Seven Years

  How can my sweet boy be seven?  He was just a chubby little blue eyed baby boy.

His toddler years went by too fast, he was still a baby when we had another baby.



Will she ever know how lucky she is to have him?

Mommy is selfish and just wants more time, more hugs, more cuddles before he's too big.

He is definitely all "snails and nails and puppy dog tails"

So happy birthday to the man I didn't know I needed in my life. 

Turner you are an incredible man in the making.  I can not wait to see what you become, what ever it is you will be wonderful.

  You are my heart~  Love Mom

Finding a Fountain

    There is a huge house on the way to Tate's school, and I mean it is huge.  It's all manicured with gorgeous landscaping and it has a fountain right out front.  When we first moved here it was winter and the fountain was a big frozen ice sculpture every day as I brought Turner and Tate to school.  This sparked many conversations in our car.  The kids would cheer and scream every morning as we passed the fountain, it just looked so cool with ice sickles exploding from it. 
    Turner now gets dropped off at his school and doesn't get to view the fountain every day anymore, but Tate gives daily reports.  She knows when the house is coming up, and talks to me every morning about if she thinks it will be frozen, flowing, or broken.  We've discussed how water freezes, what we think the family is like who lives in the big huge fountain house, and Turner has even told me he doesn't want to live in a house that big because I would take all day to clean it and wouldn't be able to play.
     As we drove by the fountain this week I got sad thinking about not seeing the fountain any more.  Every time we move my kids manage to begin making their own rituals to make a new place feel familiar, the fountain was a big one here in Macon.  In Cartersville is was a little gas station/BBQ joint with an ever evolving garage sale out front.  Turner would press his face to the car window and tell me what all new junk was at the BBQ emporium. 
    Routine is king at our house.  I think it's my futile attempt to bring stability in to a very unstable life.  If my kids know what to expect every day they are happy, and feel secure.  They will never know what it feels like to grow up in the same house their entire life.  I try to remember to take a picture of the outside of each house we have lived in and keep it.  One day I'll put them all in a photo book and give one each to the kids.  My memories are of the same house my parents still live in.  I go home and it's still home.  My kids won't have that but I'm trying to make sure the feeling of "home" is right where we are at the moment.  So far Turner B. has five different houses in his home file, Tater has three.  When I write that down it sounds awful, like we do nothing but pack and move.  But each of the houses is so packed full of time spent, dinners eaten together, night lights in hallways, familiar smells, Christmas mornings, and so many other memories that I barely remember the houses themselves.  My memories of my past ten years aren't a fractured and scattered collection, but a cohesive span where only the background scenery changes. 
     I've already started talking with the kids about moving.  I don't hide anything from them or sugar coat it.  They know we'll be leaving here some time next year, they know it's going to suck.  I think they also know that we will get through it.  We've started adding things in our morning prayers asking God to start getting a house ready for us in the next town.  I ask for God to get our hearts ready to meet new people and not hurt too badly for the ones we have to leave.  I'm hoping since the kids are older that they will have lots of contact with their friends through my email, Skype and on my Facebook.  Maybe it'll help, it helps me anyway.
     Tate wanted to know if there would be a fountain in our next town that we could talk about.  I told her I don't know, but that we would find other things to drive by everyday and talk about.  Maybe I'll start adding a fountain to our prayers.  It is very surprising what little things my kids will get attached to.  Junky roadside gas stations and fountains in other people's driveways.  But I will search for the next roadside interest and try to make our next house and routines feel like home, even if it means driving out of my way to look for a new fountain.

All Jacked up

     While posting about my excitement over Turner's first football game tonight I got a comment from a friend: "I love how jacked up you are about Mite League football."  This made me stop and think for a second, because I didn't realize there was an alternative to being all jacked up.  I am fan full of ferocious joy when it comes to my family.  I think I do many things with ferocity, which can be less than good sometimes. 
    I love Turner and Tate.  When I watch them excel at what ever it is they are doing my heart swells and I can barely contain myself.  Likewise, when they are fighting or defying me I can barely contain myself.  I need to be more patient, but just hang on God because I am not ready to ask for help with that yet.  I'm scared of patience.  I need more of it , especially trying to parent a six year old son and a four year old daughter.  My kids are growing out of the sweet preschool stage and entering full on adolescence.  They are more independent than little kids, they have lives that exist outside of my influence.  They are smart, curious and both are sometime smart alecks.  This is trying my nerves. 
    Tate is really pushing my buttons lately.  She's emotional, whiny and loves to see how mad she can make me.  I'm not sure why this game is so fun?  I know she's testing boundaries.  I volley between waiting to pick her up,  hug her and hold her endlessly and trying not to choke her for disobeying me.  I realize gaining independence and pushing at boundaries is part of growing up, but it doesn't keep me from pining for when they were both babies.  When they needed me, when the sun rose and set around our time cuddling. 
    Turner is likewise going through his own growing period.  He's becoming a little man before my eyes.  My sweet mama's boy is slipping away little bits at a time.  I'm not allowed to kiss him at school, or around his friends, but he will still hold my hand.  He's learning to focus aggression on the football field and even embrace it.  Holding back tears when he's been stepped on by a cleat, scratched or bruised, he no longer needs a  kiss from me. 
    Even though my kids were absolute hellions this morning I remain "All jacked up" for Turner's football game tonight.  Nothing they ever do will stop me from being their biggest fan.  When I see Tate step on to a balance beam, strong and steady I watch her with my heart in my throat.  I can't yell and scream for her at gymnastics, but my heart cheers just as loudly for every tumble, just as it does when Turner is on the field.  I watch her and see powerful potential wrapped up in such a beautiful little girl.  Her head-strong nature will serve her well through out life, it just makes parenting her hard.
      Watching Turner toughen up in his first season of football lets me know he'll grow into the kind of man his father is.  I love watching him block, tackle, run, and even when he gets laid out by another player I know he's learning from it.  Thank goodness football lets me let out some of what is pent up inside me.  After his first scrimmage and the jamboree he told me he can always hear me cheering for him.  I asked if that was OK with him or embarrassing?  He said that I can always cheer for him.  I want to cheer for both of my children so much now that it will stick in their heads for when I am not around.  When they are adults and doubting themselves I want them to hear me  telling them how great they are, what wonderful people I know they are. 
     So for tonight I'm dressed in blue and white, from my shirt to my fingernails and toenails.  My cowbell is painted and ready.  I will have three cameras ready to shoot.  And most of all I will be all jacked up for the game.  Truth be told I've been all jacked up for each of my kids since the minute they were born.  I've waited six and half years for Turner to be old enough to play a sport that embraces insane loud fans.  I couldn't wait one more minute.  I've screamed at the soccer field, I've cheered as he rounded  bases headed for home, but tonight I get to let it all out and get ALL JACKED UP!   

