There are days it really does feel like I’m living in a zoo.

Before you jump to my husband’s and children’s defense…

Let me tell you about the animals I see on a regular basis…no elephants YET, but you just never know.

Wild turkeys~

First of all, why is it not turkies? Drat that English language again.

The other day we had three turkeys, larger than my children, roaming our yard. I think they would have stayed a bit longer if I hadn’t pushed the button to grind the coffee beans. Yes, they were that close.

One Sunday morning, we saw a congregation of 17 large turkeys down by the barn. They were just beginning their morning worship.

There was the time when Nate tried to chase a turkey out of our yard and it began chasing him. I have never seen him run so fast in all my life…well, except the one other time when he poured gasoline on the fire pit and it didn’t light, so he poured some more…and POOF! Fire poured out and chased Nate’s heels where the gasoline had dripped…he might have run faster then. Both the fire chasing and turkey chasing are indelibly printed on my brain…Greyley’s too…and you can be sure, Nate’s.

Snapping Turtles~

They like it down by the swamp and close to what used to be Greyley’s Secret Hideout.

Opossum~

We’ve had several ‘possum sightings. The most memorable was when we heard something crash into the patio door. Thank God for a locked door. We turned the patio light on and there was a ‘possum looking up, blinded by the light, trying to get into the dog food storage container.

Frogs~

They are hilarious in the summer. Tiny ones leap onto our front door~ it has glass from top to bottom, so they are able to stick quite well.

Look at this cute itty-bitty one in Indie’s hand…

Deer~

Herds of deer frequently run through here. We’ve come face to face with them on many occasions. Greyley already has lots of fun stories to tell about her encounters with deer and other wild animals. Indigo too. One time a deer got too close to Greyley. I was cleaning the barn and the kids had been playing by me and right outside the barn. All of a sudden, I heard Greyley yelling. When I went to look, I realized Indigo was crawling towards Greyley and a deer. It was one of those slow motion moments that I saw the deer face to face with my kids. I ran and shooed the deer away and we took a break from outside for a while.

Our neighbor called to inform us that they had captured a doe close to our barn. We assured them we would stay out of the way until they could “take care of it.” The next day a buck began coming up by the house. He did this for several days in a row. The last day, he made eye contact with me through the patio door. We were about 10 feet apart. I went to the kitchen window and he moved and looked at me through that window. I went around to the front door and he followed me there. We stared at each other through the window for what felt like forever.

Where is she? Will you help me?

If I had opened the door, he would have come in the house. I know he would have. With a sad heart, I turned and walked away. He never came back. I still feel like I should have comforted him somehow.

Coyotes~

My daughter came running, looking TERRIFIED, one day, saying she’d seen a wolf. She was studying wolves in school at that time, so I thought she might be mistaken. Was it just a really big dog? No, she assured me it was NOT.

A year later, two coyotes ran past our kitchen door. Turns out they were the “wolves.” We’ve seen them on several occasions now and hear them even more often. They’re scraggly looking. They kinda scare me a little. I’ve heard them at night when they catch something. If they dream of coming after my Alex, I will go all kinds of crazy on them. Are you reading that, Coyotes? Are you??? You stay away from my dog.

Mice~

Oh, do I have the mice stories. There are almost too many to even share here. Fortunately my mother-in-law has the most run-ins with them. Isn’t that awful for me to even say out loud? She lives in our lower level and every year when it begins to get cold, we know now to put out the “stuff” to get rid of them…otherwise, there is scampering, sightings and screaming.

Did you know they play dead?

Raccoons~

The first assault was around 2 AM. We were sound asleep, when we heard something on our roof. It sounded like someone was banging the roof with a hard object. Someone’s breaking in, we thought. It was too loud to be a robber, but sounded like a large person. Our Pastor had loaned Nate a gun~more on that in a moment~so he put his snow boots on (it was winter) and went out to hunt down this critter.

To make a long story short, he didn’t get anything that night. But the next night when we heard banging, he went out again and saw the culprit. A raccoon. He stayed up all night, trying to get that thing. He has never hunted~ this is one of the reasons I married him~ and learned a few key things that night on what to do and what NOT to do. Needless to say, the raccoon was still on the loose.

I came down the next morning to find this:

Poor, traumatized soul…

Our friend, Ryan, came over and set up a trap with Nate. I think they put in a peanut butter sandwich with a chocolate on top. They were confident this would do the trick. The next morning, when Nate went to check on the trap, there was nothing there. No raccoon. No peanut butter sandwich with chocolate on top either.

Night after night after long night, the raccoon tormented us. We ended up going to a friend’s house to spend the night. Nate set up a failproof trap one more time. We’d heard that if you catch them, they will make a huge racket, so we wanted to avoid that. Its favorite spot seemed to be above Greyley’s room.

