Your Dreams Stay Big, Your Worries Stay Small

That's my boy there in the green jacket, with the messenger bag and the columbian blue baseball cap worn backwards. That's my boy, away at college, living a life some might say he was born to live. He has always been fairly independent, circling back to the parental units much like a homing pigeon, touching base as needing, remembering where he's from, but not necessarily wanting or needing to hang out there. Big on friendships and social scenes, small on hanging out with us. 

Now, he does love a good family vacation. And he does love us. But just sitting here, chilling with us, not so much. When he hit middle school, he really went into his room for the evenings for the most part, or to the media room. He's my gamer. Not one for TV shows or hanging out downstairs. I took him at face value, never trying to mold him differently, but missing him each night as he headed upstairs. Or, as he aged, headed out to work, or out with friends. 

I think one of the benefits of college is that when they do come home, they do come home. To rest, to recharge, to remember. I think both of my boys really hunkered down at home during Christmas break. Besides family gatherings and church, they didn't really go hang out with friends or do anything. I was surprised, but secretly I loved it. I am glad for the times when we are all back together under one roof.

I was never surprised that Philip planned to go to college. There was never any question. We live in a school district where 94% of graduates go on to some college level work. They are prepped for that. In the fifth grade, you set a trajectory for middle school and at that point, they begin pointing you to college work preparation. I remember quite a few hard discussions with middle school teachers, whom I thought were asking too much of a twelve-year-old. They calmly and firmly let me know that their job was to prepare them for the rigors of high school. And, on the few times that I did talk to one of the boys' high school teachers, they calmly and firmly let me know their job was to prepare them for the rigors of college. And I can say both boys thus far have adapted very well to college. Thank you Tax Dollars, and thank you to their teachers.

When Philip hit the youth group at church, he formed a friendship with Jordan, or J-Money as he was called back in the day. Gosh, that was eight years ago, back in 2007. See, I was the horrible mom that held both of my boys back from starting school one year. So, they were slightly more mature, and both boys connected well with older kids. Philip let me know on numerous occasions, as did Andrew, that I had done them wrong and they were graduating one year late. {If I had it to do over again, I would do the very same thing. Thank you Collins.} At any rate, Philip felt in his heart that he was in the same class as Jordan. So, when Jordan developed senior-itis, Philip did, too. The only problem? Philip was a junior. 

So, by the time Philip's senior year rolled around, we had looked at five colleges before the August school bell rang, kicking off the official countdown. One in Georgia, two in Tennessee, two in Arkansas. That left his senior year to just do some preview weekend experiences and hone down his choices. He did two previews and by November, he had made his selection, falling in love with Nashville as much as, or perhaps even more than, falling in love with the university he picked there.

His plan mapped out, he settled into riding out the last few months as a high school student living under his parents' wings. He made no bones about being ready to leave. I do think there were a few moments toward the end where he got a little sentimental, but the growing urgency of picking out what to take and what to leave at home, and making the list of things to pick up before leaving town quickly overcrowded the little seed of sentimentality. 

Of course, during all of this, mom is finishing his School of Life album, and planning a graduation party, and basically trying to just hold it all together. Goodness. I don't think I've ever cried so much as the day I finished his senior slide show and did the preview of it with the music going. I had picked six songs, with Philip's input, and they were the backdrop to his slideshow, in this order:

• This Is Home - Switchfoot
• Dare You To Move - Switchfoot
• Find Your Wings - Mark Harris
• My Wish - Rascal Flatts
• Home - Philip Phillips
• On My Way - Phil Collins, from Brother Bear

And that ending song finished off the slideshow with my boy looking down the railroad tracks, ready to go.

Tell everybody I'm on my way
New friends and new places to see
With blue skies ahead, yes I'm on my way
And there's no where else that I'd rather be 

Tell everybody I'm on my way
And I'm loving every step I take
With the sun beatin' down, yes I'm on my way
And I can't keep this smile off my face

'Cause there's nothing like seein' each other again
No matter what the distance between
And the stories that we tell will make you smile
Oh it really lifts my heart

So tell 'em all I'm on my way
New friends and new places to see
And to sleep under the stars and could ask for more
With the moon keeping watch over me 

Not the snow not the rain can change my mind
The sun will come out wait and see
And the feeling of the wind in your face can lift your heart
Oh, there's no where I would rather be

'Cause I'm on my way now
Well and truly
I'm on my way now

I'm on my way now 

Tell everybody I'm on my way
And I just can't wait to be there
With blue skies ahead yes I'm on my way
And nothing but good times to share

