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Perfect Saturday

Today has been one of those really great days that is extremely full of doing absolutely nothing. Or what some would call, “The Perfect Saturday.”

I have been home from school since Wednesday after I caught what is going around amongst all of my co-workers, classmates, and children I counsel. You can’t wash your hands enough to fight those kind of odds. So at 3:30am Wednesday, as I downed some cough medicine, I made the executive decision that I was calling in sick. I haven’t done that in all of my history of internships (which is extensive), so my guilt was minimal. In that moment I came up with a plan and after about 2 seconds of deliberation, I decided to implement it and bump up my trip home and go to my doctor here. You just never know about those university health centers. Plus our family physician is one of those who does not shy away from antibiotics “just in case” even if it’s probably viral. He is a friend, indeed.

So, I came home on Wednesday and nothing is basically what I have been doing the whole time. It has been nice to catch up on sleep and hang out with Mama and Daddy and last night I did venture out with my dear friend Marsha and her crew to an open mic night at one of the new coffee shops in town. It was a lovely evening

Tomorrow I will head back and gear up for another week of work and class. While the thought of getting back to real life saddens me, I am excited because tomorrow night I am meeting with my new small group for a little mexican fiesta. I am so excited about my new little group. They all seem like great girls, and I can’t wait to get to know more about them. And nothing goes better with bonding than chips and salsa. I’m pretty sure that’s in the Bible somewhere.

Let’s try this again, shall we?

When I started my first little stint in blogging back in 2005, I didn’t tell anyone about it. I was inspired to do it by my fellow camp counselors at the camp where I was working, and they were my only readers. Looking back now, I wish I had continued with it. I had some pretty great experiences during that summer and when I read back now, it’s cool to see what I was thinking and how much diet coke one person can consume during one summer. It’s not a big shock to me that I didn’t keep up with it because sometimes I like to start things and never finish. It’s how I roll.

Then, somehow or another, I got sucked into the blog world again and started getting hooked on reading about the lives of a bunch of people I did not know. Many of these blogs were by women (many who were mamas–which I am not yet), and I found them to be smart, funny, inspiring, honest, and did I mention funny? Yet, because I found this to be an odd hobby (following the lives of fun and funny strangers), I did not really share this with those whom I love dearly, nor did I share with others that one day I got a wild hair and started up my own blog again. At that time, I was starting graduate school in a new town with lots of new people and experiences. Perfect blog material one might say. I decided to write for a little while and see how it went before telling my dear people about it. And lo and behold, despite some very fun, cool, sad, inspiring, random, and interesting experiences, the blog became silent once again.

But alas! I am going for it once again! I can’t shake this feeling that God is up to something big in my life and I want to write it all down so that I can surprise myself later with all the lessons I have learned and my ability to actually finish something. I feel like He is wanting me to write it all down and apparently all the beautiful (and empty) journals on my nightstand aren’t cutting it.

And I think I will tell my people this time.  

It’s sweet being the girl of his dreams

So getting settled back into Gradville and working through all the emotions that come along with that, I have barely had time to miss my little guys. That is probably a good thing because it is hard knowing I can’t see them any time I want—-and that sadness could totally mess up my schedule of procrastinating and worrying about my future.  Not to mention the fact that they grow at an immeasurable rate, and the next time I see them they will probably be getting ready to go off to college. Unless of course I go home next weekend, which I probably will. If that plan comes together, I am happy to report they will still be 1 and 4.

But in the spirit of wanting my heart to explode, Ashley sent me this email the other day. As you read it, you will see why it really made my week all the while testing my self-control as I fought not to get in my car and drive home immediately.

******************************

 W must have been dreaming about you, because at
5:30 this morning he started calling out for
“Jenn-Jenn!!!!” He even started clapping his hands for
you to come to him and kept saying your name. I was
cracking up!!

I went in his room and told him Mommy was here. He
said, “Jenn-Jenn at home???” I told him yes and he
said, “I want Jenn-Jenn”. I told him maybe we would
see Jenn-Jenn soon.

So in case you thought we had all forgotten about
you…..No chance of that happening. You are truly
loved!!!!

******************************

Precious.

Currently

I am happy.

I am confused.

I am inspired.

I am scared.

I am trusting in something Greater than myself to guide my fears and bring me through.

