Sweet Nothings

Chocolate Necco Wafers.

My Dad loved these. He introduced me to them when I was a young child, and we've shared a love for them ever since. They are a thin, round candy wafer covered in a powder-like film.

Over the years, I would often see the wafers at the registers of convenience stores, but usually in the multi-colored pack. It was a rare treat if I found the all-chocolate packs, the ones I knew Dad loved.

Over the summer, my friend from Georgia, Michelle, sent me several of the chocolate packs that I had told her I loved so much. Just before my Dad died, he paid me a visit, and I slipped him a pack of these wafers. He grinned.

After his funeral, I went into his room and looked closely at his things. There in his coin dish was the half-eaten pack of Chocolate Necco Wafers. I placed them in my pocket and smiled.

There were only a few left in the pack, and I like to think he saved them for me.

Grillin'

I'll admit it, I'm not much of a griller.

So, tonight, I thought, "What the heck?" I mean, how hard can it be? I cook. Just usually in an oven. Greg wasn't here, so I called for a quick run-through.

I put the burgers on the grill, and continued to keep a close eye on things. As luck would have it, a friend stopped by and I got a little distracted. Then, Griffin needed help with a broken toy. And Hayden was yelling for a little assitance in the bathroom, which often happens when nature calls.

I didn't think I did too bad, until we sat down to eat, and I heard Griffin say, "Why are these hamburgers crispy on the edges? These don't taste like Dads."

Can't say I didn't try.

You've Got Mail

I told Griffin we need to work on his birthday thank-you notes. We are a little behind, okay...a lot behind, on getting those mailed with all that has happened. Griffin agreed to help, and then touched my heart when he said...

"I need to write one to Papaw Mike, since he came to the party and brought me a gift." And it was bittersweet when he then said,

"Do you have the address for Heaven?"

Wisdom of a 7-Year-Old

I made potato salad over the Labor Day weekend. Of course, it wouldn't be normal if something hadn't "happened." "Pulling a Deb" is what Jim and Kevin like to call these incidents.

The boys seemed to need something every two minutes. And if you've ever made potato salad, it's a little time-consuming. Lots of chopping, dicing, and slicing.

I found myself repeatedly stepping away from the cutting board to get Hayden some milk, help Griffin find his football, pick up the goldfish Hayden spilled before Darby could eat them, etc. At one point, I told the boys "Mommy needs a little time to finish this or we will never leave to go see Grandma." Both boys stared at me blankly as though they had no idea what I was talking about. This was going well.

Finally, I began chopping, dicing, and slicing at a faster pace, trying to finish. In my hurry, I cut my finger. Griffin heard me yell, and asked what happened. "I cut myself, but I'm ok," I told him.

"You should probably slow down," he wisely responded. "That's how we get hurt."

Wonder where he's heard that before.

Thanks, Jessica

Country singers are known for being very giving and generous. What I mean is we don't often hear about a country artist who told off a fan seeking an autograph...Britney Spears, anyone?

Instead, country music artists make us proud.

Back when Jessica Simpson was in the studio a month ago, I learned during our interview that my Dad was no longer with us. Naturally, I abruptly left, and didn't say goodbye.

A few days later, Jessica sent flowers, saying she was keeping my family in her thoughts and prayers.

A sweet gesture, and very appreciated.

New Thing We Do

Griffin and Hayden have been great distractors from all of the sadness over the past month.

3-year-old Hayden and I now have a new "favorite thing we do" when I tuck him into bed. Here's what happens...

I get him under the covers, then he asks me to tell him a story. My stories are always about Hayden being in the middle of a sports game, where he makes the winning play. He loves it and beams from ear to ear.

Hayden then wants to be the one to tell the story. He begins telling me he is playing a soccer game, where he scores the winning goal. I end his story by saying with disbelief, "NO WAAAAY!" And Hayden says, "Yes, way." Then, he's a football player, runs a touchdown, and I say, "No WAAAAY!" Hayden responds, "Yes, way." And so it goes, till we run out of sports.

This happened again last night, and as I left his room, he said, "Love you, Momma." "NO WAAAAY!" I told him.

"Yes, way," he said with a grin.

Doughnuts and Pj's

One night last week, I spent the night with Mom, while the boys and Greg stayed at home. I guess you could say Mom and I had a slumber party. We made a late-night run for milk, then came home and stayed up talking till 1 am.

The following morning, Greg called to say hello and said he was taking the boys to the local doughnut shop. Griff took the phone to say good morning, and said he and Hayden were still wearing their pj's with Crocs on their feet. He wasn't sure he wanted to go inside wearing his pajamas.

I reassured him that it was no big deal. "You will be in and out of their in a matter of minutes." Finally, he agreed.

Greg called back during their drive home to tell me it didn't go as he had planned. Once inside, Griff heard a familiar voice call out to him. It was a female friend from his second-grade class. "Griffin! Hey, Griffin!" I'm getting doughnuts, too!" Griffin bashfully hid behind his father.

Then the end of the world flashed before his eyes when he heard her say...

"How cute...you're still wearing your pj's!"

My Knight in Shining Armor

Haven't felt like posting much lately.

We stayed with my mother over the holiday weekend, and memories of Dad were shared around the dinner table. Driving back to the house, I realized I forgot one of the best stories I remember from my childhood. Thought I'd share.

As a 13-year-old girl, my bedroom window was at the front of the house. One night, I woke up my parents and told them that a car's headlights were shining in my window and I was scared. More like frantic. And paranoid. And I wanted Dad to protect me.

Dad got up, and reassured me it was probably nothing. He looked, waited, looked again, but no one was there. Dad tucked me back in bed, "tuck, tuck, tuck, tuck, tuck" he would say as he pushed the covers around my legs, and went back to sleep.

The next night, the same thing happened. Headlights were once again shining into my window. I could see them coast across the walls and stop at the center of my room. I woke Dad up again. Just like before, he checked things out, and found nothing. History repeated itself the very next night. I was about to be the only 13-year-old who slept between her parents.

Sure enough, my Dad realized he would have to get to the bottom of things. The next night, Dad sat silently in the dark garage, with the door UP, and waited. And waited. And waited some more.

The headlights returned.

Bravely, Dad hopped in his car and took off after this mystery vehicle, demanding to know who he was and what he was up to. The man's response?

"I'm rolling newspapers. I'm just the paperboy."

Oh.