One Year Later

Well...it's here.  The anniversary we didn't want to have. 

It's been one year since you left us.  Well...maybe I should correct that.  You left us a long time ago, but your body didn't give out until a year ago.

A lot has changed in this past year.  A lot has stayed the same.  I'm still married to your son.  I still love him and he still loves me (most times) and we still fight to stay together every day.

Your grandbabies are now adults mostly.  K will be 20 this year and C will be 18.  And your great-grandbaby...sweet Butterbean, will soon be a year old.  You never got to meet her in the flesh.  You left 6 weeks before she arrived.  6 measley weeks.

You would not believe how much she is K made over.  You would be in love with her and she would be in love with you.  I wish that the anticipation of her arrival had been enough to convince you to stay. 

I wish we would have been enough...your family.  I know losing your husband six months earlier was hard.  It was unbearable for all of us.  But seriously...you couldn't have fought a little harder?  Worked a little more to find a reason to live?

Butterbean has her mama's eyes.  And the exact same hair.  There are days when her Bops and I look at her and it takes our breath because she reminds us so strongly of K when she was that age.  She'll be walking in a few short weeks.  And not long after that we'll be celebrating her first birthday.

And we'll be thinking of you.  And wishing you were here.

I remember when K turned a year old and those first years as a mother.  Man, I was so insecure and so uptight about everything.  You and I definitely did not see eye to eye on a lot of things as far as she was concerned, but there was one thing I was never in doubt about.  I knew you loved her.

Probably in ways you didn't even think you could love.  I'm sure it took you by surprise.  I know you didn't want to be a grandmother at that time.  I know you were too young.

I know because I'm too young. 

But none of that mattered once the baby arrived.  All that mattered was her and making sure she was loved and spoiled in all the ways a granddaughter should be.  I'm sorry I ruined some of that for you by being so insecure and so worried about things that didn't matter.

I'm sorry I helped to make it into a competition for you.  I get it now.  I know what it's like to try to erase regret by trying to be Mimi Supreme.  I'm trying not to do that to K but it's very hard.  She doesn't have the benefit of hindsight like you and I do.  I keep trying to remember that, but I fail at it a lot.

I believe that you have finally found the peace that eluded you here on earth, because I believe in the mighty hand of our merciful and just God.  I know that you see and know now, all the things you couldn't see and know before.  And I'm glad.  I'm glad you can finally see all the love that we have had for you all these years.  I'm glad you can finally rest enough to let it in.

I just wanted to say that to you today.

And that even through all of the crap, and the what ifs, and the wishing it could have been otherwise...we still love you.

I still love you.

I wish you were here.  *sigh*

But you're not.

Anyway...happy anniversary.

See...This Is Why I Need To Carry My Camera Everywhere

I saw Elvis on Saturday.  I had no idea he lived here, but apparently he's living the good life downtown.  I'm happy to report to you that the white jumpsuit with exaggerated collar and huge belt are still in play.  Although I do wish he would get his tailor to use somewhat thicker material. 

Because Mimi really didn't want to see that much Elvis.

I know it sounds too good to be true being as there was a funeral and a grave (which we all KNOW is fake) and this is the reason why I really do need to carry my camera with me.  Because truly, some things just require photographical evidence.  The camera on my so-called smartphone is not very smart so it's no use to me at all.  Plus, I'm a somewhat semi-professional photographer so isn't there some sort of unwritten rule?  Aren't there like, the Ten Commandments of Canon?

If anyone out there knows the answer to that...feel free to holla back at me!

In other news, I had to be at the hospital unexpectedly on Saturday.  Not for medical reasons, but because as stated above, I'm a somewhat semi-professional photographer.  I do newborn portraits for Bella Baby Photography on a part-time basis. 

It's a fantastic job...I mean, hello? Newborns?  So delicious!  I could eat up everyone of those precious littles!  (Not literally. I'm sure you knew that but, just in case...I don't mind a little PR, but that headline on CNN might not be the kind of PR Mimi needs.)

(Notice how my use of "PR" makes me sound like I know what I'm doing.  Or not.)

(It might just make me sound like a big ol' idiot.)

(Have you noticed that I like parentheses?  And rabbit trails?)

(SHHH! I'm hunting WABBITS!!!)

(Oh dear, I've totally de-railed.  It's Monday.  That'll be my excuse.  Sorry.)

So yeah...hospitals.  I was at one.  On Saturday.  Yep. 

The point that I'm not making very well is that even with photographing scrumptious little babies and spending all my time on what I consider to be the happiest floor of a hospital...it can still be a depressing place.  There are babies born every day into precarious situations that make little sense to me.  And it's a wonder to me that in a place filled with sickness and death...life is still bursting forth.