Coppertone and Chlorine

     Today is my baby boy's first day of first grade.  I'm excited for him, and nervous too.  I know he'll be fine.  I just hate the adjustment of getting used to him being gone all day.  I have fallen in love with summer.  I want to start a count down til the last day of school already. 
     This summer Brad has been off just about every Friday by three.  We have spent so much time together, and loved it all.  I am not ready for my children to loose their summer glow.  Seeing their little tan bodies run around at the pool, watching them swim like fish while laying out holding Sweetness' hand is heaven.  We have packing the cooler down to a science.  Sandwiches eaten poolside are the best.  But now it's back to packing school lunches.  Soon it will be suppers eaten in the car  on the way to football games. 
     Why do I resist change so much?  Every time something in my life changes I think I'll never be as happy as I was before.  Thankfully I've been wrong every time.  We move, and I feel like we'll never make friends.  We end up making wonderful friends, I get comfortable and dread the next change.  My birthday rolls round and I think the best year of my life is ending, yet the next one always tops the previous. 
   My thirty-third birthday is this week.  I think twenty seven was my worst birthday, I had a baby and was fighting for a new sense of self.  My thirty first birthday was the best one I've ever had.  I was alive, out of the hospital, and could hold my husband and children every day and had never appreciated it more.  Who knows what my thirty third year will bring?  A new state, new schools for the kids, hopefully new friends. 
     Lots of changes this week, and I'm trying to look forward to all of it.  Turner will have an awesome teacher and the best first grade experience.  I will love being thirty-three, even more than I loved my entire life at thirty-two.  I won't say good bye to my favorite smell of Coppertone mixed with chlorine.  We will still go swim on the weekends, but weekends fill up fast during the school year.
      I think of the sentiment of  "keep Christmas in your heart all year long"  and smile.  I think I'll keep summer in my heart all year long.  I'll remember laying in the hot sun and feeling Tate's pool cooled body flop down on top of me.  I will remember the melty cheese on my sandwiches tasting better than it ever does at home.  I'll remember the cute white line Turner gets across his nose every summer.  And I will think of my Sweetness throwing our kids impossibly high, hearing them squeal as they splash into the pool and beg to be thrown again.   When fall and winter are here I may just smear the kids with a little Coppertone so I can smell the next summer and know it's on it's way.



Where there's a Will

I always thought that newborns  would be my all time favorite ages with my kids, I was wrong. As Turner gets ready for first grade and Tate enters pre-K I find myself enjoying them more and more. We have some really good conversations, they are learning to get along better, and the older they get the more responsibilities they can handle.
Last night Turner had his best buddy Will over to spend the night. Will is our neighbor and I couldn't have custom ordered a better best friend for my son. The boys played all night, then they got settled in and went to bed. This morning they got up and played the Wii. I went into the kitchen and got breakfast ready, then I got nervous. Every morning I read a devotional to my kids, we talk about it, and say our weekly memory verse. It's so easy and it's one of my favorite parts of the day with my kids. I got nervous this morning because Will was here. I doubt myself when it comes to sharing the Bible. I always feel like the person I'm sharing with will know that I don't have all the answers or will notice if I screw something up. I wanted to be a good example for my kids that it's  OK to talk about with your friends about God, so I swallowed my silly anxiety and treated this morning like any other morning.
I sat down with the kids and started our lesson. It was based on Ephesians 4:26 "Do not let the sun set while you are still angry." We all talked about how we've all fought with our brothers or sisters and how God wants us to forgive each other. Will listened, answered questions and cemented his place in my heart.
I'm sure there are sweet, respecful, responsible little boys all over the United States, but I believe they are more heavily concentrated in the South. All the handsome little men I know call me Mrs. Tiffany or (my heart be still) Mrs Currier. They say mam and sir, without being reminded. Little boys hold doors open and offer help when I haven't asked for it. My love for each of my children grows daily and so does my love for their friends. We're so lucky to have "good kids" for ours to play with and have as their piers.   So where there's a Will, Patrick, Evan, Cal, a Christopher and Drew, Brady, Parker, Eli and many many others is a great place to be.

Think inside the box

    If Sweetness and the kids and I were all forced to spend three days locked in our bedroom we would be stir crazy.  But put us in a twenty four foot camper on top of each other and we all have silly grins on our faces and can't get enough of each other.  Our little box on wheels is a box worth being in.  The smell of Off mixed with campfires, BBQ, and sweaty kids is  intoxicating.  Eating simple food, and sitting around enjoying each other's company is heaven.
   I have seen Turner grow before my eyes this weekend.  We were fishing and instead of waiting for Papa to bait his hook he did it himself.  He then took his own perch off the hook.  My sweet baby boy can now walk down to the edge of the lake with his fishing pole and a bucket of worms and fish all by himself.  Watching him take the perch in his hands made my heart race.  It was such a proud moment and I got to share it with my Sweetness.  Turner is racing down the road speeding towards manhood.  He is no longer a child waiting for help, he does so many things by himself.  I see him walk beside his father and watch as the gap between them narrows.  He's growing up before or eyes.  He'll be a man's man just like his Papa. 
    Sweet Tater is roaring down her own path.  She's now a competent swimmer, with no floaties.  It scares me to watch her, to be forced to let go a little at a time as she grows and needs me less.  So far this summer has started off full of bliss.  My children haven't fought much, Sweetness has been home every weekend and what some would consider boring has been the most enjoyable routine I could imagine. 
    I want time to slow down.  I want this stage to last longer.  I want to stretch this out and make it last forever.  The kids are self sufficient enough that I no longer feel as pulled at by babies and toddlers.  They are at such fun ages and I can still hold the world back from them for a while.  Life is not easy exactly, but it is so rich and so good right now that my heart is bursting.  I better get back to paying attention to my crew, I don't want to miss a second.  I wanted to write this down so I would remember the weekend my boy learned to fish like a man and my girl jumped in the water and swam. I'm going to go soak up the last day of being inside our box.

