This morning, I am sitting in a house.
This morning, I woke up in my own bed.
This morning, my life is pretty normal.
That is not the case for thousands of people here in the state of Alabama.
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."
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Getting there
Well, hi y'all. It's been quite a while, now hasn't it?
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...
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 that 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.
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.
Fast forward to 2009.
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 did 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.
Now, we enter present day.
About a month ago, The Boy called me and said, "I've got the itch."
I replied with a rather clueless, "Huh?! What do you mean?"
He said, "I want to go back to London."
"Well hit the road, Jack. You've been before. Go do it again."
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.
He then said, "I've already mentioned it to Nanny and PawPaw, and they're cool with watching the kids while we go together."
I think my heart skipped a beat there.
"Really? Really and truly???"
"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."
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.
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.
Then...
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."
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."
Man, I do love him. : )
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.
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.
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 MY 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?
I must 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.
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.
I'll be sure to keep y'all updated about whether or not this comes to fruition.
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.
And I can't help but add one last line, just for The Boy and Fancy. They'll understand it better than anyone:
"This is gon' be tha best trip evur!"
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...
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 that 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.
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.
Fast forward to 2009.
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 did 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.
Now, we enter present day.
About a month ago, The Boy called me and said, "I've got the itch."
I replied with a rather clueless, "Huh?! What do you mean?"
He said, "I want to go back to London."
"Well hit the road, Jack. You've been before. Go do it again."
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.
He then said, "I've already mentioned it to Nanny and PawPaw, and they're cool with watching the kids while we go together."
I think my heart skipped a beat there.
"Really? Really and truly???"
"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."
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.
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.
Then...
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."
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."
Man, I do love him. : )
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.
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.
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 MY 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?
I must 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.
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.
I'll be sure to keep y'all updated about whether or not this comes to fruition.
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.
And I can't help but add one last line, just for The Boy and Fancy. They'll understand it better than anyone:
"This is gon' be tha best trip evur!"
Thursday, January 27, 2011
One hundred
This 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.
1. If I had 100 dollars I would buy grocries with them.
2. If I had 100 pencils I would bring 98 home.
3. If I had 100 mosquito bites I would die.
4. If I had 100 friends I would play with them.
5. If I had 100 legs I would act like a octopus.
6. If I had 100 eyes I would see very good.
7. If I had 100 stuffed animals I would play with them.
8. If I had 100 Webkins I would be awesome.
9. If I had 100 Legos I would be happy.
10. If I had 100 Wii and DS games I would play all of them.
Oh to be a kid again.
1. If I had 100 dollars I would buy grocries with them.
2. If I had 100 pencils I would bring 98 home.
3. If I had 100 mosquito bites I would die.
4. If I had 100 friends I would play with them.
5. If I had 100 legs I would act like a octopus.
6. If I had 100 eyes I would see very good.
7. If I had 100 stuffed animals I would play with them.
8. If I had 100 Webkins I would be awesome.
9. If I had 100 Legos I would be happy.
10. If I had 100 Wii and DS games I would play all of them.
Oh to be a kid again.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus
Little Eyes, turn away, so as not to ruin Christmas Day.
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.
Then, it got my wheels to turning and I began to think of my own memories of Santa.
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.
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.
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:
"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."
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.
Thanks, Mama and Daddy, for making Christmas magical for all those years.
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.
Then, it got my wheels to turning and I began to think of my own memories of Santa.
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.
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.
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:
"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."
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.
Thanks, Mama and Daddy, for making Christmas magical for all those years.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Hittin' the club scene
I think retailers are preparing my soon-to-be nine year old daughter for the club scene.
Seriously, though, have you looked 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 kids. They are supposed to be learning how to write in cursive and learning their multiplication tables. They are NOT supposed to look like miniature hookers.
So, hear me now Large American Clothing Manufacturers:
I AM SICK OF THE WHORISH CLOTHES YOU MAKE FOR CHILDREN! 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.
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.
Clean it up. Quick. If you don't, you'll be out of business very soon.
©JLS 2010
Seriously, though, have you looked 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 kids. They are supposed to be learning how to write in cursive and learning their multiplication tables. They are NOT supposed to look like miniature hookers.
So, hear me now Large American Clothing Manufacturers:
I AM SICK OF THE WHORISH CLOTHES YOU MAKE FOR CHILDREN! 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.
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.
Clean it up. Quick. If you don't, you'll be out of business very soon.
©JLS 2010
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Wise Words from an Unexpected Source.
"God's plan or not, it still hurts."
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Monday, October 4, 2010
R-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.
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 unusual.
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.
Surely ye jest. Please don't tease me so.
Fortunately, she was dead serious. : )
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
We finally made it to our seats and had a great 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 SO awesome to be able to sing it with all the fans.
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.
It was Rammer Jammer time, my friends.
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 electrifying to sing it there in person.
Then, sadly, it was time to go.
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. Soon.
I leave you with just a small fraction of the 764 pictures I took. Yes, I took more than seven hundred pictures in one day. Click the link to see the pics:
http://www.cafemom.com/group/41/forums/read/12412293/Bamababe_Game_day_pics_for_your_enjoyment
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 unusual.
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.
Surely ye jest. Please don't tease me so.
Fortunately, she was dead serious. : )
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
We finally made it to our seats and had a great 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 SO awesome to be able to sing it with all the fans.
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.
It was Rammer Jammer time, my friends.
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 electrifying to sing it there in person.
Then, sadly, it was time to go.
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. Soon.
I leave you with just a small fraction of the 764 pictures I took. Yes, I took more than seven hundred pictures in one day. Click the link to see the pics:
http://www.cafemom.com/group/41/forums/read/12412293/Bamababe_Game_day_pics_for_your_enjoyment
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