Whiz, Boom, Bang...Happy Fourth!

The summer sun was pelting us as we arrived, cole slaw and lemon pie in hand, to ring in Independence day with a group of friends. It's one of those gatherings where you know you can let your guard down and be yourself...my favorite kind of get together.

The house was brimming with guests--mostly familiar faces--with kids running to and fro. The food table was overflowing with an array of side dishes and the dining room proved a popular pass-through as it held the coveted dessert table. Each family awaited their turn at the grill and passed the time catching up with old friends and making new ones. Laughter was in abundance and the giggles of children added to the feeling of merriment in the air.

As the sun began to fade, brave souls trucked wagonloads of fireworks down to the pond as the observers positioned their lawn chairs and blankets for the show. Soon, darkness set in and the fireworks were well underway...accompanied by at least eight others on the horizon and throughout the neighborhood. Each pop and whistle bursted open into a display of color followed by oohs and ahhs from the appreciate onlookers.

A sense of contentment washed over me as I held my youngest in my arms and joked with friends around me. I am free on this day. I am free to celebrate as I wish and do as I please...and I realized I was exactly where I needed and wanted to be at that moment.Good food, great company, and the traditional whiz, boom, bang of a sky full of firecrackers.

It was a good evening, indeed.

Lemon Icebox Pie Recipe

If I had known how quickly this pie would go, I'da made more than one for tonight's festivities :) For those of you that requested, here is the recipe. It could not be easier:

Lemon Icebox Pie

3/4 c. lemon juice

2 eggs

2 14 oz. cans sweetened condensed milk (I use Carnation)

Mix together well, pour into graham cracker pie shell and bake for 30 minutes or until firm.

Serve with whipped cream.

Enjoy!

Laughter Really is the Best Medicine...

Found this great article on getting the most out of every day. It referenced one of my favorite all-time quotes by poet e.e. Cummings: "The most wasted of all days is one without laughter.”

That is my new mantra, peoples. OK, I guess it's not entirely new. I do laugh a lot just by nature of me being a dork. But, sometimes I take life much too seriously and let the little things affect my overall attitude. Every time I start thinking about the mistakes I've made, the way I might have been "done wrong" by others...well, it does affect my mood and outlook on the day. So, I'm gonna work on that.

If there is one thing I learned from losing my Mom eight years ago, it is that LIFE IS SHORT. Breaking news, right? Well it might as well be with the way I race through my days...completely overlooking many of the little things that make life good. I tunnel-vision on a project or event and lose sight of all the opportunities for happiness along the way.

Well that is changing, folks.

You see, I turn the Big 4-0 in nine days. And lest you think I'm having some big mid-life, birthday-induced epiphany, it's really not that. I simply have so much to be thankful for. I have lived hard and loved deep and lost big. I have laughed, cried, hurt, celebrated, and tried (sometimes not hard enough admittedly) to document it along the way. And, God-willing, there is a lot more to come. I mean, just today a three year old woke me up singing "Cock-a-doodle-doooooooooooooooo" in my face. A smile-making moment for sure.

It's gonna be a good day.

Yikes. I'm Kinda Supposed to Be the Grown Up Now?

It didn't really hit me until we were pulling into the parking lot. The bright red sign pointed to Ruby Falls and suddenly the memories came flashing back.

It was 1980 and it was one of those marathon road trips we used to take without DVD players and gameboys and iPods. It was me, my sis, my folks and a whole lotta highway. I'm not sure how she did it, but my Mom had road trippin down to a fine art. We each had a little plastic drink holder thingy that stuck out of the window, a makeshift trashbag in the back, snacks readily available and a host of coloring books, travel games and anything else 2 young girls could need to keep them occupied for hours on end.

She was a magician, really.

During that one particular trip 30+ years ago, Lookout Mountain and Ruby Falls were on the itinerary. And, pulling up today it amazed me that now I am the one making memories for my own boys. (A scary thought, indeed.) Other than a backpack loaded down with snacks and ziplock baggies of wet wipes, my preparation for this last-minute trip was "hey guys! we're gonna go to Chattanooga for a couple days! Put your shoes on and let's go!" I consider it a victory that they both had a clean pair of underwear and a toothbrush to use. Clearly, my expectations are not very high.

Even though I might not have won the prize for The Most Organized and Prepared For Trip of the Century, the overall mission was accomplished. We spent a couple days in the company of family and, well, just having fun. No formal plans, no set agenda, we did as we pleased and took in many of the same sites I did as a young girl.

And, as we reached the end of our half-mile trek through the depths of the cave and reached our final destination--Ruby Falls-- I saw the wonder in my childrens' eyes as they stared at the majesty just like I did way back when. All the "he's touching me!" and the "Mommmm, I'm hungry/thirsty/ needing to go potty" as well as any worry about being "Super Mom" all dissapated as I watched look of sheer awe spread over their faces as they surveyed the brightly colored waterfall before them.

I may not be filling out any applications for Mother of the Millenium just yet... but we made some pretty special memories on this latest journey.

Isn't that what matters?

1...2....3.....4...BOOM!

I'm pretty sure I was smack dab in the middle of a good dream when a clap of thunder rocked the foundation of my house around 5 o'clock this morning. I bolted out of the covers, oh so certain a 747 had landed in my bedroom.

After my unexpected wake-up call, I realized it was just a strong thunderstorm and nestled back down under my toasty covers to enjoy the show. My crank-out window had been open all evening and the sound of the rain lulled me in and out of a drowsy sleep. The flashes of lightning were nearly constant--more 80's dance nightclub than peaceful light show but I was entranced nonetheless.

I have written many a time of my love for bad weather. As a young girl I would play the counting game to see if a storm was moving closer... A bolt of lightning would flash and I would start counting 1...2...3...4...5...6... CLAP! The thunder would boom. So, on the next flash of lightning I would begin to count 1...2...3...4..5 CLAP! Oooh! "I only got to five," I would exclaim! It's coming this way! My heart would race anticipating swirling winds and a thunderous invasion which would require me to leap under the nearest blanket for safety. I have no idea if my theory of counting in between thunder and lightning is a true indicator of a storm's position. But it sure did make for some fun childhood memories.

This morning I lay alone in the bed (Keith is in St.Louis) and relished my private light show. My slow inhale/exhale reflected my relaxation and I honestly did not want it to come to an end. I'm thinking a day of nasty weather and absolutely nothing to do sounds like a little piece of heaven to me.

A girl can dream, can't she?

Time Flies....

Time slips by on pitter patter feet
Hours fade into days and then
weeks gone by and suddenly

years

Seasons fly... first winter, now summer

A scant slice of spring in between

Where Christmas decor once stood, now

flowers

My mind is abuzz with to-do lists and wish lists and dreams

Balancing the have-to's from the want-to's or wish-I-could's

Creating memories while always striving to keep it

real

Cause I am just me

And life is what it is

I'll take

one

day

at

a

time...

...and make each one as beautiful, meaningful, productive and kick-butt as I can.

Cause time flies.

The least I can do is be a good co-pilot.

Nothing a Little Rain Can't Fix....

Just like a child who can't help but splash in a puddle....I couldn't resist. It had been raining all day and as my entire family napped in various locations around the house the urge overcame me. I ran into the garage, grabbed a couple old comforters and ran out to the trampoline. My strides were that of a little girl dancing between raindrops as I rounded the corner of the house.

The rain was steady and cool on my shoulders as I climbed through the net and slid onto the now-wet surface of the trampoline. I laid one comforter down hopped on and covered with the other--giggling to myself at how silly I would appear to anyone watching.

Strange how hard it rains now
Rows and rows of big dark clouds
When I'm holding on underneath this shroud
Rain

I lay there in my temporary cocoon watching the raindrops kerplunk! on the surface of the trampoline. The soothing rhythm of the rainfall beat lightly on my back as drops of water tickled any toes that might have snuck out of the bottom of my makeshift cover. I felt giddy and relaxed and rebellious--even protected-- as I lay there taking it all in.

Without doubt, I have had my fair share of challenges over the past few months. Stress has stolen from me the ability to find my inner "Katie-ness"...that part of me that delights in the simple, everyday pleasures of life. I have trusted others and been let down. I have given my all in certain situations only to find that the end result was not worth the sacrifices along the way. But all of those stresses and swirling thoughts of doubt fade away when raindrops are keeping you company.

Cause tomorrow's another day

And I'm thirsty anyway

So bring on the rain....

I found a little piece of myself today. I felt spontaneous and young and alive. All with the help of a rain shower, a trampoline and a couple of old blankets. I liked the Katie I spent time with today. I think I'll see if she wants to hang out more often.

All in a Day's Work

I had been watching the forecast all week...eyeing the 10-day weather tracker for Brentwood, Tennessee like a hawk and praying that the Isolated Thunderstorms icon would magically disappear. Having been an event planner for 16 years, I know my track record: If I plan it outside, it will rain. Period. So when the Wascom family hired me to plan an after rehearsal dinner for their son's wedding in an outdoor setting, the prayers for no rain began to fly.

June 24 arrived and I kicked it into gear. The day started with a few last minute errands and plans to be at the house by 11:30 to get set-up. Walking out of Kroger with The World's Officially Most Ginormous Fruit Tray Ever I felt confident and excited about the day ahead. I placed the tray on the front seat and cranked my car. Or, TRIED to crank my car but it was dead. D-E-A-D. No sign of life. 10 minutes later the hood is up and I am surrounded by four employees of that store assisting in the jumping off of my battery. Engine now purring, I thank them wholeheartedly and race to the venue to get things rolling.