It's the greatest show on earth

     I have had so much rolling around in my head the past couple weeks. My pastor gave a great sermon two weeks ago that kicked off a series " The Family Circus". I will tell you after hearing it my toes were sore, he was stepping all over them for half an hour.


Jerry likened our families to the circus, there's a ring-leader, strongman, lion tamer, clowns, the girl riding the elephants and many others. We can all switch rolls, I personally start every day thinking I'm the ringleader. I want to keep all three rings running smoothly, but by five o'clock I'm usually just he lion tamer, trying to keep wild animals from hurting themselves or others. Brad is my strongman, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders and making it look easy. Tate is my girl riding the elephants, she loves to be looked at, oooohhed and ahhhed over. Turner is sometimes my clown, but more often he's the ground crew making sure minor details are handled and the show is running smoothly.



This was an analogy that I could get into. My toes started to hurt when he pointed out that children are made to leave their parents, right from the moment they are born. The second a baby's chord is cut is their first step towards independence, they breathe on their own. OK, that was harsh but true. I think part of the reason I loved nursing my children so much is because it was the one thing that no one else could do for them. There was absolutely no better food, and I was the only one they needed. It wore me out, but I'm proud to say that neither one of my babies ever had one ounce of formula. Those fourteen months with each of my kids was great and it prolonged them being "my babies".



What made my heart ache was being told, in no uncertain terms, that I can not protect my children. Life is out there, heart ache is coming, and I can not protect them. How dare he?! Doesn't he know I've happily been sticking my head in the sand and ignoring that fact for exactly six and a half years? I purposely don't watch the news too much so I can ignore how terrible the world is, and try to forget that it is what is waiting for my children. It was not a message without hope, it became a call to action. Prepare. As a parent I can not protect them, but I can prepare them. Give them the tools to ready themselves for the storms ahead.



I try not to be a helicopter parent. I hate hovering. I try to let my kids work things out on their own. I try to let them be independent. I try to give them enough responsibilities, show them how to work hard. But is the right balance being struck? When they were babies the worries were few. They simply needed to be clean, fed, and healthy. I got my first taste of true fear last August when I had to let my sweet Turner walk into school, stay there under the care of strangers and not walk back out for seven hours. After the first couple weeks my anxiety waned and his being gone all day became our new normal. God made us adaptable, and I thank Him for that.



I know I will have to watch myself with making things too easy for my kids. I feel like Brad and I are the cause of a lot of heartache for them, with Brad's career causing us to move every two years. Always knowing they'll be uprooted, I want to make other things easy on them. Give them a break, help them a little more than I should. I can't help it, I'm their mom. I want their lives to be sunshine and rainbows, smiles and cotton candy all the time. They know it's not. The other day Turner used the phrase "a forever home". He wanted to know if we ever get a forever home, can he get a real basket ball goal? My heart broke a little. My six year old now understands what leasing a house means. He knows it's not ours, although we live in it and make our home in it, it is still just temporary. He's so grown up, and he's only six. How will my heart take it when he is ten and even more grown up?



The moving, the being own our own with no family help or support has grown us all up quite a bit. I won't lie, the first four or five years of our marriage were rough. We had to get used to being married, moving a couple thousand miles from home, having two children, and moving to four different homes. Now I wouldn't trade it for anything, but man it stunk a lot of the time while it was happening. I hope that's how my children look back on their childhoods. They will have good memories to mix in to the hurt of moving. I pray it will make them stronger and better equipped for new experiences. I hope some of this is helping get them ready for the world beyond our home. I know I can't protect them, that I need to get them ready for what is to come. But I want to believe it when I tell them everything is all right, mommy won't let anything hurt you, you are safe.

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes...

      I sit tonight thinking of you.   The radio in your sister's room is playing "A dream is a wish your heart makes".   You would be four now.  You are one of the three wishes my heart made.  I miss you every day, I will never go a day with out thinking about you.  You were a wish I only got to carry for far too short a time but you were mine all the same. 
     I'm not sure about the rules of a miscarriage.  It's a taboo subject.  It becomes a medical term and not a baby lost, but not to me.  I am torn between missing you and rejoicing in your sister who was born only two months after you should have been.  I feel like I shouldn't miss you because I got to have Tate, but I miss you. 
   I've always thought it odd that most OB/GYN's are male.  How can you care for an airplane and instruct a person on how to fly if you've never been in an airplane or flown one is my thinking?  But I give them credit.  They are about the only ones who recognize you.  Every new city brings a new OB/GYN.   A new set of forms, a new list of questions.  The one that trips me up is how many pregnancies have you had?  Not how many children have you had, how many pregnancies.  They count you. 
    I think there are different parts to heaven.  I'm not sure where I'll reside.  I know you and all other like you- untouched and untarnished by the world will be nearest Him.  I will find you.  I will hold you and know you were mine.
    I often get asked where I get all my energy.  I say I have a lot of frustration to work off.  I still haven't figured out if I am running my way toward you trying to catch something that long ago left or if I'm trying to out run the memories of you I never got to have.  You are in the shadow between my son and daughter.  You would have the brown eyes to match mine.   You will always be the late April shower that made way for the flower that is my Tater.   As the song says "In dreams you will loose your heart ache".  You are in my dreams still.  My hear doesn't ache for you in my dreams, it holds you there. 
     

