42. I think I am more sad turning 42 then I was 40 and I couldn't exactly put my finger on it until I realized I remember my own mother turning 42 just a few, short years ago (20 to be exact). Half my life ago, on my 21st birthday, I celebrated as any 21 year old would, I headed to the liquor store to make a (finally legal) purchase. Much to my dismay, the cashier didn't even card me. I stood there, relishing my new legal age, anxiously ready to pull my drivers license out but alas, he just bagged my wine coolers, took my money and waived me off. I was furious and stomped out to the car where Amy waited for my fabulous take on finally being able to purchase alcohol but instead, laughed hysterically when I confessed I wasn't even carded.
These days aren't much different, I relish getting carded but not because I'm anxious to flash my age but because I'm happy someone thinks I'm still slightly young. Alas, I'm not. I've lived 15,330 days and I've filled those 15K days with love, laughter, sadness, heartbreak and joy. I've been there as a new soul enters this world, and held someone's hand while they departed this earth for a new heavenly home. I've lived through wars, witnessed history, experienced phenomenal music, remarkable movies and awe-inspiring books. I've tried to be the best wife, mother, daughter, sister and friend I possibly could. In the end; I've lived, I've loved, I've lost, I've missed, I've hurt, I've trusted and I've made mistakes but most of all, I've learned. I can't change anything that has happened in the past so I need to forgive, let go and move on. That includes one of the hardest things, forgiving myself.
As I celebrate my 42nd trip around the sun, I pray that my eyes always see the best, my heart always loves and forgives, my mind forgets the worst, and that I have a soul that never loses faith in God. I also celebrate my wonderful husband, who is the true definition of a miracle and has loved me since I was 13 years old. My kids, who allowed me to make horrible mistakes as a Mom but always loved me despite my screw ups. My Mom, who is still the first person I call when I need help, and would drop everything to help her family. My Dad, who always gives sound advice, and never judges. My beautiful sister who is struggling right now and learning that being a Mom is the hardest job in the world, no matter if your baby is still in the womb, or 22. And last, all my friends and family, who've loved me during the good times and even more during the bad times.
42...here I come!
Wednesday, August 13, 2014
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
Happy
What is the happiest you've ever been? What's your definition of happy? Are you happy at least once every day?
If we're lucky, we get 90 plus years to be happy or make our happiness but unfortunately, 90 years isn't always given to everyone. My brother left this world for another one when he was 29 and I often wonder who much happiness he experienced in his 29 years. It doesn't take long for me to remember all the practical jokes he played, especially on Emily and Ryan, and the laughs we always shared when we were together. The Christmas after he passed away, Trouper, Ryan, Kyna and Shannon decided to carry on Bumper's practical joke legacy and rearrange Christmas decorations in my Mom's neighborhood, most in "naughty" poses. It was quite comical, although Mom was afraid she'd be fired from the neighborhood board association if her fellow neighbors knew her family were Christmas decoration hoodlums.
Recently, Emily said something to me that made me think about my own life. She said she wants to experience one moment of happiness a day. She didn't say she wants to live a happy life just that she wants one moment, one pure moment of happiness daily. At first, it made me a little sad to think she didn't want her days to be filled with happy but then I realized my daughter is a realist and even at 18 (she will be 19 next week) she understands that life isn't a bowl of cherries. Bad things happen to good people, sad times occur, and being happy 24/7 isn't realistic. In the end, that's what I want for all my friends and family; one genuinely happy moment everyday.
That doesn't mean we can't have exuberant moments of happiness. The ones that are so sweet they cause cavities. You might be wondering what this has to do with Trouper, since my blog is supposed to be about Super Trouper. One of my happiest, most delicious memories just happens to be one he experienced "when he was sleeping". I have asked him numerous times to write a blog entry about his experiences but he keeps resisting. I will let you know that his 9 days post heart attack "sleeping", he experienced or re-experienced different memories, ones throughout his life. Yes, he was fortunate enough to visit with loved ones who've left this earth, and I sometimes envy the time he got to spend with my jokester brother. I digress. He got to relive our visit to the Happiest Place on Earth, Disney World. When Emily was 6 and Ryan was 10, we took a summer vacation to Orlando. Ryan, being a boy and a little older, wasn't that excited to visit Mickey and Company. He was over the moon happy we were going to visit GatorLand. Trust me, that was an adventure and I pray I never have to witness hundreds of Gator's fighting over some food again. My best memory, however, was when we entered the Magic Kingdom. We were already exhausted from fighting the crowds of people on the trains, hauling around backpacks in the sweltering Florida morning. When we entered the gates, we were in awe of the castle that stands in the background. Emily saw her first real life Princess and was in pure heaven. Ryan, however, was ready to leave and head back to the magical land of fighting gators. However, the carriage that had just dropped off the princess caught his attention. More over, the horse pulling the carriage caught his eye. He mentioned to us how pretty the horse was, and how big. Just then, as we all gazed at the horse, the massive animal relived himself. No, he didn't urinate, he pooped all over the ground. It was massive, and it smelled horribly. We laughed. All four of us until we cried. We had spent months anxiously anticipating our grand adventure and the moment we were about to experience what we thought was going to be pure joy, a horse took a crap. Almost like saying "welcome, this place isn't all it's cracked up to be". To this day, that memory, the moment all four of us laughed until we cried, stands out to me and makes me smile. I think of it often, and I guess Trouper does too. He dreamed of that moment, or he relived it, I'm not sure which but it's one that obviously brings him happiness.
