set the stage. It is thursday night, after 8:00. the three of them have just returned from football practice and it is almost the end of a very busy week: practices, revival, bootcamp, homework. I, too, had just returned from a shopping trip with a less than willing partner who decided that since i wouldn't share my chick-fil-a coke with him, not only would he not eat his nuggets but he would also scream the whole way home, the whole 17 miles from exit to exit, screaming despite the radio and the music HE likes, despite the windows rolled down and the wind whipping through his golden blonde hair, despite my promises of his own drink when we get home.
Ahem, back to the onions. What Coach really means by asking if we have onions is "I want onions with my Chili." So what Mom really means when she says, "no we don't have any" is, you have a better chance of growing hair on your head right now than getting me to cut onions on a Thursday night at 8:15. So that led to this and all the other WMRM's:
What Mom Really Means When . . .
I ask you, "Tucker are those your shorts on the floor in front of the TV?"
WMRM: PICK those shorts up and do with them whatever needs to be done!
I ask you if you want me to help you study for your test.
WMRM: Bring me your study sheets we are GOING to study.
Has anyone checked the mail?
WMRM: somebody/ anybody has about 5 seconds to thrust a handful of junk mail and bills into my face.
Is Tate in there?
WMRM: Basically the same as the above. SOMEONE put a hand on that baby and get him out of the toilet, off the kitchen table, or away from my wallet PRONTO!
This is your school project and it's your job to do well on it.
WMRM: You and i are working on this project together buddy, b/c don't you realize that if you turn in some piece of crap project the teacher is going to think I"M the one who is lazy and uncreative. your name may be on the posterboard, but my reputation is at stake.
"Hey, let's do something different for supper tonight. that sounds fun, right?"
WMRM: Daddy is working tonight and you boys are stuck with me, so basically it's whatever i can find in the fridge/freezer. now smile:)
Don't stay out too late tonight--film can wait."
WMRM: I'll see you about 4:00 this morning after you've watched film, done laundry, and eaten God only knows what after midnight. Just be careful coming home:)
And finally, You boys are killing me!!
WMRM: Despite the fact that i rarely get a moment of rest, diapers never go away, and homework is sometimes a nightmare, I couldn't imagine my life without y'all!
Saturday, August 7, 2010
More Panther Football???
"Can she pleeeease stop writing about Panther football?" I know some of you are saying that right now, but y'all i just can't help it. It's getting to be that time of year, High 5 Sports is on, the Falcons are at training camp, the practice fields are full every afternoon, and Jackson County football's cup is overflowing! So y'all bear with me one more post; it's football season and there's a lot to be excited about.
My faithful blog followers already know that a couple of months ago I started a little prayer for the Panthers, praying for their summer sessions and for a winning season. I talked about how God had brought us here, kept us here, and is working His will into everything that happens here. I know many of you are also praying for our boys and our coaches and community, and y'all I think it's working.
I also shared the news about a month ago that money and scholarships had been provided to our program so that our entire team could go to FCA camp and experience an environment where Christianity and Football go together. In case you haven't heard, several of our players gave their lives to Christ at that camp, and if you ask the coaches, most will tell you that they came back as a different team. No doubt a stronger, smarter, wiser team than they left. That was just the beginning.
Not long after they returned from FCA camp, the coaching staff held a football camp for little boys. Pre-registration forms had the coaches expecting approximately 50-60kids. Pretty good number, we thought. Night one saw over 100 future Panthers show up to sweat it out on the practice field just like the big boys do. The next three nights the coaches worked their magic and put on a camp that set a precedent for all other camps that follow.
It doesn't end there. The first official week of practice came and went and saw close to 90, yes 90, players covering the practice field. The same school that fielded 40 boys the first year we showed up now has to order more equipment and jerseys to suit everyone up. Players from other counties have moved in and joined the team, kids who have been students at JCCHS for the last couple of years are now first-time Panthers on the gridiron, and the faithful few who have worn the Panther jersey since they were freshmen are now our senior leaders. Good things are happening.
Today was picture day and senior picnic at Hurrican Shoals, a Panther tradition as long as we've been here. Ninety-one players lined up for the team picture this morning, and over 200 players, parents, coaches, and family members celebrated the beginning of the season tonight at the park with a covered dish cook-out. These weren't parents dropping their kids off only to pick them up later. These were parents who brought casseroles, chips, and lawn chairs and did the whole meet and greet thing, biding the time til they can share the bleachers on Friday nights. Exciting things are happening.
