What Would Be Your Superpower?

Is there anything more magical than listening to two young people talking about the world and listening to their points of view?

It was the end of the day for classes. Two students sat at the table after class ended, both waiting on their dads to pick them up. They are in class together, so their conversation was easy and affable. They compared their thoughts about driving one day (at least four years away), and then talked about how old exactly you have to be. They talked about where their dads might be, since they hadn’t arrived on the dot when class was over. I was tidying up, and I assured them not to worry. As we looked out through the glass pane into the now dark parking lot, I told them about my friend’s question that helps so much when we don’t understand what or why something is happening–“What does this make possible?”

I asked them what they thought that might be. They giggled over some silly thoughts, and then we decided that this allowed us to have a good conversation together.

Immediately one piped up with, “If you could have any superpower in the world, what would it be?”

Y’all she was so quick with that question, I feel like it’s one that she thinks about a lot, bless her. Her friend sat for a minute and said, “All of them.”

I silently applauded her–okay, girl, you go ahead and ask for the world, dream that dream supersized–and then was brought back into the conversation by the inquisitor–“Did you hear what she said? She’d want all of them.” She laughed good naturedly.

“Yeah, that’s a pretty good idea,” I replied. “For your superpower to be all of them…..”

The one who had answered shook her head. With big eyes and the most sincere tone, she answered, “Oh no. Not all at once. You know, if I needed to fly somewhere…..then I’d have that ability. Or if I needed to do something else, I’d have that superpower. Just one at the time, you know?”

Bless her. I remember the Genie telling Aladdin he couldn’t make wishing for more wishes one of his three wishes. I guess that’s kind of what I thought my young friend was doing. Instead she was being really quite reasonable. Her superpower would be to be able to do whatever was most needed in any situation.

Wise beyond her years.

This day’s magical moment was me being allowed into the precious world and mind of preteen girls. Allowed to listen and talk with them and explore the world through their eyes. I’m thankful for their joyful embrace of the opportunity to just sit and chat for a few minutes in this oh so busy world during an oh so busy season. I’m thankful for the question that stirred the conversation and for the mind that genuinely wanted to know the answer. I am also grateful for a young person who saw the magic of superpowers quite logically. May we all take the time to assess what is going on, figure out what is needed, take care of it, and then let it go–and move on.

It reminds me of one of my Mama’s favorite lines. It was from the TV show M*A*S*H–Charles Emerson Winchester the Third said it on more than one occasion if I’m not mistaken. “I do one thing at a time, I do it very well, and then I move on.”

Bless inquisitive minds, sensible superheroes, and precious preteens.

May the magic of the season be memorable and long lasting!

Love to all.

Toting Twigs and Wayward Worms

One of the gifts that these strange times have given us is longer walks in the mornings. When we were first asked to stay home during the beginning of this pandemic, Miss Sophie, whose routine was thrown way off because *we*never*left*, convinced me to take her on longer walks in the mornings. Or maybe it was the other way around. Instead of our quick, hurry up, I thought you had to go ritual, we had leisurely meanderings through our neighborhood, waving from a distance at neighbors we hadn’t seen in a while and some we’d never met. The mornings in March and April and even the beginning of May were unseasonably temperate, and it was lovely.

With spring upon us and yards being watered again, the tragedy that has broken my heart each spring and summer began once again. Earthworms, who had either floated without choice or, tempted by the early morning coolness, crawled from grass to sidewalk, were left stranded on the concrete walkways as the days grew hotter. Some were able to make it back to the safety of the grass, but so many were not.

I carry a stick when we walk. Not a big one. A twig really. It’s not meant to scare anyone or anything (supposedly a gator comes around occasionally or so I’ve heard). It’s my worm lifting tool.

Yep. That’s a real thing.

I don’t know how I got started or when the first worm called out to me for help. Before I started carrying my twig, I’d search frantically for a leaf or stick or strong blade of grass to gently slide underneath the sweltering, wiggling worm and lift him quickly to the safety of the dark, damp earth. I don’t know how many make it okay after or even the lifespan of a worm. I just know I can’t pass by one who has any wiggle left in him. He has to be moved to safety. (But no, for some reason, I haven’t brought myself to use my bare hands–I keep telling myself it’s gentler not to, but I’m pretty sure that’s what rationalizing looks like. ūüėČ )

It’s been a few years maybe that I’ve been doing this. I don’t think anything about it anymore. Neither does Sophie. As I go about my business, she takes a minute to ponder life or what smells were left where. So far no one has ever stopped me to say, “Hey! Whatcha doing all bent over and contorted like that?” or “Hey! Stop flinging earthworms in my yard, you crazy person!” All of which I am glad for.

It’s become such a natural thing for me on our walks that when the pandemic hit and Cooter decided to join me and Miss Sophie in the mornings, I didn’t think about him wondering what on earth his Mama was doing all stooped and bent over and talking to an earthworm like that–or why I was carrying a twig with me.

