Thursday, April 9, 2009
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
Catching Up
Lord knows, dear Legion, that we don't want a repeat of the madness that was my triple-volume Christmas posting. So I'll try to keep the ball rolling and bring you up to speed. I must say, though, that I've enjoyed blogging about whatever for the past couple of days. Reminds me how much I love to write in general. Especially on cloudless spring break days with nowhere particular to go, nothing pressing to do . . .
Recently, Gillian's natural cuteness was enhanced by a giant gap in her front teeth. There is still, to this day, no sign of a new tooth poking its way through the gum, having pushed its predecessor out. That's because this one was knocked loose during a moment of reckless play between sisters in the bathroom. Caroline picked Gillian up, Gillian pitched forward, and tooth met counter top in a most unfortunate way. The thing went loose, turned brownish, and finally came out after much twisting and wiggling from Gillian. She's a tough little broad.
And speaking of tough little broads . . .
My mom and I spent Valentine's Day weekend in Phoenix with my sweet Mumsie (my mother's mom) and the many other wonderful McLuhan and Reesor Family members who live there or were visiting, too. My grandmother is 88, and the two years since we lost Popsie have been peppered with many physical challenges for her. Sometimes, I must admit, I'm amazed she's still with us. Any one of the things she's faced could have been a kind of final straw for her, as it has for so many others in her generation. Blocked carotids, a broken hip, a stroke . . . yet here she is. Still.
Sure, some things have changed, as they tend to do when a person is closing in fast on nine decades. Her speech and movement are slow, such a contrast to the little spitfire she has always been. My visions of her from my youth alternate between two very different mental snapshots. One features the short, compact, muscular form moving between rows of cucumbers, tomatoes, beans, corn and every other vegetable growing in her large garden, wearing shorts and a sleeveless top (pastor's wife or not, it's hot in Georgia in the summer). There was also an unforgettable pair of foam flipflops, each topped with a plastic flower. A big one, like a mum or a huge daisy, but not too big to hide her colorful toenails. In my other vision of her, she is dressed to the nines, completely color-coordinated, right down to her very high heels (essential for a woman under 5 feet tall) and dangling earrings. And long strands of colorful plastic beads. And a matching purse. And nail polish.
Sidebar: Gillian wore some of those beads to church last Sunday. She wanted to look special, so she wore three strands of Mumsie's fake pearls, in three different lengths, that I brought back to her from my trip to Phoenix. There she stood on the risers, singing with the kids' choir, a vision of loveliness in her beads . . . and the tattoo she had applied smack dab in the middle of her forehead the night before.
Now Mumsie lives in an assisted living home where the couple who care for her are sweet and loving. It's actually a house in a neighborhood, not some big industrialized facility, and there are only two other ladies who are cared for there. My mom and I spent a several hours with her there, and I was comforted to know she is in such a good place. I'm so thankful I was able to go out to visit her. I had been feeling such a pressing need to spend time with her. Real quality time. She is my last living grandparent, and as I've said "goodbye" to each one over the years, I have become more and more confronted with the feeling of the passing of something very big and important. A whole generation slipping away. Lessons learned, lives lived, experiences had that can never again be told by those who had them. Oh, to be able to rewind the clock! If only I could go back and have more conversations, listen more intently, appreciate more fully the history available to me through my grandparents. I could dig in here, but I won't, for your sake and my own. :-)
Below are some photos from my visit. Not only did I relish every moment with my grandmother, I had a ball with Aunts, Uncles, and a slew of cousins (many of whom, I now realize, I didn't get pictures) . . .
L to R: Me, Mom, my uncle Dwayne (Mom's brother) and Aunt Shari, and Reesor cousins Meritha, Wendy, and Dave.
Mom, Mumsie, and me in Mumsie's bedroom. We were picking her up to take her to church with us.
My cousin, Marshall, leading worship at church. I've been there a few times, and I love being a part of the crowd when he's leading. He's so naturally gifted. And he's also just natually cool. I would love to be that cool.
With Marshall and his wonderful wife, Chris, after church.
With Mumsie on my last day there. We were giggling because we had been talking about the gentleman who has been sending her flowers each week. Some things just don't change, even when you're 88.
