It’s What’s On the Honey Jar, Not What’s In It

Going back 2 years . . . .

The weekend of October 15th my daughters had a marching band competition at the Pontiac Super Dome in Michigan. Their performance time was 10:30am. My sister, Sam, happens to live just 10 minutes from there so after weeks of firing emails back and forth, we came up with a plan. After Friday night’s football game, my girls would be transported to MI by charter bus with the marching band. Saturday morning at 4:00am Jerry, Zach and I would head off to MI and arrive at my sister’s house around 8:00am. We’d have breakfast together and then Sam, Jerry and I would go to the Dome to see the girls perform. Zach would stay at my sister’s to entertain his cousin. It was simple, it was clean – it was a plan.

The Friday night before we were to leave, I was saddened by the news that my boss’ brother, Todd Weaver, had been killed in a bus accident. Though I didn’t personally know Todd, I did know the impact this would have on the Weaver family. I knew how close Mark, my boss, was to his brother. After receiving the news, it was already late and I had to leave early in the morning so I decided to proceed with my trip as planned and try to reach Mark later in the weekend.

When my family travels, my husband does most of the driving while I assist with the navigation. I usually read the maps and directions, look out for signs, exits, etc. It was about 7:30am on Saturday and we were getting near the exit to my sister’s house. I was watching the signs when my cell phone rang. It was Mark. He asked for a favor. It was strange that he called at that particular time because during the entire trip, thoughts of the Weaver family weighted my heart. As I drove to my sister’s house for a casual visit, Mark drove to his brother’s house to assist with funeral arrangements and console a grieving widow. Thoughts of the tables being turned made the Weaver tragedy more real to me. I understood the place Mark was in.

Mark’s mother and her husband, Judith and Gerry Mullen, were vacationing in Texas and the family had not been able to reach them. Mark asked me to make travel arrangements for them to fly from San Antonia, Texas to Charlotte, NC. The problem was, since the family had not yet been able to reach Mr. & Mrs. Mullen, Mark did not know when they would be flying out of Texas. I told Mark I’d take care of everything. I was honored to be entrusted with such a responsibility and I was glad to be of some assistance to the Weaver family. After taking down the necessary information from Mark, I hung up. My husband, sensing the importance of the call, did not try to interrupt me for directions. He just kept driving. When I was finished with the call I looked up and said, “Where are we? I need to get to a computer right away.” My husband wasn’t sure so we got off at the next exit. I looked at the map and I couldn’t get a feel for where we were. We drove around a bit until we finally stopped in a parking lot. I called my sister and after explaining to her where we were and why we got off course she said, “You know that famous rapper that’s from a rough part of Detroit? ….. Well, that’s where you are right now. That’s not the best place for you to be so start driving as we talk so you’re not just sitting there in a parking lot.” Before giving us directions to get to her house, I explained what I needed to do for Mark and asked her to get the ball rolling for me.

We arrived at my sister’s house about 8:45am. Not only were we off schedule, I was in an emotional panic. I knew that once Mrs. Mullen heard the tragic news, I needed to get her out of Texas ASAP. The last thing that woman needed was to sit around with nothing to do. I knew she needed to be embraced by her family – especially her son -- as soon as possible. Earlier I vicariously grieved for Mark from the heart of a sister but now, now my maternal mode kicked in and here I was vicariously grieving with a mother. I wanted to be ready for her. I wanted to have everything in place once I got Mark’s second call. I’m in a panic but also, I just walked into a zoo! My nieces and nephew met me at the door running, screaming and jumping into my arms. My sister was in the midst of preparing breakfast for 8 people and looking up flight information and we needed to leave by 9:30am to get to the Dome. Picking up where my sister left off, I spent the next 30 minutes making tentative flight reservations departing San Antonia about every hour. I had confirmation numbers so as soon as the Mullens were ready, all I had to do is call the airline with the credit card information and everything would be set. We then left for the Dome.

When we got to the Dome there were two bands that would perform before my daughters went on. No sooner than we got situated in our seats, my cell phone rang. It was Mark. There was a band currently playing so I jumped up so I could get to a quieter place. I didn’t want Mark to know where I was because I didn’t want him to think he was imposing on me. There was nothing about this mission that was an imposition. But also, just for practicality, I needed to get to a quieter place so I could talk to Mark. I’m running back up the stands with my eyes darting to and fro looking for a quiet place I could slip into. I’m in a Super Dome, for goodness sakes – a place that wasn’t exactly designed for quiet somber conversations. I slip behind a concession stand that was not in use and duck behind the nacho machine. As Mark is talking I’m hearing what he’s saying but over and over my heart is saying to me, “Just minutes ago, a mother learned her son has been killed.” I never met Mrs. Mullen but in that moment, unknown to her, I was with her. Then I focused on one word – Dallas. The Mullens needed to fly out of Dallas and all of my reservations were for San Antonia. I finished the conversation with Mark and knew I had to get to a quiet place to make these phone calls to the airlines. I grabbed the paper out of my pocket with all of my confirmation numbers and head towards a door. I’m suddenly stopped by security, “I’m sorry Miss. You can’t go passed this barrier.” I pleaded with the man to let me through. I was literally an arm’s reach from the outside door and I could see a very private quiet spot I could go to. I tried to explain the situation but --- to no avail. The only door open to the public is at the very back of the dome, I’m currently at the front. Over and over my heart is telling me, “Just minutes ago, a mother learned her son has been killed. You need to get her to her family.” I slip back behind the nacho machine and start calling the airlines.

