Peace and Quiet

I remember coming up to Mother's Day one year I was in the midst of cooking dinner, the washing machine going, tripping over towers of toys, TV blasting and three children running around the house when Zach approached me and wanted to know what I wanted for Mother's Day. I didn't really have anything in mind but more than that, it was just really bad timing on Zach's part. When I told him I really didn't want anything he kept pushing the issue and wanted to know something concrete.

but you know, like I said . . it was really bad timing. I finally said . .

"Peace and quiet! I'd just like some peace and quiet!"

But as three year olds would do, Zach took my request literally. In fact, so literally when his Cubbie Leader was asking the children what special things they had planned for their Moms for Mother's Day Zach said, "My Mom just wants some peace and quiet." She got a chuckle out of it (Judy Campbell).

Fast forward 15 years later.

Jerry is away at ROTC camp, Amanda is out to dinner with friends, Monica is at work and Zach is at the Y playing basketball.

*cricket cricket*

Be careful what you ask for.

Peace and quiet feels a lot like just being alone.

Best Days

Buried within a mundane very ordinary day, I found a gem. I had to be careful not to miss it because sometimes the shine of our gems get clouded out by the nothing-ness of the day.

A simple day.

A lasting treasure.

Saturday is a busy day for me. Since I work full-time outside of the home, Saturdays are my only errand/cleaning days. It wears me down sometimes and there are days I'd rather not be bothered but for the most part, I don't mind them. And if you come a little closer I'll share a secret with you --one that I certainly would not want my family to discover --- *whispers* I actually like housework; the cleaning, laundry, cooking, grocery shopping --all of it. I love serving my family. It's just who I am. But please keep that secret just between you and me, lest my family take me for granted!

So in this very ordinary day, I planned an early commissary trip. I wanted to be there when they opened at 9am so I can get the shopping done and get more work done at home. I asked the children who would go with me, "Not I", said Amanda. "Not I", said Zachary. "I will! I will go!", said Monica. After a slight grumbling of the time we'd depart the house, Monica agreed to go grocery shopping with me.

And that's it. It wasn't an exciting day. It was a work day. With my list and coupons in hand, I headed out to the commissary, Monica riding shot gun. We shopped, she pushed the cart and then with every item crossed off our list, we headed back home; unloading groceries, putting groceries away, cutting up and cleaning fruit, making room in the pantry, filling the snack drawer with treats ---just a very ordinary commissary trip.

The remainder of the day was chores. Chore day. Yes, there was a list; family room, living room, basement, bathrooms, bedrooms, kitchen --they all had their own list of things that needed attention and all the while, the washing machine ever running. This was no spectacular day. It wasn't even scrapbook worthy.

But behind the walls of work and chores I found a gem. I found Monica--just she and I. The two of us. We talked, we laughed, we sang songs, we drank coffee, we worked side-by-side and in that, I found the most treasured moments of just being together. Its these type of days I miss when she is away at school. I miss the ordinary things --I just miss her presence in the daily things we do.

Don't miss it. Don't miss the bonding and the relationship building that happens right there while you're cooking dinner, folding laundry or scrubbing a toilet. Though the chores might be the staring role in the feature, look closer there and find there is also a sub plot --another story going on and if you get too caught up in the work at hand, you might miss it. But if you're careful to look with your heart, there you will find a most glorious support role . . . .

and those are the best days.

Thank you Monica, I had the best day with you, today.

From Slavery to Graduation

It is very difficult for me to speak of these things because they are not my story to tell. I did not walk these steps; I did not fight this fight. So simply from the perspective of a by-stander, I try to grasp the significance of this day; Amanda’s graduation from college.

Slavery seems far reaching into our past. Even today the 60’s seem an era long gone where civil unrest was a common force in our American society. Men like Martin Luther King, Jr. paving the way for equality and freedom of choice of ALL people, regardless of their race. I’m afraid when things seem to far into our past we forget them, forget their significance, forget their meaning. We should not forget from where and which we come for the places we come from is the destiny of our future.

Today as Amanda accepts her degree from Miami University she does so as the first ever in her Newsome family line, embracing the spirit of “We have overcome”. For it was just one generation before her that her father attended segregated schools. He remembers integration and the unrest that ensued. Though the “colored children” were allowed to attend school with the white children, there still was a great divide of equality in education.

The generation before that, Amanda’s great-grand father, Zach Moore, was a share cropper, poor farmers that inherited a way of life birthed out of slavery. Basically, they were paid slaves but an honest day’s work didn’t necessarily earn you an honest day’s pay. This was a hard working generation of people embracing the freedom that was still new to them. Zach grew up a free man but with a taste of slavery in his mouth. Even as a grown man, he had a fear of “the white man” because he knew that freedom from slavery did not mean equality in a nation where there was still a vast separation in the equality of all men.

Zach’s father, Pompeii Moore, though not a slave himself he was born to slave parents who had been freed. Pompeii was no stranger to slavery as he watched his very own sister on the auction block one day. He witnessed first hand accounts of ownership of black people and I’m sure he vowed better for his own family one day.

Every generation a recovery from the last, the fight they took upon themselves, the sacrifices they made all paved the way for this day, Amanda’s college graduation. It was just one generation before her, her father that was able to even attain a high school education.

Amanda. 5^th generation from slavery.

Amanda. College graduate.

She represents them well.

She makes us proud.

Congratulations, Amanda on your graduation from Miami University.

Go now and teach.

Teach the future generations to read

and write

to grow

and learn

to live

and love

to know

and remember

the fight

the freedom

the place

from which you came

and to where you will go

with the blood, sweat, tears, love and blessings

of generations before you.

Letter To Batman

Dear Batman,

I miss you! It has been so long since we talked. I think of you often and sometimes I wish you would come back to visit me. Remember your friend, Zachary? He’s soon to graduate high school now. I bet you miss him as much as I miss you. Sometimes when I look at his 6’5” frame, I remember you and I look deep into his eyes trying to find you.

