One of my earliest memories is of a friend of the family who lost his leg in a motorcycle accident.  When he would visit our family he would always let us children look at his prosthetic leg.  We would gawk in amazement as he pulled his pants leg up to reveal the hard plastic leg.  Sometimes he would let us feel it and knock on it.  I was always fearfully mesmerized with it.

Hand in hand with that memory, is another of a teenage boy (or maybe he was in his early 20’s) who would ride his motorcycle endless up and down our dead end street.  It was loud and I was always scared as his engine revved, popped and sputtered for what seemed to me like hours.  I didn’t like loud noises or motorcycles and can remember being terrified to go outside or even function during this time he was riding the street.

Later, in elementary school, I watched in amazement as a good friend of mine nonchalantly hopped on a motorcycle with her Dad and rode away from school. I could not comprehend how she could possibly want to ride a motorcycle.  As a teenager, I vowed never to ride a motorcycle.  They held no interest for me and you would never catch me on one, much less even looking at one. 

When I was a young adult, I worked at a law firm as a paralegal and was assigned to help on a case involving a young man’s death on a motorcycle.  I recognized the name of our client as a guy I had gone to high school with.  We were not close and were not even friends, but I was horrified as I sifted through photographs from the accident.  His body was mangled, broken and bloody.  I had to have these horrible pictures enlarged and arranged for the settlement talks.  I had to review these photos with the attorney and talk about each one in detail.

This horrific case only deepened my conviction that I would never ride a motorcycle.  So it may surprise you to hear that last Sunday afternoon I went on a motorcycle ride with my brother in law and loved every minute of it!  In fact, this is not the first time I’ve ridden on a motorcycle. I’ve been several times in the past few years with both my father in law and my brother in law. 

I don’t know what came over me, but a few years ago I relented to their requests and rode with them one beautiful, sunny day.  I was tired of living in fear.  I was at a stage in my life where I wanted to try things and experience things in life that were at my finger tips, but had never done because of fear.  I checked my fear of motorcycles at the door and have never looked back. 

I loved my first ride and now I jump at the chance to ride with them whenever they ask.  Sometimes it is just a short ride to run an errand, but they know they can count me in. They never made fun of me.  They never said, “I told you so!”, but you can see the laughter in their eyes when they ask me and I excitedly reply, “Yes!” and then can’t seem to get the helmet on fast enough. 

This past Sunday afternoon, riding with my brother in law, I could feel the tension and stress leaving my body as we cruised down the curvy road.  I have ridden the back roads near my house in a jeep with the top down and enjoyed it thoroughly, but it could not compare to the motorcycle.  There is just something freeing about a bike.

As we twisted and turned up and down hills and through hollows, I took a deep breath of the fall air.  I soaked in the shady, damp, tree covered sections of the road which smell musky, but yet clean.  As the wind blew in my face I remembered my fears and how good it feels to let your fears go. I just imagined myself holding my fear tight in my hand and then stretching it out and opening my hand wide.  The wind took my fear and blew it far behind me.  It blew it into the past - down a road I traveled long ago. 

I like to joke that my husband has a sauce for EVERYTHING!  When we first got married I was not very good at making sure he had the right sauce in the refrigerator to go along with the meal I cooked.  Neither my Mom or my Dad are big sauce eaters so my Hubby opened a whole new world to me when it came to sauces.

I guess some would be considered condiments, but I promise Hubby must have at least one with each meal – even breakfast: Ketchup, mustard,  honey mustard, spicy mustard, mayo, chow chow, relish, soy sauce, horseradish sauce, thousand island, tartar sauce, cocktail sauce, salsa, hot sauce, picante sauce, hollandaise sauce, BBQ sauce, ranch, Italian and on and on the list goes.  If they make a sauce most likely you will find it in my kitchen.

Surprisingly, none of my kids are big sauce eaters.  Two of them don’t even like spaghetti sauce.  Sissy is starting to eat mayo some, but Bubba will not touch a sauce of any kind. The one exception to all this is Paddy and his love for ketchup.  He has loved ketchup as far back as I can remember.