We came back the next day and NOTHING.

The raccoon wreaked havoc on our roof and attic. Nate patched the places up. We never heard from it again. Every time we pass a dead raccoon on the side of the road, Nate says, “There’s our raccoon.”

Who knows, maybe it’s still up there just waiting until
we’re sleeping soundly to make a reappearance.

The Mystery Barn Critter~

Is it a gopher? A woodchuck? A beaver? A muskrat?

These are the questions that have plagued us since moving into this house.

There have been many sightings. The first sign of Uh-Oh, was the gnawings on the barn posts inside. A couple of them have been chewed away until there’s a big “C” shaped out of what should be an “I”…

We’ve seen the tail end many times. It’s big.

It was after a couple of sightings that our Pastor loaned Nate a gun…just in case…we could not have that thing gnawing our whole barn down!

And one time, it bumped into my patio door, trying to get in. Once again, thank God for a locked door. I hollered at it and it ran off. This is the only time I’ve seen its face. Still couldn’t tell you for sure what it is.

Fast forward a couple of years. That critter has gotten the best of us again and again.

In the thick of getting ready for The Funky Barn, the boutique in a barn event Tosha and I did for a few years, we had a sad experience. Part of the barn has a cement floor. Upstairs is a wood floor. But the back of the barn, downstairs, is still a dirt floor. We kept filling holes and more kept reappearing. It was one such day, Lisa was at the barn with me. There is not a thing that woman cannot do. She was filling a hole AGAIN, when a little head popped up through the hole…and several other little hairless heads.

Fortunately Nate and Josh were also around. I ran to get them and told them the mystery critter must have had babies. They bombed the hole. After years of wanting to get rid of that pest, I cried. She was a mother. She had babies. It’s a barn, where else could she go? Well, I didn’t go that far, there were a lot of other places she could go…the swamp being just one of them…

I was drying my tears…I do have a soft spot for animals…when I looked over into the trees and Mystery Barn Critter was BOOKING it…running as fast as her fat tail would carry her, AWAY from the barn.

Well, that did it. No more mercy for her. She didn’t even stay to die with her babies. She just left them there, so she could torture us longer.

Yep, and that’s just what she’s done.

Apparently, I could write a book on this…looks like that’s what I’ve done and I just keep thinking of more stories. I didn’t cover bats, moles, rabbits, or squirrels.

We have a sickroom set up in the Cozy Daisy.

Greyley named the den the Cozy Daisy not long after we moved into this house. Friends and family use the phrase without question. It just IS the Cozy Daisy. You know it as soon as you enter the room.

Blankets, pillows, bottled water, 7-UP, Kleenex, plastic bags, bucket, and antibiotics have taken over the Cozy Daisy.

We have been on a TV cut back for going on 2 months now, except for 2 nights a week~ American Idol night and Movie Night…Tuesday and Friday, respectively. Since we have rehearsal most Tuesday nights, we record it and oftentimes, don’t watch AI until Wednesday night. Can I just insert here that the transition has been wonderful. The kids have played better together. They had limits on TV before, but when anyone watched anything it was Disney Channel. I have not missed it one single bit. Not a fan of the witty, sassy comebacks. It’s been a really nice break.

But we lifted the ban for anyone on antibiotics…I think we are thoroughly caught up on all the Noggin shows~ now, those I AM a fan of~ Franklin, Berenstain Bears, Toot & Puddle…and yes, a few Disney ones too~ iCarly, Phineas and Ferb, & Hannah Montana.

Highlights of the Day in the Cozy Daisy:

Morning. We made it through the hellish night and the sun was shining.

Cuddling

Again…it was a gorgeous, sunny day…a very welcome surprise after a few days of chilly rain.

Greyley kept food down.

I went to a doctor’s appointment and while waiting for a prescription to be filled, I enjoyed a Haagen-Dazs milk chocolate bar with vanilla ice cream. (OK, I guess it was a highlight of getting OUT of the Cozy Daisy…I needed it for my sore throat…and nausea. Really! It helped.)

Also not in the Cozy Daisy, but definitely a highlight~ I managed to NOT trip on Indigo’s ball throughout the day. Didn’t trip over it in the shower. Didn’t trip over it in the tub. Didn’t trip over it in the hall. Did trip over it right before bed, walking from the bathroom to the bedroom. Didn’t fall. Highlight, no?

More cuddling.

Got out of Day 2 of the 30 Day Shred with Jillian Michaels. Jillian, I will meet you in the Cozy Daisy TOMORROW MORNING (Or is that today? Yikes!), medication in system, stomach intact, sports bra ON. Bring it!