But then, that's our world isn't it?  It's crazy that on this sin weary planet, right smack dab in the middle of the enemy's playground...there are new beginnings and light and life everywhere.  This is an awesome testimony to the power of our God.  He truly is all around us.

Where can I go from Your Spirit?

Or where can I flee from Your presence?

   If I ascend to heaven, You are there;

If I make my bed in Sheol, behold, You are there.

 If I take the wings of the dawn,

If I dwell in the remotest part of the sea,

 Even there Your hand will lead me,

And Your right hand will lay hold of me.

 If I say, “Surely the darkness will overwhelm me,

And the light around me will be night,”

 Even the darkness is not dark to You,

And the night is as bright as the day.

Darkness and light are alike to You.

Psalm 139:7-10 (NASB)

Isn't that last line wonderful?

It makes me feel safe to know that even when I don't know what's going on, and I can't see my hand in front of my face...God sees and knows and nothing...not even darkness can overwhelm Him.

I do however wish that darkness would envelop Elvis a little. 

Because y'all...that white jumpsuit was just a tad harsh on the eyes.

Well She Started Off With A Bang...

But now I've just sort of petered out to a dull phfbbbbtttt.

(That's the closest I can come to spelling out the sound a balloon makes when it's being deflated.)

In other news...have I ever told y'all about my beautiful son?

I've never introduced you?  Oh.  Well.  I'm a shoo-in for Best Mom Award then aren't I?

Here's a picture of him from about a minute ago...

Actually...that's not right.  My son will be 18 years old in December.  But it FEELS like it was a minute ago. *sniffle, softly crooning Precious Memories*

He's heading into his senior year of high school. (Oh my word I feel the ugly cry coming on...gimme a minute...)

Ok...sniffle...I'm back.

Where was I? 

He's my baby/man-boy.  At times he flummoxes me with the thoughts that come out of his mouth.  We can be sitting next to each other on the couch and laugh over...nothing.  Not just little haha laughs.  Knee slapping, mouth-open-with-no-sound-coming-out-tears-streaming-out-of-our-eyes type of laughing.  (My husband usually just looks at us like the nerds we are, shakes his head and goes back to watching ESPN or whatever.)

He's the funniest kid and the most aggravating.  He's passive-aggressive, so when I tell him to clean his room he says "Okay" and then conveniently forgets.  He also plays football for his school.  Go figure. (He would describe himself as being a lover not a fighter...but that when it comes to football all bets are off.)

He has a tremendous heart and..ahem... personal note to you females out there.  The first one of you to break his heart, I will personally come to you and scratch your eyes out.

He might be passive-aggressive, but I'm just plain-old aggressive because I am his MAMA.  And honey, you better know if you mess with him...you're definitely gonna be dealing with me.

There.

That should keep him from having a serious relationship for about 40 years or so....

Back to that sweet heart of his....Butterbean is ga-ga over him and when he walks into the room, I no longer exist for her.  He hugs everybody.  I've had women in my church come and tell me how much it means to them that he hugs them, or smiles at them.  He's just a good guy.  Not perfect by any means (note room cleaning paragraph above) but good.

He's been at football camp this week and, well, I'm missing him a lot...and thinking about what next summer will be like when he leaves...and won't be coming back in a few days.

This son has given me so much.  He actually tells me, the screw-up mom of the century, how great I am and how grateful he is to have me.  And not just when he wants something either.  I don't know how I will learn to live my life without having him there to greet me at the door each day with a hug and a "Hey mom, how was your day?"  I mean, how does any woman learn to wean herself from that much love?

Oh yes, he's given me a lot.  This man, this boy, this gift to me from a gracious God who knew I would need him so much. 

And my fervent prayers, whispered in hope and in desperation each day, are that he has received from his father and I the firm footing and solid foundation that he will need to succeed.  That he knows he is loved for the mere fact that he exists.

Do you know that son?  Do you?  I don't love you for what you do, or who you are...I love you because you live and breathe.

Oh son...this is my desire for you, that the love you have shown will be given back to you shaken down, pressed together, and running over.

I love you...beautiful boy.

Does This New Blog Header Make Me Look Fat?

Hey y'all!

Notice anything different?

Hint:  I already gave it away in the blog title.

Extra Hint:  Scroll up and look at the title of the blog.

Didja see it?  YEAYAH BAY BAY!

That's what I'm talkin' about!  The 'Bean and I have got our sassy on and we got a whole new look.

