Thursday, April 17, 2014

The Language of Butterbean


I started this blog because I wanted to try to document the little things about Butterbean as a baby/toddler that made me chuckle.  Things that I know I'll forget as time goes on.

I have veered away from that a bit, so I thought I'd try to set this train back on its tracks tonight with a list of words from Butterbeans ever expanding and oh-so-adorable vocabulary.

Be prepared to go "awww."


Aye or Oi - hot.  I have no idea why she says it this way…but that's how it sounds to her I guess.

Issue - Bless you.

Chuck - couch.

Eeets - Eat.

Finkies - fingers.

Shawbies - Strawberries.

Puck - Cup.

Pinka or Pinkie - Blanket.

Foo-ta ball - football.  (Her Boppi's doing I'm sure.  If it were up to me, ESPN would be utterly banned.)

Mimi ah pee - This phrase could mean two things actually, depending on body language and my crystal ball.  It could mean 1) Mimi, I'm pretty or 2) Mimi, I need to pee/have peed/might have peed on your floor.

Mimi ah hunky - Mimi I'm hungry.  This is actually the first sentence out of her mouth every. Day.  And she will repeat it to me with increasing volume and gusto until breakfast is placed before her.

Ehvv Ewe - Love you.

Huck - Hug.

Ahsa Mimi? - Where's Mimi.

Mimisa seepin'/nighnights - Mimi is sleeping. (I have to admit, sometimes she sounds a little like JarJar Binks)

Kickle - Tickle. (One of my personal favorites.  Cracks me up to hear her say Kickle me Mimi.)

Sop it! - Stop it!

Buds - Birds

Gog - Dog

Gigi - her word for Granny…which is her 86 year old great great grandmother.

Pie - her word for Pap…which is her great grandfather.  Who also happens to be my Dad.

Deezus - Jesus (another personal fave)

and last but not least, what would any two-year old vocabulary list be without the following:

NO! - NO!

Surprisingly, that last one comes out pretty darn clear.

Two year olds…it's a good thing they're so cute.

Sunday, April 13, 2014

Sweet Roll

If she was five feet tall I'd have been surprised.

The photo is black and white, wrinkled and worn around the edges.  She is young here.  She looks at the camera with what can only be described as defiance.

She's my grandmother.

My grandfather is beside her with his arm slung around her shoulders, hat slightly askew and his lanky 6 foot 2 frame dwarfs her.

In May of this year, she'll have been gone 10 years.

My other grandmother, my mom's mother, passed away in December of that year.  It's crazy how much time can pass before you realize the importance of what you've lost.

I look back at the woman in the photograph and for the umpteenth time bemoan the fact that I really never knew her.  At least, not the way I wanted to.

Family legend has it that back when they were young, my grandfather liked his beer and she could out cuss a sailor.

I'm not sure if those are facts I should be proud of, but they are interesting.  They give a little depth to a woman who came late in life to Jesus and spent the years that remained trying so hard to live up to what she thought it meant to be "Christian."

Rigid, Southern Baptist fundamentalism? Check.

Sunday afternoon "fellowship" at the local buffet?  Check.

"Witnessing" to two young female sunbathers that they were "headed to hell" if they didn't get their acts straight? Check, check.  (True story.  The young girls were my mom's sisters.  They still tell that story to this day.)

She was a complicated woman with an entire luggage set of issues.  My cousin nicknamed her Sweet Roll.  I've never asked him why, but I'm pretty sure it was partly playful tongue in cheek and partly desperate prayer.

She could be cruel.  But she could also be outrageously generous and fun.

The pieces of her life that made her who and what she was are shrouded in mystery.   The knowledge that she had lost both of her parents by age sixteen coupled with the fact that she rarely if ever talked about her childhood helped her children and grandchildren to understand that her life had not been a Norman Rockwell painting.

At a very young age all the grandkids knew she was broken in some way because she couldn't accept love, even from us…the ones who got the best parts of her, unless it was on her terms.

She did not love perfectly.  And in my childishness…I harbored a grudge against her for that.

Because I am so very like her.

She didn't love me on MY terms…with easy hugs and quick affection.  Her way was more to drag me down to Miller's department store and buy me a new dress.  Every time she took me shopping she was screaming in her broken way, "I love you.  I have no way to communicate that with you other than this…but please, please, please know I love you and I want you to love me too."

And now, finally, I get it.  As damaged and hard as she was, every little step she took in my direction is worthy of my respect and gratitude.  Because love, no matter how it comes to us, is something to be grateful for.

Sweet Roll, it's taken me nearly ten years, but I think now I can finally put you to rest.

