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Fences are made for one reason: protection. I grew up in the country on a small farm, so I know the importance of fences. Their protection serves a two-fold purpose; to keep something in, or to keep something out. Despite what they’re made of, how pretty they are, how strong they are–the singular purpose of a fence is protection.
I recently walked up to a fence and rested against it. The fence didn’t waver or move. It’s a sturdy fence constructed of wide, evenly spaced slats nailed firmly to solid, square posts that are sunk deep into the earth. Because I had helped to build the fence—because I knew details about its construction—I also knew several facts about this particular fence. I could stand on the fence, climb the fence, sit on the fence, lean against the fence; that fence was not going to collapse. It was a fence I could trust to fulfill its purpose and serve as my own personal settee or jungle gym as needed. There was not a “No Trespassing” sign on the fence. There was no need for one. The property on this side and that is mine, though I have nothing pressing to take me to the other side of the fence any more—no business to conduct or work to do over there. I had, for all practical purposes, forsaken that part of the property. So, I simply walked up to the fence, rested my arms against the top slat, and looked at the land that lay beyond. . .
Had a GREAT time seeing old friends over the weekend. We had a surprise reunion to honor our high school chorus director. She was, indeed, suprised. I’ll post photos later.
I am the Guest Barista over at the Internet Cafe Blogspot. This is my first time to be “published”, so I’m very excited. Thank you’s to, Victoria, for giving me the material, to Melanie, for saying, “Go do this,” and to Sarah, Carolyn, Tina, Stephanie, Becky, and Linda for proofing and encouraging.
(Forgive the whacked out spacing of the pictures. . .they were all there this morning, then I sent them into cyberspace. . .and they were my bane the rest of the day. Enjoy ‘em anyway.)
Sarah and I have been friends for a long time. This is not the first blog entry to start with those words. But it’s true. It’s 34 years worth of true, and today Sarah turns 40.
Sarah's wedding: How we looked.
Sarah's wedding: How we felt.
Sitting atop my 1976 Lincoln Contiental in front of Sarah's house with Michelle
Now, I turned 40 about 6 weeks ago, so this is not a casting of the proverbial stone–or icing flower as the case may be. But I thought I would give you 40 things about Sarah. I may not know her BETTER than anyone else, because there are large chunks of the past 22 years that I’ve not been physically around to see, but I certainly have known her LONGER than any of the people she is in regular contact with other than her parents and brother (hey Kevin). I now give you. . . Sarah. . .
1. loves words. . .all words. . .big ones, little ones, unusual ones, quirky ones, funny ones. Loves ‘em.
2. ate enough banana Laffy Taffy to keep her orthodontist (I ALSO know him. . .and his wife and kids) in business for several years.
3. and I got into REALLY big trouble by staying out until after midnight when we were in high school. We were, actually, sitting in the pitch black parking lot of our high school campus talking about some boys. That makes it no better. It’s just where we were.
4. and I did NOT get into big trouble for jumping the railroad tracks on Finks Hideaway Rd. in her brother’s CRX (sorry Kevin), because God sent his angels to keep us from wrecking it (sorry Mike) so we never got caught.
5. managed to drive said CRX while I changed clothes in the passengers seat (a feat in and of itself mind you) which leads me to
6. is a very, very good driver.
7. can sign (that is S-I-G-N. . .as in “sign language”) entire songs WHILE holding the gear shift of a manual transmission car–such as a Honda (name your model).
8. is also very, very smart. Very. Very.
9. spent several summers working with handicapped kids at a Lion’s camp.
10. climbed a mountain in Colorado MORE than once on Wilderness Trek.
11. is a lifeguard and could save you if you were drowning.
12. spent many hours with me in Mrs. Rosie’s swimming pool in Bastrop getting a tan and talking about those same boys–and others–up in #3.
13. sat by me in band–we both played the clarinet–on occasion when Christy Barker and I would duke it out over who was first chair. NORMALLY it was Christy.
