Finding Balm in Gilead

I Don't Want to Go Back

 I have a love/hate relationship with Facebook. About once every two or three weeks I make a new vow to myself that I will not scroll through Facebook ever again - particularly before bed - because of the abnormal amount of alarming, negative posts on the state of the world today, and the state of our country, and the state of families, and the state of the lives of people I once knew but haven't seen in well over twenty years.

However, there are just as many heartwarming and inspiring stories on FB that I love getting to see, particularly those of people I was close to once upon a time who are now experiencing milestones...or breakthrough...or victory in their lives. I love that. I get it. It  makes me glad to know.

I'm obviously a conflicted facebook user.

But, I was caught off guard by the memories stirred up inside me this week when I opened my Facebook early Monday morning while enjoying my last cup of coffee (ok yes, sometimes I scroll through FB at the beginning of the day, too) and found several posts on this: Hell Week, people.

The jillion year-old rivalry between Amarillo High and Tascosa is on again - and it always will be - and it culminates this Friday night at the ballgame.

I live in Dalhart. And I am so glad this week that I don't live on Danbury Street anymore in Amarillo.

But I have stumbled upon a few funny Facebook posts by people from the past who are back in Amarillo, and they are getting to experience again all the wonderfulness....and eggs.... that hell week has to offer.

I can not stop chuckling.

Interestingly, these Facebook posts regarding hell week have me not so much thinking about the rivalry itself, but have reminded me most of my high school days in general.... when I had my whole life ahead of me, so to speak, and my biggest worry was whether my bangs would hold up under the extreme weight of the Aussie sprunch hairspray.

And oddly enough, my children have also coincidentally been asking me this week to tell them bedtime stories of when I was young, and so, much to my six year-old son's delight, I have had a chance to tell him about the "heck" weeks between AHS and THS....and that time my senior year that our guys got to play at Texas Stadium in the state quarterfinals. Being a Cowboy fan, he was very impressed.

I also mentioned to him that time I ran the mile relay at the UT stadium; however,the significance of it was totally lost on him the minute I said UT. (His daddy is a Tech grad.)

And then, my kids have cackled at the story of that time I put a hole in my neighbor's fence with my car. And didn't tell anyone about it. Until my mom got a call from the neighbor.

That story is a good lesson on not being a complete moron.

I will admit: I have a slight wistfulness for those carefree days, when my lungs and legs could sprint the quarter mile without needing an oxygen tank and a stretcher....and my parents' weren't divorced yet....and my dad was giving me driving lectures on how to coast through the alley to our garage instead of gunning the motor.

While those teenage years were a breezy time when my biggest stressor was studying for the dreaded Humanities practicum test, or trying to figure out how to get my butt out of advanced pre-calculus (good grief),  it was also a period of great insecurity and angst amid that rose-colored, carefree life.

Truly, there are some memories back then of my immaturity and lack of just general common sense that I prefer not to recall. I wince at some of the things I said and at some of the ways I acted.

So, while I can nostalgically look back at the days of lunchtime runs to Taco Villa, and road trips to all the games of all the sports, and the dances and the parties and the fun fun fun, I can quite frankly and thankfully say right here and now........

I don't want to go back.

I'm looking at you 1991. You were great and fabulous with your Bryan Adams, and R.E.M. and the big hair and all the denim, but you've got nothing on this:

 

Each year gets better. I happen to really love 2014 right now, along with this man:

He conveniently left his T-bird jacket at home last year. Or maybe the ninja confiscated it. At any rate, God has blessed me.

Good luck Sandies. Beat the hell out of Tascosa.

Someday you won't want to go back either.

 

 

 

 

The Trophy

This past spring marked Cash's first foray into organized sports. He was officially old enough to play T-ball this year and let me tell you, he was all over it. His sister Gracie also played T-ball for the first time this year, too, but she was more into the fact that they got to wear purple zebra socks and ribbons in their hair while calling themselves the Purple Sparkle team.

