idontbelieveingrammar

Recently I couldn't wait to see a friend. Even though I knew it was going to be really awkward. She just suffered a great loss and I knew we weren't going to be able to just hug and giggle about old times. There might be long pauses. Or some staring at our feet. Or laughing and then feeling guilty that maybe things shouldn't be this normal. This summer I hung out with some old friends. Some were easy. And it seemed that we slipped into conversations like comfortable old jeans. Others were strained, and we weren't always sure what to say. Eventually we caught ourselves laughing almost as easily as we used to, but not after a few conversational dead ends and at least one failed joke. I hope to see both next time I am around. Bring on the awkward pauses, if it means I get to hug an old friend. Even if it means we don't have much in common anymore. I bet if we talk long enough we will find something. I also have some friends that have made some decisions or done so...

On the way home from school Owen says, "I love you, mommy" Sweet yes, but he also had alterior motives...he was trying to butter me up for a stick of gum. So I responed, " How much?" "More than........." (and he paused dramaticallyI expected him to fill in that blank with something he partiucuarly enjoys like cartoons, or cheetos, or the color red). He continued, "More than 12." 12 huh. Well, I guess it could be worse. He could have said 4.

Ok, disclaimer. Not of fan of 90% of “Christian fiction” (imagine that I just made those quotations in the air with my hands” and possibly even a gagging sound). It is often too sweet and sappy and unrealistic. But maybe, just maybe a mom of three with a nose ring can do it right. Within less than a dozen pages I was hooked. Instead of going to bed at a respectable hour, or doing the dishes or grading papers……I found my self in the middle of Defiance, TX. Mourning with Emory of the loss of her daughter Daisy. Hoping with Hixon that he will manage to win Emory’s heart. Wishing for Emory to finally come around. Praying that Jed would survive under all the weight of his self-imposed guilt. Wondering if Ousie would stand up to or be crumpled by the hand of her husband. And most of all wanting to find out who the killer is. And that is just the first few chapters. In other words, A Slow Burn, is anything but a slow read. So, let the dishes pile up. Let some one else put away the laundry and...

The doctor pulled and tugged and cussed. Asked for more clamps and rags and billed us for extra time. Thankfully I couldn't see much beyond the blue sheet. It felt like someone was sitting on my chest. And really really cold. The anesthesiologist tried to distract me, and suddenly there was a flurry. A slippery slimy 8 pound 2 ounce little Tess. And we waited. For the nurse to suction her mouth, and for her to scream. The relief of that sweet scream. And she has been screaming ever since. Before she got here I thought I had this parenting thing figured out. Owen was easy. Laid back. Active, but usually eager to please. I thought it was because I was good at it. Apparently it was just beginners luck. Tess is stubborn and sassy. She takes short naps and wakes up at the smallest of noises. She is picky and particular about what she is wearing, who is holding her, what she eats and even the room temperature. But she can throw her head back and giggle. A giggle so big that it consumes ...

Yesterday Owen had his first official soccer game. We have had practices and a soccer tots class, but this was the first REAL game. With jerseys and refs and long socks that go up to his thigh. So Saturday morning I packed up snacks and drinks and the camera and headed over to the U5 fields. The ones that are smaller than my living room. After circling a parking lot full of minivans and suburbans for 20 minutes, I finally found a space and unloaded Tess. I pushed Tess's stroller at top speed to the assigned field ( where O's game was already underway). As I rolled passed some of the bigger kids fields, I started thinking this was the first of many many mornings I would here. I usually try to shrug the soccer mom image, but I actually like the soccer part. I soaked in the smell of the freshly cut grass, the chalk lines, sunshine, whistles and the orange slices. I wondered how many goals my sweet little boy would score today. I finally approached O's field ( and yes, I mi...

        So I got the pants beat off me in the first round by a 4 year old. damn bumpers.

I did something completely terrifying this weekend. No, I did not ride the Titan or sky dive or spend the night in a haunted house. Instead, I went to a conference. At a church. With some really nice people. But, here is the catch. It was a writing conference. Still don’t see what was terrifying about this. Well, some of these people were "real" writers. They have written actual books, and articles and have their own websites. Even the aspiring ones seemed to be carting around a manuscript or a service. Me, well. I blog. Along with everyone and their grandma. And after attending this conference, trust me everyone’s grandma has a blog. I want to write. But I’m not sure what exactly. This kind of stuff. But how do I describe that when you go around the dinner table with all these people who actually belong here, and someone finally asks me the dreaded question. The one that I have been praying no one will actually ask me. The one that makes my knees knock a little bit and my ...

Today I forgot my lunch, so I ran a quick errand to get a sandwich. On my way out of the Which Which parking lot, I saw a man across the street that I thought might be homeless. Mansfield doesn't have too many of these people purusing the streets with signs or shopping carts so I took notice. He pushed a shopping cart and seemed to be picking up trashn in a gas station parking lot. I watched him carefully because I was trying to decide if he was homeless or just cleaning the parking lot. I gave away my last 5 bucks last night, but thought maybe I could give him half my sandwich. Then I felt guilty about only wanting to give him half. I decided that maybe I should give him the whole thing. I did have a granola bar stashed away in the store room back at school. But the more I watched him, the more I thought he was possibly an employee of that gas station. His cart seemed to be outfitted with all kinds of containers and cleaners -- and I did not see any "belongings". A...

Tonight I went fishing. Really the plan was just to take lots of pictures, but I got distracted. The fish kept biting. I could hardly drop my pole in before I was reeling in another one. Shaun, his dad and Owen were all packing up the land cruiser, and I was still reeling them in, in the dark. Not sure what it was. My hands were dirty and slimy. My tennis shoes were covered with sticker burrs. My pants were stained and smelled strongly of fish. But it was beautiful. And not just the sun setting over the creek. But the dirt on my son’s face. The wiggle of a worm. And the wildflowers blooming on the bank. This morning I sat in a church (not my normal one!) And felt nothing. The service was cold and boring. The music ( sang to a tape of backup music) was lifeless. And the preaching, well I have already forgotten what it was about. But there at the creek. God spoke. Not in words so much, As in grasshoppers And crickets And fish breaking the water.

I have a friend Beth who has my favorite laugh of all times. It is the best laugh you have ever heard she is very generous with it. She is just one of those bright happy people that you just want to be around. Because well, when she is you find yourself smiling and laughing more too. In one word she is joyful. But a few days ago, my sweet Beth had a son. He was a beautiful 4 lbs 3 ounces and looked a lot like his older sister. He was stillborn. I can't read or type those words without feeling like I am being hit in the stomach. She wrote about it very breifly on her facebook page and I am absoultely humbled by the amazing grace that she displayed. I know that our God is good. But it is so hard to remember in this moment. and it almost seems wrong to even type it. People keep expressing sympathy for her loss. And loss is such a huge understatement when it comes to a child. She was robbed. But my friend Beth still manages to see that she is blessed and will continue to be blessed. B...