It's kind of like a puzzle, I guess. You ask for one big thing in the beginning, say a winning season. And little by little, things start happening, one piece here, one piece there, until finally they all fit together and in the end you realize you got what you asked for. Sometimes it takes a little time, a lot of patience, and of course, a lot of work. At least that's the way I hope it works. Either way, it's pretty cool to watch how God keeps dropping those pieces down for us. I guess it's up to us, though, to put them together and make the final product happen.
So Y'all keep on praying and watching for the pieces to fall!
My faithful blog followers already know that a couple of months ago I started a little prayer for the Panthers, praying for their summer sessions and for a winning season. I talked about how God had brought us here, kept us here, and is working His will into everything that happens here. I know many of you are also praying for our boys and our coaches and community, and y'all I think it's working.
I also shared the news about a month ago that money and scholarships had been provided to our program so that our entire team could go to FCA camp and experience an environment where Christianity and Football go together. In case you haven't heard, several of our players gave their lives to Christ at that camp, and if you ask the coaches, most will tell you that they came back as a different team. No doubt a stronger, smarter, wiser team than they left. That was just the beginning.
Not long after they returned from FCA camp, the coaching staff held a football camp for little boys. Pre-registration forms had the coaches expecting approximately 50-60kids. Pretty good number, we thought. Night one saw over 100 future Panthers show up to sweat it out on the practice field just like the big boys do. The next three nights the coaches worked their magic and put on a camp that set a precedent for all other camps that follow.
It doesn't end there. The first official week of practice came and went and saw close to 90, yes 90, players covering the practice field. The same school that fielded 40 boys the first year we showed up now has to order more equipment and jerseys to suit everyone up. Players from other counties have moved in and joined the team, kids who have been students at JCCHS for the last couple of years are now first-time Panthers on the gridiron, and the faithful few who have worn the Panther jersey since they were freshmen are now our senior leaders. Good things are happening.
Today was picture day and senior picnic at Hurrican Shoals, a Panther tradition as long as we've been here. Ninety-one players lined up for the team picture this morning, and over 200 players, parents, coaches, and family members celebrated the beginning of the season tonight at the park with a covered dish cook-out. These weren't parents dropping their kids off only to pick them up later. These were parents who brought casseroles, chips, and lawn chairs and did the whole meet and greet thing, biding the time til they can share the bleachers on Friday nights. Exciting things are happening.
It's kind of like a puzzle, I guess. You ask for one big thing in the beginning, say a winning season. And little by little, things start happening, one piece here, one piece there, until finally they all fit together and in the end you realize you got what you asked for. Sometimes it takes a little time, a lot of patience, and of course, a lot of work. At least that's the way I hope it works. Either way, it's pretty cool to watch how God keeps dropping those pieces down for us. I guess it's up to us, though, to put them together and make the final product happen.
So Y'all keep on praying and watching for the pieces to fall!
Monday, August 2, 2010
Help! I need a play pen, and No! I don't mean an activity yard!
I'm beginning to see why play pens are on almost every baby registry from Target to Babies R Us. I'm also beginning to wonder why I gave mine away. I'm thinking of all the things i'd be willing to trade to get that bad boy back and give myself a little bit of peace and a lot less clean up time. If you've been to a baby shower lately, a deluxe model play yard almost always tops the list. But nooooo, I had to be one of those moms who wasn't going to limit her babies. Uh uh. What kind of mom would i have been if I had corralled all of their curiosity and inquisitive nature? I couldn't force them to play with ACTUAL toys that were made for them instead of the contents of my wallet. Nope, cruel and unusual punishment. Something back then told me play yards made for bad moms, so i gave away that little piece of heaven to the first available taker, promising not to think badly of the one who so desperately took it off my hands.
OK, that was nine years and three babies ago, and after cleaning up an entire loaf of bread from the carpet (again)and fishing an unused roll of toilet paper from the boys' potty, I'm questioning my sanity and counting the dollar bills in my wallet, searching the house for the best way to rearrange what we now have to make it fit an oh-so-marvelous square of plastic and netting. I mean, I should look at the positives, right? Think how much concentration time Tate would have to actually put all those shapes into the correct openings on the little canister if he weren't free to wander the house. He would be able to link all those plastic beads together to make a . . um . . . umm . . . to make something creative. I could actually leave the pennies on the floor and not have to lean over to pick them up after a long day of Step classes and vacuuming (oh who am I kidding, i just suck those copper coins up the Dyson, anyway). But the bathroom door wouldn't have to stay shut, and i wouldn't have to hide the toilet paper in the basement. The bottom two pantry shelves would actually have FOOD on them. I wouldn't worry about the resale value of our house if I added a top lock to EVERY door in here.