When curiosity got the better of him and he did ask, I explained sheepishly. I braced myself for my new teenager to have something sarcastic to say or some great knowledge to impart to me that would imply that maybe my efforts were all in vain. Let’s face it, I thought he’d tease me unmercifully. He loves me and respects me, but I could see it happening.

I did not expect him to go looking for his own twig and ask to “rescue” the next one.

But that’s what he did.

Side by side I walked with this man child who (don’t tell him I admitted to it) is now slightly taller than I am. He gained inches during this quarantine, and I’m now the shortest person in this family. Bless.

As we talked about everything (and I mean EVERYTHING) under the sun, we kept our eyes open for any wigglers. There were many who were already lost, sadly, but when we saw one still going, we’d excitedly and with gentle scolding (“look here buddy, go THAT way, no quit jumping, I’m TRYING TO HELP YOU, SIR) help another misguided bloke to safety. The joy was palpable, though we never tarried long after we got another one across. Miss Sophie’s patience has limits, my friends.

When I think of this quarantine, those lovely morning walks with dazzling blue skies, puffy white clouds, gentle breezes, and the perfect air temperature will be among my treasured memories. Walking with my favorite “little” fella and my precious pup, toting twigs and rescuing wayward worms–priceless.

I’ve thought a little more about those spring walks, since we don’t go quite as long or as far in the sauna that the outdoors here in Georgia has become. When he first joined me back in March, I didn’t set out to show my baby boy “how to keep worms from frying on the hot pavement.” He saw me carrying my twig and watched what I did with it. Then he found his own and copied me.

And I know that doesn’t just happen with sticks and worms. It happens with stock and words. What I take stock in, how I use my words to harm or heal…..he’s watching. Listening. Those hands that used to reach for mine– first to help him stand, then to step, and then to comfort–are growing and changing as much as his voice which is so much deeper with now only a few cracks or squeaks. Those hands, his voice–he can choose how they affect this world. He’s taking in what happens around him and choosing what he wants to be a part of, what he wants to change, encourage, develop, empower, study, share, love.

I’m thankful for a life where my baby boy carries a twig around our neighborhood and no one asks why. I’m thankful for a life where he carries a small stick for the survival of earthworms and not a bigger one for his own. The disparity in that is not lost on me. We are so fortunate that it moves me to tears.

Most of all, I’m thankful for parents who taught me to leave things better than I found them. To be a good steward of all around me. To know the little ones are watching and learning, whether we realize we are teaching or not. And that no creature is too small to care for and about. I’ve been one of those earthworms, finding myself somewhere on my journey that it turns out isn’t the best of places. I’m thankful for those who came along and nudged me back on the path, back where I could continue growing and living out my best story.

Wishing you all a walking buddy who wants to share all his thoughts and dreams and ideas with you along the way, a pup who is always glad to see you when you do actually finally leave the house, and someone to come along with a twig to lift you up and return you to safety when you find yourself lost and alone. Love to all.

I’m never quite sure what makes them leave their grassy homes.
My trusty twig and a backup piece of bark. It’s serious business, this, and one must always be prepared with backups.

The Last Gift

Seven years ago.

Just another of the lasts to remember that January and the beginning of February bring.

Mama’s birthday. ¬†The last one she was here with us for.

Only, as life has a way of happening, we weren’t able to celebrate together. ¬†One of the littles had gymnastics and the other one was under the weather. ¬†So we had made plans on the phone that we would celebrate on Friday, three days later, at Stevi B’s with pizza and being together.

The one thing Mama had asked for was light.  In the form of fluorescent light bulbs for the fixture that hung over the dining room table.  The focus part, gathering spot, heart of her home.  Many a dream was shared, broken heart was comforted, peach was peeled, pea was shelled, homework was done, story was told, and guidance offered sitting around that table.  Under that light.

Fluorescent has never been my favorite, but it was the fixture Daddy installed after moving into that house on their December 17 anniversary weekend in 1977.  So in 2013, fourteen months after Daddy left this world, I was not going to argue the merits of lighting.  If Mama needed it, I was going to get it.

My tumbling little and I stopped by Lowe’s on the way to gymnastics. ¬†Mama’s house was on the way, so we planned to get her bulbs and drop them by and see her for a minute and then head on to class. ¬†I figured the errand of getting the long lights wouldn’t take long. ¬†In. ¬†Out. ¬†Done. ¬†On our way to see the birthday Maemae.

I was wrong.

I had NO IDEA that there were SO MANY options when it came to fluorescent lighting. ¬†Daylight, bright, not so bright–which is what I felt standing in front of the options. ¬†What if I picked the wrong one? ¬†I had no idea what she’d been using and suspected that she might not know as well, since I don’t think we’d had to purchase any since Daddy passed.