And so the fun began.

Tables that were delivered the day before were rolled into the back yard. A call is placed to the rental company to tell them the chairs are not the ones I ordered. They dispatch another set to be delivered. I hold off on tablecloths in case the passing afternoon thunderstorm comes our way. Centerpieces I had made the night before were unloaded and supplies were brought in from the host's car. Plates and utensils were unwrapped, a candy/dessert bar was assembled, furniture rearranged, punch made, lighting set and placecards for the food and beverage were written and... my phone rings.

"Ms. Bodiford. We are here to deliver the chairs but no one is home."

No one is home because they have delivered the chairs to the billing address (MY house) instead of the delivery address (the venue). SIGH. Chairs are on the way, I leave instructions for chair placement with the homeowner and I race home to change and pick up a few more items I'll need for that evening.

As I pull in my driveway, the phone rings. "Katie, um, the new chairs they delivered are the same dark brown as the ones we have." Seriously rental company? A call is placed telling them we will use the darker brown but asking that they credit us for the cost of the chairs for the trouble. A quick 10 minute change and I am back on the road.

Arriving at the venue, I decide that we are past the threat of a rain shower so tablecloths are added, centerpieces and candles set, the caterer drops off food, food is arranged, candles are lit, beverages are iced, desserts are plated, guitarist arrives, music begins...

...and the guests arrive.

This is the moment I dread the most as an event planner. How will it flow? Do we have enough food? Will the guests have what they need? Will there be a comfortable vibe? Will it all go off smoothly?

Fast forward 30 minutes and it sinks in why I love what I do. The weather is gorgeous, the music being played by friends Dillon and Elise provides the perfect backdrop, candles are flickering, food has been devoured and there is plenty remaining, hugs are being shared, photos are being taken and there is laughter all around. Laughter and smiles and kudos are delivered to the host for the perfect evening. A smile stretches across my face as I take it all in.

You see, all the little behind the scenes glitches are invisible at this moment. The darker chairs do not matter because everyone sitting in them is laughing and sharing stories. The pecan pie that didn't plate perfectly is being declared by all as the best pecan pie they've ever eaten. The tight flow inside I worried about is a non-issue because everyone is hanging by the pool outside where I was certain it would rain...

What matters the most is a young couple and their families got to meet and mingle, laugh and create memories on this the eve of a very special day in their lives. Grandmothers meeting for the first time, babies cooing and nervous inlaws getting to know more about each other all made for an unforgettable evening. And as the sun went down and the guests slowly departed a barefoot and utterly relaxed hostess came up and gave me a big hug.

That's when I realized why I love my job so much. I may not spend my days saving lives, but I help people live them. And you know what? That is good enough for me.

Anyway

I debated about whether or not to say anything.

Martina McBride and I were the only customers in Party City this evening--she with her daughter and I with Jacob--and I couldn't resist sharing what one of her songs meant to me. As she looked my way, I said "well, Martina, I promised I would never do this but since my son is with me I cannot resist..."

I went on to explain about the day we got the call about meeting Jacob's birth parents and how petrified I was of the whole situation. I shared how scared I was to open my heart to let him in knowing his birth mother could change her mind and take him away from us. And that, as I was driving down the interstate, her song "Anyway" came on and how it instantly changed my perspective. I will never forget the feeling that swelled in my chest as she sang...

"You can spend your whole life building, something from nothing, one storm can come and blow it all away... build it anyway..."

Suddenly the haze lifted and my mind cleared. Yes, we are taking a risk by trusting this young woman. Yes, there is a chance we could have everything ready including our hearts and we could end up devastated. But the lyrics of the song gave me strength...

"God is great and sometimes life ain't good. And when I pray, it doesn't always turn out like I think it should... but I do it anyway......"

That was all I needed. I sat up straight, tears streaming down my cheeks and at that moment I made a commitment in my heart to love an unborn child that very well could not turn out to be ours. I chose to believe that all things happen for a reason and that the reward of loving and preparing for this new addition to our family outweighed the risk of a broken heart if she indeed changed her mind.

As I shared that with Martina, a smile slowly crawled across her face. She asked Jacob what his name was and he, of course, converted into Shy Mode and buried his face into my leg. She thanked me and I was ecstatic inside having gotten to share how much that song meant to me personally. It truly was the anthem of that entire adoption process.

"I sing......I dream.........I love............anyway........."

Thanks, Martina.

A Certain Madness

I love to write. I love putting into words even the most mundane things that occur throughout my day. Sometimes, truthfully, I love to write so that I am not the only one that knows what's going on in this crazy, mixed-up head of mine. And yet, I find myself going weeks, sometimes months, without logging a single word.

Why?

I hate to say it but I think I'm a lazy perfectionist. Is that possible? Every day, the perfect blog swirls in my head yet I never commit pen to paper--or finger to keyboard--to get it recorded before moving on to my next idea or the next thing on my to-do list. Sometimes it is just a lack of motivation but other times I'm afraid it's because I fear it's not "perfect." That it won't be worthy of someone's time and that is equally frustrating. I am as far from perfect as a person can be...why do I expect my writing to be? It's a madness I tell ya.

I am not going to make some big spectacle here and recommit to blogging something EVERY DAY. Instead, I'm going to give myself a break. I'm dealing with a lot of challenges right now...some I can write about and some I can't. But, what I can do is give myself a little grace and simply write when I can.

And maybe, just maybe, little bits of Katie will start pouring out again.

I guess if you're reading this, it's already working. :)

Hope for Hackleburg

I'm back home from my time spent in Hackleburg, Alabama. But somehow, I know I'll never be the same.

As I crested that same hill on day 2 of my efforts there, a certain realization sunk in. This town will never be the same. Although the scars of the land may heal in time, the emotional devastation to the core of such a tiny community runs deep. And day 2 in Hackleburg introduced me to more survivors that left me thankful for such an incredible opportunity. I can't bring myself to use the words "amazing" or "awesome" to describe the past couple days. It almost seems irreverent. But somehow, those words fit in many ways.

Amazing. I am amazed at the enormity of the destruction left behind by such a brief weather event. I am amazed at the fortitude of the townspeople I met--many of whom are elderly--and how they braved the storm in closets, hallways, and storm cellars. The response to the situation is amazing to me. The food tents set up on each corner next to semis loaded with supplies... from toiletries and clothing to many obscure things you'd never think about needing unless you had lost everything you owned. And mostly, I am amazed at the power of touch. A handshake, a hug, a touch on the arm to say "You are not alone. Help is here." In so many ways, I stand amazed at what I witnessed in that town.

Awesome. Even though the results were catastrophic, one cannot deny the awesome power of the weather cell that swept through the South on April 27. Awe-inspiring photos of the storm on the horizon continue to take my breath away. But to me, the most awesome part of the past couple days was the power of teamwork. A couple of us would see a homeowner working alone and stop by to offer help. And, without fail, what started as three of us sorting through the rubble grew to dozens of individuals from all over the country working together to make order were there once was none. Friendships were made, smiles were exchanged and a true feeling of community was felt. I will most likely never see any of those folks again...but for a brief time we shared a very important mission. That, to me, is awesome.

Now, as I try to insert myself into my normal routine and the task of being a wife, mother, daughter, sister and friend, I realize that a profound change has taken place within me. And the woman who is never at a lack for words simply cannot come up with the right words to explain it. Something is different. Something has changed about the way I view my surroundings. I look at the basket of Sharpie markers that I hold so dear and know that, in an instant, they could be strown miles from here. The dishes, and toys and knick-knacks that I spent time picking out to decorate my home could one day be wet and broken and tossed on a pile of rubbish by a woman named Sharon from Louisiana. It certainly puts the stresses of daily life and managing a home into perspective.

I am grateful for my time in Hackleburg...and that is not the last they have seen of me. There is much to be done. At some point the debris will be gone, the land cleared, some buildings rebuilt but the people affected by this storm will be forever changed. There are needs that go beyond toilet paper and bottled water. My greatest hope for Hackleburg is that this town will rebuild and thrive again.

That is my sincerest hope.

What a Difference This Day Made.....

The destruction around her was unfathomable. What once stood as her homestead--a modest house made of brick adorned with neatly trimmed bushes and whimsical garden art--now lay in a jumbled pile of twisted metal, bricks and scattered belongings. Almost oblivious to her indescribably tragic surroundings, Mrs. Ann sits in a tan leather recliner on the corner of her lot showing me pictures of how her house used to look. It's hard to believe the pictures are just a few weeks old. Hard to believe that in a freak moment of funnel cloud meeting ground, the life of an elderly woman in Hackleburg, Alabama has been forever changed.

As has mine.

As I drove on Hwy 43 South on my way to assist in the disaster relief efforts in this small town, I marveled at the beauty of the landscape. Lush green foilage enveloped rocky outcroppings and shimmering ponds lit up fertile pastures along the highway. As I passed the sign that read "Hackleburg City Limits" I was pleasantly surprised at the spring-like beauty of these rolling hills. It was then that I crested the last hill before entering town. What I saw defies explanation. Before my eyes was a swath of destruction that looked to be straight off a movie set. Leveled buildings interwined with piles of rubble and debris as far as the eye could see. Tears filled my eyes as I realized just how comprehensive the damages were. The schools? Gone. The stores? Gone. Gas stations? Gone. 80% of the homes in the town? Leveled. An unbelieveable sight at best.