As a toddler Paddy would dip his fries in ketchup, lick the ketchup off and dip the same fry again and again.  I have tried to curb his ketchup eating because of the amount of sugar added, but like his father, it is the only way he will eat certain foods.  In fact, it is the only way he will eat a lot of foods.  Paddy must have his ketchup – lots and lots of it!

Today was a hard Monday morning.  The kids had spent all weekend at their grandparent’s house and were worn out this morning from all the weekend fun.  They were hard to wake up and hard to get going. They were slow moving and I constantly had to check on them to make sure they were really getting ready for school and not sitting somewhere dazing into space. 

As we drove to school I tried to make them laugh and pep them up for the day.  They complained that they disliked Mondays.  I told them to hang in there and before they knew it, it would be Friday!

Bubba said, “I wish everyday was Saturday!” 

I tried to explain that Saturdays would not be so special if every day was a Saturday.  They were grumpy and not buying my spill. 

I said, “Think of it like this, if you got to eat chocolate cake everyday then you would get tried of it.  In fact, it probably would start to not taste very good, if you ate it EVERY single day.” 

But Paddy defied my logic, “But Mom, “ he insisted, “Ketchup IS good EVERY single day!”

Sometimes God’s plans are not the same as our plans.  Two years ago I was so happy and relieved to finally be a stay at home Wife and Mother.  I believed firmly that was God’s plan for our family.  Hubby and I had worked hard for years trying to make it happen and then we watched astonished as God cleared the path and opened the door more amazingly than we could have ever imagined.  We turned to God in prayer yielding ourselves to His way and our faith grew as we watched God work.

Almost exactly two years later I am working again.  I didn’t think I would be and I certainly didn’t want to, but I believe this to be God’s plan.   A few weeks ago my Hubby and I were at lunch discussing several pending contracts in his business and the situation with our renter as well.  We were hashing out best and worst case scenarios in our financial situation - planning ahead. 

We talked about the worst possible should all go down hill at the same time.  I said with reluctance, “Well…should I start looking for a job…just in case?” The areas I am trained in and have past experience in are all very stressful, demanding jobs with hours that are not always family oriented and I really did not want to pursue my past careers. At that very moment my cell phone rang.  Since my Hubby and I were in the middle of such an important conversation I let the call go to my voicemail and we continued talking. 

The call turned out to be from my Pastor who wanted me to pray about stepping into our church secretary’s position which was soon to be vacant. Our secretary of 24 years was retiring.  She had given ample notice but time had gone by quickly and she would be leaving in three days.  When I first heard of her resignation I had so many other things on my mind that I didn’t think much about it except in terms of how she would be missed.

But over the weeks since she gave her notice two different people had dropped a comment that I would be a good person for the job. God had already been working on my heart, but I knew Hubby would be against it.  After the Pastor’s phone message, we agreed to pray over it and at least consider it.

I knew it was what God wanted already, but after leaving Hubby at his job sight I prayed all the way home that God would make it clear to Hubby if this was really indeed God’s plan for us.  I also prayed that God would pave the way in the church members’ hearts to be flexible with my family’s schedule.  By the time Hubby arrived home that night he was clear that taking this job was what I was supposed to do.  I was astonished that God had moved his heart so quickly, but evidently he had already been talking to God before our Pastor’s phone call and the call only confirmed what he was slow to face as well.

I called my pastor back that night and met with the personnel committee Wednesday night. Nothing, was set in stone.  My days of work, hours of work and pay rate were not decided.  I started on Thursday morning anyway in order to have at least one day with the outgoing secretary.  One day in order for her to impart 24 years of experience! I worked on Friday and then had the long Labor Day weekend off.

I was in an ill mood.  I did not want to go back to work.  I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that this was God’s plan.  I resigned from another commitment I had even though I was not officially hired yet because I knew that this was God’s will.  It was God’s plan for my church and for my family, but I was not liking it.  God and I had several long talks over the long weekend and by Tuesday I had a better attitude.

Now I am embracing God’s plan and enjoying my job.  I am having so much fun.  I’m loving the challenges and loving the interaction with the church members.  I am able to drop my kids off at school in the morning and then pick them up again in the afternoon. 

