If you are a Judgey Judge Face, please feel free to unfriend me!

 

When I was growing up I remember being at my Grandmaw’s house on her front porch swing pouring my heart out to her because so many kids at school were being mean to me. They would criticize my hair, the fact that I had so many freckles, and huge eyes. They would judge and make fun of the clothes I wore. They would laugh at me because I was “weird”. Those middle school years sucked to say the least. I grew up poor, never had the new trendy clothes or gadgets. I was socially awkward on top of all of that. Hurtful words and action are hard to deal with at any age, but as a middle schooler it was hard to understand why we couldn’t all just support each other. I mean its the most awkward years of our lives and aren’t we all going through this together? I remember this particular evening with Grandmaw being so upset because I just knew that if I just had the cool clothes or shoes that everything would be ok. If I was just like everyone else, it wouldn’t be so bad. Somehow blending in would make my life easier or better. But my Grandmaw- the smartest woman I ever knew told me this….
“You are weird, but you are who you are”. She told me that it was our differences that make us special. She made me promise to never compromise myself for anyone. She then went on to speak to me the truest words I have ever heard. She said one day you will find people who love your weird because they are weirdos too.
And just like everything else she told me, she was right.
I am going to be very transparent here, probably more than I ever have before in my life… because I want to show you all how easy it is to conform- even when you think you are doing it to be better. I am not saying don’t improve yourself. We always should be looking to be a kinder person, we should always be learning something new. There will always be areas that require work. Just stay true to self along the way and self evaluate.
I can recall one period of my life that I did compromise who I was. It was a time when I was trying to “redefine” myself. It was during this period that I grew up a lot but also stopped being true to myself in order to “fit in” or get approval.
Side note: During this time, I met completely amazing people. People who have loved me through it all, people who have helped me better a better me, people who never judged me. I am so thankful for the many folks who I met during this time who are a light to me and my family.

So when you (if you are a Judgey Judge Face)- are reading this know that I still LOVE JESUS. Oh, and if you think that I am referring to you specifically- then I probably am. .
The Captain and I were going through the most difficult time in our marriage, it was very near over. We were not kids anymore, but also still not sure how to be adults; all while having a kid of our own and a mortgage. All of our friends at this time were in similar transition and it was just an all around strange time in our life. We knew something (Someone) was missing in our life so we decided to join a church. It changed our lives forever- for the first time, we had a meaningful relationship with Christ. I am forever grateful for the lessons that I learned during this time of my life. This is also the time period that I lost who I was in order to “fit the mold”.
During this time of trying to figure out who I was and who I was going to be, I started to become someone that repulsed me.
(Read here; that not everyone was as described. Again, I also met and still know caring, loving people during this time. But as you will read- some were meanies).
I was morphing into my surroundings by justifying judgement on others. It became the norm to gossip about others while masking it as concern. It was the norm to blast others for not believing the same as “us”. It was normal to “poke fun” of people who were struggling in some way or another. Loving others turned into loving those who looked like us, who lived like us, and isolating those who didn’t fall suit. I became part of a “click” with closed minds and closed off to the actual world around. It was like slowly all of my free thoughts were filtered through the direction of others. Some of the people that I called friends were just like the punks I knew in middle school. They still made fun of the way I dressed, the way I did my hair, and even the way I managed a health scare. They still ridiculed my decisions- the way I spent money, the way I raised my family, the hobbies that I loved, and the actual friends and family that I had. It was like we were all so busy looking at the flaws in others that our own issues became justifiable by comparison. At the time I didn’t realize that I was slowly becoming a mindless sheep all in the so called name of “freedom”. I may have stayed in this mind-numbing life phase had it not been for the love of one of my life long best friends- she was not in the “click”. To spare the details, a very lengthy story, and series of events, I will say this.
Be cautious of people whose actions don’t match their words.
At that moment I was suddenly very aware of all of me that I had compromised.
Now that lots of time since all of this has passed. I can clearly see the areas of myself that I allowed others to stipend. And I refuse to allow that in my life anymore. If I like it, I wear it. If I think it’s funny- I laugh… freaking loudly. If I want to say it, I say it confidently. I no longer keep quiet when hate is justified. I will no longer keep my mouth shut because the truth  exposes or offends.
You can judge me all you want, but you won’t hurt me. You can talk about me to all of your friends and laugh about how you think you are better than me, but you won’t dull my sparkle.
I WILL BE WHO I AM! (Big eyes and all!)



