I am a very cautious person by nature. I consider all the options before plunging into big purchases and job changes. It is one of my qualities that drove my ex-husband absolutely insane. “Why can’t you just make a decision without thinking it through to the nth degree?” he would yell, followed by him muttering and shaking his head. I would just usually shriek back that it just was who I was, and to stop interrupting my google searches. This highly effective method of communication is probably one of the reasons we are not married anymore. But me protesting that being a turtle when it came down to moving forward on things was due to it” being my nature” was only partly true. The bigger reason is fear. Fear of making a bad decision, and the catastrophic consequences and humiliation that often accompanies the wrong choices. I wasn’t a turtle, more like a big chicken.
God has a HUGE sense of humor, I am convinced of that. Last night I spoke before a group of single parents at my church and was part of a panel in which they could ask questions about dating, kids, etc… My friend Misty had obviously mistaken me for someone who has her act together and invited me to speak. What was I thinking??? One of the first questions that came up was where can you meet other Christians to date. Have you ever seen the look on a squirrel’s furry little face when it is in the middle of the road staring at the grill of your car? That was the exact look I had on my face as they handed the microphone to ME to answer this question.
I woke up this morning and rolled over to find a familiar face lying next to me. No, sadly it wasn’t George Clooney, it was my old friend, lonely. He stops in to visit every once in a while, often unannounced and rarely at a convenient time. I really can’t say I am happy to see him, but there he was when I opened my eyes. I yanked the covers back over to my side of the bed and growled at him to not to get too comfortable. I haven’t forgotten my southern manners, rather I have learned over the years to not make him feel welcome, or he will hang around like a lazy house cat for days.
I spent the weekend taking care of my two nephews, ages 1 and 4, while my brother and sister-in-law took a much needed vacation to Mexico. I tagged in after my parents stayed with the boys for four days, and they laughed through tired eyes as they kissed us goodbye and wished me luck. It has been a while since I have been a full-time caretaker for two little people and I am woefully out of shape! Thankfully my ten year old also came along for the fun and the six hour car ride. Summer has the luxury of time for us to pick up and go versus the regiments of the school year, where each day is jam packed and scheduled up the ying-yang with to do lists and appointments. But this weekend was a different kind of busy. I didn’t even know what day it was, because they all just rolled one into the next.
I was walking Archie the other day with my friend Kathy who has teenagers as well. We were laughing at how seemingly insane they are, swinging from one extreme to the next, like some emotionally unbalanced Tarzan. I look at my younger son, who still wants to hold my hand and laughs at my jokes, and sigh as I realize that I will soon become the enemy to his teenage mind too. My sister in laws also have boys, ages 4,2, and1, so there’s a whole lot of testosterone going on in this family! In exhausted voices, they relay stories of temper tantrums, head to toe body painting with toothpaste, and pencil picassos on freshly painted walls. I smile as I hear these stories, remembering those days with my boys. They always look at me, with dark circles under their eyes and hopeful faces to ask, “It gets easier doesn’t it?”
I follow politics to be an informed voter, and I recognize that most politicians fall into the same category as actors and circus performers, artists who put on a show to surprise and amaze a captive audience. The political pundits who orbit this three-ring world often strike me as carnival barkers or at times, side show freaks. Case in point is Ann Coulter. I heard Chelsea Handler describe her, spot on, as always looking as if she stepped out of a Robert Palmer video right down to the 80s- black cocktail dress, long blonde hair and a look of smug boredom on her face. Ann is an equal opportunity instigator, insulting everyone from the 9/11 widows to more recently, single mothers. And if you have an ounce of common sense, you know that mamas are the wrong group of women to pick on.
We had a visiting professor of theology speaking at our church yesterday, and it wasn’t nearly as boring as it sounds. In fact, it was fascinating. He was concluding a two part series on what he called the Jesus Creed. He told stories of how by caring for those who society deems unlovable and broken beyond repair, we are following Jesus. It basically boils down to loving God and loving others. Period. No dietary restrictions, prayer recitations or tithing. I like when you can strip away all the “packaging” of religion and reveal the simple truth that is left. There is nothing to earn or try to be good enough for, just love.
Today is the fourth of July, celebrating our country’s independence from tyranny and unfair taxation, which some may say we are still fighting! Holidays like today are bittersweet when I don’t have my boys with me. I hugged Eric goodbye yesterday as I dropped him off for the weekend with his dad and brother. Right after I love yous, I always say the same thing, be safe and come home soon.
It’s always amazing to me that when I run into someone I haven’t seen for a while, we can pick up the threads of conversation like a few minutes had passed instead of several years. An old friend, who use to live a few doors down, crossed paths with me last night at our pool. Karen was in town for a couple of days with her 3 beautiful kids and we had a few moments to catch up on the several years since she had moved away to Florida and then Arkansas. She had me crying and laughing within ten minutes.
I saw that saying on a bumper sticker on my friend Helen’s car the other day. I inherited a big dog a few summers back, after Kirby, our 14 year old pound puppy died. Archie is an Old English Sheepdog, with one brown eye and one blue eye. He is a furry pain in the butt, but we love him madly. He herds the kids up the stairs, lets my nephews lay on him like a fuzzy rug and rarely barks. I walk him in the morning and the evenings, when it’s just slightly cooler than 100 degrees, and have noticed a trend related to the bumper sticker in our neighborhood. It’s the little dogs with the biggest, meanest barks. I think this is called Napoleon syndrome.
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