Also talking with an under ten year old about lighting options gets interesting, if not helpful, results.  In an almost panic, I recall getting the lights needed, fingers crossed, hoping for the best.

We stopped by Mama’s. ¬†I delivered her bulbs, which she said she was sure were fine, along with a hug, happy birthday wishes, and promises of pizza partying on Friday. ¬†That’s what she said, “We’ll party on Friday.”

Which, of course, as the story goes, we did not.  She and I spent that Friday together in a hospital room waiting for red tape and hospital bureaucracy to make it possible for her to be transferred to the bigger hospital.  Critical time as it turns out, because maybe an earlier diagnosis could have made for a different ending.

But it was not to be.

Today I’m remembering my Mama. ¬†On her birthday. ¬†I’m thankful for this day 74 years ago that found her light coming into this world. ¬†For this day that over the years I am sure she had to make most of her birthday cakes until one year when I woke up and realized, hey, maybe she doesn’t enjoy that as much as I think she does. ¬†I’m thankful for the laughter and stories and joy that remembering my sweet and sassy Mama brings.

And I’m thankful for the realization that came to me this morning on Miss Sophie’s walk that the last gift I gave my Mama was light. ¬†It was only a small beam compared to all the light she shone for me and so many others through the years. ¬†But still, I am thankful. ¬†She was a shining star who so often used her light to point towards the good. ¬†“Find something to be grateful for,” she’d say. ¬†“The Lord loves a grateful heart.”

It is with a grateful heart that I remember and thank God for the Mama I was given. ¬†The woman who challenged me, who held my hand, who came after me when I was lost, who guided me, who held me when I cried, who cheered me on, who made me madder and happier than anyone else ever could. ¬†I miss her with every breath. ¬†Those fluorescent lights I bought seven years ago today have long burned out, but my Mama’s light still shines brightly. ¬†Ever and always.

Love to all.



she is comfort
the sound of rain on the faded tin roof
the hum of the needle making stitch after stitch
the first ice cream of summer, dripping down the cone
the smell of tea olive blossoming beneath the starlit sky

the sound of her voice
on the other end of the line
reassures me
reminds me
rejoices and refreshes
like a balm to my aching soul,
sore from too much too soon

she listens to my stories,
my worries, and my joys
she remembers what I never knew,
and tells of days past, people gone
mending the cracks in my foundation
that come from time and distance and loss

she is the voice of those who can no longer speak
she is the shoulder of those I can no longer lean on
she is the counselor, speaking for those whose wisdom is now a whisper in the wind
she is the love for those who loved us

she is
as she always has been


and as I watch her head bowed closely next to my child,
their voices joining together in lyrical conversation
with notes of laughter for the chorus
I am thankful
thankful for who she was then
and for who she is now
now that they are gone

she can never replace
she would not want to
nor would I ask it
but her stitches
of love, day in day out,
help ease the gaping wounds
her touch brings healing
and her heart brings light

and warmth
as the scent of vanilla and patchouli
waft from her back door, welcoming us
as we climb the steps of the porch

where she is



Cold Sun Landscape

By Emmanuel Huybrechts from Laval, Canada (Cold Sun Landscape) [CC BY 2.0 (http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0)%5D, via Wikimedia Commons

Growing Hope

These are confusing times we are living in.  Things that are unprecedented going on all over while other things that are frighteningly precedented take place close to home and across the world.  Some days, I just want to sit with my book and dog and read and escape with the sounds of the littles playing in the background.

It’s hard to know what is right and wrong, you know? ¬†Hard to know how to make things better…..how to wrong the rights…..how to help the hurting. ¬†And it feels so overwhelming, wondering how the little things I do in my day to dailies could possibly make a difference.

Is it any wonder we are all so tired?

Yesterday for the second time in three months, I found myself sitting next to an elderly woman in her 80’s expressing her thoughts on the world, our country, the situations on her mind. ¬†Different women, different circumstances, but both times I sat trying to find balance in the situation. ¬†Would my firmly stating how much I disagree with her change the world for the better? ¬†Should I speak loudly and strongly what I believe is right and wrong? ¬†Would I make things better by trying to explain how she wasn’t seeing things in what I believed to be the right light, or would I only alienate her and make things worse?

I couldn’t be sure.

Both times, I said something like, “Well, it is hard.”

“People are hurting.”

“I am not sure that everyone sees it that way.”

“It’s hard to know what the right thing is, isn’t it?”

Because it is. ¬†None of what I said was an untruth, but I didn’t come out and say, “I BELIEVE YOU ARE WRONG.”

I just couldn’t. ¬†And both times, I left feeling bad–wondering if I’d let down those who are hurting.

The difference yesterday though was that my littles, Cooter who is now 10 1/2 and our Princess who is almost 13, were there and listening.


As we left and got in our vehicle, I answered questions that Cooter had about what had transpired.  He wanted to know all kinds of things, like what the woman had been referring to and why she believed what she did.  One part I could answer, the other I could only guess.  And I told him that.  Then we talked about how we all see things differently.

