the One

We met on a plane (aisle seats) going to Atlantic City.  I told my mom I thought he was the “most arrogant man I had ever met” (however, I could NOT stop thinking about him).

Mom knew at that moment he was “the One”.

We reconnected at a pageant where he was the judge and I was the contestant.  We secretly dated for 2 months until after Miss Oklahoma, and then continued dating another 2 years.  He was establishing himself with his career, meaning late hours. I had my Associates and was completing my Bachelors commuting to Tahlequah 3 mornings a week before work and taking 3 night classes after work at University Center through NSU.  Although our time together was limited and sometimes strained, we knew where our relationship was leading.  As with every other twenty something woman, I realized time was passing quickly on auto pilot. I was getting a little antsy; not only wondering IF this was going to happen, but was I sure it was going to happen with the right person, and were we right together.

We were at his house one evening.  I remember we were on opposite couches. He was quietly reading. I was laying down staring blankly at the TV, not paying attention to what was going on around me. I was very upset about something that was weighing on me heavily. I knew better than to say anything because if I did, it would be a tearful mess.  He asked what was wrong, and I did my best to smile and tell him I was having a “melancholy” kind of day with an appeasing glance.  This is what I did best…keeping things in and hidden.  I had a smile that no one could get through and I knew I played that card very well.

I remember he picked up the remote and turned off the television.  He came over by me and sat on the floor.  He made me look at him while he spoke to me in a tone I had never heard before in the 2 years we had dated.

“I know something is wrong.   You can’t fool me anymore. I am not going to move until you tell me what is going on.  I’m here to listen.”

That was when I knew this was the man I was going to marry. 

No one ever invested their time with me in that way before. No one ever called me on my smile….and most certainly, no man (besides my twin brother) had ever taken the time to listen to what I had to say with genuine concern. The man I initially and wrongfully described as “arrogant” proved himself otherwise. That was when I knew he had my heart completely.

He told me to set aside a Friday night in October because we were going on a date.  It was a casual evening, by my request.  I was exhausted and school was getting the best of me.  I was almost going to cancel, but I decided getting out might do some good.  He took me downtown to a building I did not recognize.  He pulled me up some stairs to the top of the building, and there was a helicopter fueled and “engine- ready” for a flight around Tulsa.  We flew over LaFortune (where most of our dates were spent, going on late night runs together), ORU (where the Miss Oklahoma pageant was held), the airport (where we first met), his house… among other places.  In the moment, I did not realize the pilot was directed to go everywhere that meant something special to us as a couple.  Then, over the speaker in our headphones, he told me to look over to my right at TU stadium. The helicopter dropped down a bit and hovered.

In huge letters on the brand new jumbotron play screen….

“Erin”

“Will you marry me”

 “Kendall”.

I remember turning back to him, and there he was with a nervous smile, another beautiful proposal and a ring. It was completely surreal.  He literally swept me off my feet.  I remember tears of complete awe of the thoughtful effort he put into his proposal…

…because I was “the One”.

Fifteen years ago on June 22^nd , I said “I do”.

At our reception, I sang a song to my husband in front of a 10- piece brass band and an alto saxophone.  I was standing right in front of him.  It felt like just the two of us, like no one else was in the room.  He got a little embarrassed realizing the expression on his face and his demeanor; smiling and blushing because yes, people were indeed watching.  Thinking back on the lyrics, it was such a telling foresight to what we would experience and certainly accomplish through highs and lows, dreams and doubts, children, careers and making our decision to stay together, when we could have easily drifted apart.

”When somebody loves you, you’re no good unless they love you all the way;

Happy to be near you, when you need someone to cheer you all the way.

Taller than the tallest tree is, that’s how it’s got to be.

Deeper than the deep blue sea is, that’s how deep it goes if its real.

When somebody needs you, it’s no good unless they need you all the way;

Through the good or lean years, and all the in between years, come what may.

