Some Advice for My Little Chickies

There are two special young women graduating from college this weekend. We have been blessed to have one of them be a part of our family for almost three years now. Our beloved Mary Beth started babysitting our boys when they were newborns, just a few months old. They love her. We love her. And we will miss her so much. Family vacations won't be the same without her. And how I will dress myself for nights out without her fashion advice is a petrifying thought. Maybe she'll FaceTime with me. Hmmm...

JKS08, otherwise known as my uber-intern, Jessi, has helped me plan weddings, birthday parties and political events. No one has bought more ribbon from Michael's in the past year than her. Believe it. I don't offer the most conventional internships. It takes a special person to ebb and flow with me. But Jessi took it all in stride and showed up every time. If I didn't think it cruel and unusual punishment to force her to stay in our two-bit town, I would. But I love her too much to do that.

I'm a natural nurturer, so I feel a bit like a Mama Bird letting her chickies fly this weekend. I'll worry over them and fret about things. But not the little things like whether they have enough money to eat or if will they will be forced to take the MARTA because they spent all their gas money at Lenox. Well, I will fret over the MARTA. *Girls - NEVER TAKE THE MARTA!* I'll fret over the big things. So here's a little advice on the big things:

1. Your 20s are for making mistakes and learning from them, falling in love and falling out of it, and enjoying your youthful ability to recover from a hangover quickly. Make no mistake, that is a GIFT. Don't take it for granted. And don't waste your 20s on being overly cautious. That's different from being stupid, remember. But don't be afraid to take chances. Go for it! Whatever it is. You have time to fix things later. And that's what Daddy's are for anyway.

2. Always have health care insurance. No matter the cost, it's an important element in being a responsible adult. One, contrary to popular belief, you aren't invincible and bad things do happen. Even to bright, beautiful women. And two, it benefits society as a whole to have healthy young adults participate in the market. I won't go into the details of why here, but know it's helpful to everyone, including your parents. You don't have to have maximum coverage, but have something to protect yourself.

3. Travel the country and the world AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE. Skip the Tory Burch's (pains me to say that) and put that $250 towards a plane ticket to Paris. Or Montreal. Or Denver. Go. See. Do. You want to be able to tell your children about the Grand Canyon or explain where Luxembourg is or how the Subway works in NYC. They'll think you're cool. And you will be. Know more than them so you can teach them. It's the greatest pleasure. And in the same vein, go to concerts, see Broadway shows, read books and see films.

4. Always keep your passport current. You just never know...

5. Read a newspaper every day. Online news is great, online is the future. But newspapers are cool. However you get your news, get it. Keep your worldview expanded. Know how to talk about current events. And not just what's on people.com. You don't have to be an expert on the Iranian nuclear crisis. Just know there is one.

6. Vote. In every election, I don't care if it's for dog-catcher. They matter. All of them. If you read your local newspaper, you'll know who to vote for. And if you don't know, just vote Republican. ;)

7. Learn to cook and be good at making a margarita. Know how to make a simple salad. Have an hors d'oeuvre you can whip up in 10 minutes. Learn how to grill something. Anything. And learn how to make a dessert. A good one. Preferably something your grandmother made. Family recipes are always the best.

8. My most urgent advice is, always (ALWAYS) be able to take care of yourself. At any age. 25, 42, 67. So no matter what life throws at you, you can provide for yourself and your family. It will keep you self-confident, with a sense of self-worth and self-respect. Staying home and raising your children is the single greatest, most rewarding and selfless job a woman can have. But don't let it singularly define you. Have passions, have skills, have interests. You and your family will be stronger for it.

9. The advice my Daddy gave me that I've used more than any other was go with your gut. You won't always be able to read it right away. Sometimes you have to wait for the clutter to clear so you can hear that little voice in your head. Be patient and wait. But sometimes you'll know the answer right away. Go with it. Even if it's not what you really want to do. Go. With. Your. Gut.

10. The greatest advice I ever received from my maternal grandmother was..."You don't have to tell everything you know". I've found this to be true in both your professional and personal lives. Just keep that little nugget in the back of your mind always.

11. Lastly, nurture your relationship with the Lord. For through Him all things are possible. He is always there. And I've found we sometimes largely ignore Him in our 20s then frantically and desperately search Him out in our 30s. Try not to fall into that pattern. The 20s will be less dramatic that way. Living God's will for your life is living in the sweet spot. It should always be your goal.

Have fun, darling girls. Live your life in full color. Love your family and your friends. They make this journey so much sweeter.

And if you ever do spend all your gas money at Lenox and find yourself staring at the MARTA, call me. I'll deposit some cash in your accounts.

Fly and be free, my little chickies!

xoxoxoxo,

To Nana

Today we celebrate the life of an amazing woman. A woman who stood tall though she was a little 'ol thing. A woman with strong shoulders with which she carried her family though she had the feet the size of a child's. A woman who was the provider, comforter, supporter, cheerleader and mender of a small, but tightly woven family. A woman with more friends than anyone I've ever known. That says a lot about a person - the number of friends they have. It means you are kind and thoughtful. And fun.

Dorothy Elizabeth Knapp, my husband's beloved Nana, was nothing if not fun. The life of every party. The one everyone has a great story to tell about. The one everyone ends those stories with "only Dorothy...".

But she wasn't just the life of the party, she was the life of her family. A family she raised by herself starting in the 1940's. Unheard of in those days, but she did it and she did it well. She raised two bright and successful children and then she helped raise her three grandchildren. The grandchildren she would literally give everything she had for. She cared for her husband, the one she found later in life. The love of her life, for sure. I never met Jerry, but I've heard stories about him. He was the life of every party, as well. The two of them were the sun by which everyone in their world revolved around.

She lived 94 long and blessed years. She was independent, spunky and completely her own woman. She took the challenges life threw at her and she beat them with grace and style. And maybe a little bourbon on the side. I greatly respected Nana for being the strong one, the great matriarch whom we all loved very much because she loved all of us with every fiber of her being.

