Game On

We worked in our garage last weekend, on what were, I believe, the last two hot days of the year. Isn't that how it can go sometimes? The garage organization is really the last big piece to fall into place at the new house. In 2017, I stumbled onto a blog post that showed using The Container Store elfa System and fell in love with it. It then became a cat and mouse game of getting it designed and waiting for their fall sale that offers the discount on installation as well as the elfa shelving. We got to the purchase point and then installation day came and went, and we were left to work in the garage on our days off to get all of the items put into their new home. And oh my mercy, do I love my new garage storage system, or what? I may have gone out and just stared at it a few days this week.

But sometimes the getting to where you want to be from where you are involves a little blood, sweat, and tears. In this garage organization project, surprisingly, it involved two of the three. If I bled, I don't remember it. See, sitting in my garage, waiting to be gone through and dealt with for years now, were about 5 bins of memorabilia. These bins of memorabilia were in our last garage, so it's not like I haven't been avoiding the obvious for years now. But, right sizing the house has us dealing with things that a big expansive home can hide and handle. Less square footage? You prioritize and deal, and purge and divest. 

And while Steve triaged the bins of actual items to stay in the garage and sorted out what was already quasi-organized into a seasonal sort of semblance, I sat with my bum knee, and he would bring me bins to go through. I think one bin held both 4K and 12th grade for my oldest son, and some years in between. That bin was certainly one to go through. Not only did I deal with school and art work, I dealt with years and years of Christmas cards. It's amazing how the range of emotions can be connected to seeing a card from a long deceased aunt, or  neighbors from 1999, or high school friends from the 1980's. 

And while I sat in that hot, steamy garage working through all of these pieces of paper and the memories and emotions associated with them,  I actually had moments of just recalling and remembering our various homes and our various garages. Quite candidly I will advise you - never go from a home with a three car garage to a home with a two car garage! Those three car garages spoil you! We have had attached garages, detached garages, the old house in McAllen with NO garage {this was the worst!}; all of the garages were two car garages, with our prior home being the exception with that beautiful third bay. 

Some of these garages held two cars, and not much more. Some of these garages held tricycles and that battery operated Jeep the boys were so cute riding around in. Some of these garages held bicycles that we used to condition ourselves for the walking on our first trip to Walt Disney World. Some of these garages held ski equipment and golf equipment and lots of tools, all seldom used, but somewhat necessary to hang onto. And one of these garages momentarily held a ping pong table.

I will confess that I love giving surprises. I love giving what is on a wish list, but I like to throw in a little extra. And one year I got the brilliant idea that the boys should get a ping pong table for Christmas. This was exactly what they needed as a surprise gift! And ever the adoring husband, he supported my surprise. I envisioned lots of ping pong games, and laughter, and time together. The boys were still in middle school, and we were often the gathering place for their friends. This would be perfect, yes?

Well, in the mayhem that followed Christmas Day, we didn't get around to putting it together until New Years Eve {and by we I mean they}. ;-) And at the time, the only place it would fit was in the garage. It was a fun evening. I remember it was, of course, cold in the garage, but the boys were interested and helpful to their dad and the three of them quickly got it put together. 

They were funny to watch play. Steve and I both come from families that love to game and compete, and win. Competitiveness is bred into our sons, I guess. I especially love the grimace I caught on Philip's face in the photo on the right. Seems like he might have just been bested on that shot, or was working up some fierce serve. We played off and on that New Years Eve, and after Steve's schedule settled down, the ping pong table made its way up to the boys' retreat. It dominated the room. The boys at this point had taken over the family media room and watched their TV and movies and gamed in there, so the ping pong table commandeering their retreat was fine.

I didn't expect the ping pong table to be such a flop though. It was. It was a catch all for things. The electronics' siren call dominated the time, and it wasn't often that you could hear the cadence of the ball going back and forth, and ultimately bounding onto the hardwood floor and skittering around. Unretrieved ping pong balls became the cat's toys, and were often accidentally squished under the size 12 shoes that bounded around up there. If someone did want to play, it was hard to find those ping pong balls that had been neglected and more than likely squished.

Sometimes you try something and it isn't what you expect, or it doesn't turn out like you planned. When I was younger, guessing incorrectly would have bothered me more. While this ping pong table reality didn't leave up to my fantasies about it, it's no big deal. The times we used it and had fun with it were worth the hassle and inconvenience of carting it upstairs, and ultimately back down. 

Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. You can never know until you try. And if modeling anything to my sons was paramount, it was that it was okay to try new things. And succeed. Or fail. It was okay to adapt and adjust. And in life, you sometimes need to just roll up your shirtsleeves and try. You might win or you might lose, but you get one shot at this thing called life. You may as well go for it. Game on.