My Chemical Romance

       I love my family, no big shocker.  But I really enjoy them when all the chemicals in my head are balanced just right.  I have an across the board policy that I can't be friends with you unless you are currently on, or have ever been on what I lovingly call "crazy pills".  What are these wondrous crazy pills?  They are anti-depressants. 
     The negative stigma associated with anti-depressants isn't nearly as bad as it used to be, although I know quite a few people who would rather cut off there own foot rather than take them.   I love my feet and I am keeping both of them, so I happily take my crazy pill every day.  Am I crazy?  I don't think I am truly insane but I function much better and I am much nicer to be around while on my blessed crazy pills. 
     Depression runs in my family.  The life of uprooting my family every two years, feeling alone in new cities, mourning for the loss of friends and watching my children be forced to adapt is apparently enough to trigger mine.  I have been off and on crazy pills since I was eighteen.  After  my children were born I went through crippling post partum depression.  Now I just stay on them.  To me it is no different than being genetically predisposed to high blood pressure and relying on medication to keep it in check. 
     Some people may say "But you are so happy.  You don't need antidepressants."  Those people don't get that I am able to express my happiness because of my Wellbutrin, not in spite of it.  I am a generally happy person, nothing about my personality is changed, just my ability to appreciate my life.  Mood is not just a state, it is a chemical equation.  I still get mad, angry, upset, fed up, and frustrated.  That never changes, but I am able to be happy, appreciative, and loving thanks to my CP.
      My brain runs low on serotonin.  Serotonin seems to be the key to happiness.  I am not able to make up my mind and just "be happy".   I take my Wellbutrin every  morning just like my other vitamins.  It's just replacing a chemical that my brain is having trouble making. 
      I worried a little about singing the praises of my crazy pills.  Many will judge, some will put their hand to their chest and say "I would never..." .  Well good for you, I would never take them either but I have to so I choose to not make it a bitter pill to swallow.  Why feel bad over what is similar to a vitamin deficiency.  My calling them Crazy Pills probably doesn't help the negative stigma.  But it is my loving nick name for them.  Much like I joke and call Turner my watermelon head. 
     I'm very lucky that most of my friends don't seem to care that I take Crazy Pills.  I've even found others who swim in my end of the pool and I think we'd all tell you come on in the water's fine.  Sweetness used to be very bothered that I took an anti-depressant.  Back in those days I wasn't calling him Sweetness either.  He couldn't understand why he wasn't enough for me to be happy.  He thought is was a mind-set or a decision to be made by me, not something you take a medicine for.   So I asked him why wasn't I enough to be healthy for?  Why couldn't he make up his mind to just get off of his blood pressure pills?   He finally got it.  He finally listened.  Sweetness and my kids are very much enough to be happy for.  I am just able to  be happy about them when I have the right amount of serotonin. 
     So this morning I'll take my crazy pill and smile.  My beautiful children will be up in a little bit.  My Sweetness is hard at work for us.  I am one lucky girl to be able to see all of that and enjoy it.
        

Not enough room?

     I had to hold myself back today.  I about told a four year old girl where she could step off, real Christian right?  I managed to keep myself from unleashing on a bratty four year old, but just barely.  What did this girl do to make a grown woman get so mad?  She hurt my baby girl's feelings. 
     Tate and I got home from our gym/couponing morning errands and saw our sweet neighbors playing outside.  No sooner than I turned the car off  was Mary Ella poking her head into the carport asking if Tate could come play.  I love Mary Ella, she is beautiful inside and out and has a generous heart just like her mother.   Tate and I walked over to talk with Amy and the little girl she was baby sitting.  This little girl ran off, mad because Mary Ella had another friend.  While Amy and I were talking this little girl fell to the ground sobbing like she had been stung by something.  What was wrong with the little angel?  She was screaming that she wanted to go inside with Mary Ella, but not her other friend, my Tater.
    It was clear to me that this child gets just about what ever she wants with this crying/screaming routine.  Tate and I went back to our house and I could tell her feelings were really hurt.  Tate has thick skin, not much gets to her but this did.  After seeing my baby girl shunned by another child who made her feel unwanted it  really raised my hackles.  What is wrong with children?  For that matter what is wrong with women who are unable to be friends with more than one person?  I think part of the reason this ticked me off so much is that is has happened to me, and I know how much it stings.  I've run across a few women who are unable to be friends with new people.  I don't get it.  I have more space in my heart for friends than I have time to make new ones. 
    Because of the moving around Brad and I do I have become really good at reaching out to make friends.  It doesn't mean it's easy, I jut put on my big girl panties and do it.  Being the new girl stinks.  Feeling like an outsider stinks.  Watching those feelings manifest in my tough as nails Tater and watching it knock the wind out of her sails really stinks.  I wish little girls and grown ones alike would realize that there is no cap on the number of friends you can have.  There is room to be friends with as many people as you want.  My daughter nor I are looking to steal your friends or replace any  old ones.  Thankfully most of the women I have met are wonderfully welcoming.  The more places I live and the more people I meet I'm learning to find the people with room enough for more friends in their lives. 
     Tate is now napping, after a little special attention from Mommy.  I'm going to have my afternoon cup of coffee and be thankful for each of my friends who had enough room for me and my family in their lives. 

Won't you be my neighbor?