14. served as my “matron” of honor. (I beat her to 40, but she beat me to the altar.) I got to be her “maid.”
15. watched in amazement as I managed to hit myself in the face with the passenger seat of my car.
16. spent a lot of time laughing at me–but not nearly as much as I laughed at myself.
17. was in chorus and wore a “Super Pickle” dress (me too).
18. never played a sport but was manager for the Lady Eagles basketball team.
19. took dance for a really long time.
20. had a cute dog named Rocky who used to clickety-clickety on his clackety toes across the floor.
21. is NOT a morning person despite the fact that she now gets up at the crack of dawn.
22. has lots of really great ideas. (See #8).
23. breaks into spontaneous song–and dance–for no apparent reason.
24. endured/listened to/commiserated with my teenaged/college aged angst.
25. thinks I always look the same–no matter the weight gain or loss, hair cut, clothing items, new wrinkles, or gray hair. This is a sign of true friendship.
26. came with my mother and sister to get me after I had been in Montana for a summer my Jr. year in college. When Momma asked what I wanted her to bring when she came to Searcy to get me I said, “My birthday cake and Sarah.” (I turned 21 the next day.)
27. and I would have REALLY benefited–rather our PARENTS would have benefited–from all of the snazzy calling plans now available. (We DID get in trouble more than once for long distance phone bills.)
28. wrote lots and lots and lots of letters and notes to me–and I wrote back. Still have ‘em–and the ones from Mary Linda too.
29. was the first non-family member I called the night my Daddy died.
30. introduced me to her future husband for the first time when I came to visit her in Abilene. (Hi Troy).
31. let me hold and feed and change and dress her brand new baby girl when she was just a few days old. (Hi Ashley).
32. “accidentally” told me she was expecting her second baby when she one day casually asked me what I thought of the name “Riley.” (Hi Riley).
33. and she did not get mad at me when I told her how jealous I was that she was pregnant and not me.
34. can cut through the garbage of a situation and get to the heart of the matter like no one else I know.
35. attended Ouachita Christian School–all the way from elementary to graduation–and was voted Miss O.C.S. by the student body her senior year.
36. has a thing for baskets. . .and shoes. . .and nail polish. . .and bows.
37. probably developed a twitch when I misspelled several words and called Kevin’s CRX a CRV (we own a CRV NOW) in the first, first post, but would NEVER tell me in a million years and will laugh at me for trying to make this post perfect all stinkin’ day long.
38. loves her family.
39. loves her friends–one of which I am blessed to be.
40. loves her God.
There is much more that the confidentialty contract we sealed long ago with some Diet Coke and a few secrets won’t let me say, but we will get to see each other in two weeks (!!! First time in a year and a half–last time we got to spend all of about one hour together.) and have some Johnny’s pizza and laugh until we’re exhausted. Until then–Happy Birthday, Sayruh. You know I love ya more ‘n my luggage. (And I AM pleasant. . .) And forgive me for some of these pictures. Most of them are WONDERMOUS, but some were necessary for illustration don’t ya know.
We had been pretending to be the leaping reindeer that Sarah's mom had on the wall in the dining room. . .one can only assume Sarah wasn't through being a reindeer.
Same night as the reindeer incident--New Years Eve, 1987. Don't remember what was up with the Post its.
As God would have it, we sat next to each other for our first grade class picture. Peep Sarah's knee socks. I had INSISTED on wearing panty hose that day.
Rerun of us with Timms, May, 1987
Not Sarah BUT Sarah's grandmother, Maxine--my dear, dear friend.
We went on a trip to Pensacola after I graduated from College--Five Flag Motel Cheapest Rates Gulf Side.
We were enamored with the tiki-faced palm tree--the hotel was destroyed in hurricane Ivan.
With our duplex mate Julie in Abilene, 1991
February, 1990 with our friend Brandon
Christmas, 1987 sitting in my Momma's rocking chair in our house at the annual Christmas party.
Bad picture--but there is Sarah to my right, and Christy in 1st chair, and me in the middle.