It saddens me that our boys won't remember her. But they come from a long line of strong and fiercely capable women on both sides of their family. It's my great challenge to carry their legacies forward, but with women like Nana to look to, my task is easier to accomplish. They'll know of her and the role she played in the forming of their paternal family. They'll learn to respect women from their father because he so greatly loved and admired his Nana. As well as his mother, an equally formidable and loving woman. They may not know it yet, but she has had and will continue to have a role in their raising because of her role in the raising of their dad. I am grateful to her for him and the morals and beliefs she helped instill in him.

We will miss her great laugh. The mischievous twinkle in her eyes. The stories she told. The fun she brought wherever she went. And tonight we raise a glass to the great woman of our family. She wouldn't want it any other way.

To Nana. Cheers! And Go Big Red!

A Note of Thanks

Dear Sunshine Farms,

It has been 10 years since we came to know you. In those ten years, you've given us some incredible memories. And to express my gratitude, I'm going to thank you for a few things...

...for being so peaceful and beautiful; for always being open and welcoming; for being warm in the winter and cool in the summer; for your porches and the breezes they bring; for the laughter and the tears; for making the rain sing on your tin roof; for your horizon views; for the bonfires we bond around, fight around, debate around, drink around and sing around; for your pool the grandkids have learned to swim in; for the ugliest, most comfortable couch in the kitchen no one can bring themselves to throw out; for the loft that held us all those years in the beginning; for the spiral staircase that gives us heart attacks; for the endless stars and largest moons; for the front row seats to daily sunrises and nightly sunsets; for the roaring fires in your fireplace - and the gas starter; for the farm trucks; for the guest room that is too hot; for your awesome cabana we party in; for your red front door; for your old tobacco barns; for your beautiful oak trees; for loving our friends and welcoming them like family; for the ice makers; for the camo and orange jackets that always fall off the knobs in the hallway; for the clock we can't read and all hate; for the Ranger we've driven too fast, gotten stuck, flipped, and raced in; for the mud on our tires; for being a dog's dream come true; for homemade egg nog; for keeping the beer cold and the wine chilled; for the kitchen island; for the red barn and the green tractor; for the rosemary bush to beat all rosemary bushes; for two refrigerators, two freezers and two dishwashers; for the playground you let lean, but not fall; for your ceilings that touch the sky or at least seem to; for always serving beer on Sundays in a dry county; for all your rocking chairs; for the toy cabinets; for the answering machine with that familiar drawl; for your pantry that is never organized for more than a few hours; for hayrides and for s'mores; for early morning basketball games; for the bowling lane table we gather around, the saw horses underneath that bang our knees and the 27, mostly broken, mismatched chairs adorning it; for PopTarts and cinnamon rolls; for the flag pole that was a labor of love; for the concrete slabs with all our initials; for oyster shooters and pig pits; for the RV park; for our Daddy's pecan field; for The Point and the local classical radio station you tune in up there; for the official Guest House; for little fishing ponds and cane poles; for the lightning bugs and dragon flys, but not the wasps and mosquitos; for Charlie Brown Christmas trees; for bacon; for your bookshelves; for hot coffee on cool mornings and hot chocolate on cold nights; for Blair Witch roads and lighted crosses; for deer, turkey, quail and skeet, but not for armadillos; for your heart of pine floors and old doors; for your enormous gas grill; for wine grapes and family projects; for hosting beautiful weddings and family holidays; for traditions; for welcoming our Dad home and for becoming ours.

For all of this and more, we say thank you.

The Yellow Bracelet

When my dad was first diagnosed with cancer in June 2009, I immediately went online and bought Livestrong bracelets for everyone in our family. I don't know why, or what compelled me to do that in particular, but I did. And I vowed to wear mine until my dad was cancer-free.

When he passed last October, I couldn't bring myself to take it off. I continued to wear it in remembrance of him, as a memorial. I figured one day I'd know it was time. But then more loved ones were stricken with the horrible disease and the bracelet remained, as a symbol of solidarity with them. I can't make their cancer disappear, I can't bear their pain and sickness, I can't ease their fears and anxiety, but I can wear this bracelet every day as a reminder to pray for them. To pray to The One who can do all the things I can't. And to remember those we've already lost, who've gone home and whom we miss every day.

It's just a rubber band in a bright, cheerful color. It's nothing all that impressive really. But it is a powerful tool in the fight against cancer because it's a call to arms. A call to pray to our Lord for the peace and mercy only He can provide. So it remains.

Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go - Joshua 1:9

I Get it Now

It's Mother's Day. My second. It still seems a little strange to be celebrated and not just celebrating. But I like it.

When I was pregnant, if I'd heard "There's no love like a mother's love" or "You just wait until those babies come. You won't be able to contain yourself", I heard it approximately 1,386,239 times. Or something close to that. I'd just shake my head, smile and think, "Yes, I know, I know, I'll love them. I get it."

Um, yea, I didn't.

It's a strange experience growing humans. Obviously as they grow within you you become more aware that there are living, breathing things in your body. Just reading that sentence alone can give one the heeby-jeebies. Mostly men. But as they move more and kick (harder), you start to know them a little. You get some insight into their personalities. They become real.

I wanted children in the worst way. And after trying for so long and so hard, I was overjoyed with the news of finally becoming pregnant. I loved my little guys even before they were conceived. I loved them when they were in utero. I loved them when they were born. But now I know there are different kinds of love.

The first few months around here were chaotic, exhausting, overwhelming, lovely and perfect. And frankly, a complete blur. I remember little. I do vividly remember though wondering at one point, at about two weeks in, whose brilliant idea it was to have The Little Vultures. I asked God and He said it was mine. Oh.

But then hormones calmed and sleep came more often and in fuller doses and I began to fall in love. Deep, unmitigated, abiding love.

And I got it. The notion of hurling one's self in front of a bus to save another didn't seem like such a crazy notion after all. I'd do it for these boys. I can become overwhelmed with love if I allow myself to sit and stare at them. They are gorgeous creatures. I never in a million years could've understood what being a mother meant until I became one. And I am so incredibly grateful to the Lord for these gifts.

But it occurs to me, too, that there is someone out there who loves me the way I love the Brown Boys. My mother. And I receive a fresh sense of awareness. I understand her better and more fully than ever before. I realize now what all she has done for me (and still does) since my birth. How much she loved me, even before I was conceived. And how much more she loves me today.