The airlines were anything but helpful. I could not get the bereavement rate without confirming information which I did not have. I could not book a one-way because with heightened security such as it is, you can imagine how suspicious this sounded, “No, I am not the traveler. Yes, it’s just one-way. The traveler lives in VA, not TX. Yes, she’s going to NC. No, I’m in OH. No, this is not my credit card. It’s my boss’. Well, he’s in NC but he lives in OH. No, the party does not want to return to TX………………..” I’m so glad Mark thought ahead enough to have me do this because there’s no way a person in the midst of shock and grief could have handled this red tape madness. After going around and around with several different airlines and agents I finally get a lady who was very understanding and tried her best to help me. I was on the phone with her for about 25 minutes and after getting all of the arrangements settled, she asked for the credit card information. She then asked me for the billing address and I told her I could not provide that but I’d be happy to call back with that information. Well, unfortunately she could not run the credit card without the proper address. I knew Ballard Rd, I knew Xenia – but that’s all I could recall. I could call Mark but then I’d have to disconnect my call with the agent and after having worked with her for so long, I couldn’t imagine having to start over with someone new. She’s trying to work with me and at this point, I’m in tears. I slide down the wall onto the sticky concession stand floor and I muttered, “Lord, now what?” Just then a thought came to me. I sprung up and said to the agent, “Can you hold on please? I know where I can get the information you need.” I took off on a sprint towards the back exit.

I run through the Dome’s crowd, the exit, the ticket gate and the parking lot. I get to my van and slide into the driver’s seat. There in between the front seats, peaking up from beneath the road map is a glimmer of golden honey. I reach down, pick up the Brother Bear bottle of honey and breathless, say to the agent, “I’ve got it. I have the billing address!” From the front of the label, I read out loud, “848 S. Ballard Rd. Xenia – with an “X”, Ohio 45385.” Transaction completed! Reservations booked, confirmed and paid for. Since we arrived late to my sister’s, we did not unload the van. I had purchased some honey from Mark to bring to my sister and so it was still in the van. The honey saved the day.

Relieved that the flight arrangements were finally made I then realized that despite the red tape hassle, that was the easy part. I now had to call Mr. Mullen and let him know the flight information. It almost felt like an intrusion like, during this private grieving time – which was still so soon after first hearting the news, I was going to barge in. I knew I had to be gracious, kind, supportive and strong. That was in complete contrast to how I was feeling. I wanted to fall apart. It wasn’t my son or brother but somehow, being a part of this made me a part of their grief too. I was overwhelmed with emotion. I took a deep breath, I steeled myself up and I made the call to Mr. Mullen. After speaking with him I was almost sorry it was done. I wanted to help even more. I wanted to be able to step in and assist the family in their time of need. Mark was my boss, true enough, but also he’s my friend. I respect him and his family. His children are a blessing to everyone that meets them. The Weaver family is highly regarded. I wanted to be there for them. Later in the day Mark called on me once again for one other small detail of the travel arrangements. I was glad to be given another opportunity for service.

I walked back to the dome and upon entering I hear a familiar sound – my daughter’s flute solo which signifies the end of their performance. I step up to the seating area to try and get a glimpse of the band on the field. I only see them for a brief moment – the performance is over. I walk back to the seating area where my husband and sister are seated. The original plan had been to stay at the dome and watch other schools perform but now I no longer felt like doing that. Instead I wanted to go find my girls and hug them and tell them how much I loved them. I wanted them to know how proud I was of them. We left the dome and drove around to the back where the band’s buses were parked. We found the girls and their faces lit up when they saw their Mom, Dad, Aunt and little cousin heading towards them. I was so glad to be there. I was so glad to see that look on their face. It was a welcoming proud look and I was thankful to be there. It’s true I had missed my daughters’ performance but there was not a moment of regret. Instead of seeing a marching band show, I gained something far more valuable. I did not know Todd Weaver in his life but in his death, I came to learn several important things.

It was not by chance that we got off course going to my sister’s house because had we been on time, we would have unloaded the van – including the honey bottles. Though it seems like such a small unimportant thing, it was the information contained on those honey bottles that prevented a grieving mother from having to sit and wait in a place that was not home and surrounded with people she did not know. It was not by chance that we chose seating directly in front of an empty concession stand where I would later need to use as a quiet private place. It was not by chance that Todd Weaver’s life came to a tragic end. For if I believe in an almighty God that is the Creator of all things, then I have to believe in that same God when life seems unfair, unbearable and unreal. If I believe that God takes care of the sparrow, then I believe that he takes care of even smaller details like honey bottles and band competitions. It is the untimely death of Todd that reminds me of the need for me to surrender all things to Him, my God and Savior. It is Todd Weaver that brought me to a place where embracing my children was far more important than what high school band would win a competition. It was Judith Mullen that reminded me that every day is a celebration of life and a mother’s heart is a reflection of our Creator’s love for us. It was Todd and Judith and Mark that reminded me of the things our busy days rob us of.

I am constantly amazed at God’s grace and mercy. I’m constantly perplexed by the depth of it all and how seemingly distant things, like the death of a person I never knew, can enlighten my heart.

Unspoken Lessons

The Elephant Mother I Want To Be

The part of mothering I have yet to grasp is the letting go. I should have known this was going to always be my personal struggle from the very instant I became a new mom. After my daughter was born, when they were about to cut the umbilical cord, I felt a moment of panic. I knew the second they cut that cord, my baby was on her own, no longer solely needing me to be her lifeline. There was a selfish sadness that came over me knowing that I now had to share her; she belonged to her father and extended family just as much as she belonged to me. I went through that same short-lived mourning with each of my children's births. It should be no surprise really, that 18 years later I still struggle with sharing my children only this time it's not really sharing as much as it is giving them over to themselves.

Last Saturday, Amanda had a special day planned with a group of friends. They were going to the Cheesecake Factory for lunch and spending the afternoon shopping. I was spending the day at a scrapbook store working on my nephews' scrapbooks. I wasn't at all surprised when Amanda called me but as the conversation went on . . .

"Hi Mom. Guess what I did."

"Oh, I don't know, what?" I replied, thinking this ordinarily budget conscience girl spent $50 on something frivolous.

"I got my cartilage pierced."

I froze in time. I knew exactly what she meant but since I didn't want that to be true, I tried to convince myself it meant something else. Dead silence -- the kind that seems to last forever.

"Where?" I was still in denial but all the while, a surge of emotions were welling up in me, like a tiny wave in the ocean that was growing into a foamy white-capped tidal wave.

"My ear Cartilage Mom, where else could it be?"

"Oh. I don't know."