I love you.

Thank you for loving me.  Forgive me for not seeing?  Someday, we'll sit down face to face and laugh and cry and hug and love without fear.  Thank you for all your prayers, for taking me to church and for using what little faith you had to point me to Jesus.  I miss that beautiful, clear soprano voice, those cornflower eyes (I think Jessica got those…dang her) and trips to Duff's Smorgasbord because "Doe, Shayne's hungry."

I'm a Mimi now and I'm sure you've seen more than a few of my goof-ups and laughed and said, "Not so easy is it?"  Uh, no.  No ma'am it's not.

The dogwoods and the redbuds are blooming and I always think of you best during this time of year.  You live in the best memories of my heart, where Spring is eternal and full of promise.

You are loved and you are not forgotten.  It's ok that you weren't perfect…because newsflash…I'm not perfect either.

You were good though…in your own way…you were good.  And now, all these years later, I can appreciate how hard you tried.

Dear God, isn't it about time?

Friday, April 4, 2014

Bustin' Down The Door of Fear…y'all have met Butterbean.  But I don't think I've ever introduced you to Buster.  Shame on me, I know.  I've got to pick up the slack where he's concerned because y'all…my little Buster is 47 different flavors of adorable.

See for yourself.

I mean…he's got the hair, the (mostly) toothless grin…he's got the total package.  I don't deny it.  Having beautiful grandchildren is my superpower.

And what does all this adorable-ness have to do with fear?

When Buster was about a month old, he decided to stop breathing.  He was awake, laying on his back and something happened (we still don't know what) to cause him to stop breathing.  His mother was able to resuscitate him twice.  That episode earned the little feller what would be the first of many trips to the hospital in an ambulance.

He stayed in the hospital for a week under observation and went through several tests.  He didn't have another episode like that, so the doctors postulated that he was lactose intolerant and had a touch of reflux.  While lying on his back he choked on what his little body was trying to reject.

They aren't positive that's what happened, but we went with it.  His mommy changed her diet, and things calmed down a bit.  And then, last week, out of the blue…he began having seizures.  Full on, whole body convulsing, incredibly frightening seizures.

Enter fear.

His mother has been unable to relax and get a full night's sleep.  Butterbean witnessed the first seizure and now constantly mentions that the baby has a boo boo and will point and wag her finger at the parade of doctors and nurses.  In her most serious voice she will command them to "No huwt a baby."

She's dealt with her mother's nervousness and many absences due to Buster's trips to the hospital.

And then there's Mimi.  Praying, pouting, demanding from God over and over again to explain Hisself…(like THAT'S gonna move Him to act) and trying desperately not to allow fear have it's way in her house.

Because fear is not my friend.

Oh it likes to claim that it is.  It likes to move on in with it's cousins Worry and Anxiety and lie to me that I have the right to worry and as a matter of fact, if I don't worry then I'm not being a concerned Mimi.  And then for added kicks fear likes to spread on out to all aspects of my life.

Money…you know you don't have enough to pay the bills.  You're NEVER going to have enough.  God's mad at you because you did X and so that's why you're not being blessed.

Work…seriously?  You think you can switch occupations at YOUR age?  Because of this ridiculous leap of faith of yours, this pipe dream…you don't have enough to take care of your BASIC NEEDS.  What kind of woman ARE you?  You CERTAINLY aren't creative enough to do this and you are SO SLOW…no one wants to buy your work because you are a TERRIBLE photographer.  Just give up already and go back to doing what you were doing.

Marriage…my relationships with my kids…my grandkids…my mom…my dad…and on and on and on and on.

Yesterday was a particularly bad day.  I had allowed fear to nearly paralyze me…the above phrases and more were on repeat in my mind and I literally could not move.  

But somewhere in the midst of the whirlwind…a still small voice spoke.

"Choose joy."

Choose joy?  Seriously?  Are you kidding me God?  Have You seen the wreck that is my life lately?

"Choose joy."

Funnily enough, He wasn't telling me something that I hadn't already resolved to do for myself for 2014.  New Year's day I made an inner commitment to myself…I would choose joy.

So…as weak and beat down as I felt yesterday…I stood up.  I took hold of my mind and forced myself to say positives anytime a negative thought came up.  I spoke it out loud.  I didn't feel courageous.  I felt sort of stupid for (a) allowing myself to get in that type of mental shape and (b) for having to walk around muttering things to myself.  Like a crazy cat lady.

When I got into the shower this morning I told myself out loud that I would choose joy.  I had a job to do today.  A job that I love desperately…that God gave to me.  And no, it's not easy…it's very challenging to me.  But it fulfills me in a deep way.