So, to make the point of this post.
If you follow me on social media and you feel the need to call your friends and judge me over a post I have made, feel free to unfriend me.
If you think you have it all figured out, feel free to unfriend me.
If you think you see every part of my life on social media, feel free to unfriend me.
If you think the way you believe is the only way, feel free to unfriend me.
If you hate on every post because it makes you feel better about yourself, feel free to unfriend me.
If you still act like middle school bully when you are a grown adult, feel free to unfriend me.
If you enjoy hating on every post just so you and your friends have something to talk about, stay tuned because there will plenty more to come so ENJOY THE SHOW! But be careful! Because I may give you a shout out.
I no longer need “friends” in my life who kill my vibe, who don’t support me, who don’t love me and my family. I no longer allow the opinions of others to define me or my character.
Because freedom is loving yourself. I know who I am. I am proud of where I have been and I know where I am going.
To all the others, thanks for all of your kind comments through the years. I love using social media to share goings on with friends and family who live far away or those I don’t see often. I love seeing your kiddos grow up and your date nights with your spouses. I love the food pics you share. I’ve gotten lots of good recipes from you guys. Keep sharing those travel pics of beautiful places. Thanks for sharing new RD pieces and new ways for me to use glitter. You are what makes it fun for me.
If you are currently struggling with “friends” who are negative to you, who treat you less than you deserve; trust me when I say this. “Bye, Felicia! You don’t need them. Stop hiding your thoughts because you are afraid. Stop hiding because they might see your weirdo.
I have found the most beautiful weirdos in the world to do life with. We all disagree on just about everything but we respect each others thoughts. We tell each other how it is. We raise our pack together, learning from mistakes and praising accomplishments. Life is about moments. When I think of some of the most joyful times in my life, these people were there, or will be there. When I have been broken, they helped put me back together. They help me grow and learn. We have fun together and we are never afraid to be freaking weird!

Who said girls like pink?

I don't often jump on a soapbox, but today I am just done with ignorance. I am done with folks just blindly following the "flow" because they don't know a better way, or simply because that is the way they were raised, or because it was always like that....


We live in a world full of possibilities, full of access to knowledge, full of opportunity for change. Somewhere along the way "diversity" became a bad word. Somewhere along the race of time, folks overlooked the power in change and instead closed their minds to anything beyond their spectrum.


I will say this. I am not right, I get it wrong often. But I am right about the power in love and the strength in "why".


I'm going to express the point of this post right now so that if you are a close minded Facebook troll, you can continue knowing that I am going to piss you off, or you can just hit the "X" on the top of your screen and carry on about your day.


The human race has forgotten how to love people and instead replaced love with a set of "rules" that demand explicit following and when not followed result in shaming and all sorts of ways to alienate you.


I have a few topics that really get me fired up in the world today. Here is one, and in no particular order I will cover a few more in the coming weeks.






Gender Norms
(I felt  your eyes roll as you read that.)


At the simplest form, boy/girl... right.? You have all seen the arguments, the shaming, the hate.


Go through our beloved Target and you will see a very clear line. Boy toys, girl toys, men's clothing, women's clothing... you get my point.


WHY are toys separated by gender, by color; blue/pink? WHY do we buy girls pink unicorn and tiara filled blankets and boys blankets with blue trucks or camo on them? Who decided that boys play with dump trucks and girls with baby dolls?


Is it reflective of the 50's when the norm was that women stayed home and took care of a home and kids while men worked? (Cuz... that was a few decades ago people... ) And on that topic, who said women couldn't work and men take care of the children???... So many questions. Who said a working mom was wrong? Who said a SAHM was wrong?  (These topics will be discussed later, so I won't go into that right here.)


Easily distracted.


Ok, back to irresponsible gender norms.


I have a super adorable 3 year old boy. He has no idea what a gender norm is. He doesn't know that they world says he can't play with this baby doll. He doesn't know when he picks up his hammer that "the man" with a head nod of approval says that's a boys toy and he should play with that. (Please tell me you hear how asinine that sounds as you read it... but isn't it true?!! He doesn't know that he is being looked at like he committed treason.