Who knows where the world will lead us, only a fool can say;

But if you let me love you, it’s for sure I’m gonna love you all the way.”

- All The Way. Written by Jimmy Van Heusen, lyrics by Sammy Cahn

Happy 15^th  Anniversary, Handsome.

I love you.

Xo-e

the original "mama bear"

She taught me at an early age to embrace people with compassion- giving people a chance, regardless.

She earned her degree at 40.

She knew the difference between hearing and listening.

She taught me how to deliver the story to each person instead of sing a song to a crowd.

She makes the best peach a berry cobbler…EVER!

She taught me how to find the lesson in the lost challenge, and remember it.

She knew when to drag arguments out of me- just to make me feel better.  Now I know it was for her benefit, too.

She taught me the importance of having an opinion and appreciating those that don’t agree with it.

She reminded me to always pick my battles, and then fight like hell.

She taught me to fear hot wheel tracks…still do. Those taught me I could never out run her when I was in trouble…still can’t.

She quit smoking after many, many years of its stronghold…cold turkey.

She allowed me to find my way knowing I would get very lost a time or two; trusting I would find my way back.

She taught me of the importance of volunteering your time and respecting your community.

She amazes me with her patience…especially with her cross stitching.

She taught me how to say “I love you” and “I am sorry”; phrases never to take for granted, and only say them when you mean it… whole- heartedly.

She taught me how to cook with my senses, not with a book.

She taught me no matter how difficult the situation, it too will pass.

She was the original “Mama bear”… not only to the four of us, but to all our friends as well. Our home was always open.

She has reminded me- many times- never write down what you don’t want others to see, it will always come back to haunt you in one way or another (texts, posts, inboxes, e-mails, letters, memos). It took me a few slaps on the hand with this one… okay, it still happens.

This is only a small list of things I have learned from her.  I could go on much longer. She still teaches me and molds me into what I am today.  I am very proud to call her mom….

Oh one more thing….her hugs are the best.

Happy Mother’s Day, Moo.  I love you!

bullseye

I love my office.  I love going to work. 

I don’t know if it is because I am still in my honeymoon phase where everything is still new and fresh and I am experiencing what we all affectionately call the “learning curve” of day to day tasks, or if I truly am the luckiest woman in the world enjoying the varied dynamic of the office and personalities that go with it.  The common denominator is humor. The motto is “NO DRAMA”.  It is about what we all can bring to the table as a team…

and it works.

One day I walked in from the back parking lot into the kitchen area.  I made my coffee and was heading to turn towards our work area and tackle the day’s new challenge when I stopped dead in my tracks.  Down the long, dark grey , beautifully stained cement -floored hallway was a big, bright hanging of artwork perfectly placed on the wall by the door of the lobby where we greet our candidates for interviews.  This particular stretch of hallway is our zone where we think of opportunities for placement and rehearse our script of what were are concentrating on for the day.  It is a good stretch of walking which takes roughly 25 steps until you reach the lobby door. 

At the end of our "zone" is now a picture of a target, like what you would use to shoot a bow and arrows with.

One brought up a good point that it reminds them of a fun house with the bright spinning wheel at the end of a dark stretch of quiet, making you feel like you are turning as well.  If you saw it you would understand the comparison.  When I first saw it, I was not impressed.  I made a comment of the oddity. My co- workers told me it was a high dollar piece of artwork.  I was quick to think I better get Bilbo started on some tempura paint.

However, as it happens with all works of art; it grows on you to where you understand it and appreciate it’s meaning even more daily.   After over a month of seeing it daily creating some kind of artistic interpretation at least 15 times a day during the “walk of perspective”, it makes me realize there is so much more to it than a simplistic painted target- and I absolutely love it.

