Headed to Happy

There is a guy at work that I sometimes see at the coffee bar. I give him the normal casual “Hello” or “How are you?” when our paths collide. The thing that I notice about him is that he always answers the second greeting the same way – “GREAT!” and honestly it sort of gets on my nerves. How can he be GREAT every day? I asked him once when he answered, “How is it that you always answer great?” to which he replied, “Because I am great every day, aren’t you?” I looked at him out of the corner of my eye, slowly turned my head, and replied, “No. I’m not always great. Some days I’m just good.” I think a lot about him when I am mulling over my days, taking the pulse on the good life, thinking about the day to day workaday world we live in. I guess I tend toward realism and pragmatism far too much. But, I’m okay with that.

I don’t mean to sound negative, or depressed, or down. I’m not really currently considering myself any of those. It’s just that I don’t think I’ll ever achieve “GREAT!” at the coffee bar at work! ;-) I will admit I have been thinking a lot lately about it all. I’ll also admit one year ago, you could not have made me believe that we would be living in an apartment right now, having sold our beautiful David Weekley home in Murphy, and that we would still be three or four months away from being back in a house of our own. I like to think most days that we are making the right move. Some days it is easier to believe that than others.

For all practical purposes, we are in a tough spot right now, or should I say an uncomfortable spot. {I know this isn't tough. It's just the brat in me getting weary.} The house was initially supposed to be finished “January or February” and folks, let’s face it. There are just a handful of days left in February, and today our house does not even have brick on the exterior, or drywall on the studs. It’s just a shell of what is to come – a glimpse of what it will be. And sometimes to see my dream, I have to squint just so, dig deep into my mind, and conjure up my Pinterest boards to even have a vision of what will be the final product. We aren’t getting into the house anytime soon, and we are sentenced to more days in the apartment. It’s frustrating. It’s isolating. It’s stressful. It’s annoying. It’s an inconvenience. It’s costing us money. It’s preventing us from having any company. It’s freaking out my dog. The end result – our dream – seems so far away.

We had a chance to FaceTime with Philip last night. About halfway through he said, “Y’all are just SO DOWN.” {Yes, yes we are. Right now we are.} It was really an adjustment for him, I think, to see us so down. See, not only is the building going slow, but there are mistakes. Yesterday we were to finally have a meeting with the General Manager, in the hopes of resolution and forward progress, and she came down with bronchitis and had to postpone the meeting. I had carried with me for a few days such high hopes of finally getting some things resolved and having the opportunity to keep the house progressing. When the meeting fell through, I just didn’t have anything left in me to summon up good, much less “GREAT!” I felt a little bad for our son, but at the same time I thought, “It’s okay for him to know that the struggle is real sometimes for all of us.” And I won’t apologize for being human and working my way through an ordeal.

But, I know I need to suck it up a little and keep my chin up. We have too many days left in the apartment to be so down every day. {I think we have more than 90 days left, but less than 120. I should stop counting.} I was reminded yesterday of this layout I completed a few weeks back. Sometimes our scrapping can be oh, so timely. Awhile back my friend Janet had shared 50 Moments - Scrapbook The Pages That Matter Most, a book by Lisa Bearnson. I was intrigued and promptly bought the book, with wonderful intentions. The boys graduating high school and my nest emptying pushed that book onto a shelf and the project to the back burner. I just didn’t get around to working on any of the story prompts until another friend Maria initiated a group challenge with my Peeps during 2016. Maria’s first prompt that she selected, serendipitously, was HAPPY. 

Oh, goodness. It immediately brought to mind a road trip from McAllen to Colorado that I took in 2002. On that trip, I drove through a town in Texas named Happy, and I remember really pondering - still to this day even 13 years later - the road sign that stated Happy was 6 miles away. I coined the phrase in my head “6 miles from Happy” and reflected - then and continually - on how many people can live so much of their lives just outside the boundaries of Happy. {Can you see where I’m headed here? Need that road map?} ;-) Well, when Maria shared that particular 50 Moments Happy prompt, I knew it was time to document this story. I just didn’t admit as I scrapped the story last month that I would need to force myself so completely to live inside it. The layout includes a quote that I really can’t shake off of my heart today, 

“Happiness isn’t something that depends on our surroundings. It’s something we make inside ourselves.” 

