One month ago today I was on the beach, writing in the sand.  I had just finished my third half marathon.  Many months of planning, waiting and training came to a halt in that moment.  Goal reached!!! We finished the Myrtle Beach Mini Marathon.  We were all hoping for a PR, but it was just not meant to be.  Over the last month I have given the whole experience some thought and want to share the highlights in Letterman fashion.  So here is my top ten list:

10.   On the road and leaving the kids behind. Good to have a break from those you love the most.

 9.  Filling the road miles with a two hour summary of The Walking Dead for the friend who is not a viewer.  Two hours of her life she will not get back!!! 

8.  Arriving safely at our destination and finding the other members of our group.  Lots of chatter about their drive up, our awesome accommodations and "where are we gonna eat"?!?

7.  Our lazy Saturday morning.  No alarms were set.  We slept until we woke up.  One by one we made our way into the living area for coffee, breakfast and planning for the day.

6.  A beautiful, sunny afternoon on the beach with moments of Eli and our Crimson Tide on the radio.  RTR!!!

5.  RACE DAY!!! Around mile 2 the question was asked, 'why is it we do this"? Response: a breathless, "I don't know"!  Mile 4 brought  "hey, I'm just here running with my friend".  About mile 5 or 6 much needed comic relief (and a touch of horror) from our people watching on the course.   Mile 9 brought our first glimpse of the beautiful beach and our "old lady" high five.  A Robin Williams look-a-like and his singing fellow runners made mile  10 or so fly by.  As we ran down Ocean Blvd I realized I had been there before, fours years prior, in a car, because I was not a runner then.  A sign that read, "pain is temporary, internet results last forever" made us laugh along mile 11, but we did not run any faster.  Finally, the FINISH LINE, where our speedy friend patiently waited.  13.1 DONE!!! 

4.   An afternoon of movies made for a restful recovery.  Complete with a red Swingline, baby steps, and talk of burning the building down. 

3. The comfortable silence in the car as we started our return journey. Knowing all of our minds were occupied with thoughts of home.

2.  Myth BUSTA!!!

1.  It was so NOT  about the bling!!! 

Three of the scariest words I have ever heard are "It's a girl!"  I was 20 or so weeks along in my pregnancy and looking at the ultrasound screen.  My husband there holding my hand.  As I dressed a 2 year old Mick earlier that morning he had given me the heads up.  "Momma, the baby is a girl." So why did I lay there surprised and scared to death? 

Well, first of all my husband and I both belong to families where girls are a minority. And secondly, from my first inkling of ever wanting to be a Mom I was gripped with the fear of having a baby girl.  What would I do with her?

I, myself, am not very girlie. When I look side to side and compare myself to other women I can feel like I fail miserably at the whole being a girl thing.  There are days I don't even brush my hair, my attempt at the messy look. I'd rather talk sports with the guys than discuss makeup and clothes with the girls.  My fingernails are rarely ever painted, and my toenails are, well, let's just say it is a good thing our feet are so far away from our eyes. (And remember, I am a runner.)  I am probably the only female who really does not enjoy a nice pedicure.  I endure them now occasionally for my daughter.  She loves them and so many things girlie. 

My baby girl came into my life to help me conquer my fear of being a Mom to a girl.  I have lots of nicknames for her.  I call her sis, sook, sookie, and Annie. Her Poppa sometimes calls her "Blondie". And to Mammaw she is her Miss Lilac.  She is so many things to so many people.  When we discussed what her blog name was to be our sitter suggested "3B" for Blonde, Bold and Beautiful.  It summed baby girl up perfectly.  

Her blondeness makes her unique in a family of dark headed people. I have been asked countless times, "where does she get her blonde hair? Were you blonde as a child?"  No.  It is all her own.  And she embraces it completely with stereotypes and all.  She lives life to have fun.  Just the other day she was showing me something silly she was doing to make her friends laugh.  She said, "they wanted me to do it again and again".  To her life is be enjoyed at all times.  3B is beyond smart.  She has a head full of common sense at times, but there are other times that her "blondeness"  will shine through.  For example, she was loving stealing some onion rings from a family member's plate one day.  She was chomping away while being so pleased with her sneakiness. When the family member caught her he asked, "so you like onion rings?" And she replied," oh no! I don't eat onions. I don't like them. " He was quick to inform her that onion was what she was eating.  Her look said it all.... oblivious!  She just shrugged her shoulders and kept eating. She is notorious for mispronouncing, misspelling, and really just making up her own words.  There could be the 3B dictionary.  Her creative words can make any audience erupt in laughter as she sits staring like, "what? what is so funny?"  The verdict is still out on whether this is for real or just part of her blonde charm. 

3B is bold.  She is not the child that will ask permission.  She came into this world independent.  She is my "I can do it myself" child.  And most of the time she can do whatever it is by herself. Like her brother there are many stories I could tell to exemplify her best qualities. The following is probably my favorite and I hope I can write it in such a way to do it justice.

When you have three children in the span of four years and a few months you do things to be more efficient and save time. My husband and I gave baths tag team style when our children were small.  We would throw all kids in the bath together, one night I would wash and he would dry and the next night it was vice versa. It has been said about me, "give her a book and she can learn anything." So when I was pregnant with my first I read the book on parenting. Of course it covered all topics. On the topic of introducing body parts to your child it said to teach them to use the correct terms for their parts. Okay. Done. I had no problem teaching my son the correct term. Penis. See I can even type it! But when it came to my daughter and her parts I could not say that word. You know the other V word that should not be said?!?  And I didn't, but I did not make up some little "cute" name for it either.  I just avoided it all together. A mom moment at its finest!! Since we bathed them together she heard the boy parts word and started referring to her body parts using that word. I would tell her not to say that. It was not the right word.  Of course she would ask what hers was called and I would ignore the question. Again, fine moment. This went on for a while until I realized I had to address her question and correct the misunderstanding. I readied myself for the moment.  I put just her in the bathtub and waited for her to use the wrong word yet again.  When she said it I told her it was not the right word and on cue she asked about the right word. I took a deep breath and I said it. Time slowed to slow motion as the word drug from my mouth.  I heard it loud in my head not believing I was able to get it out. It seemed like such a long word with so many syllables! She repeated it several times and looked at me so happy to finally know the word.  I told her to stop saying it and cautioned her that no one really liked to hear it said. She nodded her sweet little head like she understood.  Days went by and baths happened with no mention of the V word. All the body parts talk had clued me in to the fact it was time to bathe them all separately.  One morning I had finished bathing my least one and I left the bathroom for a minute to grab his clothes. The next thing I knew I had a streaker on the loose!!! I chased after him until I caught him in the living room.   I was wrestling with him and trying to get him in his pull-up.  It was a struggle.  He did not want to be still and I was loosing the battle. 3B walked through about the time things were getting ugly.  She heard me threatening him through gritted teeth and thought she could help. So real sweet like she said, "You better put on your pull-up. You don't want anyone seeing your Cha-china."  Her best creative word to date! In the moment, I felt defeated.  I remembered hanging my head and feeling like even my best efforts were unsuccessful. As 3B has grown and more moments similar to this one have followed, defeat is not what I feel as I look back. She is bold and so willing to help. She is comfortable even with the uncomfortable. She approaches life with such ease and has such assurance in who she is.  She had it all wrong that day but it didn't matter.  She convinced her brother to stand still and get dressed. She bee bopped away triumphant! And I got a glimpse of the person she continues to be, joyful,helpful, thoughtful and so care free. 

