Here Comes the Rain Again . . .

Raise your hand if you played in the rain as a kid? We did – all the time. In fact, my parents encouraged it. Can’t say whether it was the allure of not having to bother with bath time at the end of the day or the fact that it was cheaper than a “slip-n-slide” that made kicking us out the door so appealing. Or, maybe, it’s just the way they did things back then.

The last time that I recall voluntarily heading out into the rain was the summer between my junior and senior year of high school. It was one of those soft, southern rains that sprout up on summer afternoons. No pomp and circumstance of thunder and lightning. No cold front to steal the warm air. I can’t recall what we talked about, but I can remember strolling around the neighborhood and splashing through puddles with my daddy.

Despite it’s questionable PR campaign, I love the sights, sounds, and smells of summer storms. The flash of lightning against an inky sky. A crack of thunder just a little louder than anticipated. Read more

Being a Mom is a Dirty Business

Except for the first Mother’s Day after each girl was born, I’ve tended to write Mother’s Day off as “greeting card holiday.” You could blame it on my cold heart and staunch distaste for anything sentimental, but that wouldn’t be a fair assessment (at least on most days). Read more

Gone . . . but not forgotten

On March 22, 2017 we laid Brooke to rest. It was a day that I didn’t want to begin; yet, I didn’t want to see it end either. The fear was that the end of that day would signal the countdown to the day when no one would remember our Brooke. Over the past year, this momma’s fear has been put to rest. Our family has been blessed time and time again with sweet reminders of how Brooke touched so many lives during her short trip on earth. Read more

No More Carbs in Heaven

Time flies . . . especially when things are ordinary. This time last year started out pretty ordinary.  Monday just seemed like a typical Monday after a horse show weekend. Brooke was usually exhausted from the weekend and used that as an extra excuse for a nap (as if she really needed one). Frankly, I don’t recall too much about that Monday. But when I look back at my texts with Brooke, I’m reminded that Monday (March 13, 2017) was “National Napping Day.” Perfect! That sounds exactly like a typical Monday.

Tuesday was one of those days that I would have recalled vaguely as time passed, but I can only pinpoint it with accuracy because of the events that unfolded later in the week.  Graduation was still a couple of months away, but Brooke had found a few dresses that she wanted to check out. (If you knew Brooke personally, then you are keenly aware of her powers of persuasion.) So, we went shopping that afternoon. It was a fun shopping trip. No drama. We visited with the girls in the shop who are also friends. We found a cute dress and then headed to the grocery to pick up dinner. Read more

#BiscoffsforBrooke – A Little Kindness Goes a Long Way

Monday started out like a typical day. My phone dinged a few times letting me know that I had a couple of packages waiting for me in the downstairs delivery lockers. No biggie. One of the things about apartment living – we order a lot more of our goods online. I was expecting several packages. (I even have a special folder in my email account to keep up with what has yet to be delivered.)

I headed downstairs with my trusty codes to unlock the lockers. I opened the first locker. Delivery from Williams-Sonoma. Check. I opened the second locker. Huh? The return address was foreign to me. Who do I know in Georgia? The box didn’t match the size of any of my anticipated deliveries. It was addressed to my full legal name. It’s not my birthday. I wasn’t expecting anything from the government. Read more

What does “gratitude” look like in tragedy?

When it comes to filling gas tanks, there are really only two kinds of people: “I have three quarters of a tank, I’d better stop at the next gas station” or “The empty light is blinking. I have least 3.2 miles to go.” I can’t lie. That’s me. I know exactly how far I can push it until I’ll find myself sputtering into the filling station on fumes. I’m a three-miles-past-empty girl.

Sadly, I tend to treat my spirit like my gas tank. The talent for gauging just how low I can go with the car isn’t really so much of a badge of honor where my spirit is concerned. Are you like this? Do you push and push and push until your spirit is depleted? Are you likely to find your soul broken down on a deserted road with no filling station in sight? Read more

When you’ve lost so much – how do you manage to be grateful?

My daddy was an ironic mash-up of 70’s flower child and Sicilian Catholic. In the 70’s and 80’s he had an annoying habit of preaching the gospel of “PMA.” For those of you who might have been subjected to this particular brand of torture in your own lives, you will recognize “PMA” as standing for “Positive Mental Attitude.” For every negative comment that Daddy caught us uttering, he would literally make us repeat the opposing positive statement out loud ten – TEN – times. You recognize the formula. It takes ten – TEN- positive thoughts/actions/comments to erase the energy created by just one negative thought/action/comment.

How does this look when applied? Quick example – I might say something to my little brother like “I hate you.” Read more