O is for Oliver

In the alphabet that makes up my day-to-day life, O is most definitely for Oliver. My sweet, sweet Ollie. I do wish the world could experience how amazing this little boy is.  Everything that Oliver does is robust...so full of life. When he plays it's dramatic and intense. When he eats he enjoys the food as if it was the best thing he's ever tasted. When he hears music he dances, no matter where he is. When he laughs it comes from deep down inside and exits like a roar. He never does anything with less than all that he has.

I get very defensive when people "shhhh!" my Oliver. I never want him to tone himself down a couple of notches. I never want him to hide the light that he was given. He is a force, and I pray that he remains that way.

You see, it is though just when I thought my heart was as full as it could ever be, God whispered "Watch what I can do" and made my Oliver. His birth and first birthday were clouded by death. Both times I was told that I should enjoy Oliver quietly...that the days were too sad to celebrate silly little birthdays. But that has never slowed my Oliver. He's a bright spot. He refuses to be dimmed. Life says be quiet. Life says be sad. Life says that every day is not cause for celebration. But my Oliver ignores all of that, so I will try to also.

Happy 2nd Birthday to my Oliver. My sweet, sweet Ollie. Thank you for showing me how life is meant to be lived.

Time

I'm sure if you asked my family and friends what is one thing that I wish I could change, they would tell you "September 20, 2012", the day my mother died. But they'd be quite wrong. She's in a far better place than you and I, so it would be wrong of me to wish the world for her. However, if I could redo Wednesday, September 19, 2012, I surely would.

I remember that week was a theme week at school, and the teachers had been asked to wear capes on Wednesday. I tied my towel-cape on proudly that day, but by the evening I could not have felt less like a superhero. Mr. Jones had left for Bible study and things sort of fell apart at our house in ways that have never happened before, including Graham hitting Oliver with a remote which cut into his forehead. I remember feeling sad that Ollie's one year old pictures would contain that little injury. Little did I know that the downward spiral of events, the bruises and the helplessness of that evening would end up being a parallel for the year ahead.

I wish that I had not worn that silly cape that day. I wish that I had not thought of upcoming pictures that day. I wish that I had known that it was going to be my mother's last day here. I would have ran, really ran to her house. I would have dropped to my knees and told her I loved her. But I didn't. I can never have that day back, and I consider it the biggest disappointment of my life. That incredibly wasted day. How much richer it would have been if I would have been able to hold her hand one more time. But I didn't, and I never can again.

I fear the world will never fully understand how everything I am fell apart that Thursday when I heard the news of her passing. How I simply crumbled out of my chair. How I didn't want to make my feet walk when people told me to stand. How driving home from her funeral was perhaps the loneliest feeling my heart will ever experience. How there will forever be a hole in my heart.

I feel as though I'm standing on the tracks trying to push the train back. Life says move on. It's been a year. But I won't move on. Even if there is no one else left to think about her every single day, I always will. They say time will heal all wounds. Maybe so, but it's going to take a lot longer than one year.

Not the Jet Set

I heard today that George Jones passed away. I desperately wanted to call my mother and tell her that one of her favorite singers was gone. She probably wouldn't have heard by now, so I needed to tell her. She would tell me that she just loved George and Tammy. She would remind me of the troubles he faced in his life, but how he made such a comeback when he sang with Barbara Mandrell "I Was Country." She would laugh of those times we stopped at a Chevron station on road trips to grab peanuts and put them in our Coke, just because of that song. Of course, I only made that call in my mind.

It's funny to me how many things in our lives mean absolutely nothing at one time, but could be precious memories years later. I remember listening to George... Southern California, We're Gonna Hold On, We're Not the Jet Set, and He Stopped Loving Her Today. I remember Momma singing those songs and my sister and I not finding a thing wrong with them. They weren't modern, but we sang along as kids and loved it.

When I shared with my husband my silly memories, he looked up some of those old songs, and I was right back in front of my dad's big ol' stereo...right back in our old broken-down car...right back listening to some of those George Jones songs. What an amazing reminder that it doesn't matter what we do with our kids. Just spending time with them...sharing what we like with them...is enough. And if sharing your best isn't as fancy as your neighbor's, it won't even be a part of their memories. They will just remember that you sang with them. Laughed with them. Shared with them.

As one of those songs says (my favorite one), we're not the jet set here in this household. It never was with Robert or myself as kids, so it fits that it isn't now. We have simple. We have boxed pizza. We have Target clothes. We have budgets. We're not the jet set. But ain't we got love.

Momma, George Jones passed away. Make him sing you a song up in Heaven.

Brussel Sprouts

I don’t know about you, but I have terrifying memories of having to sit at the dinner table until I ate my brussel sprouts. Can you think of a substance nastier than brussel sprouts? I guess you could count COLD brussel sprouts as worse, but that’s about it. I don’t care if you cover them in cheese, douse them salt and pepper, or eat them very quickly so you don’t taste them. They’re just plain ga-ross! That vegetable symbolizes my ungratefulness with a lot of things, though.

