tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9672508696416585852024-03-05T01:18:47.774-08:00Sippy Cups in my CoutureThe life of an average mom who craves the finer things but will take the abundant blessings I seem to stumble upon daily instead.Jferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10890376865405831830noreply@blogger.comBlogger47125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-967250869641658585.post-59456129762707140622015-05-08T13:27:00.000-07:002015-05-08T13:27:42.566-07:00They Grow Up So Fast<br>
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Sometimes I see pictures from when my kids were much younger, from when they were babies and toddlers. I’ll get a tiny pang of nostalgia for when they smelled like Johnson’s lavender baby wash and then I’ll quickly regain my senses. Most everyone I know subscribes (at least publicly) to the please-stay-little-forever mantra, where they wish they could keep their child in a state of perpetual baby-hood and always have them in your lap.
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Confession: I don’t feel that way. I’m guessing I’m not alone, but people are afraid to go on the record and say that they actually enjoy their older kids. I’m sure a lot of people do feel the same as me, but it’s not often, if ever, that you hear anyone say it. I’m glad they’re all out of diapers, completely potty-trained, and I don’t have to wipe someone’s butt on a daily basis, something I did daily from November 29, 2001 until sometime around December 2010. There are fewer tantrums, less Caillou, and no more Disney Junior. I’m glad that we can rock out to Fall Out Boy and Oasis while we’re riding to school in the morning instead of having to suffer through Dora’s latest and greatest hits and misses. Gone are the days when I don’t have to constantly ask, “What’s in your mouth?!” and then fish out some random piece of debris. “Was that cat food or something else?” “AWWWWWW! Don’t eat THAT!” They can play in the yard without having to constantly be warned to stay out of the street. I don’t worry about them suddenly toppling over and bashing their head against the bricks on the hearth. My outlets are free from plastic obstacles, I open cabinets and drawers without hesitation, and the bleach can live under the kitchen sink again. Stairs are ascended and descended with ease and I don’t freak the freak out hoping they won’t go crashing down from two steps from the top. I can let an ugly word slip without fear of it being repeated in front of God and everyone at church. (Don’t fib, you know you’ve done it too.)
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I know the teen years will be fraught with their own set of worries and struggles, but at least they can fully understand my words when they’ve screwed up and can know precisely why they’ve been given certain consequences. They can also understand the value of work and that it may result in a little green in their pocket. They’re at the point now where they can stay alone for a while during the day and I don’t necessarily have to have a babysitter stay with them. They can try new things and succeed or fail, and be able to understand the lessons learned along the way. It’s wonderful to see them developing into their personality rather than trying to catch a glimpse of who they are as a person after they’ve had four meltdowns in the same day. I’ve always loved watching them achieve things, but now I get the added joy of knowing that they were able to figure it out without much, if any, input from me.
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I’m glad I’ve arrived at this season of my life. I always knew I’d enjoy them even more when they got a little older, and now I am at peace with saying it out loud. I’ve always loved and adored them, from the time they were a pink line on a stick, but now it’s an enjoyable time of life where I get to sit back and watch my years of work come to fruition, that they might reach their full potential as they grow into adults.Jferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10890376865405831830noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-967250869641658585.post-43255458814183886652015-04-01T10:48:00.003-07:002015-04-01T10:48:54.442-07:00Play Dates to Day Dates
When I first started this blog, my children were still very much dependent on me for most of their daily needs. We were still in diapers, sippy cups, and high chairs. I was in search of a play date at least once per week in order to keep my sanity and to let little people expend some energy.
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Play dates aren’t really in my vernacular anymore. Now it’s Justice, Fall Out Boy, Hot Topic, Attack on Titan, XBOX, Call of Duty…the list goes on. My eldest, Poodle, is in middle school and most days leaves me scratching my head and wondering which series she just referenced. The most recent blip on the radar is that which never goes out of style: boys. Oh yes, there’s a boy. I won’t share all her business, but let’s just say these two are over the moon for one another. They’re playing XBOX together, texting ALL day (when they can), and wanting to see each other at any opportunity.
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I just sent her off with him and his mom so they can go to the arcade together. (How’s that for old-fashioned fun?) As I walked back into the house, it occurred to me that she’s sorta kinda on a date. It’s a day date, and they’re supervised, but they’re going off together to have fun and enjoy each other’s company. Sounds like a date to me. A day date.
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Somewhere along the way, everyone was finally potty trained, the high chair was donated to charity, and all the sippy cups stopped being used. I can’t tell you the exact day those things happened. Now we’re in a new season of life. It feels simultaneously weird, surreal, and rocket-propelled but somehow it feels normal too.
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I love watching her (and all of them) grow and develop. Seeing it happen to them makes me feel young again, yet very old, all at the same time. Some people want their babies to stay small forever. I’m ready to watch as they grow and blossom into this next season of their lives.
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Part of me feels I should change the name of my blog because I’m no longer cramming a sippy cup into my purse. I think it would not give credit to how far they have come and how much they’ve grown. Y’all know I’ll always carry my couture, but maybe now I’m stuffing dance tickets and receipts for football games in it now.
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Don’t stay small, Poodle. Grow into who God made you to be, and do it with the tenacity and vivaciousness that thrives in you.
Jferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10890376865405831830noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-967250869641658585.post-8179116805255454662015-03-10T10:24:00.000-07:002015-03-10T10:24:14.189-07:00PeopleIn my mid-to-late teens, I was into so-called alternative music. The radio station I listened to would play an hour-long show over lunch called The House of Retro Pleasure. They’d play punk, alternative, new wave hits of the 80s in the mid-90s. This is when I first heard and became familiar with a song by U2 called Sunday Bloody Sunday. That was the extent of my familiarity with the phrase Bloody Sunday until some time later.
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This past weekend was the 50th anniversary of the Bloody Sunday riots and the march across the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma, Alabama, just a little more than an hour’s drive from my home. There was a massive gathering; somewhere around 80,000 people was what I heard and read in news reports. This march was peaceful. You’re well aware that the original was not. I won’t rehash history, but you all know that people were beaten and bloodied and maimed in that first march. Go back and read that sentence again.
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Key word? PEOPLE.
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Fellow humans were beaten because they wanted to vote. People just like you and me. People with thoughts and dreams and feelings and families were treated like animals because they dared to think themselves as human.
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Now, fast forward to today. Fifty years on. Two thousand fifteen. 2015.
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Come on, people. We’re so progressive and inclusive and tolerant nowadays, yet some people are still stuck in 1965. It infuriates me to think that there are other white people who are still so closed-minded, so immature, so filled with hate (despite many of them calling themselves Christians), that we are STILL having to deal with this level of foolishness.
Confession: if I see a shady looking black guy, I’m going to make some evasive moves. Guess what: I’m also going to do the exact same thing if I see a shady looking white guy.
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When can we take off the blinders and begin to LOVE one another? Why is there a fraternity in Oklahoma that’s now completely cut off from its university? Because they chose to be ignorant and intolerant fools. Maybe if they chose to get to know black men and welcomed them into their fraternity, they’d realize they might be missing out on some real fun.
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I don’t know exactly where I’m going with this, but I just know it pisses me off.
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When I think back over my life, I remember the little girls I was friends with as I grew up. They weren’t always little white girls that looked just like me. There was Charmaine in the first grade. She was a sweet little girl of Asian descent. We ran and played every day on the playground. In third through fifth grades, I had a friend named LaToya. Wanna know what made us friends? Our phone numbers. Mine was 724-1628 and hers was 724-1678. I didn’t see her as a black girl; I saw her as my friend. She was sassy and dressed cute and always had her hair done up in several cute little pigtails all over her head. Another girl named Sabrina always ran laps with me during PE. When I’d get tired and would want to quit, Sabrina would always encourage me to keep running. In high school there was a guy named LaMacy. He was witty and just a fun guy to be around. He always had a smile and a sarcastic remark that was all in fun. He was that way with everyone, even when people tried to play that ugly race card. As I fast-forward to my adult life, I think of April. April is stylish, always well dressed, has impeccable taste, and brings an unmatched level of beauty and grace to the role of preacher’s wife. Then there’s Kristen, who is a fellow CPST and all-around Super Smart Chick Who’s Going Places. Kristen makes me smile and has the whole package of brains and beauty. There’s also Sherrie. Sherrie is kind, loving, peaceful, and has just the right amount of sass. I’ve never met her in person, but I’ve no doubt that she’d give you the shirt off her back if you needed it. Without the people who risked so much, I might not know these extraordinary people.
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A Christian author named Jen Hatmaker had this to say this morning on Facebook:
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“What will it take for the majority to finally say: "This is happening." What more do we need to see? What other tragedies will validate what is plainly going on? How many voices of lament must we hear before we hit our knees in solidarity, repent for the shameful systems that built and reinforced racial inequality, and join hands with our minority brothers and sisters and say NO MORE? Hell, a strong first step is simply to say WE BELIEVE YOU.”
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Time will tell which side of history we all wind up on. As for me, I want to be on the side of LOVE. When will the majority stand up and say “NO MORE!” God, help ME to say it from today forward.
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Red and yellow, black and white.
They are precious in His sight.
Jferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10890376865405831830noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-967250869641658585.post-22576756442212054272015-02-27T14:40:00.001-08:002015-02-27T14:40:42.430-08:00Add Friend *click*
I have something I must share, because keeping it to myself and to my immediate environment just isn’t doing a bit of good. I’ve been praying about it, and have asked other people to pray about it under the guise of the “I have an Unspoken Prayer Request” umbrella of vagueness. I feel I must apologize in advance, because I feel that I’m going to hurt people along the way, but I won’t apologize for my feelings as that’s exactly what they are: MY feelings. All that being said…
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Newsflash: I don’t have any close friends. Really.
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I spend a LOT of time online, particularly on your favorite site and mine: Facebook. By a lot, I mean hours every day. Yes, every day. I hear what you’re saying, “Go out and do something!” “Take a walk!” etc. That’s just the thing. I want to do those things. I want to do things with a friend. Do I spend too much time on Facebook because I don’t have any friends, (and I’m seeking a connection in any way possible) or do I not have any friends because I spend too much time on Facebook?
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I knew it was a reality, but it was harshly shoved in my face when I recently turned 40 and I had no one with whom I could celebrate. Sure, there’s the family thing, but no one called me up and excitedly invited me for a celebratory birthday lunch/coffee, etc. I went out and treated myself to a cupcake. Alone. Now, I didn’t expect for the population of metro Birmingham to come rushing to my door, but I have to level with you when I say I felt completely alone and forgotten that day, as I do most days. It felt like an ordinary day, if I’m being honest.
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I’ve been largely friend-less since I was a senior in high school. I’ve met people and have lost touch, moved away, grown apart, etc. over the years, but there’s only been maybe three people over the past 22 years who I felt really had my back in a time of need. I don’t even have college friends, sorority sisters, or anything of the sort because I really didn’t “do” college. I had a lot of drama in my life at that point in time and it just didn’t work out. Regardless of the cause, I missed out on that portion of my life. Even if I could return to college, it’s not like I’d fit in with the standard crowd. It’d be nothing short of hysterical and pathetic to see a 40 year old woman trying to rush Kappa Kappa Gamma.
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Right now, I don’t feel like there’s anyone I could call if I had an emergency in the middle of the night. You know, THAT kind of friend. The one you text at 3AM because you NEED her. The kind that doesn’t mind if you text her at 3AM.
