SCRAMBLED PRAYERS

SCRAMBLED PRAYERS

I decided I’m going to start giving thanks more.  Since it’s summer and I don’t have to set my alarm in the morning, I figure lying in bed for a few minutes saying a prayer for my blessings is a great way to start my morning and it’s the least I can do.

However, my mind is so scrambled, I literally can’t concentrate for longer than 15 seconds on prayers.  They go something like this:

Dear Lord, thank you so much for my wonderful soft, bed and my heavenly pillow, and my soft covers.  Thank you for my beautiful bedroom.  Ok, let’s see.  What else?  I really don’t need to lie in bed long. Wastes half the day.  What do I have to do when I go downstairs?  First thing, deal with the stupid cat.  Bugs me to death meowing to come in before I have my coffee.  God, why can’t my husband let her in?  Darn him.  I just said ‘darn’ in my prayer.  God, please forgive me of my sins. Then she wants to be let out of the laundry room after five minutes and go out again.  Why can’t she go straight outside, God?  My hot coffee is waiting and she wants to roll around on the rug first and stretch and all?  She can do that crap outside.

Lord, thank you for the summer time and our trip to the lake.  The kids had so much fun.  Thank you for not letting them get concussions riding on that tube— especially their friends that came with us.  I wonder if the cat came home all weekend. Thank you, Lord, that cats are so easy.  Please don’t let that stupid animal have gotten run over by a car.  We were only gone three days.  Been gone a lot longer than that.  Thank you, God, that the cat stays outside.  If she stands on a curb, I wonder if she’s stupid enough to start racing across the street right when a car comes.  If she got hit, I wonder if you could save her.  I guess not if she hit the tire face first.  But what if when she got right to the car, and stuck her foot out in front of her to stop quick and change directions?  The car would just run over her foot.  I wonder if the vet has ever had to cut off a cat’s foot.  I wonder if they know what to use to do something like that.  I wonder if they know where to cut it off?  Would they cut it off above her cat-elbow or below?  If below, she’d probably try to use it to walk and just end up with a bloody stump.

Oh my Gosh!  I’m thinking about the cat getting a bloody stump.  God, what’s wrong with me?  I can’t concentrate for 15 seconds.  This CANNOT be normal.  

Thank you, God, for answering my prayers and giving me something to write about today.  You have a great sense of humor.

Amen

KINDERGARTEN TEACHERS WATCH THEIR GARDENS GROW

My short essay was published in the Memphis newspaper in September.  Thought I'd share it!

Kindergarten Teachers Watch their Gardens Grow

By this time of year, students of all ages are settling into a routine at school.  Kindergartners, especially, have gone through major changes in the last few months. And so have their parents. They are glad their 5-year-olds are ready for some independence but reluctant to let go of leisurely time spent sculpting play-doh and aligning army men in the sandbox.

When I had babies and toddlers, some days seemed to pass at a sluggish pace.  It was an endless cycle of messy high chairs, exploding diapers, and horrific fits at the grocery store.  And sometimes it was the kids who threw fits.  To me, kindergarten may as well have been the prom because they both seemed so far away I could scarcely imagine it.  But as inevitable as kids learning to talk and then to talk back, the time for kindergarten arrived.  On my son’s first day, I stooped at the door of his classroom to give him a kiss, relishing the thought that I might have a little more time to myself.

But a funny thing happened.  As he walked away and the flashing lights on his Batman tennis shoes became dimmer with each step, I realized I wasn’t ready to let him go.  I wasn’t ready to give him up to a teacher that he would be with more than me.  Moreover, I didn’t even know this woman I was handing my child off to.  I worried that she might get impatient because he usually ate his lunch slowly.  And sometimes he couldn’t remember the difference between a “b” and a “d.”

But my apprehensions were quickly soothed.  His teacher was a gentle, caring lady whose patience far-exceeded my own, and she made every child feel special.  Twelve years later she’s still at his school, plugging away, enlightening little minds on the tricks of telling time and counting money—and often pulling baby teeth after class.  There’s only one reason she spends year after year nurturing little ones—she loves it.