Had a little side entertainment watching Nate (who is still healthy, PTL. I guess we will still keep him in this family), Josh (will have to do a post on him sometime, he is one of my VERY most favorite people in the whole wide world), and Hunter (a fine young man from choir, who is a great singer AND passionate about lawn work~ yes!) cutting down a tree. Teamwork. Nothing like it.

Watched American Idol LIVE, while it was happening! I think this is the first year that I genuinely like everyone in the top 5. I enjoyed the performances very much.

Read lovely comments from you, dear readers, with well wishes and prayers. That really helped. Thank you so much.

I won’t mention the lowlights. I think I might have mentioned a few of those in yesterday’s post. Multiply a little and there you have it.

I never set out to be a germ.

I had higher ambition than that. A higher purpose. A higher calling.

The fascination with germs has always eluded me. Never particularly cared for dirt either. You can imagine for someone who doesn’t even like to say POOP (have you noticed I’ve been saying it a lot lately though?) that knowing the ins and outs of germs wouldn’t be appealing either.

However, I have had to face the facts. Not only am I thoroughly enmeshed with germs at every side, I, in fact, am one. I am a living, breathing GERM.

I like to think of myself as a clean person. And I might be surrounded with Dennis the Menaces, but I make sure they’re clean anyway. (For those of you who don’t know Dennis the Menace, he hated to take a bath.)

My house…I try to keep up. I have had a love affair with Purell and Lysol Disinfecting Spray for years now. I wash my hands. I have Purell all over the house and in the car. I air the house out. I keep my children out of Sunday School when they are sick. I stay home when I am sick.

When Indigo was so sick with pneumonia, the doctors said to do laundry after one wear. My children have taken that to the extreme. Greyley wears a sweatshirt over something for five minutes and if she decides to change, it is in the laundry. I am constantly doing laundry.

None of this matters.

I am a germ.

Indigo is sick right now. He has been for five days. He is on antibiotics for an ear infection and pink eye. His eyes are red like the devil. He’s coughing, we’re blowing his nose non-stop, wiping his eyes with wet washcloths, washing hands, and repeating it all from the top. Even with a temp, he’s bouncing off the walls because of the nebulizer meds, so it’s an interesting mix of sick and nutjob.

I have a headache, my throat hurts, and my eyes feel weird. Of course, when you are a germ, you feel that way.

I start out with positive thoughts. I am not going to get this and neither is anyone else. We will stop it HERE! I wash the sheets, maniacally wash everything that could have possibly been contaminated. But it only takes a night of Indie sleeping on me, sneezing on me, sneaking a kiss~ five days is too long to go without kissing your Mama!!!~ and voila! It’s done.

The school has called. Greyley has a temp, sore throat, and headache. Of course, she does.

We are germs. Hear us roar.

She came home long enough to throw up and go back out the door to the doctor.

Because that’s just how we roll.

LATER…

So I began this post early in the afternoon. I started out being silly, but by the evening, it wasn’t funny anymore. Greyley threw up all evening. Indigo is still miserable. We need prayer. My kids are sick all the time. They catch every bug, every virus…

Need relief. Need answers. Need help. Pray, please.

In working with young people and having dear friends of all ages, I have given a lot of advice…and of course, I’ve heard my share, too. At one point or another, as a woman, you will be called upon to give advice. Women like to talk things over, analyze, and ponder what things really mean…

We like the deep stuff, the shallow stuff…the everything-in-between stuff.

I have poured countless cups of coffee, tea, soft drinks~ regular and diet, sweet tea, hot chocolate, hot chai, milk, juice, and water. I’ve served countless gooey cake, cupcakes, cookies, chocolate cake, cheesecake bars, scones, banana bread, tea cakes, and Bundt cake galore. Suppers of corn pudding, spicy green beans, pork tenderloin, chicken enchiladas, salsa, broccoli casserole, Parmesan chicken, and grilled name-your-meat-of-choice…

Food loosens the tongue.

In these many meals together, with women of all ages, statuses, shapes, and then some, there is one common theme:

MEN

How does it always get back to men? What is so intriguing to us about the opposite sex? Are they really so different from us? Or is that age old philosophy true~ men really are from Mars and women from Venus…

I think perhaps it really might be the case…but that is neither here, nor there.

Having a handful (OK, a couple handfuls) of boyfriends. OK, I HAD SOME BOYFRIENDS, CAN WE JUST GET PAST THAT? Then being married for 15 years, I feel I am still only somewhat equipped with answers. I can only tell people who have asked for advice, what I would do…

So, for those of you who are always asking me for dating tips…you’ve probably heard these from me already, but…here’s a refresher course.