So my friends, we don't all get 90 years of joy and happy but we do get happiness in this life. Sometimes it just takes some horse crap to make you happy.
If we're lucky, we get 90 plus years to be happy or make our happiness but unfortunately, 90 years isn't always given to everyone. My brother left this world for another one when he was 29 and I often wonder who much happiness he experienced in his 29 years. It doesn't take long for me to remember all the practical jokes he played, especially on Emily and Ryan, and the laughs we always shared when we were together. The Christmas after he passed away, Trouper, Ryan, Kyna and Shannon decided to carry on Bumper's practical joke legacy and rearrange Christmas decorations in my Mom's neighborhood, most in "naughty" poses. It was quite comical, although Mom was afraid she'd be fired from the neighborhood board association if her fellow neighbors knew her family were Christmas decoration hoodlums.
Recently, Emily said something to me that made me think about my own life. She said she wants to experience one moment of happiness a day. She didn't say she wants to live a happy life just that she wants one moment, one pure moment of happiness daily. At first, it made me a little sad to think she didn't want her days to be filled with happy but then I realized my daughter is a realist and even at 18 (she will be 19 next week) she understands that life isn't a bowl of cherries. Bad things happen to good people, sad times occur, and being happy 24/7 isn't realistic. In the end, that's what I want for all my friends and family; one genuinely happy moment everyday.
That doesn't mean we can't have exuberant moments of happiness. The ones that are so sweet they cause cavities. You might be wondering what this has to do with Trouper, since my blog is supposed to be about Super Trouper. One of my happiest, most delicious memories just happens to be one he experienced "when he was sleeping". I have asked him numerous times to write a blog entry about his experiences but he keeps resisting. I will let you know that his 9 days post heart attack "sleeping", he experienced or re-experienced different memories, ones throughout his life. Yes, he was fortunate enough to visit with loved ones who've left this earth, and I sometimes envy the time he got to spend with my jokester brother. I digress. He got to relive our visit to the Happiest Place on Earth, Disney World. When Emily was 6 and Ryan was 10, we took a summer vacation to Orlando. Ryan, being a boy and a little older, wasn't that excited to visit Mickey and Company. He was over the moon happy we were going to visit GatorLand. Trust me, that was an adventure and I pray I never have to witness hundreds of Gator's fighting over some food again. My best memory, however, was when we entered the Magic Kingdom. We were already exhausted from fighting the crowds of people on the trains, hauling around backpacks in the sweltering Florida morning. When we entered the gates, we were in awe of the castle that stands in the background. Emily saw her first real life Princess and was in pure heaven. Ryan, however, was ready to leave and head back to the magical land of fighting gators. However, the carriage that had just dropped off the princess caught his attention. More over, the horse pulling the carriage caught his eye. He mentioned to us how pretty the horse was, and how big. Just then, as we all gazed at the horse, the massive animal relived himself. No, he didn't urinate, he pooped all over the ground. It was massive, and it smelled horribly. We laughed. All four of us until we cried. We had spent months anxiously anticipating our grand adventure and the moment we were about to experience what we thought was going to be pure joy, a horse took a crap. Almost like saying "welcome, this place isn't all it's cracked up to be". To this day, that memory, the moment all four of us laughed until we cried, stands out to me and makes me smile. I think of it often, and I guess Trouper does too. He dreamed of that moment, or he relived it, I'm not sure which but it's one that obviously brings him happiness.
So my friends, we don't all get 90 years of joy and happy but we do get happiness in this life. Sometimes it just takes some horse crap to make you happy.
Thursday, July 3, 2014
Just like the Jeffersons, we are movin' on up!
Happy 3rd of July! I hope the day before the kaboom holiday finds you happy, healthy and excited for a 3-day weekend!
Last 4th of July, it rained all day. Trouper's Mom Teresa and her friend Cynthia were in town and, since all the firework displays were cancelled, Emily and her crew decided to light up our cul-de-sac during a lull in the rainfall. I expected the neighbors to get upset but they just came out and watched, probably tired of being cooped up in their houses. Anywho, this 4th is different. We really don't have plans, other than trying to get some housework and yard work completed. It's also different because, as of Tuesday, Trouper is listed the highest possible listing for a home bound person on the heart transplant list. His status is officially 1B, and we are elated! This means he is high on the list, there are 9 other 1B's at Piedmont (his transplant center) and he gets to wait out his time at home, where he belongs! The summer holidays are called the trinity for organ donation. It starts with Labor Day, includes 4th of July and concludes with Memorial Day. Unfortunately, this is when many people lose their lives, but fortunately, if their loved ones see fit, their organs go to save the lives of people like our Super Trouper.