My son was given a baby doll, Emery, (pictured) by his bestie. He loves Emery. He often lugs her around the house and includes her in his many adventures in Legos, or playing on the slide in his playhouse out back. He loves to wrap her up in his blanket and snuggle her. To him, he is pretending he is a Papa Bear. He is showing her how he feels love. Why is he being told by family members that, "boys don't play with babies"? What message does that send?... Oh I will tell you the message, the ramifications of this particular stereotype.... It is my husband coming out of a bathroom with an unchanged infant because there is no changing table. Because somewhere years ago when a "men's bathroom" was created no one thought to put one in there... because that is when "women's work" bullshit reigned. And the worst part of that ... is MILLIONS of men's bathrooms have been built since with no changing table...because ... that's the way it was always done?? WHYYYY??? Because no one questions it? It also sends a clear message that men shouldn't be nurturers. Think about that for second.... What "boy" toy allows for nurturing? Is it the monster truck that crushes cars, or the action figure who blows stuff up, or the machine gun that pretend kills people??? Seriously.


So yes, if my son wants to play with a baby to mimic his Papa then fine. Because my husband breaks those "gender norms" every single day.

This picture was taken at the exact same time. My smoking hott hubs was cooking dinner for his family and there was Coop pretending to do the same.. being like Papa. Several people have mocked the fact that we bought him a play kitchen when he asked for it? But why?? Is cooking not a life skill and necessary for survival for both male and female? Why are these things marketed for girls? I gotta tell ya... my man can freakin cook. I love this about him. Men can be great chefs in real life but can't pretend to make their mama a freakin cookie on a plastic stove?? The "logic" blows my mind. Also, Coop has a cleaning cart that he plays with often. (Another area that seems to be a topic of conversation). Because in our house, we all clean. Laundry, dusting, vacuuming, etc. we all live there, we can all clean it up. Just because I have boobs doesn't not mean that the chores are left to me. There are fewer thing sexier than a man that just vacuumed while he was waiting to take dinner out of the oven.


I say these things to say this. There is nothing about cooking and cleaning that makes a man less of a "man". My husband doesn't "help" me in these areas because they are things that we are both responsible for. We are partners.

So now that we have discussed a few "gender norm" topics, I will get to my last point on the subject, appearance.

Several years ago, Shark, my oldest for those that don't know me in real life, was bullied by a TEACHER because of his long hair. He has always had great hair. At the time, he was in middle school and he had the most beautiful curls.

So on this day, the teacher was lining the kids up, boys and girls separately. Out of nowhere, she looked at Shark, in front of everyone, and said, "Connor, I think you should line up with the girls, since you have long hair".

This is a TRUE story.

Shark answered her with, "Are you really so naïve to think that all boys should have short hair and all girls should have long hair?" He then pointed out that her logic contradicted itself because she had short hair.

That kid constantly impresses me.

Coop has what he adorably calls his "baby bun. This is a toddler version of a man bun. It gets more condescending comments than you can ever imagine.

WHY does it matter? Are we any less or any more because of our hairstyle? Why does another person feel the arrogant need to comment in this area?

Coop also loves color nails, (nail polish). Again another area for people to talk about... Cooper loves colorful things and it makes him so excited to pick out different polishes.  But somewhere along the way someone deemed this a "girl thing". Why? Why does my husband get poked at because he likes to wear bracelets? And GEEZE you would have thought he murdered someone when he admits to getting a pedicure.  These are things of preference and self expression. I remember being in high school and one of my friends had a zit that he was sure was going to ruin prom, but he refused to put some concealer on it out of fear of what would be said if someone found out... so he spent all night self-conscience and trying to cover it with his hair and his hands. Again, someone said makeup is for girls... and bam no one asked why....

The gender norm topics that I have mentioned here are so surface compared to the turmoil that some face on this topic. It is truly heart breaking how many people out their have such closed minds but wide open mouths. I have been asked many times, about Coops nail polish or Sharks hair, why let them do that when they are just going to get made fun of?

Can you believe that question???? Let's break it down...

Why allow and promote self expression in your child?

Why allow them to be get unjustifiably bullied?

But that is the world we live in now folks. We live in a place that promotes quiet conformity. We see a time where it is ok to bully someone for being different then act outraged when we see things on the news about adolescent suicide.

Aren't you doing that though?


