My Father-A Study In Human Compassion

     I wanted to write a blog post about my father for Father's Day, but struggled with putting down all the things I wanted to say in the right way. I feel, personally, that even as an adult, a child should still respect their parent, and yet, to be honest, my relationship with my father has never been a typical one.
     I am not, in fact, a "Daddy's Girl", because my father was never a man who gave out hugs or compliments freely. He was not soft, tender, or sentimental, most of the time. He was, instead, a rock, an oak tree, a darkened cave whose emotions were better left unexplored.
     But that didn't stop me from hero worshipping him. Or from doing whatever I could to get his love and attention. Even now at 30 years old, I still long to impress my father, for him to be proud of me and the choices I've made and the life I live, and for who I am.
     It's like a long held dream that I know has a 1% or less probability of coming true. There is no affirmation, only " Haven't you learned that yet?" And "Where's your common sense?"
     Which is strange that those words are still so intimidating coming from a man who never learned to read. That alone was one of the reasons I made honor roll in school. It made me proud and happy to read the newspaper out loud to him, especially the comics, and sometimes he would even brag on what good handwriting I had when he would ask me to address the envelops, or fill out a check he needed, to pay bills.
     I always felt like my Daddy could do anything. He was strong and stubborn, and knew how to work hard. He would work out in the log woods, carrying his chainsaw, until his shirt was soaked with sweat, stopping only to eat his usual lunch, Vienna Sausages and a honeybun. To this day, when I see those foods sitting on a grocery store shelf I smile and think of him.
      I think of him when I see someone chopping wood or I smell that woodsy smoky smell coming from someone's chimney in the dead of winter. I think of him when I see a pair of lace up work books on some stranger's feet. He used to pay me a quarter to unlace his boots and take them off his feet after a long day at work.
      He hunted, and fished, and loved to be outdoors. He knew how to do the best hoot owl imitation I've ever head. It was impressive to hear them answer back to him while out camping in the woods. He loved his garden, and still does. Just last summer I helped him can several batches of homemade salsa. All the while doing each step the way he deemed they had to be done.

      All it takes for thoughts of my father to come to mind is waking up on an early fall morning and feeling the crispness in the air, and I know it. I smell and feel buck fever, and I myself don't even hunt. But my Daddy's hunting always kept food on our kitchen table.
      The other thing that never fails to bring my father to mind is the smell and taste of hot coffee. It was often my job to brew him a cup, and fix it up the way he liked it. Even though, later that day, he would find his way down to a little convenience store/gas station/bait shop just miles from our dirt road where he liked to sit and pass the time drinking coffee, and yakin' with a bunch of other "old cronies".
       So many years have passed the little store is closed and there's only a couple of the old men left, one of them being my Dad. And so that is how I learned something new about my father. He does have a heart, something in my growing up years I often convinced myself he must not really have.
       Every time I go to visit my parents, or talk to Mom on the phone, (yes, I avoid talking to Dad since it seems we only have grunts and nods on his end and sometimes mine too since I take after him more than I probably should have) all I hear about Dad is, " Tomorrow I have to go sit with Floyd"(his long time coffee drinking buddy who recently lost his wife and is in bad health himself), or "Oh, tomorrow I have to go with Floyd to the hospital." Or "Floyd needs me to drive him into town." Or "Last week when I took Floyd to lunch..."
      And so I do not know if I will ever make my father proud of me, but I know he has made me proud of him. His love and friendship and compassion for his longtime friend has shown me something I needed to see with my own eyes. We are never too old to learn new tricks. There is always more to a person than meets the eye, and it is easier to view a parent favorably after becoming a parent yourself.
      Some things about my father will always be a mystery. But I can't help loving the man who raised me, and I try to remember only the good times, only the best times. Like him driving me home from school in companionable silence, listening to "The Rest of the Story" with Paul Harvey, or sitting out on our covered back porch that he built himself 20 years ago, listening to, and watching the rain fall.
     If nothing else, my father taught me to be silent. To absorb your surroundings. To sit and think. To drink coffee and enjoy a good newspaper article. And to have compassion on a dear friend. All qualities I think I'll keep!
     And every now and then I actually hear him say "I love you too." When I'm leaving and won't see him for a while. There's still not very many hugs, or heart to heart talks, but there is usually a smile, and a wave, and the memory of a card or dice game. I think I'll keep that too.
   

Road Trips: "I'm Already There!"

     I'm writing this as I sit in the passenger seat of our family's full size van with one leg curled up under the other, shoes kicked off, and my seat belt strapped across my chest. I have four still sleepy boys in tow, and a man in the driver's seat next to me with an A-Capella addiction he openly forces on his unsuspecting children via Pandora on his cell phone connected to the van's radio system.