We've had a rough few months but this certainly lifted our spirits. I am back to making my lists; who to call, who to text, what to bring, where to go, and how to get there. Thank goodness our Gina will be right behind us as we head to the hospital and I will probably give her the task of contacting and coordinating all our out of towners. I'm sad my sister won't get to be with us, she's pregnant and traveling isn't in her future anytime soon but I know she will be there in spirit and we will eat a grilled cheese sandwich from Doris in the cafeteria and visit Au Bon Pain for brownies and cookies in her honor. I know my Dad and family and Kim and Jay and family will be there, pacing and waiting with us. Are we apprehensive about the surgery, yes. Last weekend we talked about the complexity and the actual drawbacks of the transplant versus the LVAD but we are firm in our decision that a transplant is best for Trouper. Last week, we watched a documentary about the black market for kidneys. When people said they had been listed for eight to ten years, I cried. I can't imagine the agony of waiting that long. We are nearing a year (with Trouper inactive because of the LVAD for 9 months) but each day is so stressful, I can't imagine ten years!
So, as you celebrate the day of independence, celebrate a little for Super Trouper. Hopefully his independence from wires, batteries, tubes and bandages is right around the corner. Also, when you say your prayers, I'm certain we are already included but please include our donor as well. Their family is about to go through the most difficult thing they will ever go through, losing a loved one way too soon. I understand their pain. However, without organ donation there is no story, no hope, no transplant. But when there is an organ donor, life springs from death, sorrow turns to hope and a terrible loss becomes a gift. Happy 4th friends and family!
Last 4th of July, it rained all day. Trouper's Mom Teresa and her friend Cynthia were in town and, since all the firework displays were cancelled, Emily and her crew decided to light up our cul-de-sac during a lull in the rainfall. I expected the neighbors to get upset but they just came out and watched, probably tired of being cooped up in their houses. Anywho, this 4th is different. We really don't have plans, other than trying to get some housework and yard work completed. It's also different because, as of Tuesday, Trouper is listed the highest possible listing for a home bound person on the heart transplant list. His status is officially 1B, and we are elated! This means he is high on the list, there are 9 other 1B's at Piedmont (his transplant center) and he gets to wait out his time at home, where he belongs! The summer holidays are called the trinity for organ donation. It starts with Labor Day, includes 4th of July and concludes with Memorial Day. Unfortunately, this is when many people lose their lives, but fortunately, if their loved ones see fit, their organs go to save the lives of people like our Super Trouper.
We've had a rough few months but this certainly lifted our spirits. I am back to making my lists; who to call, who to text, what to bring, where to go, and how to get there. Thank goodness our Gina will be right behind us as we head to the hospital and I will probably give her the task of contacting and coordinating all our out of towners. I'm sad my sister won't get to be with us, she's pregnant and traveling isn't in her future anytime soon but I know she will be there in spirit and we will eat a grilled cheese sandwich from Doris in the cafeteria and visit Au Bon Pain for brownies and cookies in her honor. I know my Dad and family and Kim and Jay and family will be there, pacing and waiting with us. Are we apprehensive about the surgery, yes. Last weekend we talked about the complexity and the actual drawbacks of the transplant versus the LVAD but we are firm in our decision that a transplant is best for Trouper. Last week, we watched a documentary about the black market for kidneys. When people said they had been listed for eight to ten years, I cried. I can't imagine the agony of waiting that long. We are nearing a year (with Trouper inactive because of the LVAD for 9 months) but each day is so stressful, I can't imagine ten years!
So, as you celebrate the day of independence, celebrate a little for Super Trouper. Hopefully his independence from wires, batteries, tubes and bandages is right around the corner. Also, when you say your prayers, I'm certain we are already included but please include our donor as well. Their family is about to go through the most difficult thing they will ever go through, losing a loved one way too soon. I understand their pain. However, without organ donation there is no story, no hope, no transplant. But when there is an organ donor, life springs from death, sorrow turns to hope and a terrible loss becomes a gift. Happy 4th friends and family!
Saturday, June 14, 2014
The Dad's in my life
Tomorrow is Father's Day so in honor of the Dad's that have shaped my life, I would like to tell you a little about these amazing men and the amazing legacy they have bestowed upon me and my kids.