        My pastor gave a lesson this past Sunday on the good Samaritan.  He was teaching us about trying to strive for greatness, not just being great at something.  His said the path to greatness is difficult, costly, and can be uncomfortable.  I really enjoyed the lesson, but my mind wandered in a different direction.  The verse Luke 10:29 "Who is my neighbor?"  Is what caught me. 
       Neighbors are a big worry/concern for me because we are professional movers.  Who will our neighbors be?  Will they be friendly?  Are they dangerous?  Can we trust them?  Do they have children?  Are they the kind of neighbors I could call on in an emergency?  All of this floods my head when we start looking for a house.  I need to quit worrying so much, not one time has God let me down in the neighbor department.  What I learned last Sunday was that my "neighbors" are not only those that live near me, they are the ones traveling down the same path as me.  Hopefully they are headed the same direction, and God will whisper in their ear "She needs help"  when I am battered, bruised and too weary to get back up. 
      I'm trying to learn to be a good neighbor.  It's hard, like Pastor Jerry said.  I'm still learning how to be a "mommy friend", but I have had some great teachers.  Here's what I have learned:  Offer a little more than you think you can do.  I underestimate myself, out of fear of failure or disappointment.  When you have an inkling that your friend needs a little help, do it don't wait.  You may just be the support that she needs to keep from coming undone.  I know this from personal experience.  My friend Becky taught me more than she'll ever know.  The best lesson I got from her was to not wait for an invitation to come help, just go help.  She busted in my house after my miscarriage, after I expressly told her not to.  She came and cleaned my house when I couldn't, took care of my son because I was too broken to try, and she wouldn't let me be swallowed under a grief bigger than I could bare.  People that is Greatness in action, that is a "good neighbor".
     My other "mommy friends" teach me things daily.  My neighbor Amy teaches me that she is part of my village that helps raise my children.  Our kids play together every day, invade each others houses, and love each other like family.   She is one of the busiest people I know but she always has time for my children.  She volunteers to take my children when I need help.  She is invaluable to me.  She is a neighbor I know I can call any time day or night.
      I think I prayed all of my friends into my life.  Each of you seem like I checked you off of a shopping list.  God knows my weakness and frailty, and sent strong women to help me through each stage of my life.  God knows what  my children need and has sent people who are not only my friends but my children's friends too.   I need to let go of the fear of my children not having good memories of a family filled youth.  Their family lies all over the country.  Their cousins are the kids they play with, they have so many Aunts and Uncles that they see all the time,  they even have local grandparents to come watch their baseball games.  The needs of my heart were each filled by my God.   Each of you is my neighbor.  
      The question of "Who is my neighbor?"  is becoming easier to answer.  My neighbor is my friend.  My neighbor makes my day more livable.  My neighbor is the friend that has seen me with no make up, kids running wild, and I'm hanging on by a thread.  My neighbor is the parent of the sweet girl that is Tate's best friend, who I love like a sister.   God please keep filling my world with Good Neighbors.  Please let me continue to be on the same path as these women.  Please continue to whisper to them how much I need them.  God please make use of me and direct me to who needs me.  Let me be encouraged to offer more than I think I can do.   I don't know that I'm ready to try for greatness, I'm starting by trying to be a great neighbor.

Small Shoulders



I was woken up this morning at four a.m. by Brad's alarm. He rolled over, re-set it , and happily went back to sleep for another forty-five minutes. I lay curled up next to him for forty five minutes plotting his murder, and it involved the cord of said alarm clock. Once we got up and I made breakfast and packed his lunch I sat in my chair and had coffee. I began to write a blog about my hatred of clock re-setters and snooze button pushers, but my laptop had a brain fart and it was erased. That just made me more angry. So next I did my coupon homework and grumbled to myself for a few more minutes. Turner walked out at six on the dot and it was time to start the day.




My bad mood didn't have a chance to get rolling this morning. The kids and I cleaned like crazy people for an hour and half. After that we all got dressed and ready for school, I had to take pictures of my boy. He is participating in Winn's Well Project today. He is carrying a gallon of water with him every where he goes today to bring awareness about how may people in the world don't have access to clean drinking water. People pledge money, and it is being sent to dig a well for a village in Africa. Turner has been so excited to participate.



Tate and I brought lunch to school today for Turner. I really just wanted to check in on him and encourage him. That gallon of water is about one fifth of his body weight and a lot for a kindergartner to tote around all day. When I saw him lugging his gallon down the hall my heart grew two sizes. He's one of only three in his class to attempt the water packing challenge.



I have been proud of my son many times. When he took his first step, when he spoke my name the first time, when he learned to drive his four wheeler, when he got his first hit in a baseball game, or made his first goal on the soccer field, all were proud moments. But today I felt a different kind of pride. Today is not only a physical feat, today Turner chose to do something from his heart to help others he doesn't know and will never meet. Turner "gets it". The world is bigger than just the small part he lives in. I am in love with a man in the making. I heard a quote yesterday that said "It is easier to build a boy than it is to mend a man". So true.



I hope so much for my son. I hope these little tests and lessons help build my son. I hope they make a mark in his heart and make him become a compassionate man. On his small shoulders there is much responsibility. I rely on him to be more grown up than he should have to be. I worry constantly that our moving will damage him. That repeatedly leaving friends and laying that heartache on him will close up his heart and harden my sweet boy. On days like today when the rest of the world can see his heart, packed around like a gallon jug, I have hope that he will remain sweet and compassionate.  Today, though it started off rocky, is a good day. Today I am in awe of a little man who carries a gallon of water and my heart everywhere he goes.

Where You are

   I thought You were in a building.  In my mind You only walk through amber colored sunlight that's filtered through stained glass windows.  You smell like long worn suits and Easter corsages. I tried leaving You in that building.  I turned my back on You and walked in to my twenties, not caring that You were waiting for me, always waiting for me.
   You were still waiting when my son came.  You let his tiny hands hold my heart and open my eyes.  You gave me a son so I could understand the Son You sacrificed for me.  You sneak up on me in places I don't think You frequent.  You are in the swirl of cream in my coffee.  You are in a dark high school auditorium.  You pulse in the drum beat and drift over the loud music played on Sunday mornings.  The more I seek You the more You show me Your many unexpected forms. 
     You are in my friends faces.  You are the phone call that gets me through the worst days.  You provide me with a new family in each city You set me in.  You are in the palm of my husband's hand when he holds mine.  You are also in my chaos. You are in my mind when it won't shut down and let me sleep.  You are in the last bit of energy that helps me finish my day.  You are everywhere I am, I am only now beginning to see that.  All the time I thought You were waiting for me to come back to You, You were already with me.   Thank You for letting me be where You are.

