A Nice Visit!

Here are a few pics from our visit with my friend Cindy and her two boys, Ethan and Caleb when they came to stay a couple days ago.

It's neat to see our kids growing up together and learning how to relate much like Cindy and I have grown closer over the years.

We went to the pool, played and she and I even got some highly-coveted alone time to talk...imagine that!

It was a great visit and we can't wait to see them again!

Boys of Summer

This is a pic of my son Daniel (on the right) and his best bud Ethan at our pool yesterday.

These two are a picture of summertime!

Life on July 13

Good Things:

~~A refreshing swim and meeting new neighbors at the pool

~~Laughter and good conversation while cooking out with friends

~~Daniel going to put on pj's but coming out in 2005 Halloween clown costume

Not-So-Good Things:

~~Realization that summer's end is one day closer

~~$2.96 a gallon at the pump! Schwinn bike, here I come!

~~Didn't I just do all the laundry???

P-a-s-s-i-o-n

My friend Cindy and I were just sitting up late at the kitchen table discussing our interests and I discovered that I'm passionate about a lot of things. Maybe too many?

I LOVE geography and reading maps and anything related to travel. I'll get out a map and pick a state and study it...like Minnesota. Where are the major cities? Are there any major interstates or just one long straight one like in so many midwest states? Are there a lot of state park areas or possible scenic areas I might want to visit? Confession time: When I was in high school, (and this was pre-computer/internet-access for me), I once contacted every US state's travel/visitor's bureau and requested a travel package so I could get a state road map. Yes, there were atlases back then but that would have been too easy. :-) I LOVE maps.

Outer space. I'm intrigued beyond belief with the concept that there are zillions of galaxies like our Milky Way and how many planets are out there in those galaxies that possibly contain life just like us. I'm fascinated by the grandeur of it all...by the cadence of life and the orbit of the planets around the sun and how everything just works. It's like being a part of a great symphony yet not knowing how to read music. I'm curious about what is/could be out there.

I'm passionate about writing (obviously) and reading poetry and drawing and creating things, and folk art. I am fascinated by all things weather-related and am energized by the mere thought of an impending storm.

I am truly passionate about comforting others. I want to soothe souls and massage shoulders and wipe tears. I want to hold the hand of a sad friend as well as bring laughter to one who is feeling out of sorts.

And, I am passionate about music. I LOVE music. It evokes feelings in me that I seldom find elsewhere. Music can uplift me, transport me, and even put me in a somber, melancholy mood which I secretly enjoy sometimes. I can retreat into a set of lyrics much like others find solace at an exotic destination. I'm passionate about my music.

There are so many things I want to do that sometimes I feel overwhelmed by the possibilities. I want to write poetry and cards and children's books. I want to belt out an old standard on the stage of a smoky cigar bar just once. I want to start and run a permanent foundation to promote, and help finance, adoption of children. Of course, I don't have "Save the Whales" stickers on my car-- mine would read "Honk if you love Maps and Thunderstorms." Don't worry, I realized long ago that I'm a a freak.

What would your bumper sticker say?

Heart Attack City

My well-meaning husband awoke me today at 6:30 am with bottle popper/firework thingies that shoot confetti in honor of my birthday.

It was ex-TREME-ly sweet but nearly gave me a heart attack. He had this boyish grin as the distinct smell of gunpowder wafted in the air... OK, so maybe it wasn't gun powder but it was a close relative... :-)

Needless to say, it was a wake-up call that's for sure.

LOL

Bloom Where You're Planted

I'm a product of my upbringing. As a child, we moved 9 or 10 times. Although this sounds like a somewhat "rootless" existence, we found it exciting to get a fresh start, meet new friends and learn about new places. As a result, my sister and I are extremely adaptable people and I have quite a grasp on geography from our multiple moves.

My Mom would often joke that as soon as the carpet needed cleaning in a house, we'd pack it up and move. Sometimes, that's what it felt like (our shortest time in one spot being four months). That ache for change has found its way into my adulthood as I try to once again settle into our new town after being here a year. This last move was the hardest. Leaving a solid group of friends with children that were my son's friends was extremely difficult. These same people had seen me through the two most daunting periods of my life: the death of a parent and becoming a parent. It took quite a while for me to adjust.

The upside is that we've made some good friends here, too. Our neighborhood is terrific and we're convenient to every form of recreation you could imagine. But the itch is still there. Deep down inside I imagine what houses are on the market and what towns could be beckoning. I look down from the balcony in my office and see that there are a few spots on the floor. Is it time to pack up or is it time to clean?

One of my favorite sayings I came across in a newspaper column years ago is "bloom where you're planted."