First, the most amazing Dad in the entire universe, my husband and Ryan and Emily's Dad, Trouper. When we married, he became an instant Dad at 19 years old. While this isn't that unusual in the day and age of Teen Mom but in an instant, he embodied the quote "Any man can be a Father but it takes someone special to be a Dad". He took to being a Dad a lot better than I took to being a Mom. It was like he was always destined to be a Dad. He's given the kids his heart, and taught them everything from their love of diverse music, to how to format a hard drive. He's patient, and even when they mess up and make a mistake (as all kids do), he makes sure to throw some humor into his lecture on life and screwing up, and makes sure they know that all mistakes are fixable and the true measure of a person is the way you pick yourself up after that screw up.
When my Mom started dating my now Stepdad David, I was a little less than thrilled. I didn't live near them so I didn't know how special their relationship was and, to be honest, I felt they were moving a little too fast. Yes, they had dated in high school, and yes, had known one another for 40 years, but my Mom is my Mom, and had been through a tough time and I wanted her to be careful. But, marrying David and bringing him into our family was the best decision my Mom ever had, well deciding to have three kids was actual the best but David was a close second. He's held my Mom together, and seen our family through some tough times. He's a man of God, and I know he prays for each of us daily. He's the rock my Mom needed, and it doesn't hurt that he has a hearing aid and can turn it down when we visit and storm through the house at all hours of day and night.
My Papa. I can't think of him without crying. I miss him day and night and I'm saddened that my babies didn't get to know him but I see glimpses of him in them. He loved his family unconditionally and taught me that love knows no bounds. He was quiet, but silly. He loved western's and I spent endless Saturday afternoons watching old westerns with him. He loved peanuts and always kept some by his place on the sofa and was the neighborhood Mr. Fix-It. He sat for hours on his front porch, fixing everything from bicycles to lawnmowers and even a car here and there. When he left this earth, in September of 1991, my life changed. He had been sick for a long time, and even though his pain was finally over, I wanted to be selfish and have him here with me. There are some days when I can still hear his voice, and still see him sitting up, waiting for me to come home on a Friday night. Precious memories about the most precious man that ever walked this earth.
Divorce is war, and the children are usually among the causalities or so we were in my parent's divorce. My parents married young, in a time when that's what you did, and were mismatched from the start. Part of me often wonders if they ever really loved one another, or if they were just victims of "teenage love". Nonetheless, they divorced when I was 5 and my Dad became the summer/weekend dad. Because of this, I truly never got the chance to know my Dad until I was an adult. When we moved to Georgia, part of the reason was so I could get to know him and when I did, I found out my Dad is a really nice guy. He's funny, and tells the best stories. He's easy to talk to and no matter what happens, takes it with a grain of salt. He shows up when I need him and was the only Grandpa at cheerleading competitions. He doesn't judge, and although I've often wondered where I fit in with his family (him and my Stepmom had two sons) he never let me feel unloved or out of place with him. I'm so glad I've gotten to know him, and know that if I ever want to talk about the history of Texas Longhorn football, he's my Man!
First, the most amazing Dad in the entire universe, my husband and Ryan and Emily's Dad, Trouper. When we married, he became an instant Dad at 19 years old. While this isn't that unusual in the day and age of Teen Mom but in an instant, he embodied the quote "Any man can be a Father but it takes someone special to be a Dad". He took to being a Dad a lot better than I took to being a Mom. It was like he was always destined to be a Dad. He's given the kids his heart, and taught them everything from their love of diverse music, to how to format a hard drive. He's patient, and even when they mess up and make a mistake (as all kids do), he makes sure to throw some humor into his lecture on life and screwing up, and makes sure they know that all mistakes are fixable and the true measure of a person is the way you pick yourself up after that screw up.
When my Mom started dating my now Stepdad David, I was a little less than thrilled. I didn't live near them so I didn't know how special their relationship was and, to be honest, I felt they were moving a little too fast. Yes, they had dated in high school, and yes, had known one another for 40 years, but my Mom is my Mom, and had been through a tough time and I wanted her to be careful. But, marrying David and bringing him into our family was the best decision my Mom ever had, well deciding to have three kids was actual the best but David was a close second. He's held my Mom together, and seen our family through some tough times. He's a man of God, and I know he prays for each of us daily. He's the rock my Mom needed, and it doesn't hurt that he has a hearing aid and can turn it down when we visit and storm through the house at all hours of day and night.
My Papa. I can't think of him without crying. I miss him day and night and I'm saddened that my babies didn't get to know him but I see glimpses of him in them. He loved his family unconditionally and taught me that love knows no bounds. He was quiet, but silly. He loved western's and I spent endless Saturday afternoons watching old westerns with him. He loved peanuts and always kept some by his place on the sofa and was the neighborhood Mr. Fix-It. He sat for hours on his front porch, fixing everything from bicycles to lawnmowers and even a car here and there. When he left this earth, in September of 1991, my life changed. He had been sick for a long time, and even though his pain was finally over, I wanted to be selfish and have him here with me. There are some days when I can still hear his voice, and still see him sitting up, waiting for me to come home on a Friday night. Precious memories about the most precious man that ever walked this earth.