Jesus and Joe

    I have been a life long insomniac.  I can usually go to sleep, it's staying that way that is a reach.  I roll over and click my mind turns on and won't shut up.  I think the the same way I drive, fast and all over the place.  So I have given up laying motionless and just go ahead and get up.
    Waking up with Brad at 3:30 some mornings is not hard, I'm up any way.  I do like the mornings he sleeps in til 5:00 and we both sleep a little longer.  I love morning.  I love the time before the sun comes up, the quiet and stillness of my house.  I fix my cup of coffee and turn on my laptop.  I have to check and see if anyone has emailed me the night before, what has happened on Facebook in the past twenty-four hours, the news, the weather etc.  I look forward to my email from Jesus.  He sends one every morning.  I know it's not actually Jesus sending it but sometimes my little email devotionals are so accurate and in tune with my life I think there's no way He didn't send it. 
    I am a lazy Christian of convenience.  I do not kneel to pray, I have never read the Bible in it's entirety, and I'll skip church to go four wheeling at the drop of a hat.  I want to be the person that kneels and that has read all of The Book, but I am not there yet.  I know I'm not that grown up yet, so instead I signed up for daily devotional emails a few years ago.  It's so easy!  Wake up and in your in box is a lesson, who knew? You can even read it in the car on your phone.  Perfect for me.
      I have only had my coffee pot for nine months.  It has fired up every morning since I unwrapped it.  I enjoy my coffee alone in the stillness and I swear Jesus is a coffee drinker.  My time with alone in the mornings is when those little notions and thoughts that wake me up and won't let me go back to sleep flutter through my mind.  I think that "intuition" is probably God trying to tell me what He wants from me, I am still just not able to hear all of it, my pride, fear, vanity, and stubbornness are in the way.  Seeking Him is hard for a Type A gal like me.  Mornings are the only time I am quiet enough to have a chance of hearing His plan for me.  So to heck with sleeping!  I am going to try to get better at listening.  It scares the pants off of me, to try to give control over of my daily decisions but I need to.  I need to give myself over in a loss of control, maybe then my life won't seem so out of my control.
   I am pretty sure God put me with Brad and sent us on this cross country adventure to teach me to let go.  I want to keep everything just the way I like it, and I now have absolutely zero say so in where I live, how long I stay there and who I'll meet.  I pouted like a child and had a heart full of resentment the first few years in Arizona.  It was the hardest thing to leave my sister, my family and my friends.  I hated Brad and held it against him for so long.  When I gave up pining for what I thought was best for me God showed me what He had in mind instead.  Low and behold, He kind of knows what He's doing.  I have lucked up on the most amazing friends.
   I think I'll have and extra cup o' joe this morning and try to listen a little harder.  God You know I am a slow learner when it comes to this, stubborn and prideful.  Please fill my heart with Your direction and cup with enough coffee to to get me started.

Two Feet by Two Feet

   

What unit is happiness measured in?  My weight is measured in pounds, my gas and milk are measured in gallons, my food is measured in ounces, and my happiness is measured in feet.  Two feet by two feet is the space of my happiness.
     My happiness creeps down the hall every morning at six a.m. on the dot. He walks in to the living room and scoots right up beside me.  My happiness knows that I will have coffee for two waiting on him.  My heart is full when I am smashed into my chair crowded out by my son. 
     Raising a man is such an odd process.  My son will be a man one day and I am simply along for the ride.  I hope all that is good and sweet about him now stays with him into adulthood.  I hope the habits he and I create stick with him.  Will he always get up and drink coffee and talk with the woman in his life about what he dreamt the night before?  Will he continue to start his days with a bowl of oatmeal and a devotional lesson? 

      I love morning, before it is light.  The day is new and untarnished.  Morning is an opportunity, the beginning of what you make your day to be.  I love sharing this time with the other morning person in our house.  I know Turner is awake before six, just like me.  He knows to stay in his bed til six then he slips out and we cuddle.  We talk and I stroke is bed mussed hair and smell his little boy morning breath.  Morning is my time with my son.  It's my two feet by his two feet in the chair and it's what a measure of happiness is.

My Person

   I miss Sweetness.  The "Outage" started this weekend.  What is an outage? Hmmm, I'm not sure I know what an outage is, but here's my understanding of it:  An outage is a set number of days that certain parts of the power plant will be shut down for work to be completed in.  Sounds simple enough.  Plan the work, shut some stuff down, work and return to normal.  Not so much.  We won't be seeing Brad much from now until April twentieth.  He'll work more hours than any one man should in a day, sleep a couple hours then go right back to it.  He'll be at Plant Scherer more than one hundred hours a week.  When I hear people complain about their eight hour work day I sit on my hands to keep from accidentally punching them in the throat.  Thank God for OSHA guidelines, if not for them Brad would work several twenty four hour shifts in a row. 
    I call Brad my Sweetness.  Sounds better than my person, but my person is what he is.  I never think of him as my best friend, he's more like my right hand.  He's my constant, and what a strange match we are.  I was reading a friends blog this morning and it made me smile.  My friend Wendie has cancer and is fighting through chemo.  She wrote that she was falling in love with her husband all over again.  It made me remember the weeks I spent in the hospital and how that made me fall in love with Sweetness all over again.  If I ever doubted my husband's love for me all questions were answered in May of  2009. 
     I miss my person when he works all the time.  We did get to go to a fantastic party last night and stay at a beautiful winery.  It was great and I needed time with my husband.  As soon as we got home Sweetness was out the door to work.  He'll work til midnight tonight, sleep "late" til six and then go right back.  He'll work eighteen hour days for the next two months, and I'll miss him.   He is a work-a-holic, but it's not that simple.  He's not working like this because he likes it, it's necessary.  Apparently the city of Macon will not volunteer to go with out electricity for a month or two so PCL's crews can work a normal fifty hour week and have time for their families.
     The next couple months are going to be hard.  Our little family will be member short most of the time.  Turner will be starting baseball and Brad won't be around to practice with.  Dinners will be served to a table of three and singing God our Father will sound empty without Brad's voice in unison with ours.  The little time Sweetness is home he will be burnt out, tired and his mind will still be at work.

     I am looking forward to April twenty first, when I get my person back and life is back to a version of normal.  I want to plan a camping trip and steal Sweetness from work and the kids from school.  I want fires at night, fishing, and just being together as a family.   So the count down has begun, seventy four days til I get my Sweetness back.