I realize when you used to come over every day I didn’t always greet you with the warmest smile. Sometimes you were just loud and would climb on my furniture and I would get annoyed. But now, in the quiet of my almost empty nest house, I’d give anything to hear your voice again, see you climb and “fight the bad guys”. I know you used to get annoyed with me too when I’d say to you, “Batman, its time for a nap now. . . .Batman! Use your inside voice! . . . Batman, don't climb on the back of the couch!” Or at the dinner table when I’d tell you, “Batman, you need to eat your vegetables to have strength to beat the bad guys.” Yeah, I was too bossy sometimes especially to a super hero such as yourself but you know, I just wanted what was best for you.

We had some good times too though, remember? Remember that one time it was around Christmas time and I had a tablecloth and centerpiece on the table? I walked out of the kitchen and saw pine cones scattered all over the floor and then I saw a broken red candle. I looked up only to find you all wrapped in that tablecloth and you looked at me and said, “I need a cape.” I didn’t get it, how important your cape was to you. Then one day I heard Monica, saying, “Oooo! I’m telling! You’re in trouble!” So I peaked around the corner from the kitchen and there you were standing on the back of the couch trying to climb onto the curtains and I not knowing you were able rescue yourself, went to pull you down and you said to me, “I need a cape.” I finally understood how important a cape was to your heroism so I made you one, you wore it out and I made you another one.

I suppose Moms like me don’t understand that a little bit (or a lot) of dirt on a cape isn’t such a bad thing. I mean, I used to have to wrestle that cape off of you to wash and then I just started sneaking it out of your bed while you slept so I could wash it but you were such a smart super hero; you would wake up the next day and sniff your cape and give me a look of suspicion. I guess you knew what I was up to, huh?

In a few weeks your friend Zach will graduate high school. He will put on a green cap and gown and walk down the isle to Pomp and Circumstance but when I look at him there marching in with the Class of 2010, in my mind I won’t see a green gown on him but a dark blue cape and in my head I won’t be hearing Pomp and Circumstance but that theme song you always used to sing, “Na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na na BATMAN!!!” because beneath that green gown and in the heart and soul of that 6’5” frame, there’s a Batman –he might not have come out for a very long time but you and I both know he’s there.

And I miss him.

Love,

Zach’s Mom

Leaving and Cleaving

Yesterday we took Zach on a campus visit and you know, I'm familiar because after all, I've done this before with our daughters. Even though visits to Miami University and Kent State brought me to tears, I was strong this time. Maybe I am growing up, learning to embrace a pre-empty nester stage. Maybe I finally get it.

Maybe.

Today our Pastor started a new sermon series on the family, Family Focus, you know --not to be confused with Focus on the Family because that's been done. And Pastor began at the --well, at the beginning. You know, like Julie Andrews did with the von Tapp children, he said, we'll, "start at the very beginning, a very good place to start."

I was ready to start --and possibly break into a musical stance because I know every word of every song from the Sound Of Music --oh but this isn't about that family so time to pay attention now.

And pay attention I did. I really did. Here we are in Genesis 1, the very beginning --God's design of the family unit; a husband, wife & children. So far so good because I understand God's design of the family. I get one husband, one wife. I get divorce was not God's plan . I understand blended families and single parenting homes were not God's design. I understand a MAN and a WOMAN --not two of one but one of each. So Now I can probably sit back and coast through the sermon. Having once myself been on the brink of divorce, I understand the trials of marriage but I also understand even when you can't commit your heart and self to a person that has broken your heart time and time again, you CAN commit your heart and self to a GOD that has healed every crack, a GOD that walked me through the fire. A God that brought restoration to my marriage, to my heart.

So I was all set to sit back and only half listen, perhaps make a mental grocery list for this afternoon's commissary trip and then, and then, AND THEN --Pastor said something that put on the breaks.

Leave and Cleave.

Hold on Pastor, now you've gone too far! I was 'bout to get up and call a Time Out. This ain't no do re mi and I ain't fa la la la la-ing along!

These aren't words I want to hear. My heart has spent the last 4 years wresting with this leaving stuff. Leave? Visions of Zach on campus yesterday --far far away from me ran through my mind. I wanted to shut down but as the Holy Spirit has this tendency to do, I heard a new message in this Genesis 1. It wasn't about my leaving but their leaving. The message for me today was not about my marriage but my family and now I was listening with more intent and I was listening as a mother, not just as a woman.

And I was learning. learning more, growing into a deeper understanding.

Speaking of her future, Amanda once said something about moving out of state and I asked her if she'd really leave me and she said, "Mom, its what children do --they grow up and they leave." I seriously wanted to slap her, that cuts deep. I mean I didn't really want to slap her and I know what she said was true but you know, I'm still learning about letting go.

Left up to my own design, it would be more like --I'll let you know when I'm ready for you to leave and there will be no cleaving. But you know what? Its not my design.

Ready or not, here I come!

Ready or not, Melissa, its time for them to leave. Ready or not Melissa, they're gonna have to cleave too. Its not about them wanting to leave. Its not about me wanting them to stay. Its just not about our own choices. It's about God's design for the family. He reminded me that they will leave me, he will not. And God hasn't forgotten every aspect of his plan, his design. He knows my heart. He knows my struggles. He knows how hard it is for me to let go. He knows my pain because he's God.

A perfect God.

That knows far more than me.

What's best for my family.

And my children.

A perfect God and His design of the family.

Leave and Cleave.

Who am I to mess with that?

Its Not Just Basketball

I have long held the belief that lessons learned outside of the classroom are just as important as the lessons learned within. Books serve us well but education is not just something to read about or an equation to figure out.

Education is the learning process, helping our children to "figure it out" and then put into action the things which they learned. We hope we served them well, their educators and parents and our report card, so to speak, is how they use those things we help plant into their brains.

Accomplishments can be measured in many different ways, not just a letter on a grade card. Accomplishments are things our children excel at and those "ah" moments when pieces start to fit together.

Along with 2+2 and ABC's we help to build character in our children equipping them to make good moral choices in life.

So thank you to Papa, Debe, Hannah, Andy, Drew, Eli, Aunt Marsha, Morgan, Tete, Aunt Sam, Uncle Todd, Shelby, Spencer and Sophie -- thanks to all of you for supporting Zach, for understanding how important it is to leave your heart and soul out on the court and look up into the stands and see familiar faces.