While I’ve been trying to wrap my mind around all these changes God keeps bringing to mind the story of Zacchaeus the tax collector (Luke 19:1-11).  I guess he never imagined that day he climbed the tree just trying to get a glimpse of Jesus that Jesus would end up at his house that day.  I reckon that never in a million years Zacchaeus thought that he and Jesus would be eating together that day.

Even more important than the change in plans was Zacchaeus’ change of heart.  Zacchaeus repented and was a changed man after that day. I pray that my heart will never be hardened to God’s plans for me no matter what my ideas may be.

One of my pet peeves when I was pregnant was having strangers rub or touch my belly.  I remember once  we were at a fast food restaurant placing our order and the girl behind the counter just reached over and started rubbing my pregnant belly.  I jumped back a bit alarmed.  I was always happy to let Hubby sit for hours on end rubbing my belly, talking to it, or just waiting for some sort of movement.  I can remember letting several different family members or close friends engage in this same belly activity, but not strangers.

I recently observed a pregnant friend struggle with this awkward moment as well. We were in conversation at a get together when another woman we both knew walked up and put both her hands on the pregnant woman’s belly and then proceeded to move her hands all around for several minutes.  I could tell my newly pregnant friend (only just starting to show) was taken back.  She moved backward slightly, but was unsure how to handle the situation. She knew the woman, but you could tell she was still uncomfortable with the sudden familiar contact.

There must be something about expectant mothers that make people want to touch them.  People are fascinated. Perhaps it is the cuteness of the bulging belly, perhaps for women its a bonding process of a shared circumstance or maybe it is something deeper.  Maybe the draw is the fact that she carries a whole other life inside her – a new life. There is just something exciting about feeling the baby kick, feeling the new life move and come alive.  Some people are just drawn to it.

I know you are really going to question my thought process here, but remembering how awkward it was for me to have strangers touching or trying to touch my belly made me think of Jesus. (I know your wondering how my mind got from point A to point B, but hang with me). 

While here on earth Jesus was constantly being thronged.  Large crowds gathered around him, pressing in just trying to see Him, hear Him, and touch Him.  Sick, dying, diseased people trying to touch Him in a culture where the unclean shouted in the streets so you could avoid contact with them.  In some cases, they just wanted to touch His clothes (Matt 9:20, Matt 14:36).

Strangers wanting to touch Him. Why? What was the draw? They wanted healing, new beginnings and new life. He embodied new life. Abundant life!

John 10:9-10 (NKJV)

I am the door. If anyone enters by Me, he will be saved, and will go in and out and find pasture.  The thief does not come except to steal, and to kill, and to destroy. I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly.

Some friends of ours were camping about 45 minutes outside of Nashville so we joined them for a little bit of old fashioned family fun.  We explored the park and did a little creek stomping. I’m not really sure if the adults or the children had more fun.

This summer the kids have loved playing in the rain.  If there is no thunder or lightening, I let them.  They ran in excitedly one day in August because you could clearly see a full rainbow in the sky after a summer shower! I wish I was a better photographer because I failed to capture the beauty of it.  I guess I am a lot like the kids because rainbows never cease to amaze me.

 

 

Genesis 9:15-17 (N I V)

I will remember my covenant between me and you and all living creatures of every kind. Never again will the waters become a flood to destroy all life.  Whenever the rainbow appears in the clouds, I will see it and remember the everlasting covenant between God and all living creatures of every kind on the earth."

So God said to Noah, "This is the sign of the covenant I have established between me and all life on the earth."

The first day of school has come and gone.  It does not seem to matter how old they are; I still cry.  They all three still want me to walk them in on the first day and I happily do.  This year is an even year – grades 2, 4 and 6.  Even though I pulled out of the school parking lot with tears in my eyes, I cheered up quickly during a breakfast out with just me and Hubby… all alone. That, of course, was nice.

We always take an annual first day of school photograph.

 

 

Even though the official end of summer is over a month away, school will be starting soon and that really marks the end of our summer.  I have spent very little time on the computer since school has been out.  You can probably count on one hand the number of blogs I’ve posted this summer, at least meaningful ones.  I have enjoyed piddling around the house, spending time with the kids and reading.  A big part of my summer has been focused on the produce from our garden.