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I have TONS of acquaintances; people I see regularly and people I see infrequently. It’s good to have acquaintances and contacts as you call on each other from time to time for a favor, etc.. but there’s no one person (save my husband) with whom I feel I have that strong sister/friend bond. I crave it so very much. The kind with whom I can share a silly inside joke that will still be as funny in 20 years as it is when it’s first shared.
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Most of the time, I feel like I just don’t fit into the invisible mold that’s around here. You probably don’t even know it exists unless you have lived elsewhere. Everywhere I go it’s as if I’m standing on the edge of a circle of people holding hands. You’re privy to what’s going on in the circle, but you’re never an actual component of the circle. You want someone to unlock hands with their neighbor and have those two links grab your hand and pull you inside, but it doesn’t happen. I try to dress like the locals and natives do. I try and engage people in conversation by trying to be funny or witty, or talking about something they’re interested in. Nothing ever clicks. I can’t seem to find anyone who shares my interests, or vice versa. I’ve lived here in Birmingham for more than six years now, and some days I feel like I just moved here two weeks ago. I don’t know why I can’t make a connections. At times I’ve honestly wondered if I was so off-putting that no one wanted to be around me, or if I smelled weird, or was just too fat to be seen with, or just too weird/annoying. I get jealous and depressed when I see groups of women/moms going out for a night on the town, a concert, etc. I long to be a part of something that’s beyond my iPad screen.
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People say their friends live in the computer. Right now, that’s exactly where mine live. One lives in Texas and the other in Iowa. They’re the only people I have that I can spill my guts to and still ‘look them in the eye’, so to speak, the next day. They’re wonderful, lovely, trustworthy people. But as much as I love them, they can’t come hold my hand in the middle of the night if I needed them to do so. I can’t call them up and say, “Meet me at Starbucks in 20 minutes!”
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So, may I attempt to sell myself? Not in a prostitute kind of way, but in a “contents include” kind of way.
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I like/love:
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All things British/English. That includes the monarchy. I follow what they do, but not in a stalker kind of a way, just in an ‘I’m fascinated by this lifestyle’ kind of way. I do enjoy the occasional hot cuppa. (That’s hot tea, in case you didn’t know.) I have an unhealthy obsession with cramming my head full of facts and trivia relating to England and their monarchy and the kings and queens they’ve had over a thousand years. I’m even known to occasionally say ‘God Save The Queen!’ (and sometimes I’m not joking!).
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I adore Starbucks. Ask me for a coffee date and I’ll almost always say yes.
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I love spelling and grammar. I love to correct other people’s spelling and grammar. Please don’t shy away if yours isn’t perfect. Mine isn’t always perfect either.
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I’m a professing, practicing Christian. I’m into Jesus. I’m into God. If you’re not, that’s okay. I can still love you as you are, (as Christ has commanded me to do) because Jesus loves me as I am.
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I have three noisy, sassy kids. I call them The Vikings. They’re loud and rowdy and they leave a path of destruction in their wake, that’s why.
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I have a Rottweiler that lives in my house. She’s a big baby. She will lick you to death before she will bite you. I say weird things to her in German to make her bark and growl.
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I adore overpriced purses and handbags. Don’t make fun of me because I will spend $300 on a Kate Spade handbag. Don’t give me a hard time because I want to own a Louis Vuitton, despite the fact that they cost nearly $1,000. I don’t drink wine, alcohol, beer. I don’t buy shoes and I wear clothes from Target. Purses are my vice. Stand next to me when I walk into Saks Fifth Avenue and fork over 11 $100 bills to own a designer bag.
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My favorite color is blue.
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I am a certified child passenger safety technician, or CPST. I install car seats and will tell you more than you ever wanted to know about some of them.
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I love cake. Like seriously LOVE cake. I am a cake snob. I don’t like grocery store cake. (Yes, Publix, Sam’s and Costco have GROSS cake.)
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I like different kinds of music. I will sing to the point of embarrassing my kids if “MY JAM!” comes on while I’m driving. Loosen up and sing along with me. Or tell me to loosen up and shout it out with you.
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I like Apple products. Don’t expect me to understand how to unlock your Android device and I won’t expect you to use my iPhone.
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I love history and talking about history.
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I love makeup and I’m not afraid to drop $18 on eyeliner.
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I’m weird. Super duper weird.
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I occasionally like to speak in different accents. Just roll with it if I bust into Jewish Mom from Long Island mode.
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I’m fiercely loyal. I expect you to be that way too.
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I will keep your secrets. If you tell me something in confidence, I will not blab. It’s not my news, or my place, to tell.
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Those are the things that immediately come to mind. Maybe if you become my bestie, we can expand each other’s horizons.
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It’s been really hard to write this. I’m sure it’ll be even harder to publish it, and then share it to Facebook so it actually gets read. I’m scared now. Scared of what people are going to think after they’ve read it. Will I be met with pity the next time I see some of you? Will I get a sideways glance because you think I’m nuts? Some of you are probably reading this and just think I’m pathetic. I don’t know. I do know that I don’t want to hear “I’m so sorry” or any other sympathetic pleas. What I want right now is a friend, and after sitting and waiting for so long, this is the only way I know to reach out.
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Disciple I people, this has been my Unspoken. Now you know.
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Who’s ready to be my bestie?
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Jferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10890376865405831830noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-967250869641658585.post-613878151974053212013-03-28T14:45:00.002-07:002013-03-30T18:17:04.453-07:00Crash Course
Have you ever had the feeling that you know too much; that you wish you didn’t know as much as you did, then certain things wouldn’t bother you as badly as they do? Well, that’s where I’ve arrived. And let me tell you, it simultaneously sucks AND pisses me right off.<br>
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I’m a mother of three children. You mess with my kids and I will mess you up. I will make a mama bear look tame. I would jump in front of a freight train to save their lives. It’s likely that you’d do the same.<br>
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But…<br>
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You can’t be bothered to use their car seat correctly.<br>
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You’re screaming down the road at 75 MPH, your latte in one hand and you’re gabbing to Aunt Frances about Little Caitlin’s First Birthday Party on speakerphone, and Caitlin is screaming her little head off in the back seat while big brother Tristan is singing the theme song from Diego just loudly enough to lodge itself in the one free part of your brain that’s currently helping you keep it between the ditches.<br>
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Suddenly, you stop, and not as you intended to stop. You’re now sideways against another vehicle. (I’ll let you pick here: Honda Civic, Toyota Tacoma, dump truck, semi…at this point it doesn’t really matter.)<br>
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Tristan is unconscious because he has “submarined” under the adult sized seatbelt that was restraining his booster seat that you insisted on putting him in because “He’s three and he’s a big boy!” and he’s now in the floor. Caitlin is screaming louder than ever because she’s just taken a ride up the back side of her rear facing seat because her straps were too loose and she slid up the back of the seat and promptly went back down with a hard THUD on her little cloth diapered bottom. (No offense to you cloth diaperers out there.) Meanwhile, you’re covered in your grande latte and Aunt Frances thinks you hung up on her.<br>
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Quite the picture, huh?<br>
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“Well, that won’t happen to me! I’m a safe driver!”<br>
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Guess what? That fool texting and shifting gears to pass you is NOT a safe driver. The semi driver who’s been driving since Ft. Worth, Texas is kind of sleepy and didn’t mean to drift over into your lane.<br>
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Here’s the bottom line: I want you to USE YOUR CAR SEATS CORRECTLY!!!!! It’s SO easy. Really. I promise. I’ll even show you how, tell you how, whatever it takes to make you USE the seat CORRECTLY. They’re made and designed a certain way to help protect your child in an accident. The seats that are out today are totally different than the seats that were available ten years ago. Every time (and I mean EVERY time) I’m out in public, I see at least one thing wrong with someone’s car seat use. I can spot it in the car next to me at a red light and I can spot it at the other end of the aisle in Target or Publix. I see it in your Facebook posts and it makes me want to pull my hair out.<br>
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First, before you buy a seat, do a little research. Explore multiple brands. Don’t fixate on just one brand. A seat that costs $55 is just as safe as a seat that costs $400. They ALL must pass a 35 MPH crash test in order to be made available for sale in the USA. “My friend bought a Britax and she says they’re just the best seat out there.” Newsflash: Britax is NOT the best seat. Neither are any of the others. If you don’t hear anything else, hear this:<br>
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THE BEST SEAT FOR YOUR CHILD IS THE ONE THAT FITS YOUR VEHICLE, FITS YOUR CHILD, AND THAT YOU WILL USE CORRECTLY 100% OF THE TIME.<br>
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That’s the best seat. Honest. Scout’s Honor.<br>
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When you do finally decide on which seat meets all of that criteria, then go home, take it out of the box, and then READ THE MANUAL. Guess what? There’s really critical info in that booklet that you need to know and that could save your child’s life. I know it’s not going to be as thrilling as a John Grisham novel, but it’s put in the box for a reason. If you don’t understand something, call the company and ask them what it means or get them to clarify something for you. <br>
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Let’s talk about rear facing versus forward facing. (From here on out, RF or FF, respectively.) I see somewhat of a “milestone mentality” when it comes to RF vs. FF. People think that because their child has turned one year old they should just turn them around so they can see. Newsflash: They don’t care. And they’re not going to be sitting back there telling you to turn left at the third stop sign. Their little bodies are still fragile and their bones haven’t quite fused yet. Wanna hear what can happen if you get in a frontal crash? No? I’m going to tell you anyway. It’s called internal decapitation. Granted, that’s a worst-case scenario, but it’s essentially cutting their head off inside, but everything on the outside appears to be normal. Their little spinal cord can snap. What happens to us (adults) in a crash? Generally, we get some whiplash. When you have that happen to a child whose head is a large majority of its body weight, bad stuff happens internally. When they’re RF, the crash forces spread out all over the back of the head, all down the back and down to where their hips bend into the seat. Take a moment and poke yourself in the arm as hard as you can. Hurts, doesn’t it? Now, press the same spot just as hard, but with your palm flat open. Doesn’t hurt now, does it? That’s because you spread out the force over a larger area. It’s the same concept with your child’s neck and then their body into their seat. Regarding RF, since 2002 the American Academy of Pediatrics has recommended RF until AT LEAST two years old. The better choice is to RF to the maximum limits of your child’s particular seat, when they outgrow it by either height or weight. (Your manual will tell you specific height and weight for RF use.) A RF seat is outgrown when the child has reached the weight limit, or when they have less than one inch of the hard plastic shell over their head. It is completely OKAY to RF until they’re 35-45 lbs, or 3-4 years old. They don’t care that their legs are hitting the seat, or that they have to cross their legs to fit. There are far fewer instances of broken legs from a child being RF than a child suffering a traumatic injury because they were turned FF too soon. Remember this: Broken leg(s)? Cast it. Broken neck? Casket.<br>