I am so thankful for that love. For her. She's the best mother I could have asked Jesus for. He knew who I needed and He was so right. She's not perfect, but she's perfect for me. And I love her in return.

So I get it now. I get what a mother's love really feels like. I get how it fills you with a joy that can cause you to spontaneously burst into tears. How it leaves you feeling so vulnerable that you want to scoop your babies up and hide from the big, bad dangerous world. How it inspires you to imagine a future of discovery and adventure. And frees you to dream bigger and more audaciously for them than you ever did for yourself. That's what it is.

I SO get that now.

Ode To A Small Town

We live in a small town. Not too awful small, mind you. We have two major universities and we're the seat of state government. But as a girl who grew up in a major city, this is a small town.

But it isn't just the population number or the square mileage that make it a small town. It's the feel. It just feels like a small town. Seems like everyone knows everyone. Or knows someone who does. Maybe it's that there are truly only two industries here - government/politics and education. Most folks work in one of those two arenas. So we pretty much all go to lunch together every day.

A lot of people talk badly about our capital city. Me included. We complain about the lack of decent restaurants, though we do have some good ones. And don't get us started on the shopping. It's abysmal.

But what makes it so great are the people. They care. They have big hearts. They give.

My husband and I are very fortunate to have a very large group of friends. It stretches beyond the borders of our profession in some ways, but the majority of our group is made up of people we've worked with. Politics is incestuous. But when you fight political battles together, when you are in the same trench for months and years, a bond forms.

And a respect is there, as well, for those on the other side. When you've been to war (and I use that term loosely, folks, just humor me), you acknowledge a fellow warrior and their efforts. Even when they've been trying to pummel you.

We've been dealt a major blow recently in the form of a health scare for a dear and close friend. And it's been heartening, amazing frankly, to see the outpouring of love and affection, prayer and good wishes for him and his family. Seems our whole political community, Republicans and Democrats, has come together to lift up the warrior that is our friend. He has a different kind of battle ahead, but it looks like everyone has left their trench and jumped in his.

That's what I love about a small town. The trenches are so close together. And the people who make ours up love a good fight.

The Houses That Built Me

My family moved a lot when I was growing up. I lived in over 20 houses before I was 20. Explains my packing expertise. I've only lived in 3 different places since I officially left the family payroll after college. That was 14 years ago.

Wait. I've been out of college 14 years?! Well that just ruined my day.

Only 2 houses out of all those others count though. Just two. I'm sitting on the front porch of one right now. And I've written to you from the other. On a certain veranda my Daddy loved.

These two houses were where my families were created. Both the immediate and extended. And I'm about to lose them both.

Houses. Not families.

My siblings just panicked.

Or cheered.

I'll go with panicked.

My husband and I decided to put our house on the market after 7 wonderful years of living in it. We bought it just before we married. We came home to this house the day after our wedding and from our honeymoon. We spent all our firsts here. We brought the boys home from the hospital here.

I'll admit I'm a pretty sentimental person. The very thought of not waking up on Holland Drive brings me to tears. I love it so much. So many memories.

I learned to cook in this kitchen. There have been some spectacular dishes created in there. And some abominable disasters. I started my company in one of the front bedrooms. We've had some epic - and I don't use that term lightly - EPIC parties at this house.

And there's a certain spot on the living room floor where the varnish is nearly rubbed off the wood. That's the spot where I met with God during our journey through infertility. There have been some mighty, mighty "Come to Jesus" moments in that 3x3 section of heart of pine. If I could cut that wood out and take it with me I would. Like a prayer rug.

I will miss that spot the most. I fell in love with Jesus there.

But there is another house, too, where my larger family was built. And it's 4 hours south of here. On a street most people struggle to pronounce. Rubideaux Lane.

We moved into that house in 1992, just before my parents were married. We're The Brady Bunch of this generation. I won't bore you with the details. Just know it's complicated. And we love it that way.

On Rubideaux Lane, we melded together like steel. Unbreakable. For life.

It would be pointless to try and remember all the memories we created together in that house. They're immeasurable. But they are so sweet. Closing the door and walking across the bridge for the last time will be nearly impossible. It may take me a while. My fingers may need to be pried from the balustrade. Hunger strike, anyone?

My youngest little brother gave us all a framed photograph of the house and wrote on the back of the frame, "Where it all began...". And he's right. We all had other homes and other family dynamics before Rubideaux. But none were this. This one stuck. This is our family. And that is our house.

But it will become someone else's house soon. Both of these will. And it is my fervent prayer that these two houses will go on and do what they have proven to do best - build families.

It's the greatest gift a house can give. And I am a blessed woman to have received it twice.

Better Late Than Never

My dear, dear friend, Charla, is thisclose to delivering her second baby. A girl. This is very exciting.

But it got me thinking about my girlfriends and their babies. Those here already. Those arriving soon. Those still cooking. And those yet to be. They make me smile.

And tired.

Tired because we're a little older, us gals. We all started later than those before us. I think my grandmother was a teenager {She was from the Deep South, folks. That's how they rolled back then}. My mother was twenty.

I was 34. I know that's fairly young to an 80 year old. But trust me when I say, the spring in my step has nearly been sprung. Twins ain't for the aged. Believe me.

Why did we wait? Some of us, like me, had jobs we weren't ready to give up and new marriages we wanted to enjoy. And then of course, like all things in life, it didn't go exactly as we planned. Some of us didn't find our loves until we were in our 30's. Some well into our 30's.

We've all had amazing careers. We've worked in cool places and for outstanding people. We've traveled the country and the world. We've swam in and fished several of Earth's oceans, gulfs and bays. We've climbed mountains and hiked canyons. We've seen the sun rise over the Atlantic and set on the Pacific. We've seen our fair share of legendary artists. We've toured some of the world's most famous museums. We've cheered at major sporting events. Super Bowl? Check. The Masters? Check. Daytona 500? Check. We've met presidents and governors. Celebrities and true heroes. We've had a lot of wine. And beer. And rum. And vodka.