And then we moved on to other important subjects–like what was for lunch. ¬†Cooter is very meal-focused these days. ¬†Must be that whole growing boy thing.

Then this morning, Cooter brought his Grammar/Literature book to me.  Some days there are readings that he is asked to read aloud to me.  This morning he came with an urgent need to read it to me NOW.

“Mama,” he said. ¬†“You have to hear this. ¬†It made me think about that lady yesterday.”

And then he read from his text–

Japanese Culture: Part 2

by Jennifer D. Lerud

Family, honor, good manners, and outside appearances are very important to the Japanese people. ¬†They have two forms of behavior: omote, which is the public, formal, and conventional behavior that governs how close they stand to each other and who shakes hands first, for example; and ura, which is their private, informal, “relaxing at home” form of behavior. ¬†They believe it is proper to agree with anyone older than themselves–even if the person is wrong–in order to avoid humiliating or bringing dishonor on an elder person. ¬†The Japanese people display people’s ages in newsletters at work, and school and work desks according to age, and even hand out cups of tea in order of age. ¬†Social ranking and status are important things…..

(from The Good and the Beautiful, Level 4–Book 2 Course Book, p. 11)

“See, Mama? That’s what you did yesterday.”

Bless him.

I’m not writing this to debate about whether I should have stood up yesterday or three months ago and called these women out. ¬†It didn’t happen, and I don’t know if it will happen tomorrow or next week or next year, should such a situation arise again, as it likely will. ¬†I’m writing this because I’m trying to wrap my brain around a child who was paying attention, and a timely lesson that spoke to him, and the fact that he saw the connection and shared it with me.

Most days it’s all little things that are dots that I don’t connect into a big picture until much later–if ever. ¬†It’s reminding Cooter umpteen times to rinse out his oatmeal bowl before it becomes glue in the bowl or listening to our Princess practicing “The Carol of the Bells” for her piano recital. ¬†It’s making sure that swim suits and dance leotards are clean and dry, and that scripts and epi-pens are in hand as we head out the door. ¬†It’s grocery shopping and meal planning and reminding little people to empty the dishwasher. ¬†It’s talking on the phone with our law student and trying not to miss her too much, knowing she’s where she’s supposed to be. ¬†Sometimes it’s even making time to read my new favorite book or watch the newest Hallmark movie.

And most of the time, these little things don’t connect…..

But today, they did. ¬†Today I’m thankful for a perfectly timed (I’m looking at You) Literature passage that gave me grace…..for that same passage that spoke to a little fella and helped him understand the ways of the world a little more.

Mostly I’m thankful for this process of “raising children”–that label is so limiting and not at all what we are doing together, y’all. ¬†Together, all of us, we are growing hope. ¬†As these little people watch and listen and read and begin to understand and teach us through their eyes and with their hearts–we are raising the ones who will carry our stories, our love, our light, and pass it along to the next generation.

And today, that is everything to me.

Love to all.




A Star in the Dark

This past May was a time of celebrating, remembering, and just a few tears–happy tears. My oldest graduated from my alma mater and now hers, Wesleyan College. ¬†The graduating seniors voted for two parents to speak at the Baccalaureate service. ¬†It was a great honor to be one of the two chosen. ¬†As I told the seniors that night, the only thing better than being a Wesleyanne has been being a Wesleyanne’s mama. ¬†

Tomorrow my oldest starts her newest journey–the first day of classes in law school. ¬†My sisters at Wesleyan also begin the new school year, so I thought I’d share my dreams for them that I first shared on May 12th. ¬†I wish them all the best–my daughter, my sisters, and all those beautiful young people starting a new year of learning. ¬†I hope they all will remember the beauty of their light, freely share it, and often remind others of their beautiful light. ¬†

We need each other y’all. ¬†Now more than ever. ¬†Love to all. ¬†


Hello to all of our friends and family here tonight, and an especially warm welcome to my sisters in the Class of 2017. Thank you for the honor of being here to share with you this evening.
I‚Äôm going to start with a line from a song you‚Äôve maybe heard a few times during your time at Wesleyan‚ÄĒ
‚Äú‚Ķ..a star in the dark is thy glorious past‚Ķ..‚ÄĚ

You. All of you. Did you know? From the moment you took your first breath, your light has been shining. This world is better and brighter because you are here. Each and every one of you.

I recently saw something on Facebook that one of your sisters shared. It had a picture of two pink sparkly eggs just like these, and it said,
‚Äúme vs. you bc we both cuties who don‚Äôt tear other women down.‚ÄĚ
Yes. That. Each and every one of you is a pink sparkly egg, and your light is important.