And it's not a job where I can walk around navel-gazing all day long.  It will literally destroy the quality of my work and the amount of my income.  So, after giving myself a stern talking to...I chose joy.

And guess what?

It worked.

Inside…the tumult has died down to a dull roar and I had a seriously good day in spite of the many challenges that came my way.

It occurred to me later this evening that my little stand had not been all that hard for me.  It just took some ah, shall we say…cojones on my part to tell fear to just shut. up.

Buster is not healed.  Money is still a problem.  Work still presents difficult challenges.  Butterbean is still an expert two year old and is totally winning the potty training war.

But so long as I choose joy…I am not defeated and there is room for Hope to work in me.

Praise God for joy.  And if, like me, you have been struggling…take hold of it with both hands.

How you ask?  Well…maybe you could:

Turn up the music and dance like a crazy person in the middle of your kitchen until you and your family are laughing hysterically.

Stand in your shower with the water and the tears streaming down your face and sing "I Will Survive" at the top of your lungs.  Gloria Gaynor won't mind.  Your neighbors might…but good ol' Gloria won't.

Go into your bedroom.  Open up your Bible and read Psalm 107 all the way through.  Let it sink in how many different ways God saves His people from their various predicaments.

Refuse to frown or grimace.  Smile at every person who crosses your path.  They will look at you like you're "special" at first, but then they'll smile back.

Last but not least…be grateful.  Somebody somewhere ALWAYS has it worse than you do.  Count your blessings and thank God for them.

You are amazing…and God has not given you a spirit of fear.  He has given you a spirit of Power and a sound mind.  So take authority over it and stop giving fear the time of day.

It's not worth it.  Trust me.

P.S. ~ The whole "Gloria Gaynor" thing…and the dancing…thing…did not necessarily happen in this house.  There are rumors, of course.  Butterbean has been bribed to silence with M&M's and Fruit Loops…so don't EVEN try to get it out of her.  She's rock solid.  Mostly because even if she did tell you…you wouldn't be able to understand her.  But a Mimi's gotta have a little insurance so…M&M's and Fruit Loops…they do a Mimi good.

Sunday, February 9, 2014

Hide And Seek

Sooooooo…before I unpack the thoughts in my head that prompted this post, umm, remember last week when I was talking about how Butterbean moved out of my house?


She's back.

I know.  If you listen closely you can hear the metallic clickety-clack of the cars on this roller coaster lining up to take yet another plunge into that happy little place I like to call Dante's Inferno.

Oh wait, is that name taken?


Without going into tons of details here, let me make clear that Butterbean and her baby brother Buster are both safe, loved, and well-cared for by their mom and dad.  It's just that their mom and dad are young, and as such, they don't yet have the benefit of the wisdom that comes with age and experience.

Plus, I apparently haven't learned all I need to learn about God through Butterbean and Buster.  So He's decided to give me another crack at it.

And since misery loves company I'm a generous soul, how's about hopping in the car and suffering thru a minor case of whiplash with me as we barrel towards this coaster's first incline?  Oh come on.  Suck in that gut and push down the safety bar!  It'll be fun.  I promise.

So yeah.  Butterbean.  And me.  And God.  Together again.

Butterbean is two now and one of her favorite night-time rituals is to be up on my lap, snuggled into her  "pinka" (that's 'Beanspeak for 'blanket') rocking slowly back and forth in the glider.

And I confess, I don't exactly dislike that time with her.

Tonight, prior to the 'pinka' and the rocking and resultant snuggle-fest, Butterbean and I ended up in an impromptu game of hide and seek.

As in, I needed to go to the bathroom and what with Butterbean's affection for me, my bid for 5 minutes of privacy entails some Bond-like maneuvers that would make Jason Bourne weep with unrestrained envy.

'Cause y'all…Butterbean is just that good.

She knows my buttons and pushes them with all the accompanying joy and abandonment she can muster.

Plus, it doesn't help much when your heart turns into a whimpering pile of goo at the mere hint of oncoming cute-ness.

So…hide and seek.  I was hiding.  She was seeking.  And for once, I managed to elude her for a minute.

Y'all I can't even describe the feelings of absolute delight listening to that little voice as she conversed with her mother while she tried to find me.  I had such a time not giving myself away with my giggles as she searched the laundry basket looking for me.  (Bless her heart for thinking my behind could fit into it.)

Just hearing her say "Mimi" and ask her Mommy in 'Beanspeak where I was sent little jolts of happy into my system.  To say that my heart belongs to her is an understatement.

