Anticipating Christmas Morning

It’s the dead, dark middle of the night.  I lay here wide awake in eager anticipation of the morning.  The house is slumbering, the only sounds are the ticking of the clocks and the occasional roar of the heater coming on.  Visions of sugar plums, I imagine, are floating.  J-Dub just went to bed a little while ago after staying up doing what dads do on Christmas Eve:  screwing screws and fumbling through instructions entitled “some assembly required” when what that really means is, “assemble these million parts of nonsense with as few cuss words as possible”.  After all, it is Christmas and there’s no cussin’ on Christmas.  That’s probably a written rule somewhere.

Christmas present is different to me from Christmas pasts.  I now anticipate the morning, not to receive, but to see that little face light up with the giving.  The wonder.  The magic.  The joy of it all through the eyes of child.

I snuck out of bed and tiptoed into the dark to see what EK will see when she stumbles in bleary-eyed in the morning.  There is a massive dollhouse; one that I never imagined would be that big.  (I’ve got to get better at reading the fine print).  And somewhere is the Beauty and the Beast movie, her own personal request to Santa Claus himself when she hesitantly sat upon his knee and whispered her desire.

Here’s a little before/after.  The kids these days call this a Transformation Tuesday I believe, but I’m not sure whether I’m coming or going, much less what day it is for all that.

Last year’s Santa pic to this year.  She actually sat on his lap this year, but still wearing the same look of uncertainty on her face.

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Oh it’s fun really, isn’t it?  I need to remind myself of that often.  Having a little family of my own.  Creating and making our own traditions and memories.  I don’t want Christmas to be an elaborate affair.  A few gifts, with the emphasis on the true meaning.  This year, I followed this little mantra of gift giving:  something you want, something you need, something to wear, something to read.

We began a Jesse tree for advent, working through the Bible stories leading to the coming of Jesus on that holy night.  I was sewing the ornaments with a little felt and embroidery thread.  We were gathering around a little tree in EK’s room reading the stores each night, but as in typical fashion, that kind of fizzled out.  I think I made it through the burning bush.  There’s always next year, right?

 I’ve got promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep.

We went and enjoyed the second annual cutting of the tree this year.  I walked the forest along with my family trying to find the “perfect” Christmas tree.  During the inspection of each tree, I composed a whole blog post in my mind about how “choosing a Christmas tree is like choosing a spouse” but as in typical fashion, I never got that posted.  But it’s a no-brainer.  You get it.  There is no perfect tree, just as there is no perfect mate.  But the moral of the story is: pick one you can live with.  Learn to love their quirks and eventually they’ll die.

Um, maybe that’s not the best moral, but it’s the truth.

DSC_2148Well I’ll sign off now and try to get some shut-eye before dawn rolls in.

Have a merry Christmas!!

Easter Sunday—-2K14

Happy Easter to all!

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This day finds me a bit happy, a tad sad, with a little hope thrown in.  I’ve neglected my blog as of late simply because my life is boring, quite frankly.   I do all the things that everyone else does.  I have a wonderful bundle of two year old joy that keeps me entertained.  I try to exercise.  I try to read.  I attempt to write.   I avoid cooking and cleaning as much as possible.  I have a stack of laundry that begs for my attention.  It’s really the same, ol’, same ol’ day after day.  I feel that I don’t have anything profound to say anymore.

I just feel quiet.

But today is Easter and so in an attempt to preserve some family memories, I’ll blog.

I’m happy today because I’m so truly blessed with every good thing that really matters in this world:  family, friends, faith, and health.

I’m a tad sad because we haven’t been to church for the past two Easters.  We have yet to find a good church home and that makes me sad.  Recently, when we went back to our hometown we visited our church and it was so wonderful, so refreshing.  I wish my dear old Briarwood would pack up and move here, then I would have the perfect world.  Sure, I understand that I don’t need a church to worship, I can worship right in my own front yard,  but I miss the fellowship and the sharing with a body of believers.