Ping Pong ~ Garage Gaming ~ December 31, 2009 

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation

Paper: Simple Stories

Title: Silhouette cut file

Gratitude and the Fullness of Life

Time is a funny thing. It has intervals, but cannot really be measured. It takes up space, and yet is invisible. It is priceless, and yet cannot be bought. As I recall the absolute swirl that November has been, I am humbled by this caretaker of our lives, this fickle and persnickety Father Time. He masters all and answers to none. And he marches on. One week ago today I spent my next to last day as a 50 year old. Two weeks ago today, Paris and all of Europe was normal. Three weeks ago today, my sister-in-law woke up at the age of 50 for the first time. Time is fleeting and fast, and is not sure beneath our step. 

As I pause in preparation for our national day of Thanksgiving in America, I ponder that this is the first year where neither of our sons will be home, and I ponder that this is the first year that my brother-in-law maneuvers his way through his first holiday without his life partner, and I ponder that we all live on a thin line, walking that fine wire between yes and no, today and tomorrow, here and gone.

Since turning 50 last November, I have lived in as much a state as humanly possible of awareness, of presence, of seizing moments, of living fully. As that year has slipped away and now vanished, I am not sure I was aware enough, present enough, captive enough. I don't know to what degree it is even attainable. I saw some photographs recently of Steve this time last year, fresh from the hospital, dealing with a stint, not well and the tell being in his eyes. I look at him closely each day, as if trying to view with my naked eye his insides and assess his health. I want there to be enough. I want there to be more. Of everything.

And yet time mocks me, letting me know that will never be the case, that it is impossible, that I am only given this day, this moment, this breath, this thought, this second. My sweet sister-in-law Susan knew that fully. Battling cancer, faced with obstacles daily in limits that varied, she chose joy and emitted hope. Up to hours before her surgery, one that would take her life ultimately, she looked death in the eye and was courageous and without fear, letting her hospital staff know she was in the best hands, the hands of the Great Physician. I cannot really shake the calm calculating reality of her unquenchable faith, in what would be seen by many as her darkest hour. But, I can try to attain to it, to grasp it, to nurture it. 

As I navigate my days, I think of life from Susan's perspective. Not in a morbid way, but in a way that sees each day as a gift. I think, ironically, of the Disney movie "Cinderella", the live action one. I think not of the pumpkin to carriage, but I think of the long suffering Ella, sleeping on cinders, serving stepsisters, smiling with her companions, showing joy and happiness amidst it all. I think of the scene where her own mother tells her goodbye, of admonishing young Ella to "have courage and be kind." And I see that paradigm as the lens through which Susan lived her last year and a half. While she battled cancer, she chose daily to have courage and be kind. We are so thankful that the cancer did not claim victory over her. We grieve immensely over the misfortune of her aortic dissection, but choose joy in that breaking of her heart as claiming her life versus the poisoned cells inside her. I think that is why Susan could sign "I love you" and wave goodbye as she lay there intubated -- she knew cancer was not winning, but that she was winning.

I read this scripture the night of her viewing, searching for some distraction from the ever present visual, seeking some encouragement from a faith that spans four decades:

 "Therefore if you have been raised up with Christ, keep seeking the things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your mind on the things above, not on the things that are on earth. For you have died and your life is hidden with Christ in God." - Colossians 3:1-3

I have gone through my days following her death in the normal fashion: work, leisure, sleep, repeat. But my mind has not really stopped processing her passing. I think of her loved ones - my family - left behind daily, praying incessantly for our healing and peace, for the holes in daily lives to fill over with joy and warm memories. But I think mostly of her looking down the barrel of the shotgun she faced, and staring it down unflinchingly. I think of the courage it took for her to acknowledge the need to say goodbye, and to be okay in saying it. I think of the gift of her signing I love you over and over to her family, a final message that could stand the test of time, and give heart to those fainting under the weight of grief. Yes, her mind was on things above.

I do not mean to be all macabre on this eve of counting our blessings. I mean it more than anything to be a message of intense hope, a message of counting the greatest blessing of all - of being sure of your salvation, of being surrounded by those you love, of being alive and present in this moment. Even though my boys are not here, and I am not in my home, or actually a house, I am more grateful this year than in any other previous November. Our hope is not fixed on this earth, but on things above, and toward that end, I look for gratitude in life, for gratitude in all things.

I found this quote today and wanted to share it:

"Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend."  -- Melody Beattie

My hope for you this Thanksgiving is that no matter where you are, no matter what you eat, no matter who you are with, may this day be a season of intense gratitude in your life, a moment where you can see that all good things are from above, that love has been lavished on you, that our hope is eternal. May you have a day where you remember all that has been done for you, and reflect on the fullness of your life. May the coming year be one where you have acceptance, order, clarity...and where you can see the abundance in your life, the overflowing goodness.

