Change

Change.

Not my favorite word unless you are talking about the coins in your pocket or the bottom of your purse....I love that kind of change.
All the other definitions of the word are usually not as lucrative.
I read a quote in a book this week that really struck me like a lightening bolt. Well I guess that sounds a little dramatic but suffice it to say I am a crusty old dame and don't read much that I don't say...been there...done that.....got the t-shirt.....washed it......it shrunk.....threw it away.
It was from a book that my daughter recommended that I read.
I have seen it on multiple lists of high school sheets clutched in the hands of desperate mothers looking for the book that a thousand other kids need for school and so of course is sold out and you would sell your eye tooth to get whatever copy you can because it needs to be read and a paper written on it by tomorrow!
I digress.
The quote was from Alas Babylon by Pat Frank

""She had small fear of death and of man none at all, but the formlessness of what was to come overwhelmed her."

That pretty much sums me up in a nutshell.

Formlessness...the condition of lacking a definite or regular form or shape; shapeless.
It can be pretty overwhelming. Most of us crave boundaries. Try and explain that to my sweet two year old granddaughter and you will find a pretty tough sell,... but if you look closely at her eyes when she is melting down after being stopped at doing something that she really really really wants to do and you will see it....relief. 
Relief from the formlessness.
Safety.
Change brings with it a strange sensation. No matter how many times I prepare for it.....it usually has a way of stirring up the flutters in my mind and body. That slightly uneasy feeling. Shapeless.

Yesterday our ward family was changed. For those who are not familiar with the arrangement of LDS congregations.....a ward is a designated geographic area that combines all of it's members into a group. Your meeting times are assigned and your new ward friends and family are determined by where you live. These wards are then further grouped geographically into stakes. And no not the delicious T-bones and porterhouses kind of steak. These are not constructed of personal choice but of necessity, functionality and spiritual promptings of the leadership of the ward, stakes, and regions and the prophet and apostles of our faith.
In a church with much emphasis on choice and free will it is one of changes that are not always easy or expected. They do not always feel like a choice that you would have made. They can split up friends and extended families. They can seem like just the sort of formlessness you weren't looking for or asking for.
My husband once told me of an experience in first grade where he was assigned a new young teacher...Miss Cates.....fresh out of college. He was so excited to be in her class. She was young and she was pretty. The other teacher in first grade Mrs. Meeker had a different reputation. Word around the playground was that Mrs. Meeker was so mean. If you made a mistake you weren't allowed to erase it. In fact the rumor was that she cut off all of the erasers on the tops of students pencils to prevent them from even sneaking an eraser stroke. And she was old. His 6 year old brain estimated her to be well into her seventies. He was so relieved to have won the first grade teacher lottery.
After about a week in paradise the principal came in to announce that there would be some changes. A few of the students in Miss Cates class would be moved to Mrs. Meekers class to balance out the numbers. Todd sat in fear that his name would be called. My guess is that he clutched his eraser close while the principal read the names on the list.
As each name was read he would breathe a sigh of relief until the last name was called.
Todd Winn
Knowing my husband and his sweet heart and personality I can only imagine what he was feeling as he heard the fateful decision. It makes me want to construct a time machine if only for that moment to go back and scoop his 6 year old sad form and hug him tight and whisper in his ear.....it's okay....it's going to be just fine.
And it was fine. 
Mrs. Meeker did not cut off the tops of his pencil erasers and he found out that she was a good teacher.... that the rumors were exaggerated and that he really was fine.