     As on most road trips, I've brought along what seems to be an interesting book or two to read for when it's daylight, as the next three and a half hours promise to be. After the first couple pages, I knew it was hopeless, I couldn't concentrate between the distractions of beat boxing, vocal harmonies, and scenic views of the beautiful Ozark Mountains.

     Most road trips, if I'm given advance notice, which is not always, but usually, I spend the day before washing a ridiculous amount of laundry searching desperately for enough pairs of matching socks for each child to last however many days we are supposed to be gone from home.

     This trip I knew about several days ago, and still, I decided to procrastinate. I'll get up at seven a.m. I promised myself. After listening to the alarm far longer than I thought it would keep going off, I got up and hit snooze at 7:53 a.m. Rise and shine, all my handsome little men! Mama's got seven minutes to pack so we can leave on schedule at 8:00 a.m.

     Breakfast consisted of McDonald's drive thru sausage egg burritos, and a large sweet tea, our first “stop” before leaving town at 9:25 a.m. Our next stop, almost two hours later, is at a thankfully, large and clean, gas station for the customary restroom break. The GPS kept telling us to make a U-turn to get back onto the interstate. Which can not and will not happen until we get the three year old (wearing big boy underwear for the first time on an actual road trip) into the bathroom. My hubby emerges with our toddler now dressed in clothes pajamas, after I've reminded him not to buy bug juices or any other juice drinks that make said toddler car sick.  On the road again!

     And so the miles go ever on. Past lakes, hills, flat fields with perfectly plowed rows that look like green rays of sunshine springing past my window, pastures of little yellow flowers with grazing cows, toll booths (Yes we're in Oklahoma now!), small towns, and road signs providing the boys with an opportunity to engage in a battle of the old standby “Alphabet Game”.

     Our phone is no longer picking up a signal, so we've switched to the regular car radio. Which, surprisingly, is picking up a nice Christian station playing older style hymns that are both soothing and relaxing. Who knows how long until the station fades, but we will enjoy it while it lasts. The boys are on letter Q in their game. They might be stuck for a while!

     But that's OK, because if I were going to be stuck somewhere, I couldn't think of anywhere I'd rather be than in this van with my family. We are together, and that is always a good thing. Moments like this I know I will miss the most when my children are grown. My mother's heart will always wish they were in that backseat calling out letters and asking, “When's the next stop?”, “Can I have a drink now?” and “Are we there yet?” Yes, I think to myself. I'm already there. Right where I want to be. Right beside the man who looks over every now and then and smiles at me that smile that says he's thinking the same thing.

      With my feet propped up on the dash and my seat leaned back on the way home I sit and think, "This is really what love is." as my husband reaches over across the distance between our two van seats and still holds my hand after twelve years of marriage. With his Pandora working again as we get closer to home, he sings love songs to me while I sleep on and off between stops. I'm tired. He's tired. The kids are tired. It's been a long trip, but a good one. It's a good kind of tired. It's a road trip kind of tired. We're almost home. I'm already there. I'll always be there when home is wherever these people I love the most are.