But of course, I keep my hope and I believe good things are always heading my way.  A wonderful church, included.

For Easter Sunday, we did the “thing”.  We colored eggs and had an egg hunt.

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We attempted to take a family picture with a self timer on our camera.  I regret to inform you that we did not get a good one.  Big surprise!

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The house is now scattered with candy wrappings and EK is green up to her elbows.

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She fell asleep after her sugar crash reading Beauty and the Beast and I am soon to join her for a little siesta.  All in all, I’d say we had some great Easter success.

 

Most importantly….

He lives, he lives, Christ Jesus lives today.

You ask me how I know he lives? He lives within my heart.

I sang that to EK today, and she got a kick out of it, especially when I tried to hit the high notes.

I hope you too had a blessed Easter, spent with your loved ones celebrating the true meaning of the day.

God Bless you and yours.

 

 

 

Love is…..

Today I’m eating crow.

As you all know, it is Valentine’s Day.  Yesterday, the facebook statuses started trickling into my news feed.  You know the ones, posting what their sweetheart got them.  I don’t really know what came over me, because I’m not against love or the designated day of love, but I just got a little nauseated thinking of what everyone would be saying about their lovers.  So I put as my facebook status,

Gag. I think I’m staying off fb tomorrow. I can only handle so much lovey dovey crap and I’m pretty sure I’ve already reached my limit. Bah humbug.
This is me.  I’m not a romantic.  Big surprise.  I’m not really fond of physical affection (Please insert sympathy for my husband here).  I don’t think you should tell your 900 followers how great your spouse is and how much you love them on facebook when you should walk into the next room and tell them to their face, if in fact you really do feel that way.  Nor do I like the bragging, the pictures of all the candy, flowers, diamonds, tickets to Hawaii etc.  Sidenote: I do however enjoy seeing the pictures of kids dressed in their valentine attire holding their little valentine boxes they worked hard on.  
So I had a few people like what I had to say, surprisingly they weren’t all single, and I got a little teasing from it as well, along with some comments of commiseration.  It was all in fun of course.

When I woke up this morning, February 14, my husband was gone.  I knew he’d made a run to The Walmarts before they crazy crowd hit.  I was expecting the usual, but what I got was not the usual and it truly made my day.  I have to share it.  And I’m not bragging.

It’s not going to mean a thing in the world to anyone else.  It is not a fancy diamond or a sports car with a red bow.  It is not a new puppy or a day at the spa.
What I got…………drumrolll please………….is………..
……..a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils.
And rolos.  Because, duh?
Now some of you may be furrowing your brow and looking puzzled, but I am smiling.  I can’t help but smile.  When he handed that to me, I laughed and laughed and laughed.
It is quite frankly, my favorite line from one of my favorite movies You’ve Got Mail, where Tom Hanks tells Meg Ryan,

“Don’t you love New York in the fall? It makes me want to buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address.”

I love fall, school supplies, that movie, Meg Ryan, and newly sharpened pencils.  The smell of them, the way they sound scratching on paper, all of it.One time in our life, I told Jason that I loved that line, that idea.  Whether it was last year or 9 years ago, who knows.  But he remembered my attraction to that silly notion, how I too would love to receive a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils.So, that’s what I have.I love it.  I’m not ever  going to use them for it will mess up the meaningful arrangement that he constructed.  My gift?   It is thoughtful.  It is unique.  It is creative and meaningful.  It is an inside joke.  It is one of the most romantic things he could have done.Love is not about a day, friends.  It’s not about a feeling you get in your stomach when you see a certain someone.  It’s not about how much money you spend.  Love is about the everyday things you do for one another.  It’s about consciously putting other’s needs above your own.  It’s about sacrifice and never giving up.  Love is our greatest commandment from Jesus to love one another, to love your neighbor as yourself.Love is patient. Love is kind.Love is a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils.20140214-102110.jpg

Fingerprint

I have a new item to add to my most prized possession list.   On second thought, it’s more like the only item on my most prized possession list.