Thank you for helping to mold our son, build his character on and off the court.

Thank you for getting it.

Because perhaps one day Zach will be sitting in the stands as a father, an uncle, a cousin or friend. . . . in support of a player out there on the court or field, pouring their heart and soul into a game . . .

And Zach will sit up there in full knowledge of what that feels like, to be down there playing . . hoping to win . . .hearing the crowd . . . . . a crowd that is there for you . . . .

And Zach will recall those lessons of losing, and winning, leading and following, being committed and working hard, making sacrifices and tough choices, being part of a team . . . .

He will remember those days he left his heart and soul out there on the court . . .

Win or loose . . .

And he will realize how those lessons served him well in life. On the court. Off the court.

He will remember . . .

That you were there for him . . .

As he claps . . .

And cheers . . .

And hopes for Victory because after all . . .

Its not just basketball

Notes

When they were younger my children often left me notes on my pillow. I loved them. After reading them, I'd slip them into my night stand drawer. Now years later, whenever I need me a pick-me-up or whenever I'm missing my girls, I pull the notes out and read them. I reminisce about those innocent childhood days. I laugh. I cry.

Here are a few of them exactly how they were written.

Don't let me forget to where my hair silly and don't let me forget my instrument. Please let me sleep as long as I can. I need some cloughs to where. Thank you very much for the lipgloss. Love, Monica

I love you Mom. Thank you for such a great birthday.

Mom,

Please don't forget to turn off my lava lamp because the last time I forgot to tell you it stayed on for 8 hours!!!!!! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU!

Mommy,

Please wake me up early to study my spelling words. I love you soooooooooooooooooooooooooo MUCH! Amanda

Dear Mom,

My tummy hurts. But I want you to come to my room just me and you. Also I want my tooth out it is killing me. From, Monica Newsome P.S. I love you to the water tower and back. NOT :) P.S.S. I love you to heavens heaven and back a million times.

Dear Mom,

When are you coming home. Have a safe trip. I love you. DRIVE SAFE! I love you. Zach keeps crying. Make sure you wake me up so I can say by to you. Love, Monica

(this one is in colorful crayons)

39

thirty-nine

more beautiful

kids growing up another year of your life

I love you for another year

Still young

Happy Birthday

I just wanted to tell you how much I love you and that you are the best thing that has happened to me.

Dear Mom,

I just wanted to ask if there was something wrong because you seam very angry and I hope you do not stay angry for long. I hope you have a safe trip to Chicago and home. I LOVE YOU! Love, Monica P.S. Don't stay angry long. XOXOXOXO

Dear Mom,

I love you. I want to know if I can ware shorts tomorrow because I know that it is going to be hot enough and I just want to because I think that by now I should be able to ware shorts. I can't wait to get your camp kern money so I can go shopping Maybe buy my own lipgloss company, It will be called Purple lipgloss for Princesss . . .or something like that but I don't think I will every get tired of purple. My wedding is going to be purple. Love, Monica Ramona Newsome P.S. I love you!!

Dear Mom, I love you very much. I just wanted to say hi. Love, Monica P.S. I love you to the moon and back one thousand times.

(Here's one I saved from Jerry's pillow)

Dear Dady, I thank you for leting me help. I like working with you it is fun. I also like haning out with you. Most Dad's and son's don't have a good reltionship like us. I love you. I LOVE YOU! I love you Dad From, Zach your son

Respect

Mom I said this a thousand times. sometimes People say to get them off your back. Sometimes people mean it. Well this time Mom I mean it. I'm sorry I'm really sorry. I hoped that you will forgive me.

Sometimes I mean to show it but sometimes I don't. I'm sorry when I complain and stomp by feet. Or when you tell me something I indure [ignore]. Or I groan I talk under my breath.

But Mom I don't mean it. You have the right to punish me. sometimes I see it in you when your tired. You want some rest. Like you would want a big vacation. You deserve one. I see it you came home from a long day at work.

Most people rest after that but you haft to take the complants [complaints] from me. I never say hi any more. I'm always demanding something. When I don't get my way. I pout and get mad.

All I'm saying is here's your vacation. I will try not to give you a hard time. Thanks for being super Mom. Love, Zach

There are countless more. I love them all!

I love those days. I love my children. They are my heart, my past, my present and my future.

Thank you Amanda, Monica and Zachary for loving me and being such great children. It is my honor to be your Mom.

I love you to the moon and back.

Mom's Letter

This letter was written by my Mother to my grandparents (Dad's side). She was just 2 months post surgery for a brain tumor, which they were not able to fully remove and unknowingly, just 7 months from her earthly death. The tumor was located in the portion of the brain which controls speech so her words were not always exactly right and often sounded juvenile but her messages ever clear. Her faith ever strong.

I am writing it exactly how she wrote. I realize its meaningless to anyone that did not know her but faith and eternal hope in God's Word, truth and promises shines through. I hope you find that message here and in your own life.

(Bob was her husband)

9/27/88

Dear Meme & Grandpa:

Bob and I arrived Monday 9/12/88 at Arlington Hts Ill, Bob's daughters Liz house. I was feeling fine Till Friday. 9/16 I got sick. Bob called the hospital and they sent an ambulance, I got to the hosp. right away. I felted so bad, hosp. kept me Till Mon. 9/149. Val, took me to her place in Michigan. I feel O.K. the doctor in Ill. told Val how many medicine I have to take, and I might get sick again. So far I have bee feeling good.

Melissa is coming this weekend, 9/30 after I see her I pray to see her baby but I keep praying to wait. I don't mind to go to heaven, I know I will go there.

Bob, is stating at his daughter's house in Ill. He is helping her because she got her baby the same day I got sick 9/16. I don't Mind him stating there . Val & Sam is taking GOOD care of me. And for Bob to see me its only 5 hours drive to Val's house.

Val's house is so beautiful and BIG. I hope some day you will see her house.

Thank you for the food you gave us, its so good to open the jars.

I'm so busy every day trying to write to everyone. When I die I told Val I don't want flowers on my funeral, I will be in heaven and can't see them. I rather she GET money from people and send to my church. They need a need church so bad. The money give to my church is better than flowers. Sorry I can't write right my Brain is lower.