But it's not just for my sanity and a decrease in housework that a play pen, er yard, would be a great asset. There are safety issues to consider. Tate can now reach the door handles and since he only has to pull down to open the door, he's been beating me to the mailbox every afternoon. Cords dangle from every end table, and the big boys aren't always meticulous in picking up their Legos and Magnetix pieces, definite choking hazards. His little fingers can also reach the top of the kitchen counters, so that loaf of bread, hot pan handle, and cell phone charger dangling just centimeters from his reach really don't stand a chance. Kind of like me in this argument.
I'm pretty much the only one on Tate's side here, considering that Daddy's cell phone went missing about three months ago and Tate was the last person seen with it. But as much as I can envision a CLEAN house, with no pots and pans to stumble over, no shampoo bottles in the playroom, and no late night remote control searches before Pawn Stars (can you imagine if it were SEC season yet?), I just can't let myself do it. As crazy as it sounds, (and really haven't i proven myself just that already) I enjoy finding destruction and room remodels as I round the corners to areas i haven't been in lately. Plus, I would never have gotten the awesome photograph of him surrounded by toilet paper on the bathroom floor if he had been "penned in." I would never receive special gifts like toothpaste, alarm clocks, and DVD's on running a 50 defense if he were spending the afternoon in a box.
I'm sure there will come a time when penning in one of my children will be more tempting than it is today, when my main goal in life will be to protect them from the grown up world: first date, driver's license, first curfew violation,(gulp) college. So even though my body is forever in bend-over-and-pick-up position and my work load is on the rise, I'm glad I didn't stick those babies "out of the way;" i would have missed out on so much.
OK, that was nine years and three babies ago, and after cleaning up an entire loaf of bread from the carpet (again)and fishing an unused roll of toilet paper from the boys' potty, I'm questioning my sanity and counting the dollar bills in my wallet, searching the house for the best way to rearrange what we now have to make it fit an oh-so-marvelous square of plastic and netting. I mean, I should look at the positives, right? Think how much concentration time Tate would have to actually put all those shapes into the correct openings on the little canister if he weren't free to wander the house. He would be able to link all those plastic beads together to make a . . um . . . umm . . . to make something creative. I could actually leave the pennies on the floor and not have to lean over to pick them up after a long day of Step classes and vacuuming (oh who am I kidding, i just suck those copper coins up the Dyson, anyway). But the bathroom door wouldn't have to stay shut, and i wouldn't have to hide the toilet paper in the basement. The bottom two pantry shelves would actually have FOOD on them. I wouldn't worry about the resale value of our house if I added a top lock to EVERY door in here.
But it's not just for my sanity and a decrease in housework that a play pen, er yard, would be a great asset. There are safety issues to consider. Tate can now reach the door handles and since he only has to pull down to open the door, he's been beating me to the mailbox every afternoon. Cords dangle from every end table, and the big boys aren't always meticulous in picking up their Legos and Magnetix pieces, definite choking hazards. His little fingers can also reach the top of the kitchen counters, so that loaf of bread, hot pan handle, and cell phone charger dangling just centimeters from his reach really don't stand a chance. Kind of like me in this argument.
I'm pretty much the only one on Tate's side here, considering that Daddy's cell phone went missing about three months ago and Tate was the last person seen with it. But as much as I can envision a CLEAN house, with no pots and pans to stumble over, no shampoo bottles in the playroom, and no late night remote control searches before Pawn Stars (can you imagine if it were SEC season yet?), I just can't let myself do it. As crazy as it sounds, (and really haven't i proven myself just that already) I enjoy finding destruction and room remodels as I round the corners to areas i haven't been in lately. Plus, I would never have gotten the awesome photograph of him surrounded by toilet paper on the bathroom floor if he had been "penned in." I would never receive special gifts like toothpaste, alarm clocks, and DVD's on running a 50 defense if he were spending the afternoon in a box.