Are you telling your children about love? Are you a living example of compassion or are you snickering with them when you see someone who looks different that you? Are you pointing out the kid at Publix who is dressed in clothes you would never wear? Are you shaking your head in disappointment when you see something that doesn't match your beliefs?




You don't have to agree with me on this. You don't have to think that the way we raise our boys is ok. But what I am asking for is this....


How about you stop judging others based on your norm? What if you asked WHY instead of following the rest of the sheep.


It's perfectly ok to disagree with someone. It is not ok to bully, degrade, demean, and make someone feel less.




Live openly,
KK

Supper Time

I love being from the south. I was born and raised here. I love all of the well-known southern traditions. Some folks may poke fun of these things but truth be told, most of them make up who I am. Southern cooking is one of those things. I love to eat! But down here, meals are more than just a time where we provide our bodies nutrients that our blessed by our Heavenly Father. When we get together, what we will eat is almost as important as the reason we are meeting in the first place. Most of our holiday planning is spent at the grocery store trying to decipher the ingredients on the worn index card that has been passed down from great, great Grandmaw. Every family has that meal that you look forward to. Mine was always my Grandmaw’s Sweet Potato Pie, Dad’s Honey Ham or Aunt Donna’s Mac N Cheese. Combine that with Momma’s Dressing and BAAAMM! You would be in a food coma on the couch before the football game started.

Meal time is a big deal around here. Every night my little family sits together at the dinner table. We have a little tradition where we always ask each other to talk about the best part of their day and the worst part. We always know that, that moment will be the best part of the Captain’s day, and no matter what we have for dinner Connor isn’t hungry but always has room for dessert.

I remember as a little girl taking food to friends when they were sick, going through a tough time or had just welcomed a new baby in the world. I am sure you all can remember baking a special treat and finding the perfect dish to put it in to take to the new neighbors. It’s just what we do.

 

Never have I ever seen anything like what happened the week my Grandmaw passed away.

My family was flooded with meals for the next week. That same day friends were bringing over everything from trash bags and coffee to baked spaghetti and this amazing delight called “Ooey Gooey”.

Since I lived with Kimmie that week, each time another meal was brought in, we would just cry. We were overwhelmed with the amount of love and kindness that was shown to us. It seems like something so simple, but take it from me it means so much. It meant that ladies (and gentlemen) were thinking of what we were going through and wanted to help lighten our load. Many of them knew the pain of losing a loved one and simply wanted us to know that they felt our hurt. It meant that they were praying for us and begging that our hearts be filled with as much comfort as our bellies were. Sharing food was their way of telling us we were loved.

As we would eat each of these meals, chatter at the dinner table would eventually get to Grandmaw. We would laugh through the tears recalling the way she prepared meals; always in a fuss over the details and always preparing enough for an army. We would talk about how she would love each of the dinners and would insist that no one should have gone out of their way to make them. We would talk about memories of sharing meal time with her and how she managed to burn the stove up about a zillion times. By the end of dinner with no mess to clean up, our hearts were full and so were our bellies.

The friends who are more like family knew that. Each of them knew that bringing us dinner meant so much more than feeding us. Heck, most of the time, we insisted that they stay and eat with us. We loved telling stories and sharing who Grandmaw was with them, sometimes they would stay well past midnight.

Somehow, in that week, we experienced a hurt and void in our hearts that took our breath and a love and joy that went beyond understanding all at the same time.

To every single person who helped plan, deliver, shop, pickup, or cook- Thank you, from the bottom of my heart!! It is impossible for me to put into words the gratitude that we feel.

Cancer didn't steal my Grandmaw

So I started this blog to help me on the journey of the cancer diagnosis that tried to steal my Grandmaw. I failed. I couldn't write a thing and now that the journey is drawing near the end it's clear that I didn't want to accept it or acknowledge it.

Tonight my Grandmaw is sleeping. It won't be much longer until she is called home. The pain of this world happening without her is enough to take my breath. If I could be honest I can't even go there. I'm so mad I could scream. I feel like I'm forcing myself not to fall apart like I'm convincing myself to put one foot in front of the other and to quote Nemo, "just keep swimming."

This cancer is ravenous.  It's the worst kind of cruel. It's devastating and defeating. It's a thief. But it didn't steal my Grandmaw.  You see my Grandmaw fought with all she had and she never once allowed this monster to steal her joy or her faith. She faced it head on. When her hair was falling out she shaved it and put her red lipstick on and rocked her new look. When it hurt she found strength in Christ. When they told her to stay in bed she lavished in sunshine. She is beautiful. She is strong. 