I was so happy to see you people.

LORD JESUS BLESS YOU.

LOVE
Ramona

Unhappy Endings

I hate the end to most things. I mean you don't understand --- I haaaaate endings!!! How much to I hate them?

Books are the worst. I love to read but no matter how happy the ending of a story may be, I'm very sad when it’s over. In fact, I might even mourn the "loss of the characters" for a few days. I just can't get them out of my mind -and I wonder what happened next. While I'm deeply engrossed in a book, the characters become my friends and I live and travel in all the settings in the book. When its time for me to go back home permanently, I get sad.

I don't mind when a TV show ends but I hate when a TV series ends. Despite the fact I had never ever seen one episode of it, I was sad for days and days when Friends ended. I didn't even watch the show, how stupid is that? I feel that way when most series end. Having grown up with a Dad that was a huge M*A*S*H fan, I became a fan myself but when the series ended, I refused to watch the very last episode and in fact to this day, I've never seen it. I would just be too sad. I like to pretend the series is still going on, the war in Korea is still being fought and Hawkeye, Radar, Major Burns and all the rest are still there. I'm still in denial that Johnny Carson isn't the host of the Tonight Show, I believe Bewitch is still twinkling her nose and making magic, I know somewhere out there Al's Diner still exists and the Happy Days characters are hanging out there, the Huxtables still live in Brooklyn, Doug and Carrie are still screaming at each other in Queens & Deborah and Ray are still being terrorized by Marie & Frank.

Movies are much the same for me. I want to know more of the story. More! Tell me more!!! Did Scarlet and Rhett every get back together? I NEED TO KNOW!!!!!

Its not just stories; I hate the end to everything -- when my Starbucks latte is down to a sip or two, I get a little sad and upset with myself I didn't make it last longer. When I'm taking my last bite of a meal, I might even tear up a tiny bit, "You mean -- that's it until the next meal?" How sad is that? Vacations are almost not even enjoyable to me because when it gets down to the last day, I almost don myself in complete black and mourn the rest of the day. When I scrapbook with my best scrapbooking buddies, around 11pm I could cry because it’s almost time to pack up. I want to stay longer and chat and scrapbook and sniff my papers!

I even hate the end to a day, especially a good day. As soon as it starts getting dark I start to say good-bye to the day --and parting always makes me so sorrowful. There's nothing sweet about it.

When Jerry retired from the military I was sad for months, if not years. I miss the Army like I'd miss an old friend. When Jerry and I were in DC recently and visited a few Army posts, I was at home again! It felt like, "Hello, Army! Where have you been? I missed you so much. Let's get all caught up now."

You know what else I hate? Empty towns, buildings and houses; I hate when a town dries up because an industry leaves. I hate when old glorious homes are abandoned. Recently I read a devotional that mentioned an old Silver mining town in Colorado once booming with people and profitable businesses, its now abandoned and long forgotten --and I couldn't even concentrate on the rest of the devotion as I sat picturing that old western town --wondering where all the people had gone. I hate old rail road tracks where trains never come to anymore, too.

Graduations make me sad. I realize its a celebration and new things are opening up for the grad, but its still closing a door, a chapter and that means one thing had ended and for that, I am terribly sad. This spring I'll be sad to say our final good-bye to Northmont High School as our youngest walks across the stage to accept his diploma. We'll bid farewell to Miami University too, and I'm sure there will be tears. *sigh*

You must think I'm a terribly sad person and in a way, that is very true. I mean, I'm not Eeyore walking around with my head down and droopy ears but most times even though I can laugh and have fun, there will be a corner of sadness in my heart. I can't help it. I HATE endings and yet, I live with them. I mean, I can step into a fantasy world and imagine all my favorite TV characters still on set but I know reality too. And I eventually forget about all those characters in a book and it’s not long before I'm over that too.

I can move on -- mostly but you see -- there's one ending I just can't grapple. There's one ending that torments my soul --forever. There's one ending that makes me the most sad and even now, over 35 years later in some cases, my still heart aches because

I just can't bear the ending of a marriage. I mourn it every time, like a death in the family. I never get over it. I can never stop being sad about it. Though I know there are cases in which divorce is warranted, I think those are so few and far in between.

I know, how dare I say such a thing, right? What do I know?

I just know.

And I'm sad.

Where Did She Go

Where did she go, the baby I once had
I went to her crib and walked away sad

For the tiny baby that had my heart in a furl
Has now been replaced by a little girl

And I loved that girl and watched her play
Hoping a little girl she always would stay

But I soon discovered her dolls were no more
For now she has stepped through yet another door

And before me I saw a young woman at heart
Hoping with this one, I never would part

Then one day I discovered she needed no longer
My hand to hold her--and I had to get stronger

To let her walk away into a life of her own
For my baby girl is ever so grown

I see in her eyes such spirit for living
Her heart ever open, her soul ever giving

To the future before her, unknowing and new
So I step to the side, as us mothers must do

Before me a I see a woman I adore
My pride ever swelling more and more

Though my arms ever empty and my hands ever still
My baby ever growing, my heart gets its fill

Of the love of a baby, my girl and my daughter
Watching her learn lessons life has now taught her

And the journey of this mother's heart
That sometimes can get stuck back at the start

Because I sit and I wonder, where did she go
The baby I held, that needed me so

The crib so long gone and the dolls packed away
A baby and girl she could not stay

And it all went before me ever so fast
Dashing through the present, making a past

Where did she go, the baby I once had
I went to her crib and walked away sad

The One That Broke The Mold

My Dad is one of two children, he has an older sister. My mother was the oldest of seven, with five brothers and one sister.

Mom's sister has one child. Girl. Mom's oldest brother no children. Next brother FOUR Girls. Next brother THREE Girls. Next brother THREE Girls. And baby brother THREE Girls.

So my Dad's sister had one child. Girl. Then my Dad had his first child. Girl. Then I came along *takes bow*. Girl. Then the third child was born. Girl. Later when my Dad remarried and adopted my step-sibling. Girl.