3B is beautiful. To her surprising blonde hair, to her movie star full lips she has such pretty features. Her blue eyes with their long lashes dance when she smiles.  During the summer months when her complexion darkens and her hair lightens I tell her she looks just like my Malibu Barbie I had when I was a kid. A living doll!

When 3B was about seven she had her first experience with wearing make up. It was her first recital. Before we even got to the performance she wanted to wash her face. I told her we had to wait.  She replied grumpily, "beauty hurts!" And all of woman kind said, "Amen!" Who hasn't squeezed into a pair of Spanx or stepped out of some torturous shoes and thought, "beauty hurts"?

Remember, an old crow.... Again, what kind of mother would I be if I did not think my baby girl is the prettiest little girl ever?? But her outward appearance is not what I find most beautiful about her.  She is most beautiful on the inside.  She was only "the baby" for a very short time.  Her little brother came along when she was only 22 months old. She thought he was her living doll! I tell people all the time she thought she was his momma and still thinks that now most days.  The best way to illustrate just how motherly she was is to share about one Sunday in church.  She was maybe three and her little brother was just a little over one.  I'll just say he was anxious for the service to be over before it ever really got started.  He was sitting in his Daddy's lap and we as parents were jumping through hoops trying to keep him quiet when 3B came to our rescue.  From her little, packed purse she pulled out some fruit chews and one of his favorite toys.  I had nothing, but she had come prepared for all of us.  I say all the time she practically raised her little brother.  Time and time again she thought of him and what his needs might be.  She came into this world thinking and wanting to do for others. 

To date, one of the greatest compliments I have ever received was about 3B.  Upon completing her Kindergarten evaluation the principal informed me 3B was more than ready to start school.  She said, "her little face just exudes confidence."  Wow! at how she chose to describe the beauty she saw in my child.  Her words resonated with me that day and I have often thought about them as 3B grows and faces this world.  A world that can be mean and harsh and a lot of the time sells the wrong message to young girls. I am so protective of her and her confidence (to the point of crazy momma bear sometimes).  

When she was eight she wanted to be in her first beauty pageant. I was hesitant and reluctant to say yes. She was so excited about getting her dress and her shoes.  I was nervous and filled with fear. Being a female at my age I have heard and at times bought into what the world is selling.  I know what it is like to have a comment or a passed  judgement about me or my appearance chip away any level of confidence.  I just did not want 3B experiencing that feeling.  So before the pageant I bent down and got eye to eye with her and very sternly and matter of fact like said, "Listen to me. You walk in confidence and no matter what, win or loose, remember you are a child of the Almighty God and nothing else matters." (crazy momma bear) And fearlessly and confidently she replied, "I know Momma".  She did not win that year, but the next year the pageant people saw fit to give a confidence award. She rested easy adorned with a crown for confidence.  We'll take it as a win!!! 

I hope some idea of our mother/daughter relationship has been gained.  We are so different and yet so alike at times. Like her brother she is raising me.  Watching your children become the people they are to be really shapes and changes you too. Fear and doubt still creeps in with most things parenting.  There is always a new worry or concern. Each of my children have been the right goodness of God when I needed it.  Life is more fun with my little Blondie. There is never a dull moment. Her boldness is infectious and liberating. And her beauty can only be described as God within. The reassurance she brings to my life.  I hear her unspoken words when she smiles and says, "I know Momma". My only baby girl, 3B, a conqueror of fear and a best friend for life!!!

Again, pardon the interruption to the series I have promised.  I am working on it.  What happened on my run this morning has to be recorded.  I am still trying to convince myself it wasn't a dream and it really happened.  I have come across an array of varmints since the beginning of my running days.  Probably one of the first things I remember seeing was a snake.  It stopped me in my tracks and turned me back for home.  I have had just minimal run ins with dogs.  I have crossed paths with coyotes and deer.  A few weeks ago on a long run our group spotted deer across the road.  They stared at us and watched us go by.  My running buddy said those deer were thinking, "look at that herd". And I added, "yeah they're thinking those two slow ones in the back are going to get eaten."  

So maybe I saw what happened this morning as an opportunity.  I was about 2.5 miles in on a planned 4 mile run. I was feeling good.  I was just a tad bit in front of the other runners when I caught sight of something out of the corner of my eye. I had to do a double take to make out what was there.  It was a rabbit running along side me at the edge of the neighbor's yard!  I really could not believe what I was seeing.  We ran along side one another for maybe 15 to 20 ft. before Bugs (as in Bunny) darted away into the dark of the yard. Right before he darted he juked me, you know, moved one way and then the other just to fake me out.  I thought for sure he was headed for the pavement in front of me.  You cannot imagine the elation I felt when he ran the other way.  I viewed it as his giving up. I felt victorious! I let out a maniacal laugh and kept running. Only in the next moments did I realize what had just happened.  I raced a rabbit!!! I actually picked up my pace to a sprint racing this animal probably in flight due to his fright of me. The lunacy of it all! Reality came back to me and I was aware of my exhaustion due to the extra exertion. My app lady chimed in with "distance 3 miles; time 9 minutes, 58 seconds." All hail to the hare!!!! I haven't seen a mile under ten minutes in quite some time. I stopped running.  I did not need that last mile to feel like a winner (and I was really tired).  One of my fellow morning runners caught up with me and slowed to walk with me.  I did not dare mention my little race. (The last thing you want the ladies willing to get up at dark thirty to run with you thinking is that you are crazy.) Maybe I was still wondering if it had been real.

