no crying in baseball...

This boy's team lost out in the post-season tournament over the weekend.

Kid after kid came out of the dugout heartbroken or stompin' mad. 

I braced myself for my spirited boy's reaction...

My boy looked at me with a smile and asked, "I played good, right, Momma?"

Yes, son. You played well.

Most days, I don't know how to do this... this mothering, this raising boys...
And I fear I'm doing it all wrong.

But I feel like somehow, just maybe we've done something right...

the vase on the shelf

 

it's that pretty vase you want to keep safe, 

so you put it high on a shelf.
and one day, you find the vase on the floor with a chip in its side..
you toss the chipped glass in the trash, 
and turn the vase around as you place it back on it's shelf.
no one will ever know...

the days come and go, 
and eventually you forget the chip was even there...

until, you hear the crash.
the vase has fallen to the floor. 
this time, a crack down the middle. 
super glue will fix it, you think.

carefully, you run the glue down the crack, 
and think... good as new. 

no one will ever see the crack... nor the chip... 
and back up on the shelf, goes the beloved vase.

one day, a friend notices the crack, 
and dares to ask what happened. 
you brush her question off, 
and deep inside, you kick yourself, 
because no one was supposed to notice. 
you thought you'd hidden it well. 

flowers are bought, and water is run, 
and fingers are crossed, for the best. 
the cracked vase still holds water.
the flowers go in and up on the shelf it goes.

time gets the best of you, and the dust collects on the pretty vase
and the now-dead flowers. 

but then, for a third time, you find the vase in the floor... 
shattered into pieces.
through the tears, you carefully gather the broken pieces. 
through the cuts and blood and super glue,
you try your damndest to fix what's broken, 

just one last time, you think...
when will all this gluing be enough, you think.

what happens if the vase doesn't go back on the shelf, you wonder...

the one about windows

I miss our windows in Germany.

The solid panes of glass that opened like barn doors. The way the breeze flowed through the house, cooling it off without needing central air. This southern girl was amazed.

The view stretched for miles... That winding narrow road followed the hills and disappeared somewhere through the trees; if you drove the twists and turns just right you'd find a tiny little village and a castle.

Austin's fascination with the weather started there. We'd pull chairs up to the windows when the sky grew dark, and we'd watch the clouds roll in, and if we watched long enough, the storm would tumble right on through...

If ever an occasion called for fireworks, we'd prop right up and look down on them from our fourth floor view. Germans enjoy a good celebration.

the view from here, my office in alabama

I stare out the windows here at work, and while the glass is big... Not much else compares. The windows don't open. There's a hill blocking my view of anything more than highway and a hospital... The sky is big and beautiful and there's freedom in that, until my eyes focus on the reflection of the flourescent lights in the ceiling.

I watch an airplane and it's trail climb higher and higher, until the plane is out of sight and the trail fades away...

Oh, to be on that plane... I know where I'd go...

the best things in the world

 

i'm distracted and tired and lonely these days.

i'm lost and confused, and at the end of the day, when they put on their pjs, and brush their teeth, and i trip over baseball cleats and there's red dirt in my floor,

they'll crawl in my bed and scrunch their eyes closed and

 i pretend they're already asleep and i push their hair back and i kiss their foreheads and i linger and i pray over them and i whisper them good night and i choke back the tears and i breathe deep and i walk away,

and they lift their heads and jump up and say, "momma! aren't you gonna lay down with us?!"

and when all i want to do is throw my work clothes into the floor, and grab a book and a coke and settle down on the couch and ignore the dirty dishes...

i sigh, and i crawl into the middle of the bed that's no longer empty, work clothes and all...

and there they fall asleep, on either side of me, all sweaty and snoring and close,

and i ignore the dirty dishes, and the red dirt in the floor, and i didn't need that coke anyway,

and i drift to dream, surrounded by the best things in the entire world...







[this is a simple story.]

write (right) where you're at...

There's a book inside my head. But I can't seem to get it onto paper, or on the screen...
Things have changed so much since my writing slowed, and I'm struggling with when and how and why to share...
I'm here in this weird place, trying to force a life from a life I didn't plan for. This wasn't my plan.
And while I know His plan is great and mighty and so good, it doesn't mean I've easily let go of my plans.

If you were to scroll through my dashboard in this space, all you'd see is Draft, page after page of drafts.
I've been here; you've just not seen me. I've tried to write here, but I get a few sentences in and something pulls me away, or the words aren't right, and I just click the little Save rectangle up there and leave it be.

The words are there- deep in my heart- rooted, but struggling to grow.

I'd like to tell you about how when we flew into Chicago from Germany that very last time, I hated O'Hare. You try hopping onto a train with your life shoved into a few suitcases and two little boys. A kind soul offered to help and as he loaded one of our duffel bags, the doors closed and I watched as the train pulled off with all our clothes. We caught up with the bag on the next stop, another kind soul waited for us and asked if he could help get us to where we were going. The strong, proud Army wife in me declined, saying "I do this all the time. We're fine." when truly, all I wanted to do was collapse in a heap and cry right there in front of him.
He wandered off with the rest of the crowd, and I gathered our things... I hollered at the boys to stop climbing the benches, don't jump off of that, feet on the floor... And we settled in front of the elevator, willing it to come. I looked up and there it was- red, white, and blue... The American flag.
Do you know what I did?
I cried.
Not because we were home. But because we had, just 12 hours earlier, left our home and we'd never go back...
You see, for 5 years, if I saw an American flag, there was usually a German flag right next to it.
Don't get me wrong, I'm proud of our country and the men and women who give their all to defend our freedoms... But it just wasn't a reminder I wanted on that particular day and I had no idea what would come of the weeks, and months ahead...

I've wanted to tell you about baseball and about how crazy our weeks are with both boys playing. But how much I've needed the sunshine, and the excuse to get out of the house. How proud I am of my boys jumping out there and learning something new.

I really want to tell you how difficult it is to transition from the military (especially when stationed overseas for so long) back into civilian life. How lonely and alienating it can be. How angry I get becasue I'll go days, weeks even before a coworker or friend mentions ANYTHING military related.
Do you know I read the names of the fallen almost daily? I pray for their families, I pray for the soldiers they left behind on the the battlefield. The disconnect is heartbreaking to me.

I'd love to share pictures of our house, our own space. It has a large fenced in backyard and room for a playroom. The laundry room is outside and it only has one bathroom, but after living four floors up, I can deal with a few quirks.

It's April and even though it's been rather rainy and we've yet to see really warm weather, I have tan lines on my arms. I've not seen tan lines in April in over 5 years.

I want to ease back into this space, I want to share our lives with you again...

There are things I wish I could change, but I know I can't. There's no sense in trying to fight it. It's time to start trusting Him.

I'm right here, and it's time I start writing again...