Divorce is war, and the children are usually among the causalities or so we were in my parent's divorce. My parents married young, in a time when that's what you did, and were mismatched from the start. Part of me often wonders if they ever really loved one another, or if they were just victims of "teenage love". Nonetheless, they divorced when I was 5 and my Dad became the summer/weekend dad. Because of this, I truly never got the chance to know my Dad until I was an adult. When we moved to Georgia, part of the reason was so I could get to know him and when I did, I found out my Dad is a really nice guy. He's funny, and tells the best stories. He's easy to talk to and no matter what happens, takes it with a grain of salt. He shows up when I need him and was the only Grandpa at cheerleading competitions. He doesn't judge, and although I've often wondered where I fit in with his family (him and my Stepmom had two sons) he never let me feel unloved or out of place with him. I'm so glad I've gotten to know him, and know that if I ever want to talk about the history of Texas Longhorn football, he's my Man!
Monday, May 19, 2014
In the beginning....
Last week, Emily told us that she had told a friend "our story". She had recanted how Trouper and I met and were friends for a long time before we were anything else. It was heartwarming to hear that she respects our love story so much that she tells it to people, and that we've been able to set an example for her, and maybe for her friends as well.
So, in honor of Em sharing our story, I will tell you my version, which might be different from Trouper's but honestly, mine's probably better.
I can't remember when I didn't know Trouper. He, on the other hand, can tell you the day he met me, what I was doing, who I was with and where I was. Sometime in middle school (or junior high for you Texas folks) he was there. He had long (in his eye) hair, carried a skateboard everywhere, wore vans and read Thrasher magazine. I, on the other hand, had big Texas beauty pageant hair, carried a designer purse, wore penny loafers and read Seventeen magazine. Total opposites. While some girls were enamored by the skateboarding guys "bad boy" attitudes, I simply thought they needed a haircut and some shopping in the Ralph Lauren department at Dillards. However Trouper was different. When I talked he listened (or he appeared to listen). He didn't care if droned on for an hour about a new pair of jeans I got, or if I told him I was upset because my beloved Papa was sick and in the hospital again. He just seemed happy to be spending time with me, and never asked for anything in return. When my first boyfriend broke up with me, to go out with a much prettier older girl (who drove a Porsche no less) Trouper told me he was stupid and assured me the other girl was going to break the boy's heart and I would get a good laugh when karma visited. He always knew what to say to make me laugh. He told me about his family, about living in Georgia away from them, and I told him about my family and about wanting to live with my Grandparents. For some reason, I could tell him anything and he never judged. As the years went by, I dated his friends, he dated mine. Whenever they would break my heart, or I broke theirs, he would just listen to my stories and give his opinion. Don't get me wrong, he has never been afraid to share his opinion, even if it pissed me off but he always gave me advice and shared his opinion in a sweet and kind way.
When we were in high school, Trouper's family made the decision to leave our little West Texas town and move to Atlanta. I was devastated. Who was going to be my sounding board, who was going to go eat at Taco Villa with me every Sunday and who was going to lick my window every time he got out of my car? At the time, I was in a long term relationship with the person I thought was my soul mate (doesn't every 18 year old think they've met their soul mate?) but the news that my BFF Trouper was leaving was nothing short of devastating. We made a promise to write, to call one another and to be friends forever. And guess what, we kept that promise. He would send me poems, and include mix tapes filled with songs from the Moody Blues, The Cure, and the Black Crows. I wrote him long letters, catching him up on all the happenings around town, and always included pictures of me and our friends. We talked on the phone once in a while, but long distance was still long distance back then and cost an arm and a leg.
In the fall of 1991, my beloved Papa left us. My heart was broken but wouldn't you know it, just when I needed him, Trouper appeared. He called me and said he was about to load a Greyhound Bus and would be in Texas in two days. He was going to move in with family friends and finish high school in Texas. Suddenly, my confidant, my Taco Villa buddy and my window washer was back. Don't get me wrong, things had changed. I was still in a relationship and my boyfriend was now in college in another town and I was in college and working full time. I think (he will have to let you know this part) that Troup thought I would drop my life, my boyfriend, and be his forever. Truth be told, if he had asked, I might have done just that but life went on and he partied with his high school friends while I concentrated on school, friends and work. We still saw one another often, he would show up with Reece's Cups and a tale about some girl throwing herself at him, and I would complain about my adult problems. He was one of the first people I told I was pregnant, I remember him asking, because he had heard a rumor. I won't get into all of that but I will say he never judged, never tried to sway me or make me feel bad, just listened. He was at the hospital, with Taco Villa, the night Ryan made his entrance into this world and told me that Ryan was the most beautiful baby he had ever seen. He held my hand for hours, watching TV with me and trying to make me laugh. Shortly after that, he asked me and Ryan on an official date and we said yes. No, we didn't go to Taco Villa, but we did stop by there for ice cream on our way home. Our first kiss was a few weeks later (I initiated it, thank you very much) and he graduated the next month, and we have been together ever since. We were married December 5, 1992 in the same church where we met, in front of the same friends we had since childhood, two kids ourselves with big dreams and hopeful hearts. Emily made her entrance three years after we married and made our family complete.