I will not get to see some of my sweet friends each Sunday. Friends that I have loved and laughed with. Friends that have helped me out during hard times. Friends that have told me what they like about me even when I did not like me. I will miss giving and receiving from Sister Torres a hug and a kiss on her cheek every Sunday. Seeing her family baptized and go to the temple will always be one of my favorite memories of the Sienna Plantation ward. I will miss watching Mike Johnson's dedication to his Sunday school calling each week inspiring me to be better at mine. I will miss my teenagers from my Sunday school class that still come into the library each week to give me a hug. I will miss watching them grow up to be spectacular young men and women. How I treasure those kids. I will miss my blonde bombshell friend Victoria who fills a room with her presence and thinks I am a much smarter person that I really am. I will miss the constant smiles from people like Marianne Smith and Jeff Peterson that remind me that a smile really is a gift to others. I will miss Clarissa calling me Aunt Shelley to her sweet children. I could go on and on. They have been a constant weekly presence in my life and I am grateful for what I learned from each one of them.
What I will miss most of all is the squeal of delight I received every week from my number one fan. I always felt like a celebrity. It made my heart feel full to overflowing.
But....
If there is one thing that I have learned from life and being a mother and a Mormon is that change is the only constant.
Well that and the Lord Jesus Christ.
And that I am not losing anything but am gaining an opportunity to add to my circle of experience and love. That change is hard but it will be what I make of it. Good or bad....it is my choice.
And I will remember all the lessons I have learned from my old friends and use them to make some new ones.
I will remember that formlessness always takes shape eventually.
And that I still get to wrap my arms around my sweet little fan and her brother....
How blessed am I?

You are my favorite.

After an absence of over a year I am back to blogging.
I want to someday tell you about why I think I stopped but for tonight... I want to remind myself why I decided to start writing again.
My grandmother Elgie was one of my favorite people on the earth and for now I think she holds that title in heaven. She was someone who made me feel special. Being a middle child and the second girl had its ups and downs....
I just didn't always feel like I fit in as well as my older siblings.
Unless I was around Grandma Rampton. She had a way of making me feel like I was her favorite.
Looking through the haze of time and youth I can not be sure whether or not I really was her favorite or if she made everyone feel that way,
 but for now until I meet up with her again and ask her,
 I am just going to go with it.
I was her favorite person.
She passed away when I was 16.
She left us earlier than that though.
She had Alzheimers.
She slowly forgot who we were. When my mother would ask her if she recognized her, she would say, "Yes I do....you are one of my people."
Truthfully I do not remember handling this "new" person very well. I was a teenager and typically absorbed in my own life. I was busy with school and friends and well frankly at a loss at what to do with her. She would sit in the rocking chair and wring her hands with a worried look knit into her brow. I know she hated it. I know she must have despised the process of losing her memory. She was a strong woman unaccustomed to having other people care for her. It was such a scary time for her. I would sometimes watch her from my couch as I lay there in all my teenage glory watching TV or reading a magazine. I would try and remember all the love and energy she put into her family. I would remind myself of who she was and how much she meant to me.
I still have dreams of her.
She never speaks but she is there and she loves me.
I am still her favorite.

What I wouldn't give now as I mother and grandmother my own brood.
What was she like as a woman? What were her thoughts and feelings about life and love and family?
I long to know her better.
I want to see in writing what she thought about in a day and what made her laugh.
And of course I would LOVE some proof in her own hand that I truly was as special as she made me feel......
That I was her favorite.

Kate and Sam and all my sweet grandchildren yet to come......
Here I am.
It's Grammy.
And yes. YOU are my favorite.

Thoughts on Thanksgiving.