Cash's group never did name themselves, which really bothered Gracie.

Anyway, while my girl was busy making sure she had all her matching accessories in place to play ball, my boy was intense about putting on his game face, to the point of constantly wanting to practice catching grounders in the front yard, and, of course, working on perfecting his "slide" into home base.

It was a study in contrasts, I tell you, between the boy and the girl.

Gracie decided after the first two games that this would be the first and the last season she would play T-ball. Funnily enough, she's pretty good. Her long legs send her flying around those bases, and she's a strong hitter, too, for someone who's not that interested in the sport.

Her brother, on the other hand, is already planning his professional career. He was one of the smallest on his team this year of 4-6 year olds, but he had one of the biggest hearts. In fact, if I let him, he would wear his T-ball shirt every day of the week. He took everything about the game very seriously, and tried to coach Gracie on how to be ready for the ball....only to find that she really wasn't too concerned about the ball as long as it didn't affect the position of her purple visor on top of her head.

One thing they could agree on together were the free popsicles for ballplayers at the concession stand after the game.

But last night solidified the significance of what T-ball meant for Cash this year. We missed the trophy presentation a few weeks ago, and so his coach dropped off his trophy and team pictures last night while the kids were taking a bath. When I told Cash that he had a pictures waiting for him on the dining room table after he got dried off, I never dreamed that the trophy - this little acrylic thing with cool lettering, and it's not even pretend gold like the trophies of my day - would be the thing that sent Cash over the edge into sports blissdom.

Oh my word. He carried that thing around for the rest of the evening. While I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth, I heard Cash outside the door asking his daddy, "Where's Mom?" Then he came in the bathroom, let out a contented sigh, and looked up at me with this silly grin on his face while holding up his trophy for me to see again. I asked him, "Are you proud of your trophy, bud?" He just giggled and looked at it in his hand and said "Yeah," while turning and walking out the door.

Be still my heart. This is life.

My husband then informed me that while I was in the shower, Cash crawled up on the bed with him and spread out all his T-ball pictures so that Jason could scrutinize each one, even though they were ALL the same pose.

I guess it further stands to reason that after watching Gracie get to be in some organized activities over the past year while Cash still had to wait a while, this first season of T-ball marked the beginning of his official passage from toddlerhood into boyhood.....and into having something of his own to be involved in.

In fact, I heard him tell Gracie this over a glass of milk before bed: "Gracie - I have my trophy, but you don't have yours yet....when do you think you'll get yours?" The boy has something that his older school-age sister did not get before him.

To which she replied nonchalantly while reading a Berenstain Bears book, "Oh, I'll get it sometime." She didn't even look up.

Needless to say, Cash took the trophy to bed with him and positioned it to face him on the nightstand.

There will be many more team trophies and certificates and the like over the coming years, but this trophy...with it's acrylic base and not-even-pretend goldness...will be among the keepsakes I will treasure long after they've moved out and started their own families. I'll place it in my box of memorabilia right next to Gracie's "purple sparkle" zebra socks to remind me of my children's first year of T-ball ....and the differences between this boy and girl born only fifteen months apart.

Be still my heart. This is the life. 

 

Today

Today the kids are at school and Ms.Luann's respectively, and I am alone to work on taxes, make lists, clean house, and write. The taxes thing is a big huge looming cloud over my head since I have no natural comprehension in this matter. The lists are made, but rarely ever are they completely crossed off. The toilets are in need of a good wipe down/scrub, and last night I discovered a hoard - a HOARD, I tell you - of ants milling about under the chip basket on the kitchen counter.

I drew a chalk line early this morning, because somewhere I heard that ants don't like to cross chalk lines.

But from further inspection several hours later, they seem to like to go around it.