I’m in love.

It’s a necklace and it deserves an explanation.

 

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It was a gift to me from my darling, dear, precious friend Mrs. Z when EK was born.

At first I was baffled by it.

It was a brown cardboard box labeled Priceless Prints.  Inside was a ball of clay with a page of instructions.

The idea is to press a fingerprint from your loved one in the clay and then return it to the company and they will turn it into a silver pendant.

A keepsake treasure of a loved ones fingerprint.

I waited a while to do this, simply because her finger was just so tiny.

You can see that the whole pendant is the size of my pinky, her little fingerprint only claiming a small part of the silver.

Recently, I felt it was time to capture it forever.

 

 

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That small indention is the fingerprint of my daughter.   At close inspection, you can make out the wavy lines.

The gem is her birthstone. A garnet for January.

The back is stamped with her initials EKW.

I will carry a piece of her with me for the rest of my life.

When I leave her at school for the first time in a few years, and then return to an empty home, no doubt I will touch this necklace, thinking of her and hoping she’s doing alright.  And I will check the clock a hundred times before 3:00.

When she packs her bag for her first overnight sleepover, the first time away from me for the night, I will still have her near me, secretly hoping the phone will ring and she’ll ask me to come get her.  I’ll jump up in my pajamas, not bothering to dress myself and rush right over.

When I drive away from her dormitory, tears streaming down my cheeks, continually looking in my rearview mirror, I will think back to the day I pressed her tiny forefinger into the clay to make this necklace.

I will wear it around my age spotted neck, through all the days, weeks, months, and years to come.

 

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I love her little hands, her little fingers, the tiny fingernails with chipped red polish.  I think of her fingerprints.  Their uniqueness to her and no one else.  They are her mark.  I wonder where her little hands will go, what they will do.  And I pray that she will leave her fingerprints on this world in a good way.  That she will do good with her hands, that she will touch people’s lives and make a mark.  A one of kind, unique touch that only she is capable of.

As far as I’m concerned though, she already has.

 

You’d better listen.

This morning I sent this 14 year old off to school.

ash homecoming

It’s Homecoming here.  Last night there was a bonfire, today a pep rally, tonight a football game, tomorrow a dance.

We be busy.

So later, I was replying to some comments here on my blog and I ended up clicking on something that took me way back to some of my first posts.  I saw comments from my dad, which made me smile and brought a touch of sadness as well.  Clicking here led to clicking there until  I came across this post from a few years back that is entitled “Listen.”

I think it’s my favorite blog post of all time.

It’s a voicemail from that sweet 14 year old above when she was a bit younger.   A bit more innocent.  But still as fun.  And crazy.  And tender.

You have to listen to this message.  It shows her heart.

A beautiful heart.

Here’s the original post from 2010:

My niece called me.  She left the sweetest, most precious voicemail.

Before you hear more, I must tell you this.

“Mama” in the message, works in bail bonds.  They were at the jail to bail someone out. Thankfully, not a member of the family…….this time.

My niece had been prostrate weeping and wailing for hours because her friend Perla couldn’t come over after she had been planning it for a whole entire week.  She was devastated.

And lastly, Jesus is her homeboy.

Click on the link below.  You must.  It’ll make you smile, I hope.

http://www.divshare.com/flash/playlist?myId=10255644-023

Authors Note:  It took me 17 hours, 904 online tutorials, and ten of my own dollars to learn how to post this to my blog.  I have yanked every hair from my head and am now forever changed, not to mention bald.  So it had better make you smile.

Thanks for listening 🙂

Moment Dwelling

Last night a physical sickness hit me and I couldn’t sleep because of it.