The work of the day allowed me to meet some of the most remarkable people I have ever had the pleasure to come in contact with. I mentioned Mrs. Ann and her famous recliner. I embraced this woman for reasons that were initially unclear-- that was, until I started hearing her story. Lost her husband three years ago, no family to speak of and now all her worldy possessions lie in ruin a few feet from her. She had weathered the storm in a neighbor's storm shelter wrapped around two other elderly ladies--one of whom was 93. I listened as she recalled them linking their bodies together as they held the storm door closed to avoid being sucked out into the tornado. I would pass by periodically and check in on her, slather sun screen on her already toasty arms and neck and give her a much-needed shoulder massage to relieve her tension...if only for a few minutes. Mrs. Ann was a trooper and I felt very protective of her as we helped find anything worth salvaging in the debris.

A couple doors down stood a sprite of a lady in a light pink jacket and sporty sun visor. Ms. Geraldine was there to oversee the bulldozing and salvage of her family home...where her parents had lived and where she had created many a special memory. We spent a lot of time getting to know this special lady and I even cried with her as she broke down describing what her parents would have felt about all the destruction. I shared her pain as we looked at what was left of her family home and it reaffirmed why I was there. Ms. Geraldine is a class act and I am better for having met her.

Thennnn...there is Mrs. Pat. This woman begged us to help her find her "plates"--which I had to share were all broken and strown about the yard. Mrs. Pat was decked out in work boots, leggings and an oversized blue shirt. As I balanced on what used to be her kitchen wall, I lifted a fallen door and Pat exclaimed "you found my straw hat!!!" There, pinned under the wooden door was a half-bent, stained straw hat which she promptly placed atop her head. She was quite the jokester so I followed suit and tossed her a box of cake mix inquiring when she would bake it up for us...or why she hadn't "bothered" to straighten up if she knew she was having "company" (us). She smiled a warm smile and exclaimed, "if you can't laugh about things, life's not worth living." She is, without a doubt, my new hero.

I learned many things today. I learned that you can make a snap decision, jump in the car, drive hours away alone and make an unexpected difference. I learned that collegiate rivalries mean nothing when neighbor is helping neighbor recover pieces of their life strown about by nature's fury. I learned that organized chaos is the result of imperfect people doing a perfect job of trying to help others the best they know how. But, most of all, I learned that a smile, a handshake, a hug or even just a kind word can make every bit of difference in the lives of hurting people. I loved on people today. I cried with people today. I spent twenty minutes searching for Mrs. Ann's dentures and Mrs. Pat's dishes and sorting through pictures with Ms. Geraldine. And you know what? It may not have made a huge difference in the lives of these survivors.....

But it sure did in mine.

You Can Keep the Flying Cows...But I Do Love a Good Storm

The steady drum, drum, drumming

Of water on wood

Droplets splashing

Kerplunk!
A soothing rhythm
Enjoyable repetition

A steady lullaby

For sleepy eyes...

~ktb 04.27.11

* * *

The steady rain outside is soothing and, in a way, cleansing, but is a stark contrast to the fury that Mother Nature has unleashed lately. Tornado sirens have become almost commonplace and the dreaded "red cells" on the weather map seem almost expected.

Last night was no exception.

I piled the boys up in our bed and took my post on the couch to monitor the bad weather as it moved into our area. With each tick of the screen, the brightly colored swath inched a little closer to Franklin causing my heart to beat a little faster. The lightning flashed, the thunder boomed and I lay there under a soft, warm blanket taking it all in. At one point, I turned off the TV and let the flashes of lightning fill the room as the hard rain made music on the deck railings outside.

My love affair with weather started as a young girl as I took pictures of dark cloud formations thundering across the sky. My sister and I would curl up on my bed and count the seconds in between lightning bolt and thunder clap to gauge how close the storm was to us. With each count, the time between the two would grow shorter sending us into a fit of nervous giggles. My love of a good storm was firmly cemented from that moment on.

Maybe it's the thrill of the unknown that gets my heart racing as the dark clouds loom. Perhaps it's the break from monotony that turns the four walls of my home from just an ordinary house into a place that is secure and protective. Who knows? Regardless of what draws me to a good storm like moth to flame, I am hooked. I wouldn't get to the point of having a satelitte dish strapped to the top of a van and data reports of wind pressure spitting out of a machine in the back seat... but I can sure see a Chevy Tahoe out scouting around for a cool funnel cloud.

Care to join me anyone? ;)

If You Go Lookin For It, You Might Just Find It...

There have been a couple times over the past week that have have gone looking for contentment and, amazingly, I've found it.

One day last week, I'd had enough. Stresses that had been building over the past month as well as putting on a major event had simply worn me out. I had been burning the candle at both ends and trying to be all things to all people and I needed a break. So, I took what I called a "mental health day" and basically laid on a blanket in the back yard. I watched the clouds passing by overhead and reveled in the gorgeous blue color of the sky. I soaked in the warm rays of sunshine and rolled over to find the most delicate of flowers disguised as a weed. No bigger than a pencil eraser, this yellow beauty lay hidden among the blades of grass partially trampled as I picked the perfect spot.... and it was only after close observation that I even noticed it. I made note of its tiny, delicate petals and how perfectly formed it was. I marveled that had I not made a point to take a "time out", go outside, lay on a blanket and stare at the ground...I would have never discovered this perfectly perfect little bloom.

What a metaphor for every day life. What beautiful things are right under our nose--largely unnoticed due to our "busyness" or our failure to simply look for them? Yes, the little yellow bloom I found was indeed "just" a weed. But it was beautiful and a much-needed reminder that focusing on even the most minute, seemingly unimportant details can bring things into perspective.

I also found contentment this evening in the most simple of acts. And that act was cooking dinner. I picked up the boys from school and had NO desire to go get groceries. However, not only did I buy groceries, I bought enough to last a couple weeks. And after putting them away, I put in a load of laundry and began cooking dinner. The boys were outside and Keith was cutting the lawn and I found it. Contentment. I lit the candles in my kitchen and living room and soaked in the simple pleasure of having enough. Enough money to buy the groceries I needed (and many I didn't!), enough time to pick up the boys from school and take them with me on my excursion, enough determination to clean the house before we left for Easter so I could have a peaceful start to our week... and enough insight to appreciate the simplicity of an uneventful, regular ol' evening of doing things for my family.

Needless to say, I'm happy I made a conscious decision to look for contentment lately and am always amazed and when, and how, I find it. One thing's for sure--whether it's in the unappreciated beauty of a miniscule flower or the sizzling of onions in a skillet on my stove...I'll be looking at my life a little differently from now on.

The Dancin Bear

There are people in your life that just make you smile. Period. Gary Murphree was one of those people. That is why his passing yesterday makes me so intensely sad.

Affectionately known as The Dancin Bear, my friend Gary was one of the kindest, most gentle souls I have ever met. Never without a twinkle in his eye, his quiet strength and soft spoken demeanor only served to mask a cunning wit and keen sense of humor.

I have told this story many a time in the sixteen years I have known Gary. It was 1995 and we were sitting around a table with a group of friends at a restaurant during a real estate conference I had organized. The mood was jovial as we all shared our favorite stories. The discussion then moved to a central theme: "What is a dream or fantasy you've always had?" When it came to me, I said, "well, my fantasy has always been to be in a long red sequined dress, thrown across a piano singing some deep throaty torchy song in a piano bar...." Without missing a beat, Gary quickly spoke up and, in a faked tone of disbelief, said, "That's unbelieveable! MY fantasy has always been for you to be in a long red sequined dress, thrown across a piano singing some..........." He didn't even get to finish as outbursts of laughter filled the air. I reached over, smacked him on the head as he blushed profusely.

It was a story I will never forget. Nor will I forget the sweet man who was never without a kind smile, a warm hug or a nice thing to say about someone.

You will be missed Dancin Bear. I'll sing one for you soon.

Just Another Day...

Tomorrow is March 13. It's just another day. Really, it is.

But I have been in a funky mood today and, truthfully, have wanted to do nothing but curl up in the fetal position. And I have a strong suspicion that it has something to do with tomorrow being the anniversary of my Mom's death.

I have written on here before about this particular day not being harder than any other day without her. Every day is a day that I cannot ask her for a recipe, or call her on the way home from work or share with her my favorite new song. Every day is a day that I wish I had my Mom to help me sew window treatments or to put the trivial challenges of my life into perspective. It is another day that I look at my boys and wish that she would be able to know them, and love them, and sew cool stuffed animals for them like she did for so many of my friends' children. Every day is just that. Another day without her.

But, when chatting with my friend Amy the other day, we discussed how the children she adopted from Ethiopia were experiencing some behavior changes as they approached the time of their mother's death. We talked about how children who don't even know that the anniversary may be coming seem to instinctively sense it... as if some cyclical force somehow reminded them-- even subconsciously-- of their loss.

All I know is that I have indeed been in a funk today. I miss her. I miss her calling and telling me to "put the rolls in!" when they were approaching our house around dinnertime. I miss the way she would call me "Kate-a-la" when she needed me or the silly box of newspaper clippings she'd always have waiting on us when we'd go for a visit. I miss all of it.