Jr. year in high school--probably spring?
Graduation night with our (very tall) friend Mark
Sarah and Christy giving me The Look on the way either to or from Nashville.
So the first official week of school has come to a close. In fact, the first official Saturday after the first official week of school has very nearly come to a close. . .and we all survived–even thrived this week.
The kids LOVE–let me repeat L.O.V.E.–their new schools. No tears. No missing of Lamkin or their Cy-Fair friends in excess. Not even a little bit. Kudos to the Magnolia school district and their teachers and students. Thank you for making my children feel welcomed and loved.
Tony, too, had a good week. One day he sent me the following e-mail: “My kids are doing interview questions with each other right now, and I can actually hear myself think. I’m considering asking them to be a little louder. And they are even discussing the questions that they are supposed to be discussing. . .” Obviously, this has not been the case for the past 14 years of his teaching experience. He was in shock.
My kiddos, too, are very nice. . .everything going well. . .some of the “good” behavior wore off a little by 7th period on Friday, and I had to put my school teacher face on, but they settled down quickly, and it’s going to be a good year.
Of course, there were some glitches along the way. Victoria forgot her homework one day. . .and it was for the teacher that had been a little stern with another student the day before. A lunch kit was left on the shuttle bus on the second day of school, so that’s gone. And Thursday morning on my way out of the house, I fell AGAIN. I was not in a rush. I was not being careless. I simply stepped on a loose rock, and down I went. Well, actually, it probably looked like a very humorous slap-stick routine. I kind of wish someone had been secretly video taping it just so I could have watched it later on.
I was walking with purpose toward the car at 6:38 a.m., and very proud of my early departure, when wham, bam, blam. . .the ground moved and I began evasive maneuvers to avoid landing on anything but my feet. I was unsuccessful. After making enough scuffling, falling noises to wake the neighborhood, I landed on my left side near a huge tree that we cut down last summer. My feet were in the air, and I knew there would be a price to pay. Luckily, it was just the price of some pride. I wiggled my already injured ankle–which has been healing nicely–to make sure it was not reinjured. It barked a couple of times but was otherwise okay. I sat up and looked around. Nothing was spinning, so I got to my feet. I saw one shoe where I had left it on the driveway, but the other was nowhere in sight. It did not help that it was 6:40 a.m. and still a bit dark out. I finally located it 5 feet from where I’d fallen (an open-backed sandal, so it became a free agent as soon as the momentum hit) cowering under a particularly large milk weed bush. Next item on the agenda was finding my keys that had been in my hand. My bags were on the ground, but my keys were nowhere to be found. Again–dark out–I finally saw them winking at me from under a clump of yaupon in the opposite direction of my errant shoe. It was more like I exploded to the ground rather than merely falling.
After finding all of my belongings, I decided to take a look at my pants. There was a smudge on the knee, but nothing worth taking even MORE time to go back into the house over. I took a deep breath, climbed into my car, and headed out. It was 6:45.
I got three miles from the house, and discovered that I had forgotten my lunch. At this point, my head start was gone, so I turned around and went back to get it–thus adding 6 miles coming and going to my trip. I went into the house, turned on the light, located my lunch, and just happened to look down at my pants. The foyer brightness showed more than the dim light of dawn regarding the state of my pants. The entire left side of my cropped khakis was covered in what appeared to be the left-over results of a very cranky baby feeding himself creamed spinach with dismal results. I have not had to scrub grass stains off my children’s clothes in several years–much less my own–but I did that night.
So, I changed pants, then walked VERY SLOWLY back to my car and tried to leave AGAIN. It was 6:58 a.m. I was already late for school–so I stopped at Sonic and got a large Diet Coke. On the way there, new abrasions kept presenting themselves like bread crumbs–a pants burn on my knee, a gouge on my big toe, a broken toe nail, jabs in several fingers from the yaupon bush I flattened. . .you get the idea.
I had to laugh.
We’re back in the swing of things. . .
