Leave a Tender Moment Alone

I received an e-mail yesterday asking for prayer for a friend's mom who was just admitted to the hospital.  I didn't have to read the whole sentence to know her condition.  I got as far as, "... with  Cong--"  That's all I had to read to know she had Congestive Heart Failure.  

Congestive Heart Failure

That's all I had to read to go right back to reading the paperwork from the nurses in Room 714 after a long morning.  See, I immediately read that e-mail and went back but then I quickly went back to the night before Scott's funeral and actually confronting what had happened with Pop, even with how I felt about seeing people I loved next to a casket.  I would've gladly buried my own dad a thousand times if it meant no one else had to do that.

But, being open and honest about that kind of stuff?  Wow, that was pretty big for me.  I don't really have many tender moments, I'm always exactly what I need to be, strong, even if everyone sees through it. 

What happened this night was, he caught me when I was more vulnerable, after a few drinks, the same day as a visitation.  I was far more willing to discuss than normal unfortunately, or maybe fortunately?  I think it was good for me. 

We were getting ready for bed, setting alarms, and talking about when we had to get up the next morning.  I told him I had to be home by 9 for a funeral.  He knew, my parents were no longer alive, but I hadn't brought it up.  I remember lying there in bed and then he asked me something that I really hadn't be asked before,
"What happened?  How'd your parents pass away?" 
"Well, mom had lung cancer, and-"
"Well, no your dad."
"Congestive Heart Failure," and then I explained the last couple weeks of my dad's life. 

I was completely open and honest about my father's death for the first time.  (including with myself)
And, he didn't say much, just listened?  Which was different, he didn't try to fix anything.  All he did was move his arm around me when I got real quiet.  In that instance, that's all I needed.  For the prior 5 months, that's all I needed.  I didn't need anyone to try to fix it, or make me feel better, all I needed was someone to just put their arm around me.  In that moment, I felt like it was less about Pop and more about me, like someone actually cared about me.  (Or, at least pretended to)  It didn't matter if it was real or not, I just needed someone to act like they were concerned. (I'm certainly not here arguing how "real" that was, I don't care. It helped, real or not.) 

What's crazy is how one question caused me to totally let my guard down.  One stinking question!  Man.

See, I don't think that would've happened with anyone else, because anyone else that had known me for a while would've known already and just not asked.  Everyone knew Pop wasn't in good health anyway.  Or with anyone else I had to have it all together, this person barely knew me it didn't matter if I had it together or not.  Even the same person in a different circumstance wouldn't have got my guard down.  It took basically a stranger to just ask one simple question to help me really come to grips and say everything out loud.   

That was a big step.  I learned it's okay to have a tender moment from time to time and to actually trust someone long enough to be open with them.  That's been a new lesson for me that I probably should have learned a LONG time ago.   Now the situation surrounding how I learned it, eh.  It is what it is.  But I learned something, so it works? 

I don't want to go back to keeping everything hidden and locked up, or even be afraid to trust a friend, because, "what if they hurt me?"  If they're human they will, but that doesn't mean I have to always be on guard.

AND....... because of all of that I was able to just pray for this woman.  I had already dealt with those words, so it didn't catch me totally off guard.


I'm awesome.  Now, please excuse the rambling. =)

Don't Cry Daddy

Disclaimer: This might get personal.

13 years ago today, I went to church for our Tuesday night meeting.  Lisa and her parents took me home because Momo and Pop were both there and weren't able to take me.  Momo wasn't doing well and hadn't been for the last few days.

We went home and I remember everyone packed in that small front bedroom to pray.  Afterward I went to work on my memory verses and I didn't go back until I heard people in there and even though I was 9, I knew what was happening.  I may not have realized it but I knew.  I peeked around the corner, and I'll never forget.  I immediately went back into the dining room to hide and cry, hopefully unnoticed.  I'm not sure how successful I was, that small house was filled with a big family. 

The next thing I remember was sitting on the couch curled up next to my Daddy when the paramedics came in.  They wanted me to leave but Pop told them I could stay.  He always stuck up for me, he was the best.  I'm so much like my mom, that the only thing I remember thinking was how her pajamas had been moved and she wouldn't like being uncovered like that when they brought her through.  Funny, how it honestly didn't matter, but again, I'm that much like my mom. 