Guess I'll be heading to Lowe's this afternoon to pick up the carpet cleaner.............

We're a Little Closer....

to becoming parents for the second time.

With a mound of adoption paperwork screaming out for attention on the desk in our office, Keith and I put Daniel to bed Friday night and went to work. It was 9pm when we started and we signed our names for the last time at 1:00am. 4 hours of filling in budget worksheets, outlining our assets, liabilities and plans for the future paid off as I attached the last paperclip on the last batch of documents.

We thought it was difficult to do the paperwork necessary for Russian adoption, but this is double. Not only are we doing all the financial and relationship surveys for our home study, but there were similar questionnaires to be completed for the agency as well. Do we want a boy or girl? (Either is fine with us) What medical issues will we accept in the birth parent background (8 tough pages on that) and a host of other items we had to have done such as fingerprints, septic tank inspection, pet vaccinations and such.

This could be a long process or this could be much shorter than anticipated...it all depends on when a birthparent chooses us to be the parents of the child they're about to give birth to. It could be months, it could be years...it's anybody's guess.

But, something happened on Friday night. Keith and I buckled down with a fierce determination to get the biggest step out of the way. As we dropped the packets into the mail this morning, we had a peace of mind that we have done all that we can do at this point. It's now up to us to wait.

So, that's exactly what we'll do................................

In a dusty, dimly lit room...

on the back side of the Wright Art Center at Delta State University, I fell in love with drawing. Or, should I say, I fell back in love with drawing. I have always loved to doodle. While in meetings, talking on the phone...juat about any time...if I have a pencil or pen and a piece of paper then I'm in business.

My friend Christina has recently taken a leap of faith and enrolled in school to study interior design. Not only am I proud of her for following her heart, but I am insanely jealous of her sudden need to go buy art supplies. Pens, pencil sets, art gum erasers with their characteristic scent...what I wouldn't give for an excuse to spend money on such things.

It also transported me back in time to my freshman year in college as a Graphic Design major. This was pre-computer kind of design (yes, I'm sure I've dated myself) and my favorite class was Beginning Drawing. I spent many an afternoon in a classroom filled with nothing but benches designed to hold art easels arranged in a circle around the "still life of the day." If I close my eyes I am there, art caddy at my feet, rays of sunlight pouring in through the dusty window in the ceiling and spotlighting an assemblage of objects we're responsible for sketching--an old tennis shoe, a sewing machine and some sort of fruit item.

The room is silent except for the sound of art pencil against sketch pad. There was a sweet tranquility that emerged each afternoon as a gathering of art students converged on one room and sat for 2 hours without uttering a word. The unmistakable smell of art gum filled the air as a white haired instructor slowly strolled by, surveying the scenes evolving on each pad of paper.

I miss those days. Sometimes the art professor would simply challenge us to explore the campus, pick a scene and sketch it for that day's lesson. I would delight in finding just the right tree to prop against as I scanned my surroundings for the subject of my choice. It was a libertaing experience for a college freshman trying on her new found independence.

Lately, I've been more tuned into what I can do with my pen (or, in most cases, computer keyboard) in the form of writing. I guess I should pick up my sketching pencil again one day and see where it takes me...

Life on July 6

Good Things:

~~My son Daniel offering to sleep with me tonight so he could "take care of me"

~~More rain to quench the thirst of a drought-ridden yard and flowerbed

~~Having a loving husband care about you enough to encourage your intake of fluids

Not-So-Good Things:

~~Having a husband force you to drink gallons of yucky Gatorade against your will

~~ Keith having strep throat

~~Me having strep throat

The Red Bicycle

As I strolled along
The brick walkway
Peeking into windows
Of quaint little shops
The red bicycle at the corner
Whispered "hello"
And beckoned me to stay

Although I could not oblige
I wondered about the history
Of the red bicycle
The life that it had seen
Before it became
The ambassador
Of that little cafe

Its paint well-weathered
The red bicycle had not lived
A pampered, garage-dwelling life
Its scratches and scrapes
A testament to its once-lively existence

Had it spent many an evening
Traveling up and down
Country roads
Lined with lush green fields
Dust a-flying, gravel spewing
Racing to make it home by dinner

Perhaps it had ambled along quiet streets
Passing rows of tidy houses
With neatly manicured yards
Delivering the morning paper
As the sun gently rose
On the horizon

Did the red bicycle ever
Proudly display
A shiny new horn
To honk at its friends
The blue and the green bicycles
As they swiftly passed by

No matter the tales of its storied past,
The red bicycle now takes
A well-deserved rest
Perched in front of the cafe
Sprigs of grass growing at its feet
Whispering "Hello" to passerby.....