Sometime last year, through another blogger’s suggestion, I began reading The Nie Nie Dialogues. In short, it was the cute blog of a young mother–four babies–handsome husband–beautiful life. You can go there to find and read the details of how in the course of a few short seconds one afternoon a year ago, their lives were changed forever. They were in a plane crash, lost a very dear friend, Stephanie was burned over about 80% of her body, and her husband over 30% of his. She spent the next five month in a coma while one sister cared for the three older children, and her youngest baby was cared for by another.
Until yesterday, she had not posted a photo of how she looks. There had been random shots of her hands in their tight gloves, of the clear mask she must wear while she sleeps, of bottles and bottles and bottles of pain medication, of her beautiful, green eyes. I had only seen these photos–the ones of a natural beauty who glowed with confidence in herself and her life and the people who love her.
Sometime over the weekend, she posted this one. That is her husband holding her. . .the green eyes are the same, the glow of confidence is still there, but it’s stronger.
Today, I return to a job I wish were different after having gained five pounds over the summer to add to the 35 I’ve already gained in the past five years. As I drive away from my husband and children and go back out into a very imperfect world after sequestering myself in my home for the past 9 weeks, I will remember that I did not fall out of the sky. I did not miss five months of my children’s lives. I did not hear my baby call someone else Mommy. I did not very nearly leave them motherless and my husband without the comfort of a wife for five months while he also struggled to survive. When I look in the mirror, I recognize the face there. When I want to walk, I do not have to will my legs to do so. When I write, I do not have to force my fingers to do my bidding.
I am not perfect. But my Father is perfect, and He has blessed me. And I know that Stephanie would say the same thing.
At this time 11 years ago, I still had no idea if I was about to meet Victoria or Thad. We were of the infuriating couple ilk who did not find out if they are having a boy or a girl. This trend is coming back I’ve noticed as of late, but in 1998 we were among the few and the annoying. It was especially irksome as we attended a church where 15 baby boys had come into the world over the previous 3 years without even one hint of a girl. So. Imagine the chagrine when we did not find out the gender of our first child, nor did we release the name choices prior to her birth.
Tony was the hard core “Can’t Find Out Before the Baby is Born” one. I had more than one nightmare that the ultrasound tech told me the sex of our unborn child, and I knew FOR A FACT I wouldn’t be able to keep it from Tony for the rest of my pregnancy. We would not have kept the names secret, except we had chosen Thaddaeus as a boy name, and we knew there would be NO END of commenting on the moniker. Now all we hear is, “What a COOL name.” At the time of Thad’s birth it was more like, “What?” “Why did you add the extra letters?” “Where did you find THAT name?” “Do you REALLY expect him to be able to spell that?” To answer all of those questions, we had one simple mouth-shutting answer. It’s a Biblical name–an apostle– and the spelling is the original Greek. By the way, he spells his name just fine.
But 11 years ago we were standing on the precipice of still not knowing exactly whom I’d been trying to bring into the world for the past 15 hours. As it turns out, it was our daughter. The photo is the one we took when I finally got to see her about 5 hours after she was born. I’ve written before about all the scary things that happened before and after this photo was taken, but this is the newborn picture I love the most. She is just hours old, yet she has on her face a look of concentration and understanding that surprises me to this day. That furrow in her brow is still there when she concentrates. . .the little upturned lip–still there–the piercing gaze–still there. All of it is still there in the girl that is moving at lightning speed toward adolescence. Despite our best efforts against society in trying to let her be a little girl, she is, indeed, moving away from that time in her life. We still have a little while left, but each moment of each day brings longer legs, growing opinions, a few more eye rolls, more maturity, more responsibility, a fraying of the apron strings.
She is an amazement, this girl of mine. From the moment I knew I was carrying her to the moment I managed to bring her into this world she was ONLY mine. Now I have to share her with the universe. . .and sometimes that is hard. . .but I am thankful that I still see traces of the baby I held in my arms that night. I am even more thankful that God trusted me enough to let me be her mother. We gave her gifts today–a digital camera, a figurine, some food erasers, some days of the week socks–tokens of our love for her and our knowledge of what she likes. But SHE is a gift every, single day.