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Your big kid is ready to turn around well past their second birthday. The longer you can RF, the better. When the time comes to turn to FF, continue to use the five-point harness. That harness is made to fit a little body. The adult sized seatbelt in your vehicle is not made to fit a child/toddler/baby. Have you ever been in a car that had child sized seatbelts? With the exception of a few makes of cars that had built-in child restraints, I’m gonna go out on a limb and say you haven’t. All of the belt systems in pretty much any vehicle are made for adults. Remember that when you think Tristan is ready to ride in that belt.<br>
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The five-point harness also has a height and weight limit. Again, read that manual. It’ll tell you the maximum weight limits for the harness. And speaking of harnesses, make sure you’re using it the right way. If the child is RF, those harness straps should be AT or BELOW their shoulders. If the child is FF, the straps should be AT or ABOVE the shoulders. When the seat is FF, those straps also need to be run through one of the seat’s reinforced slots. (Read the manual, it’ll tell you where they are!) There’s also a little device across the middle of the straps called a harness retainer clip, aka chest clip. Please take special note of the name I just used: CHEST clip. Not belly clip. That means it goes across the chest, generally about armpit level. Some of the new Evenflo seats have it embossed into the plastic right on the chest clip. It says “PLACE AT ARMPIT LEVEL” right across the bottom. One more thing about that harness: remember when we had our wreck earlier and Caitlin slid up the seat? She’s lucky she wasn’t ejected from the seat. She slid because her straps were too loose. There’s a place somewhere on your child’s seat to adjust the tightness of the harness. Most newer seats have it right on the front, and you just give it a tug until the harness is tight enough. I always tell people the harness should be “Snug as a hug”. That way, it’s not pressing them down into the seat so they can’t breathe, but it’s also not so loose that they could be ejected. (Yes, it CAN happen. I’ve read several reports of it happening. One child was even thrown from the car and into a snow bank because her harness was too loose.)<br>
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When it comes time to put the seat in the car, it’s not just a simple matter of buckling it into a seat. There’s a reason we call it car seat installation. First, use only ONE method to install: seatbelt OR LATCH, not both. The seat has been crash tested using both methods, but not using both methods at the same time. Neither is safer than the other. Use whichever method gets you the tightest installation. Just because you get a good install with LATCH in one vehicle does not mean you’ll get a good install with the same method in a different vehicle. Read your manual for specific instructions as to how to install the seat in a vehicle. You’ll also need to check your vehicle’s owner manual. (Yes, really.) Check your index and look for the section on child restraints or LATCH. Some vehicles are very specific on how seats can be installed in certain seating positions. Also, LATCH weight limits are changing. It used to be that you could use the LATCH system until the child was 65 pounds. Now, it’s changing from 65 pounds of child to a combined weight of 65 pounds of child AND seat. (If you’re unsure, ask me! I have a LATCH manual that will tell me exactly what those weight limits are for your vehicle and seat.) Once you reach that weight limit, you HAVE to use a seatbelt to install. After you get the seat in, you’re going to need to tighten it down. You’re looking for less than ONE INCH of movement AT THE BELT PATH. That goes for both LATCH and seatbelt. If you’re doing a RF install, it’s completely acceptable and normal to have movement at the top of the seat. If it’s FF, and there’s one available, use the top tether to keep the seat secure to the back of the vehicle’s seat. Having that tether in use can reduce head movement in a crash as much as FOUR inches. That’s a lot of movement when you’re talking about your child’s neck. If your vehicle doesn’t have top tethers, and you’d like your vehicle to have top tethers, a dealer can usually retrofit them to your car. If you’re interested, I can look up the part number in the aforementioned LATCH manual. You’ll also need to check to make sure the seat is level, and that it’s at the correct angle. There’s an indicator somewhere on the seat (or on the base for RF-only infant seats) that’ll tell you if the seat is level. There are stickers on the side of the seat that’ll show you the correct angle for RF and FF use.<br>
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Remember how I said I could spot your misuse from the other end of the aisle at Target? That’s because you’ve got the infant seat perched up on the top of the cart instead of down in the basket part. When you placed the infant seat on top of the seating area, you made that basket top-heavy. Turn the corner too sharp…and baby goes toppling over, seat and all. After you’ve paid and you’re unloading your groceries, the seat can roll away, tip over, hit a bump, etc. making your baby and/or their seat a projectile.<br>
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After the child has reached the maximum limits on the harness, then they’re ready to transition over to a high-back booster. This will help that adult sized seat belt we talked about earlier better fit their child sized body. Having a back on the booster will also encourage them to use the belt guide found on that type of seat. It’ll help the shoulder belt stay in the right spot and off their neck, which causes children to want to put the belt under their arm or behind their back. When the time comes, you want to make sure the shoulder belt lies flat against their collarbone, and is between the shoulder joint and the neck. The lap belt should be across the top of their thighs, below their hipbones. If the belt is up above their hipbones, it’s going to be resting on soft belly tissue. If you get in a crash, that belt is not going to stop until it hits something hard, usually the spine. What’s in between the child’s skin and their spine? All kind of vital organs. Let’s keep the belt low so it catches on their hips instead of their spine.<br>
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Now, you think you’re ready to ride without a booster? Think again. Not until they’re around 8-10 do they have the size and maturity to ride in an adult sized belt. To keep them as safe as they can be, use the Five-Step Test:<br>
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1. Seatbelt is low on the hips and high on the thighs.<br>
2. Shoulder belt crosses the collarbone.<br>
3. Butt is all the way back against the crack of the seat.<br>
4. Knees bend easily over the edge of the seat, and feet rest flat on the floor.<br>
5. The child can maintain an upright and correct posture, making sure the bel<strike></strike>t fits correctly, for the entire duration of any trip.<br>
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If you can answer YES to all five steps, then congratulations! Your child is ready to be out of a child restraint system. If you answer no to ANY of the questions, then they still need a booster. My oldest child was nearly ten before she passed all five steps, and my middle child is nine and is still in a no-back booster. It makes the belt fit him correctly and keeps him safer in the event of a crash. He passes the five-step test in my husband’s car, but not in my SUV. It varies from one vehicle to another.<br>
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Let’s revisit harnesses again.<br>
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When it’s cold outside, we bundle up. However, we don’t want to bundle up under the harness. For a simple demonstration as to why, go to YouTube and search for “Winter Coats and Car Seats Don’t Mix” by RanaAurora. She does a beautiful job of demonstrating the hows and whys, and seeing it gives a better understanding than me explaining it.<br>
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Please know and understand that when I offer tips and suggestions to correct misuse, it is NOT to make you feel like a failure or a bad parent or that you are just completely inept. I’m sincerely trying to HELP you keep your child as safe as they possible can be while you’re riding around town, or traveling across the country. I realize I've been quite harsh, but I'm sincerely tired of seeing so much misuse. My aim is to educate. We have the tools to keep them safe, let’s use them correctly. What would happen if we used a table saw incorrectly? We might lose a finger. What happens if you use your child’s car seat incorrectly? They could lose their life.<br>
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I’m always available to answer any questions you have, or to help you get the seat fitted the right way. There’s no shame in asking when it comes to the ones you’d risk your own life to save. Please let me know if I can help you in any way.<br>
<br>Jferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10890376865405831830noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-967250869641658585.post-9376513728249783202013-03-05T14:06:00.002-08:002013-03-05T14:06:37.060-08:0031 Day Blog Challenge - Day FiveToday's challenge should be fun! The topic is: Favorite Movies You Never Get Sick of Watching
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The first movie on that list is hands-down, without a doubt...(drumroll)
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SIXTEEN CANDLES!
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I *love* that movie! Always have, always will. I mean, how can you NOT love that movie with lines such as:<br>
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"What's happenin', hot stuff?"<br>
"Last night at the dance, my little brother paid a buck to see your underwear."<br>
"Ted, that's a Rolls Royce! Ted, that's the prom queen!"<br>
"Who's he?" "That's me." "Well who are you?" "I'm him." "Oh. Okay."<br>
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Moving on...
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Here are others, in no particular order:
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O Brother, Where Art Thou? "Hop in, boys! I'm gonna R-U-N-N-O-F-T!"<br>
Weird Science "How 'bout a nice, greasy pork sandwich served in a dirty ash tray?"<br>
Titanic (Natch.) "I'll never let go, Jack!"<br>
Ever After "There was a bee, Your Majesty."<br>
Kingpin "...and how you got Miss Claudia to stop be so much of the whore that she is."<br>
Coal Miner's Daughter "Stop a'growlin' at me, ya sound like an ol' berr."<br>
Elizabeth "No, he shall live, so that I will always remember how close I came to danger."<strike></strike><br>
Election "Good morning, Mr. McAlister. You look like you could use a cupcake."<br>
The Breakfast Club "Could you describe the ruckus, sir?"<br>
Fargo "Dee-ad! Are ya stayin' fer supperrrr?"<br>
The Shawshank Redemption "Time to get busy livin' or get busy dyin'."<br>
Shakespeare in Love "Have a care with my name. You will wear it out."<br>
Aaaaand, my guilty pleasure is...<br>
ATL. "Teddy ain't never been outside 285 in his life, and he proud of it."Jferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10890376865405831830noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-967250869641658585.post-81354857918778529052013-03-04T12:50:00.000-08:002013-03-04T12:50:19.984-08:0031 Day Blog Challenge - Day FourToday's challenge is: Best Childhood Memory<br>
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As I pondered this challenge, one thing kept coming to mind: Road Trips.
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Road trips were a constant, a given, in my childhood. Whether it was to load up and take a trip from Waycross, GA or Jacksonville, FL all the way to see family in northern Alabama, or to hop in the car early one Saturday morning to chase a train (steam locomotive), or to meander all across the southeastern US, a great deal of my childhood was spent in the car. The trips from Jacksonville to Gadsden took for-ev-er (ten hours in reality), but on the same token, we could spend ten hours one Saturday chasing a train.
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I knew how to get from Gadsden to Waycross before I even realized it. Case in point: I got sent back to my parents with a great aunt and uncle once in their RV. To this day, I still don't remember the trip. When they reached a certain point where they were supposed to turn off on some particular exit. My uncle didn't know exactly which way to go, but I did. I told him which way he needed to go and, lo and behold, I was right.
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I've seen every single mile of I-75 in Georgia too many times to count. Oh, to have a dollar for every time I've seen the Adcock Pecans sign in Tifton. I knew we were close to Waycross once I saw Adcock Pecans. There's also the fighter jet on a stand near Warner Robins. Then you get down south of Tifton and it gets really flat, and the trees grow in perfect rows and the Spanish moss drips from the boughs of the trees. After you cross over into Florida, you go across the Suwannee River, complete with a little sign at the bridge with the musical notes to the familiar Stephen Foster song.
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Yes, I spent many, many hours in the car during my childhood. I've counted phone poles, watched the power lines droop between poles, looked out the window at tar-paper shacks with a rusted tin roof and wondered what was inside. Thinking about it makes me nostalgic and wish that we weren't so rushed and always Needing Something To Do all the time.