I entered the gas station feeling kind of blah.
It was one of those days where I didn't get as much done as I should have.
I didn't receive the usual injection of liquid sunshine called Kate and Sam.
I hadn't left the house all day
And EVERYONE in Missouri City was in their car driving willy-nilly like I was in a some low budget end of the world...pre apocalyptic frenzy.
Oh yeah Thanksgiving.
I had almost forgot about that. It has never been my favorite holiday. There are no costumes or scary decorations....no presents are exchanged....there isn't any thanksgiving music unless you count that Over the river and through the woods song that everyone forgets the words to.
I am fortunate to be the daughter of one of the best cooks in the county so no one is going over any woods or through any rivers to beat a path to this grandmas house.
So there are no last minute runs to the grocery store and no far away travel plans for me like there are for every other nut cake weaving and speeding down Highway 6.
Just a need for a 44 ounce drink and some gas and then back home.
I approached the check out counter and exchanged the usual pleasantries...
"How are you doing tonight?" I asked the clerk.
(I come genetically from a long line of people who talk to strangers like they know them.)
"Not sure yet" was her answer.
Figuring that she was talking about the fact that she was working at night in a gas station was the probable cause for her hesitancy I answered her with,
"Oh because you are probably tired of being here and about to get off soon."
"No..." she said thoughtfully, I just got here. This is my second job."
She seemed to actually still be pondering my original question.
"I was able to get some of the cooking done yesterday" she finally concluded as if she were mentally ticking off her checklist of tasks."
"Oh...okay, I muttered sheepishly, I am lucky....I don't have to cook Thanksgiving....my mom still lives close by." I said the word "still" with a little shame and renewed sense of gratitude.
"You are lucky" she pronounced,"My mother passed away when I was 23." Her eyes suddenly brimmed with tears as it looked as if she had just found out....all over again. She quickly looked down at the change in her register.
I was at a loss for words...my big cup of ice and diet coke in my hands.
I stood there for a second and then finally uttered,
"God bless you and I hope you have a wonderful Thanksgiving."
And I meant every word of it.

A-ma's Ball

I am pretty simple I guess.
Two things made me happy this weekend.
The first was running into the colorful smiling gourd pictured above.
I am known to collect a few pumpkins from time to time and when I saw him sitting and grinning outside of my local grocery store as I tried to quickly dash between my gas guzzling air conditioned car to the safety of the overly cooled produce section without sweat dripping down my face, I knew that he would be mine. A richly painted reminder of cooler days to come.
I brought him home to an honored spot in my living room in front of my fireplace (which has never yet seen a fire...ah Texas) and sat back and enjoyed.
The second was spending a delicious hour alone playing hooky from the second and third hour of church with my shadow....my partner in crime.....the girl who can melt any adult resolve I have with just a bat of her big eyes and a thrust of her bottom lip.
When mom is gone I am suppose to take up the role of enforcer.
Which when it comes to safety issues I always do...
But everything else is fair game.
She touches fragile things and opens drawers and begs for delicate objects to be put in her chubby little hands.
And I acquiesce.
"Shhh", just don't tell your mom.
I am at her side at all times as she explores the places in my home that are usually off limits when her mom and I are talking.
It is our little secret.
She made a direct bee line for the newest addition.
She patted the pumpkin and said, "Ball"
"Yes, ball" I said and prided myself for letting her touch my new prized possession.
She went to pick out the heavy piece of pottery by the tiny painted stem as I dashed over to stop her.
"No No No Katie Bug", I said, "we just pat it...we don't pickup Grandma's new pumpkin."
She smiled and patted it gently.
I stood up from the floor to sit down on a chair and she waited until I was seated before she gave her trademark smile as mischievous as the breakable jack o lanterns.
I jumped back up again and gently pried her fingers off of the stem.
No No No, I said again.
On her third attempt there must have been a little more urgency in my voice because with a solemn face replacing the mischievous grin, she patted the pumpkin softly and said in a serious tone.
"A-ma's ball"
And didn't touch it again.
This child is a genius.

 A-mah and Kate shared a popsicle at bath time until Kate decided that two popsicles were better than one and grabbed it from my hand and double fisted it.

 Looking for a little trouble.