We've lived our lives fully. And now we're onto the greatest job we'll ever have. Witnesses to the miracle of birth. First steps. First words. First, well, everythings.

And we'll be happier than we've ever been. We've worked hard, played hard.

I'm proud of us.

But mostly I'm just grateful for the amazing women I call my friends.

You rock, ladies. I love you.

And your Little Vultures.

The Proust Questionnaire

I love Vanity Fair magazine. It's one of only two magazines I have a subscription for. The other is Southern Living. If you live in the South, you are required to have a subscription to Southern Living. If you don't, your Southern card is subject to revocation.

That's bad, bad, bad. No one wants that.

But I subscribe to Vanity Fair by choice. I love reading the liberal rants of Wolcott, et al. The antitheist sermons of Hitchens. I like to know what the enemy is thinking. I read these articles for the same reason I watch MSNBC. It strengthens my personal views, which are almost always in complete opposition to theirs. When I understand their arguments, I understand mine better.

Maybe I'm weird like that.

But there are other great articles that aren't offensive, but rather informative. Or just plain interesting. It widens my world view a little.

My most favorite though is the Proust Questionnaire on the last page of every issue answered by various celebrities and people of culture. It's the first thing I look at after ripping off the plastic and perusing the cover. It's very exciting to see who's answered that month.

Good grief, I really am a nerd.

VanityFair.com has an interactive version of the Proust Questionnaire on their website. About a year ago, my girlfriends and I tried to answer the questions. I think only one of us actually finished it. It wasn't me.

The questions seem simple. Until you try and answer them yourself. Then you realize they are hard. They make you think. And I think I over-thought them last time.

So I am going to give this another shot. I'm just going to answer as quickly as possible without too much analyzing. Here we go:

1. What is your idea of perfect happiness?
Surrendering my will to God and being content

2. What is your greatest fear?
My children becoming ill

3. Which historical figure do you most identify with?
Jacob of the Old Testament

4. Which living person do you most admire?
President George H.W. Bush

5. What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
My incessant need to worry

6. What is the trait you most deplore in others?
Cynicism

7. What is your greatest extravagance?
Grocery shopping every day

8. On what occasion do you lie?
When I want to avoid hurting someone's feelings

9. What do you dislike most about your appearance?
My knees

10. When and where were you happiest?
The day I realized I would get to keep my babies forever

11. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
My ambition

12. If you could change one thing about your family, what would it be?
That it would be a little more simple

13. What do you consider your greatest achievement?
Surviving these last 18 months

14. If you died and came back as a person or thing, what do you think it would be?
The next American Idol

15. What is your most treasured possession?
My wedding rings

16. What do regard as the lowest depth of misery?
Depression and addiction

17. Who are your heroes in real life?
My parents and grandparents

18. What is it that you most dislike?
Licorice and asparagus

19. How would you like to die?
Ready

20. What is your motto?
Work it out

Whew! That was fun. Now it's your turn.

A Post About Nothing

I warned you when I started this blog that I would only post when I had something to say that I thought would be of interest.

Or I just needed to say. Whether it was interesting or not.

As you can tell from my lack of posts, I haven't been all that interesting. Christmas is a crazy, hectic time for us and it kicks off the day after Thanksgiving. So in all honesty, I haven't had the time nor the energy to do anything more than just get to January 1 with my sanity intact.

Such that it is.

So this is a post to say I'm still around. I plan to blog something riveting soon. But for now, I will post this. A post about nothing.

Answered Prayers

One of my dearest friends had some incredible news delivered today. An answer to a prayer that she has been offering for years. One that I and many others have been on our knees for, as well. It's the second blessing she's received in the last few months. Both of these answered prayers are changing the course of her future. Righting wrongs and giving fresh life to her.

Because they are so profound, because we've prayed for her and with her for so long, because we all believed that one day He'd do this, I couldn't help but shed tears of joy. And relief. And I sang songs of praise. At the top of my lungs.

It's the most affirming feeling in the world to know your will matches that of the Lord's. Nothing compares. That's the true sweet spot.

Naturally, I got to thinking about the answered prayers I've had in my life. My husband. My boys. My dad. All my men have come straight from Jesus. I'm not worthy. But I am grateful. And humbled.

There's an old saying that goes something along the lines of, "You can pick your friends, but you can't pick your family". Well, I beg to differ. I got to do just that. 17 years ago.

Having lost my biological father at the age of 4, I grew up without a dad of my own. I don't think I really missed having one though. Until my mother met Gene Langford. And I met my dad.

We just fit. From the beginning. And one night, driving home from dinner, from the backseat, I blurted out the question. Would he be my dad. And there was a deafening silence. And I started to shrink with humiliation into the leather seat, wishing it would swallow me whole. And then a sob caught in his throat and I realized he wasn't mortified, he was crying. The ugly cry. And I laughed.

So inappropriate, I know. But I was nervous. Give me a break.

I don't ever remember praying for a father. But I think God knew my heart and answered that unspoken prayer. He always knows better, doesn't He? Even when we don't have a clue.

It'll be a month tomorrow since Daddy passed. Feels like yesterday. And like a lifetime ago. How is that possible? For something to feel so immediate, yet so distant.

If you have the answer, email me. Seriously.

The Langford clan is gathering tomorrow at the farm for the Thanksgiving weekend. More importantly we'll be fulfilling Daddy's final wish. He will forever be here. At his favorite place on Earth.

And it struck me how appropriate it is for us to say our final goodbyes during a period of thanksgiving. Because I am so incredibly thankful for him.

And for answered prayers. Even those we never even knew to ask for.

Because He Said So

I am writing this from my Daddy's veranda. I don't think it's technically a true veranda, but it's what he called it. So a veranda it is. Because he said so.

He's gone. From the veranda, but not our hearts. I miss him so much. But the veranda is comforting. He loved it out here. Overlooking the brick terrace and what's left of the moat.

It's not a real moat, mind you. It's a retention pond that runs in front of the house. But since you have to cross a bridge that spans the retention pond in order to get to the front door, he called it a moat. So a moat it is. Because he said so.