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Take a moment and think about your own childhood. I hope there are some happy memories buried somewhere for you. <strike></strike>Jferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10890376865405831830noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-967250869641658585.post-7326846955217093092013-03-03T15:03:00.001-08:002013-03-03T15:03:22.090-08:0031 Day Blog Challenge - Day ThreeToday's challenge is: What makes you happy?<br>
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Hmmm...things that make me happy? Let's see...<br>
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A good cupcake<br>
A bowl of perfect chicken and dumplings<br>
Remembering my experiences in London<br>
Hearing a good song<br>
Hearing my children laugh and get along<br>
Pugs<br>
A song that offers praise to God, just when I need to hear it<br>
Knowing my brother picked the right woman for his life<br>
Seeing my parents stick it out, through thick and thin<br>
Hugging a true friend<br>
Counting my blessings<br>
Knowing God loves me no matter how low I sink<br>
A lovely new handbag<br>
Bright forests in the Autumn<br>
A cup of coffee (or tea) in the morning<br>
Hugs from my husband<br>
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What makes you happy?Jferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10890376865405831830noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-967250869641658585.post-64064118535131544902013-03-02T13:56:00.003-08:002013-03-02T13:56:32.809-08:0031 Day Blog Challenge - Day TwoToday's topic is Favorite Quote(s)<br>
Quotes speak to me. I know they speak to everyone, but I'm such a word nerd and I just really enjoy a quote that's put together nicely. Some people are inspired when they read "Carpe Diem" or "Today is the first day of the rest of your life". Not me. I like the quirky, unconventional stuff that you don't find splattered all over the internet.<br>
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Here are a few of my favorites:
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"Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt." -Abraham Lincoln
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"Something is wrong when we claim to love Christ yet fail to love others." -Ed Stetzer and Philip Nation
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"It's a fool that looks for logic in the chambers of the human heart." -George Clooney as Ulysses Everett McGill in 'O Brother, Where Art Thou?'
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"If you don't want anyone to find out, don't do it." -Chinese Proverb
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"I believe in Christianity like I believe in the sun--not because I can see it, but by it I can see everything else." -C.S. Lewis
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Tell me, what are some of your favorite quotes?
Jferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10890376865405831830noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-967250869641658585.post-62360887462418629862013-03-01T12:05:00.002-08:002013-03-01T12:05:50.508-08:00ResetWell hey there, y'all! Long time, no see, huh?!<br>
I've neglected my blog for far too long. I found a 31 day blog challenge that I'm hoping will get me back into the habit. So, without further ado, I give you today's topic:<br>
MARCH 1 - SELF PORTRAIT AND FIVE RANDOM FACTS ABOUT MYSELF<br>
This isn't exactly a self portrait, but it's the most recent shot I had of my face on my phone. It's a positively giddy me next to my dear, sweet friend who lives in New York. She was a huge surprise for my birthday last month (four weeks ago, to be exact).<br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRtEs_FeGGeVs_IYzIvlrU-6vOsXRIbtjBorT2y-2Pg0t0V38HbjN020k_HbENqDv4roJcQhPccaQVlgSNSqx6SxkCEXaLs-0pydliegh9z_8LJfPUDcynWVLjx8VKx2DSNnN_EyIFlb4g/s1600/IMG_1279.jpg" imageanchor="1" ><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRtEs_FeGGeVs_IYzIvlrU-6vOsXRIbtjBorT2y-2Pg0t0V38HbjN020k_HbENqDv4roJcQhPccaQVlgSNSqx6SxkCEXaLs-0pydliegh9z_8LJfPUDcynWVLjx8VKx2DSNnN_EyIFlb4g/s320/IMG_1279.jpg" /></a><br>
That's me on the left. Can you see the shock and sheer delight on my face?<br>
Now, on to those random facts...<br>
1. I survived cancer. Twice.<br>
2. I'm a stickler for details.<br>
3. I have a mind like a steel trap. I recently came across a woman who was two years behind me in high school and saw her name on a form and HAD to ask if she was who I thought she was. She was blown away. I remember silly minutiae like what I had on a certain day or what I had for lunch a month ago. I also have a knack for remembering long sequences of numbers.<br>
4. I met my husband online, waaaay back before there was any eharmony or match dot com. We happened to be in the same chat room on AOL one night and we struck up a conversation. The rest, as they say, is history.<br>
5. I am an Anglophile. If you don't know what that means, go look it up. Then bring me a spot of tea.<br>
<strike></strike>Jferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10890376865405831830noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-967250869641658585.post-3096182699724981372011-05-02T06:34:00.000-07:002011-05-02T07:07:33.631-07:00Shift (v2.0)This morning, I am sitting in a house. <br /><br />This morning, I woke up in my own bed.<br /><br />This morning, my life is pretty normal.<br /><br /><br />That is not the case for thousands of people here in the state of Alabama. <br /><br /><br />Last Wednesday, April 27, 2011, a series of tornadoes ripped across the southeast. Alabama was hit the hardest. Many towns were wiped off the map. There is a staggering loss of life. The number of people injured is in the thousands. The number of people who lost everything they own is even higher. It's hard to wrap your mind around just how bad it really is here in Alabama. One of my sweet friends put it this way: "The pictures you're seeing in the media don't do it justice. It's like watching a G-rated version of a triple X movie." <br /><br />There is a huge effort to help those who have been affected. Support is rolling in from places all around the country. People are donating their time to help complete strangers. People are buying supplies to donate like nothing I've ever seen. My family has even bought items twice since Thursday to drop off and try to do just a little bit to help. My little bit of stuff seems like a drop in the bucket, but I know that when they put my stuff with five other people's stuff, then it makes a bigger difference. <br /><br />I sat and watched the local weather guys forecast and alert people all day last Wednesday. They were on the air ALL DAY. I don't know when or if they ate or got to take a bathroom break. I don't know how their voices didn't give out. I watched them diligently track these storms, and I watched them throw up their hands, looking completely befuddled, as they saw the meteorological evidence that told them this would be the worst storms they've ever seen. I even heard one of them say that he'd be praying that it wouldn't be as bad as it showed. You know you're in trouble when the weatherman is praying.<br /><br />I watched the coverage. I saw the Cullman tornado and then the Tuscaloosa tornado as they were caught on the station's tower cam. I sat with my mouth gaping open and felt the tears well up in my eyes. I'd seen pictures of tornadoes before, but had never seen one 'live'. You could tell by the size that it was going to leave a horrific scene in it's wake. As I watched the debris flying through the air, I thought of all the things that could be caught up in that thrashing cloud. As it turns out, many things were caught up in that violent wind. Things were picked up in Tuscaloosa and were deposited somewhere in St. Clair county, some 75+ miles away.<br /><br />Somewhere along the way, I began to feel that Alabama was deeper in my heart than I originally suspected. Now, Alabama has always been a part of my life; my parents are both natives. Both sides of my family still reside in the same general area and I spent several summers of my youth playing and visiting with relatives. I was taught from an early age that Alabama football is second to making sure you're in church on Sunday morning. I spent the majority of my youth being raised near Atlanta, Georgia. I'm a Georgia Peach. However, I'm feeling a kinship like never before with the people of this state. I feel like I'm a part of something bigger than myself. I feel like I'm in a position to make a difference and I feel better equipped to do something here.<br /><br />I know I can't make everyone realize how bad it is here in Alabama right now. I know I can't help everyone I want to help. But I know that I can work together with those who love Alabama like I now do and we can all make a difference. <br /><br />You know, one of the neatest things about all this disaster and tragedy is that people who normally say hateful, awful things about each other are coming together on a united front. The people of Auburn University are heading up and mounting a gargantuan task on Facebook to help the people in Tuscaloosa, as well as other storm-ravaged communities. If you're not aware, Tuscaloosa is home to the University of Alabama, Auburn's fiercest rival. To say the teams are arch-rivals doesn't begin to scratch the surface. These teams loathe each other and play for bragging rights every November. The winners sneer in the face of the loser for the next twelve months. However, we're putting all that aside for now and we're looking at the fact that we're all Alabamians. It's heartwarming in a small, weird way.<br /><br /><br />I feel like this post has been very incoherent and like I've been rambling. I just needed to get it out. Somehow, some way, God will be glorified through this horrible mess.Jferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10890376865405831830noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-967250869641658585.post-13821735361734492762011-04-06T11:44:00.000-07:002011-04-06T12:43:44.865-07:00Getting thereWell, hi y'all. It's been quite a while, now hasn't it?<br /><br />Many things have changed in our household over the past six months. Looking back, it's been sort of a whirlwind, but at the time it seemed to drag on and on and on without a foreseeable goal/end in sight. I'm glad to say that our future seems more solid and certain now, and we have some goals that we've verbalized and decided to take some action to make those goals a reality. Which brings me to the topic of today's post...<br /><br />Waaaaaaay back in the fall of 1990 and the spring of 1991, I was a sophomore in high school. I was assigned to take world history from Mr. Siegel. I'd only seen him in the halls as a freshman, and thought he was a little quirky, but still a likeable guy. I didn't realize the fire he'd light in me would burn brighter and brighter as I got older. Mr. Siegel didn't just teach a class and a set curriculum, he brought it to life. He was <span style="font-style:italic;">that</span> kind of teacher. When we studied the American Civil War, he brought in a soldier's diary that he'd purchased at an auction many years prior. He passed it around the classroom for us to see the words that'd been penned more than a full century before any of us had been born. He let us touch the artifacts. The day he passed that diary around the class, one of my classmates raised their hand to let him know that they'd not seen the diary yet and thought they'd been skipped. Well, the truth is that once it got to my desk, it stayed longer than it should have. I touched the pages as if I were somehow communicating with the author himself. I relished the opportunity to hold in my hands something that was not of my own time. It was almost electrifying to me. He routinely brought in things from places he'd been: a genuine Egyptian cobra that someone had taken in for taxidermy, a real Nazi flag, a document signed by Abraham Lincoln and another document signed by a pope from several hundred years ago. He trusted us with his treasures and passed them around the class regularly. Just like the diary I mentioned earlier, they almost always got stalled at my desk. Except for that silly cobra, because y'all know how I feel about snakes.<br /><br />He told us about the Renaissance, the Black Plague, the French Revolution, the 95 Theses and the Diet of Worms. About ancient Rome and both World Wars. About everything that had happened between the beginning of recorded history and the present time. But, the thing that struck my heart with a fiery passion was when he talked about England. He taught us about the Norman conquests, the origins of the Tower of London and of its long and storied, and often bloody history. He told us in graphic detail what happened to silly old Oliver Cromwell. About the little princes who would have been kings and how their uncle had them murdered. About the House of Tudor, Anne Boleyn, Queen Elizabeth and many, many more tidbits and facts that we would not have learned if we'd been just across the hall in another teacher's class. That year, when I was just 15 years old, I fell in love with London. That year, some fire was lit within me to go and see the history for myself. To this day, the desire has only grown stronger. The flame is still burning strong and my dream of going to London has never diminished.<br /><br />Fast forward to 2009.<br /><br />The Boy drove to my house with Fancy in tow. They told me they were coming to visit for the day, but they really had an ulterior motive. The drove two hours to my house so they wouldn't have to tell me over the phone that they were going to take a trip to Europe together, and that the entire first week of the trip would be spent in London. He drove all that way so he wouldn't break my heart. In a small way, it <span style="font-style:italic;">did</span> break my heart a little, but I was sincerely glad that he was getting to go and have a great trip and see all the things I'd seen a thousand times in pictures, but never with my own eyes. They went and returned back home, but not without a little bit of passport drama along the way.