So, tell everybody I'm on my way
And I just can't wait to be home
With the sun beating down yes I'm on my way
And nothing but good times to show

I'm on my way
Yes, I'm on my way 

I can see that railroad track picture in my mind, and that was June. Fast forward two months, and the college drop-off happened at the speed of light. Oh, Steve and I weren't ready. And I don't think Andrew really was either. But, no mistake, Philip got there, we got him settled, and it was clear as day he was ready for us to go, and for his new life to begin. We rolled onto campus that morning about 9, and rolled off around 4:30. See, we had to get on our way, so that he could get on his way. 

I love seeing this boy in this photo, full of confidence, ready to take on his new life, discover himself, figure out what he's to do with life. My prayer was then, and continues to be, that he enjoys the journey, and isn't reaching only for a future destination, and that he is truly loving every step he takes, with his new friends and new places to see.

Son, I will tell everybody you're on your way. Breathe in the blue sky. Savor the good times. New friends and new places to see. The moon is keeping watch over you. My wish? That your dreams stay big and your worries stay small. Dream big. Adventure is out there.

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation

Paper: Echo Park

Title Fonts: Gurmukhi, Halohandletter 

To The Kingdom Come

We moved away from the community in which I was raised in January 1991, after living there as a married couple for 3 1/2 years. It was a change that my family questioned, but one that I knew in my heart was best for me and Steve, one that would give us the opportunity to craft together our life, a life outside the enmeshed boundaries of a large multi-generational family that had calendars full of events. 

We sold our little North Shore house that General Homes had built for us in 1988, and moved north 45 minutes to The Woodlands, into a two-story house that Ryland built for us. It was all just so perfect, looking back, and when my nephews coined the area "the magical forest", I think they were on to something. We picked a lot at the end of a cul-de-sac and I was immediately in love with all the mature trees and the wild blackberry bushes at the back of the property.

We found a new church home and began living the life that would grow and mature us, in much the same way as the hundred-year-old pines and yaupons that surrounded every house, each neighborhood, all roadsides. We were blessed to live in The Woodlands for just short of 7 years, and I would be lying if I were to say that I don't miss it to this day. I don't play the "What if" game, but if I am ever tempted to, it would be regarding my magical forest.

Outside the scope of frequent family events, we found ourselves with some open calendar space and began cultivating friendships with peers. It was an almost novel concept to us, having lived near my parents and my sisters and their families, and all the fun, but unending, series of events that 7 nieces and nephews offered. We teased that - at that time - we had 3 weeks off in June, as there were no birthdays or events between Father's Day and July 4. At any rate, living 45 minutes away from all of that gave us a new leash on life.

We found so many other twenty-something couples at our church home and it wasn't long before the forest began to feel a little bit more like a home for our hearts. One of our friends was actually a single guy, and as such, he would drop by more often than others. I can remember crystal clear in my mind Ralph, in red sweatpants, lounging on our wedgewood blue couch one December while we did some Christmas baking, and him talking about KLTY, the Houston area Christian radio station. 

Steve and I had both listened to some Amy Grant and Michael W. Smith back in college, but as a married couple, I had introduced Steve to country & western, and I think most of the time our radio was tuned to that. Ralph planted another forest seed that night. We then began listening to KLTY sporadically, but I struggled with all the different genre sounds the different artists embodied. I eventually got over that annoyance and embraced the divergent sounds. And the seed that Ralph planted took root, and over time we both fell in love with Contemporary Christian music and kept all radios tuned to 94.9. I can still remember Philip as a two-year-old singing the jingle along with the radio whenever KLTY played their call sign.

Fast forward nearly 25 years, years full of a musical diet that was about 95% comprised of Contemporary Christian music, and I discovered the annual Night of Joy event at the Magic Kingdom in Walt Disney World. Well, imagine my complete and utter delight at the concept of two nights of concerts at one of my favorite places on earth! World were colliding - and it was a beautiful thing!

Chris Tomlin, Casting Crowns, Mercy Me, Third Day, David Crowder Band - the 2010 headliner MainStage bands. Literally all bands I loved, bands whose CDs I had, whose songs I knew. Having the amazing husband that I do, when I pitched the idea, he didn't call me crazy, but began considering the feasibility of it and whether or not we could go. We had not left the boys behind on many, if any, trips in over a decade, but they weren't up for the adventure and it seemed like it was time for a trip for two. We lined up my mom to come stay with the boys, and booked our seats on the Magical Express.