Recently, Gillian's natural cuteness was enhanced by a giant gap in her front teeth. There is still, to this day, no sign of a new tooth poking its way through the gum, having pushed its predecessor out. That's because this one was knocked loose during a moment of reckless play between sisters in the bathroom. Caroline picked Gillian up, Gillian pitched forward, and tooth met counter top in a most unfortunate way. The thing went loose, turned brownish, and finally came out after much twisting and wiggling from Gillian. She's a tough little broad.
And speaking of tough little broads . . .
My mom and I spent Valentine's Day weekend in Phoenix with my sweet Mumsie (my mother's mom) and the many other wonderful McLuhan and Reesor Family members who live there or were visiting, too. My grandmother is 88, and the two years since we lost Popsie have been peppered with many physical challenges for her. Sometimes, I must admit, I'm amazed she's still with us. Any one of the things she's faced could have been a kind of final straw for her, as it has for so many others in her generation. Blocked carotids, a broken hip, a stroke . . . yet here she is. Still.
Sure, some things have changed, as they tend to do when a person is closing in fast on nine decades. Her speech and movement are slow, such a contrast to the little spitfire she has always been. My visions of her from my youth alternate between two very different mental snapshots. One features the short, compact, muscular form moving between rows of cucumbers, tomatoes, beans, corn and every other vegetable growing in her large garden, wearing shorts and a sleeveless top (pastor's wife or not, it's hot in Georgia in the summer). There was also an unforgettable pair of foam flipflops, each topped with a plastic flower. A big one, like a mum or a huge daisy, but not too big to hide her colorful toenails. In my other vision of her, she is dressed to the nines, completely color-coordinated, right down to her very high heels (essential for a woman under 5 feet tall) and dangling earrings. And long strands of colorful plastic beads. And a matching purse. And nail polish.
Sidebar: Gillian wore some of those beads to church last Sunday. She wanted to look special, so she wore three strands of Mumsie's fake pearls, in three different lengths, that I brought back to her from my trip to Phoenix. There she stood on the risers, singing with the kids' choir, a vision of loveliness in her beads . . . and the tattoo she had applied smack dab in the middle of her forehead the night before.
Now Mumsie lives in an assisted living home where the couple who care for her are sweet and loving. It's actually a house in a neighborhood, not some big industrialized facility, and there are only two other ladies who are cared for there. My mom and I spent a several hours with her there, and I was comforted to know she is in such a good place. I'm so thankful I was able to go out to visit her. I had been feeling such a pressing need to spend time with her. Real quality time. She is my last living grandparent, and as I've said "goodbye" to each one over the years, I have become more and more confronted with the feeling of the passing of something very big and important. A whole generation slipping away. Lessons learned, lives lived, experiences had that can never again be told by those who had them. Oh, to be able to rewind the clock! If only I could go back and have more conversations, listen more intently, appreciate more fully the history available to me through my grandparents. I could dig in here, but I won't, for your sake and my own. :-)
Below are some photos from my visit. Not only did I relish every moment with my grandmother, I had a ball with Aunts, Uncles, and a slew of cousins (many of whom, I now realize, I didn't get pictures) . . .
L to R: Me, Mom, my uncle Dwayne (Mom's brother) and Aunt Shari, and Reesor cousins Meritha, Wendy, and Dave.
Mom, Mumsie, and me in Mumsie's bedroom. We were picking her up to take her to church with us.
My cousin, Marshall, leading worship at church. I've been there a few times, and I love being a part of the crowd when he's leading. He's so naturally gifted. And he's also just natually cool. I would love to be that cool.
With Marshall and his wonderful wife, Chris, after church.
With Mumsie on my last day there. We were giggling because we had been talking about the gentleman who has been sending her flowers each week. Some things just don't change, even when you're 88.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Same day, second post. Because I can. It's spring break.
I'm still wearing my pajamas.