<br /><br />Now, we enter present day.<br /><br />About a month ago, The Boy called me and said, "I've got the itch."<br /><br />I replied with a rather clueless, "Huh?! What do you mean?"<br /><br />He said, "I want to go back to London."<br /><br />"Well hit the road, Jack. You've been before. Go do it again." <br /><br />Again, a little part of me felt sad and left out and just all around 'grr!' over the fact that it'd probably be past retirement age before I got to go see and touch all that history.<br /><br />He then said, "I've already mentioned it to Nanny and PawPaw, and they're cool with watching the kids while we go together."<br /><br />I think my heart skipped a beat there.<br /><br />"Really? Really and truly???"<br /><br />"Yeah, I think so. Call her and discuss it further since it's your kids and it'll be on them to keep up with them."<br /><br /><br />You better believe that the second I hung up with him, I was on the phone with my mom. And guess what, she agreed to watch them.<br /><br />So, I began thinking about how I'd manage to PAY for this trip Across the Pond. I have some money in savings, but it'd almost wipe it out to pay for the entire trip, plus food and souvenir money. I can't do that to my family. It's just too selfish, even if I have been waiting to get there for 21 years. So, it appeared that my dream was put on hold yet again. Oh well, I've grown used to waiting after all this time.<br /><br />Then...<br /><br />The Husband did our taxes. I was really worried we'd have to pay taxes this year because of a job change where he cashed out a large chunk of stock from his former company. However, he did our taxes and looked at me and said, "Well, it looks like we're getting X amount back on our return this year."<br /><br />My eyes got as big as saucers, because the amount he told me would definitely provide the means for me to get to London and back. It was the first thing that came to mind. I looked at him and said, "Would it be possible to use some of that to pay for a plane ticket and a hotel room?" He replied with, "I don't see why not."<br /><br />Man, I do love him. : )<br /><br />That crazy day last June when our house caught fire, provided the means to get rid of a craptastic landlord and also the means to finance a dream I've had longer than any other in my entire life. I've wanted to go for more than half my life now, and it's looking very promising that I may get to finally go. I have filled out my passport application, and submitted it at the post office yesterday. One baby step closer. <br /><br />I've not allowed myself to get truly excited. I don't think I'll even get a little keyed up until I actually purchase a ticket. But I know that if this is really happening, when we land in London I'll likely burst into tears of joy. <br /><br />It seems like things are falling into place for it to be real this time. As if it's the proverbial lining up of the planets. As if it's just <span style="font-style:italic;">MY</span> time to finally go and see and smell and taste and hear and touch the history in London. When I start thinking about how real it could be this time, I get teary-eyed. When I think about the possibility of touching the mortar that's been holding the Tower of London together for nearly a thousand years, I get teary-eyed and stupid. When I think of gazing at Big Ben with my own eyes, I get all teary-eyed and stupid. When I think about what it might smell like to have a plate of fish and chips cooking in the pub, I get all teary-eyed and stupid. You see where I'm going with this, don't you?<br /><br />I <span style="font-weight:bold;">must</span> go. It's not an option. I have to go before I die. It's on my "Bucket List". It's the only dream vacation I've ever wanted. Maybe now is the time.<br /><br />If you feel so inclined, would you please pray that if it is indeed my time to take this trip that things would fall into place easily. Also, please pray that we would have safe travels, a safe and reliable plane and a competent and experienced flight crew. That our lodging would be safe and reputable. That our foot travels around the city and through "The Tube" would be safe, as well as any other things I'm forgetting right now.<br /><br />I'll be sure to keep y'all updated about whether or not this comes to fruition. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Thank you, Mr. Siegel for helping me see and live history in your classroom and for making it really interesting and a fun learning environment.<br /><br /><br />And I can't help but add one last line, just for The Boy and Fancy. They'll understand it better than anyone:<br /><br />"This is gon' be tha best trip evur!"Jferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10890376865405831830noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-967250869641658585.post-30592695108754107852011-01-27T07:01:00.000-08:002011-01-27T07:10:07.885-08:00One hundredThis past Tuesday was the 100th day of school for Poodle and Slick. Slick had to bring in 100 of any one item around the house. He chose to bring in 100 popcorn kernels. I suppose it would have been frowned upon to bring in 100 towels. (Not that I have 100 towels.) At any rate, Slick brought home a paper he'd completed during that day's school work. It tickled me when I read some of his responses. I'm listing them here for your enjoyment, and also to preserve the memory of what was said, as paper items tend to get lost around this joint. Slick's replies will be in bold. All spelling and grammar are his.<br /><br />1. If I had 100 dollars I would <span style="font-weight:bold;">buy grocries with them.</span><br /><br />2. If I had 100 pencils I would <span style="font-weight:bold;">bring 98 home.</span><br /><br />3. If I had 100 mosquito bites I would <span style="font-weight:bold;">die.</span><br /><br />4. If I had 100 friends I would <span style="font-weight:bold;">play with them.</span><br /><br />5. If I had 100 legs I would <span style="font-weight:bold;">act like a octopus.</span><br /><br />6. If I had 100 eyes I would <span style="font-weight:bold;">see very good.</span><br /><br />7. If I had 100 <span style="font-weight:bold;">stuffed animals</span> I would <span style="font-weight:bold;">play with them.</span><br /><br />8. If I had 100 <span style="font-weight:bold;">Webkins</span> I would <span style="font-weight:bold;">be awesome.</span><br /><br />9. If I had 100 <span style="font-weight:bold;">Legos</span> I would <span style="font-weight:bold;">be happy.</span><br /><br />10. If I had 100 <span style="font-weight:bold;">Wii and DS games</span> I would <span style="font-weight:bold;">play all of them.</span><br /><br /><br /><br />Oh to be a kid again.Jferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10890376865405831830noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-967250869641658585.post-64250574779191355042010-12-04T10:00:00.000-08:002010-12-04T10:30:08.768-08:00Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa ClausLittle Eyes, turn away, so as not to ruin Christmas Day.<br /><br /><br />Many of you know that I am a frequent user of a website called Cafemom.com. As I was perusing posts this morning, I came across a post entitled "What do you believe?". My first thoughts were that the post would be about religion, especially what do you believe regarding the meaning of Christmas. However, it was about Santa. The lady asking the question went on to tell us that she was raised that "the idea of Santa is real. That there was a man who dressed in red and white and did deliver gifts to kids one night a year. If you look into it, there was a person." She went on to say that she was 25 years old and still believed in the spirit of Santa and the spirit of the Christmas season.<br /><br />Then, it got my wheels to turning and I began to think of my own memories of Santa. <br /><br />I remember my years of growing up with the concept of Santa Claus. My daddy would always tell me, "You better get to bed or Santy Claus can't run!!!" That always scared the living daylights out of me, but in a good way. One year, I was being particularly late in going to bed and kept procrastinating for some reason or another. I think I was eight or nine years old and we lived in Jacksonville. Our dear friends, Jane and Lloyd, were over at our house that Christmas eve. I don't know how late it was, but it was important that I get to bed so Santa could come and drop off his load of gifts. After getting "The Look" from both Jane and my mom, I still wouldn't go to bed. The next things I heard struck a kind of fear in my heart that I don't know I've experienced since. I heard heavy, thumping footsteps on the roof with loud jingle bells. My little feet were never more swift. The next morning, Santa had indeed "run" and I was blessed with gifts. I cannot remember what I got that year, but I do remember the lengths either my daddy or Lloyd went to to make it real for me. That Christmas morning, on the hearth next to the fireplace, there was a boot print on the bricks of the hearth. Another little touch to make it all the more magical and real. Looking back, the pattern of that boot print (that I remember and can still see in my mind's eye) very closely matches the pattern of the underside of the steel-toed boots my daddy wore all those years on the railroad. ; ) It's the tiny things that I remember that make me smile with sweet nostalgia. <br /><br />One year, I think it was in the 5th grade, there was talk that Santa wasn't real. I bought into the idea that maybe it really was Mom and Dad. However, I had a very small little brother at home. (We're almost ten years apart.) I made a vow to myself right then and there that even if I didn't necessarily believe in Santa anymore, that I would never ruin it for my little brother. I'm proud to say that I kept that promise and let him find out for himself. When I was 14, he was four. That year, my mom forgot to put something out for me that was from Santa. She took me into her closet, where the forgotten gift was stashed, and told me The Truth About Santa. I told her I kind of already knew, but I agreed to continue to play along so I wouldn't ruin that special magic of childhood for him. By the time he was 13 or 14, he knew too and Santa ceased to come to my mom and dad's house. It was a little bittersweet. However, I was able to begin the tradition with my own children just a few short years later. <br /><br />I couldn't help but reply to the post this morning. Here were my words regarding the belief of Santa and the spirit of the Christmas season:<br /><br />"I'm the same way. And, if I'm being honest, I still gaze at the sky with wonder and look for that blinking red beacon of childhood. It makes me feel warm and fuzzy and nostalgic, if only for a few moments. My favorite time to look up is after coming out of the candlelight Christmas Eve service at church. It's cold and right around midnight and you can just feel something magical in the air."<br /><br />I will always remember that Christmas with the jingle bells and the *thunk thunk thunk* on the roof. I will always remember how my brother used to be so excited that he'd shake as if he were standing in a snowdrift without a coat. I will always remember how Daddy would say, "Santy Claus can run if you're not in bed!", and how my mom would tell me, "Santa Claus is watching you!" with a menacing glimmer in her eye in order to correct my behavior. It cracks me up that she says it to my kids and even still says it to me when I'm snarky. <br /><br />Thanks, Mama and Daddy, for making Christmas magical for all those years.Jferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10890376865405831830noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-967250869641658585.post-6574422600182315802010-11-07T11:50:00.001-08:002010-11-07T13:42:39.967-08:00Hittin' the club sceneI think retailers are preparing my soon-to-be nine year old daughter for the club scene. <br /><br />Seriously, though, have you <span style="font-style:italic;">looked</span> in the GIRLS' clothing section lately?! Pretty much everything looks like it's ready to send my third grader out for a night of club-hopping or, worse yet, down to the strip club to perform. Everything is sequined and bedazzled and looks better suited for someone that's old enough to legally buy and consume an alcoholic beverage than for an elementary-aged little girl. I know not all little girls are made the same, but I'm pretty sure most of them still run and climb and jump and stand on their heads in the dirt. They run around their neighborhoods and orchestrate elaborate games of "Mom-Sweetie" (that's how you play 'Baby and Mom' at my house) and freeze tag. They slide across the gym at their school and rub holes in the knees of their pants and jeans. They're <span style="font-style:italic;">kids</span>. They are supposed to be learning how to write in cursive and learning their multiplication tables. They are <span style="font-weight:bold;">NOT</span> supposed to look like miniature hookers. <br /><br />So, hear me now Large American Clothing Manufacturers:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">I AM SICK OF THE WHORISH CLOTHES YOU MAKE FOR <span style="font-style:italic;">CHILDREN!</span></span> I will NOT buy your stripper-esque clothing for my child, no matter how much she whines or begs. I am taking a stand against your companies and telling you flat out that I won't support your business as long as you continue to make and sell clothes that make our little girls look like two-bit tramps. <br /><br />You need to listen to the middle-class moms that support your business, because I know for a fact I'm not the only one who feels this way. WE are sick of the products you produce and want better-looking, more-wholesome attire for children. While you're at it, you can get rid of the disrespectful sayings and slogans that "adorn" some tee-shirts. Stuff like "I'm kind of a big deal" and "I <3 Nerds. They do my homework." just send the wrong message, in my opinion.