This layout shows our last Thanksgiving spent at Murphy Manor. We didn't know at the time that it would be our last Thanksgiving there. And here's the deal - we never know our last anything. Never. Take in the richness of this moment, and savor the blessings of the season. Look around you and see - you, too, have overflowing goodness in your life.

Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours. Be blessed.

Overflowing Goodness ~ Thanksgiving ~ November 2014

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation 
Paper: Basic Grey

Title Font: Rochester

804 Miles from Awesome

  

I have had the rare, but somewhat annual, "snow day" here in North Texas, and am thankful for the free day to catch up on things. I have spent most of the day printing photos from 2012, digging out from the going under of my beloved ScrapbookPictures.com. I bought a personal printer when they folded, but unknowingly abandoned my systemic printing process, and figuring out what is what has been a two month long, slightly nightmarish process. Between the Oscars last night and today, I have printed out over 250 photos, and have had some good times strolling down memory lane. Spending time with my jpeg's is always a delight.

Not only did I have the delight of seeing my boys in the jpegs yesterday, my youngest was actually in town, and I able to see him briefly this weekend. He flew in Thursday night from Denver to be a student leader at the annual in-town retreat this past weekend for the student ministry he was part of while in school here. He is so funny. I got a call Thursday at work from him, which is rare. I could take the call, and so I did, and quickly fielded questions about baggage fees, baggage weight, and carry-ons. Now, he has flown many times before, but I guess he wanted to double-check, and honestly, it is nice to be needed for something once in awhile.

It made me realize that while he thinks he is grown-up, there is still a little bit of my boy there inside. He blew in like a whirlwind, and was out of here by Sunday evening. We basically saw him Thursday night, some on Friday, and then for about 3 hours on Sunday. Last night, Steve and I were talking about Andrew and his possibilities for summer jobs, and studying abroad next fall, and Steve said, "He amazes me with his follow through on research." Yes, we are finding that Andrew is like a dog with a bone when he latches onto an idea and gets excited. It is incredible to see how college is developing him.

He really is a passionate kid. His thoughts and emotions run deep, and while he is introverted, if you hit the right topic, he's right there with you, toe to toe, offering up intellectual insight, facts that he has memorized from who only knows where, and opinions that have been gelling in his introspective and multi-faceted mind. He is my Comic Book boy, but he is also my boy who has movie lines, music lyrics, anecdotes, and scripture memorized like nobody's business. 

As an preschooler, he was the one I couldn't find because he would have decided he was tired and put himself down for a nap. In elementary school, he was the compassionate, quiet child, always seeing an unmet need of another student and meeting it.  He was the student who always wore a belt with his jeans and loved his shirt tucked in, and wasn't afraid to wear cowboy boots with shorts. He's had his own style defined for quite some time, and he's confident enough to go with his gut at any given moment.

He takes a long time to reach a decision, but once it is made, you'd sooner climb Niagara Falls than change his mind. Oh, the things I have learned from this child! He makes me laugh, he makes me think, he makes me question life, he makes me cry, he makes me marvel, and yes, he has been known to make me yell. 

My boys are 16 months apart, and so when they were little, Steve and I tag-teamed them. For obvious reasons, I had the younger one, and I have so many fond memories of this little boy resting his head on my shoulder, needing to be loved. That same little boy would climb on my lap, hold my hand, seek me out in a crowd, checking on me to make sure I was okay.

I know, though at 6'2" he towers over me now, he is still that same little person inside - that same confident, quirky, sensitive, compassionate, intelligent, and opinionated child. And I'm so glad to be blessed as his mother. I think he's awesome. Each and every day. Most of those days are spent 804 miles away from me now. And when I am lucky enough that he is here with me, I get to be reminded of how incredible he is, and always has been. And that is awesome, too.

Awesome ~ Andrew Turns 18 ~ August 2013

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation

Paper: Simple Stories

Title Font: Collegiate

Notebook Paper and Denim

I have tried to revisit in my mind the mental bookmark that segregates for me the beginning of my love affair with all things supply related. There is no watermark moment, no recalled genesis, no hallmark memory. I can simply remember that as long as I can remember, I have loved school supplies.

As a young child, we would head to Ronnie's Supermarket and pick up our supply list off the aisle end cap - that supply list having been typed on an old manual typewriter and run off via carbon paper. Remember that lovely cornflower blue ink? We would carry our supplies proudly home in big sturdy brown paper bags, lay them all out on the floor, carefully label them, and then, almost in a manner reserved for crown jewels, place them back inside the same brown bag where they would hold revered status until the bell rang on the first day of school. 