Finally, the writing is what I want to do. I have come to this blog many times in the last two months since my last post - January 11th - but couldn't get the words down. I've been so deep in Dalhart history that the time I do have - which is arguably not much - I spend on working on those articles for the paper. I've whined about this before- no use going into it again - but it seems once one is out of the practice of blogging, it is hard to get back to it.

But it isn't for the lack of material. Material for the blog abounds in this house.

Today, though, I am contemplative. New seasons have begun in our home, not the least of which is this season of my children's growth from toddlerhood to full-blown school-age childhood. This season is going all too fast, and I find myself today taking stock of all that we...I....have been involved in lately, and I feel like some cuts need to be made.

Furthermore, two posts on the Lots of Scotts blog really have me thinking today too, particularly the post about Pits - and how we get into them. I am quietly wondering about some pits in my own life that may not look like pits right now, but very well could be quicksand in the near future if I don't put the brakes on the circumstances leading me in this direction.

The Purposeful vs. Perfect Parenting post has me thinking too - really it's all hitting me between the eyes today. If there are any readers left on this ole' blog, head over to Lots of Scotts and check out her posts:

www.lotsofscotts.blogspot.com

You are going to have to scroll down some to get to these two posts. Not far though.

Have a good day! I'm off to make sense of tax.

 

Thoughts Galore

So now that I've vented my concerns over Angry Birds, I want to express my desire and hopes for an I-PAD in the near future.

So that we can play Angry Birds on a big screen.

Anyway, I am sitting here with the little boy watching The Adventures of Chuck and Friends while I try to overcome my writer's block concerning an article for the newspaper this week. My research and timeline for interviews has not panned out this week, and frankly, I'm at a loss as to where to begin in this new year.

Not that there isn't plenty of history here in 'ole Dalhart to write about.....it's just that I seem to have a mental block as to where to begin my research. I'm finding it hard to get back in the groove after more than a month off from the newspaper writing.

In other news, I had grand plans to go to the gym early this morn, but I forgot to set my alarm. I'm obviously extremely dedicated to exercise.

Jason hired our kids to pick up nails, screws, and other paraphrenalia from around his new seed barn that is just now finally completed, and so yesterday afternoon, we trekked around the perimeter of the place with our grocery sacks looking for all sorts of "treasure", if you will. J told the kids he'd pay them a quarter per nail or screw, but I didn't think that he bargained for their extreme diligence and perseverance in this task as they both gathered quite a few nails that will add up to a nice little payday. As Gracie said when we got back into the car, "Mom - this was a good thing for us!"

I treated them to a lemonade at Sonic, but apparently all their scavenger hunting left them ravenous, so we ordered a grilled cheese too. They scarfed it down while discussing their plans for all the money they were going to make from this project. Plans that involve a trip to Toys R Us.

I think I'd like to be in on this little project - there are several things I've had my eye on at say, oh I don't know, Pottery Barn? Restoration Hardware? Texas Furniture?

But I want a dollar per nail.

 

 

Happy New Year 2012

Though I haven't posted in a while, I am still here...and planning to do better in 2012. I miss writing here, though I love researching and interviewing people in our little town for the newspaper.

There's much to write about here on the 'ole blog, though, and I'd like to say that I promise to give an account of the last few months....but who am I kidding - THAT MAY NOT HAPPEN, people.

Life is passing by quickly, y'all, and these kiddos are growing up minute by minute.....and I am filled with joy. Just in the last month we went from school programs....(pardon the atrocity of my photography skills)

to a little bit of snow....

to getting ready for Christmas....

to cruising the western Caribbean....

and back to a major blizzard at home in Dalhart just before Christmas....

Whew - I haven't even arrived at the Christmas pics yet.

More pictures to come....and more memories to make.

2012 will be even better. Happy New Year!

And November is Over....

Good grief - the time has flown. The end of October throughout November has been a whirlwind of activity, not the least of which being Cash's birthday, an open house for J's business, and Thanksgiving no less.

I will not talk about the stomach bug I contracted on Thanksgiving Day.