                      – Corrie Ten Boom

So many times we live waiting on the IF/WHEN scenario. I’ll be happy when….I’ll be successful when…I’ll be better when…And it goes on and on, in a circuitous infinite loop. I learned this lesson back in my 30’s. Taught it to my sons. Coined a phrase. “Choose joy. Because it is a choice.” All the times I retorted “Choose joy" to my sons are all coming back now to haunt me. OR, that phrase is coming back to renew me, to remind me, to refresh me. To give me hope. To help me hang on. I don’t want to live 6 miles from Happy. I want to live right smackdab in the big fat middle of Happy. No matter wherever Happy may be.

Yes, my life’s walls might temporarily be on hold. There may not be many picture perfect shots right now. The apartment lighting might be terrible. The neighbors might be loud and annoying. This is my {albeit temporary} Happy. I need to live out the truth that happiness isn’t something that depends on our surroundings. It’s something we make inside ourselves. In the spirit of looking at things from a better perspective, of having hope, of hanging on, here's a photo of where the house is today. 

"Of this be sure: you do not find the happy life, you make it."

- Thomas S. Monson

Here's to making our happy. 

I’m sorry I’ve been on a bit of a hiatus from blogging. I have continued scrapping. I just have been wallowing in my situation and avoiding writing. I’m going to aim to do better. Hang on. This year might be a bit bumpy, but we can still enjoy the ride. And remember I'm not aiming for "Great!" My course is headed to Happy.

Today is a Great Day to be Happy ~ 50 Moments ~ January 2016

Paper: Basic Simple Stories

Title: Silhouette Cut File

A Decade of Pumpkin Devotion

When my beloved PSL made its fall debut in 2003, I actually lived in one of the last cities in America that did not have a Starbucks. Unreal, I know. We lived in McAllen, down south, at the "bottom of Texas" as Andrew would say, and the "RioPlex" of border towns were not yet on the radar of Starbucks. Mind you, the Foley's was the number two store at that time in volume, so there was plenty of money in the Mexico national tourist mecca. 

And admittedly, I guess we were on their radar at that time, because one year later on October 1, 2004, the first Starbucks in the valley would open, about 4 minutes from my house. I know the date because I was there and I have a photo of myself with a giant inflatable cup of coffee to prove it. ;-)

But, back to the PSL. I guess I would have to credit my oldest sister, Ronda, for the introduction to one of my besties. Ronda was working at the time and hitting up Starbucks daily for her cup of joe, and I know her enough to know she would have been one of the first people in Houston to try a pumpkin flavored drink when the barista offered it to her. So, as I recreate it in my mind, I am imagining that I had my first PSL at Thanksgiving 2003, and it was probably on Black Friday when we went out on our annual shopping pilgrimage.

I have a November birthday. I love having a November birthday. I love fall, even here in Texas where we don't really do fall. I guess we have a little fall in November, and I guess that is why I love fall and November. I know in many parts of the country, it is already snowing in November and moving into winter...but Texas takes its time and slowly ushers in the changing of the seasonal guards, or gourds if you will, for fall. ;-)

Thanksgiving has also long been my favorite holiday. All of the joy and richness of Christmas, without any of the procurement stress for all the people on your list. It's a time of being together, being thankful, getting ready for the big burst to Christmas, but reveling in the slow pace of the waning autumn days. I love that Starbucks launched a drink just for fall. Just for me.

In 2004, I was able to get my regular fill of my beloved PSL at my new valley Starbucks. Yeehaw. Yes, I know it doesn't have pumpkin. Yes, I know it is high in calories. But, I will hand it to Starbucks for being innovative and inventive and creating a drink that is deliciousness served warm. We moved to Dallas in July 2005 and so by the third year of the launch, I was in an area where I had a pick of any number of Starbucks. In fact, my own little town has one on the corner of the bustling main intersection. Hello Dallas metroplex. Enter Starbucks heaven.