Victoria turns 11 on Monday. We had her slumber/birthday party on Friday night. . .here are a few pictures of the event.
Goody Bags awaiting girls
Slumber Party cake and Birthday Girl
Closeup: I forgot the Teddy Graham Teddy Bears
One little brother who got to swim, eat, and watch movies with the girls.
In about 6 weeks I will turn 40. It is one of my dearest hopes that I will have, at the very least, another 40 years on this planet to enjoy my wonderful marriage and my incredible children and my glorious life. I am well aware that I don’t know SQUAT about a lot of things, but, as my mother has told me before, I pay attention. I’m not really into rebellion, disobedience, pain, or the consequences that come from such. I was not–and am not–one to cave into peer pressure. If I find myself in a learning situation that is painful, I’ll bite the bullet and feel the pain every time so I can learn and be better prepared for it to happen again OR learn not to make the same mistake twice. If you have been through a life lesson and are willing to share what you’ve learned with me, then I am more than happy to listen AND take notes so I don’t have to learn that very same lesson completely on my own from scratch or, better yet, at all. I’m more than happy to take your word for it. I am also, for the most part, a people pleaser. I want to be all things to all people on all occasions and there we have
Lesson #1. . .that is impossible. I can barely please all three of the people who live in my house on a daily basis–two of whom walk around carrying half of my DNA in their molecular structure, so the rest of the planet will just have to take a number. And I’ve had to get over the fact that I can’t always make everyone happy (even though I still try to).
Lesson #2. . .if every fiber of your being screams that you shouldn’t do something, then it’s very likely that you SHOULD NOT do it.
Lesson #3. . .intuition is a gift from God–it should not be relied on completely in all situations, but it is a gift that should be honed and a counselor that should be consulted when it starts knocking at your door.
Lesson #4. . .people will ALWAYS suprise you. Sometimes it’s a good surprise, and sometimes it’s a bad one.
Lesson #5. . .(I tell my students this EVERY year) 10% of the people cause 90% of the problems.
Lesson #6. . .everyone looks at life through their own lense, and it is shaped by their own experiences and how they perceive the world to be.
Lesson #7. . .(from Mike Cope when he was the preacher at College church in Searcy) many things are like eating fish. You need to eat the meat and throw away the bones.
Lesson #8 (from my mother–some of the last words she spoke to me before leaving me in the dorm my freshman year). . .people find what they are looking for. If they are looking for the bad, that is what they will find. If they are looking for the good, that is what they will find.
Lesson #9. . .(also from my mother and one I am ignoring spectacularly at this moment) sometimes you just need to use your good, common sense and go to sleep.
Lesson #10. . .as much as people DON’T want to believe it, Harry was right. Men and women CANNOT be friends. I have men whom I call “friend” and with whom I am on friendly terms, but I cannot truly have, nor do I NEED to have, a close friendship with them. Nor should I have a close friendship with any man that does not include AT EVERY STEP OF THE WAY IN ALL SITUATIONS my husband’s full knowledge of the relationship and all of its terms.
I am FINE. We are all FINE. Nothing is wrong, but if you care to know WHY I felt it necessary to write such a list then feel free to leave a comment. I’ll e-mail you the somewhat cryptic yet explanatory details. I have just been reminded recently of when and where and how I learned those lessons in one, fell swoop. I’m not so much writing them for your benefit as I am for Victoria and Thad’s and to be reminded–again–that what others intend for harm, God uses for good.
I have a very long, photo filled post to post at some posting time later. For now, run over to Melanie’s and read HER post on not postponing time with your kids. For me, it stung a bit–just bit–but was a good reminder that even though I need breaks, those breaks shouldn’t turn into hours of breakage that could eventually break things I don’t want broken.
My post later.
