Wednesday, December 21, 2005

It's Almost That Time.....

















I have always been a dreamer...a romantic...somewhat of an idealist. I can't blame anyone or anything in my life for making me what I am. It is who I have been every since I realized that I had an opinion. Teachers called me an incurable romantic and an optimist.

As I have grown older, (and older and older,) I have become more tempered in my idealism, my optimism, and even in my romanticism somewhat.

Christmas rolls around every 365 days or so, but in the past several years, it has seemed like it comes about every 3 months. I just get the needles cleaned up off the carpets before the next tree is coming in the door, shedding as she goes.

When I was little, Christmas was so simple. There was absolutely no stress---no really important decisions to be made. (My mother says, "Yeah, right!") Then I grew up. We all do, and how we handle the days like Christmas changes and evolves with us.

As I end this year, I am 43 years old. You would think by my thought processes that I was nearer to 90 sometimes. I am tired. I admit it. 5 kids and 19 Christmases with kids have worn me out. I cannot even bear to fathom the thought right now that I have at least 16 more years to provide a Christmas experience for a kid with big ole brown eyes, searching my eyes for clues as to what the "big day" will bring.

I cannot deny them their day! I had 18 years of my parents making Christmas look like it was a breeze. Sometimes I wonder, am I doing something wrong? Why is it so much harder for me to make it to the morning of December 25th, arriving with my sanity still intact? How did my mother always manage to have presents wrapped and under the tree, Santa's "arrival" perfectly scheduled, while still working a full-time job and raising 5 kids just like me? She had such grace--not a hair out of place and no bags under the eyes on Christmas morning from all the previous nights of missed sleep! I contend that the finesse with which my parents pulled off Christmas argues for the existence of Santa Claus, because they could not possibly have done it all!

I think I started to notice the change in me the year I assembled the Batmobile pedal car after getting two hyper little boys into bed sometime after midnight. I don't think I have ever been so tired in my life. My twin brothers were mere babes back then---teens who stayed out til the wee wee hours. I remember them coming in the door of my parents' house where we had all assembled for Christmas at about 2 in the morning, and them watching me struggle with the tools as I put that stupid car together. It was obvious that they did not "get it" yet. They had no idea how tired I was, how frustrated, how mad at myself for purchasing this stupid pile of indiscernible plastic and metal parts. I wanted to scream, "Run away! Don't get married, have kids, settle down just yet! Or you, too, will be assembling unassemblable toys with a thousand unlabeled parts, when you should be cuddling up by the fire with that special someone sipping hot cocoa and watching the snow fall outside."

Yes, there is something about becoming the giver instead of the receiver that changes you forever. Some of it is for the good. Some of it is rather sad, especially if you are an "incurable romantic."

I have changed. My husband asked me this year what I wanted for Christmas. I could not think of a thing. I truly have everything I need. While that sounds trite, it is accurate. Oh, yes, a new multi-megapixel digital camera or a state-of-the-art computer upgrade would be nice, but they are not necessary to my happiness.

What I would love, I can't have. World peace. A cure for cancer. Instant obliteration of all the evil troublers of this world. Brotherly love. These things are obviously not material goods. But no one can get these things for me.

I guess at some point, I have transformed into more of a spiritual creature and less of an earthly one. That is good, I believe. At best, none of us has too many more "Christmases" left on this earth. As my grandmother used to say, "It is all gonna burn up some day."

Still, the little ones are hyper. "Santa" is coming. I love seeing the joy in their eyes on Christmas morn. I adore it if we just happen to get a white Christmas. I will cherish the time with my parents, Lord willing, one more year. I am proud another 365 days has passed, and none of my loved ones will be missing from the table of celebration by the grace of God. I will celebrate the last Christmas at home for my firstborn, before he begins his own journey towards becoming the giver. It is all so sweet and so bittersweet at the same time.

I am more content than I have ever been in my life. That does not mean that my life is perfect or that there are things I would not change if I could. It just means that all is well for me today. Whatever happens is o.k., too. I am so grateful for that. I embrace that thought and thank God for His part in providing all I need and more.