I can't count how many times I would pick up a PSL for me, and for one of the boys' teachers. I loved to bring them a cup of good cheer. It's the perfect drink to surprise someone with - not too strong, not too sweet - and I was happy to share my love of all things pumpkin with anyone who was brave enough to sign on for teaching a room full of rowdy kids. It is the official drink of Thanksgiving, right? And to whom could I be more grateful than teachers?

And now look at my baby - all grown up and ten years old. It's hard to believe I've had a decade of them. It's hard to remember life before a savory warm PSL. I'm grateful she survived the recession. I'm grateful that some things stay around for awhile. I'm grateful that new traditions can happen. I'm grateful for sisters and shared shopping excursions. I'm grateful for all things pumpkin. Served warm in a cup with whipped cream? Yes, please!

PSL ~ A Decade of Pumpkin Spice Lattes ~ September 2013

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation

Paper: Simple Stories

Letter Stickers: American Crafts

The Roller Coaster Ride

Having boys, of course we were avid fans of Toy Story. And when Toy Story 2 rolled out, we loved it just as much. We were actually on a Disney cruse, I believe, when we saw the first trailer for Toy Story 3. And we were all equally excited. And the wait began. It finally released. Going together was assumed. We found a time when the four of us could go, and off we headed to the theater. No one told me. No one prepared me. I went in expecting Pizza Planet and Stinky Pete. I wasn't expecting such a poignant, kick me in the gut, this is about to happen to you crying moment.

We all loved the movie. So much so that I created a scrapbook page about going to see it. I'm glad I did. On the page, I captured a quote from my oldest, who would leave the nest first, that I know would long be forgotten by me now. On the drive home he said, "That is possibly the best movie I'll ever see." Awwww. Don't you love when the little boys turn into young men, but still remember their little boy days in their hearts? I know I can imagine in an instant the boys one Halloween, my Philip as Woody, my Andrew as Buzz Lightyear, the costumes a predilection of their personalities to fully and later emerge. I can still see, too, all the ensuing play days where they wore the costumes around the house, forsaking clothes for the chance to live in the world where "There's a snake in my boot" are good words to hear and "To infinity and beyond" seem like a plausible reality.

I bought the Toy Story 3 movie when it dropped, as any avid Disney fan would. But I'll confess. I haven't had the nerve yet to watch it again. In fact, I tear up just recalling the utter sorrow I felt as college-bound movie Andrew drove away with mom, his toys on another's lawn. But, someday I will be courageous enough to watch it again. I think I'll do a time honored Grimsley tradition, though, and watch all three of them together, back to back, in sequential order. Oh, the bliss of the DVD home movie marathon. Even if I am watching it by myself, my own Buzz and Woody headed off to college themselves.

I share this story and this layout as in introduction to a story I wrote on the first day of school for my youngest son, my Andrew. And now I post it, and share it 13 years later, as he finishes up his first week at college.

The Roller Coaster Ride, written August 15, 2001

"Can you believe the summer's over?"

"I think it's this way."

"Ooh, I forgot my camera!"

"She's not here - she didn't get off the bus."

"I'll see you this afternoon."

Sentences, sounds, and sights assault our senses as we walk down the brightly fluorescent lit halls, rubbing shoulders with the crowds.

We knew what to expect this year. We are veterans now. We knew the cars would overflow the parking lot before 7:30. We knew the halls would be crowded. We knew all would exude confusion. None of that prepared me, though.

In something near a state of denial, I bought school supplies and clothes early and then put them away. Last night we could delay no longer. We got the clothes out and sorted through them and selected what they would wear for the all telling first day. We - the four of us - dressed and drove and parked and walked. We arrived. We hugged. We parted. They are there now. Both of them. Gone. I cried. My husband looked at me, so unsure of what to do or say, but ultimately knowing he had to go on to work and I would be fine. He hugged me. We parted.

The house is just me. I have not thought beyond this morning. I have been looking at the DAY and not farther. I had a very clear recollection of holding my first born during his first month and telephoning my mom and asking, "What age do they start school?" She answers from her school secretary desk, "Five." I am incredulous. I utter, "Five? That's far too early."

I think five is far too early. So, I delayed the inevitable and held my August baby boy back one year to defy the odds. I purposefully delayed his passage, but he has nonetheless begun it now. I held to them both so fast with my hands. In the end that doesn't matter. The school rings the bell and they run and I'm there in the dirt, waving goodbye without them so much as glancing backward.