<br /><br />Clean it up. Quick. If you don't, you'll be out of business very soon.<br /><br /><br />©JLS 2010Jferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10890376865405831830noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-967250869641658585.post-44058420059138986382010-10-27T10:38:00.000-07:002010-10-27T11:10:07.271-07:00Wise Words from an Unexpected Source."God's plan or not, it still hurts."<br /><br />I am simply amazed at how my God works. Most of you readers will wholeheartedly agree. It's what we're "trained" to believe. Well, I say trained but I guess I really mean taught or led. Bear with me here, I promise I have a point but it may take me a while to get there.<br /><br />Most of you know of our fire from this past June. Some of you are more closely acquainted with the utter anger and bitterness and heartache I've experienced over the past couple of weeks because of it. A dear friend told me that it may all be hitting me now because I was so busy over the summer; traveling here and there, moving in, getting settled in a new house, starting school, surgery on King Tot (yes, that's his new moniker) and just finding out how our new routine works. A couple weeks ago, what I thought was a raging case of PMS just didn't go away. I poured out my heart and my hurt to some very special women. They supported me in ways I didn't know existed and even doled out a little tough love. They know what to say and when to say it.<br /><br />One of these sweet women said something so utterly profound today that it just made me stop and let out a gasp, which left my mouth just hanging open for a moment. She said the words that are the first line of this post. When she said it, she was referring to another mutual friend's Facebook post about a camp counselor from her youth. The former counselor is now a Presbyterian minister. The mutual friend told us of how the pastor, Adam, and his wife, Sarah had suffered what was thought to be a miscarriage of their twin boys. As it turned out, they were born very, very prematurely and passed on after about an hour with their family. I can't even fathom the utter heartbreak they are feeling this day. Now, here's what made this all so amazing to me: my friend, who said the profound words, does not subscribe to my own belief system. She does not classify herself as a Christian. Yet, she said those words and it just rocked me inside. You see, God had that fire back in June in my life plan. And you know what? It hurt. Not physically, because we ran away into the rain as fast as our feet would carry us. It hurt because it was totally unexpected and came from out of left field, so to speak. It hurt because there were people I thought I could count on who turned out to be completely useless. It hurt because only a handful of people who are in close proximity bothered to lift a finger. (Now don't hear me wrong, I am exceedingly grateful to those who did help, especially to a certain two who went above and beyond. You know who you are.) It hurt when we found out we had no place to lay our head and the very people I thought I could count on were nowhere to be found. God's plan or not, it still hurts. Just...wow. <br /><br />The pain Adam and Sarah are feeling this day is very different from my own. They lost their sweet boys. I lost my sense of security, my sense of faith in family, my routine and a myriad of other things. God's plan or not, it still hurts. It may continue to hurt for a while yet, but I know that the ultimate physician not only heals bodies from sickness but can also heal hearts that are broken. Eventually, I'll not be wound up quite so tight when severe thunderstorms hit. Eventually, I may work up the courage to speak to those who made me feel like I had just been temporarily inconvenienced instead of completely uprooted. Eventually, Adam and Sarah will stop crying and let God heal their broken hearts, firm in the knowledge that they'll see their precious boys again one day. I'm sure they have a good, solid support network and they'll never know that a 35 year old mom in Alabama is praying for their broken hearts and for comfort and peace that surpasses all understanding. <br /><br />I am amazed that God uses everyone to help us overcome obstacles and hurdles. The words of my friend today helped me to lay some things out on the table and to get them off my chest, so to speak. Today, God used a non-believer to help draw me closer to Him. I am thankful for her and for the group of women we both know and love.Jferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10890376865405831830noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-967250869641658585.post-9304420157427167552010-10-04T10:38:00.000-07:002010-10-04T11:51:29.091-07:00R-O-L-L-T-I-D-E! Rollllll Tide Rollllll!!!!This past Saturday, I was given the opportunity to attend my very first Alabama football game. Well, not truly or technically my first, but it was my first one in Tuscaloosa. (I'd only been to two other games in my life: Bama vs. Ga Tech waaaaay back in the early 80s when Tech was still an SEC team, and then back in 1991, when the Iron Bowl was still played at Legion Field.) It had been nearly 20 years since ANY game day experience so I'd say I was well past overdue. <br /><br />My football spirit had been languid this year. I think it was because of the weird and unusual summer we had because of our house fire. Everything is just different now and I was having a hard time feeling like I usually do this time of year because everything has been incredibly <span style="font-style:italic;">un</span>usual.<br /><br />My friend Kelly called me Saturday a week ago (Sept. 25) and asked what I was doing on the next Saturday (Oct. 2). I casually replied that I was doing jack-squat. She asked if I could find a sitter for next Saturday night and I said I probably could manage to do so. I asked if I needed to find a sitter so both Cal and I could do this something with her or was it just for me. She said, "No, just you." I knew then that something was up. Her next question confirmed my suspicions. "How would you like to go to the Alabama game with me next Saturday night?" she casually asked. <br /><br />Surely ye jest. Please don't tease me so.<br /><br />Fortunately, she was dead serious. : )<br /><br />We made our plans and I informed King Waffle (nickname change coming soon!) that he would be keeping Poodle, Slick and Noob next Saturday night whether he liked it or not. <br /><br />I still had a hard time getting excited as the week progressed. I got up Saturday morning and got showered and dressed and waited patiently for her to arrive. I was still wondering if it was all real until she pulled up outside the house. When I saw her car with the Bama flags flying from the back window, I lit up. "I really get to go!", I thought. <br /><br />We left and headed toward Tuscaloosa. Our first stop was Taco Casa. From there, we headed to downtown T-Town and parked. There was an energy and electricity in the air that you just had to be there to experience. We made our way down the street and began to see more and more traffic. Fans streamed up and down the streets and sidewalks sporting their team's colors. As we got closer to the stadium, the smack talk began to freely flow from one car to another, from car to pedestrian and from person to person across the street. The smell of beer hung in the air, even at 1:00 in the afternoon. As we continued down the street, we approached the area known as "The Strip". As we walked a little further down the street, suddenly the top portion of Bryant-Denny Stadium appeared over the top of a small building. I was not expecting to see it so soon and yelled to my friend, very excitedly I might add, "Kelly!!! THERE IT IS!!!!!" She turned and looked at me and couldn't help but giggle at me. I tell you, it doesn't take much to excite and amuse me. A few steps further and we were at the official entrance to the campus. I had to stop and pose next to the sign. As we made our way towards our destination, the sea of crimson got so thick that you could hardly see the street ahead of you. I was wowed to see Denny Chimes and then turned around to see The President's Mansion directly across the street. We walked around the hundreds of tents and found our destination, the CBS 42 tent. We were welcomed into the tent with a soft chair and a nice cold bottle of water. From there, we continued walking and looking and touring. We came to a tent that had former players Andrew Zow and Shaun Alexander signing autographs. We got word that Brodie Croyle and another player were down the street in the Sports Illustrated tent. There was just so much going on and I was soaking up as much as I could without letting all my crazy spill out onto the scantily-clad sorority girls that kept walking by. Eventually, we made our way back to the CBS tent where we were delighted to indulge in free Dreamland ribs and banana pudding. (Some of you know about Dreamland and you'll know that getting them for free was quite a treat!) We ate our ribs and our banana pudding and then made our way back toward the stadium. There, we stood in line at the front of the stadium and waited for The Walk of Champions to begin. This is where the coaches and players make their way into the stadium prior to the beginning of the game. Finally, after waiting for 45 minutes in the throng of people, the buses arrived and the line began. Coach Saban was flanked by several sheriff's deputies and Alabama State Troopers. Then the players made their way down the path. I got to see Mark Ingram and Greg McElroy. (I actually saw all of them, but those were the only two I immediately recognized.) After the processional went by, we walked across the plaza and took pictures of the statues of Coach Stallings and The Bear. Next, we made our way back over towards The Quad where we found Big Al, the cheerleaders and several members of the Million Dollar Band. We made our way over to The Mound at The Quad where we found the trombone section doing some warm-ups. It was so neat to get to see them doing their thing and to just have fun doing so. We wanted to stick around for the Elephant Stomp, but Kelly told me we might miss kickoff if we waited too long to head back to the stadium. <br /><br />When we got to the stadium entrance, I was mesmerized all over again. She handed me my ticket and I got a little emotional. It was a little surreal; something I'd longed for for years was finally in my possession. We got up to the gate and I handed them my ticket. I was a little nervous because I truly didn't believe I was so fortunate to even be standing there and ready to go inside. The man took my ticket, tore off the stub and then handed it back to me with a big "ROLL TIDE!". Kelly was already inside waiting for me and I looked at her with my mouth hanging open and said, "They let me in!" She cracked up at my giddiness. Again. <br /><br />Next was the long walk up the spiral ramps. When we finally made it to the top, we walked to the spot where we'd enter the field. When we finally made it inside, I was overcome with emotion and then here came the tears. I guess only a nerd like me gets all teary-eyed when entering a football stadium. I had to holler for Kelly to stop so I could get my act together. When she turned and saw me wiping my eyes, she said, "Jen, this is almost a religious experience for you, ain't it?!" I think she's almost right. It was just so...wow. And I don't regret it at all.<br /><br />We finally made it to our seats and had a <span style="font-weight:bold;">great</span> view of all the action. We saw the team go through warm-ups. We saw them enter the field to the sound of thousands upon thousands of cheers. I got all emotional again when the first chords of 'Yea Alabama!' started up. It was <span style="font-style:italic;">SO</span> awesome to be able to sing it with all the fans. <br /><br />When the game started, I cheered every cheer. I yelled "ROLL TIDE!" I don't know how many times. I sang 'Yea Alabama' every time the band played it. I yelled 'Rolllllllllllllllllllll....TIDE ROLL!' with each and every kickoff. I jumped up with a giant yelp at the awesome interception which was returned for a touchdown. Then...it was the end and there was a 31-6 score. <br /><br />It was Rammer Jammer time, my friends. <br /><br />Singing Rammer Jammer with 100,000 of my closest friends was quite an awesome experience. You can sing along with the TV at home, but it's just <span style="font-style:italic;">electrifying</span> to sing it there in person. <br /><br />Then, sadly, it was time to go. <br /><br />As we made our way back towards the car, we were inundated with shouts of "ROLL TIDE!" and "GO BAMA!". The Gator fans, surprisingly, did not appear sad and dejected, as I would have. They walked down the street, silently. The scantily-clad sorority girls seemed to have progressed to even fewer clothes than they'd had on previously. Someone puked in the street. I almost walked right into the middle of a fight on a corner. The smell of beer still hung in the air, but it was much more potent and pungent now. Sirens wailed. People yelled. The crowd was thick. But all the while, I grinned and grinned and thanked God a million times for the fabulous, perfect day I had. Everything I hoped and prayed for came to pass. It was one of the best days I can ever remember and I hope I'm blessed enough to get to do it again. <span style="font-style:italic;">Soon.