A kindergarten teacher is like a gardener who starts fresh every season with newly planted seeds. She enriches the soil with creativity, coaxes her seeds to bloom, and prunes with purpose.  She spends time on her knees, cultivating the blossoms who flourish in fertile soil and toiling with the ones who struggle among the rocks. 

Every year on the first day of school, a kindergarten teacher probably notices a little boy who meanders into her classroom looking as if he might cry.  She takes his tiny hand and feels his small fingers curve cautiously around hers.  More than likely it has been many years since that first boy walked into her classroom, and she knows from experience that a red popsicle usually cures the jitters. 

Like a gardener, she knows there’s promise in every seed, a remarkable story waiting to unfold.  She doesn’t know yet the particular qualities that make the little boy unique, but after some tears, crises and crumpled paper, she’ll figure it out as she always does.  She understands that some of her tiny shoots bloom easily, with all the colors of God’s rainbow, but some take longer, often spurred by patient appeals, Kool-aid, and a few cheesy Goldfish.

She plans projects and pow-wows, and every year she teaches her apprentices how to be gardeners themselves.  Scooping dirt with chubby fingers, they’ll carefully tuck bean seeds into white styrofoam cups and faithfully watch for little stems to appear.  Then she’ll explain how to step back and watch them grow, just as she lovingly steps back and watches her students grow.

They tip-toed through her garden gate as tots, peeking their heads through the door like sprouts through dirt, and they will seem to wave good-bye at the end of the year all grown up.  Velcro shoes will give way to carefully tied sneakers, and the stick people they used to draw will have fingers and clothes and cowboy hats.

She thinks of students she has nurtured through the years, adding by tens and learning shapes with sprinkles of humor and the fertilizer of praise.  They are now young ladies and men.  With her, they learned to make their letters—and years later, they’re learning to make a difference.

After ten months of tending, she’ll hug the same little boy who was so nervous the first day of school.  She’ll take his tiny hand on the last day and feel his fingers now curve comfortably around hers.  They will share an unspoken bond, and she’ll know that he takes a little piece of her with him as he leaves her garden.

If You're Thinking of Joining a Gym in the New Year....

If You’re Thinking of Joining a Gym in the New Year.....

Because the holiday rush and responsibilities have left my brain like mush, I have to resort to repeating funny things I’ve heard or read.  

In the spirit of New Year’s Resolutions, I am passing along a sort of top 10 list (really 11) of  “Rules of Conquering the Gym,” gleaned from a recent article in the Wall Street Journal by Jason Gay.  His article was originally titled, “The 27 Rules of Conquering the Gym,” but I am posting the best ones here.  B-T-Dubs:  # 8 is mine.....

        1.  A gym is not designed to make you feel instantly better about

             yourself.  If a gym wanted to make you feel instantly better 

             yourself, it would be a bar.

        2.  Give yourself a goal.  Maybe you want to lose 10 lbs.  Maybe you

             want to quarterback the New York Jets into the play-offs.  But

             be warned:  Losing 10 lbs. is hard.

        3.  No one is the history of gyms has ever lost a pound while reading

             “The New Yorker” and slowly pedaling a recumbent bicycle.  No

             one.

        4.  “Great job!” is trainer-speak for “It’s not polite for me to laugh at

              you.”

        5.  You can take 10 Minute Abs, 20 Minute Abs, and 30 Minute

              Abs.  There is also Stop Eating Pizza and Eating Sheet Cake Abs

              —but that’s super tough!

        6.  If a gym class is going to be effective, it’s hard.  If you’re relaxed

              and enjoying yourself, you’re at brunch.

        7.  Fancy gyms can be seductive; but once you get past the modern

              couches and fresh flowers and the water with lemon slices,

              you’re basically paying for a boutique hotel with B.O.