Have the past 21 years been a walk in the park, no they haven't. Would I trade one second of the past 21 years, no I wouldn't. Today, we are strong in knowing that family is truly all you have in this world. Our family includes lots of "blood relatives" but also many friends who've become family over the years. I'm so proud of what we've built, and yes, some days are better than others but at the end of those bad days, I'm just happy that Trouper took a bus to Texas, and that I finally realized that best friends make the best relationships.
So, in honor of Em sharing our story, I will tell you my version, which might be different from Trouper's but honestly, mine's probably better.
I can't remember when I didn't know Trouper. He, on the other hand, can tell you the day he met me, what I was doing, who I was with and where I was. Sometime in middle school (or junior high for you Texas folks) he was there. He had long (in his eye) hair, carried a skateboard everywhere, wore vans and read Thrasher magazine. I, on the other hand, had big Texas beauty pageant hair, carried a designer purse, wore penny loafers and read Seventeen magazine. Total opposites. While some girls were enamored by the skateboarding guys "bad boy" attitudes, I simply thought they needed a haircut and some shopping in the Ralph Lauren department at Dillards. However Trouper was different. When I talked he listened (or he appeared to listen). He didn't care if droned on for an hour about a new pair of jeans I got, or if I told him I was upset because my beloved Papa was sick and in the hospital again. He just seemed happy to be spending time with me, and never asked for anything in return. When my first boyfriend broke up with me, to go out with a much prettier older girl (who drove a Porsche no less) Trouper told me he was stupid and assured me the other girl was going to break the boy's heart and I would get a good laugh when karma visited. He always knew what to say to make me laugh. He told me about his family, about living in Georgia away from them, and I told him about my family and about wanting to live with my Grandparents. For some reason, I could tell him anything and he never judged. As the years went by, I dated his friends, he dated mine. Whenever they would break my heart, or I broke theirs, he would just listen to my stories and give his opinion. Don't get me wrong, he has never been afraid to share his opinion, even if it pissed me off but he always gave me advice and shared his opinion in a sweet and kind way.
When we were in high school, Trouper's family made the decision to leave our little West Texas town and move to Atlanta. I was devastated. Who was going to be my sounding board, who was going to go eat at Taco Villa with me every Sunday and who was going to lick my window every time he got out of my car? At the time, I was in a long term relationship with the person I thought was my soul mate (doesn't every 18 year old think they've met their soul mate?) but the news that my BFF Trouper was leaving was nothing short of devastating. We made a promise to write, to call one another and to be friends forever. And guess what, we kept that promise. He would send me poems, and include mix tapes filled with songs from the Moody Blues, The Cure, and the Black Crows. I wrote him long letters, catching him up on all the happenings around town, and always included pictures of me and our friends. We talked on the phone once in a while, but long distance was still long distance back then and cost an arm and a leg.
In the fall of 1991, my beloved Papa left us. My heart was broken but wouldn't you know it, just when I needed him, Trouper appeared. He called me and said he was about to load a Greyhound Bus and would be in Texas in two days. He was going to move in with family friends and finish high school in Texas. Suddenly, my confidant, my Taco Villa buddy and my window washer was back. Don't get me wrong, things had changed. I was still in a relationship and my boyfriend was now in college in another town and I was in college and working full time. I think (he will have to let you know this part) that Troup thought I would drop my life, my boyfriend, and be his forever. Truth be told, if he had asked, I might have done just that but life went on and he partied with his high school friends while I concentrated on school, friends and work. We still saw one another often, he would show up with Reece's Cups and a tale about some girl throwing herself at him, and I would complain about my adult problems. He was one of the first people I told I was pregnant, I remember him asking, because he had heard a rumor. I won't get into all of that but I will say he never judged, never tried to sway me or make me feel bad, just listened. He was at the hospital, with Taco Villa, the night Ryan made his entrance into this world and told me that Ryan was the most beautiful baby he had ever seen. He held my hand for hours, watching TV with me and trying to make me laugh. Shortly after that, he asked me and Ryan on an official date and we said yes. No, we didn't go to Taco Villa, but we did stop by there for ice cream on our way home. Our first kiss was a few weeks later (I initiated it, thank you very much) and he graduated the next month, and we have been together ever since. We were married December 5, 1992 in the same church where we met, in front of the same friends we had since childhood, two kids ourselves with big dreams and hopeful hearts. Emily made her entrance three years after we married and made our family complete.