I want to help people for the rest of my life.

I am just not sure in what way my help will best be distributed.

I am worried about money.

I am content in knowing I don’t have to worry.

I am aware that obedience with money and being frugal are essential in, you know, being able to buy food in the future.

I want a job that pays well.

I am afraid I will never really have that.

I also want to one day quit that well-paying job I may never have to raise the children I will one day have with the husband I will one day have.

I basically have nothing figured out at this point.

But! I know I’m not supposed to and I OWN WHAT I DON’T KNOW.

I definitely don’t know what the future holds.

I know Who holds the future.

I know the last time you heard that cliche you fell off your dinosaur.

I am thankful.

I am blessed and thankful.

Oh yeah, and I’m thankful.

I WILL enjoy my final year in graduate school.

I will try really hard to try really hard.

I cannot promise to watch TV less.

I can promise to pray more.

And listen  to God A LOT more.

Somedays I know I’ll pray and listen and some days I will get caught up in my feelings and how I want my life to turn out.

Hopefully at the end of those OTHER days, I will remember that it’s not about me.

It’s not about the money.

It’s not about being comfortable with my current abilities.

It’s more about striving to figure out what I was born for…and realizing that that could be many different things over a long period of time.

It’s up to me to be content in each season.

It’s up to me to be the person I was made to be and who most of the time I actually like.

Until I start being the person that the fears and worries and insecurities tell me I am.

I’ll continue to laugh a really great amount and do it loudly.

I will continue to drink Diet Coke.

It is delicious and I heart you forever DC.

I love so much about this crazy life with these crazy yet lovable people.

I have a lot to give.

I can’t wait to give it all.

TGIF

I have been keeping the boys all this week. 8am-6pm.

It has been fun. It has been brutal. It has been an educational experience on many levels. Let’s just say, I had huge amounts of respect for stay-at-home-mamas before this, and it increased by leaps and bounds starting about 2 or 3 hours into Day One and continuing to multiply the remaining one million hours I was there.

Today we were running a few errands aka ESCAPING THE HOUSE before it closed in on us, when B summed up exactly how I feel as this long week comes to a close.

“Miss Jenna?”

“Yes, baby?”

“Um, my breath is tired”

(smiling at the cuteness) “Do what now? Your breath?”

 

“Yes. And, Miss Jenna?”

“Yes?”

“My feet are out of gas.”

And then I realized that being a stay-at-home-kid this week had worn B out as well. I know what you mean, buddy, I know what you mean.  

The only beach on earth

The other day, whilst helping my bff Lindsay with her classroom, I met a cute pregnant gal who basically saved Lin from a meltdown of epic proportion. My dear friend is going to be teaching kindergarten this year (not to mention making her teaching debut) and needless to say the STRESS LEVEL HAS BEEN ELEVATED A BIT. And while Lin truly feels that she is doing what God has planned for her and that everything is going to be fine, walking into a blank room filled with boxes upon boxes of kindergarten paraphernalia (that unfortunately does not include directions on where it goes, what it’s for, and when it should be used) can be a little overwhelming.

Especially when you employ your best friend to help you, and it turns out that her only knowledge of anything having to do with Kindergarten stems from the year she attended. In which her only real memory is the day she threw up and got to go home early.

Enter cute and pregnant Allison, the Teacher Extraordinaire who came in and saved the day. She knew the answers to important things like what exactly Lin needed to buy, how to set up the room, and how to use the laminator which we lovingly named, The Death Trap for Cute Decor. Allison was the perfect balance of giving helpful advice and direction while also letting Lin decide how she wanted things to be.

Now the point of this story actually has nothing to do with Lin and her classroom, which is now so cute there is sugar dripping off the walls.

While eating lunch that day, there were a few moments where the conversation drifted from bulletin boards, centers, and Kindergarten curriculum to important things like, say, the beach. Allison was telling us about how she and her husband had just gotten back from the Panama City. Apparently, her husband and his family had been going to the same place for over 20-something years and to them there was just No Other Beach. I mean, gah. She told us this while rolling her eyes, and we laughed and rolled our eyes too because me and Lin are all about fitting in with cute pregnant teachers.

But, about mid-roll, I realized a couple things. 1) If my mother were there she would definitely have made a comment about my eyes getting stuck, and 2) oh, the hypocrisy at work.