Pop and I didn't go to the hospital together.  Aunt Betty and Uncle Marshall had just got back into town from Alabama and they took me.  Momo had asked that they bring her back some water from this spring they'd all been to the year or two before.  I was the one that ended up drinking that water, she never got it.  I'll never forget looking at the clock in their van, it said 9:00. 

We get to the hospital and I got to go back to where my parents were.  I went into that room and saw the monitor hooked up and I remember seeing the line barely wiggle and I had this hope and then I felt Pop's hand and I don't know if it was him or the doctor that must have seen the look on my face, but one of them explained that for a while afterward a person's heart would still beat a bit. 

The next thing I know Pop, Aunt Betty and Uncle Marshall are in the small family room there and I remember running in there and sitting on Pop's lap again, I didn't like being apart from him.  I don't remember why I was running in there crying but years later Pop told me that someone had told me out in the waiting room that I wasn't going to be able to live with him anymore, he never told me who said that.  Which was a good thing for whoever thought that was an appropriate thing to say considering the timing.  I heard a lot of that nonsense over the next year.   

Pop and I made it home and I remember falling asleep in her recliner and waking up and overhearing people in the kitchen talking and I realized it was real.  That had really just happened.  And then... there was ham.  So. Much. Ham.

In the months and years afterward my focus was on holding it together and staying strong for Pop, so he wouldn't worry about me.  He missed her so much.  She was the love of his life.  I always felt like I wasn't enough, and I wasn't, but I tried.  We had our ups and downs learning how to live without Mom.  Pop always said he wished he would've paid more attention to her while she cooked.  I wish he would've!  No joke, our diet for probably the next year was soup, ramen noodles, and grilled cheese sandwiches.  And then there was the time I was supposed to do the laundry....
"Pop, how do I set the washer?"
"I don't know, isn't that just bred into you?"
He was serious.  Yeah.. that happened.  We ended up figuring it out together after fighting for a while.  Ha.  But the point here is that we helped each other through the very first life changing event of my life.  I kept him going and it's become increasingly clear these last almost 8 months that he kept me going as well.

She was the love of our lives. (Which is sort of why "A Little Less Conversation" is only my second favorite Elvis song, second only to Don't Cry Daddy)

So, the plan for the day?  Go buy flowers, school, workshop, hangout with a friend, and most importantly KEEP BUSY.  I'm not sure exactly what to do without Pop here, I don't have to call and try to distract him or encourage him this year.  He missed her more than I ever could.  Losing her was hard, losing him is a thousand times harder.

You've Got a Friend

An offended friend is harder to win back than a fortified city.   Arguments separate friends like a gate locked with bars. (19)

There are "friends" who destroy each other, but a real friend sticks closer than a brother. (24)

Proverbs 18

I'm glad that the Bible includes passages about friendship, it's an important human relationship.  It's difficult to survive without healthy friendships.  

This is Kristen. I would've failed Chemistry,
and died a long time ago if it wasn't for her.
I love her.

Saturday night I remember looking at Katie and just saying, "I feel like I don't have a single real friend."  It was emotions talking because I always have Kristen.  Always.  She's the only constant left in my life to be perfectly honest.  She doesn't care what, "Oh my God I'm going to hell.." story I'm bringing her, she still loves me and doesn't judge.  She's awesome.  I'm not even sure we've ever had a fight.  We're too awesome for that.  But she's not in the Quad Cities anymore.  And I've been kind of distracted and haven't paid as much attention to her life even, as I should have.  So what I told Katie was actually correct.  I feel like I don't have any real friends sometimes.  

Now, recently I've had some close friends that I feel like if I breath wrong I'm offending, that I'm not taking fault for.  One shouldn't be so easily offended to begin with.  And if I had a dollar for every time I was called a bad friend or was "dead to" them and really didn't know what I did, I wouldn't need a job.  I love them though, and consider them to be good friends.  I just don't let it bother me and we get it sorted out pretty quickly.  Everything's fine. 

But, there have been times that I have been the offender.  It typically involves alcohol.  Don't all awesome decisions though.  Or even maybe not offensive, but maybe just not a good enough friend.  Maybe just not as invested in their lives as I should be. 