Be prepared, I’m old-fashioned. My mama taught me these principles. Some I’ve carried a bit further, but I have tested these and found them to work. At times, a little too well.

Let the guy initiate. Girls are so forward these days. That makes me sound old right off the bat. To be honest, though, I felt they were even when I was dating. Now, whoa…I’m astonished.

I think a man likes to feel like he’s having to work a little bit to get something worth having.

So…hear me out. How about letting him call you? Don’t be the one to text or email or call. Let him pursue a little. Now by that, I don’t mean to act uninterested if you are interested…or to be cold or to make him do all the work just for the sake of being pursued. There is a way to show you’re interested, without hunting him down.

Don’t share everything you know about life and all your dreams and wishes and hopes for the future and what you love about him thus far and how he would fit so perfectly into everything you’ve ever hoped for and dreamed about and how you can just imagine what his children would look like and…doesn’t that just make you nervous just reading that? Imagine how he feels with even an ounce of all that.

Here’s another angle. Don’t even share all that if HE’S saying those things to you early on…take a deep breath. Why the hurry?

It isn’t playing games to keep part of yourself back…maintain a little mystery; not to play games, but to preserve your heart. It takes time to know who to trust with your heart, so be cautious.

Beware of someone who notices every other woman in the room…to the point of being unaware of you. Beware of someone who texts repeatedly or can’t get off the phone while you’re together. If you can’t hold his attention in an early date, it’s not happening.

If you meet him in…say, a bar…chances are pretty slim that it’s going to be a meaningful relationship. I’m not saying you have to meet him at church, because there are guys in church who are as rotten as any guy you’ll ever meet. But it’s important to find someone like-minded.

If you want someone who loves God like you do, upholds good values, and is respectful of you~ which to me are the very most important things~ make sure you find that out early on. I’d say even before you go on a second date with them…maybe even before the first date. It’s not that hard to find out.

Meeting a stranger and going out with them before knowing anything about them is crazy. I can expound on this, but will leave it at that. Except for this one thing~you say, “But how will I know them if I don’t go out with them?”

Tell them you don’t go out with strangers. If they’re really interested, they will make sure you get to know them. They will call and bug until you’ll know whether you want to go out with them or not. If they don’t bother to get to know you first, they weren’t worth it! Simple as that.

If a guy is really interested, he is really hard to get rid of. That might sound elementary, but I think so many girls are so afraid of scaring someone off~ if he’s really interested and it’s “meant to be”~ he won’t be easily scared away.

I think that’s all I can handle of this today. It’s stressing me out just writing about it. I don’t envy anyone in the dating scene. I realize that it’s a whole different ballpark than when I was out there, but I do feel there are basic rules between men and women that will always apply.

You know it’s a great church service when…

You’ve already forgotten how hard it was to get there.

You see a lady dabbing her eyes with a hanky during choir practice.

People stand up and clap before a word is sung.

Tambourine lady gets out in the aisle and swings it. Well, it’s good for HER…usually not so good for the band…

During the third chorus of Free for All, Sister Mary does a loop around the sanctuary.

You find yourself holding your breath because you know if you don’t, you’ll be next.

A tall man carries a tree down the middle aisle to signify a palm branch.

You forget how long you’ve been standing and how your feet ache.

The soloist begins crying in the middle of verse one and then laughs and asks the band to just keep playing, so I…I mean, they, can get it together. (I wouldn’t know anything about this, but I heard about it happening recently, and, um…heard they still managed to pull it off…that’s what I heard, anyway.)

The drummer cries. Any. Time. A. Drummer. Cries. Is. Good.

If I say, “Halle”, you say, “Lujah”…Halle (Lujah) Halle (Lujah)

If people spontaneously come to the front before being asked.

When you realize you should have put on five more layers of deodorant.

When the chairs fall off of the choir loft.

If someone stands up and says, “God told me to give __________.” (Fill in the blank with anything; it’s usually good.)

There’s no preaching.

Or the preaching is so good that it’s completely silent when it’s over.

Or it’s so good that throughout the message, people are on their feet.

Or it’s so good that you remember it the next day, the next week…a year later…

A little old lady begins a chorus in her wobbly voice and it sounds so pitiful and sweet, you can’t help but giggle and cry, all at the same time.

If the elusive teenage boy with hair covering his left eye and left nostril, who hasn’t said anything coherent in a year, comes to the altar and shouts, “Praise the LORD!”

And back when he was alive, you knew it was a great service, when Brother Dorn with his bad legs that were sometimes so puffy he couldn’t even walk, would come up to the front of the church and do a little dance that resembled something between a shuffle and a jog.