I held them fast because, you see, another thing I know is that raising the boys is like a theme park. We get up and start early. All is fresh and clean. Slowly we orient ourselves to the options and study the map, making choices. We make our way through and cautiously try out the less intimidating rides. The smells and sounds of all that it offers surround us as we make our way through: cotton candy, summer days, laughter, tears, footsteps, mechanics of the rides. All of these beat out a steady rhythm. What accompanies them with a massive resonance is the clank clank clank of the roller coaster making its ascent to begin its fast and furious ride.

Initially, there is not any interest in the roller coaster ride. Contentment for the cotton candy and the train rides exists. But as the day hits the high noon heat, their eyes fix upon the roller coaster and they begin to show excitement toward all that it offers. Nothing will do now but to ride it. We resist initially, knowing all the while it is fruitless.

Acquiescing finally, we all head over to it and wait in its redundant winding line. Monotony pervades, but we each survive the wait and go to board the electric monster. We see fear. We see fun. We see families. We watch all the while, waiting for our turn. While waiting, time seems to crawl slowly along. The last bend is reached. We hit the queues that determine our car. Time hits turbo speed and we quickly board. Final fears are forgotten. We are strapped in. We must go now. The roller coaster ride is fast. We scream. We laugh. We laugh until we have tears. We go up. We twist. We turn. We look around when we think to, and see with a new vision. We ache as its pressures reign down on us. We go down. We screech to a halt.

It is over. As fast as it began it ends. We are not sure what happened. We are disoriented. We are confused. We are still laughing as the endorphins finish out their symphony in our minds. What just happened wasn't much - and in the final analysis it wasn't near enough. People do it all the time. A roller coaster is a quickly thrill. An easy clean high.

But - in the final analysis - we are done and we must go, regardless of the monumental truth we now face: what we are left with are two boys that have crossed a hurdle. That will be content no longer with the kiddie section of the park. One simple ride - all its curves and climbs and thrills and turns - and they are changed. 

School is that roller coaster, dressed differently, and sounding much quieter, but nonetheless taking our children and - time hitting that turbo speed - rushing them through 13 years in what seems like 15 days. The bell rings. We are strapped in. We must go now. The "roller coaster" ride is fast. We scream. We laugh. We laugh until we have tears. We go up. We twist. We turn. We look around when we think to, and see with a new vision. We ache as its pressures reign down on us. We go down. We screech to a halt. As fast as it began it ends. They have diplomas in their hands. We are done. The ride is over.

It's that time to leave the park. Other things await us all now.

Toy Story 3 ~ Family Movie Adventure ~ June 2010

Sketch Credit: Inspired by May Flaum's Camp Scrap Class

Paper: October Afternoon, Girls Paperie

Title: Screenshot of movie image, printed on photo paper, and hand cut (I would probably do it on the Cameo now, though. Technology advances with that beast, Time.)

The Boys of Summer

I love summer. We don't have quite the affair going that we did in years of old. I'll confess that it is harder to court my lazy days buddy while pulling a 40 hour work week. But, back in the hay days of being a stay at home mom, I reveled in the ringing of the final bell, knowing my two punkin' heads would soon be back home with me.

Hello slow summer mornings, flip flops, plaid shorts, cereal for dinner, afternoons by the pool, movie festivals of an evening, and hello ice cream weather. There is nothing grander than the luxurious indulgence of taking in all that is summer and savoring it, in a fashion akin to the slow sweet melt of Rocky Road on your tongue. 

I think the absolute hardest part, without a doubt, of going to work outside of the home has been the relinquishment of my summers with the boys. Trading days for dollars was something I kind of needed to step up and do, and it has been my choice, but it has never been easy. 

As I look back at these summer photos, I can tell you exactly where we were without reading the captioning. We would rotate our ice cream outings between Baskin Robbins, Cold Stone, and Marble Slab, each of us having our favorite. This night, it was Marble Slab on North Garland Avenue. We sat outside at a Marble Slab patio table on the evening before the first day of school. 