He did that a lot. Called things by names he preferred. He didn't like other people's rules. He made up his own. He was strong willed and fearless. Cut his own path. Did things his way. Never took no for an answer. I want to be like him in those ways.

But most of all, I want to love my family like he loved us. Full out. All in. 110%. He knew how to be a family man. He knew how to love us. Perfectly. And I loved him for it.

We're a big immediate family, us Langfords. I have 4 siblings. 3 sisters-in-law. 8 nieces and nephews. 2 grandparents. 2 aunts. 3 uncles. 5 cousins. That's a lot of immediate.

Especially in one house. At the same time.

And we all love to talk. LOUDLY. But when you're competing against 3 dozen or so people, you've got to speak up. And we do. Shyness isn't a family trait.

These last 2 days have been gut-wrenching. We're all stunned and incredibly sad. But there are things to do. Arrangements to be arranged, decisions to be decided upon, lists to keep track of, phones to answer and people to hug.

And there's a lot of activity. People are whirling. And bumping into one another. And talking over each other. The house is busting at the seams. It's thumping with energy. And grief. And laughter.

We tell the same stories. Over and over and over again. "Remember that time..."? And we cut each other off with eyes rolling and finish the sentence with "when we..." or "when Dad...". And then we all laugh like we've just heard the story for the first time. Because it's still funny.

And will be again in about 3 hours when we retell it. That's what we do.

And we look at the 1.5 million pictures our dad stockpiled. The man never threw anything away. Ever.

I really wish he had. Some of my past looks are quite unfortunate. I'd rather not relive them.

But I thank God for those pictures. Bad hair and all. And the stories that never get old. And the incessant teasing we do of each other. For the house busting at the seams. And the energy. And the deafening noise. For the stress that comes with planning a memorial for your dad. One that you want to be perfect because you only have one shot. And you don't want to miss something, regret anything.

Because he wouldn't. He'd know exactly what to do. Because he would do what he wanted and it would be perfect.

Because he said so.

The Tidal Wave of Reality

Have you bought the new Zac Brown Band album? If not, stop reading and go here. Now.

You’re welcome.

My favorite song on the CD is “Knee Deep”. It’s a duet with Jimmy Buffett. I am a confessed Parrothead. A conservative, Republican Parrothead. {gasp!} And I know of others just like me. {double gasp!} Jimmy loves us anyway.

How do I know? He’s a liberal. And everyone knows liberals are the most tolerant human beings on Earth and love everybody.

Duh.

Alright, back to my favorite song. I’ve had it on repeat for close to a week now. I just love it. It’s so carefree and takes me back to that boat, in that harbor, in that Pass, in those islands. My favorite place.

And there’s a lot going on in my world right now. Some really big, life-altering things and some small, inconsequential things. But the really big things make the small things seem larger than they really are. And so everything seems big.

Does that make sense? I’d be surprised if it does, frankly. Making sense isn’t my specialty these days.

But I just put that song on and for the 3 minutes and 23 seconds that it’s playing, I forget all that stuff. So hitting repeat 10 times gives me over half an hour of forgetfulness.

I love repeat. Thank you, Apple.

But I screwed up the other day and allowed myself to think about something other than how I could talk The Hubs into moving to my favorite place permanently.

I was listening to the lyrics too closely. And I realized something not all that profound, but eye-opening all the same. To me at least.

Here are the lyrics:

Gonna put the world away for a minute/Pretend I don't live in it/Sunshine gonna wash my blues away/Had sweet love but I lost it/Got too close so I fought it/Now I'm lost in the world tryin to find me a better way 



Wishin' I was/Knee Deep in the water somewhere/got the blue sky, breeze and it don't seem fair/the only worry in the world/is the tide gonna reach my chair/Sunrise, there's a fire in the sky/never been so happy/never felt so high/and I think I might have found me my own kind of paradise



Wrote a note, said "Be back in a minute"/Bought a boat and I sailed off in it/Don't think anybodies gonna miss me anyway/Mind on a permanent vacation/The ocean is my only medication/Wishin' my condition aint ever gonna go away 



Now I'm knee deep in the water somewhere/Got the blue sky breeze blowin'/wind thru my hair/Only worry in the world/is the tide gonna reach my chair/Sunrise, there's a fire in the sky/never been so happy/never felt so high/and I think I might have found me my own kind of paradise



This champagne shore watchin' over me/It's a sweet sweet life livin' by the salty sea/One day you can be as lost as me/Change your geography and maybe you might be 



Knee deep in the water somewhere/got the blue sky breeze blowin' wind thru my hair/only worry in the world/is the tide gonna reach my chair/Sunrise, there's a fire in the sky/never been so happy/never felt so high/and I think I might have found me my own kind of paradise 



Come on in/the waters nice/find yourself a little slice/grab a backpack/otherwise you'll never know until you try/when you lose yourself you find a key to paradise

And here’s what hit me.

I will never, ever, ever, NOT have a care in the world. Whether the tide hits my chair will never be my only worry. Ever. Because I’m a mom.

All at once, this thought makes me want to jump for joy and cry in utter despair.

It is my greatest privilege to be a mom. I thank God every day for the blessing of my little men. I am in awe of them. I always will be.

But in that moment I realized I will be worrying about those two boys even when they're grown men. Even when I’m floating around on clouds with my wings on and no doubt annoying Jesus with my suggestions on how to fix whatever trouble my boys find themselves in.

My point is, I can’t imagine a time in the future when I will ever again be able to lay back, breathe the salty air in deeply, sip my Painkiller and let the ocean drown my worries.

If you let yourself think about that too long and too hard, you’ll take to your bed and refuse to leave. It’s depressing.

Of course they’re worth it. The little vultures. Without question. So don’t start with the “You wanted them…” speech. I did. Do. Always.

I’m just saying there are things about becoming a parent you don’t consider or even realize until you are one.Most of them are so incredibly delicious you can barely stand it.

Others come fully loaded with reality.

Like the fact that the tide will more than likely reach not only my chair, but also our beach towels, the kids’ dry clothes, the sandcastle-making toys, and our snacks.