I noticed when I am having a great day…the target is a "spot- on" perfect circle with bright colors.  When the day is challenging, I see that the painted circles are rough and somewhat uneven in freestyle strokes.  When the day is a little fogged of optimism, I notice splashes of faded color thrown against the perfect white background.  When I am tired, I see those splashes as a more prominent shade of brown and swear it is coffee.  When I am having a downright, no- holds- barred crappy day, I swear I see splashes of faded red…certain it is a mix of blood, sweat and tears.

So now, every time I walk down the stretch of hallway for my first interview of the day with a colorful candidate, I check myself.  I stare at the artwork and ask myself what I see and that sets the mood for the day.  Here lately, I see a hell of a lot of coffee; but still, I’m always reminded to stay on target, aiming to make it a productive one regardless….

BULLSEYE.

The abyss

The kids were actually in bed with lights out at 8:45.  Handsome somehow found his way to our bed, with Bilbo right next to him.  They are both sound asleep. I’m scared to question anything.  This is the way things are supposed to be, right?  I mean, me? In bed by 9:30? No freaking way! YAY!

So as I creep through the darkness trying to contain my excitement and giddy giggles making sure all the doors are locked, the stairway is clear and the bottles are ready for the next morning’s activities, I do everything but run to the bedroom aiming for a nose dive.

But wait.

 I realize that I forgot to write the check for Endless Pit’s lunch money.  I write the check, and then realize I forgot to wash Man Child’s requested workout clothes patiently waiting in the utility room.  Then I realize I forgot to set out Bilbo’s clothes and single diaper for his day at ‘school”.   I then notice the two glasses on the counter that were supposed to go in the dishwasher before I ran it. I quickly soap, rinse and dry knowing those same two glasses will be used all too soon.

“Crap. The milk is sour.”

“Ugh! The cereal is gone?!”

The refrigerator door is sticky from “someone’s” sandwich after school.

I quietly whisper to myself in exasperation and impatience

“Why is an empty strawberry jelly jar in the refrigerator…without the lid?”

I grabbed the last paper towel and take care of the sticky tracks on the door, the shelf and the counter; then head to the garage to reload the Bounty, also grabbing the extra toilet paper to restock the half bath (boy’s gold).  The pillows need ‘fluffing” in the living area- knowing full well they will be crushed into the couch again by exactly 7:30 in the morning. The remotes are not in their usual place. One is missing, only to finally find it crammed down in the couch.

It’s 10:30. 

I am ready to lose it. Not in the sense of a generic “wth?”, but more of a “Dammit!!”  I mean, I feel like I just got home from work! I did my motherly duties…fed and held Bilbo. I held the boys and discussed their day.  I caught up with Handsome’s accomplishments of the day… I even cooked!  How did I miss all this? I thought I was headed for a nose dive into a fluffy pillow by 9:30!

“WHERE IN THE HELL HAVE MY PRODUCTIVE 3 HOURS GONE?!! “

“bing”

The computer is on and calling my name…the flirt.

I left it on while catching up on Facebook.  I answer a few “inboxes”.  I actually “liked” a few things.  I put a few people in their place with direct perspective (some things never change). I celebrated girlfriends’ and their kids’ accomplishments.  Then the mother load…

I FORGOT TO BLOG. (gasp)

Okay, real quick (honestly, this is my Shangri- la).  Tonight it seems to come so easy, probably because my mind is racing- inspired by the slight idea of a good night’s sleep, sort of…right?

11:15…aaaaaand post.

(And the rewarding, repetitive abyss of non- productive productivity continues)

Goodnight !

(pause)

“Crap… Come on Bandit, outside.”

(Kicking his empty water bowl across the kitchen floor)

our gift of showers and sunshine

Happy Birthday to You, Happy Birthday to You, Happy Birthday dear Sweet Girl…..Happy Birthday to You!

My sister and I are very close and just as she has always allowed me to borrow her favorite outfits and favorite jewelry and Love’s Baby Soft; in essence, she has allowed me to borrow her daughter all these years- and I love her just as my own. 