I'm sure there will come a time when penning in one of my children will be more tempting than it is today, when my main goal in life will be to protect them from the grown up world: first date, driver's license, first curfew violation,(gulp) college. So even though my body is forever in bend-over-and-pick-up position and my work load is on the rise, I'm glad I didn't stick those babies "out of the way;" i would have missed out on so much.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
For Better or For Worse
I love summer for so many reasons: vacations, beaches, pools, no schedule to follow. I also love that summer always brings with it lots of weddings, and of course, lots of memories. I know some people roll their eyes at the sight of another heavy stock invitation to nuptials at sunset, but me? I start looking for a babysitter right away. There's nothing better than sitting with the man of your dreams (who happens to be sweating miserably in his tie)and watching two people promise before God and family to do everything you two have been doing for the last 11 years.
A few weeks ago, Billy and i celebrated our eleventh wedding anniversary. A week before that we attended the wedding of a young couple who were embarking on the same journey we were celebrating. As we watched them together, pronounced man and wife, exiting the chapel arm in arm, I could remember being them, young and with no idea of what being married really meant. I'm amazed when i look back at how much has happened in those 11 years. The things that have grayed my hair and given me the lines on my face, I never could have imagined that day in the church. I wish I could figure out a way to give out advice to those young marrieds, but really, who wants to listen to an old woman with three children wax poetic about the ups and downs of marriage. Would they listen?
One of the ironies of getting married is that everything is planned out and executed so perfectly and the wedding goes off without a hitch. Marriage is never like that. Stemware gets broken, fine china chips, and flatware disappears and turns up later in the sandbox. Wedding pictures fade and get misplaced, dresses don't fit anymore, and the top layer of the cake you saved in the freezer goes unnoticed because SOMEONE came home from football practice exhausted. The fancy wineglasses stay on the top shelf for fear of little hands, and no one even remembers who caught the bouquet.
Everything that seemed so important in the engagement months starts to fade away and real life, and love, starts to settle in. Bills arrive, babies arrive, moving trucks arrive. New friends come and old friends go; football teams win and then they lose. Cars break down, babies get sick, and there never seems to be enough time. The more you plan, the less control you seem to have. And yet, that's the beauty of marriage. Despite the monotony of monogamy, every day is something new; something you don't know how to handle and yet you somehow figure it out, together. You buy your first house, signing papers that make your hands shake. But you do it together, two signatures, not just one. You bring home the first baby from the hospital, hands still shaking and hearts swelling with pride and praise, praying that if you don't do it right, at least maybe he will, because we're a team.
That's how you make it eleven years, 35 years, 50 years. If you're lucky, you wake up every morning next to that same person who looked so handsome in the black tuxedo, the one who still changes the oil in your van, who brings home take-out when you're just too worn out to cook, and goes outside to throw the football with the boys even though he's too tired to stand. As long as OUR boys can see what makes a marriage work, I guess i shouldn't worry about doling out all that advice to the young couples. They'll figure it out on their own, just like we do.
A few weeks ago, Billy and i celebrated our eleventh wedding anniversary. A week before that we attended the wedding of a young couple who were embarking on the same journey we were celebrating. As we watched them together, pronounced man and wife, exiting the chapel arm in arm, I could remember being them, young and with no idea of what being married really meant. I'm amazed when i look back at how much has happened in those 11 years. The things that have grayed my hair and given me the lines on my face, I never could have imagined that day in the church. I wish I could figure out a way to give out advice to those young marrieds, but really, who wants to listen to an old woman with three children wax poetic about the ups and downs of marriage. Would they listen?
One of the ironies of getting married is that everything is planned out and executed so perfectly and the wedding goes off without a hitch. Marriage is never like that. Stemware gets broken, fine china chips, and flatware disappears and turns up later in the sandbox. Wedding pictures fade and get misplaced, dresses don't fit anymore, and the top layer of the cake you saved in the freezer goes unnoticed because SOMEONE came home from football practice exhausted. The fancy wineglasses stay on the top shelf for fear of little hands, and no one even remembers who caught the bouquet.