Filthy and Wonderfully

  

  My Sweetness finally had a good day yesterday, I think.  Maybe he's just getting better at hiding the bad days.  I think this job site is cursed and so does he.  I hate that it takes so much to go right for him to have a good day.  Fifteen different contractors, hundreds of employees, and millions of pounds of equipment and steel all have to flow together for Sweetness to have a good day.  My good days are much easier to make.  Today Tater made my day. 
      We've been working on learning different Bible verses.  At church she learned "Let the little children come to me" Luke 18:16.  Turner, not to be out done, taught me "Let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us" Hebrews 12:1-2.  So I wanted to build on these verses and learn a new one every week.  I could lie and say I'm doing it only for the kids, but it's for me too.  I've never been able to pull scripture out of my head or heart on command, but I want to.  So every morning I stand in my bathrobe, slippers and glasses and I repeat our verse and do a little choreographed jig that goes along with it.  What is the saying?  Verse learned in song is a verse learned long?  So we half sing half dance our verse out.   If I can sing and dance all of the hokey pokey years after learning it, then we'll be able to sing and dance out a Psalm any time, right?
     This week is one of my favorites "I will praise You because I am fearfully and wonderfully made" Psalms 139:14.  We've gone over it several times, but I was beginning to wonder if it would stick.  Just when I think all the repetition is fruitless God used Tate to smack me in the head and show me it is working.  Tate and I had to run in to Kroger to pick up a couple things.  We walked in and I bent down to pick her up and put her in the back of the buggy.  She said she wanted to be by me in the seat.  I said "Good I wanted you to be by me, you know why?"  I was about to tell her that I wanted her by me because she is such a good girl, but she answered the question before I could.  She yelled out "You want me by you because I am filthy and wonderfully made!"    A better answer has never been given.  There is my smile for the rest of the day. 

     My sweet three year old amazes me daily.  She frustrates me daily too, but I am trying to concentrate on the amazing and let the other stuff slide into the background.   She is fearfully and wonderfully made, so is Turner.  They teach me more in a week than I ever learned in four years of college.  They are fun and they give meaning to my life.  Stay at home mom life can be painfully repetitious.  Every day is the same, yet vastly different.  Today is filthy and wonderful, I can't wait to see what tomorrow is. 

Ripples in the water

     My heart is hurting tonight for a family I barely know.  They live in a house across the street.  I've been to a couple parties with them, we've chatted, I've met their daughters.  I've seen their girls playing soccer in the front yard, I've laughed watching the dad catch his rambunctious dogs and bring them home. 
 

  Today the wife and mother from the house across the street was killed in a car accident. 

    
     Empathy is what makes us human.  We feel other's pain and identify.  I watched the little girls across the street playing in the front yard, because they had not been told about their mother.  I wanted to freeze time for them.
      I am beyond fortunate to have nearly all of my close family still alive.  I lost my grandfather to cancer when I was ten.  He wasn't just a grandfather, I'm pretty sure he taught Jesus to walk on water.  He laid on his back in the grass at night and showed me the stars, we fed the fish in our pond together every day, he snuck candy for me, he played, he laughed and he loved all of his grandchildren beyond the bounds of the human heart.  He was sick for a couple of years.  The details and sequence of surgeries and treatment is foggy to me.  What is not foggy is the morning my Dad woke me up to tell me my Pawpaw was gone. My world shattered.  The sound went out of the room and I thought the sun would never shine again. 
     That memory is the source of my empathy for those little girls.  It's also the reason I sat in my kitchen today with Tate in my lap and cried on the back of her shirt while she strung beads into a necklace.  I can feel the grief of the family I barely know rippling over the waters. 
     I sit here tonight listening to Sweetness softly snoring on the couch.  I know my children are fast asleep because I have checked on them several times already.  I will hold all of my little family tonight.  I will praise God for the people he put in my life and I will ask for peace for the family who lost their wife and mother today. 
        

The Sheriff in Town

 The bad guy, that's what I am lately. It stinks! I remember playing cops and robbers, OK it was Cagney and Lacey, when I was little and not once was I the bad guy. I am the TV police at my house and I am sick of it. Sweetness is an avid TV watcher. The man works long hours and deserves to come home and veg out. I don't disagree with him. I do disagree with what he watches in the hour between the end of supper and the children's bed time.


Recent outings with those in the working world proved the language difference between us moms and the "grown ups with jobs". I was embarrassed to be grouped in to the crowd of F-Bomb tossers. I think the fact that Brad hears that proliferation of verbal sludge all day keeps him from realizing when it is on the TV at home. He'll turn on a show and I can count five words in two minutes that I do not want my kids repeating. I say "Brad" in that tone that he hates and he shoots me dirty looks and tells me that there is nothing wrong with what's on TV. Then once I've pointed it out he realizes the language and changes the channel. All of this goes down and the the kids want to know why they can't finish the show they were watching. Brad then tells them "Because mommy said we can't". That is dirty. We are supposed to be on the same team. So what if it makes you give up a favorite movie? Who cares? Why are the mothers responsible for this?

I'm sure my husband's life changed when we had kids, but I do not think it up-ended his world in quite the same way it did mine. He missed a day of work, drove me home from the hospital and life went on. He had new babies to cuddle, but everything else remained the same. I never asked Brad to get up with either of our children at night, and he didn't, that was my job. I nursed both children, they never got a bottle, every feeding was me and my babies. I have not gone to the bathroom in the past six years with out an audience. Maybe that is why it's easier for me to adjust to giving up TV preferences. I've been practicing giving things up since the day I became pregnant. I gave up just about everything I ate for the first several months of carrying my children. I gave up sleep, my figure, and my sanity. After those what is a little old movie?

My sheriff duties don't stop with the TV, they also include food and it's consumption. I sat down to dinner every night with my family. Several nights a week we sat down with all our extended family, prayed and shared a meal and each others company. It was special and holds so many memories for me. Since I can not give my children Monday night meals with the grandparents, aunts, uncle and cousins, I am going to give them nightly, TV free dinners with our little family. Sitting down together and praying, sharing food and each others days is important. Stability is important, routine is important. I feel like I can only provide the routine, since our moving situation is anything but stable. But in this I am the bad guy again. They want to eat in the living room, and so does Brad. But we can't because "Mama won't let us".

Sometimes I want to stomp my feet and yell. I want to cuss and rip. Who doesn't? Would it be fair of me to tell my teary eyed son that we have to move because "Papa won't let us keep living here"? No it would be wrong to place blame on him for a situation he can't control. Should I answer the question "Why isn't Papa here tonight, is he working late?" by saying "Nope, he just didn't want to be home bad enough". I hate being vilified for upholding family law. I give in some times as a special treat. If we order pizza on a Sunday night we eat in the living room. If it's not a school night the kids can stay up past 8:30 and watch a movie. Sometimes we have cake for breakfast. But since I am the only sheriff in this wild uncharted territory I have to keep a close watch over my little would be law breakers.