It's chilly outside, so when Ellis and Gillian played in the jacuzzi, I wasn't inclined to join them. When Caroline went on a bike ride with Uncle David, I wasn't inclined to join them, either. When Tony went for a run, I really wasn't inclined to join him (although Kelley and I did run/walk yesterday for just under an hour, so I haven't been a complete slug since arriving in Hilton Head). Today I've helped prepare and clean up after a couple of meals and graded a few papers. I've checked in on Facebook and my email while Gillian slept for forty-five minutes right in my lap. I've spent some time checking out lift ticket and lodging prices for a smattering of ski resorts for a potential Byrd family ski trip next winter, and I learned what I already knew: skiin' ain't cheap. I've had morning and afternoon coffee.
Pajamas are the perfect outfit for all of the above.
A few moments ago I meandered into Matt's and Kelley's (Tony's younger sister) room to use the restroom, and I began to feel a weird sense of melancholy. That's because they had to leave to go home today, and their room is now decidedly empty. All that's left is a heap of towels in the bathroom and a little bag of clothes for 2-year-old Jacob who is staying with us for a few more days. They haven't been gone for more than 30 minutes, mind you, but they are SO gone. It's weird how that makes me feel.
Sidebar: It reminded me of when my mom left to return home after having been at my house for almost two weeks when Caroline was born. She was there for a week before and a week after, and it was so wonderful to have her with us that when I wandered into our guest room the day she left, I started to cry, and the emptiness of that room felt like a big rock sitting right on my heart. Of course, I was more than a little hormonal, a fact that no doubt contributed greatly to my profound sadness that day, but it was a feeling I'll never forget.
I contrasted this melancholy feeling to the sentiment I've had on many occasions when I've had to be the first to leave a family vacation gathering. That stinks, too, because it's just not like me to leave while the party is still in full swing. I just know I'm going to miss something superbly fun. So which is worse, leaving before the family fun is over, or still being around after the rest of the family has left? Left out vs. lonely? I think I'll take feeling left out. Loneliness bites.
So now I'm contemplating a shower and thinking tonight will be a perfect night to watch National Treasure 2 on DVD. Other parts of the family are coming in from outside or from a trip to the mall, so the house is beginning to sound inhabited again. Grandmother and Papa are coordinating a walk around the corner to the ice cream shop with whatever grandkids want to go. My sweet husband has just appeared at the top of the stairs, and my blue-eyed boy just delivered to me a sour gummy worm.
Life is good. Especially on spring break.
It's chilly outside, so when Ellis and Gillian played in the jacuzzi, I wasn't inclined to join them. When Caroline went on a bike ride with Uncle David, I wasn't inclined to join them, either. When Tony went for a run, I really wasn't inclined to join him (although Kelley and I did run/walk yesterday for just under an hour, so I haven't been a complete slug since arriving in Hilton Head). Today I've helped prepare and clean up after a couple of meals and graded a few papers. I've checked in on Facebook and my email while Gillian slept for forty-five minutes right in my lap. I've spent some time checking out lift ticket and lodging prices for a smattering of ski resorts for a potential Byrd family ski trip next winter, and I learned what I already knew: skiin' ain't cheap. I've had morning and afternoon coffee.
Pajamas are the perfect outfit for all of the above.
A few moments ago I meandered into Matt's and Kelley's (Tony's younger sister) room to use the restroom, and I began to feel a weird sense of melancholy. That's because they had to leave to go home today, and their room is now decidedly empty. All that's left is a heap of towels in the bathroom and a little bag of clothes for 2-year-old Jacob who is staying with us for a few more days. They haven't been gone for more than 30 minutes, mind you, but they are SO gone. It's weird how that makes me feel.
Sidebar: It reminded me of when my mom left to return home after having been at my house for almost two weeks when Caroline was born. She was there for a week before and a week after, and it was so wonderful to have her with us that when I wandered into our guest room the day she left, I started to cry, and the emptiness of that room felt like a big rock sitting right on my heart. Of course, I was more than a little hormonal, a fact that no doubt contributed greatly to my profound sadness that day, but it was a feeling I'll never forget.