Tomorrow is just another day. But, for some reason, my heart hurts more than usual.

Today, tomorrow, and every day...I miss you, Mom.

If He Knew the Number To Child Services, He'd Probably Use It....

Jacob, my wide-eyed three year old, is at that stage where every stinkin thing he says or does is cute. His view of the world and how he communicates provides some sort of comedic relief every. single. day.

Today was no exception.

I was gathering my things before heading out the door to take J to school when he spotted a conference binder from an event I did in New York in September 2007. As I do with every event, I slip pictures of the kiddos in the back of my binder to appease all the kind folks that say "have any pics of the boys?!" On this particular binder there was a pic of Keith, Daniel and me taken at a family reunion earlier that year. And Jacob, you see, was born at the end of November 2007 so naturally he was not in the pic.

But this was lost on my child.

Eyeing the picture carefully, he looked up at me with those saucer-sized baby blues and said, "I see Daddddy....and Danielllll...and Mommmmmy.... but I no see Ja-jub." Quickly I responded , "I know baby. That's because you weren't born yet."

"Why?" he asked.

"Well, because you were born a few months later."

"Why?"

"Well, because that's when God wanted you to be born."

"Why?"

"Oh, come on, let's get our stuff and head to school, ok?"

That's when he dropped the bomb. He stopped in his tracks, looked up at me with the saddest, most earnest look of betrayal that these eyes have ever witnessed and said:

"Why you leave me home all by myself???"

"What baby?" I asked, wanting to make sure I understood him.

"Ja-jub no in picture. Whyyy you leave me home all by myselfffff?"

I busted out laughing and reached down, picked him up and hugged him tightly while trying to compose myself.

"Momma would never leave you home all by yourself, baby. Jacob had not been born yet. That's why you aren't in the picture. God had not made you yet. "

"Why?"

"Because God had a special time that he wanted us to become your Mommy and Daddy. So he made you at that time."

"Why?"

"Because, well....(going for the distraction route) uh, hey be sure and grab your jacket, ok???"

"Why?"

Lawd help me.

Sunrises, Solitude and Burrito-Wrapped Sweetness

It took five solitary footsteps to realize I was the only one up at 6 o'clock this morning. The house was uncharacteristically silent as I padded down the hallway and past the kitchen window. I did a double take and then raced into the laundry room to grab my camera bag. The sun was just beginning to peek out from behind the soft clouds and I wanted to be sure to capture it when it did.


I snapped a few photos when I heard the patter of little feet scampering down the hallway. I walked inside to find a tousled hair little fella wearing nothing but a Charlie Brown shirt and some white baseball-themed little fella underwear. I asked him if he would watch the sunrise with me and as he sleepily nodded yes I wrapped him in a blanket and we ventured outside to a front porch rocking chair to enjoy our own private show.




I sat down with my burrito child and began to rock back and forth slowly while puffy dark clouds crossed in a single line formation across the sky. The birds chirped cheerily in the distance as we rocked back and forth, back and forth..... Jacob's contentment spurred my own as I watched him watching the sky with wonder. I began to sing to him a song my Mom sang to me as a child....

"Sunshine on my shoulders makes me happy.......
sunshine, in my eyes, can make me cry.....
sunshine, on the water, looks so lovely...
sunshine almost always makes me high..."

As the sun dipped behind the clouds again, Jacob turned around to face me and wrapped his arms around my neck. I placed my forehead against his peering into his blue eyes with my own and asked him, "are you happy?" He nodded yes and then softly laid his head on my shoulder.

I savored more than a sunrise this morning. I soaked in the simple solitude of mother and child enjoying a quiet moment together... a moment when it didn't matter what the house looked like, or how much laundry still needed to be done. It was just me and my child rocking back and forth surveying God's handiwork.

It was a good morning indeed.

A Morning Conversation

I talked with my child this morning. This went beyond the normal conversation between Momma and Jacob (my 3 year old). It went beyond "PopTart. Handy Manny." (which translates into "Dear Mother. Would you be so kind as to cook me a breakfast pastry and then allow me to eat said pastry whilst watching my favorite cartoon character fix things?")

Instead, it went something like this:

(setting the scene: Katie on couch under blanket because she was rooted out of her bed by a 3 year old with a penchant for sleeping horizontally. Jacob wakes up to find her gone, comes running in the living room and the conversation ensues.)

"Good morning, Jacob..."

"Ta mornin Momma"

"Why were you sleeping in Mommy's bed last night? You haven't done that in a long time."

"Der were piders and snakes in my bad-tub and dey were cwawlin on the bad-tub and dey were..."

"Wait. There were spiders and snakes crawling in your bathtub?"

"Yes. And dinosaurs."

"Dinosaurs were in your bathtub, too?"

"Yes. Cause my bad-tub was wheely, wheely, wheelllllly big."

"Well I guess it would have to be, wouldn't it?"

"Yeah and the dinosaur had red and blue on him and had wheelllly big hands."

"Wow."

"Yeah and the dinosaur was scared of the pider too and jumped out my bad-tub. And I don't like dinosaurs cause dey scare me and dey don't love Jacob. Jacob does not like dinosaurs but he does like Mommy."

"Well that's good to know. You know dinosaurs aren't really real anymore, right? I mean they were a long time ago (am I really trying to explain extinction to a three year old?) but they all died and they aren't real anymore."

"Why?"

"Well because there are only so many of some kinds of animals and once they all die there aren't anymore left."

"Why?"

:: silence ::

"Hey, how about a Pop Tart?"

Is a Haircut and Blowdry Included with this Shampoo?

Yeah, I've had quite a year so far. First I crash a funeral and now this. I've been told once or twice to write a book about this adventure that is my life. For the first time, I might actually consider it. Cause Erma Bombeck ain't got nothin on this.

It was all a blur, really. Just an hour or so ago I was going about my daily routine which, on this day, included a quick swing through the car wash. How to convey what happened in words is going to be somewhat of a challenge because this truly was an "on location situation." But, I shall try.

As I pulled up to the attendant to select and pay for my car wash, I rolled down my window. No big deal, right? Normally. But, you see, this is the window on the side of my car that hit a deer a couple months ago and I completely forgot that it does not roll up quickly. That's actually an understatement. I have watched molasses pour out of a sticky bell jar faster than my window rolls up. Do you see where I am going with this?

So I pay the attendant who instructs me to slowly pull forward. He then begins yelling at me in Spanish and all I understand is "NO HIT BRAKES!" So, I am trying my best to comply as I come to the tragic realization that my window is not rolling up. The HotMamaMobile is slowly being sucked into the Vortex of High Velocity Soap Spray and I cannot get it to roll up. Supersonic jets of white suds are being shot with machine gun intensity straight into my driver side window. As I frantically punched the "up" button on the arm rest, the inside of my car including my steering wheel, dash, console and ME are coated in soap suds.

Meanwhile (I wanna see if you are paying close attention...) what has Katie ALSO forgotten to do? She is so panicked about NOT hitting the brakes and getting her window to roll up, she has......yep, you guessed it......forgotten to put her car in NEUTRAL. It occurred to me that none of the washing mechanisms were coming on because I am barreling through this narrow passageway at 50 miles per hour. As I approach the exit, the two young Hispanic men that are drying off my friend Heather's car in front of me sense their impending death and start waving their hands yelling "BRAKE! BRAKE!" I slam on the brakes and come to a sudden stop, soap covered and laughing hysterically.

The manager comes over to my window--which is finally rolled up-- and asks me to follow her around the side where she asks one of the cars in the front of the line if I can cut in and have another go at it. At this point, I am crying because I am laughing so hard and wonder what others must think of the sudsy minivan-turned-winter parade float that is cutting in line.

So, I approach the scene of my latest Episode of Tragic Embarassment, keep my window rolled up, place my car in NEUTRAL as soon as I am jacked up on the spinning roller thingy and I come out nice and clean. And, although the rest of my visit was without incident, I am sure I am now a legend at the Auto Express Washateria.

But I will say this... the left side of my hair has never been shinier.

Soul Food of a Different Sort

There are certain non-earth-shattering experiences in life that make me want to write about it right then...as in "pull-the-car-over-and-grab-a-napkin-and-anything-to-write-with" kind of right then. This evening was one of those times.

The sun was setting as I pulled onto Highway 31 to go pick up Jacob and I couldn't help but be mesmerized by the unusual cloud patterns and how the fading sunlight illuminated the horizon. Yes, I write about and photograph sunrises and sunsets all the time. But, this one was different.

Perhaps it was the storm front moving in from the west, but a low, dark swath of clouds stretched across the sky. All the clouds above were bathed in deep peaches and pinks with a ribbon of lavender swirled throughout. As I drove, one of my favorite songs, "In Your Eyes" by Peter Gabriel poured out of my radio....

"...when I want to run away, I drive off in my car... but whichever way I go I come back to the place you are..."

On the rolling hillside, winter-bare trees took on a nearly magical form as their intricate branches were backlit by the stunning colors of the sunset. I have seen these same trees every day as I drive to and from the school but, on this evening, each one seemed like a masterpiece--framed only for my eyes. Their jagged branches twisted and curled toward the sky forming interlocking shapes that all but demanded my gaze.