It was a wonderful trip. It was bittersweet to be there without the boys, but we did have so much fun. We had three full days, and two travel days, and managed to have plenty of time to take in the magic of all four parks over the long 5 day weekend. The two nights of concerts at Magic Kingdom was a true joy, and it was the perfect experience for our first hard ticket Disney event. Not only did we love the concerts in front of Cinderella's castle, we loved that as we walked through the park, we could hear them piping Christian music throughout the entire park. It was so much fun to be walking through Adventureland in the dark and hearing Mercy Me's "I Can Only Imagine" over the sound system. 

Yes, worlds were colliding and it was a beautiful thing. The Happiest Place on Earth took on new meaning. It seemed even more magical that weekend. We haven't been back to a Night of Joy event yet. I am pleased that the annual event continues. I hope to someday make it back to one. Every time I get the invitation that offers "To The Kingdom Come", I sigh, I smile, I remember, and I wish. Dreams do really come true. I know. I've been blessed enough to know. To the Kingdom come? Yes, please! I can only imagine!

Magical Trip for Two ~ Night of Joy ~ September 2010

Sketch Credit: Scrapbook Generation

Paper: We R Memory Keepers

Letter Stickers: October Afternoon

Title Font: Waltograph

Million Dollar Movies, Priceless Moments

Some of us are old enough to remember television on three network channels only...and maybe that fourth local channel that offered reruns, if you could twist your antennae just right and the wind wasn't blowing too hard. You know...the days when the children were the remote? And there was one television in the house and it might have been in a cabinet as big as your sofa?

Dad and mom had the most amazing television set. And boy was it ever a set. It was a long chest-like cabinet, with the television screen in the middle, and big speakers on either side of it. The fascinating part, though, was that the top of both speakers lifted, and revealed a turntable on one side and a tape player on the other side. Opening up those special cases was akin to opening Fort Knox. 

Every time mom wanted to move the furniture, the big question was, "Where will we put the TV?" You see, it had to hook up externally to the antennae that was outside the window, via a thin black cord that was the equivalent of the TV's umbilical cord. That TV could only go so far from the window. Otherwise, it really was just another big piece of furniture.

It's so funny to think back now to how we all circled around that square screen, as if it were the campfire. However, none of us could sit directly in front of the screen if dad was home, as our little heads would block his view. Of course, we could not talk either. We sat between him and the speakers and we couldn't - or didn't - dare override the important sound emitting from those side speakers that accompanied the grainy - and sometimes still black and white - picture off our  choice de jour from our four channels.

So, our little semi-circle on the floor each night was our "front seat" to the wide world of sports, olympics that occurred every four years, news that came on twice a day for 30 minutes, Mash, Sanford & Son, All in the Family, The Waltons, The Carol Burnett Show, and the crowning moment of any day, The Tonight Show with the inimitable Johnny Carson. {I was only old enough to stay up late enough to watch this when I entered high school.} As persnickety as all the TV watching rules were, we did do a lot of laughing over simple sitcoms and comic geniuses.

Afternoons of TV were much more relaxed. They usually included my brother and I settling in to our favorite set of reruns - Gilligan's Island, I Dream of Jeannie, Leave it to Beaver, The Addams Family, The Monsters, with maybe some Flintstones thrown in there somewhere. And oh, the Scooby Doo marathons that a Saturday morning offered! So many simple moments together on that oval rug that substituted for the highway of our MatchBox cars during antennae outages or program delays - or the dreaded news bulletin interruption.

Life was simple. Four channels simple. Amazingly, we got all we needed to off of those four channels. And, we didn't even get to watch everything they offered! Soap was off limits. I think Eight is Enough was also off the list. And we missed all of the Wonderful World of Disney broadcasts since we went to church every Sunday night. There are still, to this day, Disney classics I haven't seen. {Shudder.} ;-)

One of the best memories of all of the TV elements, though, is my memory of the daily movie. Every afternoon at 3 PM, the local CBS channel would run the MILLION DOLLAR MOVIE. It had such a hokey graphic. A case, shaped to hold a roll of movie film, decked out and completely covered in gold rhinestones, with simple black all caps lettering on it saying MILLION DOLLAR MOVIE. But, the fun part was that it was on a little turntable and it would slowly spin, as if that made the movie more compelling.