        8.  (This is mine):   My husband says there are old dudes who come

              to the gym, undress in the locker room, and sit on the couch and

              watch tv naked.  Regular guys, I would avoid sitting on the locker-

              room couches and touching the crotch-level sink counters where

              said old dudes lean into the mirror to trim their nose hairs. 

        9.  If you’re at the point where you’ve bought biking shoes for the

              spinning class, you may as well go ahead and buy an actual bike.

              It’s way more fun and it doesn’t make you listen to C+C Music

              Factory.

       10.  Fact:  Thinking about going to the gym burns between 0 and 0

              calories.

        11.  There is no secret.  Exercise and lay off the fries.  The end.

UP, UP, AND AWAY IN A MANGER

This is a re-post from last year.  It's a poem inspired by a picture of my son, at about 10 months old, sitting on Santa's lap.  He looked up at Santa as if he was wondering, "Who the heck are you?"  Then I started thinking about how very young children are probably confused about the whole Santa and Jesus thing.  Here's my interpretation of their confusion!

UP, UP, AND AWAY IN A MANGER

Mommy brought me in with her

    To say hello to you.

But I’m not sure about this , Sir,

    “Just what is it you do?”

Mommy said you were born on Christmas day

    And you fly with reindeer too,

Bringing gift to girls and boys

    Like the Wisemen brought to you.

Daddy said to ask you for things I want

    And not be naughty, but nice,

And remember to thank you for all you brought

    When I pray and close my eyes.

Sir, I’m not sure what it is you do,

    But Mommy always talks to you.

Mom and Dad believe in you 

    And they said that I should too.

So, Sir, put in your sleigh some trucks and trains

    When from Bethlehem you come.

Dad knows you can do ANYTHING —

    ‘Cause you brought ME to him and mom.

You'll be touched by this new video called "Blessings" from Laura Story

You'll LOVE this new video by Laura Story.  It's especially for those who have gone through hard times.  Have YOU gone through times like that?  Let me know. 


"What if your blessings come through raindrops?
What if your healing comes through tears?
What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You're near?
What if trials of this life are......mercies in disguise?"


Let me know if you can't access this on your computer.  

Santa replaced by his 3rd Cousin, Bubba Claus

Please visit Judy's website http://thesouthernladycooks.com/more-southern-things/ for a hilarious story about Santa Claus being replaced in the South by Santa's 3rd cousin, Bubba Claus.  Only TRUE Southerners will appreciate this.     Her whole website is great, but this is fantastic.

New Southern Santa

A new contract for Santa has finally been negotiated.
Please read the following carefully.

I regret to inform you that, effective immediately, I will no longer be able to serve Southern United States on Christmas Eve. Due to the overwhelming current population of the earth, my contract was renegotiated by North American Fairies and Elves Local 209. I now serve only certain areas of Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin and Michigan. As part of the new and better contract I also get longer breaks for milk and cookies.

However, I’m certain that your children will be in good hands with your local replacement who happens to be my third cousin, Bubba Claus. His side of the family is from the South Pole. He shares my goal of delivering toys to all the good boys and girls; however,
there are a few differences between us…

1. There is no danger of a Grinch stealing your presents from Bubba Claus. He has a gun rack on his sleigh and bumper sticker that reads:
“These toys insured by Smith and Wesson.”

2. Instead of milk and cookies, Bubba Claus prefers that children leave an RC cola and pork rinds [or a moon pie] on the fireplace. And Bubba doesn’t smoke a pipe. He dips a little snuff though, so please have an empty spit can handy.

3. Bubba Claus’ sleigh is pulled by floppy-eared, flyin’ coon dogs instead of reindeer. I made the mistake of loaning him a couple of my reindeer one time, and Blitzen’s head now overlooks Bubba’s fireplace.