The Written Word

While surfing the web recently, I came across a profile in which someone listed under the category career: "aspiring writer...aren't we all?"

Suddenly, I felt very small--a tiny fish in an enormous pond of people who love to write just as much as I do. That's one reason why I can't seem to take the leap and try to publish some of my work because I'm afraid it would fall on deaf ears (or at least on the top of some very tall stack in an "In" box somewhere.)

There's just one thing that keeps me going, though. Passion. There are a lot of things I love in life. My family, my friends, a good movie, the way the grass smells after a good rain--all of these things would be on the list. But, there is something that I eagerly anticipate each new day...the chance to experience something and write about it.

There are times when I'll see something that would seem ordinary to most; but to me, I find such beauty in it that I almost get this burning sensation inside until I can write it down on a piece of paper or blog about it. Sometimes, it won't be a new experience; instead, it's a memory that comes flooding back and I'm afraid I'll never remember again unless I write it down.

For me, it's not really about getting published (although I'll admit that is one of my biggest dreams.) I just know how life can change in an instant and it can be a security blanket to have memories in writing to fall back on.

When my Mom died a few years ago, my sister and father and I came across a big blue binder full of poetry and short stories she had written. That night, we laid on the floor and cried as we read through years of thoughts that she may have considered "insignificant" at one time...but, to us-- it was gold. She was no longer with us but her voice was. Her memories were. Her humor was there in print and that book has been an enormous comfort to me since that day.

One of the things I came across in the book was a Gratitude Journal Mom had started after being inspired by an episode of Oprah. It was dated July 16, 1997 and she shared the following:

"...Personally, my "public" goals have all been met. I manintained a solid, loving marriage. We have raised two daughters in an atmosphere of love and stability. They are each bright, successful, happy young women making places for themselves in the world. I have all this to be grateful for, and I am. My heart overflows everyday, thanking God for His bountiful grace and for the blessings He has bestowed upon my life."

I can assure you that my Mom had no idea how special those words would become on a cold, rainy night in March 2003. That is one reason I write. If something I observe or think about can be written down and one day inspire, comfort or simply make someone smile...then my life will have been well lived.

I Miss My Sis

My sister and her family moved to Tampa
So we packed and loaded the moving van
And mopped our way out the door
I sure do miss my sis


We've never lived more than 3 hours apart
And that was my first year of college
Before life got complicated
I really miss my sis

Our proximity was destined
The timing was necessary
As we leaned on each other through tragedy
More than ever, I miss my sis

Now the distance is 9 hours
She even sounds like she's far away
Starting a new life in a new town
Oh how I miss my sis

One thing's for sure
No travel time or distance
Can ever change this....
I dearly miss my sis

The Redhead & The Little Green House

A little green house on a tree-lined street
Became the home to a baby girl one day
A baby girl with her fiery red hair
And blue-blue eyes

The walls of one room in the little green house
Had been home to others before
But they became new again
With a coat of buttercup yellow paint
And the colorful letters A-L-D-E-N
Displayed proudly above a baby's first bed

The floors of this house had seen better days
But they lovingly embraced the two little knees
Of a red headed girl
Learning to move to and fro

Then the crawling turned into first steps
And the hardwood planks squeaked in delight
At her transition from infancy to toddlerhood

Lullabies were sung in this house
Hugs and kisses were given in this house
First words were uttered in this house
Like "ball" and "bubble" and "ditty dat"

But the redhead and the little green house
Soon had to go their separate ways
And while the furniture and toys were packed
Into a big orange and silver truck
The redhead ran and giggled
Under the branches of big trees
As the little green house looked on

There will be other houses for the redhead
And other rooms where sweet dreams will take place
And for the little green house
There will be others who will find
Safety and warmth within its walls

But somewhere down the road
This redhead little girl
Will grow to be a woman
And will bring her children
To see the little green house...
The place where
Her very first memories were made

And the little green house
Will smile as it remembers
The good times they shared
When a redhead girl
Called this little green house

With its bright yellow room

Her home...

--written for my niece Alden as she moves away from her first home.
Love, Aunt Katie

The Parenthood Interview--Part Deaux

"What kind of home did you grow up in?"
My younger years were spent in a two parent household and my sister and I were fed with a passion for poetry and music and all things comical...and were constantly surrounded by interesting people...

"How are you most like your Mom?"
Artsy, creative, passionate, dry sense of humor, dramatic and drawn to crisis like a moth to a flame

"How are you most like your Dad?"
Analytical, detail-oriented, a people person and as hard headed as they come...

