A cup of fun

It's about that time again...time for school to start.
So I took Hillary and two of her friends into the city to coordinate "first day outfits". We were chauffeured by Mr. Silent Reflective Sunglasses. (He told me later "Do you know that in the span of 11 miles they said the word "like" 40 times? I counted." What can I say, he's a math teacher.) Anyway...we ate, we laughed, we shopped.
At the first stop, my husband lost himself in Best Buy while we girls went into Gordmans. I followed them around, offering to hold their selections while they picked outrageous things off the clearance racks for each other to try on. They all came out of their respective dressing rooms complimenting each other on how "awesome" the other looked, while at the same time, downplaying the "awesomeness" of their own ensemble. But this was our first store, and no self-respecting girl spends her money at the first store. So it was on to the mall.
By this time, they didn't really need me anymore. Hence the reason The Man was allowed to come...to keep me company while the girls did their own thing. He and I sat in the food court, munched on a pretzel, and talked about everything from our bible study the night before to the crazy outfit the girl across the way had on.
Finally, my phone rang. "Mom, I think we're ready for you...you know...that one thing..."
That "thing" was bra shopping. One of the girls is being raised by a single dad. He's a great guy and does his best, but she was outgrowing her "innerwear" and I don't think either of them felt comfortable doing anything about it. So I volunteered. It was the unspoken mission of this shopping trip.
I sent my husband to the huge, two-story sporting goods store and met the girls at Victoria's Secret. They all stood around awkwardly, shifting from foot to foot, sipping their fast food sodas and not really meeting each other's eyes. I grabbed the nearest sales lady and said, "We need some help with fitting." "Sure, follow me right this way.." We trailed her like ducklings to the fitting rooms where she turned around, tape in hand, and said, "OK..who's first?" Again, no eye contact. So I jumped in.."Me!" She measured quickly and gave my size out loud. When the girls saw how painless it was (and that I was the smallest one of them all, and I was okay with that) they all got right into the fun. Each girl was given a dressing room and several bras to try on. They came out talking about how this one was comfortable and that one was too lacy. I gave them all the tips I knew about making sure the cup fit right and the back strap should be parallel to the floor - not pulling upward. I explained that a nude color bra doesn't show through a white shirt even though it seems like a white bra would be the thing to wear. And shared the secret of a well placed puff of stuff sewn into the cup, making the most of what you have (or don't have!). In the end, we didn't buy anything. The prices were prohibitive (although it took all my impulse control not to put the $48 bra on my credit card for the girl who wasn't even my daughter). But the goal had been reached. The taboo was broken...the secret woman wisdom shared. The girls now had the tools they needed to shop on their own or with their credit-card-carrying parent.
We left the mall with three happy teenage girls in three new first-day outfits (and an unhappy man with empty golf club-less hands...but that's another story.) And a substitute mom with her cup running over with joy.

Keys to the heart

Right now there is beautiful music floating through my house. It's not a cd, and the radio isn't on. It's piano music flowing from the long slender fingers of my daughter. And I love it!

When she was four, she started saying things like, "I wish I knew how to play the piano." Of course, I ignored her for a while...four year olds often change their whims without any notice. But when she didn't stop talking about it, I looked into lessons. I found a lady in town who gave lessons in her basement full of pianos. I said, "She's only four, is that ok?" The teacher said, "Well, she'll have to know her letters." Indignant, I replied, "Of course she knows her letters..and can count to 100.." I could go on, but it would be embarrassing. Anyway, Mrs. Presson took her on...and it began.

For a long time, Hillary practiced on the one-octave electric keyboard we could afford. In those days, there wasn't room in our tiny house for winter and summer clothes at the same time...let alone a piano. But a few years and a couple of moves later, we realized a real piano was necessary. Hillary was playing real songs...beautiful and complicated songs...songs that were too much for a keyboard. So my mother-in-law found an old but free upright piano...and my mom took it apart (literally - laid the keys out on the floor) and vacuumed out the baby powder someone had spilled into it. Then my dad stripped the ugly antique green paint from the wood and stained it. And when their work of love was finished we had a beautiful instrument that we cherish to this day. While our parents' love made the outside shine...Hillary's fingers made it's heart sing.

When we moved here, her lessons stopped. She was so sad to say goodbye to her teacher, who had always encouraged her and pushed her and made opportunities for her to play for others. I was afraid she would stop playing and be one of those grown-ups who say, "I took lessons for years, but I can't play anything now." I prayed God would use her talent and not let it be lost.