</span><br /><br />I leave you with just a small fraction of the 764 pictures I took. Yes, I took more than seven <span style="font-weight:bold;">hundred</span> pictures in one day. Click the link to see the pics:<br /><br /><a href="http://www.cafemom.com/group/41/forums/read/12412293/Bamababe_Game_day_pics_for_your_enjoyment"></a><br /><br />http://www.cafemom.com/group/41/forums/read/12412293/Bamababe_Game_day_pics_for_your_enjoymentJferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10890376865405831830noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-967250869641658585.post-79186515396740785252010-09-30T06:30:00.000-07:002010-09-30T06:43:47.523-07:00AbdicationAll Hail the King! <br /><br />*needle scratching off record* (You know, like it does in the movies.)<br /><br />Last Friday, King Waffle abdicated his throne. It had been a long time coming, but it was finally time for him to step down and take our family in a new and different direction. He served his kingdom faithfully for more than ten years and is ready to be a nobleman within a new kingdom. I won't spill any specifics here, but if you want to know more you can shoot me an email. I don't want to be accused of bad-mouthing or slander by any of the former employers. <br /><br />In light of his abdication, many of my friends (both of the internet and 'real-life' variety) have asked what his new nickname will be. Honestly, I'm not sure yet. But, I'd like to share some of the suggestions that have been tossed my way and see what the masses think. After all it is you, his loyal subjects, who will address him. ; )<br /><br />Here's a list of our suggestions. Please feel free to share your own within the comments section. <br /><br />King Cherry Limeade<br />King Coney Dog<br />King Cheesy Tot<br />King of the Carhops<br />Sovereign of Sonic<br />King of All That Glitters <br />King Cojones (Because of the *ahem* gusty manner in which he stood up to the former employer.)<br />Mr. Jeffy (I kinda like this one)<br /><br /><br />You've probably guessed where he's going to be working now. It doesn't necessarily have to go along with that particular line of work though. Chime in and tell me what you think!Jferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10890376865405831830noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-967250869641658585.post-74748932476422416292010-09-20T10:18:00.000-07:002010-09-20T10:40:06.177-07:00Science ProjectWARNING! WARNING! ::NERD ALERT!::<br /><br />Consider yourself warned. <br /><br />Many of y'all know that I'm a little odd. Sometimes I've even come right out and warned someone that I'm terribly strange inside my head, but I just do a good job of not acting so in public. So, in case you haven't been told by me personally, here it is: I'm weird. <br /><br />Now, on to our experiment.<br /><br />If you're a living, breathing American, you are likely aware that we are officially in the midst of football season. Most people you run into have a team who they will root for and defend with a ferocity that surpasses their love for their own children. They'll talk smack about their arch rival. They'll spout off numbers and statistics to make themselves feel and/or sound important. (Newsflash to you males: we girls have <span style="font-weight:bold;">NO</span> idea what you're talking about and we don't care how many rushing yards So-And-So had this season vs. last season.) <br /><br />Anyway, back to the experiment.<br /><br />As I said, most people have a favorite team. And here's what I'd like to do: I'd like to take one of these rabid, hopelessly-devoted-to-(insert university here) fans and hook them up to sensors. Like the kind they use in the hospital to monitor your heart rate and the little things they stick on your head to see if your "pleasure centers" in your brain are being activated. Now, turn on your favorite team. It's sure to be a great game. Your Team is playing University of Somewhere. You get in your chair, while hooked up to all the sensors and electrodes, and you drink your beer and munch your chips and give your team 110% of your utmost devotion. Your team wins and you jump around with your buddies, slapping high fives as a means of expressing your jubilation at the 48-0 victory. <br /><br />Now we have baseline readings.<br /><br />Next week, you are asked to root for <span style="font-style:italic;">That Other Team.</span> *gasp* How dare you ask me to do such a horrific task!!! No, no. It's all in the interest of science and progressing the medical field. <br /><br />You sit in the same place you sat while cheering for Your Team. You are asked to cheer for That Other Team with the same amount of gusto and vigor and enthusiasm as you'd use for Your Team. Here's where the experiment would get interesting, in my opinion. Could you trick your brain into tapping into those same "pleasure centers" as they're used when cheering for your own team? Would your cardiac response be the same? <br /><br />The following week, you're asked to submit to the testing once more. However, this week, you're asked to watch two teams who you have no emotional ties to whatsoever. They'd likely be out-of-conference teams without huge stats or heavy media coverage. This time, you're asked to pick whichever team you'd like to cheer for and are again asked to cheer for them with that same enthusiasm. This time, your team loses. What's the neurological response? What's the cardiac response? <br /><br />I shared this with a friend the other day and she said it'd be unlikely that we'd find anyone willing to betray their own team at this time of year. She's probably right, but I still think it'd be interesting to see how my little "experiment" would work out.<br /><br />It's all in the interest of science, right? Hey, maybe they should hook <span style="font-style:italic;">me</span> up to those sensors and see if they can pinpoint what makes me such a weirdo. ; )Jferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10890376865405831830noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-967250869641658585.post-10174772544578836342010-08-26T11:13:00.000-07:002010-08-26T12:45:05.000-07:00Don't be scared, be smart!Most women nowadays are wimps.<br /><br />No, wait, that came out wrong. What I meant to say is that most women nowadays are scared.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Drat!</span><br /><br />Wait, this one will work:<br /><br />Most women nowadays are mostly uneducated and are just doing what society and their friends tell them to do.<br /><br />There. How's that? Are ya mad at me yet?<br /><br />A vast majority of today's pregnant population are <span style="font-style:italic;">choosing</span> to have c-sections, to have labor induced by their doctor, or to have a pain-free birth with the aid of any number of pharmaceutical interventions.<br /><br />Newsflash: giving birth is a completely natural process and should be treated as such. Birth has only become a "medical event" in the past 75 years. I believe we've spent too long listening to a doctor or hospital tell us how we should deliver our most precious gifts instead of listening to our own body tell us how we should give birth. Our bodies are designed to give birth and, if we are paying attention, they give us many, <span style="font-weight:bold;">many</span> cues to tell us when it's time for the baby to be born. <br /><br />Some of you are likely thinking, "Well, it's my <span style="font-weight:bold;">RIGHT</span> to choose to have a c-section or be induced! It's my body and my birth story and I'll do it however I want!" To that I say, "Yes, you're absolutely correct. It <span style="font-style:italic;">is</span> your right. But it's also your right to be educated about what you're doing to your body and to know the potential side-effects it can have both on you <span style="font-style:italic;">and</span> your newborn baby." Some of you may say that you trust your doctor and medical team implicitly and will do whatever they say because they know what's best. After all, they've done this hundreds of times and they have extensive medical training on how to birth a baby.<br /><br />If I only knew then what I know now...<br /><br />If I knew in 2001 and in 2004 what I know now, then Slick would not have been born via c-section. Looking back, I'm certain that I was not in true labor when I went to the hospital. I mis-read some signs of labor and went to the hospital where I was put on a monitor, was poked and prodded, was "stripped" (some of you will know what that means), all followed by a promise of labor-inducing drugs the next morning (more than 12 hours later.) The pitocin was promised at 6 AM the following morning. Sometime around 2 PM (a mere eight hours later, mind you) the drip was started. What followed was the most excruciating pain I've ever experienced. Now, before you say, "Labor is supposed to hurt, dummy! That's why it's called labor!" I have to tell you that my other two births were natural, vaginal deliveries with absolutely no drug intervention whatsoever. The contractions I had during natural childbirth were <span style="font-style:italic;">nothing</span> compared to the ones that were brought on by the pitocin. The pitocin contractions were horrible. Not too long after the pitocin was proving to be ineffective, a different drug was given to stop them. Relief. Or so I thought. Next thing I know, the doctor is hovering over me telling me that Slick's heart rate is in the 70s and we were headed for an emergency c-section NOW.<br /><br />It. Was. Awful. <br /><br />I truly believe that if I'd been more knowledgeable and educated about the process, then I wouldn't have had to suffer through that failed induction and then the c-section. If I'd known then what I know now, I'd have had him naturally just like I'd had his big sister.<br /><br />No one ever hears the <span style="font-style:italic;">good</span> birthing stories. For years and years, we've been inundated with the worst of the worst birth stories. "I was in labor for 30 hours!" "It hurt!" "I'll never do that again!" "Gimme the drugs!" "You're crazy to do it without drugs or an epidural!" We hear that sort of thing <span style="font-weight:bold;">all. the. time.</span> We seldom hear of a good, positive birthing experience. I'm here to tell you that it <span style="font-style:italic;">IS</span> possible to have a positive birthing experience, and to have a positive one that's *gasp* dare I say it, <span style="font-style:italic;">drug-free.</span> It is possible to push the baby out without medical intervention, contrary to what society and our doctors would have us believe.<br /><br />Honestly, it's not that's bad. You <span style="font-style:italic;">can</span> do it. Go do some reading and educate yourself. Here are a few places to get you started:<br /><br />http://www.ican-online.org/pregnancy/induction-labor<br /><br />http://www.americanpregnancy.org/labornbirth/inducinglabor.html<br /><br />http://mothering.com/pregnancy-birth/the-case-against-inducing-laborJferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10890376865405831830noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-967250869641658585.post-31874873508427591062010-08-02T09:32:00.000-07:002010-08-02T09:45:06.692-07:00For Anna LeeMy granddaddy had a little sister named Anna Lee. The story I've always heard is that she was playing in the yard one Sunday afternoon and fell on a tree stump. She had an infection set up in the wound and passed away that Thursday. I've always had an odd, sort of sentimental feeling about this great aunt of mine whom I never met. I've often wondered what sort of little girl she was, whether or not she was book smart or was the type of girl who wouldn't let a little boy mess with her. She was born in 1920 and died in 1927. She was just a little girl. <br /><br />A cousin of mine found a poem that was written by her mother, who was Anna Lee's older sister. The poem was written by my great aunt Ruth after the death of her little sister. The poem was written on March 10, 1927. It's called "The Little Arm Chair". Yet another glimpse into her short life.<br /><br />The Little Arm Chair<br /><br />My eyes were caught to an object over there<br />In the corner of the room sat a little arm chair.<br />My heart grew heavy it was hard to bare (sic)<br />As I thought of the little maiden who once sat there.<br /><br />Ten days of March had gone<br />When the death angel come (sic) to our home<br />She won't need the arm chair anymore<br />For she's gone to be an angel on the other shore.<br /><br />There is a grave over yonder <br />But she's not there<br />I wonder if she sees us<br />By her little arm chair.<br /><br />There is a vacancy in our home<br />Since little sister has gone<br />But nothing seems so bare<br />As the little arm chair over there.<br /><br />It seem (sic) that I can see her<br />With the angel on heavenly stair<br />As I sit here so lonely<br />By her little arm chair.<br /><br /><br />By my great aunt Ruth 1927<br /><br /><br /><br />Continue to rest peacefully on that lush green hillside, sweet Anna Lee. I'll see you for sure one of these days.Jferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10890376865405831830noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-967250869641658585.post-21010782157162579882010-07-11T06:33:00.000-07:002010-07-11T06:57:58.602-07:00Healing.I've spent the last three weeks feeling pretty much every emotion a human being can feel. Anger, heartache, disbelief, sorrow, being utterly stunned, terror, fury, sadness, despair, uncertainty, betrayal, abandoned, depression. And those are just the ones which I can immediately and readily identify.