We kind of had that tradition - going out for a decadent ice cream cone in the near twilight hours of the last day of summer. The boys in this photo are on the eve of entering 6th and 7th grade...and I did not know at the time these photos were taken that this was not only my last day of summer with them, but my last summer with them. About 30 days after this photo op, I would find a full-time job across town and forever shift the shape of our family.

I will forever be thankful for the thirteen years that I was able to be a stay at home mom. What a hard gift to unwrap! I loved being home with them and we had so many fun times, albeit hard, busy times. I released them to kindergarten reluctantly - and every year thereafter the first day of school would find me bereft. I think going out for ice cream was as much for me as for them. Thirteen years of being a stay at home mom - and then seven summers bookending the school years that happened on my stay at home mom watch. It all seems like a lifetime ago.

We tore up our summers. Wore them out. Ate them up. I would cram as much into them as possible, somewhat resembling the cramming into the cone all of the sugary goodness. I soaked in each moment of every sweet summer. And I relished spending time with these two punkin heads, the boys of summer.

Sweet Summer ~ Ice Cream Traditions ~ August 2007

The Life in my Years

I've always done a big Christmas card letter mailout thing. In the 90's, it was something of infamy. I've tapered its production off a bit, trending with the current penchant to abandon paper for any other type of media available, electronic preferred. My early letters were simple word documents, tucked inside of the Hallmark card chosen for the season after careful deliberation. There was one year where I lucked out and found the cutest card set, that offered matching stationary and envelopes, so that they coordinated perfectly with the card. It was like they were made just for me, as the house window on the front looked like one of my windows.

As the boys came along, I added the obligatory insert of the photograph. For the longest, I added a photo only of the boys. Wardrobes were planned, days were blocked out, family alerted - all systems go for THE CHRISTMAS CARD PHOTO SHOOT. I will confess I may have been a little too serious about it all. My guys were always fairly good-natured about it. I am consistent enough that they can predict my behavior. Time will certainly tell if my boys need therapy. 

I love my arsenal of cards and photos sent from years past. I can recall so many of them in my mind clearly. And for those that have slipped through the aging crevices of my gray matter, I have only to glance at the card or the photo and the memory rushes back to me. Good times. A good life.

At one point during the annual Christmas card exchange extravaganza, I received a letter in kind from a college buddy who I knew was taunting me with his barb about family cards with missing parents. I took his point at its merit and decided henceforth that we would send a family photo. I am not certain off the top of my head which year we first began our family photo, but I remember clearly the taking of the 2006 photo.

We had been in our north Texas home only about a year, and I knew our wooden staircase would be the perfect backdrop for the photo. Sunday afternoons are the go-to photo session timeframe. Hubby works every Saturday during the Christmas season and I've never been one of those gals that took the family photo outside of the season. The photo has to be current to feel right to me. And I need a little winter daylight.

In 2006, the boys were in 5th and 6th grade and Steve and I were in the early, kind stages of the 40's. Of course, finding decent clothes for the boys at this age that they were willing to wear and be photographed in - and that I approved of - was the biggest challenge. Once we had established a detente on what they would wear, Steve and I worked our wardrobes around them. Harry was a last minute addition to the photo. He ran up into the photo and I scooped him into my arms. I loved my little Yorkie and it seemed only fitting he be included.

About 10 snaps and I knew I had a keeper among the jpegs. When I sent the family photo out with the cards, I ended up doing a filter, so that the tone of the card was close to sepia, but the wash of the jeans was a lovely blue. I loved that we were all in our jeans and barefoot. That was how we lived at home - comfy shirts, comfy jeans and comfy toes. I love the bright smiles of the young pre-teen boys - their sweet spirits shining out, unencumbered.

This photo from December 2006 sits on my desk and I see it every day. It's one of my favorites. I loved it so much that on the beginning of the last full calendar year that we would be a family of four, I re-created it. I did the much ballyhooed scrapbooking project that year called Project Life - snapshot a day - and I wanted a photo of the four of us for the launch of my year long photography essay.

I grabbed us on a day that we were a) all home and b) wearing complementary clothes. Heaven forbid I have wardrobe requirements of my busy teenagers. It was just a simple blessing for my heart to capture us all at the beginning of that year that I knew was momentous for us all...that year that was going to go too fast for my beating heart.