It was mid morning and I was sitting at my desk at work before I convinced myself the events from my run had actually taken place.  So they had to be recorded as comical as they were.  I briefly surfed the web for an image to illustrate my tale and decided on the above.  I did feel like the tortoise who was triumphant over the hare.  Bring on the rest of the day!!!

I interrupt the blog series introducing my family to share about the awesome feeling run I had on Saturday.  The run was a relaxed effort of nine miles total.  My partner in crime and I walked the first three just to rid ourselves of the junk from the week we had had.  After our "walking it out" it was time to run. We found motivation in running off our familiar trail and finding new ground to cover.  My running buddy knew where the new road led and was quick to agree to get off our beaten path.  Our leaving the trail meant descending about 550 ft. down to the edge of the river. The view was spectacular!!! The water was so choppy from the wind and the sun was just bouncing off the rolling water.  A couple of boats were trolling along the bank of the river as the fishermen casted toward the water's edge.  To have new scenery is such a treat on a run.  We followed the road along the river until it dead ended at the massive dam.  We turned around just short of the small waterfall not wanting to get wet from the spray of the falls.  We talked about how good the mist would have felt on a much hotter day.  We were experiencing our lowest temps of the season. The cooler weather felt wonderful, but it had been an overnight drastic change.  We knew we were now headed toward the climb up the hill back to our usual trek. All talking stopped. Game faces on as we readied ourselves for the ascension. A lot of thoughts come in and out of my head when I run up a hill.  I can always count on "I hate hills" to show up.  Another regular thought is "Oh! the back of my thighs are on fire!"  The burn. I have discussed strategy with other runners concerning how you make it to the top. I've been told, "look down and think one foot in front of the other. Don't look up to how far you still have to climb." I do practice this strategy, but on Saturday I looked up. And at the top was the brilliant sun shining.  This thought filtered through, "standing in the sun". (Thanks Scandal)  Yes!!! I want to be at the top standing in the sun.  So it is one foot in front of the other over and over til I am at the top.   I look to my friend and shout "we are standing in the sun!!!" (I had to explain myself since my friend is a super mom who does not have time for television. ) The next thing I know I am chanting "we are gladiators", and we are flying!  Could it be the infamous runner's high kicking in? The reward for the hard haul up the hill.  It does pay off.  The next mile or so feels unreal.  I am running and smiling.  I raise my fist in the air and pump it to the music.  Nothing else matters.  No, I don't experience this kind of intense rush on every run. And it may not last for long. But it is the best reminder of why I run.  I am not the fictional  Olivia Pope on a far away beach with a hunk of a man.  But on Saturday my standing in the sun moment left it all behind and I ran just to be. 

I have three amazing children.  Just call me an old crow who thinks hers is the blackest.  My intent was never to blog about them.  It is crazy to think I could share my life and not include the joy they bring to my everyday life.  They all are beautifully named after people near and dear to my husband and me. At some point I may feel compelled to blog about their given names, but for now I have had some fun coming up with some blog names.

This is my oldest son who I have been known to call My Mick or "Mick". Without a doubt I knew this was meant to be his blog name.  Let me explain.  Four years ago when I decided I needed to get in shape I could not run continuously for a minute.  He would ride his bike or Rip rider or Rip stick along side me cheering me on.  With one eye squinted and speaking from the side of his mouth in his best old man gruff sounding voice he would say, "Come on Rocky you can do it."  My own trainer for the fight. My Mick. Without fail, in my early days of running, he would be the first to ask me how my run had gone.  "How'd you do? How far did you go Mom?" He would ride along with me entertaining me with the play by play of his school day.  He didn't even mind being my water boy. It was nice to be just me and him, a reminder of when he was my one and only. 

Ahhhh, the first born! What makes them so special? Is it simply because they are the first? Is it the reality of this little person who is a mixture of you and your mate, but yet they are unique? Or is it the sense of experiencing a miracle like no one has ever experienced it before? I'm not sure there are words to describe what exactly makes the first born so special, but my first born is special. He is our guinea pig and a pioneer.  He bears with us as we try to figure out this whole parenting thing, and he is paving the way for his siblings.  Having been a "middle" I had never really given it much thought as to how tough life might be for the oldest child in a family.  My Mick is strong and up for the task.  His Dad and I continue to be so proud of him.  He is loving and caring, funny and so smart!! What kind of mother would I be if I did not mention his dashing good looks? With his wide, brilliant smile only stopping for his deep dimples he captivates me. How much time as parents we spend gazing upon these creations that are our children. Is it ever enough to realize the magnitude of the gift given?

After waiting more than two years to be pregnant with my first and then through the pregnancy I was more than confident I was prepared for all aspects of motherhood. It only took the trip home from the hospital, and the first five minutes of being at home with a new baby for that confidence to dwindle.  I'm sure experienced parents chuckled as I was surprised time and time again by the unexpected having a child can bring. I certainly did not anticipate all the life lessons I would learn from this new little person.  My Mick has so many attributes, but the one that comes to mind most often is his wisdom beyond his years.  There have been numerous times I have looked upon him in astonishment at the words that rolled from his mouth.  Where had he gained such knowledge? Allow me to share a couple of examples.

When Mick was around three or a little older I was outside cleaning our back porch.  He was running around playing and enjoying the pretty weather. As I washed off our picnic table I came across an awful tick.  I have a great hate for ticks! They are so disgusting. I called Mick over to show him this terrible parasite.  I explained to him what made them so nasty.  I told him they get on you, attach themselves to you and they suck your blood. I probably shivered as we watched it crawl on the table. He studied the bug and I said again, "they are just so nasty!" and he added, "Yeah, I know momma! Poli-TICKS are the worst kind." I was left speechless as he walked away like he had not just said something so funny and yet profound.  Many, many times I have thought to myself, "yep, politics are the worst kind" as I have watched people compete to obtain more power, control or a greater status than another person. Just the other day our pastor talked about how even the disciples asked, "who, then, is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?" And as Jesus calls a little child over to them he said, "Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven." A life lesson learned from a child of mine.