More dead silence. I was confused at my own reaction and couldn't think of anything to say, "So -- did it hurt?"

"No, not really. I mean, not as much as I thought it was going to."

"Oh.", was all I could reply, still at a loss for words.

"So are you mad?", she asked with a slight quiver in her voice that tugged a little at my heart.

"No, I'm not mad." And I really wasn't at all. "How much did it cost?", I asked just to fill the awkward silence. At this point, did it matter? What was I going to do? Tell her that was too expensive to take it back?

"Well, it was $20 but that includes the earring. But I didn't get just one I got a pair so I have an extra now. And I also got the cleaning solution so for all that, it wasn't bad, you know?"

I was sad how she was trying to justify it to me and I knew she was in some way seeking my approval, albeit AFTER the deed was done. I wanted to give it to her, the approval she was seeking but there was an awful nagging feeling inside of me I just could not shake. More silence.

"I told you I was going to do it, remember? Remember that one time I was going to have it done but I didn't have my ID with me?"

"Yes, I remember but well . . . . okay, if that's what you wanted, it's your ear. So I'll talk to you later."

When I hung up I couldn't name this feeling I had. I was in a state of shock, of sorts and it was really bugging me. I sat down and thought it out. It was just an ear piercing. It wasn't a tattoo, a full body pierce or anything very drastic at all. She didn't get one of those awful gauges in her ear. I had to keep asking myself what was wrong and then it hit me. It wasn't the fact that she did it; it was the fact that she could do it without me. She didn't need my parental permission and mostly, she didn't call to tell me about it before hand. Yes, Amanda was exercising her legal adult status and that's what was so bothersome to me. I sat and thought about it and then I remembered the elephant.

I've always admired elephants because in the animal kingdom, they are by far the best mothers. Maybe it's that 22 week gestation period that bonds them to their young, I don't know but whatever it is, I love an elephant's maternal instincts. For instance, an elephant Mom will stand over its sleeping baby and not move until he wakes up. If she does however; need to leave, a babysitter, usually an Aunt (yes, a real sister of the Mom) or older female sibling, will stand in the mom's place until she returns. In one documentary I saw about elephants, a young calf died and the mother was grief stricken. I don't know if animals have emotions or robotically operate out of instinct but it was clear to me in this instance, this mother knew exactly what had happened and was mourning the loss of her young. When the rest of the herd was ready to leave, this pachyderm mom could not bring herself to leave the body of her baby. She kept standing next to him, stroking him with her trunk and letting out sighs and slight cries. She tried to walk away a few times but each time she would turn around and go back and nudge the baby again. At one point, she even tried to pick him up to take him with her. The herd finally convinced her to leave but as she walked away her mourning spirit was evident in the way she walked with her head down and slowly dragged her feet onward. During this documentary, this particular herd was followed for months, maybe even years. Months after that death, the herd was traveling back and when they reached the spot to where the dead baby had been left, they all gathered around as if to have a memorial service. They knew exactly what had happened there and collectively, they seemed to reflect on their loss. The mother let out a few cries and once again when it was time to leave, she lingered on at the spot. The herd gave her space and patiently waited as if to say to her, "We know it still hurts, you take all the time you need."

A female elephant might stay in their family unit for the rest of their lives; it's only the males that have to leave and start a family of their own. There is a strong sense of belonging and family unit to elephants. A mother never forgets who her babies are and no matter how old they are, she has a difficult time resigning them to their own lives.

In contrast, an Eagle is an equally befitting mother but not in the same manner of an elephant. The Eagle cares and nurses her young but when it's time to go, it's just time to go! When the eaglet is too big for the nest, the mother knows it's time to let that baby go. What seems to me a harsh dose of reality, the mother pushes her baby out of the nest, allowing it to tumble through the air -- plunging dangerously close to the ground. Just before the baby is to meet its demise, the mother swoops in with her majestic wings and catches her falling baby on her back. She takes it back up to the nest and pushes it out again, doing this time and time again until the eaglet finally catches on and begins to flap his own wings. In the weeks to follow the young eagle gets other life lessons like how to hunt for food but soon the bird is ready to be independent and without any sorrowful good-byes, the young eagle leaves the nest one final time and the mother and baby know each other no more.

I really wish I could be the elephant mother and have my children in my herd forever but I know I need to learn some lessons from the Eagle as well. In the bible God often uses the animal kingdom to illustrate a relationship; throughout the bible we are compared to sheep. So it's not unusual to gain human understanding from the animal world.

I have no objection to an ear piercing. I do not think it's immoral or in bad taste however; I do have to look at that earring in Amanda's ear and it shouts out to me, "I'M ALL GROWN UP NOW. YOU CAN'T STOP ME!" It mocks me and laughs at me sometimes and that is what I find so bothersome.

It's so cruel that we have to be elephant mothers for 18 years and then suddenly trade our trunks in for the wings of an eagle. But I am learning.

And Amanda is soaring.

A Dome To Remember

Our 14 year old twin nephews, McKenzie and McKorie, are spending the summer with us. They're from a sleepy little town, Douglas, deep in the southern parts of rural Georgia. They've already been impressed with Dayton as "big city living" so imagine how impressive Indianapolis could be. We had to take Monica to the Art Institute of Indianapolis for a week long workshop she's attending so we decided to take the opportunity to show the boys the city, lest they think Dayton truly is big city living! They are both huge NFL fans though not specifically a Colt's fan, they were nonetheless excited to see the RCA dome. I explained to them we'd only see the outside but they seemed satisfied with that.

We got Monica dropped off and situated then made our way downtown. We parked in a garage and as we made our way outside, I began to wonder if we really were wasting our time. It was, after all, just the outside of the dome. How exciting could it possibly be? We walked the block or so to the dome and there it stood before us. Impressive, I think, its dome-shaped enormous size with a magnificent set of steep stairs leading up to the main entrance, befitting a historic statehouse of architectural relevance. Equally impressive, though with a more modern flare, are the huge banners that are draped on the sides of the dome with action pictures of the players. Yes, impressive indeed and yet a bit anti-climatic as well. Within a few minutes of seeing the dome you realize that's it. There's nothing else to do or see and in fact, with out the hustle and bustle of a pre-game crowd, the experience isn't all that spectacular.

