I am Completely Thankful - Volume 1

The other day I was on the phone with Grandmommie. She was talking about my kids, rambling on about how awesome they are, and because I am a completely average parent, I was letting her. It's what we do.

"I was watching Jerry carry Maren in the house the other day and I said, 'Do you know how lucky you are that you get to carry around such a beautiful girl?'" I was struck by that. By how lucky we are to have the girls, all of us. They are such a constant reminder of the beauty and amazement to be found out there.

But more than that, I was struck by who there was truly lucky. "I think that my girls are also pretty lucky to have Jerry for a grandpa," I replied. And I am so very, very thankful that is the case.

Jerry is my step-father. He and my mother married when I was twelve. I was always lucky to have him. I don't know if it was easy for him, he's never talked about suddenly have a 12 year old daughter at the ripe old age of 20. He's never once complained.

He taught me to love heavy metal music and Stephen King. He taught me to appreciate viewpoints that I didn't share and to see the good in everyone, which he never, EVER fails to do.

He checked my oil and interrogated my boyfriends, he made sure I was where I was supposed to be and he promised to not tell my mom if I needed a ride home from somewhere drunk. I never trusted that last one, but he still made the offer.

I was lucky to have him. He and my granddaddy made sure that I never wanted for a father even though mine was absent. They made sure that I missed having that and that I always felt loved.

I have always been thankful for them. For making up for a mistake that they didn't make. For loving me, especially Jerry, when they didn't have to. But it never occurred to me, how very, very much I have to be thankful for them as a mother.

My girls light up when "Papaw" walks into the room. They shout his name and rush across the space, they crawl over him and clamor for his attention. They hang on his every word and vie for his compliments. They are the planets and Jerry is the sun, viewing the rest of us as moons, who exist for them, give them light, love them unconditionally, but are really, just a reflection of Papaw.

There are many things my children do not have to fear. And living without a Papaw who thinks they hung the moon and the stars, who never grows tired of them, who is always there with a story, a hug, a bandaid or a kiss is one of them.

I am thankful every day for all we have. We live, despite my constant worrying, in a world of plenty. We have plenty of love, plenty of time, plenty of smiles, plenty of hugs. And Papaw is a big a reason for that.

Thank you, God, for giving my girls such an excellent family, and especially, such an excellent grandfather.

Five Things on Friday - Thankfulness Edition

I plan on blogging more specifically about Thankfulness next week, since 'tis the season and all, but I thought I'd get a head start with five not-so-ordinary things I'm thankful for. Every year, in my Sunday School class,  I make the kids draw and cut out their hand every Sunday in November and label each finger with one thing they are thankful for, no repeats. I draw the body of a turkey and place these "feathers" around him each week. Thus, the kids have listed 20 things for which to be thankful by the end of the month.

In the beginning, they are heartfelt, but they all look the same, "friends, family, food, house, toys." I am certainly glad that the children have such lofty priorities and understand what we should offer up our thanks for. However, I always look forward to that last week, when they have to get creative, "earrings, flowers, things that eat bugs, not asking me to build an ark."

And let's face it people, we should all be thankful each and every day for not having to build a stupid ark.

So, here are Five Not So Traditional Things For Which I Am Thankful:

1. Grandparents - I grew up very close with my grandparents and I frankly wouldn't change that for the world. To this day, I count them among my first line of defense. And I have worked very hard to make sure that my girls are just as close emotionally, if not in proximity, to their grandparents. All of them. Except my dad. That's a different story, though. I want the girls to grow up with a sense of connection and history. I want them to be able to see the world through the eyes of a different generation. I want them to know that even if mommy's head explodes, someone will take care of them and remember which one loooves tomatoes and which one gets all gaggy at the sight of tomatoes. But, really, that's all ooey-gooey stuff and doesn't belong in this post. I am thankful for grandparents because they help the world stay on its axis. They keep the kids when I can't think straight anymore, they buy them clothes that I would never, ever, ever spend my few clothing allotted dollars on, they reassure me that I won't kill them if they keep whining and they see only good, which helps me remember to see the good, too. Grandparents. I frankly don't know how anyone does this without them.