Seeing life through the eyes of a child is not something you can be prepared for.  They have this gift of seeing the world around them differently.  When my Mick was around four and a half I had taken him and my youngest ( a 6wk old baby at the time) to the doctor for their check up.  As we were leaving the Dr.'s office I stopped in the lobby to bundle the baby up in his infant carrier.  I was down getting the baby all tucked in, Mick was standing over us watching me and talking, when from behind me I heard a man's voice say, "Excuse me, Ma'am could I look at your baby?" Well, all in one motion I read Mick's confused facial expression, spun around, and I think I actually gasped like I had been startled. You see, we were looking at a man who had been badly burned.  There was not one visible place on his body that did not look like it had just melted from the heat.  His hair was thin and patchy on his head. His eyes had been affected, and his ears were deformed.  Hollywood could not have made him appear more gruesome.  I mean no offense; I just want to give you a clear picture as to the severity of this man's scars.  Remembering what he had asked, I did what we do when we see something out of the ordinary I smiled nervously and uncomfortably and picked up the infant carrier to uncover my baby.  As the man looked at my baby he commented about how sweet and beautiful he was.  He said something like he just loved new babies, and how precious they are, and then he spoke to Mick. I felt Mick hug my leg a little tighter as he looked out from behind me to tell the man his name and that he was four.  The man then said he would like to show us his baby as he motioned over to a corner of the waiting room we could not see.  As we stepped over to where his wife sat holding their baby he told us all about his little girl.  He said she was nine months old, and he loved being a Dad.  His wife smiled sweetly as I commented on how pretty their baby girl was.  Their baby girl looked at us smiling and cooing like happy babies do.  I wished them a  Merry Christmas; they wished us the same and we made our way outside to the car.  As we walked toward the van my mind was racing with how to explain to Mick what was wrong with the man we had just met when Mick interrupted my thoughts and said, "Well, that was a nice man."  I stopped walking and just stared at him in awe, with this feeling of amazement, not at him but at what he had so simply put into words. We had encountered the same man and yet our perspectives were so very different.  I chose to focus on the negative or the wrong and Mick chose to focus on the positive and the good of our having met this man.  With my grown up eyes I only saw what was wrong, and yet his sweet soul looked beyond the surface.  Another lesson learned from a child of mine.

Learning lessons from my children happens over and over for me.  Although we are the ones raising them they are raising us up as well.  I know these moments with Mick have made me a better person.  He has this way of quietly convincing me I can do things I never thought I could do.  In the Fall of last year, he was asked to join a team and run a half marathon.  His willingness at first to say yes and then his determination in his training pushed me to train and run the half too.  It was a first for both of us done together and yet apart.  He would finish in 1:55 and place third in the nineteen and under division. I would make my way up the home stretch a little over thirty minutes later.  He ran out to meet me ,running along beside me  to the finish line. My Mick.

Last week I got a call from the school that Mick was hurt.  He had mashed his finger.  As I raced to get to the school my mind was reeling.  The school nurse had said he needed to see a doctor.  I got there and he came out with his finger bandaged up.  I could tell he was hurting.  I drove to the doctor's office with Mick rocking back and forth in pain.  Thankfully, our wait was not long.  Quickly, the nurse got us back to a room and the doctor came in to give the injury a look.  He commented on how much Mick had grown since our last visit.  They left the room and we were once again just the two of us.  I thought about the doctor commenting about how year after year they watch their young patients grow.  I looked at my own son laid out flat on the examining table, tall and lanky now.    Where do the years go?  It  seems like yesterday that I was a nervous new Mom there with my infant son. An infant son who grew so quickly into a child who said the funniest things, like "if pee pee is number 1, and poop is number 2, is throw-up number 3??" Or when someone asked Mick what his jabbering baby sister was saying, he said, "I don't know. I don't speak baby!" Where did my first little boy go?  He is growing up into a fine young man.  He is the leader of our pack. He laid there that day being so strong.  I sat with him smiling and talking to fill the silence.  Looking away with tears in my eyes when I was overwhelmed with the intensity of the moment. My Mick. I will always be in his corner and I know he will always be in mine. Fighting the good fight and raising each other up!

This post is kind of an introduction to the next several posts.  I feel like I may be finding my sea legs with this whole blogging thing.  I see some kind of theme or shape being formed as to what my blog is really about.  It is more personal in nature than I thought it would be.  In fact, I have wondered if I just needed to be journaling for my own enjoyment rather than blogging for others to read. I think one thought that continues to motivate me to put it out there for others is the love I have for hearing the stories of others.  I could not say that without writing about my favorite storyteller. She is Mammaw. I'm going to attempt to capture the essence of this lady and the love we all have for her.

The saying "When you marry the man, you marry his family," is so true.  I came from an amazing, loving family that included the best grandparents in the world. When I met my husband our wonderful families is something we had in common.  He too, had a loving family with the best grandparents in the world.  His Mammaw  became my Mammaw instantly!!

In 2004, my husband and I moved from town to the country.  We lived right across the road from his grandparents.  My oldest was 2 years old at the time, and I was expecting my baby girl.  She was so excited to have us there close by.  I think my son got three homemade milkshakes a day for weeks.  She never "popped in" empty handed.  She would sit and visit with us.  Story after story she would tell.  Her laughter and jolly, always cheerful mood was contagious. We so looked forward to her stopping by, and I never minded hearing the same stories over and over.  She was never in a rush and always acted as if she had all the time in the world just for you and yours.  As she and I visited, she would be feeding my son all the good food she had cooked for him.  She always had his favorites.

Soon baby girl arrived, and just 22 short months later number three would arrive and complete our bunch.  Now,  looking back, I know I would not have survived or kept my sanity without Mammaw.  I would say to people then that she was my right hand man.  She was, and still is, such a help in raising our family.  We have since moved back to town and away from being across the road from her, but she has not let that stop her from doing for us.  We come home to cooked food and groceries on our stove. I have found boxes of doughnuts in our mailbox.  We go through periods of her supplying homemade zucchini bread, better than any bakery.  Any time she stops to visit now the kids run to her.  I tell folks she is a rock star to them.  One of the children said one time after she had been by for a visit, "I just love that woman!" When I shared  with my husband what had been said, he said he remembered feeling that same way about her when he was a kid. You see, she is a great grandmother to my children.  She raised her own and never waivered about helping raise the next two generations. 

Trying to decide what stories to share has been tough.  There are just so many. I have sat and listened to her reminisce about so many aspects of her life.  She has told about living at home with her brothers and sisters.  She would talk about how she loved to go the Saturday movies as a kid.  She loved to tell about her Daddy and the store he ran while she was growing up.  She'd tell about when she and Papaw first married.  I don't know how many countless times she would talk about cooking for others.  I mean big crowds of people!!!  Extended family from out of town, and just whoever stopped in.  I have heard her (and others) talk about how folks would eat on the back porch because her tiny house would not hold them all.  With every story she laughs, and makes it so new like it is her first telling of it.  After a lot of thought I think I have narrowed it down to what are some of my favorites. (I've added titles and will try to write them as she would tell them).