Typical tourist looking folks, we stood on the stairs snapping pictures of boys. I felt a bit of let down, like the air was being slowly let out of a tire, as I climbed down the long stairs back to street level. I wished it had been football season. Just standing outside of the dome didn't seem like enough. I looked down to the bottom of the stairs and saw Jerry talking to who I thought was a police officer. I quickly looked back at the boys, making sure they were not engaging in any inappropriate behavior that would draw the officer's attention. I mean, they were sliding down the hand rails and had been sitting on the embankment of the stairs posing for pictures but nothing destructive or obnoxious. As I approach Jerry and the gentleman, I notice he's a security guard and not a police officer. I thought he was going to chase us away but having all the pictures I had hoped to get, I was satisfied with that. Typical Jerry -- he was talking to the security guard as if they were long lost friends. By this time, the boys were also making their way towards us and I could see in their demeanor, they too thought we might be getting a slight scolding. As the boys were approaching the security guard said, "So which one of you is a Colt's fan?" All three boys, the nephews and Zach, looked at each other and none claimed to be a Colt's fan. Ugh! Even I, the least football knowledgeable person on this earth had sense enough to if not claim the Colt's as a favorite team, at least throw some accolades their way! We were standing on their home turf. Show the Colt's some love! The security guard smirked and said, "Well, that's too bad. I'm really sorry to hear that because if you were a fan I would've taken you inside but being you really don't . . . " McKenzie then cut in saying, "Well, I'm not a fan but I like 'em. I like the Colt's and they sure are good." Good save, a desperate flailing attempt at a recover but an overall good save. "Here's what I can do for you then," the security guard continued, "they're working on the field so I can't get you onto that but you can see the field and possibly the locker rooms too, would you like that?" They were speechless, those boys were. All they could do was nod their heads. I looked over at McKenzie and as he would later describe this instance to his mother, "Auntie Melissa and I just looked at each other with our jaws dropped down to our knees."

The guard took us through a special entrance and though it might not be the one the players use, that's what I like to think it was. We walked down a long circular hallway. The hallway itself wasn't anything spectacular but as we were walking along I imagined all the great football players that had trod this way over the years. I'm not a big football fan or for that matter, any sports fan. I mean, I love my hometown Chicago teams but certainly not to the extent I go to any games or even follow the seasons very closely. I'm also not very easily star struck but here I was walking down this hallway as giddy as any grade school girl ever was. I could tell we were in a restricted area that not everyone gets to see. Though the dome was as dead as a western ghost town, there was still a sense of game-time excitement in the air. You could almost hear the cleats clicking along the cement floors. We walked passed some glass doors that lead out onto the field and we almost stopped to take a look but our tour guide was steady walking ahead, so onward we went. As we walked along our guide warned us of two things. First of all, he said not to expect what you see on TV as the field appears much smaller in person that on TV. Secondly he warned us that once he opened the door, we would feel a gush of wind since the dome of the stadium is kept up by air. We prepared ourselves on both accounts.

We soon were standing in a hallway that to me, looked a lot like a backstage area. There just ahead you could see the field and the bright white dome that capped the stadium. The boys were excited. I knew they were. I could feel it. We were standing at the very entrance the players use to go onto the field. Can't you just see it, feel it, and hear it -- all that football frenzy? There was yellow caution tape that blocked off entrance to the field so we couldn't step onto it but we were close enough! The boys all posed for pictures and our guide continued with our mini tour not before, however, McKorie reached down and ran his hand over the grass-like turf and exclaimed, "I touched it. Now I can say I touched that field!"

We then walked through what almost seemed like a series of mazes, still in a restricted area. We came upon a lounge where certain season ticket holders could come and hang out with the players before and after the games. It looked like some cheap bus station diner; I was very disappointed in that portion of it. And then there just ahead, we saw the signs, "Locker Room". Oh we were terribly dorky as we giggled and awed at just a stupid little sign.

The locker room wasn't at all what I expected. First of all, it was quite small. I mean there we stood in it completely empty and it seemed no larger than my own basement. Imagine it full of big bulky players, equipment, coaches, and staff -- and as I did imagine all of that, I realized just how tiny of a room it really was. There were no lockers in there, despite its name, but instead wooden cubbies with hooks, a lot like what you see in daycare centers. Cubbies, ha! That word makes me laugh when I think of some big burly man hanging his things inside of it. Placed in each locker (for the good of their manliness and due respect of their world champion status, I can no longer refer to them as cubbies) was a folding blue chair and though it was cushioned and plush, it didn't seem big enough or important enough for an NFL player. So though those things were a bit disappointing to me, the boys remained in awe. They each took out a chair and I took a picture of them sitting on it. And even in my own let downs, I was still very aware of where we were and what it meant to these young men that were with me. Getting caught up in the moment myself, despite beating my beloved Bears, I was a Colt's fan true and true, if only for a small slice in time.

We made our way back out of the winding hallways to the main street entrance. I was sad, just a little, that we were leaving. We couldn't thank our thoughtful guide enough, whose name shall remain anonymous because he told us he really wasn't supposed to allow people into the stadium. Before heading back to the van we took a few more pictures all the while McKenzie exclaiming over and over, "Now ain't this something!"

And it really was something.

Next big city tour, Chicago but I'm seriously doubting we'll get a personal tour of Soldiers Field.

Random Acts of Nothing

So some time ago I committed myself to performing Random Acts of Kindness. Honestly, I have not done so well with keeping up with it; being keenly aware of needs around me however, I have done a few things. Imagine, would you, if every person would just do one random nice/helpful thing a day. It could be a John Lennon song, really.

I've run into stumbling blocks along the way and it baffles me and frustrates me. Do you know most people don't want help? My offers have been turned down far more than accepted. I understand, sadly, we live in a world where you can't trust people you don't know and sadder still, people automatically get suspicious of someone offering help. What's the hidden agenda?