And we would carry them in to class in that same brown bag. $50 backpack? Not necessary. We were above knowing we needed one. And all year long, I took careful time with my supplies - never one to want to sharpen my crayons and face the jagged edge of the torn paper for the rest of the year, never one to mix colors of paint on the plastic palette, never one to just throw them at day's end into my desk. No sirree - I coddled them for the year, knowing that what was left over was mine to keep and could then be added to my private stash back at home.

And what were summers for, but playing school? As I think back on the cool of the mornings in the gulf summer heat, I am amazed to think that we played school in a garage with a door that never opened. We cleared a space and set up a desk area for 2-3 students, and we rotated who was teacher and who was student, using up our supplies left over from the grade we just finished, which, if we were lucky, included some extra worksheets that we never needed in "filler time". I loved playing school. I loved school. I loved the whole spectrum of it, the supplies just being the easiest outward manifestation, the one constant as you changed teachers and campuses. Give me a new pack of 64 crayons and watch me transcend time.

Fast forward to my early 30's, and see me with two young sons, and a corner in an upstairs retreat where we had craft supplies and a little oak table with 2 chairs. {Don't think I didn't wish I had that table and chairs back in the '70's in my garage!} We did arts and crafts with the boys as early as they could manage to move their fingers around on a piece of paper. I have piles and piles of childhood art around here, mocking me with its presence. I refuse to let it go just yet!

And read, oh, would we read. Many times it would be the same book over and over. I never knew the full measure of my husband's patience until the year that my oldest child asked him to read the same Dorling Kindersley bulldozer book every night. Now, these were photos of all kinds of machines, with descriptions of their name and purpose. No story here - just a machine encyclopedia if you will. Philip wore that book ragged and heaven help us if bedtime came and the bulldozer book was needing to be unearthed. 

Preschool time came around too soon for the boys and I, I guess. I don't know if it was the fashion of the day, or the fear of letting them go, or their desire to soak up everything and learn from me all I would impart...but some combination of any of that led me to a stint with homeschooling. I was not cut out for it. The boys were not cut out for it. Thankfully we all had sense enough to recognize that early on. What I remember fondly about the experience, though, are all the workbooks we bought and how fun it was to set up a school room in my own home for my sons, and see their little heads bent over that blonde oak table, pursuing the completion of some little assignment. This was definitely a new definition of school supplies for me!

When the boys began kindergarten, we lived in the valley at the very southern tip of Texas. Borders blended and societies merged, and all of the stores of McAllen served not only the citizens of McAllen, but also the needs of any visitors over from Mexico, in pursuit of goods not available to them at home. Translation: buy it when you see it, because it won't last long. I learned early to guess at what you needed, and buy extra, because by the time the teacher told you it was on "the list", it would no longer be on the shelves. 

We had one Target in town, south of our home, towards the border. You needed to go early in the morning for it to be clean, for the checkout lines to be tolerable, for the aisles to be maneuverable. There was no way, in this border town, I would ever even consider going in to the Walmart. No way. Target was my only option. So, when they set out the school supplies, we were there. The boys would pick out their folders, their spirals, their crayons, their map pencils, their scissors, their rulers, their pencils, their pens.

It was always so much fun to see the choices, to revel in the colors, to mark this year's trends based on the images on all the supplies. It was entertaining to watch them consider the choices, as if they were selecting a house or a car, weighing all the options, importing onto the array of supplies a value far beyond the price tag, ensuring they ended up with an assortment that did not match their brother's. No copy cats here! Get that individuality captured! The buggy would fill and we would head home with our new round of treasures. 

I will 'fess up. There were usually 1 or 2 or 7 things in the buggy for me as well. My husband learned early on that my brain requires an assortment of note pads, post-it notes, pens and spirals. Just because. After all, when the bell rang, it was a "new year" for me, too. I couldn't head into my volunteer meetings with last year's tool kit, could I? The travesty!

Home we three would head. Supplies divvied up onto the counter. Label maker pulled out. Backpack loaded. In July no less. What were we to do? The fun was in the selecting, the fun was in the waiting, the fun was in the going. We relished the entire process. My boys were always extremely eager for meet the teacher night, and the commencement of the school year. They were great little students and loved the social network of school as much as they adored their teachers and mastered their lessons.

When Texas launched tax free sales weekend, and Macy's matched their tax hiatus with back to school sales, we upped our school shopping to include clothes. We learned to go the night before and preview the choices. Some stores would set things to the side for me, ready for me on Friday morning to run in at opening bell and pay quickly and get out before the crowds descended. {Thanks Aeropostale - you done good by me.} Steve would always pick up the jeans at Macy's. Of course, he calls them denim. And he would let me know when the denim deals happened. I would let him know their sizes.