Fifteen years ago, I remember a poochy- lipped baby entering this world, and I was never the same. This was the first time I witnessed a complete birth in all its glory.  This was the first time I had that first glimpse of unconditional love.  I will never forget that look she gave me when I first held her.  A look that clearly told me

“Hello.  I’m new to this world.  I don’t quite understand how it works yet, but I will and I intend to approach it the best way I can...

…and “Ewin”, I promise I will keep you at ease while I am a part of it.”

We have the kind of relationship that doesn’t require high maintenance.  It just takes a smile, or a tone, or a look. Sometimes a pat on the knee or a hug says plenty.  Over the phone, I know the quiver in her voice when there is uncertainty.  If I actually get to spend a little time with her, I understand the way her sweet eyes droop when she is concerned more than a 15 year- old should be. She knows just the right things to say to me when I am feeling unhappy, overwhelmed or self- conscious.  We also can go to the other side of the spectrum when I don’t like the way she is talking to her mother, or if I am seemingly trying too hard to change who I am supposed to be (enter dark blue nail polish and blonde hair- I will never forget that eye roll…EVER). My boys equally love her intellect and perspective on life.  She and man-child enjoy verbal bouts on who is the self- proclaimed “bigger nerd” and Endless Pit can count on her to patiently explain things he does not understand…and he loves her hugs that are consistently strong whether it is a “hello” or “goodbye”.

She inspires, because she is everything I wasn’t at that age.  She is comfortable in her skin, too brilliant for her own good, exceedingly patient when others give judgment, sticks to her guns on any debate and never cowers. Her focus is on how she is going to get through med school, not how she is going to get through the week.    Her mother and I both look at each other then we shrug and laugh because at times, we truly don’t know how to keep her approach on life contained.  Where did this come from?

The sisters are, for lack of a better word, “stumped”.

We can tell by the twinkle in her eyes that she enjoys it when she renders us speechless.  She simply laughs it off without harm or insult.  We enjoy her smile and awe while witnessing the two of us (her mother and her aunt’s overwhelming antics and banter when we are all together).  We also know when to duck and hide when the dark storm cloud approaches, but usually it is a small April shower with a little bit of sunshine and brighter skies afterwards.

She is truly a gift to us, indeed.

the original housewives

As I was cleaning up the house and tending to Handsome, I caught a glimpse of “Housewives of Orange County” as my husband was flipping through the channels.

“Hold it here a minute”.

I sat on the bed paying attention only to confirm the worthy question of the day.

“Okay, is it me and where I am right now, or do these women look like they are fighting fifty by acting thirty; while morphing their faces and bodies, wearing skimpy dresses, and while admitting they are moms, do not embrace the role?  Does that look good?  Is that what men want us to do?”

Handsome didn’t even look at me (keep in mind he was feeling pretty hazy with 2 Lortabs after a procedure to make sure he was not almost 50 bringing baby number 4 in the mix).  He quietly slurred out

“They look and act ridiculous.”

I continued…

“It just seems like a whole lot of effort to “play 30”, until they turn around and lose all credibility with a 50 year- old ass.”

Not quite sure where that came from.  It wasn’t about insecurity with myself, or personally attacking anyone else; but more about what I remembered growing up in Oak Forest South with the moms that started the whole trend of what was cool, and social, and sexy- all while being thrilled with the role called  “Mom” and embracing the joy that being a mom entailed.

It was a late summer evening- perfectly dark due to the street lamp being out in our cul de sac.  We had a SERIOUS game of WAR going on (a game of teams and strategy; an awesome mix of hide and seek, tag and Marco Polo all wrapped into one awesome game of chasing each other where home base was the single burned out” street light).  It was an intense game and we knew it was getting late when we noticed our moms gathering with lawn chairs sitting in a circle by home base.  They all had t- shirts and cutoffs or sun dresses or swimsuit cover- ups on, but ALL had a cup of their “beverage of choice” in one hand and either a glowing cigarette or a snack in the other. We all loved it when they came out to watch us enjoying ourselves.