So consider yourself warned if you are thinking about having children. You will still have vacations, drink rum drinks in the sun and bury your toes in the sand. But you’ll never do it without wondering (and worrying) if your precocious son has introduced his forehead to the corner of the baseboards or if your other son’s colon has decided to try and digest his small intestine (yes, this has happened).

I really have to stop thinking. I can even ruin my favorite song when I do it.

Someone bring me a Painkiller and hit repeat.

The Pressure of Sewanee and Chapel Hill

I've been asked by several different friends over the last few weeks when we plan to start the boys in school. My first response was something along the lines of, "Whaaaat? They're a year old! I don't even know what I'm making for dinner."

Then I was asked again. And I started to feel like I was missing something.

And then again. And panic started setting in.

Was I missing the boat here? Were my boys going to be left on the Island of Stupid because I don't know what the heck I am doing as a mother?!

I believed the first order of business was to define "school" for 2 & 3 year olds. I did some research. I talked to experts.

This made me smart.

Maybe.

Ok, not really, but I have talked to an expert.

Here's what I've concluded: no, we don't need to know when and which school rightthissecond, but yes, we need to decide when we want to start them. Some parents start as young as 2 years old, so it was something that needed to be on our radar screen.

If I've learned anything from this past year, it's that it went fast. Like warp speed, blink of an eye, DeLorian DMC-12, kind of fast. Suffice it to say, I know the next 3 years will fly by just as quickly.

So, I think we're going to keep them home until time for them to start "official" Pre-K at age 4.

I know most of you moms are screaming "NOOOOOOOO!" at the computer right now. But let me explain.

I waited a long time for these boys. I worked hard for them. I prayed even harder. And I don't want to miss a single second. These are the only 4 years I will have them all to myself.

Now, I can't say what shape I'll be in when the 4 years are up. I may drop them off on their first day of school and drive directly to the mental institution in Chattahootchee. Or more likely, The Betty Ford Clinic. But I'll have had 4 years with my little men. That's worth my sanity. And my liver.

But don't worry, I do understand the social implications of not sending them somewhere until Pre-K. They will be playing soccer and T-ball as soon as they are old enough to start.

And who knows, I can always change my mind.

Or I could be Baker Acted. Then it's off to boarding school.

So, decision made. Great. I'm feeling better. Until I realize that those years of development are critical. And I'll be in charge.

Hello, panic. Nice to see you again.

It hit me that I'll be the one responsible for making sure they are ready for Pre-K.

Me. Teaching.

You can stop laughing now. It only makes me panic more.

No, really. Stop.

Their whole academic future rests on my shoulders. Whether they get into the University of the South and UNC depends on me. This is I am wholly unqualified for. My high school and college transcripts aren't framers, people. How am I going to make sure not one, but two, young minds are advanced enough to earn full rides to these schools I dream of them attending?

Can you hear my heart beating? Feel my sweaty palms?

I called my expert. "What the heck do they have to know before they walk into Pre-K?!", I asked.

{God, please don't let her say geometry.}

She gave me 5 things: shapes, colors, ABCs, counting 1-10 and fine motor skills. And lots of tips on how to teach them.

No geometry. All doable. Big exhale. I love experts.

Don't be fooled, the pressure is still there. I beat myself up every night as I think of all the learning opportunities I missed that day. But my little men are destined to be Tigers and Tar Heels.

Momma's got this.

Tom & Huck - Part IIII {Favors & Activities}

Last one. I swear.


The whole concept for the party was derived from one source - Mark Twain's brilliant books. So what else do you give as favors? Each family took home a hardback copy of the Adventures of Tom Sawyer and The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.

Reading is a big deal to me and the hubs. We're book worms. We've spawned book worms. Eating the cover off The Hungry Caterpillar constitutes a book worm, right? I'm sure it does.

I really wanted our little guests to be interested in the stories of Tom and Huck. My wish was that they'd leave the party and beg their parents that night to start the books at bedtime. I doubt any of them did, but if I sparked even the slightest curiosity in Twain's two boys, I will be happy.

To help with my goal, I hired a local actor to come dressed as Mark Twain and give the kids an overview of his famous stories. He had them act out a few scenes and place paper characters on a drawing of Huck's raft.

I think they enjoyed the storytime.

They actually sat through it.


We also had crafts. Wooden alligators and fish for them to paint.


I'll be honest. I didn't think the boys would be into it. They were. I was shocked. But what do I know.

And the grand finale...

Hi.


The adults ran. I'm not even kidding.

The idea was to have animals Tom & Huck would've co-mingled with near the river. And the kids loved them.

Oh. And there was a rope swing.

No one broke an arm. Or a leg. Victory!

Lastly, I wanted a way to incorporate pictures of the boys through their first year into the party. I was stumped. Didn't want to use frames. Would've needed too many. My girlfriend, Kim, came up with the idea of hanging them from cane poles. Brilliant!

My sister and my girlfriend, Christine, labored hard on the two they made. Can't thank them enough. Loved them!

I need to thank some folks for helping me. It's taken a village to get the boys to their first birthday. Alive and breathing. And it took a village to pull this party off.

I'd like to first thank The Academy.

Oh wait. Wrong speech.

Ok, I'd like to first thank my husband. He didn't ask questions. He diverted his eyes when he passed the dining room, which by the end was packed to the gills with party things. He pretended not to hear me talking to my mother about the details. And the purchases. He didn't mind. He loves our boys, too. And me. And so he just helped set the party up and he had a good time. God bless him.

And my mother. God bless her, too. I think I pushed her to the limits of her craftiness. She rocked it though!

And my sister and girlfriends, who did help with the execution of the party, but more importantly listened, for weeks, as I went on and on and on about the party. Bless their hearts. They're true friends.

But I know they're glad it's over.

And my mother-in-law, who washed more dishes than any mother-in-law should agree to do.

I loved this party. I love Kate Landers for all her help. Wouldn't have happened without her.

Hey Kate! What are we doing next year??

Yes, these are still Inga's images.

Tom & Huck - Part III {Dessert Table}

Dessert tables are all the rage now. And I'm in. I just love them. Amy Atlas is queen of the dessert table. For a reason. She does amazing things.

Kate brilliantly thought up the idea of a "pie" cake. A cake that looks like a pie. But it isn't. It's a cake. Got it?