Anyway, here it is December 7th, and I haven't posted in two months, though there are so many things that have been on my heart and mind. But this is what is most on my mind.....

They "camped" in Gracie's room one night recently.

This is such a fun age.

Good Times here at the Balm in Gilead house.

More to come later......

Incidentals

Yesterday, the kids were in rare form.....it was a rainy day - praise the Lord - and we stayed inside virtually all day. At 6, I had a quick interview for an article and took the kids with me. They behaved beautifully. Afterwards, we had to run into the store for some toppings for our tortilla soup that was back on the stove at home.

And this is where the pent-up energy broke loose.

Cash brought his pretend police cb radio that goes with a dress-up costume - I told him he could bring it in ONLY if he turned the grating, horribly loud siren off....lest we scare some grocery patrons. He agreed, but what ensued was a full out secret agent game that both he and Gracie played while I navigated the aisles with them following in their stealthy style. Cash talked into his radio, Gracie talked into her bracelet slash secret spy phone, and both kids hopped on ONLY the blue squares in the floor. I only had four ingredients to get - jack cheese, cilantro, pecans(for the pear crisp in the oven-yum), and tape - which was a request from Gracie who is currently into making casts and slings for all her barbies and dolls who seem to have a propensity for accidents lately.

I went in needing to get four things.....I came out with twenty things,and no pecans.

Meanwhile, the whole grocery store was aware that two 007 agents were slinking behind the displays and jumping out in front of shopping carts and grabbing food items for their missions and I thought I would never get out of there .....my well-behaved kids just moments before had turned into ROGUE agents.....and it was chaos. Here's a sample of some of the conversation:

Me: "Ok - almost done...we just need to get our yogurt and we're outta here."

Cash: "I'LLLLLL GET IT!!! Gwacie - we have to gwet the dwanimals...hwurry! "

Gracie:(talking into her bracelet) " We're on it Cash. Quick grab 'em - DON'T FORGET TO STEP ONLY ON THE BLUE!!!"

Cash: (in a guttural boyish growl): "AH HA!!!! I'VE GOT IT GWACIE!! LET"S GO!!!"

I can't remember what was said after that since I was trying to guide them quickly to the checkout and out the door, and looking back on this conversation, it seems anti-climactic now, but LET ME JUST SAY THAT WE COULDN'T GET OUT OF THERE FAST ENOUGH.

I didn't even let the sacker take our groceries out - I slung 'em on both wrists( the bags, not the kids), had my little CIA prospects grab my pinkies as they plotted their next mission, and out the door into the fog we went.

I won't even tell you about bedtime a few hours later....it wasn't pretty.

And I'll admit, it wasn't one of my best parenting moments either.

The Curb

To follow up on my post from yesterday and show that I am indeed trying to turn over a new leaf in the promptness department, Gracie turned to me this morning and bemoaned the fact that she wants to sit on the curb today.

"What do you mean, the curb?" I said.

"Mom, I just don't EVER get to sit on the curbbbbb!!!" she said dramatically.

And then I realized what she meant. In my efforts to be prompt and be in the running for mother of the year, I am arriving ten minutes early to pick her up from school, and Cash and I go so far as to walk up to the door and wait for her class to come out at noon.

Problem is, those children whose mothers have not yet arrived GET to sit on the curb of the sidewalk together and visit and wait.

Clearly, Gracie feels she is missing out on something huge.

And in my determination to redeem my past punctuality issues and not be THAT MOM who makes her children wait and wonder if she forgot about them, I have actually been doing my daughter a disservice by not allowing her the pleasure of sitting with her friends on the curb.

Oh how I love the ironies of life.

We will be late today.....for the good of the team.

Day Two

Brace yourself - I'm posting for the 2nd time in 48 hours.

So today was a kick in the pants, so to speak, because adrenalin and excitement of yesterday had left the building today. Both kids were up during the night, but strangely NOT due to the loud cracks of thunder that kept me up during the night.