Not Photoshopped-Beauty Redefined

     In my last post, I mentioned that it would probably be one of the most personal subjects that I would ever share, and yet here I go getting ready to share another blog about an issue that is extremely personal for me. Today, I want to talk about body image. And possibly give you a few ideas on how women everywhere can think more positively about themselves at any size or any age. It's what I call beauty redefined and definitely not photoshopped!
     Most of my childhood I was know as "chubby" and other words that I'd rather not share. Now, I look back at some of those younger photos of myself and realize that I let other people's opinion negatively affect my thinking and feelings about my body and self worth. I will admit that it is still a challenge for me today to accept who I am, and most importantly, to see that I am so much more than a number on a scale, or a dress size printed on a label.
     For a long time I was embarrassed to be in a photo of any kind. I would crop my photos so that less of what I didn't like about myself would be showing. I wanted to just throw some photos away! My husband would assure me over and over that he thinks I'm beautiful just the way I am, but I couldn't bring myself to believe him. Finally, after the birth of our second child, I decided enough was enough. I spent two long years losing sixty pounds. I was elated! I told myself that whatever it took, I would never gain it back again!
     Sometimes I would exercise three hours a day trying to maintain that weight. I would skip meals, I would do anything to stay thin. The strangest thing of all is when people would say how good I looked, I still wouldn't believe them! I still thought of myself as "fat". Whenever I would share my weight loss story, I would feel like I was lying. It was then that I knew that no amount of weight loss would make me feel beautiful.
     I started to see for the first time that no matter what number showed up on the scale, I was the same person on the inside. I had the same dreams, the same values. My body had changed, but I hadn't! I noticed that some people began to treat me differently, was more accepting of me, maybe even more supportive of me, and while it felt nice in one way, it also hurt a little to think that some people cared more about what I looked like on the outside, than who I really was on the inside. I realized I wanted to be accepted, loved, and appreciated, for far more than whether I wore a size 8 or an 18.
     Fast forward two more children later, and I weigh more than I did before I lost those sixty pounds in what feels like decades ago. Do I want to lose weight again? Yes, because I know that it was a doctor set healthy weight for me to be at. Do I want to take extreme measures to get or stay there? No! The point I am trying to make here is not whether it is healthy to be overweight, it is about the idea that losing the weight makes you a better person, or even a more beautiful person. In my opinion, after being both thin and overweight, it does not.
     I wish women everywhere would learn to see themselves the way the people who love them most see them. One day as I was thinking about this topic, I asked myself, have I ever treated, or even thought of, a person who was overweight like less of a person? The answer for me was no. I see beauty in smiles, in hugs, and in laughter. I see beauty in gray hair and wrinkles. I see beauty in freckles, beauty marks, and even scars. I see beauty in a person's ideas, vision, and creativity. I see beauty in a person's intelligence and personality. I have never stopped loving or admiring someone because they were overweight.
     I also think of it as the weeds vs. flowers syndrome. When a child sees a handful of weeds, he will often pick them and bring them to his mother. She lovingly accepts his gift of "flowers" and to her they really are the most beautiful flowers in the world. We have trained our mind to see beauty in whatever form is acceptable to society, when there are many different kinds of beauty.
     When I look into the mirror the flaws are still there. I still have a crooked nose, and freckles, and right now, an overweight body, but it doesn't mean I shouldn't believe my husband and children when they say I am beautiful. To them, I am. It can be such a wonderful thing to let go and just say "Thank you!" instead of "No way!" when someone gives you a compliment.
    A couple of years ago, a friend of mine had a friend of hers share some pictures she had taken for her thirtieth birthday. She looked great, and I decided it was a neat idea to celebrate a milestone birthday. I was determined to lose weight again by my thirtieth birthday. Needless to say time got away and it did not happen. Something else happened instead. I am slowly but surely learning to accept who I am and where I am right now. I even decided to be "brave" and share a photo of myself that has not been photoshopped and has not been cropped. I am me, and the people who know me best, and love me best, are the ones who love me for who I am, not for who they think I should be.
      So now it's up to you! Do you dare take the challenge? Take a minute to go look into the mirror, and yes, smile. Think of at least one thing that you like about yourself. It doesn't even have to be anything physical. It can be your ability to give, or how nice you treat your friends, etc. Don't wait until you are "the ideal weight" to have fun, shop for new clothes, or take a family photo. Do it now! Because you already are a beautiful person!
   
   
   
   
   

I Married a Man With ADD!

     This is probably one of the most personal posts I will ever write, but since this blog is about sharing the seasons in a Mom's heart, I figured I should go all the way back to the beginning of my story. It all starts with the man I chose to marry. I have known my husband all of my life. Our families were friends since way back when. There is not very much about my life, childhood, or family that he doesn't know, and that statement works both ways. With that said, I really thought I knew my husband on the day I said, "I do." Boy, how much I really had to learn and am still learning after twelve years of marriage!
     One of the hardest things for me to accept about my husband is the fact that he has ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder). A person diagnosed with ADD has a hard time concentrating, and staying focused. They may find themselves constantly late, forgetful, disorganized, and overwhelmed with responsibilities. To compound the problem others often verbalize to the Add child at school, or to the ADD adult at work, that they are lazy, a trouble maker, a dreamer, a goof-off, and various other labels, which in turn causes the person with ADD to feel like a failure.
     The truth is, ADD people function more with the right side of their brain, which controls creativity, emotions, and "The big picture." Which means they have a very hard time focusing on details. They can't see the trees for the woods, instead of thinking like left brained people, who can't see the woods for the trees. Typical left brained individuals are detail and goal oriented and are better able to focus and multitask. The ADD condition also causes them to easily become bored, and makes them pace, fidget, or finger tap. This boredom also partly explains why people with ADD constantly switch job occupations, or move often from place to place. ADD sufferers start a sentence and then cannot remember what they were going to say. Their brain is often running in circles, or in several different directions at the same time.
     Yes, I knew before I married him that my husband had been diagnosed as a child with ADD, and he was always honest that it still affected him in his every day life, but at the time I assumed it was merely something he could "work on" in the future. Something he could change. Worst case scenarios in my mind were him losing his keys and eye glasses every day. Which does still happen quite often, by the way. But what I've really learned is that it has nothing to do with willpower. The ADD person will always have ADD.
     Yes, they can, and he does, do things to improve his focus. He prints schedules and usually follows them, but what truly makes him, well..so him, is already a part of who he is. His talent and creativity, his outgoing personality, his passion, and depth of feelings for the "underdog". It is hardwired in his brain. My husband doesn't need me to change him, or require him to become someone he is not, nor will he ever be. What he needs is grace. And what I really need is understanding, patience, and a sense of humor. It isn't always easy, but I have to remind myself, that I have my own personality, that he has to learn to love and live with too. And in the end, who am I to say that being left brained is better than being right brained. It is not better. It is just different. It is just easier to be left brained because we live in a left brained society.
     It took me many years to come to these conclusions. I remember the day, and it was not so many years ago, that reality hit hard, but it was also an aha moment. I found a book at a thrift store about marriage and ADD. I bought it and took it home, and never regretted it. As I read the book I wanted to laugh and cry with relief. I wasn't alone! We weren't alone! My husband was a "normal" person, acting like a "normal" person who has ADD. And I was a completely "normal" spouse who had feelings from time to time, actually a lot of the time, of disappointment, frustration, and sometimes hurt. After accepting the facts, communication and forgiveness could then take place.
     Am I still sometimes frustrated, disappointed, or hurt? Yes. Does my husband still display all the symptoms of ADD? Yes! But now I am able to understand the why of it all, and overcome it. My husband having ADD does not affect how much I love my husband, or his ability to give or receive love back. And at the end of the day, isn't every marriage a learning process? A process of giving and receiving? A process of grace and growth?
     I am even able to look back with clarity, and even cherish, a moment when we first began to date that had confused me before. Thirteen years ago, one September day, my new boyfriend looked over at me, and gently told me how much he loved being around me, because of how calm I made him feel. Calm? I wondered what that meant. I expected him to say how happy or excited I made him feel, not calm. Today, I realize that he paid me the greatest compliment a person with ADD can give. Our life together, our marriage together, has been anything but calm. But to my husband, I am a calm in the middle of his storm, and there's no where else on earth I'd rather be.
   