<br /><br />Conversely, I have also felt intense gratitude, relief, joy, elation, and finally, joy once again. <br /><br />The bad sure seems to outweigh the good here. But, I'm learning to see the good in things, in situations, and in people again. <br /><br />For whatever reason, I haven't been able to blog about what happened 22 days ago. Maybe it would make it too real and would send me careening back into all those earlier emotions again. I did write down what happened so I'd have a vivid record, but I put it within the confines of another internet forum where I feel safe. <br /><br />Twenty two days ago, our house was struck by lightning. It caught on fire. Our belongings were mostly spared, excusing my washer and dryer. However, we had to vacate the place we called home for the past 19 months and will have to move to another house. It's been extraordinarily difficult at times to try and see <span style="font-style:italic;">anything</span> positive or good from your house catching fire. You ask yourself "WHY?!" a half-million times and still don't have a good answer. I may never get an answer this side of heaven as to why my world got rocked so violently that afternoon. All I know is that every cloud (even the ones with lightning inside!) has a silver lining.<br /><br />The past three weeks have allowed me to take inventory of the things and people who matter most to me and my family. Various people have helped in ways I never could have imagined. And that has led to the healing, and eventually, normalcy that I'm beginning to feel. I don't want to name names for fear I'll leave someone out. I just want you to know that I'm immensely thankful for things that have happened, both tangible and intangible. <br /><br />I'm starting to feel like myself again, and it feels nice.Jferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10890376865405831830noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-967250869641658585.post-32767052570864769512010-06-23T19:51:00.000-07:002010-06-23T19:54:57.030-07:00The Internet: It's Better in PersonIt’s been a while since I’ve written. I haven’t really felt like I’ve had a lot to say or a lot going on, though. <br /><br />Now, I have a tale to tell that involves a mutual love of spelling, grammar and those strangers you meet over the internet who turn out to be real, regular, everyday people just like yourself. <br /><br /> Back in September 2007, I stumbled upon a little website called cafemom.com. I joined and began to “meet” people. After a while, I began to run into the same people over and over again and started to see them as regular moms like myself. Struggling with potty training, bottle-feeding, sleep deprivation, etc. But, beneath the mom façade, there were real people, some of whom I found loved the same types of things I did, and still do. <br /><br />Cafemom is composed of thousands of little groups that speak to a wide variety of interests. I happened to type “spell check” into their search box and was directed to a group where the other moms had an affinity for proper spelling and grammar just as I do. I began to get to know the ladies within that group and we eventually developed a several friendships. We began calling each other by our own real, legal names instead of our screen-names. I got closer to a couple of ladies than I did to others. <br /><br />Eventually, I found myself getting a little bored with that particular group and decided to leave it. A few months later, a different group was formed with many of the same ladies from my spell check group, but the group’s focus was friendship and the bond that many had developed with others. <br /><br />I’ve been a member of that offshoot group for about 14 months now. Several of the women have grown very close, and some talk on the phone almost daily. We text each other, feel each other’s happiness and hurts and call on each other in times of crisis. We rejoice in the birth of a friend’s newborn child and we cry and hurt with and for one another when one of us has a hard time.<br /><br />I had to say all that so I can tell you what I did yesterday; to lay some groundwork, so to speak.<br /><br />I’m writing this blog post as we cruise down Interstate 80 in Iowa. Yesterday morning, we woke up in Chicago and headed towards Davenport, IA. Two years ago, I had no business in Davenport. Now, I have an honest to goodness friend who lives there.<br /><br />You see, one of the very first women I met in that spell check group lives in Davenport. I sent her a text a few weeks ago and asked if she and her family would be around on June 22, and, if so, would it be okay if we dropped in for a face-to-face meet up. She replied with a very exuberant “YES!” and we made our plans. <br /><br />We arrived at her house around 5:45 and hopped out of the van. I was busy unbuckling The Noob from her carseat when I heard, “I see you!!!” I stopped what I was doing and turned and looked. And then, I ran to my friend. There was much squealing and giggling and “You’re really real!” and then more squealing and hugging. Oh, there was tons of hugging! *squeeze-squeeze-squeeeeeeeeeze* [more screaming and jumping up and down] <br /><br />It was even better than I imagined it in my head.<br /><br />After the initial screaming and jumping up and down ceased, we began introducing our children and spouses to each other. I’ve seen pictures of her girls online. They’re gorgeous girls. But they’re even better in person. They’re smart and witty and just downright fun kids to be around. Our husbands sat and talked and drank beers and got along like they’d known each other for years. She and I talked and giggled and talked and giggled some more, and had the intermittent pause to perform motherly duties such as changing stinky diapers. The kids ate their pizza and played in the yard like they’d known each other for their entire lives. They all changed into their swimsuits and hopped into the pool. They swam until the moon peeked over the tops of the trees and then they hopped out and chased lightning bugs and caught them in plastic cups. The adults continued to visit and laugh and share stories. The men shared their tales of stupid customers as they both have many years of retail experience. We petted their cats and made fun of their dog. Brinkley the Wonder Dog was afraid of King Waffle for some strange reason. He kept watching King Waffle out the dining room window and whenever King Waffle would stand up, Brinkley would run away. We managed to get one picture of the two of them together. See?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgMkDe0OnDdtqvv1xa7ksKp7UwXtdezqhj9_CANbpz5x2CKPnCYct-uyxKsZqWRbtaI_oiyn8gdcgj3z6zJFK9_c-kVrcIlJumYnTilrr_QUvyap2oZcIIM2dVv644B1MOKG1Tymf2M-zi/s1600/DSC_0015.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgMkDe0OnDdtqvv1xa7ksKp7UwXtdezqhj9_CANbpz5x2CKPnCYct-uyxKsZqWRbtaI_oiyn8gdcgj3z6zJFK9_c-kVrcIlJumYnTilrr_QUvyap2oZcIIM2dVv644B1MOKG1Tymf2M-zi/s320/DSC_0015.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486167952115003010" /></a><br /><br /><br />Later, Brinkley was let out to do his business and had to pass King Waffle to get back to his kennel. He was walking as he approached King Waffle, but decided to hustle past and got all skittish and lost traction as he scrambled past his feet. Everyone got tickled all over again and had another good laugh before we had to say goodbye for the night. We hugged each other goodnight and made plans to meet for breakfast.<br /><br />This morning, I woke up with a spring in my step, knowing that I’d see my friend again soon. <br /><br />We met up for breakfast at Village Inn {aka The Village Idiot, as King Waffle calls it}. We giggled and gabbed once again as we ate our French toast. It was relaxing and enjoyable to spend just a few moments more with her and her sweet family.<br /><br />I gotta say, I’ve always known she was just one of those people who is unique and just genuinely fun to be around. Her personality shines through in her online persona and now that I’ve seen her and hugged her and broken bread with her and her family, I can say that I am blessed to know her. She is one of a kind and my “sister from another mister” as I told her as we giggled last night.<br /><br />Eriak, I’ll definitely be stopping back by. Thanks for the pizza and beer. Thanks for letting the kids swim. Thanks for opening your home to a bunch of “strangers” from Alabama. But most of all, thank you for being my friend. I hug you nao.<br /><br />See ya online, RikiChick. ; )Jferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10890376865405831830noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-967250869641658585.post-50622416041434156812010-05-14T06:59:00.000-07:002010-05-14T07:02:50.965-07:00Star Wars, Hillbilly styleI wrote this about 18 months ago. I have a weird knack for re-wording song lyrics and making them into something silly. (a la Weird Al) And no, this has nothing to do with my inability to understand song lyrics. (Some of you know my "Hot Cereal" story.) At any rate, here's a little humor for your day. It's been several posts since I've injected any humor and I wanted to share this. I was rather proud of this one.<br /><br /><br />Please sing along to the tune from "The Beverly Hillbillies":<br /><br /><br />Come listen to a story 'bout a man named Jed<br /><br />Poor X-Wing flyer let the fame go to his head<br /><br />Then one day he was soarin' through the sky<br /><br />And Leia showed up and caught his eye<br /><br /><br /><br />Skywalker, that is. Ol' Luke's baby sister.<br /><br /><br /><br />Well the next thing you know Leia's robes are gettin' tight<br /><br />Jed's hidin' out with the Ewoks every night<br /><br />Says, "Naboo is the place I oughta be<br /><br />Then I won't have little Vaders chasin' after me!"<br /><br />*insert twangy banjo solo*Jferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10890376865405831830noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-967250869641658585.post-26370246936687227952010-05-12T12:46:00.000-07:002010-05-12T12:48:49.465-07:00Not meThis is a copy of what I shared with my MOPS group this morning. I didn't mean to get all misty while talking, but I did. I think some of them did, too. I hope you'll enjoy my mini-testimony.<br /><br /><br />"I shouldn’t be standing here. If I were not a Christian, I probably truly would not be standing here. I’d probably be dead. But, nevertheless, here I am.<br /><br />I shouldn’t be standing here for a few reasons. First, I probably should have been a statistic and should have died from harsh cancer treatments. One Sunday afternoon, twelve years ago, I really did almost die. <br /><br />Secondly, I shouldn’t be standing here because I was never supposed to be a mother. I was never supposed to be able to have children. I was never even supposed to have another period due to the previously mentioned cancer treatments. <br /><br />Third, I shouldn’t be standing here because back in 2006 I moved away from a 14 month stay in Alabama and I was NOT moving back to Alabama under any circumstances.<br /><br />However, God is running my show and saw to do things a little differently than what I expected. I never expected to be diagnosed with cancer just after my 22nd birthday; I’d only been married for six months. I cannot fathom having to go through that whole ordeal without my faith in God and without countless prayers offered up on my behalf. People I will never know this side of Heaven prayed for me; some even donated blood for me. Specifically for me. Without my faith, I’d most likely be six feet under.<br /><br />I never fathomed I’d be a part of a group of moms such as this. After all, remember that part about not being able to have kids? My body went into premature menopause for about a year during and after my chemotherapy. I had to take estrogen and vividly remember standing in front of the fan at work because I kept having hot flashes. I also vividly remember my doctor calling me at work one day and telling me that horrible news. That I’d never be able to have a child. You shouldn’t have to hear those words when you’re a month shy of turning 24. However, once again, God was in control and did things in His own time. Now, I have not one child, but three. They’re known to some as the Miracle Babies because it truly is a miracle that they’re even here. What’s more, they’re perfectly healthy. No defects, no mental issues, no abnormalities. I even had another confirmation of God’s grace just this past week with my oldest. My sweet Holly was tested for the gifted program and passed the test. If that’s not some sort of testament to God’s grace and healing capability, I don’t know what is. After all, that’s why we named her Grace. Holly Grace. It’s only by His grace that she is here at all. <br /><br /><br />Lastly, the part about even being in Alabama. We were moved to Albertville in January 2005 and stayed there for 14 months until Cal’s job moved us again. In hindsight, we probably should have just stayed where we were. In Alabama. But this Georgia Peach was eager to get back to that precious red clay. We said then that we were done living in Alabama and had no desire to go back ever again. In September 2008, we were presented an offer to come here to Birmingham. We hemmed and hawed and went back and forth because we didn’t have to go anywhere at all. The choice was ours. Less than a month later, I got an email that informed me we had 30 days to vacate. The owners of the house we rented were leaving Texas and coming back to their house in Georgia. We didn’t have to go to anywhere specific, we just couldn’t stay where we were. We had been praying and asking God, “What do we do?! Should we stay here in metro Atlanta, or should we just try Birmingham? At least it’s more metropolitan than where we lived before.” That email was our glowing neon sign to get the heck out of dodge. God knew He wanted us here. I wondered how we’d find a house on such short notice. As it turned out, my cousin knew someone that had a house for sale but was willing to rent it out to a decent family. My cousin vouched for us and we moved in less than two weeks later. No one but God could have orchestrated all that. <br /><br />So, you see, I really shouldn’t be standing here. But, I am. And it’s all due to letting go and letting God run my life and the lives of my family."Jferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10890376865405831830noreply@blogger.com5