The group usually consisted of the following:

1) The Creative Supermom. She has twin boys and two daughters. She loved social events and laughing.  This was the mom who usually organized all the other moms to come out and visit, had ALL the kids over at her house and was the hit among the neighborhood due to “chocolate chip pancakes” or “potato pancakes with applesauce” for dinner.

2) The Culinary Nurse.  She also has twins and an older daughter and son.  She never took any crap from anyone when it came to defending her friends and always amazed how she cooked delicious meals every night without a cookbook, had the table set and ready to eat when her husband came home at night while going nursing school in her late thirties during the day to prove that she would always have something to lean back on if necessary.

3) The Sporty One.  She has a daughter and a son.  The original work out mom.  She loves soccer and was a fierce businesswoman with her own business.  She was never one to sit still- always on the go- always one to tell you what she really thought, no holds barred.

4) The Lake Dweller.  She has 2 boys.  She spent a lot of time sailing and staying in her house on Grand.  Cerebral and encouraging, she had the perfect Grand Lake mentality of knowing how to chill with great conversation and always had GREAT stories for the ones who couldn’t get out much (gasping and shaking heads were a given).

5) The Doctors Wife.  She has a daughter and a son. She always seemed like she was either very shy or very angry.  She never really said much, but was always willing to soak in the banter among the other moms and they enjoyed her presence.  We were pleasantly surprised when we saw her smile and it was usually around the company of these women.

These five women were the originals…The Housewives of Oak Forest South.

They were wives, mothers, and ultimately friends with a genuine interest in one another and their children.  They were never tardy to the party planning cd release parties and guest appearances at outdoor concerts.  Their spa day usually happened AFTER they picked up the kids from dance class or soccer practice.  These were casual conference calls about their husbands, children’s activities, birthday parties, bridge parties, housecleaning and the weekend’s plans.  Injustices in the world were discussed gracefully when it came to living up the “supermom” mentality.  I’m sure there were many tragedies and “behind closed door” discussions; but ironically compared to today’s drama network, we (the kids) never heard about them- we weren’t supposed to.  They kept their housewife drama inside the circle and that circle was never broken. It was not a constant cat fight. It was not a “front and center soap box” complaining to deaf and numbed ears, but a true support system. This was their Skype, Facebook, The Village, and The Blog before the internet was just a slight whisper.

Although I was just a child trying to get to home base before the huge neighborhood boy pummeled me in the process, I always go back to these five women.   I think of what I learned from them and how I apply those lessons to my role as being a mom.  It was not always rosy being raised among this group of dynamics, but it made me who I am today.  I remember pieces of each persona respectfully, wanting to honor them in a way.  I refer to them often as I form my own circle of friends; while trusting my friends’ example and what lessons they can offer to my kids, and so on….

….because they too, will remember.

infinite verses

I remember someone telling me “Boys just get hurt.  All you can do is help them along with the bumps and bruises and pray that the next one won’t be as bad.”

Quite the song of parenthood.

I can recall my boys’ first major injuries very well.  The visible scars are constant reminders. Ironically both were head injuries.

Verse One-

Thanks to a 3 year- old neighbor using a driver he somehow found in OUR garage, Big brother was whacked on the side of his 4 year old head with a no- holds -barred full swing.  Everything was going in slow motion as I saw what was coming from a distance. I bolted towards the driver willing to take the hit if necessary, trying to grab the club from the little hellion’s hand because indeed, someone was going to get hit.

 I was too late. 

I still remember the sounds; the thud on his skull, the thump as he hit the ground (ironically not knocked out from the blow) and the disapproving cry of the neighbor boy as I yanked his lethal find from his hand.  Neighbor boy’s mom came out and she had the nerve to be calm telling ME to be calm, that ‘it was an accident’ and it wasn’t the little hellion’s fault.  I remember trying to ignore her as I was concentrating on my child.  Finally, I turned to her “calmly” saying...

