a son's letter: snuggle-dipping through life

Dear Hayden,

Life has been challenging for you in recent months, so I'm writing this letter to file away and let you read when you are older.

Your father and I love watching you from afar, like when you're sleeping and your dad says, 'I've never seen a sweeter face.' By day, you are a bouncing spirit that melts my heart, and I admire your zest and the lens through which you see this ever-changing world. You grow bored with the ordinary, and I soak up your thoughts as you move from room to room, collecting various items to create your next character for imaginary play.

The stage is yours. Maybe a wrestler. Sometimes a karate guy. And always a baseball player.

You have no idea how I would love to trade places with you for one day, even one hour, to live life through an innocence that knows no boundaries and only wants to 'be.' A racing mind that believes everything is possible, even if it's growing dark and time for bed, a trait that will certainly bring you success in later years.

I watch you enter a room, scanning the people to anticipate the mood, as you bashfully smile when we lock eyes. It's my favorite smile in the world, the one where your lips don't part and just the corners turn up, the one you give both your dad and I each time we call your name, the one that make's life's worries disappear in that very moment.

It's my sunshine.

I have fond memories of our Tuesday and Thursday afternoons the past three months spent cuddling on the couch, moments you affectionately dubbed being 'snuggle-dippers,' a combination of snuggling and your favorite fruit snack from McDonalds. Those days were homeruns for me, as life stood still for you and I. Sort of our way of carving time out of the chaos.

You have many gifts, a memory I could only dream of, and a humor that keeps us all in stitches, including your older brother who giggles as you dance like McJagger in the middle of the bowling alley without a care of who may be watching. A carefree soul who knows no strangers, and has costumes already selected for the next three Halloweens.

I am proud of you, Hayden. And I will help you navigate the road ahead.

Love,

Mom (AKA 'Snuggle-dipper')

signs of summer

Flies in the house

Wet swimtrunks on the floor

Lightning bugs

Sleepy boys that aren't up before 9 am

Popsicles melting faster than kids eat them

Crocs piled by the door

Groceries consumed in days

Neighbor kids ringing the doorbell

Protests at bedtime

Protests that mention it's still daylight

The ice cream truck and mad-dashes for money

Faded sidewalk-chalk artwork

Groans over the mention of sunscreen

Dinner on the grill

And finally...

Wondering if its bad to sleep before the kids do!

need an extra keychain?

I'm not crazy.

I sometimes debate that statement, but I did begin to question whether I was losing it for a good five minutes yesterday. Here's the story.

Last week, I arrived home from work and eventually when Greg returned, he asked me, 'Since when did you love Fishers so much?' I had no idea what he was talking about. He pointed to the 'I LOVE FISHERS,' heart-shaped keychain on my keyring. Problem is, I didn't put it there. Not that I don't enjoy the nearby town of Fishers, but I wasn't even certain where the keychain came from.

Thinking maybe my oldest son put it there, I removed it and went on making dinner.

The following day I arrived home and realized two paper clips were attached to my keyring. Not sure how that happened, I thought. Still, it was possible they tangled with my keys when I dropped them at my desk early in the morning. I removed the paperclips and forgot about them.

Monday morning, I went to leave work and found two more paperclips on my keyring, but these were attached through a tiny packet of pepper. Not your typical keychain sold at Hallmark. On closer inspection, I noticed another keychain, a shark, with teeth that doubled as a bottle opener.

Am I losing what little sanity I possessed in the first place?

Obviously, someone was having some fun at my expense. I investigated and found it was our traffic guy, Darren, who couldn't keep a straight face. He'd been plotting his careful moves, attaching random keychains when I was occupied doing something else. He's the same guy who taped a fellow worker's phone to her receiver several days in a row. His next idea was a packet of mayonnaise for my keys.

Someone needs a hobby. :)

there when I need him

It's Father's Day.

The boys woke Greg up this morning with gifts in hand, soon to be followed by breakfast in bed, including waffles with syrup. Of course, I also wish I was making my usual Father's Day phone call to my own Dad, who will be gone two years this August, and would have said the usual, 'Well, thank you very much, Doober.'