"Do what ya Momma say"
She came home from the hospital (after having baby number 2) to stay with her Mom and Dad for a little bit.  She said, "I was trying to get the baby to drink some water from a bottle while Larry (almost 3) stood beside me watching.  I put the nipple up to the baby's mouth and moved  it around trying to get him to take the bottle.  He wasn't having it.  I said, 'Aaaaaa, take this bottle!'  And next thing I know Larry punched the baby in the side of the head and said, 'do what ya Momma say'. I liked to have dropped the baby in the floor, I went to crying and momma went to crying and then Larry went to crying." She just laughs and laughs as she tells this now.

The Haircuts
With three children we have experienced a lot of haircuts! On several occasions a real short haircut has reminded Mammaw of this story: "I took the boys for haircuts one time and I tell you that barber peeled them like onions.  He just buzzed it all off. We left for home and I knew they were so upset with me over letting the barber do that to them.  When we got home they hopped from the car and ran straight for the woods. As I went after them calling their names, I did not hear a peep.  I finally saw the top of two little heads sitting in the bushes.  They looked like little rats!!! I told them to come out from there. They answered and said, 'we're not coming out of here til our hair grows back'. "

Like an 'ol cow on a flat rock
Mammaw is very good about taking care of others, but she is not the best about taking care of herself.  She will hide dealing with her own aches and pains, until something just has to be done.  Before I was in the family she had to undergo back surgery.  I think it was pretty rough on her. The story she has told me from that experience is the following: " I tell you I don't think I had ever been so happy to be up and out of a bed to go to the bathroom by myself.  I went in that bathroom and peed for what seemed like forever.  I told that nurse it sounded like an ol' cow peeing on a flat rock!" You don't know how many times I have rushed to the potty about to wet my pants only to sit down and think "like an ol' cow on a flat rock".  I laugh out loud every time!

Taking the day off
Mammaw has been married for 67 years this year.  During that time she has done a lot of cooking. I have been in the family for 18 of those years, and I can't tell you how many times I have scooted my chair up to her table. She is a fantastic cook and enjoys feeding others.  Recently, I had the privilege of just watching her in her kitchen, but this time Papaw was around helping her.  I sat silently at the kitchen bar and just watched the beauty of the two of them working together to prepare a meal for their coming family guests.  They were so in sync. Not talking really, but instinctively knowing what needed to be done to get the meal on the table.  I think one time Papaw may have said, "whatcha need babe?" And Mammaw not stopping what she was doing turns and gives the instructions needed.  Directly, Papaw moves about doing whatever she had told him to do. Rhythmically moving in time with one another like they were dancing. So sweet and wonderful to watch, especially with the next story in mind (probably my favorite to hear her tell).  Papaw retired from TVA only to work hard everyday on their cattle farm. Now Mammaw had worked in the school lunchroom as she raised her family and later for a dentist in town. But to hear her tell it she had never worked so hard until Papaw retired. "I tell you he retired, and I went to work!!! He expected me to cook him three, big, full, meals a day! He was working me to death.  I felt like I was constantly in the kitchen. I'd clean up from one meal and it would be time to start the next one.  After a few weeks of that I had about had enough.  He came in one evening and he went to fussing (about what exactly I don't remember her saying). I thought to myself, you ol' buzzard I'll show you!!! So the next day I got up before breakfast and I left.  I didn't fix any breakfast, I just left.  I went up town and got me something to eat.  I went and visited with my folks awhile.  I found somewhere to have lunch.  I just fooled around in town doing whatever I wanted to do. I just took my time  meandering around doing my own thing.   I was taking the day off."  I think I remember her telling she even stopped for ice cream.  "I ate again before heading home after dark.  When I got home the truck was there and the house was dark.  I reached for the door knob to go in and the door was locked! I didn't have a key. We never locked the door!  So I gently knocked on the door." (The great thing about Mammaw's stories is how she acts them out while telling them.  Here she always shrinks back, making herself smaller as she pretends to knock gently on the door.)  Now I don't remember Mammaw saying he let her in, but I know he did. I do remember her saying they didn't talk about it.  She said, "he never said a word.  He didn't ask me where I had been all day or anything.  But he didn't complain about his meals the next day either!! It put an end to that!"  Oh! how I have laughed and smiled typing this out.  I know I didn't do it justice like her telling it would.  She always shakes with laughter the whole way through as she tells this story.  A story that  always come to my mind on those tough married life days. I think of it and then I think about watching them in the kitchen that day years and years later.  It reminds me that marriage is not about sprinting to the finish, it is about the slow and steady pace for the long haul.

"Grandma, toys are not for t'rowing"
So many of Mammaw's stories are about my husband as a little boy.  He is an only child and was the only grandchild for eight years.  You can imagine how special he was and still is to her. She talks of taking him around town just to "show him off".  I have heard him tell about going out to eat with his grandparents and stopping for the toy he wanted in the moment.  I know she searched all over creation for a GI Joe hovercraft the year he wanted it.  Of course she found it!  She is like that for all of her grandchildren. We think she is capable of making the impossible possible. Over the years she has done an abundance of babysitting.  My children love to go to her house to stay. I have heard her tell this story so many times. She was keeping  her youngest grandson. "I tell you little boys just love action figures.  I remember one time when I had Nick he wore me out playing with this little motorcycle guy. He would want the little man on the motorcycle just so so. He wanted the figure's hands to grip the bike's handlebars in a particular way.  I'd work the hands on there and give it back to him.  He would take it and hold it up to the light. If it passed his inspection he would go off to play with it.  Five minutes would not go by before he would need it fixed again.  I'd do the same thing, work the hands onto the grips and hand it back to him.  He would inspect it. Of course, sometimes it was not good enough to suit him, and he would hand it right back.  I bet I put that rider on that bike fifty times!!! He brings it to me just one more time, and I am working to get it like he wants it when I get so frustrated with it that I just throw it across the room.  It goes sailing!  That kid had the funniest look on his face.  And he said, 'Grandma, toys are not for t'rowing'.  I tell you I don't think I had ever felt so bad in all my life.  I hugged him up and told he was right.  I should not have thrown his toy.  Grandma was just tired and frustrated." She is usually not laughing when she finishes telling this story. She almost always will add, "I tell you the look on that little fella's face liked to have killed me."  