The point I'm trying to make is that, if I want a decent friend, I need to be one.  It's true I will do absolutely anything for anyone if I'm able and they need me to do it.  That's just who I am.  And thankfully I'm also the type that can see when they're wrong and apologize.  That being said, I still blow it and have a lot of room for improvement in being a good friend, hell a good person!

If I want a real friend, I need to focus on being one and hopefully the favor gets returned, but even if it doesn't I'll still know I tried my best to be a friend that "sticks closer than a brother" and built another person up just to encourage them, not to get anything in return.  I'd imagine that's a good way to have a real friend.

It's Now or Never

Ahem, the BUCKET LIST.

Just the things I want to do before I die.  No big.  I've done some, and there are some others that I might add, but here it is:

• Visit every MLB ballpark
• Learn to drive a stick
• Have a blue eyed baby boy
• Hold my best friend's wedding bouquet while she kisses the love of her life
• See the Braves win at Turner Field
• Bring the best snacks to the soccer game
• Hold public office at the local level
• Pass the Bar 
• See the Cubs win a World Series
• Be housewife, again
• Watch my daughters become college graduates
• Get married at home plate
• Smile on October 20th and mean it
• Hold public office at the state level
• Hold hands on the front porch with my husband when we're old
• Have dinner with a hooker
• Go to China
• Fool around in a moving vehicle
• Buy a house for someone who needs it
• Wear a fancy evening gown somewhere
• Spoil the heck out of Kristen's future children
• Be a MILF
• See the Atlantic Ocean
• Visit Arizona
• Meet my Aunt Vena
• Live in a mortgage free home
• Make out until the stop light turns green
• Get my undergrad
• Teach Megan how to drive
• Live in Washington DC
• Pray with someone as they become a Christian
• Threaten Bailey's first date within an inch of his life
• Get into Law School
• Be drunk at a college football game
• Pay off someone's car for them
• Do my parents proud
• Not cry when I drop Bailey off at her first day of Pre-School until I get to the car
• Grab a baseball player's rear end for no reason
• Watch my daughters serve the Lord
• Dance
• Marry someone my daddy would love
• Tailgate at the University of Tennessee for a football game
• Take a picture with at least 5 Hammocks
• See Bon Jovi live, but not because I just got cheated on and he felt guilty
• See the Rocky Mountains
• Swim in the Pacific Ocean
• Play a whole round of golf
• Raise good people

I've got a lot of living left to do.  I may not do all these things, but it's worth a shot.  Bring it on!

Hip to be Square

I am a perfectionist.  Honestly?  I'm just fine with it.  I managed to hide it well as a housewife and full-time stay at home mom, except I was, and still am, crazy about how the house looks, so maybe not so well hidden, but trust me that perfectionism is nothing compared to when I'm in school.
I'm the girl who agonizes about missing just ONE SINGLE POINT.  But that's fair!  You get every single point EXCEPT one?  Come on!  My only two history papers have been like this and I've missed both of those one points for simple mistakes that I learned my Junior year of high school.  Talk about frustrating.  I have to redeem myself with this third paper due today otherwise I just don't know what I'm going to do.  I have to, I just do. 

I also missed just ONE POINT on my last State and Local Government Exam and that's driving me crazy too!  I was so close to perfection.  So close.  The funny thing is here, is that I took my first exam in my Political Science class and got a very high B, but that didn't drive me nearly as crazy. 

Isn't it funny how the closer we get to getting things just right the more bothered we are by them not being completely right?  I think there might be a life lesson for me in this.  Maybe. 
I strive for perfection but, here's where it is, the Pslamist says it better than I could I suppose:

In your strength I can crush an army;

with my God I can scale any wall.

God’s way is perfect. All the Lord’s promises prove true.
He is a shield for all who look to him for protection.
For who is God except the Lord?
Who but our God is a solid rock?