Mom and I watched so many movies together. She was home until my brother started kindergarten, and then she was home in the summer. It would be a warm sunny afternoon, and she would sit on the couch folding laundry, and I would sit at her feet, and we would sing with Elvis, laugh with Bob Hope, and cry with Doris Day. It was a quiet time of the day. The movie would be over by 5, and dinner would be started during the commercials toward the end. And in those pre-dusk shadowy afternoons, movie magic happened. Life paused. Aside from the laundry, the to-do lists were set aside. Mom and I would sit there and watch the movies, happy to be together, happy to be entertained, happy to see the showcase of the million dollar movie.

I have always loved movies. Seeing a good movie throughout my life has always been a joy. Steve and I had many dates to campus movies. We still love to go today. Finding a new classic, a new favorite, is like finding a true treasure. I think it goes back to those afternoons with my mom. 

Sometimes in the absence of clothes clamoring to be folded, I could curl up on the couch next to her, settling into the soft crook of her padded arm. She was a good pillow. She was a good movie buddy. She is - and always has been - my great friend. While I have my memories of the million dollar movies, I am blessed today to still have my movie buddy, and our friendship is the real movie magic.

Reel Favorites ~ Timeless Movies I Love ~ 2009

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

You Can Never Have Too Much Happiness

My oldest sister bought a house built in 1913 in LaPorte, to turn it into a quilt retreat. Steve and I ran to Houston on Saturday for the day and spent the second half of it with my sister and her husband. Even though I have been following the progress on her blog, it was fun to see the house in person. As we finished up the exterior tour and headed into the house, I paused for a moment and looked toward the end of the porch and said to sister, "This porch reminds me so much of Granny's porch."

Our grandmother had a craftsman style home and on the big family gathering days, we children were relegated to the outdoors, as that was the best space left over to accommodate me, my siblings, and my 20-odd cousins. That porch was not only a long dining table, but also a grand castle, a steamship, a pirate island, a grocery store, a lookout tower...it had possibilities as endless as the summer days were long. The expanse of the covered porch and the placement of the house in relation to the sun's exposure guaranteed shade at all times and I don't recall it ever being a hot spot.

It grew in me, I guess, a deep respect and unshakeable adoration for a good 'ole porch. Having lived in Texas my whole life, I am savvy enough to know that if I want to be outside half of the year, I need to build or cultivate some kind of shade. We have been blessed - or cursed - to build from the ground up four houses. Each time, I have been meticulous in selecting the house, selecting the lot, working with the builder...and each time I have factored in the setting and rising sun and its impact on the house. 

When we built our current home, we absolutely lucked out. The silhouette of our home casts a complete shadow on the backyard every afternoon beginning around 4 p.m. It is really a sweet little treasure. In 2012 when we expanded our back porch by 1,000 square feet, we nixed plans to build an arbor, realizing it would cover up the view of the nighttime stars, and the house would give us the needed evening shade for gatherings and dinners.

We have really loved that back porch. It's a quiet escape in the morning to watch the sun come up, while you sip your snicker doodle coffee. It's a relaxing perch from which one can watch Truman chase rabbits during the day. It's an outdoor living room in the evening when we all come home from work and, previously, the boys from school, where we can sit and gather and soak in the freshness of the outdoors, which we all seem to love and need regular daily Vitamin D doses. A good day to me is one in which I have spent a good amount of time on my back porch.

When the boys were home and in their driving years, Sunday afternoons shifted from time spent with us to time spent with friends. It was a change we didn't relish, but it was one we could not fight. We could see the value in their development of community with friends from their youth group. The tectonic shift in how we spent the one day my husband almost always has off was one to which we did not easily adapt, but adapt we did. We considered it preparation for the looming college launch years. You loosen the strings long before you let them go.

The change in our together time made us appreciate the moments that we were together all the more. Sunday lunch shared every week can become common and more a process of remember whose turn it is to pick the entree. Sunday lunch shared 6-8 times a year becomes a treasured jewel, more about who you're with than where you are, the undisputed peak of the week. And usually, when the boys would eat lunch with us, they would not go back out. 

June 2013 began the countdown to Philip leaving. He nestled in with us more toward the end with deliberate cutting of local ties and, in my heart I believe, his own process of saying goodbye to the life he had known, as he hunkered down in his room more often than he had in a few years. It is interesting to contrast and compare their leaving processes now, but that is another story for another day. 