It's so many things like this that makes my Grandmaw the light in my life. She has this incredible smile that is contagious with captivating dark eyes. When I was growing up she had this long beautiful dark hair and my friends said she looked just like Pocahontas. She never failed to give God the glory in all things. She raised me to work hard and say my prayers.

I am struggling. I am a hot mess with a forced smile. It hurts. It sucks for lack of a better word. It wrecks me to see my Grandmaw like this. It's so unreal that the reality makes me ache.

I know that when I am weak He is strong. I am writing this through a constant state of tears and the closer that time comes the more I can feel God's arms wrapping me in His perfect peace. It's the hardest thing I have ever faced in this life but I have His promises written on my heart.

Slammin screen door and front porch swingin

Definition of nostalgia (n)

Bing Dictionary
nos·tal·gi·a
[ no stáljə ]

1. sentimental recollection: a mixed feeling of happiness, sadness, and longing when recalling a person, place, or event from the past, or the past in general
2. things that arouse nostalgia: something, or things, intended to arouse a feeling of nostalgia or to evoke the past in a way that arouses nostalgia
3. homesickness: a longing for home or family when away from either

As the school days would start to near closer to the end; I was only thinking of one thing....Summertime at Grandmaw and Grandpaw's.

Growing up in my house was never easy and to spare you the details, I will tell you that Grandmaw and Grandpaw's house was my safe haven. When I was there, I was not concerned with anything and that was the only place that I felt like I could be a kid and I could free myself from the burdens from home.

 The days started as soon as the sun peeked over the clouds. Me and Kimberly were "up with the birds". An alluring smell of percolated coffee would swirl the house as Bill Bolen, (Fox 6 News Anchor) informed us of the local goings on. Grandpaw would be perched in his usual spot setting plans for the day or talking on the phone. Uncle Shane-O and Uncle Cary would show up soon and we would no doubt be ready for them. Then there would be my Grandmaw in her usual spot...  the kitchen. She would be working away at homemade biscuits and gravy-the best I've ever had. She would be dressed for the day in flip flops and a house dress with her long black hair pulled back. She would have little patience for anyone but me and Kimberly. She would light up the moment we emerged from our room greeting us with good morning hugs and concerns on how our sleep was. She would be ready for us... a cup of coffee on the front porch swing.

It was in those moments, on that front porch swing that Grandmaw would teach us all about life. She would show us that each day begins in prayer and a cup of fresh coffee-this among many things...

There she would swinging away, talking, smoking her cigarette and pondering of solving the worlds problems with "hell fire and brimstone"... :) kidding a little bit. I remember the way the swing squeaked and it would drive her crazy as she would hollar for Paw-Paw to get a can of WD-40. The mornings would be bright and warm and dew would dance on the grass for longer than we wanted it to. The peach tree that hung over the side of the porch served several purposes as it filled the air with sweet smells. It would give us some delicious peaches by the end of the summer. It was also a good shade tree but most importantly, as those limbs peered over the porch, it would remind us that there were consequences to our actions, and if we ever forgot it wouldn't take but a second for Grandmaw to break off a hickory from one of those limbs and remind us. That was one of the fruit trees we had in the yard. There was a cherry tree that taught us you have to be quick, at least quicker than the birds if you want a cherry. The apple tree taught us patience because a few of those apples before they were ripe always resulted in a belly ache. The garden at Maw's house, just a few steps away, taught us to work hard for what you want in life and the end of the summer when canning started we learned  the benefits of hard work through a big ole batch of vegetable soup that would last all winter.

By the time our coffee was finished the biscuits would be ready and we would go in and eat-always at the table. Here is where Uncle Cary and Uncle Shane-O would show up. I don't know how they always knew when the food was on the table. Uncle Cary would always have our backs as we would plead our case to get in the pool right after breakfast. But still, we would have to wait at least 45 minutes until our food settled, of course.