Now, I fully intended to reveal myself to Butterbean.  But the deliciousness of listening to her little mind work as she searched for me, and the anticipation of the look on her face when I came out of hiding…it was worth the effort of concealment.

If you have a beloved child in your life, perhaps you've played this game.  Because you know how precious the sound of those little feet running toward you are, how irreplaceable the sight of those little arms flung open wide as they move toward you in expectation of hugs, how indescribable it is to feel those little lips as they press against your cheek in a kiss, how the scent of that tiny head obliterates your heart as you are wrapped in the most joyous embrace.

It's during these types of moments that the Holy Spirit will speak to me.  Nothing profound.  Nothing earth-shattering.  Most often, it's just little flashes of 'aha' moments.

Tonight I thought, "No wonder.  No wonder He sometimes hides Himself."

If the way I feel about my Butterbean is the palest shade of grey in comparison to the incomprehensible rainbow of His feelings toward me…then it is no wonder.

And it makes me all the more eager to find Him.

Sunday, February 2, 2014

Shattered, Scattered, Smothered and Covered

Gosh, I was a little scared to come back here.  Didn't even know if Blogger had saved my seat.  Mystery solved! (Thanks Blogger!) Insert nervous chuckle and handwringing here.

Shew.  This place smells and looks like the very thing that moved me to post today.


I've tasted a lot of it.  Take my word for it, it tastes nasty.  Maybe even worse than Regret.  I'm not sure, but I do know that even the mention of those words leave an acrid, bitter aftertaste in my mouth.


So many things have happened since my last post.  Butterbean moved out of my house…my son graduated high school and went into the Marines, and I became a Mimi for the 2nd time with the arrival of little Buster, who is now approaching 6 months old.  I got inexplicably mad at God, as if somehow all the upheaval was His fault instead of just being the natural order of things, and promptly went into a long and protracted pity party.

Good times.

So the weight loss goal? Chucked it.

Slightly witty writing that hopefully lifted someone's day a bit?  Gone.

But the navel-gazing?  Check.

Crying incessantly and doing my best to drive my loved ones to the brink? Oh yeah, baby.

Depression, despair and disillusionment?  Yep.

There were a few other things in there as well, but I'm pretty sure you've got the general idea.  For the last 6 months or so, I've been a self-absorbed, myopic, asinine, and miserably boring pain in the ass.

I know…the language…but really, is there any other way to put it without sounding ridiculously pious?

So what's changed?  Why now? Why here?  Why would I think anyone even cares?

All I can tell you is God.  Again.


I whine, cry, throw myself down on the ground and throw ashes all over myself.  He stands there, maybe rolls His eyes a bit at the drama, and He patiently holds out His hand and waits.  And waits.  And waits some more.

Every so often, a friend will stop by, see the spectacle, look at God, look at me, shake their head and sigh a bit.   Then, (for reasons known only to Him) because God has given them a love for me, they'll speak a bit of truth into me.

For instance:

A couple of months ago, at a church function, I was whining to some friends about how I was having some "issues" with God.  My friend very wisely looked at me and said, "It doesn't matter.  He doesn't really care."

Now, my friend wasn't saying that God didn't care about me.  Obviously, He does.  What he was pointing out was that my "issues" weren't big enough to scare God off.  God didn't care if I had issues or not.  He loved me regardless.

I stopped sniveling just long enough to let that sink in.  And Despair lost some of its grip.

So…here I am again.  Scarred and not a little bit sheepish, but ready to share more information than you really want to know once more.  Forgive my absence…and please forgive any silliness that may come from this point on.

I must say, I've missed you.  You look lovely.

I know, sweetie.  The winter has been long and dark and cold.

But, say it with me, spring is coming…and with it all the hope and joy and promise that He has set aside for His own…His beleaguered, battered and beloved.

So stick with me a little longer, eh?  It's gonna be a fun ride.

Thursday, May 23, 2013

And Sometimes...You Just Wish Your Arms Would Fall Off


I did my first official work-out with a trainer today.  Which means that I'm not really typing this post.  I'm using my Jedi mind powers to manipulate the keyboard because my arms are in full-on rebellion right now.

My trainer is awesome and he decided (as made obvious by the title) that I needed a little work on my arms/upper body area.  And well...I knew I was out of shape but OH  MY WORD THE BURNING!!! 

When it was all over, I was a sweating, quivering mass of Jell-O.  I didn't cry and I didn't toss my cookies...but I may have said the Lord's name out loud once or twice.