 

My Hubby has a wonderful green thumb and I have enjoyed the benefits of it.  I have had such fun finding new recipes and new ways to use all the garden produce as it has been in season.  Somehow it is less intimidating for me to try a new recipe when there seems to be a never ending supply of ingredients waiting for me. What we have not eaten or given away I have put in the deep freeze. Just yesterday, Hubby and I made a team effort in pickling. 

 

We canned some dill and some sweet and spicy pickles.  I’ll let you know in a week or two how they turned out. Canning was a lot of fun, but I guess that is because it is still a novelty to me.  When my Grandfather was here visiting and collecting corn the other day, he told me that my Grandmother would look to the heavens and say, “Oh, Thank you, God!” after the first frost every year.

Sissy had oral surgery about a week ago.  She had an impacted tooth that her orthodontist has been keeping an eye on for awhile.  We were hoping as he made room with the braces that it would come down on its own, but instead it developed a cyst that could cause damage to the roots of the other teeth. 

As the nurse called for us to come back for the procedure, Bubba boldly told Sissy in front of the whole waiting room that he loved her.  It was such a sweet moment that everyone who heard was touched by his words.  It was one of those moments as a parent that you think maybe you are doing a pretty good job.  

It was a bit nerve racking for me to watch them put Sissy under and a bit more nerve racking when I had to leave her.  It extremely tough to leave your child “knocked out” with an oral surgeon and nurse you’ve only met one time before. They did a great job and so did Sissy who was asking to ride her bike later that afternoon, but I made her stay on the couch with books and movies. 

We have had a lot of fun this summer.  We’ve done some swimming, went to all the free movies (but the first one), gone to the park, had some friends over, had family in town, gone to the library and done a lot of playing in the yard.  The kids have really enjoyed the bigger yard this summer and the new neighbors.  They have done a lot of bug catching, bike riding, hide and seek, water balloons and all sorts of games from their wonderful, vivid imaginations.  They jumped on the trampoline, played basketball and football, climbed in the neighbor’s tree house, played four square and even put on a show (complete with costumes) for us parents.

 They come in dirty, sweaty, and reluctantly every night.  Season passes to the water park and fancy vacations can’t even compare to the back yard fun they scrub off every night and the childhood memories of carefree summer days that sooth them into a deep, peaceful sleep at night. It is a bummer that summer is almost over.  It has been one of the best in a long time.

   

This weekend a friend of Sissy’s spent the night with us. I have known her since she was 5 years old.  Her sister and her sister’s best friend would walk around our old neighborhood looking for work.  They were 13 years old at the time and wanted to earn money to go to the movies.  I would always try to find a chore for them to do and it wasn’t long before she brought her 5 year old sister, GW, to play with Sissy.  The teen girls had been friends since they were little and encouraged the friendship between the younger girls. 

At first the older sister always stayed during the play dates, but it wasn’t long before us parents met,  our phone numbers were exchanged and GW was only escorted by her sister down the street to my door.  As the years past, GW became old enough to walk down the street by herself and the older teen girls are now grown with children of there own.  Now GW is the one that will soon be a teenager.  She is a good girl and we are always pleased to have her visit our house.  Of all the people and kids from the “old neighborhood” her family is the only one we still keep in touch with.  

When her father dropped her off yesterday, I asked what time he needed her back home.  He explained that it would be a short visit because they needed to go to a funeral today.  I extended my sympathies and inquired who had passed away never suspecting it was someone I knew.  I was shocked at his reply and sat down in my driveway because I became dizzy with unbelief.  One of the boys in our old neighborhood had committed suicide. He was only 14 years old.  He had hung himself in his closet and left a note that no one cared about him so he didn’t care anymore either.  His younger brother found him. 