Have the past 21 years been a walk in the park, no they haven't. Would I trade one second of the past 21 years, no I wouldn't. Today, we are strong in knowing that family is truly all you have in this world. Our family includes lots of "blood relatives" but also many friends who've become family over the years. I'm so proud of what we've built, and yes, some days are better than others but at the end of those bad days, I'm just happy that Trouper took a bus to Texas, and that I finally realized that best friends make the best relationships.
Thursday, May 8, 2014
Mommy Pledge
In 1914, Woodrow Wilson signed a proclamation declaring the second Sunday of May Mother's Day. The first official Mother's Day was a day for Mother's to honor their sons who had died in the first World War. I know, enough of the history lesson but one day, you might be on a radio station, trying to win tickets to Def Leopard or Journey and the winning question might be about the first Mother's Day so you're welcome.
Anyway, today's blog isn't about Mother's Day, really, it's about Moms and the type of Mom I tried to be (although I probably failed). When I was growing up, I was surrounded by wonderful Moms. First and foremost is my Grandma Dorothy, who always made sure I had a new Sunday dress, pocket money and limitless piano singalongs. My Mom, Carla, who instilled in me love and respect for friends and family, always made sure I had the best of everything and taught me strength comes from within. My Great Grandma Locke, whose visits (and chocolate pie) were the highlight of my childhood and my Aunt Glenda, who always knew (and still does) the right words to say to make me feel better. My Stepmom, Benita, who always made sure my visits were filled with fun adventures and, on the night of my senior prom, told me I was more beautiful than any princess. My Aunts, Sue, Sarah and Pansy, whose visits were filled with singing, hugs and lots of love and laughter. One funny story about my Aunt Sue, when I broke up with a boyfriend, she told me there were many more fish in the sea and just because he was a PK (Preacher's Kid) didn't make him a suitable life mate so go fix my face, put on a pretty dress and let's sing! These women shaped my life, offered unconditional love and acceptance and always made sure I I felt beautiful.
No, the path of my childhood wasn't paved by a yellow brick road and rainbows and butterflies didn't follow me wherever I went but, just in case the remainder of this blog comes off as cold, I wanted you to have a glimpse of the love I felt growing up.
I grew up in a different time. Mom's were busy, not that we aren't now but it was somehow a different busy. They were trying to prove themselves in the corporate world, juggle husbands, kids, jobs and responsibilities. This meant something, or someone in their life, had to fall through the cracks. In my Mom's world, that person was me. My sister was an extremely ill child and required long and frequent hospitalizations. My brother was the only boy, and the baby, and received endless amounts of attention. I was the oldest, and usually shuffled aside for my sick sister or baby brother. Don't get me wrong, somehow I understood this then and now but, at an early age, I pledged I would be a different kind of Mom. I vowed to attend every event, no matter how small or insignificant and always make sure my kids knew I was their biggest cheerleader. I wanted them to see my face in the crowd at every choir concert, football game, and cheerleading competition. I wanted them to see me attend open house, PTA meetings and be embarrassed because I was the room mom and always hanging around. Please don't interpret this in a hurtful way, I had someone at my events, just not parents. My Papa Dub tried to be there, especially softball and football games when I cheered. He wasn't a consistent church goer but every time I sang at church, he was in the back row, sitting with all the little kids because they knew he always had candy with him.
I like to think I accomplished my goal, and I pray my kids' childhood memories reflect my efforts to be there, supporting their activities. Did I always like basketball, no, but I can tell you the difference between a guard and a forward and still know that defense wins games. Was helping the entire class of 4th grade girls sew aprons for Pioneer Day my idea of a fabulous Thursday afternoon, nope but I did and have wonderfully happy memories of them and their "creations". Did my attendance at their 11th grade Open House make a difference in their life, probably not but maybe, just maybe, it did.
As a Mom, I have done so many things wrong and everyday, the list gets longer. However the one thing I am certain that I did right was that my children always knew they were loved and they could always count on me to be in the crowd, cheering them on. So, to Ryan and Emily, I hope I fulfilled my Mommy Pledge and I hope your childhood was filled with more happiness then sadness. Always remember you know me in a way no one else ever has or will. You've opened me to things I never knew existed and although you have a way of driving me down the road to insanity, you are the beat of my heart, the pulse in my veins and the energy in my soul. To all my Mom Friends, and to the Mother's who shaped me, Happy Mother's Day and remember being a mother is actually the highest salaried job there is, because it's paid in pure love.
Anyway, today's blog isn't about Mother's Day, really, it's about Moms and the type of Mom I tried to be (although I probably failed). When I was growing up, I was surrounded by wonderful Moms. First and foremost is my Grandma Dorothy, who always made sure I had a new Sunday dress, pocket money and limitless piano singalongs. My Mom, Carla, who instilled in me love and respect for friends and family, always made sure I had the best of everything and taught me strength comes from within. My Great Grandma Locke, whose visits (and chocolate pie) were the highlight of my childhood and my Aunt Glenda, who always knew (and still does) the right words to say to make me feel better. My Stepmom, Benita, who always made sure my visits were filled with fun adventures and, on the night of my senior prom, told me I was more beautiful than any princess. My Aunts, Sue, Sarah and Pansy, whose visits were filled with singing, hugs and lots of love and laughter. One funny story about my Aunt Sue, when I broke up with a boyfriend, she told me there were many more fish in the sea and just because he was a PK (Preacher's Kid) didn't make him a suitable life mate so go fix my face, put on a pretty dress and let's sing! These women shaped my life, offered unconditional love and acceptance and always made sure I I felt beautiful.