The Girl In The Poncho

I don't remember having this picture being taken, but I do remember the poncho. It was an orange plaid with an orange tassel trim. It was the perfect.... albeit ugly garment for this period of my life. But fitting.  It was the beginning of the end in some ways and the
beginning of forever.
I believe the year to be 1971 and I am 10 almost 11 years old.
My unkempt hair and the perennial one knee sock halfway down lets you know that I probably didn't look in the mirror much.  I didn't really feel the need. I actually liked who I was. The bulging poncho not yet a problem but soon to be one.
Puberty was setting in and it would not be pretty.
My once thin and limber body was now thick and more sedentary.
My mom was an expert dieter and on the Weight Watcher bandwagon at the time. I saw the horrible frozen cod fish fillets she steamed 5 times a week,
and the chicken liver she tried to gag down once a week.
The smell of that liver and the sugar free Trident spearmint gum still take me back to those days.
It didn't take a rocket scientist to see that with each pound she lost she was happier and lighter both literally and figuratively (no pun intended)
But I also watched my rail thin older brother. 16. Able to pile his plate so high with beautiful fluffy mounds of mashed potatoes and gravy and consume them before I had even gotten started.
I can smell that in my memory as well.
Two divergent paths.
One much simpler than the other.
And so began the journey that to this day I am still trying to hack through the weeds and debris to see my path clearly.
My daughter, my first born, my Jeopardy champion, British loving, amazing girl is chronicling her similar journey and I could not be prouder.
I think that people believe that the best moments with their children come with society based achievements and awards, bumper sticker moments of honor rolls and most points scored.
For me, I have decided that the real pay off as a mother is watching them overcome their own struggles alongside me while I work on my own.
Side by side.
Sisters of the Ponchos.
Check out her blog here....
http://betterbellybust.blogspot.com/2013/05/saturday-stats-its-just-number-right.html

Love you moonbeam!

All you need is LOVE!

This is a picture of my parents on their wedding day.

They have been married for 59 years.

And today is their anniversary.

Most people never get to celebrate such a milestone.

Either because of poor heath or poor relationships.

It is not an easy road, marriage, even in the best of circumstances.

But through good times and through the bad I always knew one thing for certain.

My parents loved each other.

Not perfectly but completely.

It's hard to imagine a world without that.

Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad.

Cuddle on!

To Drink or Not to Drink.....that is the question.

So I have a bit of a drinking problem.
Isn't that the first step to recovery?
Identifying and admitting your issues?
Problem is that I am not quite sure that I want to be cured.
So I probably will get bogged down on one of the 12 steps I would take.
I like carbonated diet drinks.

Not an actual picture of me but a representation of what some people choose to see.

I think I know it's origins.
I didn't like carbonated drinks as a child.
We rarely had access to them since my mom was on a strict budget.
But once in a while they would bring home a jug of root beer from A & W and everyone in the family would be elated.
Except for me.
It hurt my mouth and nose and stomach and I didn't really care for the taste.
So this problem didn't arise from my parents putting diet coke in my bottle or serving it at dinner as a young child.
(I hate to admit it but Diet Coke didn't even exist until I was a young adult. I can hear the guffaws from my children right now as they read this. One time I told them that there was no egg McMuffin until I was an adult and they belly laughed and snorted for a week)
But when I turned 11 or 12 my once skinny frame began to put on the pounds.
My mom who was constantly on a diet would buy Tab as a treat for herself.

Yea kids.....yuck it up again about how old I am but you don't know what you missed. This little object could be made into jewelry!! Rings and chains and it was FUN!

In the 70's we were not as worried about the dangers of our food and beverages.

No one told us that it would burn through our insides or give us headaches or ruin the enamel of our teeth.

Back then sugar was the demon...it not only gave you cavities but it made you FAT!

So since I was battling the battle of the bulge myself

And had a mouth full of fillings, I saw my path clearly

I was enticed by the fact that Tab only had 1 calorie.....let me say that again 1 CALORIE

Do you know how rare a thing that is??

1 Calorie

That meant that no matter what other enticing food I could not have in copious amounts...

I COULD HAVE AS MUCH TAB AS I WANTED!!

For anyone who has EVER restricted their calorie intake you know what an amazing statement that is.

And so a habit was born and formed and forged in the fires of 1 calorie

Am I addicted?

Maybe

Maybe not

My baby girl Lauren challenged me to give it up for one month.

So I did.

I did not turn into a grouchy, headachey monster. (since that seems to be my lot, drink or not)

I did not feel withdrawal symptoms.

I felt fine.

But what I did learn was that I was lazy.

SHOCKER!

Without someone to hand me my beverage filled to the top with Sonic Ice, flavored with just a hint of cranberry every day, I had a problem.