Years later we started the next generation. My sister Val had her first baby. Girl. My cousin Marsha had her first child too. Girl. Val had another baby. Girl. Marsha had another baby. Girl. I get in the mix and I have my first child. Girl. I have child number two. Girl. Val has child number three. Girl.

So just in case you lost count, let me recap that for you:

Mom's side of the family, my generation - 16 Girls. Next generation - FIVE Girls (so far).

Dad's side of the family, my generations - 5 Girls. Next generation - SEVEN Girls (so far).

That's a whole-lotta pink!!!!!!

And then . . . one quiet Sunday afternoon in 1991, on the 8th day of the month after hours of labor and pain and pushing ---- a nurse exclaimed to me, "IT'S A BOY! MOM, YOU HAVE A BOY!" And thus, Zachary Earl Newsome was born into our family and breaking the mold, the Dodges finally have a boy of their very own. A BOY!

So you're thinking I was ever so happy to have a boy, huh? Not really. You see, I didn't believe them. They rushed my baby over to the table to clean him up and do whatever it is they do and all I keep thinking is, "Dodge girls don't know how to have boys. It has to be a girl. They must have made a mistake."

It wasn't long before they brought my tiny new born babe to me --er, I mean the new born babe was 9 pounds 1 ounce so what I mean is --it wasn't long before they brought my sort-of tiny new born babe over to me, wrapped ever so snugly in a new born baby blankie and they laid that babe on my chest and said, "Mom, would you like to nurse him?" HIM? Why do they keep calling my baby a boy? Don't they mean HER? You see, probably mostly delirious from you know --that whole giving birth thing and the fact that I had already convinced myself Dodge girls couldn't have boys, I was absolutely convinced they, you know -- trained medical professionals, made a mistake and I actually had a girl. So instead of gazing at my new born baby and trying to nurse the hungry little thing, I tore the blanket off of him and low and behold -- boy parts! Boy parts?

Now what do I do?

That was my first thought, as if every moment of parenting I had ever done was now all null and void because I had a boy.

I snuggled my baby boy close to me and I assured him I'd figure it out.

My first lesson --diaper changing and no, I never did get any misguided squirts but I did quickly learn there was a lot more to cleaning up a boy baby than a girl baby. And I soon learned too that boy babies were much louder than girl babies and boys liked to climb and jump and "fly". And I learned how to buy a cup for football and I learned that playing in mud wasn't such a bad thing and riding your bike in the rain was okay too. I learned that old towels make great super hero capes and green plastic army men hurt when you step on them barefooted. I learned that the highlight of the week can be when the trash truck comes-- so when we'd hear it we had to run outside to watch it. I learned that Legos were endless hours of entertainment and not so much what you could build but what you could destroy. I learned that Batman was cooler than Superman and what a baseball T was. When my boy "discovered himself" and thought he had swallowed some marbles, I learned how to explain "boy parts" to him. I learned that snuggling a baby boy was just as warm and wonderful as snuggling a baby girl. I learned that buckets made great Army Man helmets. I learned how to use Cheerios as "targets" for you know, aiming practice in the toilet, not around the toilet. I learned how to shop for men clothes and explain to my boy how to ask a girl on a date. I learned how to feed a ferocious growing-boy appetite. I learned not to have a heart attack each time I'd come home and found my boy roaming around on our roof top. I learned to breath amidst the clouds of Axe body spray emanating from the bathroom . . . . but what I mostly learned is that a boy has his way of wrapping himself around a mother's heart. I love and adore my girly-girls and nothing compares to our "Beauty Shop Nights" but this boy, my one and only son --is my Prince.

Eighteen years later I'm still learning how to mother a boy, a boy that has turned into a man, ever so charming he is.

Happy 18th Birthday, Son!

Our Hero

One very early morning Jerry went for a 5 mile walk, as he so often does. Not long after he left I remembered a few things I needed from the store and decided to hit Kroger before the morning crowd shuffled in. As I drove down the street I saw Jerry walking and at first I didn't think it was him. You see, he was walking much slower than I would have expected him to be. His shoulders were rounded over and forward as opposed to the tall erect stance I was so accustom to seeing. Is that my Jerry? My Jerry? You see, when I first met Jerry I would often watch him do PT (Physical Training). He was fast as lightening, tall and strong. This man I saw walking could be Jerry but what happened to that man I married? Where did he go?

As I sat there watching him walk it occurred to me where he had been. Yes, that was my Jerry walking down the street and this is where he has "gone".

Those shoulders have seated our children at a parade or crowded event or just to answer the child's question, "Daddy, let me see if I can touch the sky." The little heads of our children rested upon those shoulders while the child slept or cried or had a moment of sadness. Upon those shoulders rested the straps to a rucksack, a backpack soldier style, with 50 pounds or more of gear packed into it. And those shoulders carried that weight for miles and miles of training and marching during 23 years of service to this United States of America. Those shoulders have carried the weight of our family upon it during financial crisis, marital woes and those bumps in the roads that come with raising children. All the care and concern of this family rest upon those shoulders and many nights I have gone to bed able to rest and sleep in peace because I knew those shoulders were broad and strong enough to bear the weight. Many of my tears ended up on those shoulders as I laid my head upon them and poured out my heart.

Upon that back our children took horsey rides or climbed the "tower". Upon that back slung and M16 rifle on its way to a firing range or road march for a faithful 23 years.. One time, upon that back was our Grandfather Clock when we moved it into our German apartment and in Hercules fashion, that man took that clock upon his back and walked it down a flight of stairs into our garden apartment. Laying upon that back, that man spent hours beneath our cars to change the oil, breaks, filters --whatever it took to make those cars go and be safe. Upon that back was the brunt of the weight of our furniture when we were moving to a new location or just at the whim of this wife, who wanted to change a room around. Most recently, upon that back the weight of furniture belonging to our college senior daughter and her roommate moving into their first apartment.