Don‚Äôt let anyone let you feel like it isn‚Äôt either‚ÄĒwhether you are graduating with a 4.0 or 2.7. Whether you‚Äôve garnered many awards during your time at Wesleyan or none, whether you know exactly where you will be on Monday or in August or if you have no idea what is ahead for you‚ÄĒyour light is still beautiful. As is yours and yours and yours. And it is so very needed. The most precious thing about light is that it doesn‚Äôt diminish when shared with others. And when we stand together, it shines even brighter. That‚Äôs what it means to be a Wesleyanne. That‚Äôs what the sisterhood is about. And it doesn‚Äôt end either, y‚Äôall. My sisters from the classes of 1987-1993 have continued to be a strong presence in my life, even more so in the past few years. We had a saying back when I was here, ‚ÄúSisters in spirit stay sisters forever.‚ÄĚ And after all these years, I‚Äôm adding another line, ‚ÄúSisters in spirit stay stronger together.‚ÄĚ

As you go forth from tonight and tomorrow, I want you to take three things with you.

Your light. Share it. Use it to shine in the darkest places, and become a safe place for others. And if you find yourself needing a safe place, look to your sisters. Even those you may not have met yet. Find me. Love on each other and lift each other up like the pink sparkly eggs you all are.

I want you to take with you gratitude. My first birthday after my Daddy died in 2011 was the last one I‚Äôd have with my Mama. And she gave me this gratitude journal. I didn‚Äôt get it. I was still very much grieving and I knew she wasn’t in the best of health. A gratitude journal? Really? It was while she was sick in the hospital that I found myself getting it‚ÄĒgrasping a bit of this gratitude thing. I began to notice little things‚ÄĒa cup of coffee at just the right time, the gentle nature of a caring nurse, my phone that I could use to research things‚ÄĒthings and people to be grateful for. And it was because of the light of those around me that I could see it. My friend Ashley, the Baddest Mother Ever, and a sister of yours as well, often uses the hashtag #saythankyouhere. ¬†So number two, my sisters, is gratitude. Practice it often. Say thank you as much as you can. Let folks know when you appreciate them.

This past week I found myself out with my Auburn, my daughter who is my sister, just the two of us, and we were laughing our way through the Walmart. At one point, when we were giving each other a hard time, like we do, I said to her, ‚ÄúI don‚Äôt know why you do me like that, I‚Äôve always been good to you.‚ÄĚ She laughed and said, ‚ÄúWell, there was that one time‚Ķ..‚ÄĚ

Y‚Äôall, there will always be that one time. Or two or three. This is not a world of absolutes. Success is not a run of no failures or mistakes. There will always be that one time. Or two or ten. (I did pretty good in college but there was that one time‚Ķ..we do not talk about Calculus II‚Ķ..ahem) But neither is anything or anyone all bad. Someone might be grating on your last nerve, but as time passes, I‚Äôm betting you will wind up saying, ‚ÄúWell, except for that one time‚Ķ..‚ÄĚ Look for those times, okay? Look for every opportunity to find that one time when their light shines, even just a little.

I wish you all the best. I know most of you are probably ready to go. I was not. I had no clue what I was going to be doing, and life is turning out okay. (Well, there was that one time‚Ķ..) As you finish packing up and saying goodbyes and heading out on your next adventure, remember to take your light and refuel it with laughter, good friends, and all the things that tan your soul. Offer grace every chance you can and offer the comfort and compassion to others that you learned here from each other. And finally, remind folks all around you that they too are pink sparkly eggs. And y‚Äôall‚ÄĒlook in the mirror and tell her too. She might really need to hear that.

You are standing on the shoulders of giants. On the shoulders of the ones who stood at that same marker you just gathered around and the ones before who attended school there. You saw many of them Alumnae Weekend‚ÄĒall of us crazy old ladies. You are standing on the shoulders of your professors and the staff who supported, challenged, and encouraged you the past few years. Look around you‚ÄĒyou are standing on the shoulders of the ones here‚ÄĒfriends and family who love and cherish you‚ÄĒyour biggest cheerleaders. And you are standing on the shoulders of the ones who aren‚Äôt here‚ÄĒthe Caps and Maemaes and Papas and Ollies and Denises and Rev. Hurdles and grandfathers, grandmothers, aunts, uncles, mothers, and fathers. Their light shines on through you.

My sisters, a star in the dark is your glorious past. But now you are all blazing comets, leaving a brilliant, beautiful trail behind you. Soar on and leave love and laughter and pink sparkles in your wake. Best wishes and happy everyday!


Be the Kicker

Sunday morning Cooter came into our room, bouncing on the bed. ¬†It being a day of rest, the Fella and I were trying to stretch it out as long as possible. ¬†Cooter is a morning person, me–not as much.

He was excited about the upcoming Falcons game, and he and his partner in all things football talked about the games from the night before. ¬†I may have zoned out a tad during this bit. ¬†Eventually the conversation caught my attention again–when I heard the Fella say, “Yeah, I don’t know if I’d want to be the kicker. ¬†You have to be on standby, ready to be called in at any time.”