“You need to take your son and leave.” (full mama bear mode)

The blood was horrific, as most head injuries are.  I tried my best to calmly coach him through it and make sure he did not see the goopy sticky red stuff oozing out of his head as I used my sweatshirt to hold against his head and make it stop enough to see how bad it was.  Luckily, it was not a huge gash, but enough to take to the ER and be treated.  He was actually pretty tough, not complaining of the pain and throbbing as much as the blood.  He did not want any part of that on him.  He checked out okay and was sent home with a glued head and bandages.

(Chorus) “I remember watching him that night as he slept.  It was quite an emotional night as I listened to his sweet slow breathing.  I was so thankful he was okay but the reality was knowing this was the first of many, some not as bad and some possibly worse as he gets older.  Sometimes the injured body, sometimes the injured soul..

….I still shudder at the thought and pray.”

Verse Two-

It was a lazy Sunday afternoon.  Handsome and I were on the couch watching a peaceful round of golf on television appreciating the shots and the scenery.  I heard the boys giggling from Little brother’s bedroom around the corner.  All was good until we heard a high pitched scream.  We then heard Big brother yell for us.

“MOM! DAD! HE’S HURT! QUICK! HE’S BLEEDING!”

I bolted to the bedroom as I saw my 2 year- old whimpering on the bed while my 5 year- old was crying and shaking telling us what happened.  He felt terrible and was so scared for his little buddy.

“We were jumping on the bed…(whimper)… then falling……(whimper).. like we were going to sleep.  He hit his head on the bed when he fell backwards!” (sobbing)

I looked at the back of his head.  Once again, the blood was everywhere. Big brother immediately remembered his incident and the scary bloody mess, and started to cry in panic.  Little brother caught a glance of the bloody towel and after a wide eyed double take, his crying became panicked as well.

Two boys are having meltdowns. 

Handsome, who was allowing me to take control of the situation, was doing his best to help.  He was fetching different things from around the house; going back and forth across the hall and in and out of the room as I calmly asked him to bring a dry towel, then a wet towel, then a phone and a sucker (something for Big brother to hold for Little brother while he licked the tasty candy, therefore both were distracted).  It was enough to control the emotion in the room, but not the injury at hand.

Once again, it wasn’t a huge gash, but the blood wouldn’t stop. So I took him on to the ER.  I remember he was unusually quiet and calm.  He did not make a sound, his big blue eyes stayed locked on mine.  He checked out okay and once again, this time Little brother was sent home with a glued head and bandages.

(Chorus)  “I remember watching him that night as he slept.  It was quite an emotional night as I listened to his sweet slow breathing.  I was so thankful he was okay but the reality was knowing this was the first of many, some not as bad and some possibly worse as he gets older. Sometimes the injured body, sometimes the injured soul…

...I still shudder at the thought and pray.”

Yes,quite the song of parenthood.

It continues on in infinite verses.

dishes

“Boys, when you finish your dinner, the three of us are going to clean the kitchen.”

The boys looked at each other wide-eyed, looked back at me (lounged on the big chair in the living room only wishing I could call it a night), looked at each other again and shrugged.  They finished off their plates and carried the dishes to the sink and rinsed them.  Handsome continued in a comical tone as the three of the worker bees were diligent in knocking this task out quickly…

“Some dads take their boys fishing; some dads take their boys out camping.  In this house, this dad and his two men do DISHES!”

The two knights- in -training giggled at their daddy.   They knew what was going on.  They knew their mom had a hard night last night with their baby brother and she was in no mood to do dishes or clean.  In turn, I knew better than to think they actually ENJOYED it, but they played the part; trying their best not to argue or heave big sighs.  I overheard a few short temperaments towards each other.  However, Handsome- being the light hearted coach that he is- directed the boys to make this play a productive one.