None.

I just want to help.

There is an old man I often see walking from our local Wal-Mart carrying bags of groceries. He walks with a heavy limp and his face always looks strained as if he's in pain or the effort of walking is quite a labor for him. He walks in every sort of weather condition. I know his journey is long because the direction in which he's headed is a business district and there is not any residential housing for miles. I have stopped on many occasions offering him a ride, each time he gives me an angry look, shakes his head no and if he has a free hand, waves me off. He's annoyed, simply annoyed that I even offer.

I think about this man a lot and wonder what makes him so angry when he's offered a ride. I've seen other people stop and offer him rides too and he reacts the same way. Maybe he just likes to walk. Maybe he's offended by people feeling sympathetic towards him. Maybe he fears his safety. Maybe he's just a proud stubborn man.

Pride.

Yesterday leaving Wal-Mart we saw a man and woman standing along side the road with a sign that read, "Family needs food. Please help." Ugh. I hate that! Well, I do sort of hate begging because, "For even when we were with you, this we commanded you, that if any would not work, neither should he eat." (2 Thessalonians 3:10) and that seems clear enough to me. But that's not what I hate. I hate to see a family in need, it makes me quite sad. You never know a person's circumstances -- how they got to be in such need. I wanted to go talk to the couple and if I determined they were not just swindlers, get them some groceries but I was in traffic and in the wrong lane to approach them so I couldn't make it. I set out to go home and go back but no sooner than the image of them standing on the side of the road left my eyes, I had forgotten all about them. I wonder if they went to bed hungry. I did not.

I'm such a poor Random Kindness person.

Now I am just left frustrated. People don't want help. That's mostly true. Those that need the help the most seem to be full of either pride or fear. Those that just want to get something for nothing are more than eager to accept a free-hand offering. I try to stay clear of them. Maybe I approach people with an air of arrogance. I hope not. It's not my heart nor my intention. Maybe I look all scary in my "soccer mom" van. I just don't know.

" . . .From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked." (Luke 12:48). I don't live in a mansion, ivory tower or even a very large home. I don't have luxury cars, expensive jewelry or a big fancy wardrobe. As far as having "much", I don't live like that. However; I have much more than I need and that compels me to give.

I'm just so bad at it, I guess.

Current State of Things

So I see I have a huge blog following.

Not.

I don't have any interesting stories to tell.

Or political opinions either.

Well, I have them but I'm not posting them.

Because who would read them?

Or care.

But the world is still turning.

For now.

And life goes on.

For instance . . . . .

Niece - college grad

Another niece - college grad & married

Daughter - new job at the YMCA

Another daughter - no job

Son - ditto

Nephews - 14 year old twins spending summer with us

Grocery bill - outrageous

Boss - gone

New boss - not yet

Asthma - back

Breathing - labored

Dinner - chicken

Twin boys + Zach + Jerry - make that 2 chickens

Gist - mostly

Blast From The Past

This is an old story I wrote -- about 4 years ago. . . . . .


Terrible Twos vs. Tormenting Teens

I don't see what the big deal is about the Terrible Twos. Though it's only a distant memory in my past, I seemed to have emerged unscathed from the trio-ed event in my life. It is true that by age two a child gets a sense of independence with the belief that the entire universe revolves around their schedule to eat, sleep and play. Their favorite words, which they utter all day long, are emphatically stated, "No!" and "Mine!”. They begin to realize there's a whole world out there and it's theirs to discover but of course, the discovery must be met on their own terms. Mothers are in a constant battle of Terrible Twos vs. Parental Guidance. It's an exhausting adventure, at best. You get through the tantrums and trying days but there is something marvelous that gives you hope and strength to do it all the next day. When that terrible toddler is hungry, sick, scared or tired guess what she does? She calls for the comforting arms of her mommy. Just about the time you're ready to strap your toddler into a playpen and design a mesh lid to fit over the top of it, that wadding little bundle of terror climbs onto your lap and puts her chubby little arms around your neck. Who couldn't love that? Taking a quantum leap into the future, take that same sense of independence and self-centered nature, mix it in with raging hormones and peer pressure, pack it into a full grown body that has a license to drive and my friend, welcome to the world of parenting a teen. Terrible Twos? Please! That only lasts one year. With teenagers we're talking seven years. You can forget any light of hope because when that teen is hungry, sick, scared or tired, they're just ticked off because it's your fault. That's right! You and only you make their world the miserable existence it is. After all, you are the most stupid unreasonable creature on the face of the earth. Everything must be your fault! One day you are Mommy of the Year for simply bringing in a couple dozen cupcakes to a Halloween class party and the next day, you have no sense of style, your music is old fashioned and boring, everything you say or do is stupid, your expectations are unfair and unreasonable and you don't know hip language which makes you nothing more than an embarrassment in public. In the midst of raising three teens, I'm quickly learning the dos and don'ts of public behavior. Essentially, when in public, behave like you don't know me. That's what your teens want. Yes, the Terrible Twos are just the dress rehearsal for the Tormenting Teens.

Having the joy of two teenaged daughters, we have a tri-cycle of hormones bouncing off the walls in our home. It's like playing hormone bumper pool in our house. As if dealing with my own PMS isn't bad enough, now I have to be on the receiving end of my daughters' PMS swings. You would think being a woman I'd be a little sympathetic to my own child's estrogen surges but this is survival of the fittest instincts. The dominate female of the pride prevails! Cruel and heartless as it may sound, estrogen somehow overtakes even motherly instincts. Forget that smoke detector we have installed on each level of the house, I need an estrogen detector at my house!

