Phone Calls and Falling

The rest of the summer found me fending off phone calls from the boy at every turn (ok not every turn, but frequently enough to know he was still interested...very interested) despite my attempts at aloofness.  I used many excuses not to go out with him, the most freqently used being, "My dad won't let me."  Now that I think about it, aside from his initial caution, I never did ask my dad for his permission!   The story may have been altered drastically if I had!  After one particularly tempting invitation (a movie date to the newest Julia Roberts flick), I told him I was busy re-decorating my room.  I actually was!  He took this to be on the same level as the old excuse, I'm washing my hair, and laid off the phone calls for longer than usual.

And then, school was back in session.  With that first Friday night came our small town's firsts home football game.  Everyone, who was anyone, was at that game.  I of course was no exception.  Neither was the boy.

At some point, he caught up with me and never went away.  I'm still slightly-but-not-really mad my obnoxious friend (at the time), begged for his jacket when he was so clearly not into her.  As the game came to a close, I headed for the gate and my ride, my Auntie.  The boy was clearly not done with this night and asked if I could come for a motorcycle ride with him.  (Of course, I could not without permission from mom!).

The boy had some guts...he came to my grandparents home, where he officially met my mother, Auntie, grandmother, and grandfather just to ask permission to take me on his motorcycle.   As if his healthy fear of my father wasn't enough!

I got permission.   I went. 

Standing in the porch-light, of my grandparent's iconic Victorian home, the boy gently placed a helmet on my head and adjusted it carefully under my chin, while my mother, grandmother, and Auntie spied on us from the window (my Auntie later gushed about the sweetness of the helmet adjusting).

Not only did he get permission to take me on his motorcycle , but he also received permission to take me home (in his car) that night.  I lived 20 miles from town and he lived 30 in the opposite direction.  It would be the first of many rides home in the weeks to come.

The phone calls were now something I waited for.  I was falling for this boy...but the story, our story, was still just beginning.

Begin at the Beginning

Traditional stories begin at the beginning and move forward in chronological order.   As a college graduate and teacher, I know that part of an author's craft is telling the story in non-traditional ways.  My true beginning includes a very hot July day, a very long labor, and a OB wing in the process of being remodeled...but that is a story for another day. 

The beginning I am going to start with, ironically begins with a very hot July day, however, that is where the similarities stop.

This story, starts with a boy, as many good stories do.  This boy had black and white hair, red shoes, and a motorcycle.  I was 14. He was 16. Little did I know the impact this two-toned, Ronald McDonald shoe wearing, motorcycle driving boy would have on my life.

He noticed me.  I noticed his hair...and his shoes...and his motorcycle.   It wasn't our first introduction, I had known him all my life and had (not seriously) been betrothed to his 12 month older brother since before I was even born.   They were the only boys my father had cautioned me against dating, that is when he gave me permission to date, preferably at age 40 or later.

He made friendly chit chat. I played it cool and aloof and answered only what was necessary for demonstrating the manners my mama taught me.

And so it began...

Lines in My Hands

Last night, while encouraging my older son to share the favorite John Deere truck toy with his younger brother, this is what I heard; "But Mom, when God made me he gave me these special lines on my hands so I could play really good with this truck."  Then to his little brother; "Let me see your hands. (Little brother innocently holds out his hands, palms up). Oh you have good lines too!  You can play with the truck for a little bit."

I love the toddler logic and (developmentally appropriate) self-centered perception that went into this conversation.  I also love the innocence with which my youngest son held out his hands seeking approval.  What I love the most is how this one conversation so captures two small parts of what lies within each of us; we are all looking for that one thing that sets us apart, the one gift God choose to give us different from all the rest AND we are at the same time constantly seeking approval; Here I am, now someone tell me I am good enough!

As a mother, I find that my definition of self has become consumed by my role as a mom.  I am constantly searching for the "lines in my hands" that set me apart from others.  Reflecting on this though, I realize that all of the little things God put into more are what make me special.  No one else in the world has the exact same parts.  Being a mother or a teacher doesn't limit me any more than being short and brunette does.  Being a mother, a teacher, and a short brunette is what makes me special.  These qualities and more are the "lines in my hands."

The other piece of this conversation goes hand in hand with finding my lines.  As an adult, as a Christian, as a mother, as a wife, as a teacher; I am constantly seeking approval.  Please lord, let me be good enough, let my children think I am the best, my students, my husband, my friends, my boss, and on and on.  The truth is: I am good enough because God says I am and though it is sometimes hard to believe, His opinion is really the only one that matters.

What wonderful insight from a 30 second conversation.  I am blessed beyond measure!

Life is Not a Love Song

I am a sucker for a slow, heartfelt, love song.  Any genre.  I love, Love.  I am a romantic at heart.  I am an old soul.  I believe in soul mates and holding hands and good night kisses every day.  I get lost in the words of a song easily and then find myself feeling slightly empty when the song is over. But the truth is, life is not a love song.  Life is diapers and late night feedings and fights over sorting laundry.  However, I feel deep down, if you are with the right person, the everyday can be a love song all its own.  It's not the song I envisioned myself dancing to for the rest of my life, but that's what makes it real. 

Duck Dynasty - Revisited

I will be the first to admit, when "Duck Dynasty" first gained popularity on A&E, I was quick to judge. 

"A bunch of rednecks, drinking, shooting stuff up, and setting a great example for our children of a get rich and squander it mentality."

And to be even more embarrassingly honest, I made this statement before I had actually even watched the show!  So imagine my surprise when I actually sat down and watched an episode.  Yes they are a bunch of rednecks, however, that is where the truth in my statement ends.  The Duck Dynasty family is a God-fearing, God-loving, southern family, who had a great idea and used their business savvy and redneck talents to build an empire.  And guess what else...it is one of the few shows, I don't mind having on while my children are in the same room.  In and of itself, that speaks volumes.

I was too quick to judge.  This makes me wonder how often I do this with other things in my life. Who would have thought that redneck show could have triggered so much reflection! Last night when I said prayers with my children, I asked for patience.  I asked God to show me how to give others time before I judge...and then I watched an episode of "Duck Dynasty."

Today

Yesterday was a busy, crabby, stressful day. It is state testing at school, and these days prove to be long for both students and teachers alike. I was feeling crabby and ungrateful by the end of the day. However, I went and got my boys and had a great evening watching cartoons, eating pizza for supper, giving baths, and reading stories. I fell asleep at 8:30 with one boy in my armpit and the other holding my hand and Thanking GOD for the wonderful gift of being a mother.

Ugly

Today I'm feeling ugly in every sense of the word. My heart is ugly, my thoughts are ugly, my mood is ugly.

The truth is, deep down, God knows my heart and forgives me for this ugly day.

I find myself tired, wanting, and angry today.

Today could change. I could change today. Tomorrow is a new day.