I wish I could say that’s the only food I’ve pitched a fit about. Surely a person is allowed to break into a semi-tantrum over brussel sprouts, but when you add to that the surely thousands of foods I complain about, you start to see a problem. I consider it even more tragic that I also gripe about food that I actually like, but isn’t quite up to par to my apparently fancy taste buds. You know what I mean…well that plate of warm, sizzling fajitas just wasn’t the BEST I’ve ever had, or I could have had MORE spice to that spaghetti…it was practically inedible. Let’s not really mention when I roll my eyes at the prospect of just making something myself instead of going out to eat. Those are the REALLY low points when I dare use the term "brat".

 I’m reading Jen Hatmaker’s 7, and that’s on the heels of finishing Crazy Love by Francis Chan. I never really considered myself an ungrateful person and definitely not a selfish person, but alas, I am. I do the figurative stomping of the feet when it comes to food choices and many other parts of my life filled with complete comfort, when really how blessed am I that I actually have food, have spices, have choices! I actually have the excessive LUXURY of paying someone to cook food for me…sometimes I don’t even have to leave my car to get it! While I have heard the adage “Eat what you have…there are others who would LOVE to have that”, I don’t think I’ve really allowed it to be a personal mantra. Instead, it’s more of a casual thought.

 I must change this about myself. Not should. MUST. I have to show my children, myself, my circle of people that I am NOT driven by anything but Christ. I have way more of everything than I deserve and it’s time to quit holding on to things that aren’t truly important. Matthew 22:37-39 tells me that I am to love the Lord with all that I have and then love my neighbor as myself. It’s hard to admit it, but that direction does not include acquiring more and more while giving less and less. I don’t believe that God is against me enjoying life, including good food. I think he just wants me to realize that having more than you NEED is a call to help others, not an excuse to stay in our little cozy bubble. God, help me to do my part.

 

A Nervous Wreck...or Not...

My car was rear-ended on the way to work today. It was a good day. I know those two statements don't seem like they should be paired together, especially coming from a pessimist like me, but for today they go together like jam and toast. Please know that I was extremely upset about the wreck and a ball of nerves for awhile. I think that when you hear that loud crash, no matter how bad, you just assume that everything is wrong...your car, the other cars zooming past you, the weather, your children who aren't even near you. Until you experience that the world is okay...it was just a little bad car luck, then your day seems to stop. In my process of realizing that the world was not ending, I spent a great deal of time praying...that I would extend grace for the other driver, that no one would be upset with me for the delay this caused, and that God would take my anxiety about this situation. I praise God for being in control when I have none and thank Him for safety today.

We have a saying around my house lately--started by me--that says "The old Bethany would have _____". I use it when I refer to a situation I would have previously tried to control but that I now give to God. Well, the old Bethany would have called this guy a maniac, cried uncontrollably for a really long time, and been so devasted when I got home that I would have nearly just crawled into bed. However, I am choosing to pray to God more and let Him take these burdens. I still get angry, frustrated, concerned, and anxious. Today I was all of those. The difference is that now I am seeing those as feelings that God wants me to experience and lean on Him to carry...not solve myself.  I can only claim this truly because of what God has done in my life.

So, today is a good day. It is a day I was fine from being rear-ended. It is the day that Mr. Jones was working on a car that suddenly caught on fire but didn't burn him at all. It was the day he bought me lunch. It is also the day I resisted checking emails 10,000 times and trusted all would be well without little ol' me. It is the day that Oliver's hair glistened like sunlight and Graham nestled up for a hug without me begging. It was a good day because it is the day that the Lord made...I have nothing else to do but rejoice and be glad in it.

Get Well Soon

Well, despite my best efforts, the flu found me. I spent Thursday evening-Sunday evening pretty much in bed the whole time. In between bouts of consciousness, I would wake up to Mr. Jones taking care of things. "Honey, how are you feeling? I decided to make a large steak dinner tonight."  "Honey, how are you feeling? I decided to give Graham a short haircut." "Honey, how are you feeling? I decided I feel like cleaning out the garage today." To be honest, I'm not sure how much I agreed to...For all I know, maybe I'm the one who thought of having a fancy steak dinner. Whatever the case, there were no idle hands while I was indisposed.

One thing I do remember asking the hubby for was some stew meat when he went to the grocery store for me. I decided to make some "Get Well Stew" for myself...I don't know why I started calling it that, but it's sticking. My mother used to make stew quite a bit, but I never appreciated it as a child. I never thought a pot of vegetables was going to make me suddenly feel well.  Regardless, she'd tell us to eat up when we were sick. She would usually throw in a Braum's malt to close the deal. Well now that I'm feeling better, I set to cooking myself some stew. I have to admit I was a little taken back to find 3.39 lbs of stew meat in my refridgerator (he got a good deal was all I was able to find out). So now, I'm making enough "Get Well Stew" for the entire Navy.