Photograph by Matt Khoury

The most important thing in communication is to hear what isn’t being said.
Peter Drucker

Have you ever noticed that when there is something you need to say to someone, you wait until the last minute? You try to enjoy the good in being together and know that there is something you need to tell, something you need to say, something you need to get off your chest.

I don’t know why this never fails to surprise me. If there is anything I should have learned by now, it is that people occasionally save the best…but they almost always save the worst…for last.

It was in the short ride home from school that Greyley confessed something she’d been doing at school for weeks. This was about two years ago. She was talking one minute, then I looked back and she was sobbing in the back seat.

We’ve been very strict with her diet, just trying to figure out the triggers for migraines. We know chocolate is one of them and have cut that out, along with most refined sugars. She knows what to avoid and for the most part over the years, she has done really well at sticking with it, even when we’re not around.

“Are you OK, Baby?” I asked.

“I think I might be crying,” she sobbed.

“Well, yes. I think so. Are you sad about something?”

“I think I might be crying because…I have been eating fudgsicles at school every day for the last few weeks…”

Ahhh.

That would explain a few things.

It has happened many times over the years. Working with young people in a variety of settings, I hear my share. I am shocked by nothing.

Another short ride involved me and a young girl in her early teens. We were about to leave Taco Bell~ my favorite restaurant in the WHOLE WIDE WORLD~ and take her home, when she told me she had recently become sexually active.

At the end of a long conversation online, another girl shared that her father had abused her most of her life.

After talking about recipes and how badly she wanted to cook for me and Nate, before we hung up the phone, my friend confessed that she was struggling with bulimia. It got so bad at one point, that she would come stay with us on the nights she was really afraid she would succumb…to not only that, but worse, suicide.

And it was this week, during a short ride home, that the person I was driving…in the few minutes before we reached their house, quietly said, “It was during that time that I began cutting…I still struggle with it sometimes.”

The real stuff.

So many things come to mind as I think about this…

What if I hadn’t been listening?

What if I had hung up the phone before she got it out and she lost her nerve the next time she saw me?

What if I hadn’t spent enough time in the casual conversation so that they could say what needed to be said in those last few moments in the car?

This is the part of the conversation that I don’t ever want to be too busy or distracted or ignorant to miss.

And…

Why do we wait until we’re in desperate shape to talk to someone? Why do we wait until the very last minute?

I don’t have the answers. I’m guilty of doing this myself. I guess what I want to get out there is that with all the open conversation going on these days~ blogging, emailing, and the archaic telephone~ I hope it will change. Let’s say the real things.

I want to be a safe person for people to feel comfortable with from the very beginning of conversation.

I want to be the friend and to have friends that I can say, “I’m in a bad place,” RIGHT as it’s happening, not years down the road when it might be too late to fix.

I want to listen.

As a parent, there are things I never thought I’d be so happy to hear…

For example…

Mama, I made sure my pants were pulled all the way down so I wouldn’t get tinkle on them.

I pointed down.

I wanna go to bed.

I don’t want to live without you.

I’m gonna live with you forever.

Why would I want to go anywhere else?

I have a booger. Here. On. My. Finger. (Better than it being wiped under the table!)

Yesterday, Indigo got increasingly worse and worse with a cold. He never wants to admit he’s sick, so the two times he has said he is, it’s been bad. He had barely fallen asleep for his nap when he began crying. I held him for a while, put him back to bed, and he began crying again. So I just got him up for good and snuggled with him, while the tears streamed down his face. I could tell he had a temperature and his nose just wouldn’t quit.

So we cuddled and it was really nice.

On the way to pick Nate up, he chatted the whole way. I brought the box of Kleenex with us to keep up with the faucet. When Nate saw Indigo, he was alarmed at how puffy the whole left side of his face was…I’d noticed it too and thought he might have pink eye.

We decided to go to the clinic on the way home. Indigo was miserable. He cried and cried. We must have gone through 30 tissues. We got back in the little room and the nurse came in. He could not be consoled. It was pitiful. He was quiet, but the tears just kept falling.

Finally, the nurse said, “If that lip goes out any further…a bird is gonna come along and…POOP on it.”

In mid-cry, Indigo let out a laugh that sounded all over that clinic. He laughed until he couldn’t laugh anymore. We all laughed. It was welcome relief.

I didn’t even tell the nurse that we don’t SAY POOP. It was one of those things I never thought I’d be so happy to hear.

We found out he does have pink eye and an ear infection. He cried some more and got really agitated several times, but would think of the nurse saying POOP and go into giggles, while wiping his tears.

On the way home, things turned around.

I like medicine.

I’m feeling a little better already.