When the boy were in middle school, they began taking an interest in their clothes. By the time they graduated, I was out of the picture, with the exception of the photo on my debit card. They morphed from Aeropostale to Urban Outfitters and Pac Sun. I morphed from going to giving them a budget. I honestly didn't mind and I enjoyed seeing what treasures they came home with, albeit some of them looking like my definition of school clothes not so much. Denim? It still came from Macy's. We've had all sizes of Levi's in this house. You could measure the growth of the child by the change in that famous waistband tag.

When August 2013 rolled around, we were left with one child at home needing supplies. One child at home that does not like to shop. One child at home that is independent. One child at home that would rather not be seen in public with us unless it is at Chuy's for mexicana comida deluxe. We casually offered to Andrew a little excursion and nearly fell over when he agreed to go!

We headed to North Park mall quickly, before he changed his mind, in search of anything he would agree to let us buy. Said child not only dislikes shopping, at the time he disliked getting anything either. We settled on some jeans, er....denim, and we found some shirts he liked, and we even found some shoes. It was a wardrobe trifecta. Given he was in the spirit, we then headed to Target. Why put off to tomorrow what you can do today? With Andrew, we knew to strike while the iron is hot. A momentous end to a family tradition? #bullseye

Notebook paper? Check. Binder? Check. Red pens? Check. Last round of this shopping rodeo? Check, check, check. It was a sobering reality to be sure. Hard to believe my days of spirals and new pens and fun notebooks are over. Oh, wait. They're not. You might just find, if you know where to look, my private stash of school supplies. A part of me will always feel invigorated by "the start of school", and will soak in the new beginning of a season. New blue jeans, though, are optional. 


Back 2 School Shopping ~ Our Final Rodeo ~ August 2013

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

Paper: Basic Grey, Lily Bee, Pink Paislee, Simple Stories

Font: Pacifico

These Smiling Faces

I am a hopeless patriot. I'll never apologize for it. I can cry every time I watch Mel Gibson and Heath Ledger battle in The Patriot. I get goosebumps on the high note of America, The Beautiful. I loved singing, "This land is my land, this land is your land....this land was made for you and me," along with Mrs. Collins and her ukelele in elementary school. When I watch Les Miserables, I can lay the solemnity of that redemptive revolution over the grid of American history, and weep on both behalf's. 

I love America the Beautiful. Old Glory waves from my porch column more days out of the year than not. I can see her flapping in the north Texas breeze from the chair in which I sit and type. I have a tiny bound copy of the Declaration of Independence - in love with it's little book form as much as the words it proffers. I sing along with the national anthem any chance I can, and probably often when I'm not supposed to. I can watch the National Treasure movies over and over, enthralled by the history thrust into the plot.

It was chance that landed us with an anniversary on the birthday of our country. A chain of events involving more than ourselves led us to that day. And I'll tell you - it does not offer much in the way of romantic interludes and recollections of courtship. We have been teased relentlessly about giving UP our independence ON independence day. No matter. We did what we could, and picked the date in the summer of 1987 that worked for so many of our family, and we married on an incredibly hot, humid, summer Saturday afternoon in July. And it happened to be the fourth.

The upsides: we are off together every year on our anniversary, and if we are lucky, there are fireworks. We usually conspire some getaway, or even an extended vacation, during our anniversary. It is special in that we are always together as a family, and we are usually doing something fun together, and we also get to embrace the celebration of the land that I love.

When we contemplated celebrating our 25th, cruising with the boys, and our lifelong friend, Mark, that introduced Steve and I way back in January 1984,  aboard the Disney Magic seemed so appropriate. After all, anyone knows that hitting the 25 year mark of a marriage comes with plenty of fireworks, requires a fair bit of magic, needs the ability to stay afloat in any kind of weather, and has the goal of sailing in smooth waters. ;-) 

Steve and I have been extremely blessed. I always say that every marriage that stays together is one that consciously decides to stay together. Exit doors will pop up all along the way. We have seen those doors. We have pushed past them. We have reached the phase in our life together where we are deep friends and gentle companions. We miss each other when not together - not in the earnest sorrow of an eighteen year old, but in the sincere affection of wanting to share a moment, a memory, a word, a thought, with your most prolific friend, with one whom has seen all of your life events spanning, as of this writing, three decades.