This ban meant that I had to get a cup out of the cabinet, walk over to my refrigerator door, fill my cup with ice that I did not like, then open the said refrigerator door and pull out the pitcher with the 1/2 cup left of flavored water that someone did not replenish the night before, then go to my pantry, rip open another bag of flavoring......well you get the picture.

So after 30 days I went back to Sonic with the smug satisfaction that I was NOT addicted only lazy.

What a proud proud moment.

That is until the manager of my Sonic was so RUDE that I just HAD to boycott them.

No worries I just took my business to my newly opened Murphys gas station who had flavoring and pellet ice and make friends there.

Only problem was that they did not have the right cups.

And so my search began.

For a large enough mug to get me through the day, yet with a large enough opening to fill it to the top with ice, without looking like I was carrying a construction workers playmate cooler.

I found one at the dollar store that I LOVED!

It was beautiful  crystal clear green with a sturdy green handle, and a wide enough mouth to accommodate the flow of ice but not too large to attract attention.

And it was 1 dollar! That is almost as great as 1 calorie!!

I only bought one so that I could take her out on the road and give her a test drive.

It did not disappoint.

I went back the next week to my Dollar Tree ready to purchase 5 or 6 of them.

GONE! They were all gone. And in their place was a small necked jug that sprayed ice all over the gas station. (Yes I tried it, the worker even gave me a paper cone to use but it just got jammed up in the soggy pulpy paper)

But that was okay.

I still had my lean mean green mug.

I would cherish it and keep it clean and glory in the fact that I had the perfect beverage holder.

I came home one night to this.

When Todd empties the dishwasher he puts the things he doesn't know what to do with on the counter.

This was just sitting there on the kitchen counter waiting for me.

I gasped....no I mean it....an audible gasp.

I said, "TODD WHAT HAPPENED TO MY MUG?"

To which he replied, "What? What's wrong with it. Is that not the way it is suppose to look?"

I think the least he could have done was to give it a proper burial in the trash can outside so that I didn't have to have this image embedded in my brain.

Deep Thoughts.....

I have been really spilling my guts lately.
Important, serious topics.
And anybody who really knows me knows just how serious and deep a person I really am.
So here are some of my really deep thoughts.

If you had to photograph this house for your job and you were all alone and walked up to the door and this is what greeted you, would you feel a wee bit scared?

Do soup and salad and God stories really go well together?

Would you EVER buy a house or a business on Pansy Street if you were a guy?

Why do you want to just reach out and kiss babies toes but can hardly stand to glance at adult feet?

When did we progress as a society from the stick figures to represent the number of people in our family to including their hobbies and how many accidents happen while people are following them and trying to figure out just what is in the fathers hand?

Why are clowns freaky in any format and at any age?

Why does Dad look like a nerd and Mom look like she's 16 and what is wrong with the boy on the end....weight problem?

What DO newborns really think and dream about?

These are just some of my deepest thoughts.
Thanks for listening.

On this day 21 years ago I cried. Part TWO.

Another milestone for me...
I mean my daughter Lauren.

But also for me.
To continue the story....
I had not prepared for natural labor.
For me the most natural of all labor would be pain free.
On whatever they felt necessary.
That would be the most "natural" state that I would choose.
If you ask me pain is the most unnatural thing I know.
I always asked the OB if it was possible for the anesthesiologist to just meet us out in the parking lot.
Thus saving EVERYONE time and hassle.
Anyway, because she was born 40 minutes after arriving at the hospital
(and a 20 minute drive to the medical center that is fondly recalled as "Mr. Todds Wild Ride")
there was no time for anything other than catch the baby.
The last few minutes I begged for something that would dull the pain.
The doctor gave me a shot of something through my IV and now it was........
WORSE!
I was still in pain AND I felt loopy and out of control.
I heard or thought I heard the doctor remark to Todd,
"She's not much of a drinker is she?"
And then Lauren was born.
They layed her on my chest and I saw this chubby cheeked beauty with full pouty lips and a head of beautiful dark brown hair.
Problem was that my arms were now like two rubber bands.
I tried to wrap them around my new little squirmer but it was if they no longer obeyed my brains commands.
I was relieved when the nurse took her from me.
And disappointed that I did not have the tearful moment that I had with the other two at the instant of their birth.
I felt cheated by the stupid shot given me literally one minute before she was born.
Maybe I had used up all of my tears the day before.
Maybe there is only a finite number before your body refuses to yield any more precious bodily fluids.
They wheeled her away from me to the nursery while I was being attended to.
Then they took me away to my room in the towers.
Finally after what seemed like hours they brought her into my room and placed her in my arms.
Swaddled in her pink and blue blanket and her hair washed fluffed and combed into a little ridge atop her head like a little dinosaur.
Todd tired from his night of being a knight in shining armor asleep in the uncomfortable chair beside us...
My other two children being well cared for by their Grammy at home.
A huge storm complete with horrible lightening and thunder roared outside as the rain beat against the window.
Everyone I loved was safe.
And the tears flowed.