"In your eyes, the light, the heat...I am complete...in your eyes....I see the doorways to a thousand churches...."

I don't know how to explain how taken I was by this scene. It occurred to me that in my life, I am always biding time in between the "circled" dates on the calendar--that big event, or special holidays...even visits from friends and family. Much like a roller coaster, I find myself waiting for that "high" only to come back down again to catch my breath for a few moments. But tonight was an ordinary moment turned extraordinary. It was a drive I do twice a day--sometimes more--that turned into a soothing feast for the senses.

You know, sometimes it's the down time in our everyday routine--the dips in the roller coaster ride--where beauty can be found. I found this beauty today in the colors of clouds, the silhouettes of tree branches and the words of a familiar song... food for my soul indeed.

A Bedtime Prayer

Jacob's bedtime prayer last night:

"Dear God,

Thank you for my food. And thank you for Donald Duck and thank you for Daisy Duck.

Amen."


Good grief I love that child.

Nine Years Ago Today...

9 years ago today, a baby was born. I'll never know exactly when or where, or colors were on the drapes in the hospital room, or if there was even a hospital room involved....but there is one thing that is sure about that day. My heart leapt.

You see, we had tried for eight long years to have a child but to no avail. Toward the end of that time period, my Mom and I began to look at patterns for baby clothes and she even picked out the name she wanted to be called by her grandchild(ren): Grammy. But then my focus was tossed in another direction with a hard shift to the left... in 2002, my Mom was diagnosed with cancer that spread quickly from the lung to lymph nodes to brain and eventually her bones before robbing me of that precious influence on my life in March 2003. The day of her funeral, I looked at Keith and said "Enough is enough. Life is too short. We are adopting."

One would think our adoption story began there. But it didn't. You see, on February 6, 2002 a little baby boy was born in Astrakhan, Russia...a small city just a few hundred miles from the Caspian Sea. And on that day, our journey to each other began. At almost the exact time that he was saying goodbye to his birthmother, I was saying goodbye to my own. The winding, twisting path to parenthood took 8 months until that February day, shortly after his second birthday, when I held my child in my arms for the first time.

The past 9 years have been a whirlwind of change and growth in our lives. And I would like to share this with my oldest child on his 9th birthday:


Daniel,
Today is the last time you will celebrate a birthday with one number in it. You are growing so fast and learning new things at a rate which continually amazes me. You are a smart, funny, stubborn, engaging, determined and loving child who brings joy to my life daily. You challenge me to be a better person and serve as a daily reminder to me to live life with zest and an appreciation for the little things. We are never without our "butting heads" times but I sense that is because are so much alike and for that, I am grateful. I want only the best for you and will continue to be here for every laugh, every smile, every tear, every bump or bruise. Although my kisses may not always magically make it better, I will always be here for you and will always be proud to call you my son.

Love,
Momma

Nine years ago today, a little boy was born. I may not have heard the first cry or have seen his first step. But I was there. I knew him in my heart long before he stepped into my arms....

Happy Birthday, Daniel. I could not love you more.

The Little Pleasures of Life

I envied my child.

Just moments ago, I watched him do something he does, without fail, every morning of his little boy week. He stood there, in his comfy little "buzz jamas" (Toy Story pajamas), watching Handy Manny and eating breakfast.

So, where does the envy part come in?

Well, as he noticed me watching him, he grinned from ear to ear skipped over to my chair and gave my leg a tight hug. He then skipped back to his "spot," positioned his warm bowl of oatmeal just so, made some little boy noise of contentment and took a sip of his milk as he watched his favorite show. It was at that moment that I realized all was right in his world and just how remarkable the beauty and innocence of childhood really is. He had all he needed at that moment. Something to eat, his favorite pj's, his favorite show and his Momma right by his side.

It made me think: when is the last time I felt that content? That happy? And then it hit me... RIGHT THEN. That is when I last felt that way.

I may not have a mind unburdened by the stresses of this world...but my little boy does. I may not have all the perfect pieces of my dream morning line up for me each day... but my little boy does. And, I might not have a Mom anymore to watch me take delight in all the little pleasures of life... but he does.

And that, for me, is all the contentment I'll ever need.

It Will Stop Snowing at Some Point, Won't It?

At least I packed with this kind of weather in mind.

But, what I didn't expect was the swing in weather that I've experienced since arriving in Alberta, Canada on Wednesday. After landing in Calgary, I threw on the heavy, Antarctica-style coat only to shed it the moment I stepped out the door. The air was crisp but not chilly making it feel like an early Spring day back home in Nashville rather than a wintry Canada day. For the next couple days, I delighted in this unexpected blast of "warmth" and stowed my winter gear in the closet.

That was then. As of today, it is 12 degrees outside and we got a foot of snow overnight and it is still pouring down. It is oh-so-beautiful but COLD OH MY GOODNESS IS IT COLD.

Tomorrow I head back to Nashville where I hear people are at the park in short sleeves and such. I am green with envy. Winter 2011 has allowed me to see more snow than some folks see in a lifetime.

Bring on the buttercups, Momma Nature. I couldn't be more ready.

If We Don't Answer Does it Count?

Her voice is always chipper

And Birdsong is her name

If her name was Carol Williams

It just wouldn't be the same

She's Mother Nature's Helper

Every school child's dream

But her name showing up on caller I.D.

Makes parents want to scream

The yard is now snow covered

As the flakes do softly fall

I sit in dread

Cause I know what's coming...

The Carol Birdsong call!

Have Kleenex, Will Grieve....

I dreaded it like the plague. And, before I tell my story I will preface it by saying that this would only happen to me. Trust me.

My flight had just landed in Albuquerque, New Mexico and I was hopping in a rental car to race to the hotel to change before going to the funeral home for the viewing. My insides were all twisted as I realized the finality of seeing my friend/ client/ coworker for the very last time.

I had booked my hotel room off an online site because of its proximity to Daniels Family Funeral Home where Debbie's services were being held. As I exited the interstate to head to the hotel, I drove past a sign for Daniels Family Funeral Home and saw a blue gazillion people milling about outside.

Ugggg. Was I prepared for this? I would only know a handful of people but was I ready for all the sadness and the grieving? That sure was a lot of people.

After making it to the hotel and changing clothes, I retraced my route back to the funeral home and parked the car. I then took a deep breath and made my way to the front door where a nice gentleman named Mr. Louis pointed me to the guest book. All around me were people in huddled circles quietly whispering or crying and I instantly felt a lump in my throat as I realized the reason we were all there. Young and old, I surveyed the throngs of people that had come to pay their respects as I eased my way into the parlor.

The music was playing and a slideshow was flashing above and my heart sunk as I eyed the casket for the first time. There were flowers everywhere and several people gathered around her so I slipped in a back pew and began to cry. I cried for the senselessness of it...losing someone with whom I had such close daily contact at age 48. It just didn't make sense. I occasionally glanced up at the slideshow and saw pics of her boys apparently fishing or four wheeling and it made me cry a little harder as the enormity of their loss sunk in.

Just then, it occurred to me that I had not seen a single photo of Debbie during the entire slideshow....and then the thought crossed my mind that I didn't know that Debbie actually knew so many Hispanic people.................and, just then, the crowd moved away from the casket revealing to me my greatest fear at that moment. I was plopped down on a back pew grieving for..........a 17 year old named Pedro.

I was mortified.

As the only blonde in the room, I stuck out like a sore thumb. I had noticed glances cast my way since I arrived but then it sunk in. They were all wondering who I was and why Pedro's death had hit me so hard. She must have been the teacher "that cared"...I bet some of them thought. I prayed they didn't see me doing my little side step scamper as I exited the room.

Upon cross examination of Mr. Louis, I learned that Daniels Family Funeral Home has six locations in Albuquerque and that Debbie's services were being held 15 minutes away. As I got into the car, I know onlookers thought I was sobbing in heavy grief. I was actually giggling so hard I could barely breathe. Only I would make it into full-on grief mode at the funeral of someone I do not know. I mean, crashing a wedding is one thing...you get good food and maybe some dancing or a champagne toast. But crashing a funeral is a different story.

I will say that, although it was a highly embarrassing situation to be in and I am saddened at the loss of a teenager's life cut short, my mishap served as much-needed comic relief before I did have to face the real service for which I had traveled so far.

Just wish I could have heard those first folks as they were reading the guestbook.....

"Quien es Katie?"

Yeah, Well...You Gotta Start Sometime

It was there. Right at the top of my list of things to do in the new year:

BLOG EVERY DAY.

Even if it is a favorite quote or how I watched one leaf as it fell from the tree and followed it all the way to the ground (I know you can't wait for that post)...but blog SOMETHING every day. And what is today? January the what? The 14th. Have I blogged even one time since the beginning of 2011? Nope. Do I have good reason? Yep.

But that's beside the point. I am here. And I am typing and I resolve to begin today...to return to this little home of mine and open the curtains, remove the dustcovers from all the furniture, and let the sunlight pour in. And even if no one comes for a visit because they think this house has been long boarded up, that's ok, too. I need to be here.

Hello old friend. I've missed you.

I Scream, You Scream, We all Scream for Snow Cream!