What do you think?  Do you love it?  Do you LOVE IT?  (Not like biscuits and gravy I know...but still...squee!)

My sweet internet pally Jessica Bowman of Bohemian Bowmans designed it and it is so us.  I don't know if you've noticed or not...but Butterbean and I are not exactly highbrow.  We ain't lowbrow neither (take THAT Hodges and Harbrace!) but we are what I would call...lived in.

Know what I mean? 

Some people keep their living rooms immaculate.  They've got plastic covering the furniture and everything is just so and it's more a museum than it is a place to dwell.  Then you've got people who live like pigs and never clean, and the only things more numerous than the children are the dogs.

The 'Bean and I are in the middle of that spectrum.  We are not spic and span...we are lived in.

So...(aren't you so mesmerized by all this nothing-ness?) Jessica and I talked back and forth all evening last night...me trying to convey all my crazy to her and she doing her best to understand what I meant by "I love that color but it's too blue...let's try chocolate brown."  Because everyone knows that chocolate brown is the next color in the spectrum after blue.

Why the dandelions?  Oh I'm so glad you asked.  (You didn't but let's just go with it) I loved the dandelions on the basic theme from Blogger.  It spoke to me.  They're a bit of whimsy but explanatory in a way.  Those little seedlings are on the wind with no control as to where they'll land or how everything will end up.

That's me and Butterbean.  Our tagline says "We have no idea what we're doing but we're having fun anyway. So there."  And truly, as evidenced by the posts and the writings on this blog...we have no idea whatsoever as to what we are doing.  And we're ok with that.

And the brown paper bag?  Honey that's us again.  Plain old brown paper bags.  With a splash of green and chocolate brown for color.  No plastic for us thank you very much!

What you see is what you get.  We hope you like what you see, but if you don't you don't. 

We are just little seedlings floating on the wind.  We might land in good soil or we might land in poo.  Who knows?  But wherever we land, we know it's gonna be alright because eventually the wind will pick up again and take us to our forever home.

Which almost kinda sorta makes sense.

Kind of like this blog!

Until next time...keep a' floating!  And if you hear Kansas playing "Dust In The Wind" softly in the background don't worry.  It's just gravy for the journey friends...gravy for the journey.

Randomocity...If That's Not A Word It Should Be

Well...if you were looking for something meaningful to read today...look away.

This week has had a touch of the crazy, and it doesn't look to calm down anytime soon.  Would anybody happen to have an extra box of Calgon they might be able to lend me?

(If you don't get that reference...you're too young to read this blog.  Go outside and play.)

My daughter got a job. (And yes, that IS the Hallelujah Chorus you're hearing right now.) 

We're obviously a tad excited about this news since that means we might actually get to keep a dime or two of the extra $20 we're able to put back each month. 

(Shout out to Big Oil.  Thanks for sucking up my retirement these past few years.  'Preciate it!)

As a result of this deliciousness...we get to spend a few more hours with Butterbean each week.  *Slight nervous giggle.*

K started her new schedule on Saturday, and since I had to work, Butterbean and Grumps got to spend a whole day together.  I'm told it started out really well.  But by the time I got home...things had veered a little south. 

I saw her and immediately was like, "Ummm, honey?  Why is Butterbean's eye swollen?"

Turns out she was taking a nap in Mimi's bed and woke up.  And decided to do the dying inchworm.  Resulting in her hitting her little head on our window sill.  Which is totally my fault because really? Who has been a leetle lax in buying Butterbean her own little bed to sleep in at Mimi's house?

Me, that's who.  Oh but we are fixing that situation y'all.  Yes ma'am.

So the 'Bean's right eye is now a little puffy and purple and when she smiles (which is pretty much constant) her eye disappears completely.

Poor baby.

My husband of course was riddled with guilt because who wants to be the cause of their grandbaby's first black eye? 

On top of the schedule change, and the black eye...I'm trying to get ready for Shaun Groves.

Work over the weekend was not very fun...probably because I knew Butterbean was at my house...and I missed church which is never a good thing for me, then the news of Matthew.

So to say I'm a little off my center would be an understatement.

Shew-ee what a lot of randomness!  I'm sorry.  Maybe tomorrow you'd like to hear about my bursitis?  Not that I have that...but I could make something up to sort of keep the flow of boring alive.

I'm afraid I'm becoming my grandmother.  Next thing you know I'll be forgetting where I put my cell phone and start searching high and low for my car keys while they jingle jangle quite pleasantly from my pinkie finger.

Oh wait...I did that this morning.

Tune in tomorrow Golden Girls fans when you hear Mimi say...