She is Father Time
In hearing and now sharing these stories I have learned how Mammaw cares for others.  And in her telling them her intent was never to reflect how she cares for others.  She was simply taking the time to remember, sharing her history with me. Her history would be incomplete if I did not share the next story and her reflection as a daughter.  We called Mammaw's mother Bobo.  She lived to the age of 98, always living at home.  Mammaw and her sisters would take weekends about staying with her so her week day sitter could have the time off.  One weekend in particular I remember Mammaw taking her turn was a Saturday in October.  I was throwing a costume party for all the family members with October birthdays.  I really wanted Mammaw and Papaw to make the party since Mammaw celebrates her birthday in October.  All week she acted like she was unsure they would be able to make it due to her responsibilities.  But at party time they all three arrived!!! Mammaw and Papaw were dressed as Bill Clinton and Monica Lewinsky (complete with cigar) and  Bobo was carrying this really long scepter.  Mammaw just grinned and laughed as she said, "I just thought I would bring Bobo with us.  She is Father Time." 

Before I end with my last Mammaw story I want to share one about her that is my own.  When my oldest son was four he had pneumonia that caused a pleural effusion.  It all started with him vomiting.  We thought he just had a nasty virus. Over the course of a few days he improved and seemed over it. But in the wee hours of the morning he woke up with trouble breathing and really distressed.  I sat and rocked him til morning light and as the day got started I called Mammaw. I  told her I thought I needed to take him to the doctor and thought I would take baby girl too since she had been suffering with a runny nose.  Mammaw said she would go with me to help me.  (I was nine months pregnant with baby #3). At the doctor's office we got a shock.  A very large mass of pneumonia in his right lung. He needed to be admitted to the hospital. As I struggled to carry a four year old who was now screaming with pain in his back, Mammaw took over.  She said she would take us on to the hospital, call my husband and take baby girl home with her.  For the next ten days I would not see Mammaw or baby girl. The next day our son was taken by ambulance to a larger hospital an hour away. He was admitted to PICU and considered critical.  Several days later with our parents, family and friends around us we waited as he underwent a Video Assisted Thoracic Surgery (VATS).  A couple of days after his surgery my husband returned home to see about baby girl.  I was missing her terribly never having been away from her. When he called I could not wait to hear how she was doing.  He said she looked like she had gained at least five pounds!  I said, "Well, when someone is chasing you with a fork 24/7 wanting you to eat, you tend to eat!" As I lived through the toughest days of my life, I never worried about baby girl.  I knew Mammaw and Papaw were taking the best care of her.  As other family members offered to help them with her Mammaw would say they were all making it just fine.  It was what they wanted to do to help in the situation. She at 77 and Papaw at 82 saw to every need baby girl had, in what must have been a very confusing time for her. To this day, baby girl loves to spend time with them.  When she is not feeling well, and not wanting to go to school, she will ask to  stay with Mammaw.  What comforted then, comforts now.

Every old crow thinks hers is the blackest
As I have tried to capture the heart and soul of this woman through these words and her stories I purposely used a few phrases that Mammaw is known to say.  A phrase I have heard her use time and time again is "awww that is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen."  She will say it about anything or anyone.  She tells about calling her momma after her first son was born.  She said, "momma, he is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen." And her Mom (Bobo) said, "awwwww, every old crow thinks hers is the blackest."  And she laughs knowing it is true of her.  Loving us all  and knowing we are hers.

For weeks now, on every run, I felt like I was writing my next blog post. But, I never sat down to type it out.  I thought of all sorts of titles and all kinds of ways to go about writing the same post.  The original idea formulated during a mid week run.  It was an early run. (Rare for me during the week) I felt great afterwards.  As I cooled down to stretch "Today" by the Smashing Pumpkins was playing through the ear buds. "Today is the greatest day I've ever known...." It struck me how perfect the song seemed to match how I was feeling in the moment.  Of course, I would make a mental note to Google the meaning of the song. (It is a habit or a hobby.) The music is catchy, almost uplifting while the lyrics are haunting.  The great feeling of that run would not last. The next runs would prove to be tough.  Monday (a few days later) would find me discouraged.  I shared my frustration with a fellow runner.  I received a text of encouragement from her, along with the above picture.  After reading it, the haunting lyrics from the Pumpkins would come to me again.  When I had  googled the lyrics I found this quote from the lead singer, "I reached a point in my life where I felt like I was living through some old character. It's like you assume some character and you take that as far as it can go and then it doesn't work anymore, so you shed your skin.... I had to kill off one part of me so that I could go on...." 

What part of me would I "kill off" so I could "go on"? I decided it had to be the whiner, the complainer, the negative self that was on repeat saying, "this is too hard, you are really not that good at this. Maybe you should just quit." Now this did not mean that I was done with my complaints to others about how bad I thought the running was going.  There seemed to be plenty of that, but I wasn't going to let it be the reason I did not get back out there. So the complainer and the whiner got back out there to get the run done.  It was a little over a week later when I headed out for a run I had dreaded all day. As I started my warm up I turned to my U2 channel on Pandora. As the song started playing I could not believe what I was hearing. "40". Just one of my favorite U2 songs ever.... and it was playing on the radio! (well, Pandora). The timing of it could not have been more perfect.  I just had to laugh out loud, with unspeakable joy really!  Allow me to share the lyrics:

I waited patiently for the Lord
He inclined and heard my cry
He brought me up out of the pit
Out of the miry clay

 I will sing, sing a new song
I will sing, sing a new 
song
 How long to sing this song?
How long to sing this song?
  How long, how long, how long
How long to sing this song?

 He set my feet upon a rock
And made my footsteps firm
 Many will see
Many will see and fear

 I will sing, sing a new song
I will sing, sing a new 
song
I will sing, sing a new song
I will sing, sing a new song
 How long to sing this song?
How long to sing this song?
  How long, how long, how long
How long to sing this song?

Why did this perfection bring such joy? It was exactly what I needed to hear.  It was like in that moment it had been ordered up just for me.  For days and days I had struggled, complained and really contemplated (well, not really) hanging up my running shoes.  I had been wallowing in such a "pit" of discouragement that I was focused on nothing else. I was really making myself get out there to get the run done when I was reminded, through this song from my favorite band, that we are brought out of the pit and given a new song.  U2 titled this song as "40" because the words are not original.  They are words from the 40th Psalm.

As a child of the 80s I played a video game called Pitfall. I don't remember a whole lot about the game other than it was graphically much, much more simple than anything my children play today.  I do remember there was a guy who ran through the jungle jumping over all kinds of things, including pits.  While working on this blog post (over the course of several weeks) my mind kept seeing the ebbs and flows of how the running was going as that childhood video game. The ups and downs. The great run, followed by not so great run leading to discouragement, followed by the forced run that would receive confirmation as to why I always get back out there... the new song is sung by the "new me" who is only known best by the "old me". This "new me" has all this valuable knowledge from what the "old me" has learned.  So yeah, it is a kind of shedding of skin or killing off of some part that is no longer beneficial, but it is never game over. The footsteps are made firm, so start again and leave "old me" behind.