I have not seen this boy in 10 months and mostly likely our paths would have never crossed again, but I am shaking as I type this.  My stomach is in knots.  He was a good boy.  He was quite, but always played kindly.  He shared his basketball goal with my boys and at least once on a pretty weekend you would see him giving his baby brother a ride on his mini bike.  I remember one time he sat on my porch sharing a bag of spicy, hot chips with Paddy.  Paddy has loved these chips ever since.  I would give out popsicles to him along with the other neighbor kids and I can remember seeing him tote his sleeping bag down the street to spend the night with a boy who moved away shortly before us.

These brief “snap shots” are all I remember of him, but I am torn to pieces.  My kid’s don’t know yet.  I asked GW not to tell them.  While my kids were still asleep this morning, we ate pancakes and talked.  She saw him the morning of his death.  Her dog had gotten lose and he kindly returned the dog to her front door.  She regrets their last encounter.  GW politely said “thank you”, but admits she was really more interested in what was on TV at the time.  Now, she wishes that she had talked to him.  She wishes she had asked him how he was doing.  She talked of fond memories of him and how she remembers him being the “new boy” in 4th grade, but how she introduced him to the class because he was her neighbor and she had already met him. 

GW called her parents and asked if she could stay at our house instead of attending the funeral and asked her parents to give his family what she had made him.  She told her Mom that she could not handle going.  Her parents came over after the funeral to check on her.  She asked to stay here longer.  Her Dad looked at me with grief filled eyes.  He wanted to make his daughter happy, but didn’t want her to over stay her welcome.  It is now almost 7 pm and she is still here, playing happily in our new neighborhood.  I’m not sure I can bare to take her home.  I’ll have to pass his house and his basketball goal.

I don’t think Bubba even realizes it and I would certainly never point it out, but sometimes he calls my Hubby “Da Da”.  Hubby loves it and the way Bubba says it, it does not sound babyish.  I can’t explain it, but it is very endearing.  In fact, I started paying attention to how all our kids address us and really each one and each way is special.  Sometimes Sissy calls me very formally, “Mother”, but it fits her personality to a tee.  Paddy is so carefree in his “Mama” and “Daddy”.  Somehow, no matter what they choose to say – it fits!

I grew up with a poster full of the names of Jesus as part of the everyday decor of our home and have always been mesmerized with the different names and titles for God in the Scripture.  I try to wrap my mind around the reply from the burning bush, "I am who I am” (Exodus 3:14) and I always try to pay attention to the way the words Lord and God appear in the English translation, because I know there is a difference in the Hebrew that I don’t want to go into right now. 

As much as I have seemed to pay attention to all the variations of God’s name in the Bible, I recently balked when my Pastor suggested that all the names for God were not listed in the Bible.  What? How could that be? Why would God not include something in the Bible that I need to know about Him? My Pastor went on to explain in more detail what he meant.  To one person He may be the God who cured them from cancer.  To another He may be the God who helped them through a financially tight time.  To yet another the God who rescued them from a bad situation in life.  He challenged us to have a personal and current relationship with God – not just the God who saved you when you were 12 years old, but the God who is current in your life today. 

I thought about Moses and how God introduced himself as "… the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob" (Exodus 3:6), but I’m certain by the end of Moses’ life he had many more personal, and personally meaningful ways of addressing God.  God never changes and He will always be ”the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac and the God of Jacob” but he is also the God who spoke to Moses from a burning bush, the God of the plagues, the God who parted the red sea, etc. etc.  Imagine all the names for God Moses must have had.

I have a friend who refers to Jesus always as “Abba” (Galatians 4:6) and another who uses the Hebraic word “Yeshua”.  As a parent, I love to hear my children call my name.  It doesn't matter if they say, Mother, Mama, or Mom as long as it is said in a loving, respectful way.  Many times they don’t even have to say my name, but if I know I have their full attention or we are engaged in a conversation where they are eager to talk to me – I am content.

I have been pondering these things off and on lately. He is the God who brought me home from work to be a full time wife and Mother – my dream come true.  He is the God who blessed our family with a bigger house and yard.  He is the God who provides.  He is the God who gives strength, energy and health to my husband. The God who sends rain so my Hubby’s business thrives.  He is the God who sustains me. The God who keeps my family safe. On and on I could go with the way He is God currently in my life.

