A Time For Silence

In my opinion, today really isn't a day for a lot of words.   I wanted to post about the rest of my trip, but to do that would dishonor the day.  Instead, my thoughts wander once again with the rest of the country back over the past 11 years.  My thoughts wander, and I wonder.

After all this time, I think that the people lost in the Twin Towers, the Pentagon, and Flight 93 weren't the only ones who died that horrible day.

Thousands of military personnel from all over the world, Iraqis, Afghanis, and Pakistanis have also died paying the price for one man's hatred.

The America I grew up in died that day.

Today many will vow to never forget.  Many will grieve again and cry as they see the images of smoke and utter chaos again.  Many will share their memories of where they were the moment they heard the news.

Some will stir up old anger and fear.

Some will stretch out yearning arms for lost friends and loved ones...and find only empty air and the pain of memory.

Some will comfort themselves with the thought that Osama Bin Laden is dead.  Justice has been served.

Or has it?

As I said...today isn't a day for a lot of words.  It is a day for introspection.

I admit I have spent a lot of time in the past 11 years shaking my fist at the "enemy."  I've chanted "USA! USA!"  I've flown the flag and cried with the rest of the country. 

And now I begin to question. 

2,996 individuals died on September 11th. 

Estimates range from 110,000 to over one million military personnel, insurgents, civilians, journalists and government contractors have been killed in the resulting wars.

My father served in the military for 22 years.  I have the utmost respect for our brave men and women in uniform.

So I ask this in humility...with respect and no small amount of trembling.

Has it been worth it?

I wonder how the 2,996 people who died in the planes, the Pentagon, and the Twin Towers would answer.

In Which I Tempt Fate A Second Time

Y'all.  I believe I have documented somewhat my feelings about myself interracting with nature.  Don't get me wrong,  I like nature and I think it's good and stuff...but it could be so much better if it were devoid of bugs and had better air conditioning.

But last week...like the self-sacrificing Christian I am, I ventured out once more in the name of friendship and freedom.  As in "free lodging and food" freedom.   An issue which I'm sure our forefathers would have included in the Constitution had there been such things as condominiums and vacation resorts in their time.

Instead of rolling down the river, this time I was at the beach.  I shall not name the beach except to say that it starts with "Myrtle" and ends with...well..."Beach."  I haven't written about it until now simply because I'm lazy the words wouldn't come out.  It was a trip of epic epic-ness in a way that only those who are in love with Dr. Sheldon Cooper and the movie The Great Outdoors can understand.  The selection of wording must be just right so that you too, Dear Reader(s), can experience what my friend and I experienced last week.  You lucky dog(s), you.

A couple of months ago, a very sweet friend of mine mentioned to me that she had an opportunity to go to the beach, but no way to get there.  She sort of asked in an off-handish way if I would be interested in going...I'd just have to drive and provide the gas and she would take care of the rest.  In what I can only describe as a cranial infarction, I said, "Sure! I'll go!"  Obviously I had completely blocked out my previous flirtation with paralysis a few short months ago and had now opted for certain death by various and sundry means on our nations coastline.

Now I should note here that my friend and I had heretofore spent a little time together, but nothing like this.  I mean, 10 hours in a car and then 4 nights together with her two littles?  It had not yet been attempted.  At this juncture I should also tell you that I adore her kids.  She has an 8 year old boy and a 4 year old girl.  In my opinion...this is the best age to take your kids anywhere.

My friend had been to the ocean before...but her kids had not.  So we were both kind of pumped to see the reactions on their faces.  I had mentioned to my pal that we would leave super-duper early...like 6am...(and we all know what a fan Mimi is of pre-sunrise activity) and that the kids would probably sleep most of the way there.

It was at this point when my friend patted my shoulder and got this sad, yet loving and sympathetic gleam in her eye as if to say..."Oh...you sad, strange, little woman...it's been a while since your kids were small hasn't it?"  I shrugged it off as Mom-jitters.  You know, the kind where you really want people to think your kids are the greatest thing since sliced bread and you're nervous and tense that what they're really gonna do is make people think that you and your husband should be henceforth banned from ever procreating ever again?  Sort of like Honey Boo Boo's parents?

Yeah...Mom-jitters.  Not that I've ever had them or anything.  My kids were angels I tell you.  ANGELS.

We got the trunk packed up in a fashion would have made R. Lee Ermey proud, got the kids buckled into their carseats and proceeded to put the pedal to the metal.  Or something like that.  Actually, I went the wrong way right out of the gate, but it was all good because I needed to stop at the gas station to top off the tank.  (That's my story and I'm sticking to it!) We got that done and I get back in the car and I kid you not...we had come all of 2.5 miles and we needed a potty break.

Yep.  It had been a while since ol' Mimi had gone on a trip with littles.

There was a Hardee's across the street from us which also happens to be the primo spot for all the local geezers to get together for breakfast and solve the world's problems.  I know this because there were two of them who stared at us upon entry and exit of afore-mentioned potty break and made us feel as though we had tread carelessly on sacred ground.   Like we had let the kids pee on the Lincoln Memorial or something.  I waved to them as my friend shoved her kids into the back seat and we peeled out of there like two bananas.   (Get it? Peeled? Bananas????)

Clearly...we were off to a super-duper start.

To Be Continued...

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.

My Baby's A Senior...Wait..What?

JEEZ-O-PETE y'all!!!  My sweet son, the one I introduced y'all to little bit ago?  Is now officially a senior in high school.

My BABY!!! *sob* WAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!

(I'd upload a picture, but really...does anyone want to see a middle-aged, slightly plump woman lose it?  In some cases...the imagination is truly much better than the reality. Trust me on this.)