Psalm 18:29-31

If I can manage to remind myself to focus on the Lord's perfection and less on my own, I might just do alright.  Especially since my own perfection, will never happen.  Even my looks are only close!  I'm 22 with crow's feet for heaven's sake, excuse me smile lines.  That just means I smile and laugh at lot though, true story actually.  And let's still be honest here, I make smile lines look good, my future as a cougar looks promising.  Anyway, back to the serious God stuff.  This passage might just have been written specifically for me for this season in my life.  Yep, I think so.  (Okay okay... in context no not at all, but still, that just shows how well designed the Cannon of Scripture is.  Good job God!)

I'm embracing my perfectionism when it comes to school though.  If I harness it my grades are going to be amazing.  And that my friends, is awesome. 

So now I've pretty much admitted that I'm an incredibly boring, nerdy girl, but that's okay. 
Boring girls aren't supposed to get into trouble right?

Possum Kingdom

When I was younger and Pop and I would go on our drives it was quite likely that we were driving and listening to the Possum.  Actually I remember being really young and Pop going around singing along to "I Don't Need Your Rocking Chair." So, I was around it a lot, in fact Pop used to sing his songs to me.  Yep, good call daddy, George Jones songs are always lyrically appropriate for children. 

 (You'd think I would've titled this one after a George Jones song, but no. I'm too clever for that.)

Anyway, I was driving the other day and the Corvette Song had come on the radio.  It was nice to remember all the fun memories that Pop and I had together. 

One time we were "drag racing" the 04 (yeah. it happened. Pop was a BA) with the bass cranked up in the Jeep.  He was in his 70s. 

Another time I had asked, "Pop what's your favorite bird?"  His response?  "Blue Jays, because they're mean!"  And he was so mean?  No, not at all.  He just pretended to be from time to time. 

We watched Braves games together.  The only sport because one time I made him watch the Big 12 Championship with me and he goes, "Oh they play rough," and made this face.  It was so funny.

Another fun little thing he'd always say, "I don't get mad, I get even."  And by that he meant he'd play a trick on someone and they ended up laughing about it.  I don't think he ever had an enemy, except maybe Grandma Franks.  But she came around.

And then  there were times his sense of humor got me in trouble.  Case in point:  He bought me a Jeep Overland Limited jogging stroller for Megan before she was born.  SERIOUSLY?  She got her first Jeep before she was born, I had to wait 18 years.  I had to compete with my own daughter to be the favorite and well, I lost.  It happens.  Back on point though,  he tells his daughter (my bio-grandmother) that he bought a new Jeep.  Her response was a cold, "oh."  He goes, "Yeah that Liberty will be old by the time she starts driving."  Thanks Pop, can't just say you bought me a stroller.  He just had to drag it out.  But he told me her reaction and we laughed a lot about it.  I can forgive him. 

And then there was just just his laugh.  I loved it.  And his familiar snoring.  It was always comforting to hear him down the hall, or when I was little next to me snoring.  I knew he was there.  And his sneezing!  Oh my goodness, once he started he couldn't stop and he was so loud!  Momo and I always laughed and gave him a hard time about it.  Later when we got the dog, he would start sneezing and the dog ran away.  Pop always knew how to clear a room. 

And then when I was little I'd ask what his favorite color was.  "Ruby," and he'd kind of look over at Momo with his goofy smile.

But my favorite, is how he met my mom. 
He was on a date with her cousin Ruby when Momo walked in with two of her brothers.  I think maybe Louise T and Bill?  And he turns to Ruby and says, "I'm going to take that girl out."  Ruby replied, "You haven't seen her dad." Pop goes, "Well I'm not going to take him out!"  The rest is history.   

And now everytime I hear a George Jones song I think of fun with my Daddy. 

The last picture of us that I didn't have to share with a short person.

2007

Brown Eyed Girl

I haven't mentioned much in this blog about my little Bailey Sue, which is funny because she's perfect and well, I kind of like her, a lot.

"why'd you sell yourself so short?" - a friend in reference to rushing a marriage.

I answered in the same way I always do.  I knew what my dad wanted to hear.  I knew better than to be pregnant and not do anything about it.  And then pointed out that I could've stayed home and had the baby (Megan) but if I choose to do that I wouldn't have a place for us to live right now.  That ended the conversation quickly, it always does.  But there's something else.  I wouldn't have my Bailey.