My strict rule keeping is not just to appease my type A personality. It also helps when there is no other help in sight. There is no grandpa to pick the kids up when I have had enough. There is no break to be had when Brad informs me he will be working seven days a week until some time in April. I need my children to listen. I have a short temper and little patience, if they run all over me I am such a bad mom. If they know the routine, stick to the rules and go with the flow I feel like I can make it until April when Brad can help out again.

I will stick to my guns as it were. I will up hold the child appropriate TV programing rule, we will eat at the boring dining room table together and not stare at the idiot box. Maybe I should look for a pretty star to pin to my shirt? Maybe add some spurs to my boots? I'll just have to make sure any sheriff accessories I get go along with my crown. I may be the law round these parts, but I'll always be the queen of the laundry too.

Trash cans and fly aways

    I brought Tate to get a big girl hair cut today. While watching Tate get her hair cut I saw her grow before my very eyes.  I'll admit to tearing up a bit.  I could see each minute, hour, day, week, and month it took to grow that wild mane.  Gone is the tiny baby I held so close.  Gone is the smiling toddler learning to run.  Now I have an honest to goodness "Big Girl".  It's hard for me to watch knowing this is only the beginning of how fast life goes by.
    I catch myself watching both of my children to see if I can actually see the moment they grow.  Is Tate heavier tonight as I pack her down the hall?  Did Turner just get closer to being able to look  me eye to eye?  I notice maturity happening to Tate.  I notice how tall my son is getting, I think he was born an old soul.
    I'm not sure exactly what day it happened, but Turner now brings the garbage can down to the road and brings it back in for me.  This summer he couldn't do that.  Has the inch he sprouted changed him that much?   It probably happened about the same time he started running and throwing like a boy and not a preschooler.
    I now see why it broke my dad's heart when he found out I shaved my legs.  I remember the look on his face when I threw a pack of razors in the buggy at Wal-Mart.  I just couldn't understand why that, of all things, would upset him.  Now I get it.  Now I am just starting to see my babies not be babies any more, and it stings.  Lord please help me through the next fifteen years.  Be with me as they grow.  Help me to do right by both of them.  And thank You for my Big Girl and my Little Man.
  

The Bringer of Joy

   As a mom I have tons of routines and rituals.  Most of them are not note worthy.  Every day I cook dinner, wash clothes, pick up shoes, pick up toys etc.   Those are the routines I can do with out.  Some of the little rituals that I adore are drinking my morning cup of coffee, taking a hot bath before bed, reading right before I fall asleep.  Ahhhhh those are the soothing parts of my day.
    Ten thirty p.m. is quickly becoming one of my favorite times of the entire day.  Tate and I have a routine, I wake her up every night to pee.  She probably doesn't need me to wake her up right before I go to sleep anymore but I'm scared of what all I'll miss.  I laugh out loud every night.  She makes the sillies faces and says some crazy stuff in her semi-conscious state.  Some of my favorites are "I'm a princess and you are too", "Mama you're very pretty in you robe", and " I love going potty with you".  Last night was my favorite Tate night rambling : "You know I'm always gonna love you Mama".  The wet puddle on the floor is where my heart melted. 
     Tate is my challenging child.  She is boisterous, independent, head strong, and some times out right mean.  But the flip side to that is she can also be the sweetest child on the face of the earth.  I think the contrast of her two sides makes the sweet things she says that much more special.  She repeatedly pushes me to my breaking point, then while I teeter on the edge of loosing it she does something so funny or tender that all her mischief fades away and seems so unimportant.
    The name Tate means bringer of joy.  That is exactly what my daughter is, she brings joy along with her everywhere she goes.  I couldn't enjoy being pregnant with her.  I had just had a miscarriage and was scared if I felt happy about the new pregnancy that it would be taken away from me too.  The minute she was born all that changed.  Joy came with Tate.  She melted the bitter parts of my heart that pined for the baby I didn't get to have.  She changed Turner from my baby, to this protective mature little man of a big brother.  She tamed Sweetness.  That big man is putty in her tiny hands.  Tate brought joy to all of us.
     I pray that for my and Tate's future we are always close.  For now I'm her mom, enforcer, teacher, task master, and chef.  Later when she is an adult and mature enough, I hope to be her best friend.   Right now I'll try to stifle my laughter when she tells her brother that he is "Beating the hell out of Papa at the Wii'".  But even when Tate is being bad she is still living up to her name and bringing me joy.
  

Currier vs Career

   I have a Currier life, not a career life.  Both are pronounced the same, but have vastly different meanings.  I think I know what a career life is, one that centers around your chosen profession.  So what is a Currier life?  Well it's the profession that more or less happened to me, it was not a conscious choice.  I am a professional mover and packer.  I pack and move our four bedrooms about every two years. I can have everything boxed, moved, unpacked and feeling like a home in a week or less.  That's the easy stuff, the possessions.  I've also become a professional friend finder.  I have such a short time to find friends.  I didn't realize how hard that can be.  Sanity is founds in your friends.  The way Brad works, the hours he puts in doesn't leave much time for family.  He makes the best of the time he is off, but those days can be few and far between.  My children and I need friends, it's just a fact of life.
     An issue that comes up with every move is finding an emergency contact.  It causes me anxiety every move, every state, every city.  What if the unthinkable happens to Brad and I?  Who will be called to watch my kids until my parents can get here?  An emergency contact usually takes a couple months to find.
    As a professional friend finder I have a few theories that have held true so far.  Other transplants are easier to make friends with than those who have lived in the area all of their lives.   Any one who has had at least one major move is more open to outsiders and new people.  God will decide and provide at least one life long good friend in each new place.   I've made some of the best friends a girl could have in each state, and I still talk to all of them almost daily.  Those friends just happened to have moved to the area at almost the same time we did.  Mom's groups are a God send.  Being the new girl and being out going is exhausting.  There is nothing as humbling as trying to meet people and make connections.
     My "Currier"  I guess can be summed up as trying to make ever changing living conditions into a stable, comforting home for my kids and husband.  Packing, finding movers, finding homes, scouting out new school districts, exploring, meeting new people, finding new doctors, dentists, and pediatricians, acclimating, praying, pleading, playing and praising-these are all just part of the job and what makes up my Currier Life.