No, the path of my childhood wasn't paved by a yellow brick road and rainbows and butterflies didn't follow me wherever I went but, just in case the remainder of this blog comes off as cold, I wanted you to have a glimpse of the love I felt growing up.
I grew up in a different time. Mom's were busy, not that we aren't now but it was somehow a different busy. They were trying to prove themselves in the corporate world, juggle husbands, kids, jobs and responsibilities. This meant something, or someone in their life, had to fall through the cracks. In my Mom's world, that person was me. My sister was an extremely ill child and required long and frequent hospitalizations. My brother was the only boy, and the baby, and received endless amounts of attention. I was the oldest, and usually shuffled aside for my sick sister or baby brother. Don't get me wrong, somehow I understood this then and now but, at an early age, I pledged I would be a different kind of Mom. I vowed to attend every event, no matter how small or insignificant and always make sure my kids knew I was their biggest cheerleader. I wanted them to see my face in the crowd at every choir concert, football game, and cheerleading competition. I wanted them to see me attend open house, PTA meetings and be embarrassed because I was the room mom and always hanging around. Please don't interpret this in a hurtful way, I had someone at my events, just not parents. My Papa Dub tried to be there, especially softball and football games when I cheered. He wasn't a consistent church goer but every time I sang at church, he was in the back row, sitting with all the little kids because they knew he always had candy with him.
I like to think I accomplished my goal, and I pray my kids' childhood memories reflect my efforts to be there, supporting their activities. Did I always like basketball, no, but I can tell you the difference between a guard and a forward and still know that defense wins games. Was helping the entire class of 4th grade girls sew aprons for Pioneer Day my idea of a fabulous Thursday afternoon, nope but I did and have wonderfully happy memories of them and their "creations". Did my attendance at their 11th grade Open House make a difference in their life, probably not but maybe, just maybe, it did.
Friday, May 2, 2014
A Little Melancholy
For the past few months, I've been in a constant state of melancholy (yes, an SAT word, go look it up) slightly depressed and a little gloomy. Maybe it's the winter, maybe it's the death of a dear friend, maybe it's the heartbreak I've seen my daughter suffer and the aftermath that followed. I can't put my finger on it, and certainly listening to The Civil Wars (it's a duo/band, go look it up) on Pandora isn't helping but nonetheless, I'm in a funk and I'm tired. My days are long; work is really hectic right now and when I get home, I'm forced to deal with home and all that surrounds our life. Can we buy medicine today, can we pay the electricity tomorrow, will the insurance pay this hospital bill, did Trouper check his line and bandages, are his batteries charged? I know everyone is busy, but some days it's overwhelming.
So why am I writing about my funk and bringing you down the rabbit hole with me? Because I am going to fight my way out. I'm going to chose to be happy, chose to be grateful and probably stop listening to The Civil Wars on Pandora. My dear friend, who lost her husband three short months ago said something that brought me back to reality. She reminded no matter how bad it gets, no matter how tired I am or no matter how overdrawn our bank account is, in the middle of the night, I can reach over and kiss my sweet husband. I can hold his hand, I can fight with him for the remote control and I can hear I love you spoken in a sweet, sleepy voice (this doesn't happen often, hint hint) when I'm dragging myself out of bed each morning. In short, I'm blessed. I've seen better days, but I've also seen much worse. I don't have everything I want but somehow, I have everything I need. When my alarm goes off at 5:45 am, I complain, but the fact is, I get to wake up. It's not a perfect life, but it's a blessed life.
So why am I writing about my funk and bringing you down the rabbit hole with me? Because I am going to fight my way out. I'm going to chose to be happy, chose to be grateful and probably stop listening to The Civil Wars on Pandora. My dear friend, who lost her husband three short months ago said something that brought me back to reality. She reminded no matter how bad it gets, no matter how tired I am or no matter how overdrawn our bank account is, in the middle of the night, I can reach over and kiss my sweet husband. I can hold his hand, I can fight with him for the remote control and I can hear I love you spoken in a sweet, sleepy voice (this doesn't happen often, hint hint) when I'm dragging myself out of bed each morning. In short, I'm blessed. I've seen better days, but I've also seen much worse. I don't have everything I want but somehow, I have everything I need. When my alarm goes off at 5:45 am, I complain, but the fact is, I get to wake up. It's not a perfect life, but it's a blessed life.
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