4. You won’t hear “On Comet, on Cupid, on Donner and Blitzen …” when Bubba Claus arrives. Instead, you’ll hear, “On Earnhardt, on Wallace, on Martin and Labonte On Rudd, on Jarrett, on Elliott and Petty.”

5. “Ho, ho, ho!” has been replaced by “Yee Haw!”
And you also are likely to hear Bubba’s elves respond, “I her’d dat!”

6. As required by Southern highway laws, Bubba Claus’ sleigh does have a Yosemite Sam safety triangle on the back with the words “Back Off!” The last I heard it also had other decorations on the sleigh back as well. One is Ford or Chevy logo with lights that race through the letters and the other is a caricature of me (Santa Claus) going wee on the Tooth Fairy.

7. The usual Christmas movie classics such as “Miracle on 34th Street” and “It’s a Wonderful Life” will not be shown in your negotiated viewing area. Instead, you’ll see “Boss Hogg Saves Christmas” and “Smokey and the Bandit IV” featuring Burt Reynolds as Bubba Claus and dozens of state patrol cars crashing into each other.

8. Bubba Claus doesn’t wear a belt. If I were you, I’d make sure you, the wife, and the kids turn the other way when he bends over to put presents under the tree.

9. And finally, lovely Christmas songs have been sung about me like “Rudolph The Red-nosed Reindeer” and Bing Crosby’s “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.” This year songs about Bubba Claus will be played
on all the AM radio stations in the South. Those song titles will be:
Mark Chesnutt’s “Bubba Claus Shot the Jukebox,” Cledus T. Judd’s “All I Want for Christmas Is My Woman and a Six Pack,” and Hank Williams Jr.’s “If You Don’t Like Bubba Claus, You Can Shove It.”

Sincerely Yours,
Santa Claus North American Fairies and Elves Local 209

How Do You Grow a Boy?

        This is one of my first blog posts in 2010.  Not many people read it back then, so I thought I'd share it again. 
        It's the end of football season.  One of my friends with a Senior boy posted on Facebook that four years ago her son and his friends walked out on their Home football field as freshmen.  Last night they walked off that field for the last time. 


How Do You Grow a Boy?
 

        This morning I was on Facebook and watched a video of my nephew playing his first year of football in pads.  The boys are so little they can barely move around in the pads and helmet.  But this is the beginning of manhood.  This is where it all starts. 

        My son started playing football when he was 7 years old, and that was when my heart began to feel a little twinge of pain.  It was the realization that he was going to have to grow up.  The sweat, the smell of the freshly mown grass and the growing brotherhood among the boys mix with the magic of the hot August sun, raising them to the next level of boyhood.  They may look the same, but their demeanor and body language change into one of confidence.  They've entered a secret, masculine world where no girls are allowed and realize, "this is what it's all about."  They've used Transformers to tackle anything that came in their way. They've staged army men, who at the whistle, weaved their way around deadly land mines and escaped the enemy in hot pursuit.  Now, with the help of rising testosterone, they can make it a reality.

        I watched my little guy, and I felt that twinge of pain because I knew one day he would have to be so manly, so strong and stoic—so different from me.  That would separate us.  Now at 16, he is that young man.  What I didn't realize then is that I would be so very proud of him.  The fact that he grew up so quickly makes me sad, but my pride in the amazing young man he has become far outweighs any sadness.  He takes on responsibility and has a strong work ethic.  He loves his family and is a leader.  What more could I want?  I watch him out the window now mowing the grass and moving firewood, and I'm amazed at how much I love him.  I go to all his wrestling matches which are mentally and physically grueling.  As I watch his muscles move fluidly and then strain,  I'm reminded of how manly and strong he has become—so different from me. Thank goodness.

        When he walks out my door,  I'll feel that same twinge of pain I felt when he walked onto the football field for the first time.  But I've learned that my pride will eclipse the pain.  Confidently, he'll enter a different world and realize "this is what it's all about."  Everything he learned in football will help him succeed in his profession.  He'll succeed in life because of everything he learned from me.