Everything that seemed so important in the engagement months starts to fade away and real life, and love, starts to settle in. Bills arrive, babies arrive, moving trucks arrive. New friends come and old friends go; football teams win and then they lose. Cars break down, babies get sick, and there never seems to be enough time. The more you plan, the less control you seem to have. And yet, that's the beauty of marriage. Despite the monotony of monogamy, every day is something new; something you don't know how to handle and yet you somehow figure it out, together. You buy your first house, signing papers that make your hands shake. But you do it together, two signatures, not just one. You bring home the first baby from the hospital, hands still shaking and hearts swelling with pride and praise, praying that if you don't do it right, at least maybe he will, because we're a team.
That's how you make it eleven years, 35 years, 50 years. If you're lucky, you wake up every morning next to that same person who looked so handsome in the black tuxedo, the one who still changes the oil in your van, who brings home take-out when you're just too worn out to cook, and goes outside to throw the football with the boys even though he's too tired to stand. As long as OUR boys can see what makes a marriage work, I guess i shouldn't worry about doling out all that advice to the young couples. They'll figure it out on their own, just like we do.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Real Moms Have Stretch Marks
It's funny. In a world with endless tragedy, sad stories, and disasters that fill the news pages, i still manage to get up every day and lead a pretty great life. Movie stars are crazy, singers are lazy, and no one is a good role model when the video tapes come out. And yet, despite the fact that The Bachelorette never finds lasting love, I sleep well at night, laugh a lot, and have so much to be thankful for that i often lose track of my blessings.
I'm not rich, I'm not famous, and no one really cares what happens to me outside of my family and friends. I drive a mini-van, I do my own grocery shopping, and I spend most of my vacations within the continental United States. I change diapers, scrub toilets, and i jump on the trampoline for fun. I am solely responsible for cooking and feeding four people EVERY day. And because of (not despite) all this, I consider myself one of the luckiest people on the face of the earth.
How? some people may ask. For the last nine years i have been blessed to call myself a mom. Now, that doesn't get a lot of attention, unless of course, i'm a recovering meth addict who's now a great mom, or a movie star/model who manages to "do it all" in addition to a fabulous career. No, the regular moms who drive car pool, make tuna casseroles, and spend so much time doing laundry that we decorate the laundry rooms a la Southern Living, don't elicit a lot of fanfare. But those people who think that the face of a real mom is found on the covers of People and Redbook, have no idea that regular, average, run-of-the-mill moms pretty much have the world on a string.
When you are a mom, lonely is a word that doesn't even register in your vocabulary. Can i get a witness? Bathroom, shower, telephone conversations, grocery shopping with balloons attached to my cart for the sake of a little sanity--all are conducted with my entourage in tow. Dinners out (even at chick-fil-a) with a baby on the lap and a utensil in one hand have become the norm for how to eat and cook. And who can forget bedtime? I know i'm not the only one who more than once a week winds up with an extra person in the bed. Yeah, and if I don't return your phone calls, you already know why. And if you don't call me, well, let's just say my feelings aren't hurt and i'll look forward to your phone calls when Tate starts kindergarten. Like i said, i can't even imagine being lonely; and i really don't want to.
I am never at a loss for quotable material,either. In fact if i were smart i'd walk around carrying a mini tape recorder so i wouldn't miss a thing. Just yesterday, Tanner came in to tell me that he'd never be able to take a shower or bath again (serious face). He'd suffered some sort of cut or bug bite that kept him from immersing his foot in water, so cleansing via water was out of the question, forever it seems. And in another very serious conversation, Tucker was asking if people from Mississippi are called Mississippians. "Well, what are Mexicans called?" Tanner now wants to know. And they think they can't make me laugh!
Honesty. I've already written about the brutal honesty that comes from tucker's mouth, but really it never gets old. At Silver Sneakers the other day, i was putting out one of our exertion charts and talking to one of my members at the same time. Tucker came in and asked what I was doing with it. I told him it was kind of a list of rules, and right there, in front of my over 55 member says, "oh yeah, old people like to follow rules." Swear to it y'all.
I can't mention honesty without throwing in a little bit of lying with it. When your kids tell you they want a WII not for themselves, but because they have yoga and other aerobics things for me, i have to laugh. Similarly, when they spot a gorgeous celebrity on the cover of one of those very magazines i scoff at and tell me "she" looks just like me, i marvel at their attempt.
I guess what it boils down to is that i've just seen one too many shots of Britney and her kids, and all the other stars who really put shame to the term of mom that i can't stand it anymore. Real moms ROCK, and deserve the credit that gets heaped too many times on the lame excuses who don't know what it's like to sit up at night with a sick baby or watch the same Barney video so many times you hum the songs while out for a jog. Seriously, i know i'm not the only one who has looked around the room to discover that she's watching Phineas and Ferb and the children are nowhere to be found.