2. Joss Whedon - Okay, between being the mastermind behind Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Firefly, two of my most favorite shows of all time and still all I want to watch when I am sick or depressed, Joss has forever won a spot in my heart. But there is absolutely no other name in Hollywood who would guarantee that I'll be there to see that movie, no other person who I obsessively track on IMDB, no other name that makes my head whip around so hard I get whiplash when I hear it. Joss, if you're out there, continue making wonderful things. That is all.

3. Being Born in the Right Time - I've often felt out of time. Like being out of place, but not. I love the fashion and the music of the 70's. Not the disco-big hair-Studio 54 70's, but they bellbottoms with a macrame belt, super straight hair, Led Zeplin and Iron Butterfly 70's. I have often shaken my head and lamented that I was born too late. Of course, I'm wrong about that. I may not like the music and I may not love the clothes, but I was plunked in exactly the right era. The era where I can pick up my cell phone and send messages to my family, where I can video chat with my baby brother, where I can listen contentedly while the little voice in my TomTom tells me where to go and how to get there. And, where I can listen to both Led Zeplin (in crystal clear sound quality or lovable popping vinyl) and Nirvana without time traveling. I am indeed blessed.

4. People Who Like Things That I Hate - Let me explain. Having children is a terrible responsibility and a piece of that terrible, TERRIBLE responsibility is supporting them in the things they love. No matter what. This means that even though I was a drama geek, academic team nerd who wore flannel and listened to grunge music and my daughter is a girly-girl who wants to ride horses and take ballet and owns practically nothing that isn't pink, I have to support that. I have to play along and I have to get excited about the things she is excited about. Even if I hate them. And for that, I am so, so grateful and thankful that there are people in my life who read books that don't have zombies, supernatural creatures or bloody murder in them. I am thankful that not everyone in life hates pink with the passion of a thousand suns. I am thankful that I know people who can help me buy the correct art supplies and explain horsey vocabulary to me. Who see beyond the wall of pink to the individual pieces, who know what fashion is and that it extends past shoes. Because without someone to tell me what kind of bonding agent I should look for in colored pencils, I'd be a constant annoyance to my children. Or even more so than I already am.

5. Yarn and Books - Always. One of my favorite songs is my the Indigo Girls, "Cold Beer and Remote Control." Well, if there are only two things that'll soothe my soul, it's yarn and books, which is way less catch and I totally understand why they didn't write it that way. But anyway...

What are the little things that you are unreasonably thankful for?

Conversations with a Six Year Old - Slight Misunderstanding Edition

Maren: Screams wildly.
Brynna: Maren! Knock it up!
Me: Do you mean "Knock it off?"
Brynna: Whatever.
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Brynna: Mommy, what if there were twins, not like real twins, but the twins who are real twins but don't look alike, virginal twins...
Me: Huh?
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Brynna: How do you spell Isaiah?
Me: I-S-A
Brynna: No, there's an H
Me: Yes, at the end. I-S-A-I-A-H.
Brynna: No, after the S.
Me: No, that would be Ish-aiah.
Brynna: That's how my Isaiah spells it.
Me: Get me a Bible and I'll show you.
Brynna: Now, look, if Brynna can have a Y, Isaiah can have an H.
Me: Fine. Whatever, write your letter.
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Me: (To the other adults in the car) Why in the world would he stand there with the car running right beside him and smoke?
Brynna: Because he's addicted to cigarettes.
Me: Well, yes. But I meant...
Brynna: Just like you are addicted to Coke.*
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Brynna: I think I'll put that on my Christmas list to MawMaw.
Me: Why not to Santa?
Brynna: Because, you know, MawMaw will buy me things no matter what, but Santa is only going to give me things if I am good. And it seems like I've been spending a lot of time in my room lately.**

*This resulted in how when we talk about that, we should say that Mommy is addicted to caffeine, as Coke can also mean something very bad that could result in mommy going to prison. 

**This resulted in a talk about how she could still turn the tide and be good the rest of the year and impress Santa. I think it was largely lost on her, though. She has decided to write a letter to Santa, explaining that being good is harder for six-years-olds and big sisters, and she is both. I can't wait.

What's in My Crochet Bag - Stress Edition

That's right. I said it. What's in my crochet bag right now is stress. I've got a great big bag of stress in my bag. It starts with work stress, then, using that as the base, add Thanksgiving stress, money stress, house stress, kid stress and holiday budget stress and you have me: a useless ball of nerves and misery.