Lauren my sunshine. You have been a light and a joy to our family. No one loves fiercer and more fully than you and I am honored and grateful to be your mother. You completed our family and I will always count June 2 as one of my favorite days. Happy Birthday sweetheart I love you :)

On this day 21 years ago I cried.

I use to mark time by my chronological age.
At 4 I broke three fingers by going down a spiral slide in the fun house at Lagoon.
At 5 we moved to New Jersey and celebrated my birthday in a New York City apartment waiting to move into our house.
At 8 I was baptized in a random Stake Center while our family was traveling on vacation.
We moved to Houston when I was 11 and I celebrated my 12 birthday by going to Astroworld.
And so on and so on.
Then I became a mother and my actual age became fuzzy in my mind.
I could tell you in months how old each child was
But I couldn't tell you my own age without thinking really hard.
One year I actually forgot and told one of my friends Jawan that I was a year younger than her.
She was not happy when later she found out we were actually the same age.
I now mark my life by imaging my children.
For example:
A doctor asks me if I have ever had any surgeries to which I reply
"Why yes I had my gallbladder taken out."
What year was that?
"Hmmmm...uh....awhile ago"
Like how long was awhile ago?
"Well maybe 5 or 10 years ago....maybe 15?"
(doctors disgusted look)
"Ok Ok well let me think about it. Lauren was 4. Todd had taken Jack 7 and Megan 10 to the Astros game and my mom had to come over" Sooooo it was 1996!"
A look of pride on my face while the doctor just shook his head.

So today as I was driving to the store I reminisced about just what I was doing 21 years ago this very day.
It was etched in my mind like acid on glass.
I was 9 months and 1 day pregnant.
It was my third delivery and my gynecologist had determined from the moment I walked in that I had gestational diabetes.
She needed no tests to confirm it. (athough there would be a plethora of tests at the end)
She just saw that I was overweight.
And she was thin.
So BOOM
Diagnosis....
Diabetes.
I explained to her that my body actually performed miracles when I was pregnant.
That is was a cosmic joke that when I was pregnant....
I lost weight.
My skin cleared up.
My energy level increased
and given enough time I could have probably brought about world peace.
I always told people that if I could mentally and emotionally deal with a dozen or more children that I would choose to be pregnant forever.
(to all of the people for whom pregnancy is a b word...I profusely apologize for my actions)
After she diagnosed me she let me change from the paper thin tiny gown to my clothes.
As I walked out she sat talking to the nurses eating a bag of Fritos.
During the last three months of the pregnancy she had me take monthly glucose tests and weekly stress tests.
My only REAL stress was her.
The only bright silvery lining to this thundercloud was that I was considered "a higher risk pregnancy"
Why would that ever be good?
Well I had had two other pregnancies.
Megan 43 weeks and
Jack induced at 42 weeks.
This was my ticket to be induced at 40 weeks whether the baby was determining whether to take up permanent residence in my uterus or not.
June 1, 1992
The day my sweet little girl would be born.
I counted down the days.
They told me to call at 6 am to St. Lukes that morning to make sure that all was ready.
I knew that I had them by the diabetes and would not take no for an answer.
The nurse then said,
"I'm sorry you can't come in today. We are so busy that we are not doing inductions.....(and then a pause) unless they are high risk pregnancies.
BINGO
A smile spread across my face as I said,
"Oh but I am....I have gestational diabetes." I said while trying to stifle the excitement in my voice.
Let me look at your chart.
To which the nurse smugly said,
You are not diabetic. Your glucose levels are fine. Maybe in the higher normal range but definitely no risk at all."
And that is when the crying began.
I cried all day.
I had never cried more in my life.
And as I rested my head down that night knowing that this baby would NEVER come out, I cried some more.
Then as if she could no longer tolerate staying inside of such a big baby, in the middle of the night at 2:41
Lauren Winn
made her debut into the world after a record 40 minute labor.