In reverent prayer, of course.  As in, "Oh Jesus.  JE-sus.  JAY-SUS!!!  FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT'S HOLY TAKE MY ARMS! TAKE 'EM LORD! They've been good to me!  They don't deserve all this abuse!  Do whatever is in Thy Holy Will to do with them just MAKE IT STOP!"

(Ok so maybe that was a little bit extreme and I didn't quite go there...but I wanted to.)

However sore my body may be...the thing is, I did it.  And everytime my body said " gon' hafta put a stop to this!  We cain't do this!" I just remembered all the OTHER times my body said I couldn't...but I did.

Due an issue with my knee, I've decided to walk the 5k instead of run and lower the impact so as not to do major damage.  So instead of walk/shuffle/walk I'm just walking.

But I'm walking longer and faster to compensate.  I'm up to 30 minutes at a 3.7 mph clip.  After that I've been hopping on to the elliptical for a 20 minute fat-burner session.  Hopefully next week I'll be able to up my walking speed to almost 4 mph and do more time on the elliptical.

Plus the personal trainer work-outs.

It sounds like a lot, and it is...but I'm so determined to see this through.  I've been off the sodas for about 6 weeks now, and I've been working out for three weeks.  I lost another pound this week but more than that...I'm defeating the voices in my head that keep saying I can't.

Because y'all...Yes. I. Can.  And the more I do it, the more my confidence grows.  Each workout does more to chip away at the feelings of shame and defeat for having let myself get to this point.

I'm doing it.

I'll bet you can do it too.

Rotating on Mimi's playlist this week:

Revolution on the Dance Floor - I don't know who recorded this.  My kids downloaded it.
California Gurls - Katy Perry
Bring It On - Lenny Kravitz
American Idiot- Green Day
So What - P!nk
Live and Let Die - GnR
Back in Black - AC/DC
Mama's Broken Heart - Miranda Lambert
What Was I Thinkin' - Dierks Bentley
Last Dance With Mary Jane - Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

Thursday, May 16, 2013

I Don't Have A Title For This Post

I know.  Butterbean and I are all about keepin' it classy on the blog.

That and I just didn't have any titles that were doin' it for me, ya know?

So...remember the other day when I was all "Oh I don't know how much I weigh, I'm not worried about the number on the scale" and all that?

You don't? don't think my issues with my weight is riveting blog material?

Whatevs.  Just pretend you're interested.

Anyhoo last Thursday I ventured out to the Walmarts and bought myself a scale .  And it only took an hour of some serious prayer and fasting before I figured out how to turn the thing on.  I am all sorts of what the young folks savvy.

I hopped on the scale and the number was (embarrassingly enough) 2...1...4.  YIKES!  At 5'4" I should only weigh somewhere in the 125-135 range.  That's roughly 90 pounds of extra baggage.

ERMAHGERRD I've been carrying around the equivalent of an 8th grade physics nerd for the past 20 years!  Complete with pocket protector and horn-rimmed glasses!

(No offense to all you physics nerds out there.  You guys are neat-o!  And smarter than me!)

So yeah...that day was kind of a bummer...but I didn't let it get me down too much.  I kept to the plan...I hopped back on the treadmill Monday and stepped up my game.  2 minutes of brisk walking and 90 seconds of jogging.  To say that my body went into shock over Truffle Shuffling for 90 seconds straight would be like saying the Pope is Catholic.  It's sort of an understatement.

First my calves started in with "Ummm hey lady...things are starting to heat up down here.  How's about dialing it down just a hair?"

When that didn't work my knees started in with, "Hey...we're getting seriously ANNOYED with you and your exercising shenanigans."

My lungs couldn't talk to me because they were busy huffing and puffing, but I could sense they were somewhat put out.

But I didn't listen to them.  Oh no.  I just kept imagining I was that firework that Katy whatshername keeps singing about.  I couldn't really help that.  She was singing in my ear so...what was I to do?

Then I thought about what it would be like to just be able to listen to some music and bust a few moves without seriously endangering myself or others around me.  I imagined myself in a sparkly outfit dancing and glittering across the stage and my spare tire spoke up and was all, "Easy there Beyonce ...two things are wrong with that scenario.  1) You have no rhythm and 2) You have no rhythm."

But I just rolled my eyes and kept on shuffling.  And then...I weighed myself again on Tuesday.

The number on the scale said 2...0...9!  5 pounds in 4 days.

Y'all...when I saw that I broke into some dancing that would have made BeyoncĂ© cry.  Or cringe.  I don't know which because 5 POUNDS! MIMI LOST 5 POUNDS!

Yeah.  It was what you might call...A Moment.  The first of many I'm sure.

That 8th grade Physics nerd is goin' down!