Over the course of the last few weeks, we (as a country) have witnessed a rare phenomenon all over social media. The ice bucket challenge for ALS.   I first started seeing the ice bucket challenge on Facebook.  My husband talked about seeing videos of the various challenges on Twitter.  My Dad (who is not on social media) even received the challenge via text from his brother.  It was really sweeping across the nation.  All of these people were willing to dump a bucket of ice water over their head to raise awareness for ALS, a terrible debilitating disease that ends in a slow and painful death.  They were also willing to give of their money.  I read one report that stated  the ALS Foundation had collected $75 million dollars in donations to date, up $1.9 million from what was received last year over the same period. I found those numbers impressive and almost hard to believe. Now as we entered into the second and third week of these challenges there were those who were deviating a little from the original challenge.  They may have still been willing to suffer through the bucket of ice, but they were giving their money to causes that were personal to them.  One of my best friends posted a video of her son taking the ice bucket challenge for their family and shared they would be donating to the American Cancer Society in memory of her Dad. Another friend declined the challenge, but encouraged others to read about the Phoenix Society for Burn Survivors which was dear to her because of the burns she herself had lived through. She also said this, "Benevolence is good folks, But it's okay to give where your heart leads you."  Oh my!!! how I love this!!! GIVE where your heart leads you!

When I was a stay at home Mom back a few years ago the kids and I enjoyed watching Dora.  She taught us all to think about and share a favorite part of something.  My favorite part of the ice bucket challenges has been the spirit of giving!!! And it is not even Christmas time!! So when I was challenged by my oldest niece I started contemplating how I would accept the challenge. Now my two oldest children had accepted the challenge from friends in support of ALS. It gave me a great opportunity to explain to them what ALS is, and how people are affected by it. After watching them gasp for breath (as I doubled over in laughter) I decided the ice bucket was not for me!! But I liked the idea of our giving hurting a little. 

I know I am a little different, and I do think differently than most.  I seem to draw connections among things when others don't.  For example, all this talk of ice made me think of one of my favorite commercials.  Please click on the following link: http://vimeo.com/41783340  It is the second part that I most enjoy.  No matter what movie I go to see I always look forward to the clinking ice and the pouring soda.  I have often said I do not know what it is like to struggle with addiction, but that statement is just not true.  I am a soda feen!!!  I can hear the "pop" of a soda can and my mouth will  water.  Dr. Pepper and Coke are my favorites, but I will not discriminate. I really like most flavors of carbonation.  Certain foods just beg for a soda to drink with them. I remember drinking a Mountain Dew on a very hot summer day after softball practice one time when I was a kid.  I don't think I had ever had anything taste so good and refreshing.

But sadly I am not a kid anymore. And soda is really not good for me.  There are all kinds of lists out there as to why soda is so unhealthy.  Several years ago, I quit them cold turkey. I decided I just could not justify the calories they contained.  I started eating a lot healthier, and I lost close to 25 lbs.  My reward.... drinking one soda a day. (Crazy, I know!!)  I would start my day with a Dr. Pepper every morning.  I told myself it was my coffee.  Well, my one in the morning turned into drinking them more often.  My healthy eating was suffering and the weight was slowly creeping back up.  I needed an intervention.

As all the ice bucket challenges were being posted from all over I was struggling once again to quit cold turkey.  So in my head it makes sense to me for my ice bucket challenge to be no more soda drinking!!!  I will make my donation to Donate Life in honor of my godson, and the family who made a life changing decision for him in their darkest of days. Every time I crave a soda  may I be reminded of the Mom who in the midst of her pain and loss decided to give so another could live. Wow!!! To remember such amazing strength is humbling in any challenge I may face. 

I'm a real social person with lots of friends.  I have my friends I'm related to as family.  I have my friends I have known since childhood. I have my friends from college and places I have worked. I have church friends.  I have friends who are fellow runners.  I have friends who are friends because our children were friends first. And I have friends who are friends because our parents were friends first. My friend, Michelle, is an example of a friend from the last group.  I like to say to folks, "we've been friends since the cradle." When we were just toddling our moms would get together and do their ironing (now that sounds like a blast!!) Michelle was my first friend who had to move away. We were pen pals during her time in Kansas.  I remember the day (fourth grade I think) she moved home just as well as the day she moved away.  During our coming years we would suffer through marching band together, we would twirl as majorettes together. We would sleep over at each others' houses. We would talk of boys and school and all things important to teenagers. We even had a time when we didn't talk at all.  Over something so stupid and silly.  Michelle was the first to break our silence and make amends. We would graduate from high school and go our separate ways. Michelle married and moved out to Colorado.  We would periodically catch up with one another over the phone. We would try to see each other on their trips home.  Around the first of August in 1997 Michelle called with exciting news.  She was pregnant!! I told her I was recently engaged, and asked her to be a bride's maid. I got married in May of 1998. Michelle made the trip home for my wedding as a new mom by 6 weeks or so. Michelle's new little family would soon make a new home in Yazoo City, Mississippi.  Michelle said it was the armpit of the United States.  I always thought that was so funny! In 2002 we both became Moms to little boys.  Michelle first in March and me in June.  As a second time Mom, she was a pro and  such a wealth of knowledge for me, a first time Mom.  I would add two more children, and our years would become consumed with raising our young families.  Michelle and her family would eventually move within a few hours of home.  We would get together for birthdays, play dates and quick visits whenever time allowed.  I would go back to work full time and Michelle was working and finishing her degree.  We were life long friends who had become very busy Moms. 