Those muscular arms caught my attention many years ago and even yet today I find myself gazing in wonderment at them. Those muscular arms wrapped around me millions of times in sweet tenderness and affection. Those muscular arms were "monkey bars" to our little ones has they'd hang off of them and squeal like a monkey. Those muscular arms seems to hold the power of a giant and yet, in sweet tenderness, held our new born babes. Those muscular arms at one time could carry all three children at the same time --just scoop them up ever so effortless. Those muscular arms dug holes and trenches to put up a new fence or build a deck or drywall our basement into a useful family room. Those muscular arms picked up our sickly teenage daughter and swiftly and gently laid her into the back of our van as we transported her to the ER. Those muscular arms held out into the air as our children fearless jumped from the side of a pool into the safety of those muscular arms. Those muscular arms wrestled our boy for many many hours on our floors and yet knew how and when to hold back and how and when to exert more force. Those muscular arms stood at a free throw line over and over and over again showing our son how to shoot a basketball. Those muscular arms once held up layers and layers of tulle on a prom dress while I stood underneath them to steam out each layer. Those muscular arms threw our babies into the air while they screamed with delight and drooled upon that man's face. Those muscular arms lifted and carried Army equipment in order to accomplish a mission.

Those strong hands took young soldiers by the hand, literally and figuratively and trained them to be fit for active duty. Those strong hands swatted the behind of our sometimes disobedient children. Those strong hands would rescue a crying baby from their crib and tenderly ask, "What's all that fuss about?" Those strong hands played peek-a-boo over and over to giggling babies. Those strong hands signed many and many and many checks to pay the bills and give to our family the things we needed and wanted. Those strong hands handed over hundreds of dollars to our growing teens so they can go out with friends, shop or put some gas in their cars. Those strong hands took little tiny baby spoons and scooped up baby food into our little ones' mouths. Those strong hands took care of car repairs, plumping repairs, house repairs and yard work. Those strong hands tied ties around our boy's neck and those strong hands taught our children how to loop their shoe laces into perfectly tight bows. Those strong hands wrapped themselves around an M16 rifle hand grip, M60 machine gun and other military weaponry aiming and firing with the utmost precision and expertise. Those strong hands held patriotic salute to our nation's flag, our symbol of the freedom he served and fought to protect. Those strong hands once held my small hand within them and slipped onto my finger a golden wedding band. Those strong hands gripped themselves around ropes repelling down from a hovering helicopter. Those strong hands once refused to sign divorce papers I had served him and pushing them away said, "This marriage isn't over."

Those Infantry feet marched and marched and marched until they were bruised, bleeding and blistered. Those Infantry feet jumped out of air planes and landed squarely on the ground. Those Infantry feet support this family and walked us through Germany, Georgia, Hawaii, Kansas and Ohio. Those Infantry feet paced up and down the floor trying to sooth fussy little babies. Those Infantry feet ran up and down basketball courts with our son, stood on the sidelines of band competitions and basketball games and soccer games and stood in proud ovation to a musical performance. Those Infantry feet donned combat boots for 23 years, never ceasing to walk the walk of a soldier.

And those shoulders could stand tall and erect as that man often declared, "I'm a child of The King!" And that strong back wore the full armor of God declaring to Satan, "Not me and not my family --your time is wasted here." Those arms and hands held high in glorious submission and praise to a Savior that showered grace and mercy on this Newsome family time and time and time again. And those Infantry feet -- every single night without fail those Infantry feet make those strong knees bow at our bedside as that man pours out the petitions of his heart, praises to our Lord and brings each and every one of our names before his God; Melissa, Amanda, Monica and Zachary.

And to that this Army wife says --

Thank you! You are still our tall strong hero.

It Feels Like -- THIS

When I had small children all under foot, I used to look at moms whose children were teenagers or grown up and wonder how that feels. I used to long for the days when I could go to the store without first buckling three toddling babes into car seats and seat belts. I wondered what that kind of freedom felt like. And now I know.

It feels like:

Joy - I'm so proud of the adults my children are growing into. Sometimes when I see them my hearts sings. Its such a privilege to be their Mom.

Sorrow - I miss my babies. I miss having all control. I miss tucking them in at night and knowing there they'll stay til the morning. I miss their wonderment & their chubby toddler fingers trying to master a fine motor skill. I miss baby voices and laughter. I miss them being able to sit on my lap and hug my neck. I miss my babies.

Fear: Are they making wise choices when they're away from home? Are they safe? Do they miss me? Have they forgotten me? Are they so glad to be away from home?

Excitement - Where will they end up living? What job or careers will they land? Will they get married? Have children? Its so exciting to watch these things unfold before my very eyes.

Anticipation - I can't wait to help plan a wedding or help them find their first home. I can't wait to see who they will marry. I can't wait to have grandchildren and spoil them rotten. I can't wait to see each of them be an Aunt or Uncle ---

Rediscovery - I sit in my home with no particular place to go; no football games or band events, no picking up or dropping off, no slumber parties or movie nights or playing beauty shop. I sit in my home and look over and see a man who resembles a young soldier I used to know --a man that was dashing and handsome and one that drank in the very words I would speak. I look over at that man and wonder where he's been the last 20 years --lost in between birthdays and school events, growing pains and spankings, AWANA, lawn mowing and car fixing, football and basketball, band and high school, graduations and tuition . . . Somewhere in all of that, my young soldier got lost but I look at him now and think, "Wow, who are you? Would you like to go on a date with me?"

Wonder - I don't know where we go from here. Like every other parenting step, in these years I take one day at a time, one child at a time, one event at a time . . and I do the best I can. What it feels like to be the Mom of these grown up children is exactly the same as it feels to be the Mom of little tiny babies and yet, its completly different too.

New Blog

I'm moving my blog. The Army story continues here . . .

http://melissasmilitarymoments.blogspot.com/

Mothers

An Army Blogging Break to say, I'm so thankful for my children and being their mother is truly the most honoring & exciting experience I have ever had. I'm blessed beyond measure.

Any amount of love my heart is capable of flows from a merciful God that demonstrated his love for us when his son died on the cross. We love Him because He first loved us. Second to that are the lessons of life and loving I learned from two very godly strong women; my mother and my grandmother, Meme. They are both home with the Lord now. My heart is ever so thankful for having the privilege of knowing and loving them both.

Happy Mother's Day!