Anyway, this morning was a rude awakening. Gone are the days of laying around in our pj's until ten or eleven. (Of course Cash can still do this, and has already asserted his staunch position in this area). I woke Gracie to hear this statement: "Mom - I just need one more minute. ONE more." So I went and got my clothes on and got her vitamins out and oatmeal ready and came back to her still laying there...but then she suddenly rolled over and said: "Now I'm ready for school!" After debating whether to wear our khaki skirt with the red shirt or the khaki shorts with the red shirt, we went with the shorts today.

Critical issues, people.

Cash heard the commotion and got up ready to accompany us yet again in his pajamas, but this time he did elect to put on shoes. He also decided to bring a couple of saltine crackers with him to take the edge off while we drove the two minutes to school.

 

It is important to note that it is imperative that we leave earlier than my personality is accustomed to because of THE GREAT BOTTLENECK RACE OF PARENTS dropping their children off at any of the FOUR schools located on the same connecting through street in our little town. For me, extreme earliness is just not comprehended, and yet - AND YET - if we don't leave by 7:40 for the two minute drive, we'll get caught in the bottleneck of craziness, and thus be late.

Furthermore, at our school if one is late more than three times, ONE GETS CHARGED $15. After hearing this piece of news at orientation, my husband elbowed me in such a way that I'm sure everyone in the audience noticed. Then, as we drove home that night, he made it clear that in no uncertain terms would he be paying $15 a pop in late arrival fees, and any charges of this kind would promptly and swiftly be taken out of my humble newspaper reporter paycheck.

Serious times in the Balm in Gilead house folks.

My former teacher colleagues would probably laugh hysterically at these present conditions of mine since I used to drive in from the farm to the high school in Dumas and careen into my parking spot on two wheels at about 7:59 a.m. each day. My favorite pal Mr. Lackey would sometimes stand out there by my space with his watch and yell words of doom encouragement as I ran for the door, coffee mug sloshing in my hand and book bag slung over my arm.

Where is Lackey now when I need him?

So. Today we arrived with ten minutes to spare. TEN MINUTES. Cash and I walked Gracie in again to the chapel room where everyone gathers before heading down to their school rooms after the bell at eight. Gracie ran on in and sat down by her friends while I chatted with one of the teachers. Then, about thirty seconds later, she comes back barreling into me with a look of horror and says, " Mom - I forgot my book!"

Book? She never mentioned needing a book.

To which the teacher whom I was visiting with replied, "We ask the kids to bring a book with them to read in the chapel each morning while we're waiting to start - it gives them something to do."

"Oh!" I said, and then turning to Gracie, "Well, we'll bring one tomorrow - I'm think you'll be all right today."

Disappointed, but ok with my answer, she ran back into the chapel. I turned to leave, glad that we survived what I'm sure will not be the only thing we forget this year.

But had we arrived at 7:59.....this wouldn't have even been an issue.

Here We Go.....

I sent my baby girl off to her first day of kindergarten today.

 
It was early for us.

I'll pick her up at noon, so it won't be too much of a stretch.

 

However, I am struck by the passage of time, and how - as another phase of life is beginning - there is a sense of finality and permanence in leaving the old one.

 

The end. Finito. There's no going back. Gracie is officially a young school girl, never to be a toddler/preschooler again.

I realize that I am just a tad sentimental.

 

I thought I was fine until we approached the chapel where all the kids were converging on the first day at her little school. Then Gracie started to slow down, and at one point, she stopped as the reality of this whole thing called school hit her.

And then the reality hit me. Tears started welling up in my eyes as I guided her to the chapel door, Cash on one hip and still wearing in his Spiderman pajamas and no shoes. But Gracie met a few of her friends at the door, and went down the aisle to the front where the kindergarteners sit......and left me standing in the back trying hard not to lose it.

And so it begins - life governed by the school calendar.

We miss her.

But I don't think she's going to miss us much.