While pondering this possibility of claiming and calling God more personally and currently in my life, I stumbled across one of His names in Scripture I never noticed before. I was reading the story of Hagar fleeing from Sarai in Genesis 16.  Sarai had been mistreating Hagar so she took off.  But God found her even as she was running away and spoke reassuringly to her.  Because of their conversation, Hagar named God in verse 13, “She gave this name to the LORD who spoke to her: "You are the God who sees me," for she said, "I have now seen the One who sees me." 

I really, really like that… the One who sees me. 

I was cleaning the house just now and wishing that I had updated my blog more in June.  I was thinking how I missed visiting and commenting on other blogs. I was out of the habit of posting and writing and really just needed something simple and not too deep to post in order to get me back in the routine again.  As I was cleaning, I was composing a blog in my head that I wanted to post when Paddy interrupted my thoughts. 

“Oh Mom!”, he said, “I just LOVE the smell of Pine-Sol.” 

I smiled knowing that was the cleaner that we have used most often since his birth and how I can remember the smell even from my childhood. 

I replied, “Yes, it has such a clean fresh smell, doesn't it ?” 

Paddy made me laugh with his answer, “No, Mom it is not the Pine that smells so good, but the Sol.”

 

I feel the pressure to post a new blog.  I have not spent a lot of time online lately and I don’t think I have read any blogs in almost 2 weeks.  I’ve spent a lot of time reading regular old books from the public library.  I really like biographies.  I guess that explains why I am drawn to reading blogs –  it is a lot like reading a autobiography in the making.  This time of year I really enjoy taking my book outside to read.

 

Much of my time last week was tied up with my church’s Vacation Bible School.  We had almost 50 kids everyday which is awesome for my little church! In the past we have had attendance in the high 20’s and low 30’s.  It was a wonderful blessing! I co-taught the 3rd and 4th grade class. Bubba was in my class and many of his friends from school came.  It is so much more fun for the kids when their friends are there too.  It seemed like all the kids were well behaved and got along well together. 

I confirmed what I already thought I knew – that I enjoy teaching a older group better than my normal preschool Sunday School group.  The younger kids are so smart with such good memories, but I love seeing the older kid’s eyes light up when they finally grasp a Bible truth.  You can just see something working in their brain when they connect events, people or spiritual truths together.  I did miss my  4 year olds though and always slipped into their class to hang out with them for a little bit while my class completed their craft with the craft teachers.

By Friday I was worn smack dab out.  My kids were always going home with someone else or having their friends over to our house before and after VBS so their was never a dull moment in my schedule.  Thursday and Friday I woke up at 5:30 am to help get my Hubby up and going for the things he had planned for the day.  Neither one of us are morning people so 5:30 am was hard for us. 

After he left Friday morning I sat on the couch reviewing and planning my VBS lesson for the day.  I was so tired I didn’t know how I could manage another day VBS and the other activates planned later that day as well.  I just wanted to crawl back in bed.  I knew it was the last day, but I just couldn’t seem to “sike myself up”.  Then I ran across the part of the lesson where I was supposed to tell the children the VBS Bible verse for the day. 

Philippians 4:13(KJV)

I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.

Oh how I needed that! Yes! That was it.  I could not “sike myself up” – I could not find the strength myself.  I needed Christ.  I needed His strength.  I had reached the end of mine and needed to draw on His.  I wish I had remembered this verse earlier in the week.  I wish I had remembered to lean on Him all week long.  I can’t believe after all these lessons learned how I still charge ahead without Him sometimes.  What made me think I could possibly make it though that kind of hectic week on my own? 

So Friday morning I sat on my couch and drew from His strength for awhile.  Later that morning as I went over the verse with my class my eyes watered and I got a little choked up telling them how that verse had helped me just that morning.  They laughed at me when I explained that I would have been a grumpy teacher that day if it wasn’t for Jesus, but they understood.  They got it! I was able to personally relay that verse in a fresh way that included them and they understood!

I hope it sticks with them and they learn early in life to lean on Jesus – always, every single day.