Much like my alarm clock, my Estrogen Detector (ED) will go off each morning giving me the estrogen levels of the day. When pollen hits a certain level there are warnings for those afflicted with allergies to stay indoors. My ED will warn me when it's unsafe to remain in the home. When the estrogen levels are light, my ED will sound a bell detecting some slight levels of estrogen in the house. With this, I'll causally get up and go through my morning routine as usual. As levels increase, the ED will be more alarming like the Lost in Space robot giving repetitious signals, "Warning, Warning...estrogen is peaking!” At this yellow light alarm, I'll proceed with caution making sure I keep my distance, shut my mouth, don't make eye contact and move out swiftly. The last and final warning will be the tornado, fire alarm, burglar alarm, Cuban missile crisis and weapons of mass destruction all-in-one alarm. The ED will say, "WARNING! WARNING! HIGH LEVELS OF ESTROGEN DETECTED IN THE HOME. RUN FOR COVER! GET OUT! EVERY WOMAN FOR HERSELF! TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE! DO NOT STOP FOR THE FAMILY PHOTO ALBUMS! DO NOT PASS GO! DO NOT COLLECT $200! SAVE YOURSELF!" With this high leveled warning, I'd jump out of bed, grab my clothes and emergency toiletry bag and make a mad dash out of the house before any contact is made with the estrogen spewing teens. For extra protection, I'll be armed with my Wonder Woman estrogen deflector wrist bands. These golden wonders work like Wonder Woman's bullet bands. As I make my mad dash out of the house, I can raise my arms to block any estrogen attacks such as, "This is so unfair, you are so mean, I need $50, where are you going? (as if my going to work in the morning is a sudden shock to the girls), I have nothing to wear, my hair is so dumb....Mom! I need to go shopping, why can't I have my own car? Why are you looking at me? Stop looking at me................"

After spending eight long hours at work, I will eventually have to come home. Knowing the dangerous estrogen will probably still be present, I've come up with a solution for reentry. NASA spent 4 billion dollars on some rocket scientist invention for protecting the Apollo passengers from the heat of reentering the atmosphere. I've come up with my own $2.48 protective solution. As if to wave the proverbial white flag, I ease the door to a slight opening and wave a 99 cent bottle of nail polish and $1.49 lip gloss. At this Monica, my youngest teen, grabs the loot and scurries to her den like a mouse that has won the cheese without being caught in the trap. In this instance, the trap is conversation with Mom. With that potential Claymore mine disarmed, I then wave a Miami application through the tiny opening in the door. My oldest teen, Amanda, snatches her loot and now both teens are deep into their teenaged fortresses. The bait has worked. I just bought myself two hours of estrogen free peace and quiet.

After the two hours of solitude, Amanda emerges from her den. I raise my arms to engage my Wonder Woman deflectors only to realize she's just passing through on her way to the computer. She gets online to research the average ACT/SAT scores of high school students accepted into Miami. She then gets offline to call her high school counselor (she has her on speed dial) to inform her that she needs to get into French IV. "But Amanda," her counselor explains, "you are only a junior and we can't get your senior schedule together yet." I know," Amanda states as she tries to remain clam, "but I thought I didn't want to take French for four years but now I see most Miami students have four years of a foreign language and I thought if I plan ahead, I won't miss the opportunity to get into French IV. I need to be in French IV. I have to be in French IV. PLEASE GET ME A RESERVED SEAT IN FRENCH IV!" Poor woman, I think to myself about the counselor, she has no idea the estrogen levels have peaked for the month! The counselor then mumbles something to Amanda about a restraining order and unlisted phone number. Confused by her own PMS status, Amanda retreats to Miami website for some more in depth research. Ah, I bought another hour of solitude. Meanwhile, back in the Gloss & Shimmers of Sweetness Den, Monica is trying to determine if her new shade of nail polish and lip gloss looks better applied in stripes, polka dots or jut plain. She's arranged every piece of clothing she owns to match the new shades but it was an easy task to accomplish as all she had to do was sit on the floor, the place where most of her clothing gathers and lives. As I tip toe around my own home, I hear my ED dwindle down to a mere hum noting it's once again safe to resume a "normal" life. At this, my girls emerge from their dens. Monica proudly displays her painted nails saying, "Thanks for the nail polish, Mom. I like the sparkles." Amanda comes to me with a printed out form from the Miami website saying, "Mom, what do you think about this?" I know it's just the quiet before the next storm but I savor the moment just like I did when that terrible two toddler climbed onto my lap with her chubby little arms around my neck saying, "I wuv you Mommy!"

As I walk out of the room I hear the girls say, "Hey Mom, what's up with those gold bracelets? You aren't going to wear those in public, are you?"

Last Day!

It's official. As of today, Amanda has completed a full year of college. This was by far the fastest year of my lifetime.

This time last year I was trying to hold back the constant stream of tears every time I thought about Amanda graduating and going off to college. I couldn't imagine a day without her in our home. What a difference a year makes! Today I'm worried how she's going to transition back into our family life and daily routines.

Just a few more weeks of school and Monica will officially be a senior. What a road trip this has been -full speed ahead! In a flash, Amanda will be graduating college along with Zach graduating high school. And then . . .

FREEDOM!

No Words

Nothing at all to say that can fanthom the shootings that took place today at Virginia Tech. Lives lost. Tragedy ensued. Unanswered questions.

At this very moment parents and family members are waiting, wondering, hoping, praying, seeking . . . .

and for once I am left speechless.

Happy 53rd Birthday To Me!

That's right, today I turned 53 and I know I don't look a day over 44. I'm usually not one to get excited about birthdays and it really has nothing at all to do with my age or wanting to conceal my age. I'm an open book when it comes to the fact that I was born in 1963 and don't bother doing the math, that does indeed make me 53 today. Ask Sophie, my 4 year old niece. I talked to her on the phone today and she said, "You look really good for 53." She's a smart girl that Sophie is.

But this is not ALL ABOUT MELISSA DAY -- Oh wait, yes it is.