As I left work one night my cell phone rang.  It was Michelle.  She had been admitted to the hospital and some tests had revealed a spot on her brain.  She filled me in on the events that had led to her hospital stay and the reason for the scans.  Her doctor was confident the spot (possible tumor) was benign.  The protocol would be to periodically repeat the scans looking for any signs of change.  Months would go by and the scans would be repeated.  There would be calls and text messages with the words, "no change".  And then I got a different call.  The area of concern had more than doubled in size.  There would need to be a biopsy done.  Michelle was facing brain surgery.  The news was unreal to me.  I was immediately gripped with fear. But not Michelle.  We talked about the possible outcomes from this, the best and the worst.  She really had no fear for herself, just concern for family. She would not let this interrupt her life.  She met with her doctors and the surgery was scheduled.  She  shared with them she was determined to recover from her surgery in time to walk at her college graduation the following month.  The surgery was done and all of the growth was removed.  Michelle and her family waited for a week for the results from the biopsy.  I was out shopping when I received the next call.  Stage 4 brain cancer.  Michelle and I cried together over the phone.  The following months would be filled with graduation, radiation and chemo, a trip with her Daddy, and a new job as a social studies teacher.  She would say goodbye to 2012 with these words, "well, 2012 it's almost time to tell you goodbye. I have to tell you that I'm really not sad to see you leave. After all, you tried to kill me! But.... you did not succeed. Instead, my body was able to survive brain surgery, 30 radiation treatments, and 52 chemo treatments, and I'm still going strong. You did give me some good things too, such as: reassurance that I have the BEST family and friends in the world.  An understanding of HOPE and PEACE that I never would have experienced otherwise. So 2012, I guess you weren't so bad . Here's to ya 2012.... and tell your buddy 2013 that this ole girl can take whatever she dishes out and I'm ready!" 

Michelle would begin 2013 with more treatments and infusions all while still teaching school.  She would make plans to participate in a Relay for Life event in May.  She named her team "Conquerors for a Cure" referencing Romans 8:37--- "In all these things we are more than conquerors."  I was more than honored when she asked me to be a part of her team.  My husband and I made the trip over for the event.  A monsoon ensued, and we moved the party to Michelle's house.  I hated the weather cancelled the fundraiser, but I selfishly loved our visit with Michelle and her family.  July would bring an end to all meds and August would deliver a clear MRI!!! How did Michelle celebrate? By going to work (teaching) and living her life.  The scans every few months would continue.  Thankfully, the results would continue to be "all clear".  Well, until a few weeks ago.....

My dear, sweet friend is currently recovering from round 2 with brain surgery and she and her family await biopsy results yet again.  I told my husband on the morning of her surgery how hard it is to think we are getting up starting our day like any other day when she is facing all of this for the second time. Again, no fear for herself and only concern for her family.  Her  Facebook post today ( her first after surgery) included these verses: "Therefore we do not lose heart.   Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day.  For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all.   So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." (2 Corinthians 4:16-17) 

I share my history with my lifelong friend and her story as fuel.  Anyone who runs knows how important fuel is to the long run.  This battle is Michelle's long run.  And I know without a doubt that what fuels her now (and it did before)  is God's Word and the prayers of her faithful family and friends.  Two years ago when Michelle first learned she would be traveling down this road I publicly posted to FB my run for the first time with these words, "been too scared to share not too scared any more. Michelle, you ran with me today Love you my brave friend."  Her bravery fueled me that day and it continues to fuel me and so many others today.  

Our pastor preached today on "He is Coming Back".  The point of his message was (the way I heard it) what is fueling you?  We as Christians know He will come again.  And when  that day comes what will really matter to you.  Will it be that grudge you have held on to, or those hurt feelings? Will it be your job, your home or your stuff? Will it be the pettiness of life that distracts you from the newness of each day?  How would your attitude change if faced with finite days? 

When Michelle called me two years and we cried together we did not know what days were ahead for her.  She had just learned she had stage 4 brain cancer.  In those moments I told her I felt helpless and I wished there was something I could do.  I wished we lived closer so I could do for her and her family.  She told me she knew if we lived closer I would be doing all kinds of things for her, but she wanted me to know that she did have the most amazing friends who did live close who were taking care of her and her family.  She offered comfort to me.  She was to one facing the tough road and yet she was comforting me!!! I can tell you what fuels my friend Michelle, it is love for others.  No fear for herself and only concern and love for others.  

Please pray for my friend Michelle and her family.  I can guarantee you she is doing the same for you!!!!  Prayer and love for others is fuel! 

Vacation time has come and gone.  What a relaxing time we had at the gulf.  It is something we look forward to every year. Lots of sun, sand, waves and good food.  This year may have been the most relaxing trip I have had in years.  The children are getting older, and it seems we were all content just to enjoy the beach and take it easy. Just a real no fuss time of resting.  I read three books and started a fourth:  Looking for Alaska by John Green, The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry by Gabrielle Zevin, Rise and Shine by Anna Quindlen, and started We Were Liars by E. Lockhart. The Storied Life of A.J. Fikry was by far my favorite.  It was just such a surprise of a book.  We Were Liars left me feeling confused.  There is lots of discussion out there about We Were Liars.  I suggest refraining from any Google research and just reading it blind.  It was interesting to learn after reading Looking for Alaska that it was sort of autobiographical for Green.  I may have enjoyed differently if I had known it was loosely base on actual events. 

The vacation time was more than just the three Rs (relaxing, resting and reading).  It was such a good time of togetherness.  Our room with a view was small, but we really did not feel crowded.  There were lots of moments of laughter. There were several times we laughed til we hurt ,and the hubs would say, "you need to write that down". The hubs and I so enjoy our children.  Now, don't get me wrong, there still had to be mandated stretches of silence along our trip because the bickering would just escalate. But, for the most part the kids were happy to be in each other's company.  It is so fun being a spectator to these different personalities growing up together.

I started almost every day getting up and getting out on my own.  I ran two mornings and walked the beach the other mornings.  With my day started, I would return to find the family still sleeping.  I would pull back the drapes and open the sliding glass door.  The light and the sound of the ocean would come flooding in.  I would wait.  Most mornings, one by one they would rise. But one morning I had to resort to old tactics. I started singing, "It's a good feeling to know your alive, that your happy, healthy, and growing inside. Wake up!! ready to say let's make a snappy new day."  And from under covers I heard fingers go <snap> <snap>.  My 12 year old would later reminisce and say he had forgotten that song until I started singing it and he knew to snap.  

As we left and headed home the hubs stopped for birthday beignets. (I turned 39, really 39!) As we sat enjoying our breakfast we talked about what a great vacation we had had.  We were sad it was over, but glad we were headed home. There was discussion of wishing we had a place at the beach. My hubs jokingly said, ''well, when we win the lottery we will buy us a place down here."  The kids jumped on board and started imagining what kind of place they would like to have if such a dream came true.  I had to ask myself what makes ocean front property so desirable even to the youngest of people?  Of course, there is hardly anything more beautiful than looking across the ocean as the sun shines and the water sparkles. But, for my children, I want to think what makes a place at the beach something desirable with them had nothing to do with the beautiful sight of the vast body of water.  I want to think our shared dream had more to do with the wonderful time we had all had while there.  The break and time out from our everyday life was so refreshing and rejuvenating.  There was nothing scheduled or any places to be. It was just good feelings of being happy, healthy, and enjoying each day <snap> <snap> !