I crept out of the bedroom leaving my husband and EK snoozing soundly, grabbed a down comforter, my robe, and headed to the couch where I still couldn’t sleep.

I got my laptop and for a reason unknown,  I began looking at pictures I had stored on it.  For three hours, I looked at my baby’s pictures and videos from way back.

Oh my heart.

My cheeks began to hurt and I realized I’d been wearing a smile for a very long time.

You tried to tell me how precious, beautiful, adorable, etc., etc. she was and boy, were you right.

Now that I’m a bit removed from that baby-baby stage, I can’t hardly believe how wonderful she was.  And she still is, just bigger.

It’s just that when you’re in the big middle of it, sometimes you see through a glass darkly.  Or as J-Dub would say, your tail lights are brighter than your headlights.

But last night, everything carried a new light.  The way her hair grew.  The dimples on her hands, her budding teeth, the way her rolls of fat lay upon one another,  her grins and her frowns.

I sat and watched each little video from before she was born where I videoed her kicking in the womb, to her cooing, to rolling, to her wounded soldier crawl, to sitting, and all the beautiful steps in between.

After breakfast this morning, I sat her in my lap with the computer and continued my nostalgic trip.  She knew that was baby Emma on the screen and her face wore the most proud expression as she watched herself growing up and doing this little things that we praised.

Our movie watching didn’t last long.  She wanted to read a Monkey book, and color on the TV with a blue marker, get in the clothes I was folding, eat fish and peaches, then play with the dogs and chickens.

Now she stomps around in too big play shoes, puts Cheerios in her ears,  and throws a mean temper tantrum.

We’re just doing life over here.

I have to remind myself that these mundane, day-to-day chores are the little things that become the big things.  In another year, I’ll be watching the videos and studying the pictures from this season of our life together and realizing how precious, beautiful, adorable etc., etc., she was.

 

Then……

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And now….

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I must tell myself to live in the moment.

I’m trying.

Blogging……finally

I had to do a little digging for this fun fact, but for the first time since August of 2009, I did not publish a blog post.

For 4 years…..

48 months……

every month……

I have had a post except this last month.

That’s kind of a sad situation.

But it doesn’t have to be that way.

Since I missed August 2013, I’ll give a quick recap of the other things that stole my time, that is if I can remember.

First off, we got a puppy.

I started having some puppy fever back in the early summer and I found myself searching for a dog.  This was crazy.  My bro-in-law said what I needed was another baby, but you know, puppies don’t live as long.  Or cost as much.

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Here he is running like crazy to get away from these 2, who seem to want to love him a little too much.

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And here he is, realizing love is a pretty cool thing.

We call him Ozzie.

Oz, the great and powerful.  He likes to bark at himself in the mirror and other inanimate objects like EK’s little rocking horse.  He is a sweet boy and is equivalent to having another 19 month old in the house.  He’s into everything, I have to tell him not to chew on crayons too, and he pees and poops as he pleases.  Kind of like some one else I know.

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Speaking of…….I’m attempting to potty train this sweet girl of mine.  She’s not having any part of it.  She wants to wear her panties, but is a bit traumatized by the potty chair.  This came about after she peed on my lap and I screamed.  She got scared and cried as my mom yanked her britches down and plopped her on the potty that was sitting in the living room floor.  I had run to the bathroom to wipe the pee that was running down my bare legs and onto my socks, so let’s just say that now, she is not sitting on that potty for nothing.  So we put away the concept for a while and we’ll work on house training Ozzie instead.

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Once upon a time, she liked her potty, but only with her clothes on.

Also, in the month of August, I met a writing deadline.  This is something I’m super proud of.  I freelanced a story and spent most of August writing/editing/crying/drinking coffee/burning the midnight oil/stressing/praying/walking the floor/and doubting my ability.  But by August 31, it was complete and I actually received payment, which is pretty awesome.   It was 30,000 words which is about 29,300 more than the longest blog post I’ve ever written.  It ended up being 115 pages and I feel like I birthed a baby.