My birthday celebration actually began on April 7th when Amanda, our oldest, was home from school for the Easter weekend. Wanting to have the entire family together for my gift presentation, they decided to give me my birthday gift early. Previously I said I don't get excited about birthdays but I LOVE presents and surprises! My family pulled off a very nice surprise. They gave me a nano i-pod in my favorite spring green color. The back was simply engraved, "We love you!". This was no simple task --acquiring this i-pod. First, Jerry had to transfer funds into Amanda's bank account so I would not see the charge made to the apple store on our account. Sneaky those two, aren't they? The package was shipped to Amanda at school. I love when people connive behind my back --when it culminates in a present for me! Conniving to let's say err -- "do me in" would be less thrilling. In addition to the i-pod, Amanda made me two CD mixes. One was songs she knew I liked such as "I Think I Love You" by David Cassidy. Coincidentally, it is David's birthday today too (This is the second blog I've mentioned David -- kind-a creepy scary, huh?). The second was a Christian mix. Immediately after giving me the i-pod, Amanda went to work on downloading all my music to i-tunes and synching my i-pod. She actually spent a lot of time getting it all set up for me.

On my actual birthday I wasn’t expecting any fanfare. Having dropped a pretty penny on the i-pod, I pretty much figured Jerry and the kids would feel they were “off the hook” for any further celebrations. I expected nothing at work – having not even entertained the idea of any birthday celebration at work. I mean – there was that office wide email I sent the day before, “SUBJECT: Melissa’s Birthday”, where I listed my favorite desserts and gifts ideas but I couldn’t be sure it was sent in time for the staff to pool their money together and get the shopping done. Okay no, I didn’t send an office-wide email and I didn’t expect a birthday celebration either.

Earlier in the day Andy, one of our managers, said he had an HR issue to discuss with me. He asked a lot of questions about when I’d be available and what time I was going to lunch. I should have suspected something right then and there because normally Andy just barges down to my desk demanding things. Okay well no, Andy never barges down to my desk and he is anything but demanding. That was just an attempt in inject something exciting into this otherwise boring birthday blog [insert yawn -- but A+ on my use of alliteration].

Meanwhile, back in Gotham City . . . .

Staying focused is difficult when you’re 53.

I go into Andy’s office to discuss a rather simple HR matter in which Andy’s propensity for deceit, drags the matter out. All the while the staff, complete with ice cream cake, gathers in the conference room. Coincidentally, last year they pulled off the same thing and yes, it was Andy who called me into his office to discuss some made-up matter. They got me twice yes but next year I’ll be onto them. As we’re leaving the conference room Andy did mention he had another matter to discuss with me but it could wait until April 12, 2008. I wonder what that’s all about.

Later when I got home as I waked into the house the smell of cake filled the air. I went into the kitchen to find Monica cleaning up the last of the baking dishes and an array of beautifully decorated cupcakes on the counter. Zach was beside himself with excitement, urging me to check my email. I logged onto my AOL account where I found an e-card Zach sent me. The sentiment was precious, “Hi mom took me a hour to figure this out but its all worth it love you bye and all that jazz”. I could just see Zach frustrated as he attempted technology unfamiliar to him, sending an e-card. He was determined to get it and that was the sentiment I appreciated the most however; I had to chuckle at “and all that jazz” as if to say in his 15 year old boyish mind, “and all that mushy stuff Moms like”.

I’ve never read the book The Five Love Languages but from what I know about it, I think my love language is receiving gifts. I do love getting gifts but before you brand me materialistic and delete my blog from your list of favorites (my blog is on your list of favorites, right???), let me explain. I love the thought behind gifts. I love the weeks of planning it took Jerry and Amanda to pull off the purchase of the i-pod. I love the engraving on the back of the i-pod. I love the CD mixes Amanda made for me. I love Monica taking time to not only bake cupcakes but the time she spent to creatively decorate each one. I love how Zach stayed determined to learn a new e-technology skill and his 15 year old boyish expression of love. Seemingly small, those things are huge expressions of love to me. You see, it’s not the i-pod that’s so meaningful to me but what it represents.

As I stated earlier, I don’t get all excited about birthdays but I do think that this annual event in each of our lives should cause us to pause and reflect on the previous year. I am a year older, yes but am I a year better too? I want to better.

In recent months, God has given me a thirst for his Word, a hunger that cannot be satisfied. It makes me wonder what He’s up to. I want to be ready. I want to be willing. In looking ahead to my 54th year, I want more and more to become the woman God has purposed me to be. Growing into that person will require some things in my life to be pulled into the light. I sense this coming. Don’t you hate it when you are fast asleep in a dark room and someone comes in and floods the room with bright lights? It startles you and you have no idea what’s going on. The brightness stings at first and then there’s a period of adjustment before you can see clearly. Sometimes God will find something in us he demands be brought into the light. It might sting at first and take a while to adjust but eventually, we will clearly see His will and His way. I pray I can be obedient and ready.

Thank you to everyone that participated in my birthday celebration. I look forward to the upcoming year. "I raise my hands and praise the God who gives and takes away.", may it be my sincere lifesong.

Post Comment: In a vain attempt to make people think she looks very young for her age, the writer claimed this as her 53rd birthday when in fact, she’s only a mere 44. She now sees the error of her lying ways.
Post Comment 2: Andy does not have a propensity for deceit.
Post Comment 3: Sophie is still a very smart girl.

Post Comment 4: This got posted a day after my birthday.

Happy Birthday, David! I Think I Love You!

ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!

Two names I wish would be forever and ever omitted from any news source -- Anna Nicole Smith and Brittany Spears. I've had it! I'm done with it! I DON'T CARE! And while I'm at it, why don't I just throw Nicole Richie and Paris Hilton into that same hopper.

It's not just the downward spiral of their lives that disinterests me, but all this publicity over bad behavior just scares me. It scares me to know this is what our society is craving -- intruding in on people's personal lives at any cost. I can't completely blame the media because trust me, if "WE THE PEOPLE" weren't so caught up on getting the dirt, the media wouldn't publish one iota of news about it. They give the people what they want because that's what sells. I'm not just talking tabloid news sources. These woman have been featured on top news programs and newspapers. Recently I was working out at the YMCA where there are 4 TV's you can watch while on the treadmill. CNN's top story, to which they devoted a full hour of coverage, was Anna Nicole's funeral. CNN?

We've stooped too far, America! In one way we idolize celebrities (author's note: I refuse to categorize Anna Nicole Smith as a celebrity but to simplify this writing, I won't make the distinction) and rush out to buy their endorsed products but yet, we triumph in their downfall. We want to crash their fairytale weddings crowning them as America's favorite couple but when the marriage ends in divorce we puff our chests out saying, "I knew that would never last."