   
   

Thanksgiving In East Texas

     In our family Thanksgiving is a holiday where the focus is on family, food, and of course, giving thanks. But then, we're from the South, where hospitality is tantamount to existing. More directly, my husband, and his family are from Texas, the friendly state. Our Thanksgiving platter is full of comfort food and warm fuzzy feelings, wrapped in autumn chill one afternoon, while throwing off the covers with a blazing 72 degrees the next.
     This year, we spent Thanksgiving day at my husband's grandmother's house. The turkey was perfect, the dressing moist, and the pumpkin pie superb, along with a smorgasbord of other tasty desserts, such as my sister-in-law's delicious loaf of pumpkin bread. All of the food was wonderful but nothing beats the cheese ball appetizer. I would be willing to give up dinner and dessert for extra helpings of cheese ball.
     The dinner was all lovingly prepared by my mother-in-law, sister-in-laws, my husband's aunts, and his grandmother. Most years, I pitch in by making pumpkin pies, but since we were traveling this year to get there, I simply got to enjoy the splendid spread they prepared. The food, especially the pies, are planned, prepped, and sometimes prepared and stored, days in advance, except for the turkey, which always fills the house with aromatic smells all morning long.
     The children spent the morning out playing on the swing, and running around the backyard, while the guys sat around at the picnic table and on lawn chairs talking and laughing, passing the time watching the children and grandchildren's antics. I used this opportunity to take out my camera and catch some natural poses of my seldom seen nieces and nephews who were also there for the holidays. I even got to see my newest little nephew who is only three months old. I am reminded of just how much we have to be thankful for this year as I snap pictures of their adorable faces, and energetic spirit.
     The feasting was followed by the desserts mentioned earlier, as well as the homemade butter pecan ice cream made by my brother-in-law. Eaten along with the pumpkin pie, I imagined it tasted like something off one of those gourmet cooking shows. It was in my own words, "Yummy!" indeed. The food was yummy, the family time was yummy, the beautiful autumn day was yummy.
     As the day was winding down, I continued to take photos, even managing to talk my husband into getting into the picture while my sister-in-law used my camera. Grandma, my mother-in-law, and several of the aunts went out to decorate Grandpa's grave for the holidays. This was the family's first major holiday since he'd gone home. We missed him this year at Thanksgiving. My mother-in-law reminded me that it was one of his favorite holidays.
     It was getting dark when I headed out for an hour long ride with my mother-in-law, and sister-in-law, to the hospital to visit another sister-in-law and bring her a Thanksgiving dinner on a foam plate wrapped in foil. In about six weeks it will be worth all the wait when we have yet another reason to be thankful, a new niece. And so, that is how a southerner spends a Thanksgiving Day in East Texas, with many warm thoughts of the past, many cherished moments of today, and hope for an abundant future, missing those who are here only in our hearts, while welcoming new family members just arrived, and almost arrived, with open arms, and a truly thankful heart.