I loved celebrating our 25th anniversary on July 4 in the waters off Alaska. I loved seeing the boys get excited over the dinner that night in Animators' Palate. I loved that Mark was with us to experience his first Disney cruise. I loved that all five of us embraced adventure and were equally mesmerized by the wildly extravagant beauty of Alaska. I loved that we ran into Americana Mickey. I loved that those silly shipboard photographers captured some of all of it for me. 

I can sit here and remember each moment in these photographs below - and I can remember a lifetime of moments spent together across our country. We have pieced together a story that is as rich as the colors in our flag. We have been blessed with a bountiful tale - a tale I love - our life, our liberty, and the pursuit of our happiness. You have only to look at the faces below. You can see it plain as day. I love all these smiles, and the stories that go with them.

It's always my joy to hear Happy Anniversary...and say Happy Birthday America. "This land is my land, this land is your land...this land was made for you and me." Chasing life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness freely in the land that I love is a rich gift, one for which I am forever grateful. Just as much as I am grateful for the life I have with these smiling faces.

Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness - Disney AK Cruise, Fourth of July - July 2012

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation http://scrapbookgeneration.com/index.php?route=product/category&path=213 This is actually a Generations Kit by Debbie Sanders. She is an amazing talent and I only add a few trinkets here and there to complement her incredible layout.

Paper: We R Memory Keepers

We Come From a Long Line of Love

We got a glimpse of the new normal today. It's Sunday, Father's Day, and one boy is in St. Louis and one boy is in Houston. We have known this day was coming. There's just not really enough preparing for it. I know it's normal. I know life goes on. I know it's a good thing they leave the nest. Yes, yes. We have been told all of this. We agree. It's just going to take a while for the heart to process what the head has acknowledged.

We made plans for the day for the two of us, and both of us headed into the day with a mind determined to enjoy the day and find some good in it, even though we were home alone. At some point this morning, Steve and I came to the same conclusion while we were at different places doing different things. I think that was a God gift - each of us working out to the same point on our own. 

See, our oldest son is working at eight different camps all over the country this summer. We will see him for the July 4 weekend and for the week before the fall semester starts. He is acting as a counselor to boys at camps, while recruiting for his college. Our youngest son left on Saturday for a week, working in Houston with a team from church, reaching out to refugees. Who could have known last year on Father's Day that it would not be the same this year? Who could have guessed that both boys would be away from home, leaving Father's Day traditions in the dust? Who could have known that when you truly give them roots, you also give them wings?

And that is sort of the realization I made this morning. If you think of Father's Day, and the whole art of raising children, and how a father molds and impacts his children in a way distinctly masculine, and totally different from a mother's love, there is no greater acknowledgement of maybe having done the job well than to have your children off serving. 

People love my husband. I've never argued with "the better half" statement. He is clearly the stronger people person in our partnership. My husband has an amazing servant heart. He is patient. He is thoughtful. He is kind. He is forbearing. He is insightful. He is careful, in the sense that he is full of care. He is funny. He is tender. He is generous. He is compassionate. He is contemplative. He is truly such a gift to  me. 

As the boys age, I love seeing the imprint of their dad on their hearts and how it has been shaping their lives. I believe it is only natural that both of my boys would be out in the world serving today when they have both witnessed from the front row their dad serving on a daily basis - to his family, to his co-workers, to his neighbors, to people at his church. When I ponder that Philip is out serving at youth camps and Andrew is out serving at a refugee camp, I am thankful that Steve has poured into our sons the seed of caring and serving. It has been a blessing to me to be a part of the team that has been nurturing those seeds and helping to water them.

We have had a good day. It's been different, but it's been good. Steve heard from both boys yesterday, and Andrew left a card and gift behind for today. We both have talked to our dads. We have spent time together today celebrating Steve, remembering lots of Father's Days gone by. He's done some of his favorite things - riding his bike, drinking coffee on the patio, seeing a movie, taking a nap, eating some seafood and having ice cream. It's been restful and relaxing. But, it has been different.

As I thought this morning about the boys being gone, out serving others, it made me realize that perhaps the best legacy a father can create is children that love to give to others and to serve others. As I contemplated that today, it brought to mind that it must mean that our fathers long ago felt the same way - that they were okay with us leaving the nest and sharing life with others. And then I remembered that old song by Michael Martin Murphy, "We Come From a Long Line of Love."