 

Untitled (because I can)

By: Theresa C. Richardson

 

somebody

somewhere

a long time ago

taught me this is the way a poem should go

AA BB

now one two three

rhythm and rhyme

all by the end of the line

but now

when a word won’t fit

sometimes i use it anyway

its all about creativity

and me

Last year I wrote a poem about Memorial Day; this year I put my words into actions. 

               

I gathered with my nephew’s Boy Scout Troop and others from the Nashville area to put flags on the 35,000 graves at the Nashville National Cemetery. 

                

Medal of Honor Winner

 

I was very impressed with the Boy Scout’s opening ceremony and great organization for the service project.

        

It was very emotional and personal for me because my paternal grandparents are buried there, as well as my uncle.

      

I was able to put the flag on my uncle’s grave and I wish I had brought something to clean it up with. 

          

By the time I got to my grandparent’s grave the flag was already there.  I took it out and re-adjusted it just to satisfy some internal need I can’t explain. 

          

 

I hope you didn’t forget today.

Summer vacation is here! Thursday was the last day of school for my children.  It was a half-day.  There were no tears or sadness from any of my children.  They felt nothing but relief! It was a busy week that we all were relived to be through with.  Field day at one school and two class picnics at the other.  A Volunteer Luncheon at one and awards days at both (at the same time no less)! There were also a few end of year PTA things to wrap up.

We also purchased a “new” (used) vehicle this week.  We had to have something as Hubby’s 1982 truck had become unreliable leaving him stranded several times in his most busy time of the year.  I had to get the kids out of bed at 11pm on Monday night to rescue him. The truck had to eventually be towed home by a kind friend of ours.

Although school is officially out, I do have one last school story to write.  It was during one of these many events this past week that Bubba’s P.E. teacher got me aside.  She was concerned over his confusion on a survey he had completed for P.E.  He had taken an unusually long time to complete the top information portion of the form and she checked on him to try to discover the problem.

The question was to check your race – White, Black, Hispanic, or Other.  Bubba didn’t know which one to check. She told me she thought it was good that kids did not focus on skin color like they used to, but she didn’t know why it was so hard for Bubba because he was obviously white.  I am happy with my children’s seemingly oblivion to skin color as an important factor.  Because after all, to quote Frederick Douglas,  “The mind does not take its complexion from the skin.”

I talked to Bubba when he got home to try to ascertain what the confusion might be.  He said, “Daddy has always told me I am a melting pot, so I didn’t know if I should check ‘White’ or ‘Other’”.  It is true.  We are a melting pot.  My family and Hubby’s family have both done extensive genealogy research.  We are mutts, err… I mean melting pots.  I love that I know my heritage and my Hubby knows his.  We are proud, like so many Americans of the countries we came from and the Americans we are.  I have a recording of my Great Grandmother telling the story of how she came over from the “old county” on a boat and I love to listen to it.

I, at times, fed up with the categories have checked “Other” and written in whatever nationality best suites my personality that day.  Sometimes fighting Irish or barbaric Hun (both my Grandmothers would be proud).   I told Bubba, that he too could check and write whatever part of his heritage he wanted to embrace that day or just leave it blank.  It just frustrates me sometimes to work so hard to break down walls and categories only to have them built back up again.  To have someone divide the the kids and remind them that they might be different from an educational perspective because of their skin color seems to serve no purpose.

I do somewhat grasp that these categories can be important in making sure that different groups of the populace are being educated equally and these catories can help to make sure we are not being discriminatory, but honestly it requires a lot of circular reasoning on my part to arrive at this conclusion. And I have to wonder if it does more harm than good in a 3rd grader’s mind. What seeds does it plant?

 At the crack of dawn Wednesday morning, I met other half-sleep Moms, Dads, teachers and children for a field trip.  We had chartered four buses from Gaylord Opryland in order to drive to Pigeon Forge, Tn.  The destination – Wonderworks – the upside down building!

         

       

The field trip was for 5th through 8th graders who are involved in our local county wide gifted program.  There are 5 students from Sissy’s school in the program and she was the only one from her school who had their parent’s permission to go.  I went as a chaperon, but it was weird for us both not knowing any of the students or parents from the other schools.  Soon we both made friends and ended up having a great time. 