Our family has been going on a beach trip every year to the same beach since my brother and I were just wee little tots. And while I know, logically and geographically, there are, of course, other beaches in the world, a summer is just not a summer until I have laid on the sandy shores of St. Augustine, FL. Alas, there is just No Other Beach to us.

So, all of that to say, I just returned home from No Other Beach, and it was the picture of a perfect va-cay. I would generally use these next paragraphs to go into detail about all the fun activities, cool new restaurants, etc, but it is hard to form paragraphs when the extent of our stay read something like this:

We woke up. We went to the beach. We had lunch. Back to the beach. We had supper. Bed time. (Add in lots of good time and good laughs with a lot of really good people). And repeat.

Like I said. Seriously perfect.

Tales from the crib

I just got home a little bit ago from hanging out with My Boys. Spending time with them always proves to show me the full range of my emotions. And how many of them I can actually emote within a 5 minute span.

Let’s just say the boys are almost 2 and almost 5 and they are really good at it. Their mama and I have said it once, and we’ll say it again…they are lucky they are the cutest children who have ever lived.

The other day W was sitting at the table eating a little snack and decided that it would the most fun ever to throw his food onto the floor. I lovingly reminded him, “Buddy, we eat our food, and we don’t throw food on the floor.” I mean sure you look like a little curly, blonde-haired angel dropped straight from Heaven with cuteness for days.

But we have rules, man.

So, he was clearly informed that if he threw it down again, he was going to go to the time-out chair. Well, shock of all shocks, he threw it down again. Despite the fact that he cocked his head to the side and let loose a smile that stretched from ear to ear (his signature “I know that was wrong, but look how adorable I am” move), off we went to time-out. Oh the tears and drama as I walked away and told him to stay put because he was in trouble.

We follow directions around here, mister.

Then my heart crumbled into a million pieces as he just sat there. Bottom lip quivering. A single tear rolling down his face. The yells of “sa-wee, Nen Nen, sa-wee!” rang out as I walked around the corner to take the clothes out of the dryer.

As I unloaded, I wondered if I should have just let it slide. It’s just food on the floor for crying out loud. He probably would have gotten down on all fours like a puppy dog and eaten it all up if I had suggested the idea. Where do I draw the line between being the crazy babysitter who is fun and silly—-singing “Home on the Range” in a british accent and dancing in the kitchen—-to the diciplinarian who wants to make sure they mind me on the little things. That way, when the big things like crossing the street come along they don’t get squished like a bug, as B would say.

I kept battling my conscience, feeling terrible that I had hurt the little man’s feelings. I just knew he was around the corner crying. Probably wondering where is Jen Jen? why did she leave me? doesn’t she love me? About that time, I realized that I actually heard no crying at all.

I came around the corner to find him sitting his the time-out rocking chair. Reading a magazine.

He was real torn up about the whole thing, really.

The Popster

He lived to be 93 years old. I think I always realized that living that long was amazing, but when you spend 20 years worth of birthdays, holidays, and everydays with a person, you really don’t think all that much about how old he is. All those years I was concerned with issues such as whether or not he was going to look over at me with his little crooked smile and point to the fridgerator where they kept the ice cream sandwiches.

The code for: Go get you a treat, Babe.

Or how funny it was that everytime we ever gathered to eat a meal, my grandmother would fix his plate full of the phenomenon that is southern cooking, and he would just hang his head as he proceeded to tell her that he “DIDN’T NEED ALL THAT FOOD, MOTHER.” And then he’d eat the whole plate. And be looking for dessert shortly thereafter.

Yes, the man was a lover of all things sweet, and he asked for a diet coke on his death bed. I’m telling you, he was a man of my own heart.

So no, I didn’t think about his age all that much. I just knew he was my daddy’s daddy, and that he had no greater joy than that of experiencing life with his son’s son and daughter.

Pop was consistent, calm, and content—-in his life, his beliefs, and his faith. He had funny little phrases and a wagon full of chracteristic little quirks about him that you could always count on. He was so full of subtle, stable love and humor that when I think about him now my heart could just sprout little wings and fly right up to Heaven.