The conversation lost my attention again at that point, as I thought about the kicker. ¬†I used to imagine stress as like being the catcher in a baseball game–ready for a ball to come from any direction. ¬†But a kicker, sitting on the sidelines, not knowing for sure when he will be called in…..and expected to help the team out in a big way when he is? ¬†Bless.

Because that’s the thing about football–there’s never a time when you tell the kicker, “Eh, just whatever, man. ¬†It won’t matter.”

Anything and everything that kicker does matters.

That night I was in my think tank (some folks call it a shower), and I started pondering on who the kickers are in my life.  Those folks who are there, on my team, ready to step in whenever, wherever I need them.

Like Mess Cat making the time to come out after dark to pick up our Princess because I was with our drama king, Cooter, at his dress rehearsal. ¬†(Coming out after dark is a whole ‘nother level of showing up, y’all.) ¬†Or my Aunt who picks up the phone and listens and shares laughter and wisdom and “poor baby’s.”¬† Or my Cousin who answers my SOS texts when I’ve sliced my finger open, cutting up the cabbage for supper. ¬†Or Aub who hangs out with her siblings so I can go do what needs doing. ¬†Or the Fella who takes time from work when things go awry. ¬†Or my brother who listens so well or my neighborfriend who picks up oyster crackers for my sick one or steps up in so many other ways…..my friends…..family…..And so many more–all these wonderful kickers, who are there, waiting, willing to be called into “the game” (and chaos) of my life. ¬†Present, interruptible, loving, wonderful people.

I think we are called to be kickers in this life.  Doing our own thing, sure, but never forgetting we are a part of a Team, sharing the same goal, same dreams.  Helping each other out whenever need be.

Kick on, my friends.

Love to all.

Milk Messes and Morning WakeUp Calls

Something I’ve come to enjoy each day I owe to homeschooling. ¬†No, it’s not the audiobooks that we’ve been listening to together lately. ¬†(Though they are quite wonderful–who knew that at my age I’d still love being “read” to?) ¬†And it’s not that I don’t have to go running out for posterboard or glitter or sticks for the glue gun at the last minute because something IS DUE TOMORROW. ¬†(Been there, done that.) ¬†Though there is a long list of things I enjoy about homeschooling, this is the one about how I start my day.

I am usually already awake when I hear footsteps coming in my room. The next thing I know there’s fifty-some odd pounds of grins and joy bounding on my bed.


First thing, he comes and sits on the bed with me. ¬†Sometimes he tells me about his favorite football teams. ¬†Again. ¬†Or he shares the best plays of his favorite players. ¬†Again. Sometimes he shares about the book he’s been reading or something funny his friend said. But a few days ago, it was none of that.

“Mama. ¬†Mama,” ¬†he paused, waiting for me to make eye contact. ¬†His voice was quite serious as was his gaze. ¬†“Mama, I need for you to come fix me breakfast.”

Well, this was new. ¬†Or maybe not so much new as a change. ¬†He used to ask me to do that, but in the past few months, he’s found his way to getting a bowl and the cereal and the milk and fixing his own breakfast. ¬†So, like I said, new. ¬†But not.

I knew he had to be hungry because he hadn’t eaten much the night before.

“Okay, buddy. ¬†But what’s up? ¬†You don’t feel like fixing it yourself this morning?”

“No. ¬†It’s not that.” He held his hands out for emphasis. ¬†“The milk jug. Is. FULL.”

I looked at him.

“It’s a new jug.” And what he said next nearly floored me. ¬†I mean, you know, if I hadn’t been already lying in the bed. ¬†“I don’t want to make a mess.”

Wait. ¬†Really? ¬†He didn’t want to make a mess?

Now that really was new.

He’s nine. ¬†And a half tacked on for good measure now. ¬†Nine and a half, and he’s finally reached the phase where he thought it through before doing it.


That is pretty exciting to me. ¬†And maybe just a little sad–that whole growing up thing, but since I didn’t have to clean up half a jug of milk from the counter, cabinets, and floor, I’m getting over that sad bit fairly quickly.

It occurred to me later in the day, as I was once again marveling at this new development and how proud I was of him asking or help, that this world would be a different place if folks thought things through and asked for help if it seemed like they couldn’t handle it themselves. ¬†A really different place.

But that whole asking for help is so hard, isn’t it?

This evening as I thought back over that morning’s conversation and the day’s revelation, Cooter was talking about something he was hoping to do. ¬†“I think that will help me a lot because you learn about diffusing bombs.” ¬†That caught my attention. ¬†“I think that could be quite helpful, because I think I might want to do that one day. ¬†Diffuse bombs. ¬†Like on a bomb squad.”

Oh me. ¬†So maybe he hasn’t learned to think through the consequences in every situation.

Oh well. ¬†There’s time. ¬†And until then…..

he still has his Mama.

Who relishes those morning wakeup calls.