This sunny afternoon found us all together, and I happened to have my DSLR with me, knowing that this day together was one of those jewels. There is no grand story here. Just three of the photos I shot that day, capturing the vitality of my sons' beautiful faces, their penchant for sitting near each other, their endearing and effortless smiles. They are such a complimentary pairing. You could put them up against any classic - peanut butter and jelly, salt and pepper, Batman and Robin - and they could hold their own. They laugh so much together. They crack each other up. They crack us up, too. 

It has always been such a joy to see them interact. I have hundreds of photos of them laughing together. They are each precious to me. My only regret is not having the ability to capture their wit on paper, or video. I could not ever begin that undertaking - it would require me to record them constantly and they would never go for that. Mercy - getting a smiling photo of Andrew is a task that is daunting enough already. 

As I looked at photos on Sunday to scrap, these prints called out to me. And as I paired them with paper, this little Summer Fresh line seemed to be, like my boys, the perfect pairing. One of the little tags for the paper set proclaimed, "You can never have too much happiness." As I look at these boys laughing on my back porch, and smile and weep at the memory, I know that little tag nailed it. 

There will be more stories, more laughter, more moments together on the back porch. They will become jewels that are even more precious. As I FaceTime with my sons now in Nashville and in Denver, and try to glimpse their essence through all 27" of my iMac screen, I know it is true. You can never have too much happiness.

You Can Never Have Too Much Happiness ~ Back Porch Stories ~ June 2013

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

Paper: Simple Stories, Cosmo Cricket

The View from the Rockers, Above the Waves

I like to think of myself as an equal opportunity employer. See, there are two types of trips I love - the all out on-the-go non-stop kind of trip....and the trip where you just relax and go slow. True R&R. We have to balance our trips to hold everyone's interest, so we do mix it up. If I had to pick only one, I couldn't. I think that is why I like to cruise so much - it's the perfect hybrid: relaxing at sea, and adventure in the ports. 

When it comes to picking just the R&R vacation destination, I'll go first pick every time with the beach. Not much else has a chance unless I win the lottery and come into my own. ;-) I can never get in enough beach. Two summers ago we were blessed to plan for a week in South Carolina, right smack dab on the beach. The house we rented had an amazing location - and a full back porch that faced the shoreline. The picture below of the rocking chairs in single file, full of people I love, is one of my favorite beach moments ever.

It was like Beach 2.0 - the beachy experience I love, combined with a beautiful porch to veg on. See, I have a thing for porches, too. I have a thing for a lot of things, granted, but beaches + porches = some real bliss. When we were searching VRBO.com, when I found this house with the porch and rockers, it was pretty much a done deal that we would rent that one. 

And it turned out to be really a sweet, sweet time there on that beachy porch. It was the perfect perch for sunrise coffee and devotion, mid-morning conversations, post-dinner revelry, and late night deep thinking. When not on the beach, or inside for meals, we sat and took in the scenery - shrimp boats trawling, dolphins following in their wake, early morning exercisers, families strolling at dusk, the lights of Savannah across the harbor, coming on and twinkling as the day begrudgingly surrendered fully to the night. The chairs were almost always full. One could see the sense of urgency to get on out there and claim one of those rockers. See, there were 9 of us, and only 7 chairs. A true case of the early bird getting the worm. 

Speaking of birds and worms, one of the stories that played out on that porch while we were there was the battle with a momma bird for her time to feed her babies. Just above the door to the porch sat an external stereo speaker. And between that speaker and the house exterior, a momma bird had built her nest. We could hear those babies crying out in the morning for their daily feeding, and we could sense the frenetic energy of the mom as she waited for a safe moment to dive in and deposit the food delivery. It was, as both families were about to put a boy into his high school senior year, a poignant message to us about tending our nests, nurturing them, and becoming ready on all fronts for them to fly. 

We ignored that momma bird's badgering, as much as we ignored the message she chirped to our hearts. We sat rocking, resolutely, firm in our belief we were entitled to this window of family fun. We have had varying trips with different pieces and parts of the Kelly family over the years. This trip, though, was tender and such a gift, as it was the first time we all ever just went somewhere to be together and to take in the serenity of the ocean. On the porch, up above the waves.

They are an amazing family. So many layers to each of their personalities. We have been blessed to know them for 17 years. We have been blessed to have them praying with us, laughing with us, reading with us, crying with us, playing games with us, growing with us,  for all these 17 years. We have never been blessed, yet, to live in the same city. But, our bond reaches across the miles. And every so often, it happens to afford us coveted time together on the same piece of real estate.