After lots of trying Sundays in our new town, we finally found a church we liked with a thriving youth group and a youth pastor who used God's eye to find talents in his young people. He asked Hillary to help with the worship team. She was hesitant at first. But she tried. Mrs. Presson had taught her how to read music, and now God was teaching her to expand into playing by ear and following a vocalist. The wish that had started at four years old was now coming full circle at fourteen.

Hillary is now an accomplished pianist who can play by note or by ear. But more than that, she is using her talent to minister to others...and to herself. Making music is not just an ability for her. It's a part of her soul. When she's bored, lonely, happy, or sad...she'll often wander to that antique piano and let her emotions float into song. And as usual, God's gift to her spills over onto the rest of us, as the haunting notes fill our home and our hearts soar with her fingers.

In an interesting, look-how-God-works way, the student has now become the teacher. Hillary is giving piano lessons to a young boy in our church. She is patient and encouraging. Mrs. Presson would be so proud. After all, she unlocked Hillary's talent, and gave her the keys to her own heart.

Tin Roof Tuesday

It's raining today.

Which means we get to enjoy the nice new back porch my husband helped build last week. Occasionally he gets wild ideas in his head (OK often he gets wild ideas in his head), but they usually don't actually happen. At least not until I crunch the numbers and make a detailed pro/con list, then fret and worry for a while, then ask 15 people's opionion. But this porch idea made it's way out of my husband's mouth during a conversation with our neighbor (who works in construction). And before I knew it, they'd gone and bought the materials, hammered and sawed, measured and worked...and finished the whole thing in one day. It was my husband's idea to roof it with tin. He said he loves to hear the rain on a tin roof.

So now we sit...side by side...quietly...watching the raindrops fall and listening to the soft pings of each one as it hits the roof.
Romantic, huh...

Now for the rest of the story...

I wanted to capture the feeling for you, but I wasn't getting what I wanted by shooting from the deck. I considered climbing out on the roof, but Hillary suggested that I could get the same thing by sticking my head out the window. I think it worried her boyfriend a little...as I was taking the screen off in order to hang futher out, he said, "You're not going out there are you?" I assured him I wasn't...and only then did he continue downstairs with Hillary to watch Batman.

My husband found me several minutes later, sitting on the floor behind the couch, camera held out the window, taking one shot then experimenting with my settings, then taking another shot. And as usual when I'm being crazy and unpredictable...

he just smiled.

Now that's romantic!

I'm With the Band

This was the first parade of the season (hence the t-shirts and shorts instead of uniforms). Every year in July this little county kicks off it's fair with a parade. But this is the first year Parker is marching. He has been practicing, marching around the house with knees high and toes pointed. Of course, as they came down the street, I ran to meet them, camera in hand.

I shouted his name...but he was all business. Not a glance my way.

This was also a first for Hillary. She's been marching in this parade for four years, but this is the first time she's done it as drum major. She was nervous and excited. She has also been practicing...arms high and movements sharp. As well as coaching Parker on his marching technique.
She didn't mind at all that I was running down the side of the road with them, taking shot after shot. You can't see it behind the refelective shades (a vibe inherited from her daddy), but she told me later she was nodding and raising her eyebrows in a friendly "Hi! How are you!" way to everyone who called her name. Which was a lot. She has a lot of friends.
I am so proud of them both. I told people as I ran by them barefoot...focusing and shooting pictures..."That's my kid." I want everyone to know I'm with the band!

Stumped

It's the middle of summer. The excitement of being home with nothing to do is starting to wear off. One particular day recently, my son (and his neighborhood friends) were lounging, long arms and legs draped over the chair, exuding that "I'm bored" look. All I wanted to do was lay in the hammock and read, and I knew I had to get him and his little friends busy or they would be pestering me like mosquitoes every other page.

So I gave them a job.

A manly job.

I handed out axes and pointed them to the old stump in our yard. They went at it with gusto.

I know there are a couple of you who may point out that my son's exposed toes are in grave danger, but actually, the boys were surprisingly careful. (And I was hovering, offering safety tips and taking pictures...so much for relaxing in the hammock.)

They chipped away at that stump for at least an hour. My ever-entreprenuial son said, "Do you think we could get $2 for this?" I said the salary would be commensurate with their performance. An hour later, wiping sweat, he said, "I think we should get at LEAST $20!"