So kudos to all the real moms who work, cook, chauffeur, clean, and still manage to read books, run races, have dates with their husbands, and vacation at the beach without having their every move documented for America's enjoyment. Even bigger kudos to those same moms who actually realize how lucky they are and are enjoying every loud, sticky, sleep-deprived moment.
I'm not rich, I'm not famous, and no one really cares what happens to me outside of my family and friends. I drive a mini-van, I do my own grocery shopping, and I spend most of my vacations within the continental United States. I change diapers, scrub toilets, and i jump on the trampoline for fun. I am solely responsible for cooking and feeding four people EVERY day. And because of (not despite) all this, I consider myself one of the luckiest people on the face of the earth.
How? some people may ask. For the last nine years i have been blessed to call myself a mom. Now, that doesn't get a lot of attention, unless of course, i'm a recovering meth addict who's now a great mom, or a movie star/model who manages to "do it all" in addition to a fabulous career. No, the regular moms who drive car pool, make tuna casseroles, and spend so much time doing laundry that we decorate the laundry rooms a la Southern Living, don't elicit a lot of fanfare. But those people who think that the face of a real mom is found on the covers of People and Redbook, have no idea that regular, average, run-of-the-mill moms pretty much have the world on a string.
When you are a mom, lonely is a word that doesn't even register in your vocabulary. Can i get a witness? Bathroom, shower, telephone conversations, grocery shopping with balloons attached to my cart for the sake of a little sanity--all are conducted with my entourage in tow. Dinners out (even at chick-fil-a) with a baby on the lap and a utensil in one hand have become the norm for how to eat and cook. And who can forget bedtime? I know i'm not the only one who more than once a week winds up with an extra person in the bed. Yeah, and if I don't return your phone calls, you already know why. And if you don't call me, well, let's just say my feelings aren't hurt and i'll look forward to your phone calls when Tate starts kindergarten. Like i said, i can't even imagine being lonely; and i really don't want to.
I am never at a loss for quotable material,either. In fact if i were smart i'd walk around carrying a mini tape recorder so i wouldn't miss a thing. Just yesterday, Tanner came in to tell me that he'd never be able to take a shower or bath again (serious face). He'd suffered some sort of cut or bug bite that kept him from immersing his foot in water, so cleansing via water was out of the question, forever it seems. And in another very serious conversation, Tucker was asking if people from Mississippi are called Mississippians. "Well, what are Mexicans called?" Tanner now wants to know. And they think they can't make me laugh!
Honesty. I've already written about the brutal honesty that comes from tucker's mouth, but really it never gets old. At Silver Sneakers the other day, i was putting out one of our exertion charts and talking to one of my members at the same time. Tucker came in and asked what I was doing with it. I told him it was kind of a list of rules, and right there, in front of my over 55 member says, "oh yeah, old people like to follow rules." Swear to it y'all.
I can't mention honesty without throwing in a little bit of lying with it. When your kids tell you they want a WII not for themselves, but because they have yoga and other aerobics things for me, i have to laugh. Similarly, when they spot a gorgeous celebrity on the cover of one of those very magazines i scoff at and tell me "she" looks just like me, i marvel at their attempt.
I guess what it boils down to is that i've just seen one too many shots of Britney and her kids, and all the other stars who really put shame to the term of mom that i can't stand it anymore. Real moms ROCK, and deserve the credit that gets heaped too many times on the lame excuses who don't know what it's like to sit up at night with a sick baby or watch the same Barney video so many times you hum the songs while out for a jog. Seriously, i know i'm not the only one who has looked around the room to discover that she's watching Phineas and Ferb and the children are nowhere to be found.
So kudos to all the real moms who work, cook, chauffeur, clean, and still manage to read books, run races, have dates with their husbands, and vacation at the beach without having their every move documented for America's enjoyment. Even bigger kudos to those same moms who actually realize how lucky they are and are enjoying every loud, sticky, sleep-deprived moment.
The Wonder Years
I know it was a bittersweet weekend for Mississippi, a big win for one team, a big loss for another. I may have been gone for 9 years and I may live almost 500 miles from home, but my roots run deep. I swear the only reason i pay such a ridiculous price for TV is so that if MS State or Ole Miss is playing footbal, basketball, baseball, or water polo, i can catch the game; and I'm never so proud as when i wear my Ole Miss or Ms State t-shirt (yes, i have both)in a sea of Bulldog red.