So, it's bitter cold outside and I have two restless natives home from school. So, we got creative and made "Snow Cream"....it's actually pretty yummy. :)

Here's the "recipe":

Snow Cream

1 gallon fresh snow

2 cups milk

1 cup sugar

2 Tablespoons vanilla flavoring

**optional: we added white chocolate chips, too!

Mix it all together and enjoy!

Take Down the Lights Folks...Christmas is Over!

It was November 29...which means it was not even December. I stroll into Hobby Lobby to purchase decorations for a Christmas event I'm doing for a client. The sample decor pieces I had purchased the week before were sold out so I set out to find a Hobby Lobby clerk to see if they might have more in stock. I heard quite a clatter a few aisles over so I headed in that direction. I found not one, but three employees stripping shelves and replacing product with a "Spring Collection."

Spring? Butterflies? lawn chairs? Garden art? Really?

As I asked them if they had more of a particular type of ornament in stock they looked at me as if I had three heads and said "No. Christmas is over in our world."

Are you kidding me? It's not even December but I am out of luck on my Christmas decoration hunt because it's time to focus on plastic beach toys and fake rocks that say "Mom's Garden"?

I was deflated.

So....next year, I am planning a Christmas project shopping spree for August 27. By then all the Halloween and Thanksgiving items will be on clearance and just about gone so we can focus on Christmas shopping...you know, on our way to a cookout at the pool.

Happy LaborHallowThanksMas everyone.

Sigh.

Happy Birthday, Jacob

Dear Jacob,

My heart almost burst with love for you yesterday.

We were decorating for Christmas and you walked over to a box of ornaments, picked up a little wreath that had a bell attached and shook it as you sang--in the faintest of voices-- "Jiggle Bell, Jiggle Bell, jiggle all away..." The rest of the chorus was muffled but it was undoubtedly the sweetest thing I have ever seen. I didn't know you even knew that song much less an attempt at the words. No, it wasn't some huge milestone that has its own page in baby books. It was one of those little nuggets of time when I wanted to press the "pause" button and soak in the wonder of you. I have had many of those moments in the past three years. And, one thing is for certain. Your fiery temper and independent "I do it" nature is balanced well with a tender, sweet, playful spirit that shines brightly through those big, blue eyes...eyes that make me melt on a daily basis.

I remember three years ago like it was yesterday. The classic image of an expectant mother, I was sitting in your nursery rocking in a rocking chair with nothing but a small table lamp illuminating the features of your room. I surveyed the murals on the wall, the closet full of tiny clothes and the basket of stuffed animals ready to be loved. I listened to the rain drops fall softly on the window ledge outside and dreamed of holding you and gently rocking you to sleep. Two short days later you came into this world and the countdown to bring you home began. As grueling as that process was in 2007, it is but a distant memory as you sit 3 feet from me right now playing with the new tool set you got for your birthday.

The joy you bring to our lives is inexplicable. Your enthusiasm for each new day, your sly little grin and the way you bound into my arms each morning makes my heart smile. You are a wonderful, smart, curious, energetic, humorous, stubborn, sweet child and I am blessed to be your Mom.

Happy 3rd birthday, Jacob. I could not love you more.

Thank You, Michael Jackson.

They say love defies barriers of all kinds: distance, age, race, time, language and even socio-economic status. But love's got nothin' on the King of Pop. And for that, I am grateful.

You see, good friends Amy and David recently expanded their heart and their home to bring home a sibling pair from Ethiopia. Mary and Mel (ages 10 and 8) have experienced more change in their short lives than many kids do well into adulthood. After the death of their biological mother last year, they were living in an orphanage before making their transition to America following the finalization of their adoption by the Watsons.

Being an adoptive parent myself, I know firsthand the challenges presented by bringing home a child who has not been exposed to the English language. For Amy and David, that issue is multiplied not only by the fact they brought home two children, but also the older age of their kiddos presents its own inherent challenges. Accustomed to being able to communicate their needs and emotions, Mary and Mel are now surrounded by well-meaning Americans who long to talk and interact with them but are, understandably, intimidated by the language barrier.

This is the situation I found myself in while hanging with Amy and the kids this evening.

Shy and quite timid around adults, Mary is a beautiful young woman whose maternal instincts towards her brother Mel remind you that they are used to watching out for each other. Mel, on the other hand, is quite the little charmer. His big brown eyes sparkle with mischief as he ducks from your gaze all while trying to conceal the huge grin on his face. My attempts to communicate with Mary were mostly limited to a quick nod of the head or smile while my time with Mel included several rounds of "gimme five. way up high. way down low. You're too slow..." (only he got me every time. )
That was, until Mel turned on the CD player and on came a Michael Jackson song. Without thinking, I immediately started singing along.

"Hey pretty baby with the high heels on...you gimme fever like I've never ever known..." The familiar high-pitched strains of the song "The Way You Make Me Feel" came on and, when I started singing, both Mary and Mel looked up and stared with smiles on their faces. Just then, Mel started showing me his finest M.J. dance moves as I tried in earnest to hit the high, high notes "hee! hee hee!" Mary started giggling and watched me intently for the first time since we'd met. She then looked over and told Amy I was "crazy."

I couldn't have been more thrilled. Know why?

Because I AM crazy. Everybody tells me so. And thanks to Michael Jackson, Mary knows so, too. The power of music transcended culture, heritage, age and especially language as it brought me a little closer to these children for whom I had been praying for a very long time. For a moment, a simple song on the radio made it feel as if those kids had always been a part of our lives and that there were absolutely no barriers with which we had to contend. There was just a boy and a girl,smiles on their faces and a crazy blonde lady singing along to the radio.

Thank you, Michael Jackson, for the gift you gave me this evening. The gift of moving one tiny step closer to gaining the trust of these wonderful kiddos.

Music is a beautiful thing.

Just When You Shower and Put on Make-Up, Life Throws a Deer at Ya

It had been a rough few days at the Casa de Bodiford. After the marathon trip from Vegas, I got to have an unexpected Mommy-Son Date at the Vanderbilt Urgent Care on Sunday morning. Daniel was diagnosed with Strep and I, not wanting to be left out of the fun, came out with an inner and outer ear infection. We don't believe in doing anything halfway. No sir.

Then, there was the rush-order eagle habitat diorama project thingy, Daniel returning to school to turn in project thingy in the pouring rain, followed by my ear infection turning into "There Has to Be a Midget Lodged in My Ear Stabbing Me With an Ice Pick" syndrome landing me back in urgent care for a re-evaluation.

Isn't this fun to read about? Oh but wait. There's more. Yes, I said more. The FUN IT NEVER STOPS, I TELL YA.

So after getting a shot in the boo-tay which made me feel a million and one times better, I tell D we are going to pick up Jacob, meet Dad for dinner and go find his Halloween costume. I showered. I picked out an outfit that was not made of a stretchy material, I put on make-up and I even DID MY HAIR (meaning no pigtails or ballcap, y'all. I'm not making this stuff up!). I might have even felt somewhat sassy. (I guess being clean will do that to ya)

So, I have picked up the youngest of my spawn and we are toodling (yes, I said toodling) down the highway picking up speed when all of a sudden BAM! a deer runs out onto the highway from my left hand side and straight into my van. It was such an out-of-the-blue startle, I tried to veer to the right but it was too late. I hit it full speed, it crashed into my door, knocked off the mirror, flipped onto my windshield breaking it before flying over the top of my van and into the unknown. Daniel (who has been in an accident before) flipped out and I pulled over to the side of the road and tried to console him before evaluating the damage.

After trying my door which would not open, I had to "Bo Duke-it" (if you don't get that reference, that means I am old) out the passenger side door. I called the police who showed up in full force making it look more like a drug bust than an accident scene.

The good thing is the boys and I were not hurt. Yes, Momma's Morning Party Van is a little banged up but it's nothing that can't be fixed. It is just another speed bump in the road of life...slowing us down and making us remember the important things. Life, loved ones and finding Halloween costumes which Daniel pointed out to me as I was answering the police officer's questions.

"We're STILL GONNA GO GET MY HALLOWEEN COSTUME RIGHT, MOM?"

"Yes, son. We're all alive and safe and not in an ambulance. And yes, we're going to get your costume."

See how good I am at teaching priorities?

So, here I sit, alive, still somewhat clean and nursing a 2 year old with a 102 fever. The Week of Non-Stop Fun Continues. :)

Stay Tuned....

Motel 6 Will Leave the Light on For Ya, but Delta Won't...Just Sayin

I could have chosen to think of it as "mood lighting"... because the dim lights and darkened counters that I discovered at the Delta ticketing area at Las Vegas' McCarren International Airport at one o'clock this morning put me in a mood alright. But not a happy one, I assure you.

You see, I had chosen to take a red eye flight so that I could get to Birmingham in time to drive down to my Dad's, pick up the boys, and make it back to Nashville earlier rather than later. So, I stayed up last night and headed to the airport at 12:15 to return the rental car and check in for my flight. Even after trying to find my way into the airport because of road closures and returning a rental car, I walked into the terminal at 1:00am for a 1:50am flight. Since I was checking no bags and was armed with only a backpack, I thought it would be a breeze to board my flight and be home bound.

Not so much.

Because almost a full hour prior to my 1:50am flight, the Delta Airlines ticketing area showed no signs of life. No one to be found, Lights off. Self check-in kiosks beaming the message "Closed until 3:30am." WHAT? This had to be a mistake. How would I get my boarding pass for the flight since I was still under the typical 45-minute cut-off? I raced to the reader board and it said "Delta Flight 1788 to Memphis. Gate D36. On Time." So I knew there was at least ONE Delta employee in that airport checking folks in at the gate. But I did not have a boarding pass, so how would I get to them?