"Tell me about your marriage"
Well, you know how there are people who just "fit" together? That's us. We're enough alike to be compatible and are different enough to keep it interesting. Except for his unfortunate affinity for older country music with an annoying twang, we're pretty much made for each other.

"Now, let's see...here is a brief list of some of the documents we'll need from you and Keith to complete your home study:"
~~Criminal Background Check
~~Complete physicals for each of you
~~Immunizations for Daniel and yearly check-up report
~~Federal fingerprints
~~Firearms clearance
~~Swimming pool disclaimer
~~Employment history/salary
~~Family budget
~~tax returns
~~Property deed
~~four letters of reference
~~letter from each side of the family

...and the list goes on......................................

This, folks, is my labor. Can I go ahead and get that epidural, please?

July 10, 2081

My birthday is on a Thursday in the year 2081.

Why is this significant? For absolutely no reason whatsoever. But, a strange feeling came over me when I was looking at a perpetual calendar site online and realized there were many years staring at me from the screen. . .and I would not be alive for most of them.

Ever had a moment of utter mortality awareness? That was my moment. Actually, the site would show you calendars all the way up to the year 9999--which was a little freaky in itself--but what shook me up a little more was the year 2081.

On July 10, 2081, I would turn 110. I know it would be no Guiness record or anything, but I'm pretty positive I won't be around on that day. So, looking at that date and knowing that I won't be here is a little spooky.

Those of you that know me, know that I am a Christian. So, I'm sure you're wondering why I wouldn't be excited to know where I WILL be on that day. I am. But, I am also human, and the thought of what will be going on July 10, 2081 (when I'm not around) intrigues me. My son will hopefully be 79 years old and reminding his grandchildren that his mother would have been 110 today. Then, maybe he'll climb into his Jetson-like hovercraft and go home to pack for his weekend trip to the moon, right? Who knows what the world will be like then. I sure don't.

But, is it just me or don't we all secretly wish that the world would not be able to function without us? Maybe that's a little eg0-centric of me, but it is weird to see calendar dates that I'm sure will be past my last day here on Earth.

Then again, who knows when our last day will be?

:: crickets chirping ::

:: crickets chirping ::

Pass the Kleenex, Please

Have you ever boo-hooed to the point of near convulsion but tried so hard to keep it in that you felt sure you might explode? Today's message at church was that powerful. It was the story of a girl named Holly and her relationship struggles with her Dad. From the moment she began to speak, I was drawn in by her humor and the way in which her story unfolded.

Bottom line: her on-again/off-again relations with her father and the healing they were able to go through shortly before his death to cancer 3 years ago made for a poignant story; however, what got me the most was the note she wrote to him in a book. She tried to recall the good times they had shared-- even though she was sure they'd been few and far between. As she jotted down favorite memories, they poured forth and she was able to weave together a lifetime of special moments. During the sermon, she reached for the book and slowly opened to the page where she had penned her innermost feelings. There wasn't a dry eye in the place. Halfway through the list, I watched as fellow church members dabbed at their eyes or tried stoically to blot away tears without being too obvious.

Having wished many times that I had been able to share such memories with my Mom before she died, I could not contain my emotions as she recited the special times she had shared with her father. Because Mom's death had been more sudden than expected, I have often dreamt of what I would have said to her or questions I would have asked her had I known it was the end. The raw emotion swelled inside me and, at the very moment I thought I would let out some sort of embarrassing burst of sobs, Holly injected a bit of humor that allowed me to exhale and cover what would have been an awkward display.

I guess I was envious. There are few things I wouldn't give to have had the forethought to provide my Mom with a comprehensive memoir of how she made my life wonderful. I'm sure (as many have told me) that she "knew"...but that's not enough. I never got to tell her that I'm sorry for losing her engagement ring as a child. I never told her that I really didn't resent her for being the "cool" Mom even though sometimes I wondered if friends came over to hang out with her instead of me. I never thanked her for instilling in me a love of all things musical and poetic and that, if it weren't for her, I would not have this inner desire to write down all of my thoughts. I never thanked her for sewing every prom dress I ever wore or for driving an hour to rescue me from a wardrobe malfunction before my big final marketing presentation in college. I loved the fact that she insisted on painting a fake fireplace in my first dorm room to make it feel more like home. I could have told her how much I loved the candles she lit when were coming for a visit or that silly box of "stuff" she insisted on sharing with us the moment we walked in the door.

I know she knew that I loved her. I have never doubted that. I just wish I would have let her know how much all the little things meant, too. All the seemingly unimportant, un-life-altering things that she did to make my life better.