I know we talked about much that week, but we listened, too. We sat and took in creation and listened. As I think about our Kelly grove, and our time together beside the ocean, I can't help but contemplate Hillsong United's song, Ocean. 

You call me out upon the waters,
The great unknown, where feet may fail.
And there I find You in the mystery,
In oceans deep, my faith will stand.

And I will call upon Your name,
And keep my eyes above the waves.
When oceans rise
My soul will rest in Your embrace,
For I am Yours, and You are mine.

Your grace abounds in deepest waters.
Your sovereign hand will be my guide.
Where feet may fail and fear surrounds me,
You've never failed, and You won't start now.

So I will call upon Your name,
And keep my eyes above the waves.
When oceans rise
My soul will rest in Your embrace,
For I am Yours, and You are mine.

Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders.
Let me walk upon the waters,
Wherever You would call me.
Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander,
And my faith will be made stronger
In the presence of my Savior.

This week together on Harbor Island was a week that stands out so in my heart. A snapshot in time. A snippet of togetherness for our hearts. A serendipitous pause from life to gather, cherish, nurture, explore, rest. No matter where life's tides take us, our families are knit together and we thank God for the Kelly family, for time together in creation, for the calling to stand with them on this side and ponder and remember and tell. Above the waves.

Life may have its borders, its challenges, its upheavals, its questions. So thankful for together time and for the community we have that helps us remember our faith is without borders. No matter life's tides. 

Family Fun ~ Harbor Island, South Carolina ~ August, 2012

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

Paper: October Afternoon

Font: American Crafts Kinzie

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

Moments Worth Remembering

Trace Adkins has a song called "You're Gonna' Miss This" and it just tears me up every time I hear it. {And you can read that tears to rhyme with pairs or to rhyme with hears. Works either way.}

I had a handful of random photos from a windy spring day that never seemed to amount to much in the scrappy layout world. Just the boys and Steve tossing a football and wrestling. Simple good times. No great shots. Just a few photos that were snapped as I sat on the chilly grass and watched my guys. We all love the outdoors and love to get out in it as much as possible. I have never minded being the one to watch, the home base, the keeper of the time and guardian of our stuff. Such was my perch on this Sunday afternoon, camera in hand, laughter in my heart.

The photos of that Sunday afternoon sat in my "to scrap" binder for most of 2008, all of 2009, 2010, 2011, 2012 and half of 2013....They seemed too small to mean much. The funny thing about stories is that they are organic. They morph and change and grow and shift. What was once just a windy day at the park over time turned into our last day playing at the park, the timeframe when Philip could tackle his younger brother, the days when Steve was taller than our boys....

As I worked on clearing out the 2008 album last year and wrapping up the loose ends of passed over photos and untold stories, I came across these photos and knew the moment was now tender enough and precious enough to scrap. This wasn't just a day at the park anymore. These days when we had their attention all Sunday afternoon were good times. These days when they could wrestle and not seriously hurt one another were fun times. These days when Steve could keep ahead of them were precious times. These days when they would need to run to the sidelines and camp out with me for a break from the action were tender times.

The reality is that when you are IN the last moment of something, you are never fully aware that you are IN the last moment. Had I known this was our last day at the park, I would have taken more photographs, staged some backdrop, taken a picnic...done any number of things to make the day more monumental, more concrete, more significant. But these photos remind me that we don't often know what lies ahead. We cannot see around the corner.

I have a sign hanging in my office, alongside photos of my three guys. "Live in the moment and make it so beautiful that it will be worth remembering." It's a paraphrase of a quote by Ida Taylor Scott. That sign is my clarion call, the reason I make the decisions I make, the ideal that keeps me focused. Trace is right. When the moments are only behind you, you are left to rely on a few silly photos, and if you are lucky, some beautiful memories in your heart to go with them.

You're gonna' miss this,
You're gonna' want this back.
You're gonna' wish these days hadn't gone by so fast.
These are some good times, 
So take a good look around.

You may not know it now,

But you're gonna' miss this.

I miss these little boys with their tender hearts, their innocent smiles, their round cheeks and twinkling mischievous eyes. I miss sunny Sunday afternoons spent together at a park, playing with few cares of the world on our shoulders. I miss silliness and games of chase and tackle. I miss these moments worth remembering.

Park Play ~ Arbor Hills Nature Reserve ~ April 2008

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

Paper: My Minds Eye, Pebbles