Whenever anyone in our family saw Pop, he always started the encounter with the same quick and precious greeting. “Hey, Babe,” he would say all cute and sweet. Even when he was in the hospital the weeks before he died and was barely saying much, he busted out the famous heybabe as I walked up to his bedside during an visit one evening. I will never forget that. It just somehow summed up everything I loved about him.

The Popster, as we affectionately called him from time to time, didn’t live the fast pace existence of today—-where every moment has a tendancy to be scheduled, including church and family.

To him, those aspects of life were always put first. To him, those aspects of life were like breathing. Life didn’t mean anything without them.

He ate three home-cooked meals a day, most prepared by his devoted and fiery bride of 61 years (although he had a way in the kitchen and made the best pecan pie as well as mean egg sandwich). He had one phone line and it was plugged into the wall. The most technological he ever got was a battery operated clock I gave him one Christmas. Amazingly, it also told the temperature in the room AND doubled as a flashlight. We had to finally just settle on realizing that we would NEVER be able to know HOW THEY DID THAT. Each time I came over after he recieved the Best Gift Ever, he always made some comment about it, sometimes handing it to me to fix because he had pushed a wrong button or because the time was slightly off.

It was like our thing.

After he died, it was really important to me to make sure that silly old clock stayed with me. I keep it in a safe place now, and when I look at it, I am reminded that while his time here on earth has stopped, his 93 year-old body has been exhanged for a timeless one. But I’ll bet his eyes still have that signature twinkle.

No, he didn’t live in the same crazy world that I do, but he loved the same God. He put first the most important gifts that God gives us, and his faith is one that will forever inspire and calmly remind me of the definition of true devotion.

Happy Birthday, Pop. I love you.

Taking the long way around

I am currently road-trippin which has been more fun than a show dog could jump over. I drove back to Gradville on Thursday, and then went with Meg on a 12 hour (round trip) journey to North Carolina to pick up her new puppy, Laila. It was quite the adventure complete with lots of laughs, singing, and conversation about important world news like Isaiah Washington getting fired from Grey’s.

I didn’t realize when we began our trek that we would be driving towards what I now refer to as “WHY? HOW? WHY?, 2007.” The foster parent to the puppy had, and I kid you not my friends, 20+ dogs running around in and out of her house. I have never in all my years seen that many dogs in one designated area. I knew we were in trouble when we got out of the car and a parade of pups ran toward us like we had marinated our clothes in beef flavoring the night before. I think if you lined up all the dogs head to tail they could have stretched the distance from the Carolinas to Georgia. Once we got inside, Viv (the self-proclaimed ‘Critter Sitter’) told me I was welcome to have a seat. On the couch. Where 3 dogs (2 of which I had seen just rolling in the dirt and one whom I noticed had mange-like characteristics) were already stretched out.

Um, I’m fine really. Cue awkward laugh.

And in all seriousness, Crazy Dog-lovin Viv was as sweet as she could possibly be. She even offered me an ice-cold liquid refreshment in the form of a Diet Coke. In addition to that, she named the litter of puppies, from which sweet Laila came, after contestants on this season’s Dancing With The Stars. Hence siblings Joey, Apollo, and Cheryl. The sweet meter continues to rise as one realizes that she is obviously a great humanitarian–rescuing these canines and finding people to adopt them. Unfortunately, the only thing going through my mind was NO MA’AM. TOO MANY DOGS IN TOO SMALL AN AREA. MUST RETREAT.

So, Meg and I stole WHY? HOW? WHY? glances at each other until we were on the road again, puppy in tow. As we pulled away trying not to touch anything until we could GET TO THE NEAREST GAS STATION to wash our hands, I felt like things were beginning to look up. About that time, Laila realized riding in the car did not really agree with her and proceeded to toss her cookies.

Sign up now to go with us on our next road trip, folks!

Today has been much more low key and has involved much less canine craziness. And by less, I mean none. I have been home alone in my lovely apartment, and in true 07/07/07 good fortune, I awoke just in time to catch the first episode of an America’s Next Top Model marathon. Which I proceeded to lay and bed and watch for the rest of the day. Tomorrow I will depart for the 2nd leg of my road trip, as I am off to visit my dear and precious best friend, Lindsay. Homegirl is starting her first year of teaching in August, and my services are currently needed for important matters such as cutting, creating, and coloring. We may even sneak in a mini road trip ourselves to go see Bri and her new house.

Oh, be still my heart at the all the memories being made