Hmmm...what was I going to say?

A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To Work Today...NOT: Friday Fixins

Yeah, so I guess it's time I face the music and admit I'm in a bit of a slump here.  I think it all started the other day when I asked my daughter if I could post about Butterbean beginning to crawl and she said, "Oh yay!  Mimi will finally have something interesting to talk about!"

Stinker.

Actually, it's not her fault.  It's mine.  I've been over-thinking things and not really writing for myself. 

I started this blog because I love that little Butterbean.  And I want to catalog as many little moments as I can during this first year of her life.  And oh...it's flying by so so so quickly.

This little area of digital space is my way of trying to grab time and hold it hostage so I can look at it anytime I want to and remember.

I want to remember the time she started that weird growling noise.  At first it made us laugh but then we were wondering if we should perhaps call in an exorcist.  Because it got a bit extreme.

Then there was the screaming phase.  Where all waking moments were filled with high pitched screams that would have scared Michael Myers himself.  Again, we wondered...is it her hearing? Is this normal?

It's amazing what you forget from when YOUR children were babies.

Which, again, is the purpose of this blog.

I want to remember the look on her face when she rolled over for the first time right in the middle of our women's Bible study.  I want to bottle up the scent of her head right after her bath when she's laying against me all sweet and drowsy and sucking her thumb...ready for nighty night.

I know there are lots of wonderful moments ahead...but the joy I've had already...it can't be measured or contained or even described.

It can only be remembered.

My sweet, sweet girl...you're just seven tiny months old right now.  You're working on your crawling, you've got two sweet little bottom teeth, and another tooth up top is trying to push it's way through.  Your smile and precious laugh make every bad, stressful moment fly right out of my head.  You love your Uncle Chris and follow him with your eyes and your smile as soon as he walks into the room.  And he loves you right back...always anxious about your well-being and making sure you're ok.  And oh, how he loves to make you laugh.

Your Bops/Grumps/Mr. W did his level best remain aloof at first (because he's a man and men don't do mushy very well) but he couldn't help himself.  He fell head over heels for you and now spends a lot of his time throwing you up in the air and making my heart stop.  He does this because you love it and I don't.  So you know...win win. 

Someday Butterbean, when you're older, if the internet is still chugging along...I hope you stumble across this space and remember and know how deeply and richly you were loved.  And how incredibly thankful I am to God that He gave you to us.

Love, your Mimi
 

Dear Adele...I'm Breaking Up With You

It's true.

It appears that we have been "Rollin' In The Deep" a little longer than we should have.

I realize this break-up will have absolutely no effect on you whatsoever, being as you're busy being the most celebrated female singer in the world and I am nowhere near being in the same universe of famous as you are.  Plus there's the tiny little fact that you have no idea I even exist...but overlooking that, we were sisters of the SOUL, Adele. Sisters of the soul.

You'd been hurt.  You'd been jilted by someone you loved and adored...and you weren't about to take it lying down.  No sir-ree.  Instead of doing what normal people do and updating your status on Facebook...you sat yourself down at a piano and poured every drop of your hurt into some songs and TOLD THE WORLD.

And the world listened.  And sang along.

And oh how I loved to crank up the volume in my car and wail along with you and in my mind think "Yeah...you tell'em sister.  We aren't taking this kind of stuff off anybody EVER AGAIN!"

And I'd feel powerful and goddess-like for a few moments.  Then the cd would end and I'd just be mad.  Again.  Stirred up by all those feelings of angst and disappointment and heartbreak.

Then I would wonder why I was so stressed out.

Truth be told, you're a tiny symptom of a huge problem of mine which I'm only just coming to terms with.  It's called unforgiveness.  Since writing those songs and blowing the world away with your talent, you have probably moved on to bigger and better things.  But me, Adele?  I'm left with all the broken emotions of those songs...and the lyrics which are now in my head for years to come.

A dear friend of mine suggested I read a book called "Total Forgiveness" by R.T. Kendall.  Mr. Kendall posits that true forgiveness means not continuing to stir up those bad feelings and memories.  True forgiveness means not tattle-telling on people who have wronged you.  And no matter how much I admire your gumption, your beauty, and your talent...let's face it Adele...that cd is one big tattletale.

So, it is with great sadness and longing that I must give you up.  No...no...don't try to say anything. 

Merle Haggard is next and I need my strength for that one.

Adieu,

Mimi Supreme

Ferlin Husky Must Hate Me

So.

Does anybody recall a song by Ferlin Husky called, "Wings Of A Dove?"  I'm not particularly a fan of Ferlin Huskey but the song title is appropriate for today's post.