Setenta

There's a place I like to go and hide
It's a place that's locked down deep inside

It's a trip I don't very often take
It's a journey I only sometimes make

In payment for the gladness and joy to be had
I render my tears and walk away sad

So I wait for my heart to tell me when I can go
And I enter with caution, my steps ever slow

I find the key and unlock the place
That holds the memory of my mother's face

By closing my eyes I simply can find
I'm a child again -- my adult years behind

Ever so anxiously I wait to see
The beauty of her -- the one that once held me

The torrent of memories come pouring in fast
Of the most endearing times of my childhood past

She's every bit the person I remember her to be
And never once is she not smiling at me

We visit the places we used to like best
Like Randhurst and Dunkin and all the rest

I linger there with her and wish I could stay
As a child who never wants to end her own play

Then I remember the woman I've grown up to be
I reach in my pocket fumbling for the key

I look up to kiss her and tell her good-bye
But she's no longer there --I'm left wondering why

She left me so suddenly and I wasn't aware
For the rest of my days, she wouldn't be there

But the present is beckoning me to come back
So I crawl from my past through the tiniest crack

I seal up the space and lock it up tight
And look for the darkness that's black as the night

My tears fill my eyes until I can't see
But I feel her presence like she's still here with me

I reach out to touch her --Mom, is that you?
I knew you'd not leave me, that you missed me too

My eyes are much clearer for now I can see
That's not my mother there before me

But the essence of her that once held me close
Is alive in the children I simply love most

The ones that grew in me a mother's heart
Are the ones that will bring me back to the start

For now I know what it's like to be
The beauty of her -- the one that once held me

The Best & Worst Day Ever!

Having three children especially close in age, it is a rare thing to have a quantity of one-on-one time with each child. Though I love family time and being with all of my children, you learn the most precious things about your child in solitaire moments.

Yesterday, after a long winter break, I took Monica back to Kent. Though we've made this trip together on several occasions, this was the first time she didn't sleep most of the drive up there. For three solid hours, we chatted without interruption about the most random subjects. We talked about our likes and dislikes in movie stars, music, interesting facts about our family members, my childhood, my Mom (she often slips into our conversations), funny family stories, Jerry's cooking . . . . . It was a delightful trip.

When we got to Kent, we were fortunate enough to score a wheeled bin right away so it only took one trip to get Monica's things up to her 7th floor room. She was quick to show me all of the new things she added to her room since my last visit there in September. I helped her unpack a few things and then our hungry stomachs were demanding food.

With no particular agenda for the day, we took our time driving through downtown Kent, taking notice of stores or places that would come in handy in the future. We drove to the Alpha Phi house but didn't get to go in. At least now I know where it is. We ended up at Panera for lunch and both were disappointed when they were out of the bread for our favorite sandwiches, which seems to be happening more and more at Panera! Annoying! Lunch was more conversation and discussions - -though this time, Monica was a little preoccupied with text messages.

For some reason, we can't seem to take our girls to school without a trip to Walmart -- so we headed off to Walmart. Monica needed a few things but mostly we browsed and compared this new rather large Walmart to the one we frequent at home. After a small purchase was made, we headed back to Monica's room.

I sensed Monica was not yet ready for me to leave and quite frankly, I was not ready to say good-bye either. I stayed in her room for about an hour and we just chatted some more -- accomplished nothing along the lines of unpacking or organizing Monica's things. I wanted to stay longer but knowing I had to work the next morning and unsure of the northern Ohio weather for the evening, I did not want to be on the road too late. Monica walked me down to the van and since I parked a little far away from her dorm and she did not wear a coat, I drove her back to her door. I was glad for the excuse to have her linger with me a little while longer -saying good-bye this time was as impossible as it was the first day we took her to Kent -- maybe even a bit worse.

All I could think about was how wonderful it was having her home for break -- even with her crazy Golden Girls obsession. I knew coming home from work each day was going to seem empty without her there to greet me.

With the snow and a lot of traffic due to students coming back, the parking lot was a mess which prevented any lingering good-byes. Like the first time we dropped her off, I tried to watch Monica walk back to her dorm but with all of the people and boxes being moved in, I lost sight of her. As I turned the corner to leave, I tried to catch a last glimpse of her but it was too late . . she was already in the building and on her way back up to the 7th floor of Wright Hall.

As I drove off campus I wondered if my heart was going to ache this much every time the girls went back to school after a break. It seemed the drive home was going to be very sad, lonely and long. I began to busy my mind with all of the dinner options I had before me - -eating on the road is sometimes my favorite thing to do. I was trying to decide between actual food or just a Starbucks treat -- or both. I wondered if I should sit and eat alone, which I really don't mind doing, or just hit a drive-thru and eat on the road. I was a little happy I didn't have someone with me that when asked what they wanted to eat the reply would be, "I don't care, what do you want?" Then proceed to turn down every suggestion I had. I needed to stop and get gas and decided I'd give the salty windows a good cleaning while I did. With no further planning left to do, I let my thoughts wander --until they were back at Kent.

I wished I was sitting at home watching an episode of the Golden Girls with Monica. The day had been so perfect - -Monica and I talked so freely and had no disagreements on where to go or what to do. We were not rushed for time or had any appointments to get to - -the day was ours to enjoy and I did, immensely. I called Jerry to let him know I was on my way back and the approximate time to expect me home. Zach was asking for me earlier, which made me a bit more anxious to get home.

About an hour into the drive, Monica called me to ask me something about her schedule. We talked, and talked ---

And we talked.

And if you know anything about me, you know how much I hate talking on the phone so it was quite a feat that we stayed on the phone for an entire two hours. We hung up when I was about to exit to Englewood. The day and the phone conversation is probably the most I have ever talked to Monica at one time. As we hung up, I realized how much I enjoyed Monica that day. I realized what a rare thing it was, having uninterrupted time alone with one of my children -- I wish I had more opportunities to do that with each child of mine. I was so immersed in the conversation I never did stop to eat or feel hungry despite only having had one meal that day.

As I neared home, I braced myself for the empty feeling the house was going to have, both Amanda and Monica now being back at school. Both Zach and Jerry pretended to be asleep when I walked in - -despite me pretending to be hurt and needing their assistance. They shared with me an article about Zach that was in the local paper -- he was selected Player of the Week last week. We talked for a little bit but when the conversations were done and the guys left the room, I grabbed the remote control . . . .

and I frantically searched for an episode of Golden Girls.