I think, if I’m brave enough, I can maybe call myself a writer now that someone actually paid me to write a story.   I have another one to write this month, due by Sept. 30.  I need a few extra hours in the day, or just to unplug from the internet, hire a babysitter, and sit my butt down long enough to write.  It’s hard y’all, real hard.  But it’s also completely cool.

The month was also spent with family who came to visit and outings to the mountains to hike and camp.   School started for my sweet niece Ash who made cheerleader.  So we’re acquainting ourselves with the rules of volleyball and dusting off our stadium seats for football games.

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Here she is on her first day of high school.

Life is busy here.

As one of my friend’s daddy used to say, the days go by slow but the years go by fast.

May we cherish every moment.

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18 months old

Dear Emma Kate,

Today you are 18 months old.  One and a half.  You are a delight to this world.  You make it a better place to live already, in just 18 short months you’ve truly made a difference in many people’s lives.  Remember to always strive to add beauty and make this world a better place.

Let’s see……there is so much to say about you.  First off, you are talker!  You aren’t easily understood except by those close to you, but you talk up a storm, and I don’t just mean you babble.

You like to pray, and that makes my heart so happy.  When we sit down to eat, you remind us to “pay” and you reach for our hands.  You bow your little head, but still peek out from under your hair (we know that because we’re peeking at you too).  When we’re finished, you say Amen and squeeze three times.  It is so precious.

You love books as always and want us to read to you all the time.

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You are so smart.  I know I’ve told you that since you were born, but you were born smarter than most adults ever manage to become!  You love to write your letters.  You call them all E, A, and O’s.

You sing songs.  Your favorite is Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star and you have these sweet hand motions that go with it that you learned from play group.  You also sing If You’re Happy and You Know it, B-I-N-G-O, You are my sunshine and lots more!

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If you had a choice, you’d be outside!  You are not a prissy pants, although you do like dressing up in necklaces and grown up shoes and calling yourself “toot” (cute), but you also eat dog food, waller in dirt, and don’t mind a little grit under your fingernails.

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You love our dogs Drew and Grace and it is so funny to hear you talk to them.  If you’re not giving them hugs and kisses, then you’re telling them “Go, Move, and No”!  You also love the chickens and you hug their butts all the time.

You are just a little thing.  We’ll be going to the doctor soon for a check up but I bet you weigh just barely over twenty pounds.  You can still wear 12 month clothes and the 18 months are just a little roomy for you.  You are super healthy and have never been too sick!!!  I’m so happy about that.

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As far as your personality goes, you are adorable!  You like familiar people, and it takes you a good while to warm up to others that you aren’t around much.  It hurts their feelings sometimes I think, but they’re grown ups and can deal with it.  So you keep on being careful around others and be choosy in your friends.  You are a watcher and an observer.  You don’t just jump in and do things, but you analyze situations and sit back rather than dive right in.

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You are a mommy’s girl!  And you’ve even started being jealous if someone else touches me or tries to love on me.  You yell “no no no” and wring your little hands.  It’s so cute.  I know you won’t always be a mommy’s girl, and there will be times that you, dare I say, will even think you hate me.  But I will love you no matter what.  Through all the highs and lows and ups and downs.  You are my baby girl.  You’re growing up and I am so proud to have you!  Always know how much you are loved!

I love you!!!!!

xoxo

Mommy

Breast Weaning Woes

I’m categorizing this blog under the Public Service category because somethings just need to be said, that no one said to me.  And also because I feel the need to vent.

I’m a little bit peeved at the female race right now.  Yes, women, you.  Don’t point at yourself with your eyebrows raised in surprise like that.  Yes, you.  I’m feeling a bit uninformed, a bit left out in the cold, and a whole LOT OF  shocked at the fact that nobody told me how painful weaning my baby from breast-feeding would be.

To my male readers:  don’t check out quite yet, I have something for you too.