The days would consist of adventures in the woods and in the playhouse that Paw-Paw built. We would play all day. We would run in and out of the  house to grab various items or Popsicles and Grandmaw would always say, "Stop slammin that screen door!!". When evening would come we would have dinner while Wheel of Fortune hummed in the background. Then afterwards it was back to the front porch as we watched the show the lightening bugs put on. On Friday's we would watch TGIF and one time we followed that with TNT Fright Night and watched The Lost Boys. After a night of vampire filled nightmares and images of Vampire Paw-Paw flying in leather pants and a cape, we decided that we had better not do that again.

Bedtime was my favorite. After bath time was done, Grandmaw would tuck us in nice and tight. She would read us stories... the same ones over and over. I already knew the adventures that Hedy and Hank would experience while trying to get those big turnips to the fair but "Down Down the Mountain" was always our first choice. It never mattered how long the book was or how many times she had read it to us, she would read it with so much passion. We would then tell the birds and the bugs goodnight and just like our day started.... it also ended in prayer.

These memories and hundred more flood my mind in a desperate and frantic scramble to remember every detail about her. I force myself to remember all of them all at once and tell myself, these are precious files brain... put them somewhere safe... don't forget.

On Friday, April 25th 2014 my world was turned upside down. My Grandmaw- my safe place, my mentor, my first phone call every morning, was diagnosed with lung cancer. My devastated Kimmie called me at 10:04 that morning as I sat unknowingly blissful at my desk and broke the news to me. Fear and panic stricken pain consumed me and there was nothing I could do to stop the tears from flowing onto my keyboard. I had to get to her.

I was a mess on the drive. The Lord, no doubt steered my vehicle. The day was hot and bright. I felt like I was moving in slow motion but the world around me continued on. Burgers were still being handed out in bags through windows, ladies were still coming in and out of stores with groceries and life was still happening. How? How could this be? It is not possible for me to know a world without my Grandmaw. It's not possible for me to start the day without calling that old familiar number and hearing her on the other end greet me, her Kryssy-Poo. I got the hospital and couldn't go in. If I went in, that meant it was really happening. No, I would sit right here and wait for Kim, she would be here soon. It was on that concrete wall at Trinity hospital that I felt Him. My sweet Heavenly Father was holding me and consoling me. He knew what I was feeling. He watched His one and only son be tortured and fade into a slow and painful death. He knew that when I heard that word, cancer,  that that is what I knew we would be facing. "Not my Grandmaw", I pleaded and begged.  He just comforted me and filled me with His promises and reminded me that He will never leave me. It was then, resting in His peace, that I began to calm down and breathe. When my Kimmie arrived, we sat, we talked, we accepted and the Three of us walked into the hospital.

Throwback Thursday

So in efforts to find the perfect Throwback Thursday picture... I fumbled through years of old pictures. 
Let me tell you that this took place after a 30 minute bath accompanied by the jams of one Frank Sinatra.  (You may be asking...."How on the planet did you get all those boys preoccupied to take a half hour soak...?"....Tennis and the anticipation of Spring Fling at school for an eager 7 year old.) Perfect! I'll take it!!!
So with my old school jams still humming in the background, I found myself living moments of yesteryear. 
It is clear like I have said before that time seems to be rushing on by like the crazy people that shop on Black Friday.

I found pictures of a younger thinner me. I found pics of the Captain looking as dapper as ever.  And then of course there was my Little Squish!!! Oh my goodness.... it's almost more than I am capable of handling.  One of my favorites is one of a tiny Shark in an "I ♡ Mom" shirt reaching his little arms up high for me to pick him up. The image causes a flood of emotions that begin with.... I can't remember the last time he did that. I remember when he turned one and we were slowly fading the bottle feedings out. Bedtime was special. I can still feel the way he felt in my arms as we rocked in the blue cushioned rocker. I remember so clearly the way he smelled, like the Lavendar Johnson's and Johnson's. He would smile up at me and with those playful eyes until sleep could no longer be resisted. I knew those moments where drawing near to the close. I can vividly remember reminding myself to file them away in a sacred place in my heart. And I did.
Every now and then my little boy with an old soul and longing himself to remember will crawl in my lap and let me pretend.
Today he seemed so grown up to me. He gets on the bus in the mornings and goes off to school and I drive 20 miles in the opposite direction.  HOW?? How do I let that driver pull away with the toddler that would always tell you where he was hiding in a game of Hide and Seek? How can I let my baby who wanted his milk warmed before bedtime until he was 6 go on about his day with out me???? I have absolutely no idea!!!!

Nostalgia

My New Year's Resolution was to blog. It is now April 9th!