I couldn’t help but look over and smile at the three of them.  It was truly unorganized chaos- each of them bringing their own method to the madness.  Man child (hates dirt and grease on his hands) used the brush to scrub the food and grease off of the dishes, pots and pans.

“Dude, that’s disgusting! Rinse that off better when you bring it to the sink.”

Endless Pit, my creative one, made the plates fit in perfect order in the dishwasher, making sure the washer blade could spin.

“Okay, REALLY?? That doesn’t fit! Put it the other way.  THE OTHER WAY! (gasp) DUDE!!!”

Handsome found a large brown sticky spot on the bar area.

“What the hell is THAT?  Nutella? Chocolate ice cream? Protein Shake?”  

He used the days’ stresses as ammo and scrubbed the dickens out of that spot… eyes bulging and hyperventilating while spraying the snot out of it with “industrial strength” 409.  I think he even growled a bit with a few choice words.

I was silently singing praises when he did, indeed, get the spot out (Um..it would have cut said frustration in half by scraping it with a butter knife; easily spotless in one spray of cleanser and a quick swipe of the paper towel. Princess thought it best to keep her mouth shut).

The kitchen was clean.  They did a FABULOUS job.

Now, did I know they were this capable?

Yes.

Would I expect this all the time from my boys when I am having an exceptionally tired day?

No.

Was I enjoying this particular gesture of appreciation, love and understanding?

Absolutely.

Therefore, they earned some SERIOUS appreciation, love and understanding in return…

….which is how Team Minnix rolls.

three little birds

I sat there staring out the window.  My nerves were in my throat and I had a HUGE throbbing in my head.  I made all the necessary phone calls; my sister, Pink, Roomie… all giving the “go ahead” that after 5 tests, I could indeed call Handsome with the news to sit down and take a deep breath…

“I am pregnant.”

I smiled as I told him over the phone…since he was in Tulsa and I was in Destin with the boys.  I knew that he needed to hear that smile with the news to keep him calm but also to let him know I was okay and this was meant to be in so many ways. In turn, I could tell he was choosing his words wisely; trying not to upset me with the same initial reaction I had since this was not planned in any way.  He told me this was okay and agreed that this was meant to be.  We accepted our belief that this was our plan, that in our hearts we knew our boys were our passion and the four of us certainly had enough love for each other to share and extend it to just one more.

As night fell, Man- child knew something was going on.  I was in my bedroom with the door closed and he could tell I was on the phone.  He is a smart cookie and always knows when I am not telling him the truth.  So I decided to tell him.  I could feel his temperature rise with his questioning of

“When will I know for sure?” 

He asked if I was okay, but again asking in a more direct tone

“Well are you pregnant or not, because I need to know”.

He started to cry.   I was taken aback by his reaction.  I asked him why he seemed so upset.

“I will not know the baby.  I will be gone to college when the baby is six years old.”

At this point, Endless Pit came in asking why his big brother was upset.  I decided that he deserved to know just as much as Man- Child for the time being. His reaction was wide-eyed and smiling, quietly asking

“You mean, I am going to be a big brother?” 

“Have you told Dad?” 

“What did he say?” 

“I can’t believe it”

…and so on.

The emotion was overwhelming.  I was so stunned that my oldest thought that far ahead so quickly and was so warmly moved at my little one’s excitement. I started getting a little weepy as I was still grasping at the whole concept myself.  I held them and let them know that this was a wonderful thing and everything was going to be okay. They still wanted the concrete answer.  I promised tomorrow morning I would know for sure (yes, that would be the 6th test).

That night, I remember sleeping on my left side holding on to my abdomen.  I knew I did not have to, but I was going to do everything in my power to see this blessing through knowing that indeed, at 40 and checking a few more factors on my checklist, I was a member of the high risk pregnancy category. I remember praying for peace that night and delivering gratitude for the happiness and adventure that was about to enter our lives as a family once again.

Morning came and indeed, it was a “plus” sign in bright blue.