Instead, memories will have to do.

Greg and I were watching a show Friday night about people who get visits from loved ones who have passed away, and I told Greg it would be nice to hear from my dad. He sensed a little doubt on my part. Maybe because these stories on television seemed too good to be true, but I told him I just don't see it happening. That's when Greg told me to wish for a sign, any sign. I settled on pennies, the coins our kids call 'Papaw pennies,' when they discover one in various places.

Yesterday, we visited the school where Dad played ball during his childhood years, when our 5-year-old came running up to show me the penny he had found in the gym. 'Look, Mom! It's a Papaw penny!'

He dug it deep in his pocket and I had to smile. Thanks, Dad.

Happy Father's Day.

good advice for anyone

Following my visit with Girls Inc. this week, I promised I would post the poem that I read to the young ladies.

A family favorite:

DON'T QUIT

When things go wrong, as they sometimes will, When the road you're trudging seems all uphill, When the funds are low and the debts are high, And you want to smile, but you have to sigh, When care is pressing you down a bit, Rest, if you must, but don't you quit.

Life is strange with its twists and turns, As every one of us sometimes learns, And many a failure turns about, When he might have won had he stuck it out; Don't give up though the pace seems slow-- You may succeed with another blow.

Often the goal is nearer than, It seems to a faint and faltering man, Often the struggler has given up, When he might have captured the victor's cup, And he learned too late when the night slipped down, How close he was to the golden crown.

Success is failure turned inside out-- The silver tint of the clouds of doubt, And you never can tell how close you are, It may be near when it seems so far, So stick to the fight when you're hardest hit-- It's when things seem worst that you must not quit.

- Author unknown

talking and talking and talking

I am speaking to a group of 60 girls with Girls, Inc. this morning.

The girls are between the ages of 5 and 15, and would like to hear about my role in the media. A role that may not have seemed likely early on. I began college as an undecided major, hoping something of long-term interest would slap me in the face as I plowed my way through Algebra 101. And as much as I tried, my love for the belly-dancing costume as a pre-teen didn't seem to fit any college degree.

As a child, I was shy and would occasionally stutter. Not exactly popular criteria for a radio career. That later changed, and my sisters would agree that I had no problem gorging them with stories about school and the neighbor down the street, nor did I have trouble giving them zero opportunities to chime in at the dinner table.

In a nutshell, I talked.

A lot.

So maybe it's fitting that I talk for a living. I enjoy coming in to work each day, though not necessarily getting up when most are just getting in to their REM sleep. The snooze button and I are tight, as I have grown accustomed to tapping it repeatedly each day. It's certainly a sign that you love your job when you look forward to returning after being away for a week. I leave each day with a feeling of fulfillment. And that's satisfying.

My message to the girls will be to choose something they love as they make decisions for their future. When you do, life is that much more enjoyable.

Then again, there's always belly-dancing.

dear diary, today blew. Period.

I'm writing because I feel lousy. One of those days.

And writing makes me feel better. Sort of like putting icing on a cake, it's a good end to my day. Like a dessert coffee after a good meal or a paycheck on Friday, it's how I like to leave things. Come to think of it, there are other things that seem to just go together. Such as:

Boys and frogs

Sunburns and aloe

Girls and lipgloss

A Walgreens with a CVS right across the street

Flip-flops and pedicures

Wii remotes and dead batteries

Crackers and spray cheese

Sunshine and freckles

Onions and teardrops

Insurance and headaches

There.

Feel better already.

make a wish, but not THAT one

You know the phrase, 'Find a penny, pick it up...all day long you'll have good luck?'

Some people say that phrase every time they see a shiny copper coin. That's their thing.

Our thing is to toss the pennies into fountains and make a wish. And so we found ourselves, leaning over a fountain that happened to be along our route as we waited in a never-ending line for a Disney attraction. Hoping to break up the boredom and the 'How much longers?, I handed our 5-year-old a penny and noticed a mom behind us do the same thing. And the rest is history...