I bought a beautiful diamond ring I offered it to the sweetest thing I know
And she said she would take it
We started making some wedding plans she looked at me and she took my hand
And said are you sure we can make it
I said my grand dad's still in love with my grandma
I said my dad still thinks my moms the sweetest thing he ever saw

I come from a long line of love
When the times get hard we don't give up
Forever is in my heart and in me blood

You see I come from a long line of love

Years went by and we had a son now he thinks he found someone for him
And they're planning a wedding
He called me up on the phone today just to see what I had to say to him
Did I think he was ready?
I said what his grandfather used to say to me
Its been handed down for ages it runs in our family

You come from a long line of love
When the times get hard we don't give up

Forever is in your heart and in your blood
Son you come from a long line of love
We come from a long line of love

I guess we do. I know when the times get hard, we don't give up. I know forever is in our heart and in our blood. To my sons I would say today, "You come from a long line of love. We come from a long line of love." Happy Father's Day Steve. It's not just one day around here. It's never been just one day a year that I marvel at how you craft our boys to men. Every day I celebrate that you shine your light before our sons, showing them how to serve, how to love. 

Life with you, with them, through the years has been some kind of wonderful. I am thankful for you as a father and friend to our sons. Life will continue to be some kind of wonderful. When the times get hard, we don't give up. I love that we come from a long line of love.

Some Kind of Wonderful ~ Father's Day ~ June 2009

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

Paper: My Minds Eye

Love This Memory of You

Andrew's always been my cuddle bear. When the boys were born so close together, it was an obvious, expected, and necessitated choice for Steve and I to tag team with them. Because a baby needs his mom, so much of Andrew's first year was spent in my lap, while Steve tended to toddler Philip. Whew. Some of those days were long and rough. I will always be incredibly thankful, though, that we had our babies back to back. It has gifted each of us, all four of us, in so many ways, and it created the fabric of our family.

But, I guess it's normal for a mom to be attached a little more in her heart to her baby. Even if the youngest child were identical to the oldest child, the mom is going to feel the emotion more as she goes through the last of everything. As fun and adventurous as the first of everything is, a woman is wired to be poignant and reminiscent, in my mind, anyway, as she finishes up things. I think, for those reasons, in my heart I have a unique bond with both boys. Philip was my introduction to everything and Andrew was my finale.

And, oh, how I loved elementary school with my boys. I was blessed to be able to be at home with the boys from Philip's birth up until Andrew began 6th grade. Yep. I was at every Christmas and Valentine party that occurred, and went on as many field trips as they would allow. So, Andrew's 5th grade year was my mom swan song - my last chance to do all of the fun things. Having a child simultaneously in 5th and a child in 6th, I knew there was no need for mom at the junior high school campus. And so, determinedly, I dug into 5th grade even more zealously than I imagined I could.

I was incredibly honored to be asked to be the 5th Grade Coordinator at the boys' elementary school, and I adored working with the three teachers Andrew had that last year. To this day, I keep up with his homeroom 5th grade teacher via Facebook and am totally reveling in watching her now raise three little punkin' heads. Meghan was a jewel and she just made the year so glorious for all of the kids. The fact that I had a VIP backstage pass was a bonus.

When we moved from the valley to Plano ISD in 2005, we all got an education. PISD definitely had a certain way that things worked. They had an extensive and interesting 5th grade curriculum. It makes for an amazing year for the kids, full of integrated learning units. We worked through Immigration Day and Colonial Week and Biography Night...and had fun all along the way. And one of the neatest things they do is to have a graduation celebration for each 5th grade class...and a reunion at the elementary school for the 12th grade graduating seniors. 

Because I was the 5th Grade Coordinator, I was up at the school many days and long hours. It was so wonderful to be such an integrated part of Andrew's final year of elementary school, my final year of elementary school. As I type this, I am awaiting Andrew's senior photo shoot pictures to appear in Drop Box. And so, as I looked at photos of my many layouts, and as I prepare to soon watch this baby boy of mine cross the stage, it seems natural to look back at this 2007 milestone and ponder graduation celebrations.

As I consider the 6'2" young man who has a black cap and gown hanging in the guest closet, I am drawn to the memory of this little boy. Andrew was always tender hearted to his classmates. He was the child whose best friend for the first four years of school was the sweet little boy who was so shy he did not speak. Andrew has always been accepting of all and even seeks out those that he feels need a little extra some something. Andrew is very loyal. His friend, pictured with him on the far right, ended up defeating him in the student council race, and Andrew shook it off and kept right on with the friendship.

This little boy heart was as sweet as he was shy. He would sit quietly, listening to it all, taking it all in, processing it...and add a comment when it was least expected, in the moment or days afterward. That little thinking boy scored a 29 on the ACT without cracking a book and can solve a Rubik's Cube in seconds. And he is still mildly shy...but he can and often does bring a room to laughter with a quick-witted retort to any kind of comment.

I love his story. All of it. It has been my pleasure to have a front row seat to every chapter. From his little head nestling against my neck, to his chubby hands bringing me flowers, to his tween body getting ice cream with me, to his tall lumbering frame sharing his comic book heroes with me. I have counted all of it joy. It has been my pleasure. It has been a celebration in my heart to have him in my life. 