At first I wasn't so sure. Seemed a bit too adult-like for a 1st birthday party. Shouldn't they have something cute and fun and little boyish? Well, yes, I thought. They should. And they did.

Enter the smash cake.


Whoever invented the smash cake idea was genius.

The boys' smash cakes were rafts, like Huck's. They were precious. And apparently they were mighty tasty. Are these looks of total and complete sugar comas or what?


Back to the pie cake.

It was a huckleberry pie. Of course. And it was AH-mazing!


I added mini pies to the table. Cherry, the hub's favorite, and apple. Because, well, it's all-American and I'm certain Tom & Huck ate apple pie. Right?



We threw in some cookies they more than likely loved - oatmeal raisin, peanut butter and sugar.

Alright. I more than likely love. Whatever. This is my party.


Then there was the candy. I was somewhat particular about the candy I added to the table. I wanted only candies that Mr. Olsen might have sold in his General Store on Little House on the Prairie. I did some research.

Seriously. I did!

Peppermint sticks, peanut butter sticks, lemon drops, peanut brittle and salt water taffy. Just so happens we vacationed near Chattanooga a few weeks before the party. We found ourselves in a little town called Chickamauga, Georgia. And they had a general store. With candy.

SCORE!


They had all the candies I was looking for plus a bonus. Lollipops. And not just regular 'ol lollipops. The coolest ones ever.


And now the pièce de résistance. The handmade burlap banner.

I have to give full and proper credit to two women - Nole over at Oh So Beautiful Paper for introducing me to these incredible creations and Amanda of Funkyshique for this gorgeousness.

Amanda handpainted the silhouette on the pennant between Happy and Birthday. She blew me away!

I want to hang this in their nursery year round. It pained me to wrap it oh-so-carefully back in the tissue paper and pack it away.

But it was the star of the dessert buffet.

Friendly reminder that all photo credit goes to Inga Finch Photography.

Tom & Huck - Part II {Food}

Ahhhhh....food. My favorite subject.

Now the great question was, what did Tom & Huck eat?

With the party starting at 10am, Kate & I felt we needed food that fell in the always elusive category of brunch. Fish was obvious. They boys lived on and near the great river. Fried chicken was obvious. Because...I said so. :-)


Cheese grits go so well with fried fish. And fried chicken. And everything else frankly. And we eat them in the morning. Or the afternoon. Ok, I'll stop.


And potatoes. With cheese. If loving cheese is wrong, I don't want to be right.


And I assumed like all good country boys, Tom & Huck ate eggs. But since scrambled eggs don't keep so well, I decided on a quiche. Which was also a good vehicle for the breakfast meats - bacon and ham.


Then there were biscuits. With butter. Lots of it. I found huckleberry jam and honey from some nice people in Montana. I also served strawberry preserves, my personal favorite, and Tupelo honey. Get it? Tupelo. Mississippi. The river. Ok, moving on...


Lastly, since I was filling their children with fried and cheesy foods, not to mention a dessert table with enough sugar to last a lifetime, I felt I owed it to my friends to offer something healthy. Fruit kabobs. I'm thoughtful that way {grin}.


For beverages, I went simple. Lemonade. Milk. Chocolate milk. Sweet tea. Oh, and lemonade with vodka and beer. No, not the for the children. For the adults who were braving the sweltering heat of mid-July in the Deep South. They showed up. They deserved a cocktail.


I love mason jars.

That's all.

For the adults...


For the kids...who aren't quite big enough for a big jar, but who are definitely too big for a sippie cup.


And for the babies...I found a lovely lady on Etsy who made these burlap sippies. Just for me.


And I ordered paper straws. Seemed appropriate, no?

Because the books were the inspiration, I decided to name the food and drink items after characters. Here's the list:

Aunt Polly's Sunday Fried Chicken
Big Jim's Catch o' the Day
Becky's Prim & Proper Cheese Grits
Judge Thatcher's Fancy Potatoes
The Dauphin & The Duke's Faux Recette de Quiche de la Famille
Widow Douglas's Homemade Buttermilk Biscuits
Little Sid's Fruit on a Stick
Sweet Cuzin Mary's Lemonade
Pap's Moonshine Lemonade

And I found the log place card holders here. Yes, Etsy again. I adore it.

Up next, DESSERT TABLE!

Again, all image credit goes to Inga Finch Photography.

Tom Sawyer & Huck Finn 1st Birthday Party {Decor}

As promised, here are the photos from the boys' first birthday party. I'm going to break these up by category for fear blogger.com, and my head, may explode if I try and do it all at once.

Let's start with the invitation and decor.

When I found out I was expecting twin boys, I immediately started to think about the nursery and what I would do with it. I knew I wanted it to be a fishing theme, since my husband loves to fish and couldn't stop talking about all the trips he and his boys would be making on the new bass boat he suddenly needed to own. Steve is from the Midwest and I'm a very proud Southerner, so as I started to think about the theme, and the different elements I wanted to incorporate in it, the Mississippi River sprung to mind and then naturally....Mark Twain and his 2 famous boys...Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn. It was perfect! Two mischievous boys who love to fish on the great river that connects my part of the country to my husband's. Nothing could be a better fit. I started looking for fabric and literally stumbled on TS/HF fabric on EBay. It was fantastic! And it served as my inspiration for the nursery.

Fast forward a year and the boys' first birthday was quickly approaching. I had always wanted to carry the TS/HF theme into their birthday parties - esp their 1st - but I just couldn't get started. I am event planner, this is what I do, but I was stumped. I needed some inspiration and I just couldn't find it. So I decided to put the theme off and go with something I could do easily - a circus. It was almost too easy. And I wasn't thrilled about it at all. I like new and innovative ideas and a circus theme just wasn't working for me. I knew it would be ridiculously cute, but it wouldn't have the same oomph a TS/HF party would.

I found Kate Landers online during one of my Google searches for children parties. I fell head over heels for her work. The Madeleine party almost made me wish for a girl. It was gorgeous. I started following Kate on Twitter. And then one day she announced she was giving a couture party away. It occurred to me that if anyone could spark my imagination, she could. I entered and won. I was super excited to work with her.