We took him to Waffle House to eat breakfast this morning. Because nothing spells "class" like a side of hash browns, smothered, covered and chopped. 

I don't know if I've ever mentioned this to you all before or not, but Mimi is not what one would term as a "morning person."  That's usually why my posts (what there are of them these days) usually don't show up until after 10 in the am.  Because that's usually about the time my speech starts to become coherent.

Add to that a wee bit of hunger and a smidge of impatience, and PRESTO! All of this non-morning person-ness ended up in a slightly unpleasant encounter with our waitress. 

It all started innocently enough...my husband refused to order any breakfast and I was concerned, and was all "Hon-EEE you need to ORder something." (I'm sure the whiney tone in my voice blending with the Bob Seger tune blaring out of the jukebox added just the right touch of ambience and tranquility for our little family outing.)

As soon as the words popped out of my mouth the waitress said to him, "Oooh...you just got the EVIL eye."

Now y'all...I know what the bible says about showing mercy and forgiveness and what-not.  But as I said, my brain doesn't work well in the wee morning hours of 7 - ish...so I may have forgotten all about Jesus and Peter's little chat about the 70 times 7 stuff. 

That waitress may or may not have been given a tip.  Because really?  Random strangers calling you out on your non-morning glory ways just does NOT inspire generosity in most cases.

So you can see how my son's First Official Day Of Senior Year started off with a real bang.  He got to see his mom being a paragon of Christian compassion and overflow with desire to be "Jesus with skin on." To all you young mothers out there, if you EVER need advice on how to send your kid off properly to school...I'm your gal.

I'd post a picture of how thrilled my son was to have started school this morning, but it turns out that my smartphone is not so smart.  I told it to upload a picture to FB this morning at roughly 7:15.  As of now it has uploaded exactly 0% of that one little picture. 

Whoever said we don't war against flesh and blood must not have ever owned a smartphone or eaten at Waffle House.

This Post Brought To You By The Letter "B"

"B" as in Butterbean.  It was all Butterbean all the time at Mimi's house this weekend.  She recently turned 8 months old and is no longer the sweet little bundle that loved to be held and jiggled and whatnot.

She is now a sweet little busybody who has learned to crawl and climb.  For Butterbean, it's all about the adventure...the more dangerous something is, the more she's attracted to it.  Toys?  Pah!  Those are for babies!!!  Give her the electrical outlets!  She wants to feel the burn! And as for Mimi?  She's just another stepping stone to that towering summit known as the living room sofa.

(If I haven't lost 15 pounds from chasing and climbing after her, then my scale is clearly broken and needs to be destroyed.  I sense a little DIY project coming on!)

The 'Bean has also discovered my laptop and her favorite thing to do is

yrghqa;ekcx,v a;sldpzy q/kzncv;yeioruhoidfhgn/z,.mcn a[weiurjngayghop;431038947urhofnSDmnfq03481p;3orlhnfdvbbg/eiwtyiu-387658tjg.

That last bit there was typed by Butterbean.  It says...."I love Mimi's keyboard."

('Scuse me while I wipe up the drool.  Sorry.)

When she gets hold of my laptop I have this image pop into my mind that somewhere in the bowels of a mountain in Colorado, the W.O.P.R. is booting up for another nice rousing game of Global Thermonuclear War and some military commander is saying, "Take us to DefCon 5."

But that's just me and my little friend known as, "Paranoia."

Don't judge me.

Anyhoo...the 'Bean also has 6 teeth now and I have a nice imprint of them on the fleshy part of my forearm.  She was kind enough to give it to me last night.

Butterbean is also working on learning what the word "no" means.  I have a feeling from some of the looks she gives me that she already knows the meaning, she just doesn't care.  But that couldn't be true could it?

Not my sweet, precious little grandbaby! 

If anyone has some Prozac they could lend me...that would be awesome.

Just kidding.

Almost.

Running With A Limp

Today's post is somewhat introspective and might appear to ramble.  If you get to the end and say "Well...there went 10 minutes that I'll never get back," don't say I didn't warn you ahead of time.

Do you remember that amazing footage from the 1992 Olympics...you know, where that guy is running and he pulls a hamstring during the race?  Don't remember? Take a gander...

This young man had done everything he was supposed to do.  He had trained, he had eaten all his veggies, he had the support of his team, his family and his country.  He was there...living out his calling...he was running in perhaps the most important race of his life.

He was doing what he loved...and he got hurt.

Isn't that the way of it sometimes?  Life is hard.  And that doesn't end just because you're a Christian.  Instead, in many ways, life just gets harder.

What's interesting to me is in the interview segments.  The commentators are all saying, "Oh, that's so painful, I never could have gotten up."

So what made him get up?

Pay attention to what Derek himself said about the incident.  He said that when the pain died down, he remembered where he was and what he was doing.

In essence, after the initial shock and pain...he remembered that he had a purpose.  And his purpose (in this instance) was to run.  So he gets up. And there...at the end...when all he could do was hop...someone comes down from the stands, puts his arm around him and helps him to the finish line.

You all already know it was Derek's daddy.

Listen friend, and you know who you are.  You stepped out in faith to run...perhaps believing that the victory would be yours this time.

And truly, it is.  Just not in the way you imagined.

The pain is probably really intense right now, but it doesn't have to end you.  When you get your breath back...remember.  Remember who you are, why you're here, and most of all...remember what you are doing.

And then get up and keep going. 

Limp, hop, crawl or whatever you have to do...but keep. going. 

At some point down the line...and maybe it's already happening...your Daddy is going to meet you on the track...and He's going to put His loving arms around you and make sure you get to the finish line.

Don't give up.

Because in this race...that's the true victory.

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.