I contrasted this melancholy feeling to the sentiment I've had on many occasions when I've had to be the first to leave a family vacation gathering. That stinks, too, because it's just not like me to leave while the party is still in full swing. I just know I'm going to miss something superbly fun. So which is worse, leaving before the family fun is over, or still being around after the rest of the family has left? Left out vs. lonely? I think I'll take feeling left out. Loneliness bites.
So now I'm contemplating a shower and thinking tonight will be a perfect night to watch National Treasure 2 on DVD. Other parts of the family are coming in from outside or from a trip to the mall, so the house is beginning to sound inhabited again. Grandmother and Papa are coordinating a walk around the corner to the ice cream shop with whatever grandkids want to go. My sweet husband has just appeared at the top of the stairs, and my blue-eyed boy just delivered to me a sour gummy worm.
Life is good. Especially on spring break.
Notes from the Road
Our drive to Hilton Head from Tampa on Sunday was relatively uneventful. Unless you consider pee stops "events", in which case it was very eventful. There were six of those, and three of them were side-of-the-road stops, just for Ellis. I must say, the fact that it's possible to simply pull over on the side of the interstate for a fully satisfying potty break is very convenient, and I'm thankful it's my son who needs them so often, not my daughters.
Anyway, this kind of thing generates some very entertaining family conversation . . .
(Sound of automatic van door sliding open.)
Mommy: Okay, Ellis. Just hop out right there, and stay close to the van.
Daddy: Be careful, Son . . . lean out a little. You don't want that stuff to get on your pants.
Ellis: (from outside) Okay, Dad!
Gillian: Eeeewwww!
Caroline: That's just gross.
(Ellis "wags" back and forth, evenly coating a three-foot swath of grass.)
Caroline: (rolling her eyes) Look what he's doing!
Daddy: (smiling, thinking "that's my boy") Heh heh . . . Okay, don't get crazy.
(Ellis zips up and climbs back into the van, huge grin on his face.)
Ellis: Did you see me swirl it? That was awesome.
Mommy: Okay, buddy.
Caroline: Uugh. That's just one more reason I'm so glad I'm not a boy.
Daddy: Oh, no, that's one of the good things about being a boy. You can just pee right on the side of the road. Girls can't do that, you know.
Caroline: Well you know what the best thing about being a girl is? You can have a baby.
Ellis: Yeah, but you can die havin' a baby.
Well. Okay then.
Anyway, this kind of thing generates some very entertaining family conversation . . .
(Sound of automatic van door sliding open.)
Mommy: Okay, Ellis. Just hop out right there, and stay close to the van.
Daddy: Be careful, Son . . . lean out a little. You don't want that stuff to get on your pants.
Ellis: (from outside) Okay, Dad!
Gillian: Eeeewwww!
Caroline: That's just gross.
(Ellis "wags" back and forth, evenly coating a three-foot swath of grass.)
Caroline: (rolling her eyes) Look what he's doing!
Daddy: (smiling, thinking "that's my boy") Heh heh . . . Okay, don't get crazy.
(Ellis zips up and climbs back into the van, huge grin on his face.)
Ellis: Did you see me swirl it? That was awesome.
Mommy: Okay, buddy.
Caroline: Uugh. That's just one more reason I'm so glad I'm not a boy.
Daddy: Oh, no, that's one of the good things about being a boy. You can just pee right on the side of the road. Girls can't do that, you know.
Caroline: Well you know what the best thing about being a girl is? You can have a baby.
Ellis: Yeah, but you can die havin' a baby.
Well. Okay then.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Hmmmm . . .
I'm sitting here trying to think of something interesting to write. Why? Because I haven't posted on my blog in ages, and I've really been wanting to, but I simply have not had the time. Truth is I don't really have the time right now, either. It's almost 5:00 on the afternoon before our family is leaving to go to South Carolina for spring break, and I haven't packed. Sure, I've folded some clothes, with the help of my kids, but that's about it. So much still to do. And here I am writing about nothing.
So perhaps I'll just use this as a little brainstorming session, a prewrite, if you will (just a little shout out to all my teacher friends. Happy spring break, comrades!). I'll have some posting time while I'm out of town, so what shall I write? Surely I should tell of my February trip to Phoenix to see my sweet Mumsie. And I should share pictures from Caroline's induction into the National Elementary Honor Society. Or Gillian's and my recent field trip to the zoo, where she and her friends named one particular orangutan the "booby monkey". I could also muse about the social dynamics of 4th grade boys playing football at recess. That's way more interesting than the girls on the playground, I can assure you.