The thing is that there are a lot of reasons why I craft. I craft to create, to exert control over an out-of-control word, to produce something worthwhile, to develop skills that will be marketable after the zombie apocalypse. I crochet for all of those reasons, plus stress relief.

I'm afraid it's not doing it's job, though.

Perhaps because I am trying to Christmas crochet, which is probably enough to drive anyone up the tree, especially someone who very, very stupidly put two, TWO, 2 sweaters on her Christmas crochet list.

So, there's not much to add at this juncture. I am working on a sweater. I have some scarves, another sweater and some ornaments left to go.

I thought I'd hear from you guys. It doesn't have to be crochet, or even fiber arts or even crafting. But what do you do for stress relief that sometimes stops being relief and starts being the cause? And what do you do about that? What do we do when the things we do for fun stop being fun, I guess is my questions. With special care taken for the fact that I have no doubt that it will again become fun. In other words, "Quit doing it," is probably the wrong answer for me.

Sunrises and Sunsets

I was born a night owl, I think. I don't ever remember popping up at the crack of dawn full of excitement and life. I could be wrong. I did have a TV in my room at an awfully early age, which, in my family is a means of staving off Saturday morning. But all I remember is dragging around and checking the news for school closings even in August.

I don't like mornings, not at all, not even a little. I prefer to sleep until 9ish, wake up slowly, have some cream and sugar with a little coffee in it and take a nice leisurely time getting up and getting ready for the day. Because I have a job and children, who must, MUST, rise at the crack of darkness, I will never, ever get to do that. Okay, maybe when I retire, but let's face it, by then I won't care what I look like and I may never get out of bed.

For, now I just live with the deep-seated hatred of all things morning. I'll just stumble around bleary eyed, trying to find clothes that I didn't wear yesterday, aren't stained and sort of match. I'll brush my hair and eat my breakfast in the car. I will try very, very hard to not fall asleep at the wheel. That's what I will do.

I don't really feel that I've missed much out of life, going around in this manner. Except for sunrises. I always believed that I must be missing something truly amazing in sunrises.

Then, my daughter started elementary school. Since she has to be dropped off at 7:15 and I have to leave the house at 6:45 to accomplish this task, I looked apprehensively at the watery sky in August, knowing that soon I'd be leaving before dark. Last week, the last week before Daylight Savings, we left in the pitch dark, it might as well have been midnight and we arrived in the still mostly dark. I would then leave, wondering how children are supposed to learn when it's dark outside and the sun would come up somewhere between the babysitter's house and work.

Can I just tell you how unimpressed I've been with sunrises? They are not all that pretty. I feel like I've been led to believe a lie. They are sort of like sunsets, with all the color and drama washed out. How is this pretty? Okay, there were a couple of days with some phenomenal pink clouds and at least one morning the sky turned purple for 20 seconds, but as a whole, I find them disappointing.

And now the time has rolled back and there is already light in the sky when my children and I spill out the front door and pour into the car. I am currently being spared the horrors of riding around in the pitch dark and explaining to a six year old who acts like a teenager that I don't care if it's dark, we are going to school.

Next month, I'll have to be subjected to the sunrises again.

Raising a Political Person

This was the first election day since Brynna was born that she did not accompany me into the voting booth. Since she's in public school now, and our schools are often polling places, school is out on election day. So, she spent last night with her NiNi so she could sleep in a bit. And I got up and went early with Maren in tow.

I don't really think she missed it, but I sure did.

Over the past couple of years, I have been talking to Brynna before and after voting about the importance of voting, how it works, why we do it, what we owe to the national discourse... And while she's not super-excited about these conversations, she does participate and seem a little interested.

We've had a different kind of conversation this year. It started in May, as we were gearing up for the primaries and we put out our first ever yard sign. It's been about campaigning. Kentucky has had a rather nasty year, especially in the Senatorial race. And we've had to talk about negative campaigning, direct mail, road signs, radio and TV commercials and what kind of person you want representing you, and, quite unfortunately, what you do when you can't honestly support either candidate.

And Maren didn't seem to want to talk about any of that. She was quite interested in the curtain and the little twirly bit on the voting machine.

But it really got me thinking about why I take my kids to the polls. I never went when I was a kid, so it's not something that was ingrained in me. My mom and my grandparents would all vote, but they would go at different times so that no one had to take me.