Ah, yes…like music to my ears.

***Make sure you go to Candy Jamamas for the continuing discussion…Today she’s on Thin, Part IV***

My good friend over at Candy Jamamas has a deep discussion going on over at her blog…I’m going to send you over to Part 1, but check out the rest of the discussion too…

It’s about women and dieting. She hit a nerve with me and I am not the only one. There are so many aspects of this subject that are raw and painful. I have my own set of issues. I did not even realize how many until the last few years, but they are there. I am dealing with them and probably always will.

But knowing that my daughter is going to be a teenager in a couple of years, with our culture the way it is now, is enough to make me get even more desperate to curtail my issues and find a way to make sure she isn’t bombarded with the same ones.

The importance of appearance smacks us in the face everywhere we turn. Images on TV, computer, billboards, magazines, book covers…everywhere there is someone more beautiful, skinnier, more enhanced~ BETTER.

Even people usually comfortable in their skin begin to second guess themselves, wishing they could change this or that.

I’ve realized in the last couple of years that Greyley is watching everything I do. When they’re little, they watch closely, but still seem oblivious to some things…nope, not really the case. She knows how I eat, what I eat, what I avoid, how active I am, how inactive I am, and on and on.

She hears me if I say, “I wish I could lose X amount of pounds,” or “I look HUGE in that picture.”

She’s filing it all away. And if I’m not careful, she will start to put my issues on herself.

Right now, she thinks it doesn’t matter. She rolls her eyes when she hears her aunt talk about losing weight all the time, but when she gets older and is not fitting into all her clothes, or has trouble losing baby weight…I wonder what she will think.

So, this is my goal…my mission…

First, I am going to display healthy eating habits to the best of my ability.

I will be active, encourage her to be active, as well as doing active things with her.

I will not talk negatively about my body. Not to her. Not to myself. Not to anyone.

I think that is enough for now. If I can accomplish these things, I will be making progress. I will reevaluate my goals again in a couple of months and see if I notice a change in myself. If I’m thinking more positively about my body image, I’m thinking that’s a good sign.

Please tell me your thoughts on this.

Books recommended by another good friend, Mrs. Manley, from Thinking Out LOUD, on the subject~

You Are Not What You Weigh by Lisa Bevere
Beauty Secrets: Tips for Teens from the Ultimate Makeup Artist by Debroah Newman and Rachel Newman.
Making Peace With Your Thighs by Dr. Linda Mintle
(She’s reading two other related books, but we’ll wait to see what she thinks after reading, to know whether she recommends them or not… )

Thanks, Mrs. M! And thank you, Candy Jamamas, for being a brave girl and getting us started on this topic!!!

Everyone who knows me thinks I am a laid back person. And I’d have to say, I really am. Then you meet Nate and you just thought I was laid back.

I do have some quirks though, but since I’m not vocal about them (Until this blog, ha! Who let these flood gates OPEN?), I doubt many of my friends know what they are. I doubt even Nate knows ALL of them. Some he just can’t help but be aware of…

There are a handful of…shall we call them preferences? OK, maybe a couple of handfuls. I’m not strict about making everyone else enforce them, but I do know what I prefer.

House Matters…

This is a common one~ replace the toilet paper roll when it has run out! I had a house guest complain once about how hard it was to work my toilet paper roll~ it’s a cute one and you have to unscrew it to put a new roll on…granted, not the easiest in the world. I asked her what other urgent thing did she have to do while just sitting there?

I like the toilet paper to be rolling OVER, not UNDER.

And while we’re on T.P. preferences, I prefer Charmin Ultra Soft. And no, it is not humorous enough~to me, anyway~to see the Charmin wasted on the kids taking turns wrapping each other up like mummies. But that’s just me.

Do not put anything empty back in the cabinets or refrigerator. Go ahead and throw it away. I’m working on this with my kids right now.

And while you’re putting things away, go ahead and put that dish in the dishwasher…it’s not that much harder than putting it in the sink. This is one I’m occasionally starting to enforce with my kids. It’s tricky because sometimes it can be hard for them to tell if a full dishwasher has clean or dirty dishes.

I do not like it when the sheets get pulled out from under the mattress at the foot of the bed. My feet get drafty.

At the head of the bed, when the sheets are crumpled under the comforter, I have to spread them out nice again. This one gets on Nate’s nerves, I think…especially when I have to spread his side…while he’s laying there. It’s just so much nicer to have the top of the sheet out OVER the comforter.

I have to group all the silverware together in the dishwasher. Forks with forks, knives with knives, etc. Then it’s so much easier to put away!

Hygiene Matters…

Please don’t let fingernails or toenails fly all over the carpet while cutting them at my house. That makes garbage cans feel neglected.