This is not a project that will be finished in a day....or a week...or maybe not even this summer. But I really don't care about getting rid of the stump. The boys have eagerly taken this challenge on. They swing their ax and proudly show their strength. They are careful and considerate to be safe with each other and show their capacity to work together and protect others. Plus...they're just having so DARN MUCH FUN! Over the past few days they have randomly chipped, pounded, and poked at it. They have discovered bugs and bug eggs. They have embedded firecrackers and blown little bits off at a time. They have talked about setting it on fire. (OK, I do have my limits)

But if an old stump can give my boy a chance to hone his man skills AND have fun at the same time...who am I to cut him off at the knees (oh yeah...pun definitely intended!)

What's in YOUR Dryer?

Things I've actually found in my dryer:

money (who hasn't)
scissors
a fork
toy motorcycle
matches

What's the weirdest thing you've ever found in your dryer?

Exploding Eggs (and other things)

My husband and I went to town the other day. Parker didn't want to go, so we let him stay home alone. As we were walking out the door, Yancy said, "Parker, I'm putting these eggs on to boil so I can have egg in my salad when we get back. Watch them and don't let them boil dry." My overprotective motherness wanted to step in...no children playing with the stove while adults are gone...but I am trying to let Parker grow up, so I let it go. Sure thing, Daddy-O!
A few minutes later, I got a call on my cell phone. Parker, in his normal I-never-get-excited voice said, "Mom..." "What is it? What's wrong?" "Well...the eggs are exploding." I tried to stay rational. I mean, we hadn't even been gone that long. I figured the eggs had just overcooked and cracked open, letting some of the yolk out into the water.
"Is anything on fire?"
"no"
"Are you hurt?"
"no"
"Did you turn the burner off?"
"no"
"Well, turn the burner off and just leave it all alone. We're on our way home. We'll be there in just a few minutes."
We walked into a very stinky kitchen. The pan was dry and black...and pieces of egg were EVERYWHERE. They were stuck to the cabinets, on the sink...even across the dining area over by the patio door. Who knew eggs could do that?
I rushed to Parker and inspected him for injuries (there were none) and started asking obvious questions like "What happened?" Apparently, he went to watch TV and forgot all about the eggs till he heard them blowing up. Then, he wasn't sure what to do and was too scared to try to move the pan or turn off the burner...so he just crouched and waited for them all to finish exploding, then found the cell phone and called us. He was a little shaken up. Give the boy a sack of dynomite disguised as fireworks and a watermelon and he'll happily blow things up all day. But let an egg explode and he just can't take it.
By the way...if anyone would like to nominate us for parents of the year, just go to www.explodingeggs.com. (just kidding)

Please Don't Feed the Animals

No, my daughter is not in a "Brittany Spears Wannabe" contest, but she is holding a real snake. And look at that huge smile on her face. She's loving it!

Ever since she was little, I haven't been able to take her anywhere without her getting up close and personal with the animals. Once when she was 4, her daycare class took a trip to a petting zoo. There were baby goats to feed and rabbits to pet. But where was Hillary? Over by the barn, arm deep in the ONLY animal that was locked in a cage. I figured there was a reason that dog wasn't allowed out with the kids, but with Hillary's arms snaked around it's neck, it was wagging it's tail and...well...smiling.


Here she is at age 8, necking with a camel...and causing her poor Papaw T to have heart palpatations.

So I was not surprised when she was the first one of us to volunteer to hold wild animals at the reptile place we visited today. We happened to be with Papaw P this time. (You would think the grandparents would have learned by now.)

The "tour guide" was a teenaged girl who told us about each animal in a quiet, breathy voice...even as she threw chunks of bloody horse meat to the alligator, tiger, and lion. When we got to the inside reptiles, she walked into the pen of 60 various sized alligators and grabbed one for us to touch. (Hmm...Hillary needs a summer job...)
Of course Hillary wanted to be first. She finally convinced everyone to touch it. (I, of course, was busy taking pictures) She even got a reluctant Parker to hold the baby alligator.

Next came the Spiny Backed Something-or-Other Lizard.
Parker was having none of it this time.

Papaw had walked away and was watching the animals safely behind glass. I heard him say, "Well, who's ready to go?" Hillary ignored him and asked Miss Teen Crocodile Hunter "Can we hold a snake?"
As the girl was transferring the big boa from her body to Hillary's, I heard Papaw mutter "Sometimes those things strike." No one paid any attention to him.
We did finally get out of there. All limbs and eyeballs safe and accounted for. And we had lots of fun laughing together. I just hope Hillary's luck holds, and her charm with animals keeps her from someday being lunch.