I came out of my bedroom as two boys were staring at me to deliver the final answer.  I made the announcement with a huge sigh and a smile the size of Texas as they ran up and gave me a big hug, then turning to embrace each other. We all came down a bit when Endless Pit said

“I wish Daddy was here to be a part of this.”

So they called Handsome.  We re-hashed the news of how we were all pleasantly shocked and excited with it. We could not believe there was going to be a baby in this house of four.   I made a call to my mom and dad, my brothers and texted some close friends.  I’ll never forget one in particular; who assured me in so many words, that this was truly a miracle…a very happy moment…and every little thing was going to be alright.

Indeed…My Three Little Birds. :  )

banana splits

In the summer, it seems I was outside playing all the time; whether it was splashing in perfectly created mud puddles, running back and forth across the front yard practicing THE perfect round- off or a very intense game of kickball with the other neighborhood kids in our cul-de-sac  ‘til it was pitch black outside.  I would be all wrapped up with whatever I was doing until I froze immediately as I heard our front door open and close.  Out of the shadows of the unlit porch came my dad in his khaki Coleman jumpsuit and Johnston and Murphy dress shoes, which screamed a spur of the moment outing.

“Hey Dad!  Where ‘ya goin’?”

There were usually two guaranteed and distinctive answers my dad would give when asked of his travel plans.

The first answer was usually…

 “Crazy.”

Never really knew what that one meant.  He usually went by himself. However, ‘crazy’ usually brought back Jamil’s ribs.  It was certainly a special summer time treat.

The second answer was…

“Braum’s.  Wanna come?”

I hustled my bustle, either trying one more “walk-over” gymnastic move, or either leaving the team hanging or going ahead and running to home base to gain that one extra point they needed before I bolted into his big brown Lincoln Town Car.  Dad would turn on the air conditioning full blast with that musty smell only real leather and cigarettes could offer through the open and freely flowing vents.  Then he would pop in the car lighter, light his cigarette, open the sunroof and turn on his 8-track tape to Waylon, Meat Loaf, or Neil and away we went.

He was the coolest dad ever.

As we were out cruising, there wasn’t much conversation.  I would spend most of the trip playing with the seat buttons making the seat go up and down, recline and sit back up, move up towards the dash and back while singing Sweet Caroline with Neil.  Dad never said a word. He would just occasionally look at me and smile.  I interpreted that as he was totally cool with my front seat amusement.

Yep, super cool indeed.

We would eventually get to Braums and Dad would ask what I wanted. I was overwhelmed with the possibilities in front of me. He then helped me out of my creamy quandary and asked if I wanted the ultimate ice cream concoction.

“Do you want a banana split?” he asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

I didn’t have to say a word.  My smile confirmed my answer.

He would order two banana splits ‘to go’, then we would take them outside and eat them in the car; windows down, music still playing with the bass blasting, and the air conditioner still cranked (never figured that one out either).  Again, we would not say a word. We would just sit and enjoy the silence of banana, ice cream, hot fudge, marshmallow and strawberry yumminess topped with whipped cream, nuts and a cherry.

We finished up and headed home once again jamming to “Willie, Waylon and the Boys”. By this time, the air conditioning was turned off and the windows were down. My new game was sticking my hand outside the window moving my hand up and down, allowing it to soar against the wind current.  I felt so full and so free in my own little world…just me and my dad. 

Once we pulled in the driveway, I quickly yelled a thank you to him as I ran off with my friends, finding out what I missed and what new game we could come up with (usually WAR).  I heard the door open and close behind him as he went back into the house, knowing he was getting ready to sit in his spot on the couch, light his cigarette and hide behind the newspaper for the evening.

Truly, the coolest dad ever.

I occasionally give dad a banana split for his birthday or Father’s Day.  He loves it almost as much as I did when I was a kid.  I guess I am returning the favor for creating that one memory that is firmly planted in my childhood….with a smile.