In 5 weeks we will have our reunion at Hunt. I didn't go with Philip and he said they all asked about me. Who knew moms could go? And then in 6 weeks, we will have one more graduation ceremony with my Andrew. And I will spend the next 6 weeks smiling at this boy, remembering his story, cherishing all of the chapters, and loving how God has crafted him into the young man that he is. 

We will embrace this coming senior high graduation celebration and we will remember fondly this 5th grade graduation celebration, and we will work even harder to remember all the way back to his kindergarten graduation. And as we dream, we look forward to his someday college graduation. I do love this 5th grade memory of him. And I love all my memories of him.

Graduation Celebration ~ Andrew's 5th Grade Graduation ~ May 2007 

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

Paper: October Afternoon

Fonts: Comic Sans, Pacifico

Baby Daluca and Heaven Above

There might be two or three people in the world that look at Sea World photos and think about and hear what I think about and hear when I look at them. 

When the boys were 2 and 3, we moved from The Woodlands to San Antonio. Steve and I had done many weekend road trips to the tourist mecca 3 hours west of Houston over the years, and I even traveled there as a child with my parents and with various school groups. It always held an attraction for me. If Houston was the reliable aunt as a town, San Antonio was the fun cousin. And who doesn't love a fun cousin? So, when Steve's job offered us a relocation to San Antonio, we felt like we had won the lottery, and promptly began packing our bags.

We lived there for three short years. Steve didn't get the memo to do poorly and stay planted at his little store for a good 5 or 10 years. A larger store loomed and the promotion was too good to pass up. I never felt like I got enough time to live with my fun cousin, my riverwalk city, my cactus in bloom countryside. While we did live there, though, we made the most of it.

San Antonio was an amazing place to raise toddlers. So many warm and sunny days in any given year that provided an ideal climate for two outdoorsy boys who loved to run and climb and chase and roll and swing and slide. City parks and neighborhood playgrounds were abundant and many errand days or outings began or ended with a stop at one of them. It seemed natural, too, to invest in season passes to SeaWorld. 

I would be hard pressed to tell you who was more fascinated by the giant marine mammals - Steve and I, or the boys. We all delighted in taking in the shows, following the herd from one arena to the other on well manicured pathways defined by borders of lantana. We knew enough to avoid the splash zones and loved to sit where we could see all of the tricks and acrobatic maneuvers of the beautiful animals.

My favorite was always the beluga whale show. They seemed so graceful and full of secret stories as they slowly made their way along the walls of the giant tank of water. And I never see a photo or think of a beluga whale that I don't remember two tow-headed little blonde boys singing, 

"Baby daluca in the deep blue sea, swims so wild and he swims so free. Heaven above and the sea below and a little white whale on the go...Baby daluca, oh baby daluca...Is the water cold? Is your momma home? What makes you so happy?" 

I always secretly loved that they initially pronounced beluga as daluca. If you had any question as to what they were saying, their crescendos on the chorus line put your questions to ease.

Many family outings were spent at SeaWorld and living in town gave us the perks of going when the rest of the world wasn't invading our home town, allowing us to avoid the crowds. Once we moved south, we never really returned to SeaWorld. It was as if we were unwilling to become "those tourists" and, having lost our home field advantage, we opted to stay away either out of self preservation, or an unwillingness to face up to the loss we felt over missing our beloved riverwalk city. 

Ten years and eight months after moving away, we did return to San Antonio for a few days as a family, and we did also return to SeaWorld for the first time since moving away. It was so much fun to be back where things were so familiar and so full of memory, to take in the tradition of the same shows, and to discover the new features of the park. I always love to go back with the boys to a place they have been before and get them to compare and contrast, to remember and to tell.

We went to our same shows we always had loved, and we went to ride some rides and we went to the penguin habitat. I can still see the baby penguin in my mind. It was a great day to be together. SeaWorld had a way of making our day a little brighter, our world a little smaller, taking us back in time. 

When the day was over, we had fun recalling over dinner our favorite parts of the day. I was not surprised when the majority of the table answered that their favorite show was Shamu. It's hard to not be overwhelmed with amazement at seeing the giant Orcas swim and perform for a delighted stadium. I remember, too, that years ago, we would go for days to only see simply Shamu. Some things never change. And I'm secretly delighted by that. 

I think the song lyrics are spot on - "Heaven above and the sea below, and a little white whale on the go...." That is the stuff that days are made of, days that make you happy.

Simply Shamu ~ SeaWorld ~ March 2011

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

Paper: Echo Park