Thankfully my OB was not on call that night to deliver her.
She would not have been happy when my foot slipped and kicked her right in her Frito loving face.

Ready for a Sea Shanty?

You know how you get that song stuck in your head?
And you really don't want your brain to sing it anymore?
You begin to wonder if this really might be the most effective way to torture an enemy?
As in, "please please we will surrender if you just stop playing Justin Beiber."
Two Halloweens ago I visited my daughter and son in law.
There was this AMAZING house that I blogged about.
If you want to take a peek then go here:
.http://themomshell.blogspot.com/2012/09/halloweenseriously.html
Anywho the long and the short of it is they played this music the entire month of October every night blaring from strategically placed speakers around their now pirate filled lawn.
Being somewhat of a connoisseur of Halloween I didn't mind that they had the Halloween spirit...
WE HAVE SPIRIT YES WE DO>>>WE HAVE SPIRIT>>>HOW BOUT YOU!
But I went home to Texas with the above pictured song running through my brain like a band of rogue mateys.
It took me quite a while and a trip to a 12 step program to get rid of the monotonous ditty.
AND THEN THIS HAPPENS:

 I cannot watch her walk without thinking about a drunken sailor.
And she seems to have enough belly there
Although I would NEVER use a rusty razor.
And so my friends I fall victim to the sea shanty again.
I only hope that I have passed a little bit o' the sea to you today.

Misery LOVES company.

Baby Steps

My little grand baby is learning to walk.
But I guess that really that is not completely accurate.
The learning part started awhile back with her watching. and waiting. for her bones and muscles to grow.
Observing other people walking.
Then slowly pulling herself up with her disproportionate little arms on unsteady chubby little legs.
Surfing around the furniture, not sure when to let go.
And then as if a miracle lunging forward a step only to fall down again.
and again
and again.
And now today, as if she is tired of waiting for her gawky little body to get it's act together, she is lunging forward,
stomach pushed out,
legs straining to keep up with her torso.
At a quickened pace as if to suggest to her little frame,
"I will walk and you better get used to it."
She tucks her upper lip in with steely determination.
And I can't help but laugh out loud.
She resembles more a monkey than a human
with her unsteady gait and her wobbily legs.
And the sound that her little hands make when they slap the tile floor in my kitchen makes me stop my laughing and wonder how much it hurts each time she fails and falls.
Only to laugh again as she picks herself up and starts all over again.

My grand daughter is teaching me.
I am trying to learn how to walk too.
Trying to pull myself up in a new chapter of my life.
Holding on to the furniture around me with a death grip.
But I am not as fearless as she.
I worry too much about the pain of the tile beneath me and the laughter of those watching.
I second guess my ability to take a few steps....
Never imagining that I could someday run.

When I said that I always wanted to be a mother.
What I failed to mention is that I had confidence in my ability to do so.
When I was a teacher I always knew that I was equal to the task.
Every summer job I ever had I knew that if I worked hard enough I would be successful.

Now that I am testing uncharted waters with starting my own businesses
I find myself standing on wobbily legs.
Not wishing to find out what it feels like to hit the ground.

So I want to thank you Kate.
For being braver than your Grammy.
For letting me be inspired by watching you.
Grammy is going to join your unsteady pitter patter parade.
And just keep getting up, tucking in my upper lip and trying again.