Enjoy your Easter weekend–the beauty and symbolism of spring (even if it’s cold and rainy where you are–it will be here too).
I have a student. He is Hispanic. That is important not because of racial negativity–I have taught every nationality in the greater Houston area and can tell you good and bad about them all–but because many, many Hispanic males in urban areas show up to school each day with a set of issues and mores (read “morays”) that I as a caucasian female will never fully understand. Despite my lack of understanding, it is my job to teach them, to discipline them, to move them along the road to high school and beyond.
This particular student is one of a handful I have kicked out of my class this year. As in, “Get out.”
My exact words.
I don’t say it often. I like to handle issues in my room, because if a student is in the office rather than my room, that student isn’t learning. When their disruptive behavior becomes such that NO ONE is learning, I kick them out. He’s been out at least five times this year. I do not find this pleasant. It makes me cranky.
That being said, he is the ONLY person in my 8th period class–including the “smart girl”–who knew exactly what the word “propaganda” meant today. Lots of people were throwing out various and sundry things that were close, when, under his breath with his face turned to the wall he said, “political.” I had him repeat it, “It has to do with politics and governments, miss.” Then I explained how everyone else’s statements were also true, but HIS statement was the most exact.
This all happened after I had to haul him into the hallway because he didn’t bring paper to class. When I told him he had a phone call home for not bringing supplies and tried to GIVE him a piece of paper, he ignored me and let the paper fall to the floor. Then he refused to answer my question about whether or not he was refusing to follow directions. You see? This is not fun.
We had a little conference out there in the hallway. Most days he says, “I don’t care,” and we proceed from there. He also knew–from experience–that the next step was getting kicked out and, for some reason, he didn’t want that to happen today. I’m not sure why.
But it’s a good thing since he was the only one who knew what propaganda meant.
He is also the one who got REALLY angry about how people treated Charlie when we read “Flowers for Algernon.” He felt sorry for the orphaned boy in “A Mother in Manville.” He was the one to whom I referred when I talked about big, bad kids playing in the snow. He asked permission to call his mom on his cell phone. Kids aren’t supposed to use their cell phones during the day, but when it snows in Houston and you want to call your mom, I will let you.
So I made his “didn’t have supplies” phone call a little bit ago, at which time I ALSO got to tell him that he made commended on the state’s TAKS test. This is a big deal for anyone–but it is especially a big deal for him. It means he missed three or fewer questions on a 52 question 5 passage test that took about three hours. He asked me twice if I was serious. I had to talk to him because his mom doesn’t speak English. He’s a pain, but he doesn’t lie, so I knew he’d tell her about the fact that he didn’t bring his supplies to class today. And I also promised to have a note written in Spanish for his mom tomorrow, because she didn’t believe at first that he had made commended.
Then, I got to do what most teachers dream of. I got to say, “R____o? What have I been telling you ALL YEAR LONG?” And he replied, “That I am capable and need to do my best.” “Yes. That is what I have been telling you. And I was right.” “Yes ma’am.”
Yes ma’am, indeed. He is capable. In fact, he is SO capable, that after I got off the phone with him and dug a little deeper into his scores, I found out that not only did he get commended, but he made a PERFECT score. That’s right. He didn’t even miss one. So I called back, but he was outside helping his dad, and his brother had to deliver the good news rather than me. I hope he’s not suspended tomorrow. I can’t wait to see the look on his face.
I also hope it makes a difference that I have kicked him out of my class. I hope it makes a difference that I let him call his mom when it was snowing. I hope it makes a difference that I am proud of him now and may be mad at him tomorrow but will always care about what happens to him–even when I don’t really want to–even when it makes me tired–even when I want to quit–to give up on him. And I HAVE wanted to give up on him. More than once. There have even been days when I have done just that.
Yet somehow I keep on learning as much as I am trying to teach my students. You don’t give up. Ever. I sometimes forget that I am still in God’s classroom. But since God hasn’t given up on me, He just keeps the reminders coming.