Love to all.



Family Jewels

So this is it.  An ordinary day that has really big things attached to it.

And to be honest, I’m really excited.


For every single day, three years in a row, I’ve sat down at some point during my day, usually after all have gone to bed and the house is quiet, and I’ve shared a little bit of my day or my story or my heart right here.

And you’ve read these tidbits from my life.

Thank you.

With all my heart, I thank you. ¬†I know what it’s like to have all the things to do and little time to click on a link or pull something up on a screen and commit to reading it, especially when I get a little wordy–yes, I’ve been called out on this, you know who you are, and I love ya. ¬†And still, you’ve done this. ¬†You’ve listened to my stories about growing up, raising children, being married, struggling through food allergies, letting my oldest grow up and leave the nest. ¬†You’ve multiplied my joys and divided my sorrows, and you’ve raised your fist at injustices right alongside me.

Thank you.

You’ve read the goofy and the serious. ¬†The mundane and the meaningful. ¬†The poetry and the prose. ¬†You’ve sat on my front porch and watched the delight and joy of children and heard the beauty in the songs of the birds and the frogs and watched the sun go down as we sipped the perfect cup of coffee. ¬†You’ve laughed with me and wept with me.

You’ve given me the gift of your time and your presence, and as long as I have my memory, I will treasure this gift.

This week, anticipating this day coming, I’ve thought about what I’ve learned in the past three years, and if you will allow me, I’d like to share them with you.

*Sometimes you can put your whole being–heart, mind, soul–into something, and it doesn’t resonate with a single soul. ¬†Speak it anyway. ¬†You need to let that light shine, y’all. ¬†Just because someone doesn’t notice it doesn’t mean it’s not making the world a brighter place. ¬†Shine on.

*People can be beautiful, broken, hard, kind, mean, intense, easy-going, light-hearted, broken-hearted, funny, somber, sarcastic, caring, compassionate, salty, loving, oblivious, and we need to love them all. ¬†It’s basically our most important job and really, it’s what we were created for.

* My family–every last one of them–are incredible people. ¬†They might not set world records in things that will get them in that book that was the most checked out one in our school library, but they set the world record at loving me and supporting and encouraging and taking my phone calls even though they have all the things to do. ¬†My children and the Fella have put up with my glazed stares when they’ve caught me mid-writing or mind-writing, and they’ve supported my writing by giving me space and time to do it. ¬†They’ve read my stories and they’ve proofed my writing and they’ve given me permission to share our life with others. ¬†I’m getting way more love and good stuff than I could ever deserve in this life, y’all. ¬†When I sit and ponder on it all, in the words of my oldest, Aub, “I. Can’t. Even.”

*I set out writing this in 2013 in the midst of the grief of having said goodbye to my Mama suddenly and way too soon less than two months before. ¬†Mama told me a lot of things–two of which were “You might need a nap, go lie down, and you’ll feel better” (she was always right) and “Go write your story, tell all of this in a book somewhere.” ¬†(Turns out she was right about that too.) ¬†Writing has and continues to heal me. ¬†The words that I’m able to pick out and put on paper take a confusing, wonderful journey and make a little bit of sense out of it. ¬†For that I am thankful. ¬†Every single day of it.

*The ones who have already left this world and headed on up to the House left me a few things. ¬†Even some that could be loosely called “family jewels.” ¬†What I have discovered for the past three years is that the most precious things my Granny, my Great Aunts, my Mama, my Daddy, and the others I love, who are gone from my sight, have left me are the stories. ¬†The memories. ¬†The joy, the laughter, the shared tears, the tiny little moments and the big ones–all which led me to this place right here in this place right now. ¬†THOSE are the jewels they left me that I treasure the most.

And I hope that’s what these stories, these three years of writing will be for my own people one day. ¬†The ones in my family now, and those who will be. ¬†Because my family is not complete. ¬†We’ve all kinds of branches and leaves yet to grow…..we’ve got strong roots to grow from, and that’s a precious thing. ¬†I hope that all of them will find something here in the meanderings I’ve shared to lift them in the dark days and something to laugh about on the joyful ones.

*Finally, I’ve learned that there is something worth writing home about in every single day…..if only you are willing to look for it. ¬†(And believe me, some days I was turning over rocks to look, but there was never a day without something, some thoughts or words or stories to share.) ¬†This is a journey made of many footsteps and many stories. ¬†One day, one moment at a time. ¬†The truth is that February 29th comes around once every four years. ¬†It is special. ¬†But if we are looking for it, March 29th can be just as amazing. ¬†As can September 19th or March 3rd or November 16th or February 10th or December 14th or the twelfth of Everyday. ¬†Each and every day can have a bit of light in it, if we stop searching for the big and amazing and star-studded. ¬†The journey of an earthworm can be just as fascinating as the snow that falls from the sky, if we open our eyes to the beauty embedded in all aspects of the journey.