And by the way, "Ferlin?"  Really???  It must have been a family name.  Here's a question...why do we as parents do that to our children?   How sick and twisted to do you have to be to give your child a moniker that will almost assuredly doom him or her to suffer daily scorn and torment from other kids?  Why not just hang a big fat juicy pork chop around their neck and dangle them in front of a pack of starving, rabid dogs?  It would be a lot more humane.

Anyways.  Back to ol' Ferlin and his doves.

Butterbean did not come to visit last night (sniffle) and because it was Tuesday, and because I help out a little on the praise team at church, and because Tuesdays are our night to practice, and, and, and...

Well I found myself at church.

Afterwards I stayed behind to chat and catch up with a friend of mine who also helps out on the praise team.  (Ever hear of Kari Jobe?  Yeah..she sounds a bit like her.  Pure, sweet, and anointed.)

We were outside enjoying the nice humidity-free evening griping about our husbands talking about spiritual things when I look up and I notice this beautiful, snowy white dove swooping down in front of us. 

It was just like that scene in the Bible where Jesus is being baptized and the dove came down from Heaven.  Except there was no voice from Heaven and John the Baptist wasn't there, and instead of the Jordan River, we were sitting on the curb of the parking lot at church.

But other than that it was so totally the same.

 I was all "Awww...Jesus sent us a dove!  He must think we're something special!  We must be super-duper spiritual!" Both of us watched in awe as the bird rode the wind, it's gorgeous wings fully spread...gliding, gliding and then...

 BAM!

Right smack dab into one of the windows of the church.

Thankfully it didn't die, but we almost did.  From laughing.

After dazedly walking around for a while the dove flew off.  And we were left to ponder the spiritual magnitude of what we had just witnessed.

We still don't know what it is, and we may never know friends...we may never know.  But somewhere, in the Great Dovecote In The Sky, I'm sure ol' Ferlin is softly crooning to his feathered friends, and perhaps a tear is slowly slipping down his cheek for two lost souls here on earth who nearly wet their pants over one winged creature's misfortune.

All I can say is...sing on, Ferlin.  Sing on.  And hopefully next time, I can catch it on video.

Cause y'all...it was funny.

Oh Lord, It's Hard To Be Humble...

When I was a young whipper-snapper...there used to be a thing on television called "The Muppet Show."

You may have heard of it.

Being about the age of 9 or 10 years old, and having a real appreciation for slap-stick humor delivered by furry bug-eyed puppets, I was a fan.

 I can remember sitting as close to the television screen as my mother would allow (her warnings of impending blindness that came whenever I sat too close still warm my heart today); my hair damp but squeaky clean from my recent bath, tucking my knees up under my chin so that nothing peeped out from under the ruffle of my Laura Ingalls nightgown except my toes, and waiting in talcum-powder covered wonder for the show to begin.

(Did I mention I was a fan?)

One particularly side-splitting episode involved Mack Davis singing "Hard To Be Humble" to Captain Link Hogthrob of "Pigs in Space" fame.

(Told you I was a fan.)

I loved that song.

OH LORD! IT'S HARD TO BE HUMBLE
WHEN YER PER-FECT IN EV-ER-Y WAAY
I CAIN'T WAIT TA LOOK IN THE MIRROR
'CAUSE AH GIT BETTER LOOK-IN' EACH DAY!

All the while during the song, Capt. Hogthrob is sagely nodding his head in perfect understanding.

Sometimes...it is indeed hard to be humble.

Especially when you think your way is the only way, or your plan is THE VERY BEST PLAN ON THE PLANET and no one, not even The Almighty can do it better.

(Not that I'm like that or anything. This is so totally a hypothetical post. NOT!)

However, the illusion of perfection (ours...not His) is somewhat skewered.  'Cause truly, we don't know what perfection is.  We know WHO it is, but not the How and the Why and the Wherefore, nor the comprehension of His entirety.

In the face of that Perfection, humility is a just and righteous attitude. 

And nothing can teach humility like being completely out of control of a given situation and having no other option than to rip off your "Sunday Morning Hallelujah Smile" and run pell-mell to Jesus. 

So...today, with as much humility as I can muster, I want to encourage you.  If you find yourself face-down in the ashes of your pride, with the smoldering little coals of your plans floating down around you, and feeling the hot tears of helpless-ness running down your cheeks...don't worry.

If you'll look just a little to your left...I'm right there with you.  Snorting and snotting and throwing down my crowns and my "perfection" along with every other true follower of Jesus Christ.

And maybe humming a little Mac Davis tune-age under my breath.  Humbly, of course.