I take my kids to vote with me because I want them to understand something that I feel very strongly about: rights versus responsibility. People in this nation (and perhaps others) regard voting as a right. A privilege. It's not that they don't understand the importance, it's that they see it the same as the right to free speech. "I can say crazy things, but I don't have to." Most Americans, contrary to popular belief, see voting as incredibly important and will defend the "right" of every American to vote.

I don't see it that way. I see it as a responsibility. We, supposedly, have a government for the people, of the people, by the people. That means that it's our job to get involved. Frankly, voting is the smallest possible piece of that puzzle. It's our responsibility to get involved with our representatives, write letters, send emails, make phone calls, take surveys. The voting is just the beginning.

Tonight, we were watching some of the reporting and someone said something about 18-29 year olds still supporting the President and someone else quipped, "Yeah, but they don't vote." And I don't care which side of the aisle you are sitting on, that's not okay. It's not okay that there is an entire generation who believes that voting is just a right they don't have to exercise. And it's not okay that the older generations see that generation as just okay to discount completely.

That's why I talk to Brynna about political commercials and that's why I take the kids to vote every year. I hope that I can manage to raise kids who are politically aware and involved, but not obnoxious. That's the goal.

Halloween Hysterics

I had this great idea for Halloween. Brynna watched something with a zombie prom and decided she wanted to dress up as a zombie for Halloween. I was going to get her a prom dress and tear it and roll it around in the mud, tease out her hair, paint her face white and teach her a zombie walk. Then, my mom had the *genius* idea of dressing Maren up like a little old lady. Because she basically looks just like one all the time. She's got this walk and this belly and for some reason all her dresses make her look 80, I swear I buy the kid stylish stuff... Anyway, I digress...

Then, this happened:

Brynna and my baby brother, D.

If you are looking at these pictures and thinking, "Hmm... Yeah, I don't see a zombie or a little old lady anywhere, then you are truly an astute blog reader. Congratulations.  It started with Brynna. First she got all, "I don't want to be a scary zombie. Can I be a nice zombie?" Then I explained zombies. Which was perhaps not the appropriate way to go. Especially if you want your kid to be a prom dress clad zombie.

So, then she decided that she wanted to be a fairy princess mermaid ballerina. After a few passes at, "Okay, well, if we bought a mermaid costume and put one of your tutus over it and fairy wings and a crown, would you be a fairy princess mermaid ballerina?" "No, mom, I'd need ballet shoes." "But how do mermaids wear shoes?" "Ugh. You just don't understand me!" we decided to go a different route.

Some friends of ours, then bestowed us with what Brynna has alternately referred to as a Southerland Belle costume and a Scarlet O'Haro costume. Add in the white shoes from this summer and a little bolero sweater (oh, and white sweatpants because it was chilly and you could see her teal panties through three layers of polyester and tulle) and you have a lovely Southerland Belle named Scarlett O'Haro. (She also proudly told a handful of people that her mommy had a whoooole book on her.) I promised her we'd watch the movie soon.

Maren and his lovely girlfriend and
my honorary baby sister, Morgan

In the meantime, I've spent the entire month of October trying to put together an old lady costume, which, as I've mentioned, shouldn't be hard since she always looks like an old lady. She more or less grew out of all the summer dresses that did such a good job of making her look 80, but she does have a pair of hand-me-down turquoise wide wale corduroy pants that only a retiree could love. Well, and me, because I'm from the Kurt Cobain generation. She's also got a white cardigan sweater and I made her a string of pearls. I could not find any gray hair spray, though and her curls are starting to grow out. Pretty much anything I tried made her look like an incredibly unfashionable toddler, rather than an old woman.

Luckily, Brynna, whose favorite game was always dress up, went through her trunk a couple of weeks ago and donated some of her stash (the pieces she couldn't wear anymore) to Maren's future dress up trunk. The stash included this Tinkerbell costume, which she wore with style and grace.

It was a great Halloween. The Southerland Belle and Tink Belle (which was the best pronunciation I ever got from Maren) cleaned up and brought home two big baskets of candy. Maren wants to go trick or treating every night, now. Since she spent the better part of today flying high from a what I can only refer to as a sugar hangover, the adults have plenty of candy too. Shh. Don't tell her, it's just going to disappear tonight.

Hope you all had an amazing Halloween. Tomorrow, I start turning my attention to Thanksgiving.