   

The bed of nails was my second favorite part (the art work was my favorite part). Look close at the shadow below.

    

This exhibit below, gave you a chance to see how long you could hold your hand in waters the same temperature of the water the night the Titanic sank.  It made me realize as never before just how cold the water was. And I just can’t imagine all the other factors…

The other girls in my group all went to the same school and had known each other for several years.  They were very sweet girls.

 

Sissy got a chance to play Mindball.  She lost.  That is her in the far chair.  The picture of the other girl turned out better.

 

            

We also ate at the Hoot n’ Holler Dinner Theater before heading back home.  The children were so well behaved and polite – I was absolutely amazed.  I am so thankful to God that I have the time and the resources to go along with my children on school functions like this.

My dryer has been broken for sometime now.  I’m not sure how long anymore, but it has been months.  I have always loved hanging my clothes on the line outside even when my dryer was working so at first it was really no big deal for me.  We made a half hearted attempt to find one in March, but decided we would wait for a good deal.  I told my Hubby I was content with hanging the clothes on the line and the weather was getting just warm enough and just sunny enough this time of year. So I have been hanging ALL my laundry out to dry, not just an occasional load here and there.

It has been so pleasant and the clothes have smelled so good.  I noticed that our electric bill went down some, so when I did get tired of going in and out and in and out; I just reminded myself how much money I was saving.  I actually enjoyed the slower pace and enjoyed the time spent outside hanging the clothes on the line and taking them down. One day I laid in the hammock and watched a load dry. The sun was hot and the wind was blowing and they were dry in 30 minutes (actually quicker than the dryer that day).

But lately, I must admit, it has been miserable.  It has rained here so much that I can’t seem to get any clothes done much less the laundry all caught up. I think it has rained for two weeks straight.  One day Hubby hung a line under the carport for me, but the outside air was so damp that it took one load all day to dry.  I have hung clothes up inside to dry as well, but the same thing – pretty much all day to dry.  I have been getting up earlier than usual to get a load of laundry started in order to make the most of the sunlight.

The short spurts of sunshine we have had seem to fall on days that I am not at home.  I have been pulling my hair out running home between commitments and errands to hang a load of laundry! Some days I made it home too late, only to have the load rained on.  That’s just an extra rinse cycle right???  I told my Mom I don’t know how women made it before the invention of the dryer.  They had to stay home during the day because you sure can’t hang clothes at night.  In fact, just last week a teacher from the boy’s school called me.  She asked me if I was outside enjoying the pretty day.  I said I was.  I was enjoying it by hanging my laundry on the line.  She laughed and said she didn’t know anyone did that anymore.

Anyway, about the time I was ready to throw in the towel on ever having clean clothes again, we got a dryer!  My Hubby’s cousin came through with a great deal for us.  He works at a well known nationwide store and is constantly getting good deals on discontinued or seasonal items.  I have been doing laundry for two days straight trying to get all caught up. A Hubby with two jobs and 3 kids with school uniforms go through a lot of clothes.

For the past two days, I have been lovingly folding each item of clothes.  Touching them and caressing them.  I forgot clothes could be so soft.  I forgot you could wash and dry clothes at night. My last load is in the dryer right now and then I will be caught up. Tonight when I lay my head down on my SOFT pillowcase, I will push away the nagging thoughts of other things I take for granted and sleep peacefully.

My brother is passing through town.  He is currently stationed in Washington State and I have not seen him in several years.  Mom fixed a wonderful dinner tonight and we had a great visit.  I am proud of his service to our country in both the USMC and the Army.

 

 

My Baby Sister, Me and My Big Brother

   Back Porch Light

By: Theresa Richardson

Sometimes when I can't

sleep

I grab my blankets in a

heap

and move to the couch.

I flip the back switch

and use the porch

light

to write.

It shines in the

door

while all the house

snores.

In its soft

glow

I let the pen

flow

and my eyes start to close -

slow.

The cool breeze blows

in

and gives wings to my

pen

and soon I will be sleeping.

When my head is

clear

I settle in without

fear

for it is written in

ink

and I'm free to catch a

wink.