She wasn't planned.  In fact after quite the delievery with Megan I was thinking I would never be able to have another baby.  Not only that, there's no way I was trying to have another baby when we lived in a small two bedroom duplex.  So, a few months pass after Megan is born and yes, the first time, when the timing said no baby, and with extra percautions to make sure no baby, well... FAIL.

So we bought the house, a bigger Jeep, painted the room, and prepared for Bailey.  I was perfectly happy with how my life was turning out.  I didn't know what was in store just a few short months after my little girl was born. 

I say she was my saving grace, because she was. 

From the first time she grabbed my finger with her little hand I was in fact, wrapped around her finger.

Oddly enough I felt so close to the mom I had lost at nine years old after she was born.  I think it's because she looks so much like me and I suddenly just knew what Momo saw when she looked at me.  I've never felt closer to her than since Bailey was born. 

She looks like a Hammock.  She just does, she's my link to both my parents.   

I bonded with her so quickly and so much more than I had with Megan.  With good reason, she's a Mama's girl, not mention I was Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner for 9 months.

When everything started happening in my marriage the way it did, just a couple months after she was born, I had her.  I still had to take care of myself because this little girl depended soley on me.  I had her to think about in that position and what I would want her to do.  Not only that, I just got to hold her and have two big brown eyes look at me with complete adoration.

When Pop died, and I kissed him for the last time, I held her through that.  Maybe she held me.

I don't think I would have made it through the last year without my Bailey.  She's kept me going and brought complete joy to my life at a time in my life, there really isn't much joy otherwise.  She's just the best.

This picture reminds me of a picture of my mom and I.



Afternoon Delight

Megan is 2.  Sometimes it's terrible, but I refuse to label it as that.  That's not fair.  In reality, in her short life she's learned to adapt to a lot; a move, a baby sister, an "army daddy," who was gone for about 9 months, her "Papa" going to heaven to be with Elmo (funny story), and her parent's changing marriage.  She's a rockstar for actually being an overall good kid!  I've also tried my hardest to make these changes easy on her, or protect her like my parents did for me. So, basically, she gets her awesome from me because I am, in fact, awesome.

 

So, let's review our afternoon, shall we?

Leaving daycare.  She fought me, like she always, does about that dang carseat!  Today was pretty bad though, she got a spanking for it (Bring it on, I'm pro-spanking as long as it's done right) Finally we're in the car and she is NOT happy.  I totally know what to do since we tend to butt heads on this whole carseat matter.  Play her some Billy Squier.  I told you she was a rockstar.  She was still giving me death stares the whole way home.  Such is life, if we would've been a crash, she was safe so I don't care how mad she gets at me.  That's right, I'm not afraid to play the "Mommy" card.  Bring it little kid, I'm bigger and MADE you.


Arrival in our driveway.  I turned down the radio and started talking to her.  I love having conversations with her.  I began to explain (for the 473625765251644278 time) that it's important she is safe and that I love her, etc. etc.  It was quite a sweet conversation that concluded with this little exchange,

"Mommy keys!"
"Yes, those are mine"
"My keys.... [cute little 'I wonder...' eyeroll] inside!"
"Oh you have keys inside?"
"Yeah!"
"Really? What kind of car do you drive?"
[I'm standing there very curious as to where this game of pretend was going. She knows the names of 3 cars, Jeep, Corvette, and Cadillac.  She's Tom Hammock's grandkid.]
"Mommy's Jeep!" Complete with that cute little smile that will get her out of, and into some serious trouble later on.
She was right though, she does!


Reading with Mommy.  First off I know how to play her.  She needed a diaper, trying to get her to go upstairs to do it as soon as we got back was going to get me right back where we started.  So we read, I read, she played, and then ever so sweetly asked for me to read to her again.  The Awakening by Kate Chopin.  Chapter 7 to be exact. Good shit.  More on that later.  We had a perfectly lovely afternoon.  She's such a sweetheart and I just love having conversations with her.  She decided it's time for a diaper (see, I know how this works) and so we walk upstairs hand in hand to change it.  On the last step she steps up and says, "Mommy, I happy." 

Me too, Meggie Lou, me too.

And then I tricked her into a much needed nap.

It's possible she is the best mistake I've made.