All this leads me to this.  I am taking a break from writing for I Might Need a Nap for a while.  It might be a week (I have folks enforcing this, so yeah, it will be at least a week), a month, or maybe even longer.  I will come back and write here when the story is there.  But I am not going to stop writing.  It would be like no longer breathing to stop writing at this point in my life.

mama blogging meme

One of my people sent me this. She will remain nameless but she can bake her own cookies and I’m pretty much almost done raising her, so there’s that.

I have a project I’m working on which I am very excited about. ¬†It’s coming together nicely, but it requires more attention from me, and since that means letting go of the blog or my family…..well, in a saner moment, I made my choice. ¬†I am looking forward to sharing more details when the time comes.

I’ve also had someone come round who wants me to tell her story. ¬†I tried to explain real kindly that her timing wasn’t ideal. ¬†That made her harrumph. ¬†(That’s a real thing. ¬†If you’ve seen it, you ¬†know it.) ¬†She crossed her arms and stared me down over her glasses and just nodded and kept on rocking. ¬†That worried me more than the harrumph. ¬†I have tried to placate her, but she looks up at the clock and back at me from time to time, and I realize our time to tell her story is dwindling, so that’s on my agenda next as well. ¬†Helping her tell her story. ¬†She’s a character for sure, and I love her. ¬†So I’m going to spend some time with her. ¬†Because that’s what we do for folks we love.

Unlike other times when I’ve contemplated stepping away for a little bit, I’m excited. ¬†That’s how I know the time is right. ¬†I will be back, as there are more stories to come. ¬†But for now, I’m going to go to bed before the chickens are waking up, I’m going to read good books, I’m going to take long walks in the evening, and if anyone asks, I’ll visit and tell my stories in person. ¬†Because that’s something I want to pursue as well. ¬†(So yeah, holler, and I’ll come spin a tale or two–bring the back porch to y’all, so to speak. ¬†Turns out I get a kick out of that too.)

Thank you for sharing the journey. ¬†If you have a moment to click the follow button over there and sign up with your email, you’ll be sure not to miss any future stories. ¬†No worries if that’s not your thing. ¬†Just please come back to visit from time to time. ¬†Like I said, all kinds of good things going on over here at the house.

But first, I might need a nap.

I’ll catch y’all later. ¬†Make ’em be good to you.

Love to all.





The One About Shopping Carts and This Season I’m In

I am in a new season of life it would seem. ¬†The one where I am called out on my assumptions and the conclusions I’ve jumped to. ¬†I am fascinated and intrigued by it, because the message to “chill” and “give things a second or third glance” continues to come from the strangest and most unusual of places.

This time it was a parking lot.

And a story.

Yesterday, my sweet friend Miss Carolyn shared about her trip to take some items to our local Hospice Thrift Shop.  She was loaded down, and when she got there she was grateful to find a shopping cart that someone had left in the parking lot.  She started unloading her car and putting things in the shopping cart when someone came up and asked if she needed help.  He not only finished loading the cart, but also helped her get it all inside.  A blessing for sure.

Huh.  How many times have I pulled into a parking lot and seen a stray cart and had some seriously unkind thoughts about the person who made the decision to leave it there?

And here was just such a cart blessing my sweet friend.

Well there you go.

I thought about sharing that story last night, but I didn’t feel like it was quite time. ¬†That happens with the stories sometimes. ¬†They have to ripen, so to speak, so I was content to let it sit.

This evening Cooter and I were on the way home from meeting the Fella at our Princess’ swim practice. ¬†We made a quick stop at the Mart for broccoli and the new Star Wars movie. ¬†You know, the important things. ¬†(I’ll let you guess who was wanting which item.) ¬†It was starting to rain as we pulled into the parking lot. ¬†The closest spot was desirable, seeing as we did not have any rain gear with us. ¬†The only problem was that it was near the Garden Center entrance, and they don’t usually have carts available in that area. ¬†(And yes, it’s the Mart, I was going in for two things, but we all know how that goes in such a situation. I would definitely be needing a cart.)

As I pulled into the very first spot in front of the Garden Center, I saw a break in the clouds to the west on the horizon, and tiny bit of sunlight shone through despite the rain that was starting.  And that was when I noticed my own little blessing.  Two of them.

img_1949 img_1952

And I laughed. ¬†Remembering Miss Carolyn’s angel, I was glad that the angel had visited the Mart parking lot as well. ¬†That cart let us dash in the closest door and not have to go back to the front to get a cart.

I am thankful.

I don’t think I’ll ever look at and judge a stray cart again.

I guess that’s the point though, right?

Tonight I’m thankful for a world of beautiful people sharing stories that can enlighten us and help our eyes be open to so much more good that what is readily apparent at first glance. ¬†Thank you, Miss Carolyn, for letting me tell your story and for helping me to see Good and Light in a misplaced shopping cart.

Love to all.