I am tired, but I will make it. One day, there will be no more "assembly required" and I will hopefully sit by the fire with my beloved, snuggling close, as we sip some cocoa and look out at the snow falling. It's a ways off, but I have just enough of the romantic left in me to be able to see it if I squint hard enough and just enough of the optimist left in me to believe it will come one day. And if the truth be known, there is probably just enough of the idealist still left inside me to
entertain the notion that there is more going on at the North Pole than global warming.

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

Grandmother in the Mirror



2005 has been a year of much reflection in my life. As we close the year, I have realized that for the first time since I was born, I will be missing all three of the grandmothers I was given. December 6th and 7th are always days of memories for me. Two of my grandmothers were born on these days, respectively. One grandmother then died on the 6th, on the other grandmother’s birthday, and the day before her own 83rd birthday. The dates are intertwined with memories of laughter and tears, celebration and quiet memorials.

Not everyone is as attached to t
heir grandmothers as I was. Some poor souls never even get the chance to know their parents’ parents. I was blessed. I was the oldest child in my family, and I came when my parents were but exiting their teen years. When I was born in ’62, one grandmother was 42 and the other was 58. I would gain another step-grandmother the following year, and she was 43 when she married my grandfather. I am the age now that two of my grandmothers were when they got that esteemed title. Being the oldest, I had many good years with all my grandparents before they departed this life.

I lived in the same town with the grandmother I called “Nanny.” I was, perhaps, the closest to her, because somehow our spirits just bonded from the moment we set eyes on one another. My mother says that I laughed out loud when I saw Nanny at just a couple of days old. The laughter never stopped as long as I knew her. She was such a joyful person. I learned so much from her and carry strong memories in my heart of her, even though she was the first to leave.

Mammaw, my dad’s mom, was a memorable soul as well. In the South, we would call her a “character.” (I think she called me that more than once, too!) She was someone that once you knew her, it was hard to forget her. She was the shopping granny---the one that always brought something delightful each and every time she came to see me. We did not always live in the same town, so I saw her less. She saw to it that my brothers and I were always dolled up in the cutest outfits, and she stocked my entire doll collection. She was big on Christmas and Thanksgiving, and she never forgot to send a Valentine.

We just lost grandma #3 over Thanksgiving. MaiMai always lived in Florida and we saw her least. Whenever we did get to go down there, she was always a very gracious hostess, providing us with luscious meals, cozy beds, and plenty of homemade remedies for the sunburn we always got down there.

Each grandmother was unique—not really like the other two. I guess that was a good
thing, because it allowed me to love them all for their one-of-a-kind qualities. Having an extra set of grandparents in there allowed me and my siblings to be extra-spoiled.

Often, I look in the mirror, and I am shocked to see one of my grandmothers looking back at me. No, it is not a ghost. It is biology. Sometimes I see more of one than the other. My daddy "rags on me" because I love to wear the same hair color that Mammaw did, and he hated it on her, too. Nanny’s laugh lines are appearing all over my face. I can do that same stern look that Mammaw would do when she got serious about something. You did not want to see that face on her, and my family does not like it either! I find myself doing the same silly face as I potty train Hannah that my Nanny did with me.

Maybe it sounds cheesy and all to say that my grandmothers live on through me. It seems like somehow, they do. My father has commented on more than one occasion that as long as I was alive, his mother would not be dead. I get it now more than ever. I hope it is some comfort to my family when they spot of glimpse of one of my grandmothers as I go by. The trait is not unique to me. I see glimpses of my relatives in each one of my family members. My husband was recently stunned to meet my “twin” cousin, who is so much like me that it is scary. It was especially scary when she pulled her lipstick out of her purse and it was the same as mine! Many times we sit and stare at one another at family reunions and comment, "You look so much like....."

Maybe that is why God allowed us to look like our ancestors. Even when they are gone, we get subtle reminders of them through our family members, and we hopefully are reminded to mimic the good in them and to try and not copy their failings.

Today is Pearl Harbor Day. It is a day of memory of special events that happened in our country’s history. But it is also a day for me of personal memories. Had these women not lived, I obviously would not be here today, so I owe them my existence. Beyond that, I owe them so much more, for shaping me into the woman I am today—for teaching me how to love my husband and kids, how to cook, how to make a happy home, what’s important in life. I seem to look in the mirror a lot more these days. It’s not vanity. I’m just hoping to get a passing glance at some grandmothers that I miss very much.