I ran to the security line, explained the situation and what was their Response Filled With Compassion and Humanity? It went something like this:

"Well, I can tell you this. You're not getting through here without a boarding pass."

Thank you. Thank you for that helpful tidbit of information.

Without going on about every painful detail of the next 20 minutes, I will give you a brief summary:

1. Dark ticketing area abandoned like a Wild West town without the tumbleweeds blowin around

2. Raced to D-gate security and encountered Ms. Congeniality and her faithful sidekick "I Don't Work for the Airlines So I Can't Help Ya"

3. Used white COURTESY phone (yeah, need a name change on that one) and was told to call Delta on their main 1-800 number. Yeah, that'll get me a quick local response.

4. Tried 10 more self check-in kiosks only to find them all glaring the words "Closed Until 4:15am"

5. Tried the white "Hotline from H-E-double-hockey-stick" again to discover a recorded menu "for driving directions to the airport, press one" (um, I'm already here? "for travel tips, press two" (um, yes, DON"T FLY DELTA would be my tip o' the moment.)

6. Used the white COURTESY phone one more time to have someone tell me "I talked to one of the luggage guys and he said you are now too late for the flight." IMAGINE THAT.

Needless to say, I spent a frustrating evening alone in a deserted airport surrounded only by the little Asian man buffing the floors and 5,300 slot machines singing "bing bing bing bing, bong, bong, bong, bong, Wheeeeeeeel! of! Fortuneeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" I will spare you the rest of the gory details about finally getting on a 6am flight, being charged a change fee to do so and the unbelieveable rudeness I experienced at the gate trying to board the plane. Needless to say, Delta did not make Katie's list of "Things I Love about Life" last Friday.

I lead a glamorous life, I tell ya. ;)

My Name's Not Flo, But You Can Still Kiss My Grits

As the warm, gentle glow of morning light softly kisses the horizon and the stars fade as a new day opens its sleepy eyes to greet me, I hear "POP TART CHOCATE MILK!"

Such is the good morning greeting I get from the youngest of my spawn.

Everyone has a routine of sorts in the morning-- even if their routine is to not have a routine at all. Lately, mine has been the demand of a 2 year old for a Pop Tart. Lest he think that is how to get what you want, I go through the motherly motions of "is that how we are supposed to ask?" or... "what would be a better way to ask Mommy?" So, then he tries again: "Peez Momma, may I have PopTart and chocate milk?"

Much better.

The culinary demands of my oldest are much more refined. He has developed a negotiation strategy that has served him well. "If I get up on the first try, will you make me an omelette?" Now, seeing as this child makes a toothpick look meaty, I will pretty much cook him anything he wants if he will eat it. After the terms of the agreement are ironed out, he jumps out of bed and I head to the kitchen (a.k.a. Katie's Trusty Skillet) to fulfill his request.

Although the "getting-ready-for-school-catch-the-bus-where's-my-other-shoe-did-you-grab-your-homework" hub-bub of my mornings can be a bit chaotic at times, I wouldn't trade it for the world. Pop tarts and chocolate milk and cheese omelettes aside, those little fellas need me. But for now, I wear my Short Order Cook uniform proudly and will serve up whatever their hearts desire (within reason, of course!) :)

Ding. Ding. Order up.

No Olympic Feat...But an Accomplishment All the Same

The sun was just cresting the hillside in the distance as I laced up my shoes for my morning walk. It had been too long since I had done the 2.3 mile loop the encloses the pasture across the way...and I was ready.

Before heading out I fired up the trusty iPod and did some stretching. Just the process of getting ready to walk was as cathartic to me as the walk itself. Making myself crawl out of bed, get dressed, stretch and actually walk down the steep hill to the road-- all essential parts of the "getting back to taking care of Katie" process.

Now I gotta tell ya, I know 2.3 miles is not as noteworthy accomplishment. My morning dose of Facebook reminds me of this. "I did my 20 miles today..." and "Time to run for 5 hours..." seem to be status updates that are popping up more often. So I do know that my walk doesn't rank up there in the realm of Astounding Athletic Accomplishments. But that doesn't matter. Not a bit.

Because on this morning, I am happy. I am awake and alive and watching the golden rays of a sunrise illumninate the weathered wood of an old barn. I am feeling the brisk air on my skin and watching the water trickle over rocks in the creekbed below. I am snapping mental photographs of the vine crawling over the split rail fence as I crest the hill and I am singing my favorite playlist at the top of my lungs with only the horses and cows as an audience.

As I came around the last bend, I delighted in the sight of the morning sunlight slanting through the trees of a deep creekbed, casting long shadows on the grass still wet with morning dew. It is here I spent the most time. Walking back and forth, I soaked in all this morning had to offer.

I was happy on my walk today. Motivated. Alive. And maybe, just maybe, inspired to do it again tomorrow.

We shall see. :)

The Agony of Defeat

I have been accused of being a somewhat passionate sports fan. And competitive at that. So when my Crimson Tide went down today at the hands of a very capable South Carolina Gamecock team...I had calls of condolence and numerous Facebook messages from empathetic friends.

Now I love the game as much as the next person and, although I am bummed that our winning streak has been broken and that we will no longer hold the #1 spot in college football, there are worse things that could happen. For example, Blue Bell could decide to stop producing their Homemade Vanilla ice cream. Bruce Springsteen, or leg warmers for that matter, could make a big comeback. Or, the television show Modern Family could be cancelled. And, perhaps worst of all, I could be a fan of a team whose colors contain any shade of orange. I say this not in reference to any particular team but because orange is just simply not my signature color.

You see, there are worse fates.

But for now, I celebrate the run we had. I celebrate 19 wins, an SEC and National Championship last year and 5 wins so far this year. I celebrate the time spent with friends and hearing the fight song on a crisp autumn day and pom pons waving in the air. I applaud the effort our guys have shown and the light that this loss will shine on areas of needed improvement.

You see, as cliche as it may sound....football is just a game. I say that when we are winning and when we are losing. It is a game. And I was actually happy for those South Carolina players today because they played their hearts out and were rewarded with a sweet victory over the strongest team in the nation. For them, I was happy.

But lest you think I am a candidate for the Nobel Peace Prize with my open-minded and mature view on collegiate athletics, let me tell you...had it been a team like Auburn, I might not have included that last paragraph. I mean, a girl may be classy in the way she handles the disappointment of defeat--but I do have my limits, y'all. ;)

Goodnight and Roll Tide!

Blair Witch Project Got Nothin On Me

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to star in a horror film where a marching band (well that's not sounding very scary)...a marching band of killer zombies comes slamming through your back door at 10:30 at night while you are home alone with your children?

OK, so maybe zombie killers is a tad much but bear with me.

I had tucked the boys safely in their beds last night and was working in my office when the LOUDEST, CLANGIEST, DRUM-BEATING, WINDOW-RATTLING sound started pouring out of the laundry room. This was not your ordinary, run-of-the-mill-the-washer-is-off-balance-because-of-a-heavy-blanket sound. Noooooo. This was "the house is falling down around us" banging. I jumped up from my chair just as the boys came screaming and crying down the hall with their hands over their ears. Just then, the sound stopped.

Silence.

I slowly crept down the hall lacking only a shaky video camera to document the terror. I turned the corner to find our front-loading washer sitting squarely in the middle of the laundry room, hose stretched as far as it could without snapping off, door hanging wide open, storage drawer popped out and dead as a doornail. I tried to close the door and it was broken. I surveyed my now lifeless (brand new) washer for signs of foul but even my best NCIS investigative skills turned up nothing. What would cause my nearly-new washing machine to go mad? I had been working it a lot harder than normal this week. Was this some sort of freakish Appliance Protest?
With no clue or solution at hand, I left it as I found it and returned the boys to their beds assuring them that the "monster washer" was not out to get them (although not fully convinced myself).

Hopefully a repairman can come and check on it today so my laundry doesn't pile up again. Until then, be looking for us on the latest episode of "When Appliances Go Mad."

My life. Lawd.

The Dance

I was doing the most important thing I could be doing just a few minutes ago...or so I thought. That was until a little boy clad in red and blue-striped footy pajamas changed my mind.

I was scrubbing the tub in the master bathroom and was on my hands and knees up to my elbows in Scrubbing Bubbles when I spotted Jacob shuffling in...his slightly-too-big footy pajamas irresistable to my motherly senses. Just then, the playlist on the computer in my office began to play "You Raise Me Up" by Josh Groban-- a song that became very dear to me during our adoption of Daniel. I reached down and held out my arms for Jacob and he willingly climbed up and laid his head gently on my right shoulder. The cadence of the song was just perfect for a slow dance with my youngest fella so I quietly slid open the sliding door and stepped out into a glorious fall evening.

As we went out onto the deck, Jacob's head lifted and he gasped at the night sky and said "stars, Momma. Stars." Millions of diamond-like clusters were suspended above us as if they were giving us our own private showing.