Basketball Mom

Is is just me or do other basetball Moms sit in the stands during a game and think of their sons:

As the team parades out in a single file line, I recall those chubby 2 year old legs stomping around the house like a soldier, "hut 2, 3, 4 -- hut 2, 3, 4 . . . ."

When he runs down the court, I suddenly get flashbacks of his first toddling steps.

When he shoots the ball, I suddently get flashbacks of him standing in front of a 4 foot Little Tikes basketball hoop - -and barely able to reach the goal.

I wonder -- How did he grow to 6'5" when it was just yesterday, I was holding him in my arms.

He grabs the ball from an opponent and I clearly remember the numerous times he'd grab a toy from one of his sisters.

He runs. He shoots. He jumps. He plays. They know him. They shout his name. They cheer him on. To this place and this crowd, he is Zachary Newsome, #32, 6'5" Junior, Forward for Northmont Varsity Basketball. I know him too. I cheer him on. I'm so proud but when I look out on the court, I don't see a 6'5" Varsity player. There, rebounding and scoring I see a player and to me he's simply . . . .

My Boy.

Things and Stuff

Things. I like things. I like nice things. I like new things. I even like expensive things. I like having things. I want more things. It's the American way and I am an American. When I get things, then I want other things to go with my things. I need to accessorize my things.

Stuff. Just gotta have it. I gotta have more stuff and then when new stuff comes out, I want to upgrade my old stuff. My basement is filled with stuff I used to love but now has been replaced by nicer and newer stuff. My closets are full of stuff that I use on occasion but mostly, it's just stuff to stuff the closets with.

Things and stuff.

All of the above is true of me. I'm no martyr or saint that has taken a vow of poverty. I own more than a few pairs of shoes, a few coats and though my wardrobe pales in comparrison to most others, I still have more clothes than I need. Though my home is sparsley decorated, I still have many things on the walls and sitting around -- things that have sentiment or things that just add interest or color to a room. Though I don't have everything I want, I have so much more than I need. So why do we continue to want more things and more stuff? I don't get it.

For the past 5 years or so I've been bothered by Christmas. Nowhere does the bible tell us or even give us an example of celebrating Christ's birth. I'm not saying that we shouldn't but I am bothered on how much time, engergy and money is spent on Christmas --but how much of that time, engergy and money is just wasted? I don't have any answers but often times, as I'm stuffing myself full of Christmas ham or opening yet another present, I think about all the people that are hungry and have no clothing or home. I think about the reason Christ was born and I wonder if all we spend on the celebration is counter to the reason why he came.

Tis the season for giving - -Tis the season for joy. As Christians, do we need a season to be charitable? Love, JOY, peace . . . . . does it come just once a year?

'I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.' Matthew 25:45

My Blessings Keep Flowing

One Sunday when I was too sick to go to church -- and by "sick" I mean so completely overcome with depression that I could not even find strength to remove my body from bed. That Sunday, Jerry asked our Sunday School class to pray for me. Later that week, I received a note from a lady, whom I did not know by name, and she was trying to encourage me.

I wasn't encouraged. I did not want to hear her words. I didn't care what SHE might have experienced in HER life because this was MY life and NO ONE could possibly understand what I was going through.

That was my attitude. So I ignored the card.

The first few days after Amanda and Monica went to school I was a mess. I could barely function and what little I forced myself to do was not only a huge effort, I was annoyed that it had to be done - -like --showering! My husband and son tried to encourage me. Zachary tried to be funny and kind and caring. Jerry kept telling me he understood my heart but how does a man understand the heart of a mother? He kept telling me he was sad too but did his life come to a halt? Did he want to live out the rest of his life underneath the covers on our bed? DID HE EVER CARRY A CHILD IN HIS WOMB FOR NINE MONTHS? Yeah see, us Mom's always try to trump a father's heart with that one.

I tried to tell myself I was carrying on much too much and much too far and yet; it's all my heart would feel. I couldn't stop the pain. I couldn't stop the depression. I couldn't stop the uselessness my heart felt.

And then each day got a little better. I never stopped missing the girls and I never stopped hurting, but I at least got back to functioning and taking ever so slight steps towards letting go. When the dark cloud of depression finally lifted, I was seeing more clearly and then I remembered the card.

I went back to the card I had received in the mail and read it again and this time, it was such a blessing. I read it as if for the first time and my heart was instantly comforted knowing another mother's heart felt the same thing. As hard as my guys tried to console me and as much as I did appreciate it, it wasn't the same as another mother that had lived through the same thing.

So I set out to find this angel that God sent me -- a woman who was living out Titus 2 when Paul instructs Titus, "Likewise, teach the older women to be reverent in the way they live, not to be slanderers or addicted to much wine, but to teach what is good. Then they can train the younger women to love their husbands and children . . . "

This was a lesson I was learning in loving my children. I had to learn to love them at a whole different level - -to mix my love with respect of their adult status, to love them enough to let them go, to love them enough to trust them to live their own lives. This was a new love, a different love and by example and compassion, this woman came into my life and helped me see my way through it.

I took my card to bible study one Saturday and asked the other ladies if they could please point this woman out to me. The next day at church, I finally found out who my angel was. That evening, I went up to her and thanked her for her card and her encouragement.

The week after Thanksgiving, she came up to me and said how happy she was to see my girls were home for the holiday. I was so touched she remembered and rejoiced with and for me. I felt a moment of being kindred with her and it felt like it was my final lesson in my learning to let go.

Tonight after choir practice, I got to talk to her again. When I explained to her all the blessings I'm now finding in this new freedom with the girls gone; more time with my son, rediscovering my husband, a quiet peaceful home, time to do things I enjoy - she instantly understood me and in fact, on several occasions, we were able to finish each others' sentence. I stood amazed as if in a peculiar way, I was talking to myself. That’s just how completely she understood me.

And so in my quest to open my heart and my eyes for all those blessings the Lord sends my way, I am ever so thankful for my angel, Sonda.