When I was a little girl, I kept a journal. I still have all of them. They are filled with pages of doodles and names of random boys with a heart covering his name... then with an "X" over the top. Most of those pages cover topics of such... " Can you believe her?" or the ever so famous.... "I think I'm in love".

Now as I was thumbing through those faded pages I found something.....
I stopped as soon as I saw the date.... September 11, 2001.
I don't have to tell you what that day represents, you already know.

I was a Sophomore at Springville High School and I didn't need to read what I had written to remember every detail of the day, but I did anyway.

It told of how everything was pretty much normal until HomeEc class. Then everything changed. I wrote of how scared I was and how broken my heart felt for my country and every family that was now wrecked with sorrow for the loss of those that they loved. I thought of children who kissed their mommy for the last time on her way out the door to work and wives who would never hear those sweet words, "Honey I am home." I wrote of how my Dad was traveling into NY that morning but thanks to delays he never made it. I scribbled all of my fears and concerns and ended with what saying the Pledge of Allegiance now meant to me.

What I didn't write on those pages were things that were yet to happen.

As most people, I kept that moment tucked in my heart and the fear distracted. Years went on by and so did life. I am going to flash ahead to me meeting my Captain's family for the very first time. Boy, they were some charactors and I am sure you will get to read about someof them; but now we will meet a soldier.

Clint's oldest brother, Chet, is abrasive at first glance but he really is a big mush. He is funny and crude. I knew right away that I was somehow going to love him and be completely annoyed all at the same time. That night, I met his wife Alicia, soon to be pregnant or maybe pregnant then, and the prettiest blonde little girl I has ever seen, his daughter Autumn.

Where am I going with this you might be asking???

You see the pages from my journal would have never told of this brave man who would leave his family to fight in a war that started that day in September. It could have never told you of a wife, a mother, a daughter, a father, brothers, friends who would say countless prayers for his return. I don't remember when he left but I know I was still new to the family. We drove all the way to Fort Benning, GA to see him off. Everyone tried really hard not to cry at a moments notice but it was impossible. The truth was we didn't have a clue what would happen. I remember wanting to keep my eyes closed so that I didn't see the final farewells from Clint and Chip and Autumn and Alica and his mom and dad. It was too much for me.

The day the family got the call that he had been hit by an IED is blurry. In fact most of what followed was a blur. Details over the phone were not given to Alicia... I just remember that they left for Walter Read Hospital soon after that. He survived the explosion. The Lord has big plans for him I just know it. HBO happened to be there that very day filming a documentary and later we actually saw video of him coming of the helicopter with his head bandaged. Which was a bit easier to watch knowing he was at home most likely munching on some sort of Chet concoction that probably contained olives. To tell you that the story ends there would be a lie. Chet healed up and went back to finish his mission and then returned for the 3rd time a while back. I will never know how his wife truly felt next to an empty pillow while he was gone, but I know that she put on her strong supportive face and took care of business in his absence. I will never know of how much his babies missed him or how he felt knowing he wouldn't be there for the baseball games or to tuck them in at night. I don't know what Chet saw while he was over there. I don't really know much at all from the outside looking in. What was clear to me then and now is how precious this life is that the Lord gave us. It is ever changing and we know that we aren't promised tomorrow.

Lately, I have felt like the days and years are passing me right on by. We all can relate... we try so hard to Carpe the Diem and stop and smell the flowers....but life just gets so busy right...?

In my attempt to slow this pace down in my life and keep those moments... I want to attempt to blog/journal them everyday. I don't really like the word blog.... so I will call these.... blooms instead of blogs... Yes I like that better!

See if I would have kept on with my journaling I could have recalled those vivid moments from the story above... but with years of abuse to my scattered brain... let's be honest.. I can barely remember what I had for breakfast.

Maybe I can have a "Notebook" moment from these blooms or maybe when Connor is older he would be interested to know just what in the world I was thinking.... or maybe it will be just for me (and you of course) to reflect on moments. I don't know about you but I love that nostalgic feeling I get when I smell a smell that takes me back to a time in life... like the way erasers will always remind me of Moody Elementary or Mary Kay make-up reminds me of my Kindergarten teacher or how I will never be able to hear the word "pocket" without thinking of a tiny Connor telling me that he had put his patience in his "pock".

So here we go....