I love these two photos side by side - one taken at the end of our first full year together in this home, and one taken at the beginning of our last full year together in this home. Classic juxtaposition. I love thinking of the boys, through all of our north Texas years, going up and down those stairs countless times in a day. I love envisioning them at their different heights and growth stages. I can see them in my mind's eye, growing up and up and up, rising in height just as certain as the wood planks themselves do.

I love knowing they are home - by their bounding of the stairs...or even sometimes sneaking on the stairs, as if the stairs will absorb their weight and won't reveal their passage. From where I lay in my bed, I can see the foot of the stairs. Many a time have I lain there in the AM and PM, watching for their descent or ascent.

I know that I cherish the noise of them being in the house. I know when the stairs are quiet that I am home alone. I walked up the stairs yesterday. Over eight years of traffic on them has them scuffed at the edges. I can polish them, but the paths of these boys are marked on them and I would not undo that for the world.

As I searched for elements for my page, I happened upon the little sentiment that seemed perfect for my page:

It is not the number of years in your life that count, it is the life in your years.

These boys, and our life all together, have been some of the sweetest life in my years. Sunday afternoons all together, in comfy jeans and chilling at home, is absolutely my kind of happy. 

My Kind of Happy ~ Family Photos ~ December 2012

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation http://scrapbookgeneration.com/index.php?route=product/category&path=213

Paper: October Afternoon

Fonts: Honey Script, Chaparral Pro

At The Foot of the Bridge

Both of our boys are their own unique person. While they have many similarities, they also have many distinct differences. And while we live in a school environment that clearly points to college in a pragmatic and homogenous fashion, both of the boys have approached the fork in the road quite differently.

We sat back and watched as Philip began his junior year and we were full of ideas and wonder as he processed his thoughts and sought clear direction - from everyone but his parents. :-) By the spring of his junior year, he was ready to officially begin the college hunt. God providentially set up for us a visit to Bryan College in Dayton, TN, along with some dear friends of ours who also had a junior that was beginning the college hunt.

It was a tender time for our hearts. It was a true gift that we were able to shadow our friends on our first legitimate college preview visit. They, having a son already in college and ahead of our sons on the curve, have always been so faithful to share ideas and thoughts and information with us over the span of more than a decade. For me to be able to begin this hard mom journey in the presence of my dear heart friend was just truly an amazing gift. 

We flew into Knoxville and then the following morning, a band of eight of us took off in two cars to Dayton. We traversed the campus and the emotion of the event was ever at the back of my throat. Being in a posse with seven others was ever so helpful as - in the company of 6 males - you could be easily diverted by a silliness, a joke, a witty comment, or just the sheer exercise of keeping up with everyone.

After our whirlwind Friday/Saturday trip to not only Bryan College, but also to Covenant College on Lookout Mountain in Georgia, we landed at the foot of the old bridge in Chattanooga. Having consumed Urban Stack burgers, Darling Donuts and all of the information and statistics from the two college campus visits, we were ready for a little fun.

The guys had a football with them and began an immediate passing game. The two of us girls sat and watched and laughed and were amazed at the young men cavorting in front of us, where boys in super hero capes had once stood. Just as dusk settled in, we paused for a moment in our family clusters and took turns photographing our families for each other.

The old metal bridge and lights in the background offer up a message to my heart - as we stood at the bridge of our son's life, of him beginning his journey into adulthood, we gathered close, hugged tight and knew in our hearts that the Light would be the only way we would bear the crossing of the bridge. 

Life of late has been a whirlwind. We are halfway into the kid at college scene now, with one child there and one child at home. Our oldest is in the middle of pledging at college. I have not had Face Time with him in four weeks. Our youngest is in the middle of waiting on scholarship information for college and reveling in his senior year, his job, his church work, his friends. 

When I went to title this layout, I did not have to search long or hard for an apt and fitting title. At this time in our life, any time that the four of us are together it is time that is so very treasured.

So Very Treasured ~ Family Trip, Chattanooga ~ April 2012

Paper: Pebbles

Fonts: Honey Script, Chaparral Pro