I have a thing about ears that aren’t clean. There used to be someone I sang with a lot, in small spaces, at that…who never had clean ears. It was very distracting for me.

But do NOT clean them with a bobby pin in my presence. Besides giving me the willies, I fear you will hurt your ear drum and be deaf and I will have to live with that forever. So will you, for that matter.

Do not let me see you picking your nose. I mean it. I will get a clean rag and disinfectant and go to town on your fingers and your children’s fingers. I have two kids who still need reminding about this and it is the one thing I go a little mental over. Indigo still sucks his thumb too, so there is a constant need for hand washing. We had Indigo’s Pulmonologist visit yesterday and every time we see him, he goes on a long rant about the effects of people not washing their hands, picking their noses, and spreading germs. Use a KLEENEX! Wash your hands! Use soap! For crying out LOUD!

Personal Matters…

Please don’t expect me to remember to bring something to church for you on a Sunday morning…all manner of crazy things happen on Sunday mornings and I am doing good just to get there.

Don’t say one thing and mean another. Tell it to me straight, even if I won’t like it. I will take it much better than skirting around the issue or hinting.

Men, never blame a woman’s behavior on PMS. In fact, just don’t talk about it at all. It’s crass, insulting, and a large percentage of the time you just don’t know what you’re talking about. Our behavior might just be because we don’t like you…

Don’t talk to me about how So-and-So has gained a lot of weight, gone bald, or looks old. The only time I EVER feel good about hearing this is when it is someone who has bullied me or perhaps an old boyfriend who was a super dork…and even then, I feel a slight discomfort for that person…you know if we’re talking about it, a ton of other people are too. I don’t like it.

Well, there you have it. I think that’s it in a nutshell. Now that I look back over this, I think perhaps I am not so laid back after all.

What I’m reading right now: I Love You, Beth Cooper by Larry Doyle
Song I’m enjoying right now: Free Fallin’ (Live) by John Mayer

Troy & Lori, Partners in Crime~ I think we’re 10 & 18 in this picture. I know I should have said the names reversed to fit with the picture, but I couldn’t do it. It just doesn’t go that way…Lori & Troy. No, it’s Troy & Lori. And regardless of how I bossed HIM around, I am the 10 year old.

I remember being under strict orders to NOT smile for this picture, so it would be authentic.

I’ve mentioned my brother on several occasions, but have never devoted a full post to him. It is only because there is so much to say about him. I haven’t even known where to start.

To say that I am crazy about my brother is an understatement to the extreme. I am 8 years younger than him and I grew up worshiping the ground he walked on…

I was like a little shadow to Troy for the first 10 years of my life. I wanted to be wherever he was and most of the time, he let me. He was pretty tolerant to me having my way. Occasionally, I can remember him being put out with me, but mostly I remember him giving in and letting me tag along with him.

He let me mother him, let me play with his G.I. Joe and helicopter, and even took me on a few dates.

He was so handsome. All the girls LOVED him~ they still do~ he has a WAY with the women…not a gross way either, a charming way. He was fun and talented. He began singing in church at age 2. He took care of my grandfather who had Alzheimer’s. He wrote stories and poems and songs~ always asked ME how to spell things, that wasn’t his strong suit. In other words, he was an amazing person. He was my favorite person in the whole wide world. And he still is.

We would have times of bliss and then there would be these dark phases. I didn’t understand them then, and don’t know if I even remember them correctly now, you know how your memory isn’t always accurate on some things…but he began running away. I couldn’t understand it. He seemed happy to me, never had anything bad to say, stayed out of trouble…but then he would disappear. Again and again, this happened.

His senior year of high school, we lived in Collierville, Tennessee, right outside of Memphis and Troy ran away in the middle of the school year. We couldn’t find him anywhere. The first we heard a couple of days later, he was at my uncle’s house in California…an uncle that I’d only mostly heard about, didn’t really know…he stayed there for a couple of months. His school principal begged him to just show up to one class and he’d let him graduate, but Troy wouldn’t come home.

When he did finally come home, I was just so relieved, I wanted to do all the right things to keep him there. But the next thing I knew, he wanted to join the Navy.

I remember feeling devastated to know that he was leaving for months, maybe even years. I just couldn’t stand it. Then he told me he was going on a submarine and the thought of that was more than my little 10-year-old brain could take. I prayed every night for weeks and weeks that they would NOT let him on that submarine~ the very thought just made me want to choke with claustrophobia~ until I got a letter from him saying he was disappointed, but they had changed his orders and now he was going to be on a ship.

I knew God had answered my prayer. My brother also knew it and wasn’t exactly pleased with me.