The theme is tough and a little daunting, but Kate dove right in. She even watched the original movies. As her ideas started to come in, I was not just sparked, I was lit up! Just as I was hoping, Kate's ideas were incredibly creative and they served as just the right inspiration I needed to make this party unique and one-of-a-kind. I spent the next month pulling it all together, working with some incredible vendors and taking advantage of family vacation locales to look for the perfect elements. To my great excitement, I found more of the TS/HF fabric I had fallen in love with and used in the nursery! I couldn't believe it. And once more, it was in a different color scheme - green, brown, cream and red - my exact colors for the party! I knew then we could pull this off. Things were falling together so perfectly!

I wanted every detail of this party to be theme-appropriate. A major pet-peeve of mine is having a theme and it not be carried throughout the event. So I was determined that everything from the invitations to the food to the activities and all in between relate back to TS & HF.

After an exhaustive search for burlap invitations, I came to the conclusion that I was just going to have to make them myself. Nole, of the Oh So Beautiful Paper blog, suggested I stitch burlap to card stock. Great idea! Except for one small issue - I don't sew and I don't own a sewing machine.

So I had to come up with Plan B.

Wood was going to be a major element in the party given Huck's raft, so I decided to glue burlap to thin pieces of balsa wood and attach the printed invitation to it. Kate found the fishing silhouette, but it was originally a single boy, so I had a graphic designer create the mirror image motif to reflect the twins. With Kate's help, the wording was taken care of and I found a great font online. The paper was found at Michael's and a local printer printed them for me.


Inspired by Kate's to-die-for Woodland Fairy party, I wanted the buffet table to mimic a riverbank. I used a chocolate linen to represent the muddy waters of the Mississippi and a burlap topper to represent the sand. We filled the table with grass and cattail arrangements my mother made and river rocks. I found a catfish, bass and bullfrog stuffed animals at Bass Pro Shops that I thought would give the table a whimsical feel. This is a party for little boys, after all! I found all of the old serving pieces in an antique store in Chickamauga, GA, a small town outside Chattanooga, TN, where we vacationed this summer.

For beverages, we served lemonade, milk, chocolate milk, sweet tea, lemonade & vodka and beer.


I really wasn't enthralled with the idea of tables and chairs. Seemed boring to me, almost too practical. I had used hay bales at past events and loved the look. I knew it fit perfectly and I came up with the concept of a "hay couch". Would give people a place to sit and set their drinks down, plus they'd be low to the ground for the kids. It also gave me a great palette with which to use the glorious fabric! I also found all the old blue Ball jars, lanterns and jugs in the antique stores of Chickamauga and Ellijay, GA, another stop on the family vacation.


The dessert table was a blast to put together! Inspired by my inquiry about burlap invitations, Nole blogged about other burlap items she'd come across and loved. One was custom burlap pennant banners. I fell head over heels in love. I contacted the artist through her Etsy shop and she was able to make a banner for the boys AND she handpainted the silhouette onto a pennant, as well. It turned out beautifully! More to come on the dessert table.


I think it deserves it's own post. Don't you?

All photo credit goes to Inga Finch of Inga Finch Photography.

And then they turned 1...

The boys have turned one. I'm still reeling from that little nugget of information. Where the heck did the year go? Every day seemed so long. Like it would never end. And then I turn around and 365 days have passed. I can only shake my head and marvel at Father Time. He's a sneaky old man.

I can still remember those first few weeks. See and feel them when I close my eyes (if I don't fall asleep). I didn't have a care in the world other than the boys. Every minute of every day was consumed by them. The world seemed to stop and we were in a Twilight Zone of happiness...and shear exhaustion. It was glorious!

I miss those early days. Desperately at times.

All that mattered was whether they were sleeping, were fed, changed or swaddled. It was a simple time.

It's a miracle I can remember anything. A lot I can't, actually. Between the sleep deprivation and pain meds, some of it no longer exists in my mind. God is smart that way. It's how He tricks us into doing it more than once.

Well, not me. You maybe, but not me. We're done.

But I digress...

Now we're on to major changes.

Teething...Lord, help me. My firstborn hasn't met a teething symptom he doesn't love. They had him at hello in his 4th month and 8 months later, we're still getting acquainted. I'm ready for the love story to end. His brother, on the other hand, could have a mouth full and you wouldn't know it.

Walking...real people food...no more bottles...whole milk...etc etc etc.

I'd like the train to slow down some. I'm feeling a little motion sickness. We're going too fast.

But we're here and so we celebrate. With a party, of course. That's a story for another post. Just think Tom Sawyer & Huck Finn. More on that coming soon!

Home alone...sort of

I'm a bachelorette with baggage this week. And because I'm not responsible for making dinner for the hubs, I didn't grocery shop. So I forgot to feed myself. Oops.

Last night I scrounged together a grilled ham and cheese sandwich.

And wine. Of course. We always have that.

Today, buying something for dinner was at the top of my To Do list. You notice I said buy something for dinner. Not grocery shop. I'm not cooking this week.

Except for the little vultures. Them I will cook for. In the oppressive, and I mean oppressive, heat. Moms do that. We're selfless.

No, today I was on my game. I knew exactly what I wanted and I REMEMBERED IT! This, folks, is huge since I left the house in my yard shoes and sans makeup.

That happened because when the babysitter arrives, I flee. FLEE. As if I will forever be stuck in my house if I don't meet her at the door. So I run. Sometimes literally. But I had my trusty To Do list! And it reminded me to go directly to Tomatoland. Will be adding "Put on real shoes" and "Put on makeup" to the list. Showering is #1 already. Although I confess I sometimes skip that one.

Now those of you unfortunate enough not to live where I do and have a Tomatoland, you should know it's a little slice of heaven on earth. They make chicken and dumplins as good as my Granny's. It's ok! She knows. I asked Jesus to tell her. Who could be a better (and more safe) messenger than Him?!

Sadly, they didn't have chicken and dumplins today. But they did have chicken tettrazini. And peach cobbler.

I might "forget" to grocery shop again soon.

Like tomorrow.

Don't judge. You'd have licked the plate, too.