To the mothers out there:  you told me how much pregnancy sucks, you told me how painful labor would be, you warned me of the pain of beginning breast-feeding, how badly it hurt when they latched on. You told me about the hard recovery from a c-section, the hormonal swings, the postpartum depression.  But no one, I mean NO ONE mentioned how painful weaning would be.

I chose to breast feed because I believe in it.  I believe in its goodness.  I never expected to last 6 months, never mind last a year and onward.  My little EK loves to nurse.  She asks for it all the time.  “muck”.  It has been beneficial to her, to her health, to our bonding, etc., etc., etc.  I could go on.

I must be honest, I felt a little weird nursing a toddler, even though deep down I knew I shouldn’t.  But Western Society sexualizes the breast, rather than embracing its intended function and breast feeding a toddler or older is frowned upon.  Dare I even say stigmatized.

I slowly began to wean the baby around 12 months.  First we night weaned, then we began dropping a feeding here and there.  Finally we were down to 2 feedings a day.  I kept it like this for several weeks.  And then the tantrums began.  When I had to postpone her desire for “muck”, she got mad.  She cried.  She pouted.  She hit whatever was closest, sometimes me.

This past Thursday, after a hitting episode, I just said.  “no more, there’s no more milk”.  I’ve stuck to it, but it’s a lie.  It’s one big whopper of a lie, because let me tell you folks, there’s still milk.  There’s a lot milk.  And my bosoms are engorged!  The pain is almost unbearable.  They’re hard, and hot, and lumpy and leaky.  Originally XS, they’ve expanded to a size XXX.  It’s not fun.

To my male readers:  I think I now know how it feels to have testicles.  You know how you guys are always protecting yours?  I get that now.   If something comes near you; a ball, a small child, you instinctively put your hands up to guard your jewels.  I get that now.  Because they hurt.  And especially when they get bumped.  I get that.  You have no idea how much I get that now.   I cry out like a little girl.  And feel like hitting back whoever or whatever has bumped them.

You have no idea how badly I want to allow my girl to nurse again to relieve the pain and discomfort, but I feel like I would really be taking 300 steps backward.  She still asks for her “muck” but the fits have stopped and she seems to be happy with substitute nourishment and comfort.  It’s not really her suffering from weaning.  It’s me.

I think I did this the smart way.  I weaned gradually.  There was no “cold turkey” .  And yet, I still have an overabundance of supply.  I’ve pumped a little just to grant myself an ounce (pun intended) of relief.   And now I have cabbage leaves in my bra as a home remedy to help drain and dry up.  So guess what?  Not only do I hurt, I am uncomfortable, I am downright grouchy, but now……I smell like slaw.  All I lack is fried chicken.  Just add that to my woes.

Which brings me to my advice.  To all you young mothers or ladies thinking of becoming a mother or thinking of breast-feeding.  Do it, it is a wonderful thing, don’t get me wrong, the benefits are astounding.

But  for me it has not been a piece of cake to wean, I’m here to tell you.

Since no one else will.

<END OF PUBLIC SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT>

But can anyone bring me some fried chicken?

My Happily Ever After

I’ve known my husband since I was eleven years old and he was twelve, that’s how it is in a small town.  My family ran onto some hard times and had to move to the po’ side o’ town.  That’s the poor side of town for those who aren’t from there.  You’ve heard the joke…..we were so po we couldn’t afford the ‘or’.  Jason lived 2 blocks away to the right.  We did not have a love at first sight experience.  Actually, he was crushing on my sister instead and would bring her roses he’d stolen from somebody’s flowerbed.  They were outside sitting on the porch and I could be found next door watching Golden Girls and Cagney and Lacey with my Grannie, not giving two thoughts to boys.

We went to Middle School and High School together where he was a year older than me.  We hung out in different crowds, but said hello in passing.