"You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains..." the song crooned from just inside the door. I slowly swayed back and forth when Jacob sat up, glanced at me with an indescribable look of genuine affection, kissed me and laid his lead back on my shoulder. My heart melted as my feet stepped in beat with the slow rhythm of the song pouring into the night air. A slightly warm gust of wind blew through at that moment, creating a dream-like atmosphere for me and my little man.

As I felt him relax, I leaned him back and cradled his long, lean body in my arms so that he could enjoy the breathtaking view. I danced and rocked him back and forth as he marveled at the scene above us. I continued to sing to him as he soaked it all in...his eyes filled with both wonder and contentment.

As the years go by, I know I will forget these special encounters with my boys. That is why I write. I write to celebrate and to share these parts of my life. I write so that I will never forget these priceless moments that we share. But mostly, I write so that one day a grown Jacob will be able to read about a Fall evening in 2010 when his Momma fell even deeper in love with him as she danced with him under a perfect September sky.

I love you Jacob. Thank you for the dance.

Why Is There a Butcher Knife on My Desk....and Other Pointless Ramblings

There is a butcher knife sitting on my desk and I'm not really sure why.

On a daily basis I find myself piling up the non-Katie-office clutter that finds its way to my office but this one takes the cake. Was there plastic packaging that needed opening? Did I miss a news report about a mad killer on the loose and my thoughtful family members wanted me to take every precaution to protect myself? Not sure. Guess I'll go return it to its home in our knife block...but can't help but wonder: Did Mrs. Peacock do it in the Conservatory with the Butcher Knife? Hmmmm......

But seriously, how and why did it get there? There is no tellin.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The most glorious season ever created--AUTUMN--has arrived and I am school-girl giddy. The air this evening is crisp and cool causing me to ceremoniously throw all the windows and doors open to usher in this most refreshing time of year.

There is no doubt that I have an extra spring in my step as the cooler temps start becoming the norm. The oppressive summer heat only distant memory, my mind reels at the "fall-ish" recipes I want to try and the pots of mums that will soon be gracing my front porch. My favorite season also creates in me a desire to can something or harvest something so I can cook something and put in a mason jar. Have I ever done this a single day of the 39 years I have walked on this Earth? No. But Fall time inspires me. Motivates me. And yes, makes me delusional with dreams of culinary achievement. (note: a dream of culinary achievement for me right now would be buying more than one night's provisions at the store each time I go. Just sayin.)

I welcome you oh season of autumnal goodness. I can't wait to see what you have in store.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

One of Those Nights...

The air is thick outside
And a melody of crickets
Is pouring in through the
Open screen
A distant chirping
Beckoning me to come out and play....

The music fills my mind
Each lyric a dusty road
Full of promise
Unfulfilled dreams
Broken hearts
Yet soothing to my soul....

This is one of those nights
When time has no value
When thoughts invade
And the rebellious me
Fights sleep and instead
Chooses crickets and music...

...as my soul dances.

Abercrombie Ad or Momma Gone Mad?

I couldn't resist.

I looked at the clock and it read 4:18pm. Daniel's bus would be pulling up any minute and I was more than excited to hear how his first day of school went. But, I couldn't let his homecoming be just like any other day, could I? This was the First Day of Third Grade. A surprise attack was clearly in order.

I changed into a tank top and the bottom half of my bathing suit and took my position in the bushes at the front of the house--strategically placed next to the spicket. Do you see where I'm going with this? Oh yes. The boy that always seems to wrangle the hose from me at night and spray me was gonna get a taste of his own medicine. I was a woman on a mission.

About 10 minutes in, I got tired of crouching on my knees in a mixture of prickly holly leaves and bark and leaned against the side of the house to wait. I suddenly realized there I was, hair all tousled, white tank top, black skirt, sweat on my brow, leaning against a brick wall with a garden hose in my hand. I chuckled as I imagined I was posing for an Abercrombie ad (that would of course be shot in black and white). I wasn't a mother that had lost her marbles...no, no....I was a cool model for a teenage clothing line. Insanity is a beautiful thing.

So...4:20 came and went. So did 4:25, 4:28, 4:30 and 4:35. His bus always came around 20 after last year so my Momma-worry was about to kick into overdrive when I spotted the familiar golden yellow cheesewagon coming down the road. The lights started a-flashing and I dropped into strike position and waited on my victim to make his way up the long grassy hill that is our front yard. I slowly turned on the water so as not to call attention to my whereabouts. And I waited. And just as he crested the top of the hill I lept out spraying him the best I could as he screamed, dropped his backpack and darted about trying to avoid getting wet. The look on his face was priceless. He clearly did not know what hit him and I couldn't stop laughing. At one point he had the nerve to yell "is that all you got???" Oh yes he did. So what started as a surprise spray attack turned into a full-on water war right there in the front yard.

Yes, it's true. I probably shoulda had a plate of cookies ready and gently hugged him as I inquired about his first day. But, that would have been nice and normal and wouldn't have involved garden tools.

Where's the fun in that?

Romance and Fruitloops Go Hand in Hand

I have written before about the romance that has been brewing for over a year between my youngest and the love of his life (all 2 years of it) Izzy.

Well, after a brief separation caused by Jacob moving up a class, they are reunited.
(cue the music) "Reunited and it feels so goooooood...."

OK. 80's ballads later. This is good stuff.

So, I take Jacob into his class this morning and they were seated at the table having fruit loops. As soon as we walked in the door, several of the girls started crooning "heyyyyyy Jaaaaacobbbbbb" to which Jacob responded by grinning shyly and hiding his face in my pant leg. Then, he spotted his woman.

He pulled out his chair, sat down right next to her and that's when it happened. Izzy reached out her cute little hand and said..........

"Hi, Jake-ee-poo!"

JAKE-EE-POO???? Seriously? Bwahhhhhhhahaha! This chick is 2 years old and she's addressing my son as Jake-ee-poo?

Lawd.

They grow up so fast. :)

Is That a Closed Sign on the Door?

The only dividing line between my work life and home life is a single french door. As much as working from home has its advantages, the line between my two worlds often blurs and I find myself sitting at my computer more often than I like...or need.

Well, today I did a couple of things you might consider funny...but I succeeded in finding a balance in "wife and mommy Katie" and event planner Katie. And it was nice. Very nice.

First of all, I used the french doors that open onto the deck from my office as my entrance and exit all day. As I returned from dropping the kids off or when I went to the store before picking them up, I used this door instead of going out of the laundry room as usual. And, as I suspected, it felt like I was going to/from an office instead of my house. One might say I am playing mind games with myself. You could be right...but in my quest to focus on work during the day, it was a huge success.

The other somewhat drastic but creative attempt at re-jiggering my thinking was the sign Keith found on the french door when he got home from work. It simply read "KB Events, Inc. -- CLOSED-- will return in the a.m." He smiled and chuckled at my tactic. But again...it worked. Instead of having to swing by and pick up the boys on his way home then walking into a wife sitting at the computer without a clue what she's making for dinner...I had closed down a little early, gone to the store, picked up the makings for dinner, picked up the boys and was cooking with them when he got home.

Not an earth-shattering scenario, you say?

For me, it is. You see...I have been majoring in the minor things for far too long. And tonight was my first step in the right direction. The house was spotless (thanks to having company on Sunday--honestly), the laundry in progress and a healthy non-restaurant meal was on the table. Notice I said TABLE and not coffee table. We talked as a family and laughed and discussed our day. And while Keith and Daniel ran to the store to pick up a few school supplies, Jacob and I spent some quality time together. We played and did bathtime and sang songs and read bedtime stories and then he drifted off to sleep. It did my heart good and was just what I needed after an all-too hectic few weeks.

I know there will be slip-ups and the lines that I am working hard to reinforce will once again blur in my quest to be all things to all people. But all I can do is take baby steps in the right direction. And, one home-cooked meal and lullaby at a time I'll start to feel like my old self again. Or...maybe my new self?

Either way, I like it.

Getting a Grip

I like writing about the little things...little everyday things that make life interesting and fun and memorable. I love writing about giggles and butterflies and clouds and rainbows... but there is a darker side that I sometimes just cannot ignore.

This morning I have been a bear. A growly, snippy, not-much-fun-to-be-around bear. The tone of my voice and the reactions I have had to even the littlest thing have made me want to get away from myself. I can only imagine how the three men in my life have felt.

I know it's PMS. I'm 100% sure. But that is no excuse. I just have no way of explaining to my poor husband what it is like to feel this way. The only description I can think of is to be trapped behind bars screaming to get out and knowing that the people standing all around you can't hear your pleas. I KNOW I am behaving harshly and as soon as I yell at one of the boys or snap at my husband, that little voice inside (behind the bars) is screaming "I'm sorry! I know it's not your fault I can't fit into my jeans! I know you don't deserve this attitude! I'm really sorry!" But something won't let those kinder words surface.

I could also blame our crazy life right now. Some days it feels like I am trapped in the fast lane and no one will let me over. Life is passing by at an alarming rate and I keep passing the exits but am going too fast to get off. The laundry mounds, the milk rings on the coffee table solidify and my to-do list grows as fast as kudzu on a Mississippi telephone pole.

It's time for a change.

But the first thing I'm going to do when my men return from the breakfast I forced them to go to without me is hug each one of them and apologize for my behavior this morning. My faults are not their fault. I am going to make this a good day. We don't know how many of these we get in life...so why waste them giving in to insecurity and the whims of moodiness?

It's time for me to get a grip.