I am changed by the message that I heard today. I no longer want to wait until another loved one is gone to let them know all the ways they have made an impact on my life. This is important stuff. We all want to know that we mattered.

Thank you, Mom...for the big stuff and the little stuff.

You always mattered to me.

The Good, the Bad and the Not-So-Bad

Raising a strong-willed child is the hardest thing I've ever done. Daniel is super-smart, funny, loving and thrives in the company of others. However, as we've gotten into the four year old stage (4 1/2 now) he has discovered every one of my buttons and delights in pushing them to see what happens.

A friend of mine and I were discussing how it doesn't make sense why children KNOW what consequence their actions will result in yet they misbehave anyway. Well, I can honestly say that many of my actions don't make sense and it doesn't seem to deter me, either. Let's see: "I want to lose weight. I know that if I eat that piece of cake it won't help me lose weight. MMmm, mmmm, yummy. That cake sure was good. " So, I can't wonder why my child doesn't grasp consequence when his 35-year old mother isn't able to.

But, nonetheless, it's still frustrating. What's equally maddening at times is how smart he is. Always one step ahead of me, he seems to anticipate my actions and plans a strategy accordingly. OK, so maybe I'm giving him a little too much credit, but I will tell you that my son knows what he's doing. Maybe he intercepted the mail and got the Parenting Manual that was addressed to me. You know, the one that comes with all children telling you exactly how to raise them and how to react in all sorts of situations. What? You didn't get one, either? Hmmm... look under your child's bed. I'm sure that's where Daniel keeps our copy. And, late at night, he pulls out his trusty doggy flash light and reads chapter after chapter, formulating ways to drive me batty. (and yes, I know he pretends to not be able to read but I bet that's just part of the master plan, as well. )

Back to reality (don't dial Georgia Mental Services just yet)...I love him with all my heart and love the challenges motherhood tosses my way. But you know what makes it all worthwhile? What makes it possible to withstand some arguing, and tantrums and not-so-nice glances in my direction? It's times like last night, tucking him into bed when he asks me to lie down with him...and we talk in whispers about his day and about his dreams and how much he enjoyed snack time at day camp and what his favorite book is, and he gently turns over, tucks his arm through mine, weaves our fingers together and drifts off to sleep.

Motherhood. There are bad times and not-so-bad times. But the good times, like scenes from a favorite movie I like to watch over and over again, are what I'll always choose to remember.

One

one MILLION times I've listened to the song "One" by Mary J. Blige and U2. Love it. Not tired of it yet. Am playing it right now. This is my song addiction of the week. (Over the past few weeks, former holders of this prestigious title include "I Will Follow You into the Dark" by Deathcab for Cutie and "Round Here" by the Counting Crows.)

Check it out. Mary J's part in the middle of the song is pretty powerful...

Must You Grow?

Because we did not start
From your earliest days
When cooing was all you did know
I wish I could keep you
Just the way you are now
So I ask almost daily...
Must you grow?

I have grown quite accustomed
To your little boy ways
As your little legs run to and fro
Although I get frustrated
And long for some quiet
I still ask myself...
Must you grow?

Your laughter and giggles
And enjoyment of life
Lift my spirits
When I'm feeling low
But as the days trickle on
I now must admit
It's exciting
As I watch my son grow...

Little Moments

Life is made up of a series of little "nuggets" of time. If you're lucky, you'll realize how special something really is while you're still in the moment. This happened to me yesterday. It may seem trivial to the outside eye, but to me, it was pretty special.

I love the series the Gilmore Girls. In fact, I love it so much that I have dedicated my NetFlix membership to catching up starting at Season 1. I'm now on Season 4 and my son is as hooked as I am. At four years old, he knows the characters by name and lamented the break-up of Dean and Rory right along with the rest of us. But my favorite part is when the theme song comes on. A duet featuring Carole King, the tune goes "If you lead, I will follow, anywhere, that you tell me to..." It's a catchy song that Daniel now knows the words to.

Yesterday, I popped in an episode so Daniel and I could watch as we ate hot dogs for lunch. Just to be funny, I picked up my hot dog and used it as a microphone to sing my part (the Mommy part) of the duet. Following suit, Daniel grabbed his hot dog and stood up to sing the other part. It reminded me very much of the scene in the movie "StepMom" when the kids are singing into their hairbrushes and dancing around with their Mom. We had such a good time. No, we weren't learning about the ABC's, global warming or how to tie his shoes. At that moment, we were just a couple of silly people singing along to a familiar song and having a blast.

Shortly thereafter, my duet partner ate his microphone so we settled in for our favorite show. It may not be the most glamorous of childhood experiences, but that's one little "nugget" of time this mother will never forget.