I was in my early adulthood when I figured out that I knew everyone in both the police record and the wedding announcements.  Small town stuff.  Early adulthood is when society dictates that you should get married.  I wasn’t married, nor was I anywhere close.  There’s a sort of panic that sets in when you figure out that you aren’t on the same time frame as the rest of the world.

Being a single girl in a small town is not an easy thing to do.  Up until I found and married Jason, I was constantly being asked who I was dating, why wasn’t I dating, or someone was trying to fix me up.  Eventually the well meaning townsfolk decided I was probably a lesbian and left me alone.

One day in 1998 I went to the grocery store to buy Fruity Pebbles and Ramen Noodles, staples in my single-girl diet.  As I was walking out, a girl I knew stopped me in the parking lot and told me someone’s truck had just rolled into my car.   In small towns everyone knows what everyone else drives.  I rolled my eyes and groaned. This turned out to be my third wreck in a parking lot!  In my experience, you’re pretty much out of luck.  The police won’t do much because it’s considered private property.  You just have to hope the other guy has insurance and is a respectable dude who will take care of it.  When I got into eye shot, I saw this empty, avocado green,  beat up Ford pickup had knocked out of gear and rolled about fifty feet before slamming his taillights into my headlights.

It belonged to Jason.  I knew that the minute I saw it.  Small town stuff.  Neither of us were in our vehicles at the time.  It was almost as if  this old, green, beat up Ford truck  saw this fancy, new, bluish purple Mustang and said, “Hey there, wild thang with the 4 cylinder.   I think you need a better look at my rear end.”   I leaned against the side of my car and waited for him to meander out of the store.  He was all apologies, promised he’d take care of it.  And he did.  He called me up and asked me to take it to a certain body shop, the car got fixed and life went on.  And that was that.

For five more years.
Dates with crazies came and went.
Then I became a recluse.
I would never go out. People would tell me I needed to be out meeting people. But I had met people, and they turned out to be daddy’s boys or killer cops and I’d rather stay home and watch Survivor alone. If somebody wanted to date me, they were going to have to knock on my door. And that was that.

Then one day I came home from work to find Jason’s name on my caller ID.  That was curious, but I assumed it was a wrong number.  He called back two days later and asked me out.  We talked for three hours.    I was teaching school and a parent of one of my students, that happened to be a friend of his, had suggested he ask me out.  He remarked that I was too sweet for him, which is true.  But a few days later, we passed each other on the main road in town and waved, and prompted him to call.  I’d had my experiences with cowboys, not to mention their dads, and didn’t figure it would go anywhere, but I agreed.  Eating Ramen Noodles was getting pretty old by this time.

It worked out pretty good.
He wore a yellow shirt.
I ordered chicken.

We had a second date.
He took me horseback riding.

I needed a boost on the butt.

He happily obliged.
I was petrified.

We had a third date.
At a comedy club.
His truck started breaking down on the way home.

A few months later he proposed to me on bended knee.
We got married.
He still has to give me a boost on the butt.
A much bigger boost on a much larger butt.

Sometimes, when I get nostalgic, I’ll think about the wreck we had in the parking lot both in unmanned vehicles.  I learned later that of course that po’ boy didn’t have any car insurance  but knew a guy who could fix my car.  They did a little bartering and Jason broke a horse for the body shop man in exchange for payment. Small town stuff.

It’s a funny story I guess.  Maybe even a coincidence.

Perhaps it was Fate.
Or Destiny.
Or the cosmos aligning perfectly with Mercury in the Sixth House.

But if you really want to know the truth, I believe it was God.
I believe that he intended for that collision of two unmanned vehicles to be the beginning of Jason and Angel.  A collision of love.
And we just weren’t listening.

That was a move on His part to create His will for two dumb pilgrims down here, and we missed it.  So he went to Plan B.    He works around our goofs.
Because He’s cool like that.

This entry is #15 on a list of 30 things.  How I fell in love.