The media publishes what sells. I get that. I get they have a job to do and money talks. I do get that however; they also have a moral and social responsibility of which should not be taken lightly. If they stop talking about Anna Nicole's funeral, people will forget about it and lose interest. Even if by some chance the results of Anna's Nicole's baby's DNA warrants top news coverage in our country, do we really need a minute by minute update? Do we need to have a play-by-play account? Do we needs these daily updates of what the judge ordered, when the DNA sample was taken, what country it will take place in, what lab will process it, how long it will take, who will oversee the process -- and these are just things I have heard in passing. Not only have I not followed this story, I've taken measures to avoid it but even still, I probably know more about Anna Nicole's funeral than my own maternal grandfather's.

There are so many things we can devote our time and attention to; soldiers and our military members getting insufficient health care, 9 million children in America have no health insurance, over 70% of African American babies are born to unwed mothers, there are over 350 orphans in Cambodia most of which will be sold into sex slavery or used as drug runners, Health care in America is DOUBLE the cost in any other country in the world, teachers and educators are underpaid and over worked, victims of Katrina are still displaced from their homes and out of work, globally 1.1 billion people have no access to safe drinking water --just to name a few. These things deserve our attention and our resources. I have other ideas too. What if the daily news programs would feature a "Dead Beat Dad of the Day" showing the picture and last known whereabouts of Dads that refuse to pay child support. Why don't they show pictures and profiles of local children that are awaiting adoption. Heck -- I'd rather see pets that are awaiting adoption on the news than Brittany Spears' shaven head!

Since age 10, after getting over my David Cassidy infatuation, I've never been a "fan" type person. I admire people's talents and work and I even enjoy an occasional issue of People magazine (especially the Best and Worse Dressed issues) but after that, I hope I give my time and my concerns to much bigger issues that plague our nation and our world. I'm not saying we can't enjoy Hollywood and celebrities and we can big HUGE fans of people but like anything, we can take things too far.

The fact that $30,000 was spent on Anna Nicole's funeral is not a testament to how loved or rich she was but a testament to, sadly, how shallow her life must have been. Sadder still, our society's thirst for stories such as these.

Another Toy Story

When somebody loved me . . . . . . .

I always enjoyed each stage of development my children were in and with three kids so close in age, they were all practically right at the same stages at the same time. But quite often, I couldn't wait for the next stage, the next big thing! I couldn't wait for them to walk, talk, potty train, go to school -- Though enjoying my children right where they were at, I anticipated the next stage like a child on Christmas Eve night awaiting Santa's arrival.

No sooner than finding myself in a new stage with my children, I mourned for the child that was left behind. Oh how I loved my toddler walking around the house discovering himself and his world but how I missed that tiny little baby that used to be content to just let me hold him. I still do that sometimes. Now the mother of three teenagers, I still miss my babies and toddlers and small children. I mostly miss their wonderment and how they soaked up life like a sponge. Don't get me wrong, I love these teenagers and this stage in life too. I love how they are independent (sometimes). I love to see them makes choices for themselves. I even love how confused they can be at times because it's all part of this age. I can't help it though, there are times I wish I can step back 5 or 10 years if just for a day. Just a few nights ago, it happened. I got that chance.

It could not have been planned because chance was the only factor of success in this night. It evolved from boredom, mostly, and a sense of nostalgia that somehow swept us up. It was the night I got to play dolls with my 17 year old daughter and 15 year old son. It was a sweet mix of the past and present -- of all things I love about being a Mom.

I happened to stumble into Monica's room and we were talking and making plans for the new decor for her room. I looked under her bed, pulling out a box that contained doll clothes. She has an Addy doll and a modern doll from American Girl. With each article of clothing I pulled out of the box, a long forgotten memory was attached to it. Monica would recall a time or emotion when she played with her dolls; many of those memories involving Amanda too. I then asked Monica to get Addy out and I was very saddened to see this much neglected doll. Though she showed signs of being a once beloved toy, like her hair that Monica had braided, it was clear she was just a token of a life-stage long gone, sadly forgotten. Her hair had a white coating of dust and I know it sounds crazy and it's not really true but it was almost as if I could hear Addy saying to Monica, "Where have you been, Friend?"

Reminiscing with Addy made us think about Molly, Amanda's American Girl Doll, so we wandered into Amanda's room to find Molly. Oh poor Molly! Not only had she been sorely neglected, she was naked! A coldness ran down my spine realizing the cold lonely nights poor Molly had to endure over the past several years. Knowing Amanda likes comfort in her clothing, I gently cared for Molly and dressed her in pajamas, complete with robe and slippers. Zach, wondering what Monica and I were up to in Amanda's room, came into the room and strolled with Monica and I down a lane of memories of when the girls played with their dolls.

While still enjoying those pre-adult teenagers, I was able to step back into their childhood years when dolls were beloved, soldiers were green and plastic and Mom was the best playmate of all. Having 18 years of being a Mom, I've learned to live in each moment and taste each day because what's on tomorrow's platter will be ever changing, ever growing and yesterday will be ever gone. I still find moments when I try to wonder myself into the future of having married children and glorious grandchildren. But mostly, I try to keep my feet on the ground, focused on today -- in this very present stage of teenagers, high school and college.

. . . . and I knew that she loved me.

When She Loved Me (Jesse's Song)
when somebody loved me, everything was beautiful, every hour we spent together, lives within my heart. and when she was sad, I was there to dry her tears and when she was happy, so was I, when she loved me. through the summer and the fall, we had each other, that was all. just she and I together, like it was meant to be. and when she was lonely, I was there to comfort her. and I knew that she loved me. so the years went by, I stayed the same. and she began to drift away, I was left alone. still I waited for the day, when shed say I will always love you. lonely and forgotten, never thought shed look my way, she smiled at me and held me, just like she used to do, like she loved me, when she loved me. when somebody loved me, everything was beautiful, every hour we spent together, lives within my heart. when she loved me.