Monday, December 05, 2005

Happy Birthday, Daniel!



I surely am glad that I am not where I was 19 years ago or even 18 years ago. Childbirth is a breeze for some, a terrifying experience for others. My first attempt at childbirth was quite difficult, but as most mothers will testify, the product, my first son, was well worth all the anguish it took to get him into the world. I can hardly believe that the years have passed so quickly, and what seemed at the time like slow-motion child-rearing has turned to years passing so swiftly now that I can scarce keep up with them.




Daniel turned 19 today! 2005 has been quite a year for him, graduating and all. I know my good friend Cindy in South Carolina can remember the long hours we put in in the labor room trying to get this child to come on out and see the world. Cindy stood in for my mother who was in Tennessee waiting all day for news on her first grandchild. Daniel waited until almost the last possible hours of December 5th to make his arrival. And they had to cut him out at that! But once he got into this world, he has never stopped going and going and going......just like the bunny on the commercial.

Daniel has always been a challenge and a blessing wrapped in one giant package! He has always made me proud by his accomplishments and his behavior throughout his life. He is stubborn, intense, and headstrong, but he is also compassionate, loving, caring, and gentle. He has filled many shoes, even before he was old enough to step into some of them. He has always been a protector, of me, and of his siblings. He is as crazy about his half-sisters as he is his full brothers. In his mind, there is no "half" to it. He has two sisters and two brothers.

His entire life, I have been approached by people who started the conversation with..."let me tell you what Daniel did." 99% of the time, it was something good. Usually, it was humorous and embarassing as well, but most often, it was concerning some good or compassionate thing he had done. I used to cringe when Bible class teachers met me in the aisle with a smile, because I knew that they were going to have another Daniel story for me. There were some doozies.

Daniel is much like the apostle Peter, apparently, from everything we can read of Peter. Sometimes Peter opened his mouth when he shouldn't have, and he tried to walk on water, etc. Daniel is not afraid of jumping out there on the stormy sea either. Recently, he took his old hand-me-down beater car up to Kentucky to see some friends. I told him that he was taking his life into his own hands to get up there in that old car. He just had to go. He made it back, finally, but when he was within 30 miles of the house, the brakes were failing, and it was raining heavily, and thankfully, he had the sense enough to pull over and quit and let us get him the rest of the way home.

He comes by his impetuousness honestly. Everyone says that he is just like his mother. We do think quite a bit alike on things, except for the fact that he is a man and I am a woman. That brings a certain degree of difference to the table. I have always been able to talk about anything with him, and he has had incredible communication skills all of his life. I don't think his peers have always understood him, because he was on a different wave-length from most of them. Sometimes that makes for some loneliness, because your peers are interested in things you passed by 3 or 4 years ago.

I still wonder what Daniel will ultimately decide to do with his life. That's another way in which he is like me. He has not fully decided what career path to take. It took me a few years longer than most to decide what I wanted out of life. Daniel has a lot of talents. His singing voice just developed from an o.k. voice to a magnificent one last year. I love it when he leads singing at church. He loves to listen to people's problems and try to help them sort things out, so I sort of suspect that he may go in that direction for a career. I have told him that with his cooking talents, he could go into the culinary arts, but he does not seem to have any desire to work in a kitchen all of his life. He has expressed a desire to preach.

I suspect that by this time next year, Lord-willing, he will have made some of the first decisions about which road he will take. It surely will be hard to watch him go. His siblings are all going to be to bury (and his mom will probably cry some buckets, too.) I guess it is always hardest to lose the first one from the nest. I have no doubts that he will find his way, as he always has, pretty independently and head-strong. Like other moms, I pray that God has been preparing some fine young lady for him and will bring them together when the time is right.

Whatever happens in the coming days, I'll cherish the memories of raising this exceptional boy, and I will look forward to watching him exceed the expectations of many who are unaware of the dynamo within his one-of-a-kind spirit. My gentle giant is now about 5 feet taller and 234 lbs. heavier than he was on this day 19 years ago, but he still can touch my heart just as effectively as he did the first time I laid eyes on him way back then.