His years in the Navy were not good ones. He got into some trouble. Spent time in the brig. Ended up in a Costa Rican prison for a couple of years.

My sweet, handsome, gentle brother.

Off and on through the years, he would come home. Things would be good. Healing would take place. He got married, had a beautiful baby boy…and not long after that another baby boy. (My nephews, Stefen and Jared are now grown and are hunks of tall, smart goodness. And yes, single. Other posts on them coming up…)

But he’d go away again, at the most unexpected times. It was heartbreaking. The doctors said he was bipolar. We didn’t know until many years later that he was also addicted to drugs at a very early age, heroin being his drug of choice.

One time, he’d been missing for a while. By now, we all lived in California. My dad’s job took him all over Northern California. One day, Dad was on a crowded freeway and saw a hitchhiker. Something tugged at him when he drove by and he looked in his rear view mirror. I wonder if that could be Troy, he thought. He pulled over in the middle of crazy traffic, backed up, and sure enough, it was Troy. My dad drove him to where he wanted to go and let him out, not knowing if he’d ever see him again.

I have many, many stories like this…times where it felt like God was bringing him back to us, only to have him slip through our fingers again.

When I was in Bible School, it had been five years that he’d been gone. There was a two month time frame in there where he came back and saw me as more of an adult. I told him about Nate then, although this was during our broken up stage. Troy came to my college graduation and I thought things were going to finally be OK.

Before I could get home from chorale tour, he was gone again. I got a little bitter this time. More than a little. I was tired of the rollercoaster. His two boys were without a father. It was a lot. It kind of made me skeptical of men altogether. I didn’t know about the drugs at this point and what that could do to a person. I didn’t know much about being bipolar either. I didn’t care about any reasons, really, I was just angry.

Fast forward another five+ years…Nate & I were married and I was very pregnant. My parents had moved from California back to Arkansas, where they’re both originally from. I had the thought, as they did when they moved, that I didn’t know how I would ever see Troy again. He didn’t know I was married. He didn’t know our parents were moving. But right before I was due, they told me they had received a letter from him. It had been forwarded from the California address. I think they weren’t even sure if they should tell me, at that point. In the letter, he explained that he had been clean for a while. He was remarried to a wonderful woman who had 2 daughters. That was about it.

I forgot my anger. I just wanted to hear him. The moment I found out, I called information and got his number from the address.

When I heard his voice, I said, “Troy?”

He immediately knew it was me. “Baby girl,” he said.

I began to cry and the first thing out of my mouth was, “I’m about to have a baby!”

I don’t know why that was my earth shattering opener, but that’s all I could think to say. We talked for hours. He explained some things to me. It didn’t necessarily all just make sense to me that day, but it helped a little.

He changed his name to Troi.

In that conversation, I didn’t know if I’d see him or not. I knew enough to not hope, but it was still good. He told me to let him know when I had the baby and that he wanted to come see us after she was born.

We have been in touch ever since…going on eleven years now.

He did come after Greyley was born. It was a wonderful time. He came for a week and then his wife and the girls came for another week. While they were visiting, Phyllis and the girls got baptized. We had Thanksgiving together. It was a miraculous time.

One of our first stops was taking a new
picture…about 16 years later…

Troi & Lori, Partners in Crime

Again, I was under strict orders to NOT smile…

Troi, Phyllis, Brittney, and Nicole even moved to Minnesota for three years. It wasn’t all they hoped it would be, but for me, it was so nice to have my brother close. They lived with us for a while. We had hot tea together. Sang together. Dreamed together. He fed Greyley dried apricots every morning and built an arbor for my garden. We did the things brothers and sisters do together.

We loved. And time healed.

He still struggles with the manic times, but he hasn’t disappeared out of my life. When he came to see me, I told him if he ever did that to me again, I wouldn’t be so forgiving the next time. He’s kept his word by not leaving me and I’m grateful.

He lives back in California now and even though it’s been way too long since I’ve seen him, I know right where he is. That, in itself, does my heart good.

Sometimes our life doesn’t go as we pictured it. But the lessons we learn along the way are what make us who we are. The miracles that we incur are gifts and a sign that God does hear us. He has heard every single prayer I have ever prayed for my brother and even though I often thought the timing was stinky, I can see that He was still working it all out for His good. Pain with a purpose.

Troi has a story to tell. He blesses everyone who meets him. Even though he doesn’t love being around people, people are still drawn to him. No, he is not the traditional straightlaced kind of guy…you might even say he is a little rough around the edges. But his heart is pure gold. He is about as gentle as they come.

I love you, Troi Michael Atkinson. I always will. You are the best brother. I am so proud of you.