Spending time when you can't go about your normal routine is always hard for me, but it was especially hard this time. I don't know why, but it made me miss my mother and my sister...two of the big "caretakers" of sickness from my younger years. Not that either one of them have nursed me back to health in the last decade...and not that I didn't have wonderful care...but I guess there is something about longing for what you can't have. However, now that I'm on the mend, I'd like to go ahead and go on record for both of my boys that I promise to make you some stew, soup, or even steak, if you prefer, for any sick days that you may encounter for the rest of your life. Not because you need it, but just because it's something I can do. One day you'll like it.

If you find yourself sick this flu season, here's the most basic stew recipe ever. If you're making it for someone fancy, go to another blog and find a pretty cornbread recipe. If it's just you and family, do what Mr. Jones does for us...take some saltine crackers and spread some I Can't Believe it's Not Butter on there. That stuff is good...you can't tell anyone you eat because they'll laugh at you, but it's good.

Get Well Stew
Take 1.5-2 lbs (or 3.39 lbs if you have some amazing deal on it) of stew meat and brown it in a stock pot. Season it with garlic power, onion powder, a little salt, and a lot of pepper. Drain your meat when done. Pour in 2 large cans of tomato juice and any veggies you like. You can do as fresh or as frozen as you want on the veggies. I do peas, okra (it's the best), corn, a little onion, and some chopped carrots (those are for the family but I'm not eating them). I also put in 3 large cubed potatoes and let it all cook for a couple of hours.You can taste it every so often and add any additional seasonings. If you're from Texas, you can sprinkle some pepper sauce on your bowl before eating. Don't forget your butter crackers...or fancy cornbread.

A Job Well Done

We are in the midst of doing a little rearranging here at the Jones house. Mr. Jones is helping me fix up a little craft area in our guest room. I'm going to set up my mom's sewing machine and my fancy-dancy cutting machine. This little setup involves converting our old, beat-up computer desk into cutesy little craft desk and replacing it with a new desk for the office. Truth be told, that's the only reason Mr. Jones is leading this project...he's been trying to get a new office makeover for quite some time. Well tonight he thought we'd pop over to do some desk shopping which meant an early dinner. Sounds like a sweet little evening, right? How wrong could I be?!

It started off well enough. I came home and got it in gear. Cooking a fabulous Italian dinner (a new recipe from Pinterest), working with Graham on his letters, and straightening up the house in record speed. Just as I was marveling at my awesome wifey/mother skills this evening, dinner was "done" right as Mr. Jones came home. Well just as I'm spooning the "done" chicken onto everyone's plates, and of course handing over my children's plates first, I happen to notice that the chicken isn't done. After I execute a near nose dive to grab it from my son's hands, lest he ingest some on the way to the chair, I try to figure out what to do to fix this mess. The whole top part of the dish is done...almost well done, but the chicken isn't???? After years of worrying that some chicken dish isn't cooked through and I find one...right when I think I've got stuff under control over here. Lovely. Dinner was a wash.

Next, we decided to keep moving forward. Since we have this big evening of shopping planned, we decided to just pick up some food on the way. I'd like to say things got better, but Graham really insisted on chicken. Of all the food in the world. Chicken. Of course, I should have started my "we don't get everything we want" speech, but the way things were going, we just went with it.

Finally we find ourselves at the store with more vowels than consonants in its name, and we locate a desk that both of us love. Things are really looking up because Mr. Jones always disagrees with whatever I pick out (his taste isn't what it should be sometimes). Problem is, we can't find someone to help us. This store has two levels and we can't find one person. When we locate a store assistant, he tells us he's busy and we'll have to wait. That seemed a bit of a harsh way to put it, but okay. It's late and I'm sure he's tired. So approximately five minutes later he comes over and just raises his eyebrows at us and does a slight eye roll. No words. Just eyebrows. I guess that was code for "How may I help you?" but I wasn't speaking his language.  This man did not just get attitude with me in front of my children. You DO NOT approach someone with eyebrows and I let him know it. I let him know that when he walks up to a customer, he will need to use some manners because that is your job. You will use your words and they will be nice because that is your job. All I need is a little help and you will give it because that is your JOB. And when he asked me how he could help me nicely, I knew I had done MY job.

I am the nurturer, nurse, counselor, teacher, janitor, cuddler, and general caretaker of this family. Cook, clean, pick up, set up, make up, whatever it takes. It's hard and I am tired and not everything goes right. I often fail at my job, in the example of tonight, almost giving my family Salmonella, but I will always keep at it and I will do it with a smile. Because that's my job, and I like it.  And if I ever feel like I don't like it, I need to suck it up because that's just part of the job, too. Mr. Manners reminded me that of that tonight. We were not promised easy and there is no sense in pouting when we don't get it. Instead, it is the effort that should be the focus. That is what people will remember.