There's also big stuff on my mind and in my heart right now, but I'm not sure I want to post about those. I can say, though, that the more and more I consider some of that "big stuff", the more thankful I am every single day for the life I have. My husband. My kids. Our church. My job. Our friends. Our familes. God's love in my life. His grace. His mercy.
It really is quite humbling.
I used to examine my life and see all these great blessings and wonder, When is the other shoe going to drop? When is personal tragedy going to find me, because surely this kind of bliss must be balanced? Thankfully, I don't do that anymore. God and I have come a long way in the "irrational fear" department.
So now when I ponder my seeminly charmed life I find myself wanting to somehow live up to it all. And by "live up to it" I don't mean that I should try to earn it or figure out a way to convince God that I really am grateful. Earning it would be impossible, and then all these things in my life would no longer be products of God's grace, anyway. I guess when I say I want to "live up to it" I mean I want to live . . . up. Better. Higher. More earnestly. With greater purpose and intention. These things make me want to raise the bar for myself. Be a better wife, mom, friend, sister, daughter, teacher, colleague, worshipper, leader, Christ-follower. Just a better reflection of all that good stuff He's given me.
Tall order, I know. But it's really the only appropriate response. Has God blessed me because he loves me, and He's just really into giving "good gifts" to His kids? Yes. I think so. But is that all? I doubt it. I think my response is what makes these the gifts that keep on giving. Not to me, but to everyone around me. So if I don't "live up" to them, they stop right here, in my life, and that's nice and all, but that might be a waste of some good stuff.
So. Living up. Hmmmmm . . . Might as well start today.
Sidebar: So much for writing about nothing, huh?
So perhaps I'll just use this as a little brainstorming session, a prewrite, if you will (just a little shout out to all my teacher friends. Happy spring break, comrades!). I'll have some posting time while I'm out of town, so what shall I write? Surely I should tell of my February trip to Phoenix to see my sweet Mumsie. And I should share pictures from Caroline's induction into the National Elementary Honor Society. Or Gillian's and my recent field trip to the zoo, where she and her friends named one particular orangutan the "booby monkey". I could also muse about the social dynamics of 4th grade boys playing football at recess. That's way more interesting than the girls on the playground, I can assure you.
There's also big stuff on my mind and in my heart right now, but I'm not sure I want to post about those. I can say, though, that the more and more I consider some of that "big stuff", the more thankful I am every single day for the life I have. My husband. My kids. Our church. My job. Our friends. Our familes. God's love in my life. His grace. His mercy.
It really is quite humbling.
I used to examine my life and see all these great blessings and wonder, When is the other shoe going to drop? When is personal tragedy going to find me, because surely this kind of bliss must be balanced? Thankfully, I don't do that anymore. God and I have come a long way in the "irrational fear" department.
So now when I ponder my seeminly charmed life I find myself wanting to somehow live up to it all. And by "live up to it" I don't mean that I should try to earn it or figure out a way to convince God that I really am grateful. Earning it would be impossible, and then all these things in my life would no longer be products of God's grace, anyway. I guess when I say I want to "live up to it" I mean I want to live . . . up. Better. Higher. More earnestly. With greater purpose and intention. These things make me want to raise the bar for myself. Be a better wife, mom, friend, sister, daughter, teacher, colleague, worshipper, leader, Christ-follower. Just a better reflection of all that good stuff He's given me.
Tall order, I know. But it's really the only appropriate response. Has God blessed me because he loves me, and He's just really into giving "good gifts" to His kids? Yes. I think so. But is that all? I doubt it. I think my response is what makes these the gifts that keep on giving. Not to me, but to everyone around me. So if I don't "live up" to them, they stop right here, in my life, and that's nice and all, but that might be a waste of some good stuff.
So. Living up. Hmmmmm . . . Might as well start today.
Sidebar: So much for writing about nothing, huh?
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