I'm proud of my home state, yes, and it has more to do with just football,(though i do think it is a grand sport:) I get all giddy when i check out a magazine and see some aspect of the Magnolia state highlighted. Just today I had some free time to read my Southern Living out on the back deck and was thrilled to see that as they were highlighting the Best of the South, Mississippi and its famous Mississippians stole the show for the amazing music. Specifically, it is the music of the Delta, the legendary Blues singers who honed their talent from the way of life that is so typical of the flat farm land that stretches along Highway 61.
Awww, all of a sudden I'm a little homesick. I lived in the Delta, very briefly, and drove that highway so many times i knew every bend and bump in the road. Sadly, I remember, too, that I couldn't wait to leave the Delta, head down 61 one last time and never go back. Did i not know then what I know now? Were there no articles on the music, the history, the family relationships that prevail in small towns along the river?
I was too young to appreciate the culture shock of a town that doesn't change much, where the high schools are staffed mostly with teachers who are former students, or neighborhoods whose streets sound off like alphabetical listings in a phone book. Nope, I couldn't see it, and as soon as life opened another door we packed our things and floored that U-Haul down that same highway one last time.
Well, as it often does, life has a funny way of turning things around on you, and seven years later we found ourselves in a another new town, eerily similar to the one we fled so many years ago: high school students checking us out at the grocery store, churches filled with great-grandparents and their kids, grandkids, and finally their great grandkids, one redlight only on the way to school, the closest mall 30 minutes away. Yes, I'd been here before, but this time . . . surprise of all surprises, I LOVE it! I am smarter now(older, too), aware that it is the little things in life that make a city a home, and not just some place you live until the next door opens and the moving van shows up.
And for a coach and his family, new doors open up all the time. Plenty of doors have opened (and closed) for us, and realistically many more will in the future. So even though i regret the impulsive me who didn't appreciate what i was leaving behind in the Delta, I can now say that wherever we go, whatever each new town holds (or doesn't), I cherish each person, each road I run, each little quirk it holds, because you never know, the town you once ran from just might turn into the place you're running to.
I'm proud of my home state, yes, and it has more to do with just football,(though i do think it is a grand sport:) I get all giddy when i check out a magazine and see some aspect of the Magnolia state highlighted. Just today I had some free time to read my Southern Living out on the back deck and was thrilled to see that as they were highlighting the Best of the South, Mississippi and its famous Mississippians stole the show for the amazing music. Specifically, it is the music of the Delta, the legendary Blues singers who honed their talent from the way of life that is so typical of the flat farm land that stretches along Highway 61.
Awww, all of a sudden I'm a little homesick. I lived in the Delta, very briefly, and drove that highway so many times i knew every bend and bump in the road. Sadly, I remember, too, that I couldn't wait to leave the Delta, head down 61 one last time and never go back. Did i not know then what I know now? Were there no articles on the music, the history, the family relationships that prevail in small towns along the river?
I was too young to appreciate the culture shock of a town that doesn't change much, where the high schools are staffed mostly with teachers who are former students, or neighborhoods whose streets sound off like alphabetical listings in a phone book. Nope, I couldn't see it, and as soon as life opened another door we packed our things and floored that U-Haul down that same highway one last time.
Well, as it often does, life has a funny way of turning things around on you, and seven years later we found ourselves in a another new town, eerily similar to the one we fled so many years ago: high school students checking us out at the grocery store, churches filled with great-grandparents and their kids, grandkids, and finally their great grandkids, one redlight only on the way to school, the closest mall 30 minutes away. Yes, I'd been here before, but this time . . . surprise of all surprises, I LOVE it! I am smarter now(older, too), aware that it is the little things in life that make a city a home, and not just some place you live until the next door opens and the moving van shows up.
And for a coach and his family, new doors open up all the time. Plenty of doors have opened (and closed) for us, and realistically many more will in the future. So even though i regret the impulsive me who didn't appreciate what i was leaving behind in the Delta, I can now say that wherever we go, whatever each new town holds (or doesn't), I cherish each person, each road I run, each little quirk it holds, because you never know, the town you once ran from just might turn into the place you're running to.
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