Hayden: I wish for Papaw Mike to come back and see us.

Kid behind us: I wish for Tanner to die.

Alrighty then.

Going on Vacation? Things to Consider

Back from vacation.

We went to Florida, and once again road-tripped it, 'building memories' as my husband says. Along the way, I discovered a new Top 10 list. This one being the...

Top 10 Rules That Apply on Vacation:

10. Those DO NOT DISTURB signs are in your room for a reason. Otherwise, be prepared to hear 'Housekeeping' from an unfamiliar voice at 7:45 am.

9. If the boys went swimming, chlorine suddenly passes for a shower.

8. When your husband asks you to drive so he can sleep, he really means you need to drive while he asks you every ten minutes 'if you're okay to drive.'

7. And at 2 am, you will feel a sense of deja vu when you respond, 'Yes, quit asking,' over and over again.

6. Expect to be clocked by a football while reading People magazine in the hot tub. The magazine, by the way, was drenched and didn't survive.

5. Consider it par for the course when your 5-year-old comments that 'Goofy's got big privates' after his photo opp with the Disney character.

4. Ignore #5 to the best of your ability.

3. Be prepared to hear someone, in my case...my husband, say all the way home: 'This time last week, we were...' (Fill in the blank.) He will do this for the next 7 days.

2. Order one of those photos the park takes as you're about to plummet down a hill of a heart-palpitating roller coaster. The photo will be one to remember, especially if you're oldest is flexing his guns.

1. Take lots of photos and look forward to the next family vacation. And cross your fingers the next one is without Goofy.

backyard memories, or something like that

Summer.

The scent of sunscreen and the echoes of kids playing in the yard.

That's the feeling I had last night as I flipped hamburgers on the grill and watched the boys practically gargle their lemonade in an effort to quench their thirst. The boys decided they would dine inside pop-up tents in the backyard. You know the kind, the smaller versions meant for kids that pop into place in mere seconds. One was for Griffin, the other for Hayden.

I sat in the grass and listened to them talk about their plans for the night, a possible game of frisbee or a visit to the neighbor's house, then headed in for more lemonade. I love nights like these, I thought to myself as I headed indoors for a refill.

Chatter about frisbee-tossing quickly changed to yelling and I turned to see my five-year-old yank Griffin's tent from over his head and throw it several feet away. The 8-year-old was sooooo not having that, put down his burger, and hurled Hayden's tent half way across the yard.

Sure was nice while it lasted.

are we really talking about this?

Okay, so it'd be nice if we still had that 500 Pace car.

Instead, the day I turned it back in, Greg called to tell me he'd gotten in a car accident. And so it goes. Three steps forward, one step back. Fortunately, no real injuries. But, we're left with a car that has a rear bumper that's barely hanging on and certainly won't be the car we use for our summer vacation.

Scratch that off the options list.

So, my husband and I found ourselves sitting in the waiting room of a collision center today and I soon realized men and women are from a different breed. Not that I didn't know this already, but I'm rather sure it was the first time Greg had ever watched, at any length, a soap opera. Whichever one it was, I can't remember, though I did recognize Bo Brady. Or is he on another show by a different name? Who knows. I DO know I wasn't digging the diamond in his ear.

Back to the point, here's the conversation that followed:

Him: What IS this?

Me, sarcastically: It's called a soap opera. Lame, huh?

Him: The acting is awful.

Me: Yeah, well. It's not brain surgery.

Him: And what's the deal with her hair? Helllloooo, Conner Prairie. It's out of style.

Me: It's called an UP-DO.

Greg: More like a NOT-DO.

Me: It's not THAT bad.

Greg: And why do they keep jumping from scene to scene like that? It's annoying.

Me, thinking to myself: Please call our name, I can't take much more.

Greg: Look at her. Terrrrrrible acting.

Suddenly, I found it odd to be having this conversation. And more importantly...

...thankful he didn't LIKE it.