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.