Cafeteria ladies do not make enough money or garner enough respect. I know this, because after 20 minutes in the cafeteria yesterday during 2^nd grade’s lunch period, I was almost dead from the lacerations caused by loud, shrill, utterly intolerable noises. It was not unlike being trapped in a small, closed barn with howler monkeys. And I glanced over at Ms. Sallie on several occasions (meaning that she could not have been faking it) and she was unruffled. Completely calm and patient with these savages.

One public caning in that cafeteria would lower the noise level.

As I’ve been back and forth between home and school this week, I’ve experienced a dichotomy of activities and attitudes. The boys are out of school and have been since June 1. And since that time, they haven’t done enough activity to skew the results of a blood pressure machine mid-take. I’m surprised there aren’t bedsores by now. The girls, however, have been moving at breakneck speed toward the end, trying to stay one step ahead of their non-snack-bearing mother, which isn’t difficult. I came into my bathroom tonight and the oldest had showered. I mean, that’s good. I promote showers. But his towel, shorts, and underwear were in a heap. A wet, smelly heap. In MY bathroom. Keep your wet, smelly heaps to yourself. I looked down at that, thought about the bedsores, and decided a housework boot camp might be in order soon. I pictured how that would go and I smiled big and goofy. I think it’s going to go terribly. But I’m still gonna do it. It’ll be a fun new way to fail. 

Because sometimes all your failure needs is a fresh idea.

Summer starts today. Boot camp is coming. Life is good. 

#summersavvysnapps

This morning, I walked my daughters into the courtyard of their school and dropped them there. As I was turning to go, my younger daughter came running back to me for a hug and then ran off. Just when I thought I was about to walk away again, my youngest came running back again.

“Another hug?” I asked.

“No,” she answered. “I just found a Jolly Rancher on the ground and I wanted to ask you if I should keep it.”

“You should not,” I answered.

“That’s what I thought,” she laughed and then ran off.

Sometimes I feel like I’m trapped in a Junie B. Jones book.

Probably right about now, all 13 people that read this post are thinking, “It’s June 9, your kids are still in school??!” To that I would say, YES. WE ARE. And we are IN PAIN. It’s June 9 and we are STILL IN SCHOOL! Still forgetting to sign planners. Still forgetting to make the online payment so they don’t have $-.20 in their lunch account and get nasty letters home from the cafeteria staff. Still forgetting to send in snack for the entire class. Yesterday was “Bring a snack day” in Jenna’s class. So, like every good mother who wants her child to have a snack in class, I prepared her a baggie of pretzels and a mini pack of Pringles. I mean, let’s be real here. She took TWO SNACKS. I had nailed it. Until I walked into her class to ask a random, unrelated-to-snacks question and saw all the BIG snacks on the front table. Cupcakes, oreos, sugar cookies. Hmm. Wonder what all of that is. I walked out of there and talked to another mom, only to discover that “Bring a snack” meant BIG SNACK TO SHARE.

Brother. It wasn’t snack day. This was a party.

To be fair to me, the mom who gave me the info had forgotten also. She had the knowledge, but no snack. So I got in my car and drove immediately to Winn Dixie. I bought snacks for me and for the other mom. 2 boxes of Caprisuns, 2 packages of mini chocolate cupcakes, and 2 packages of yummy frosted sugar cookies. $21 later, I walked back out of Winn Dixie with everything but my dignity. From that parking lot, I went straight to school and walked back into Jenna’s classroom. I snuck in while they were watching some type of presentation and walked over to the snacks table with my stuff. All of the other prepared-mom-snacks-to-share were arranged on the table. Among them was my daughter’s baggie of pretzels and tiny little package of Pringles.

That was my crowning moment. That was it. Wish I’d taken a picture of my initial contribution. But hey, I stuck my $21 worth of party stash on the table and walked out of there a proud woman. Then I texted my friend to tell her how awesome we were…how GREAT our snacks were. And how we’d nailed it for ONE MORE DAY.

Backwards Moms Unite.

ONE.

MORE.

DAY.

If I am going to post most weekdays, which is my current intention, I need not pretend that I have 5 days worth of stuff to tell. Some weeks, I do.  But there will be times I just keep it short and sweet.

At any rate, I feel I should apologize to the greater Tampa Bay area. It is my mockery of past treatments of tropical storms that caused the last 48 hours to occur. I believe it is called Karma. Mine is bad. I scoffed at the news reports, daring Colin to do his best. Well, he did. He wasn’t bluffing. I woke up from a dead sleep at 12:30 with my eyes WIDE OPEN and could not believe the show. Lightning, thunder, howling wind, and rain coming down in the sheets so thick it didn’t look like Earth anymore. It was the stuff of sci-fi. I was up a lot last night. Up again at 5, as were some very chatty girls. When they finally got back to sleep at 5:45, as the storm raged on, I decided that their college careers wouldn’t be stunted by taking a Tuesday off from elementary school and we all went back to bed. That was sweet sleep.

Lilian wasn’t able to go back to sleep. This is a new place, new people, new weather for her. She laid in bed and listened to it.

Tonight at dinner, the kids were acting like they were making audition tapes for military school. I said something about what Lilian must really think of us and what she’d go back saying.

“She’s going to tell everyone she stayed with some really weird people,” Todd said.

“I think she’s going to use a stronger word than weird,” I replied.

“Like stupid?” Andrew chimed in.

“Yes, that was more what I was thinking,” I answered. And Lilian, mimicking what she might say to her family back home said this:

“You should meet the psychopathic people I stayed with.”

Boom. Nailed it.

It isn’t often that a person whose first language is not English can call you psychopathic and be 100% accurate in her usage. Well played. Dutch people got it going on. Some Americans, not so much.

The words I typed and posted this morning are still very fresh in my memory. I said something to the effect of staying inside and watching it rain as a favor to others and for the safety of all those who associate with me.

I said that.

That lasted an hour and fifteen minutes.

Until I decided to go to Walmart for storm supplies. At least this time I drove my car.

I took Lilian with me because she needs to know about Walmart. Lilian is an exchange student from Holland who is here on an internship for two weeks. She is supposed to be working on her English and learning more about the culture. Well, her English is just fine, let me assure you. She laughs at very subtle humor in TV shows that most people wouldn’t get. And as for her culture immersion, where better to do that than ghetto Walmart? Field trip!

As we pulled into the parking lot, I launched into a meaningful explanation about the difference between uptown Walmarts and this Walmart. Sure, uptown Walmarts are nice. But this one is close. Proximity wins over refinement every time. At least with me. I was just finishing my thought…

“So, you’re going to get culture here,” I promised. And a man walked up. “Oh, here we go,” I finished. I hadn’t even cut the engine.

I lowered my window to talk to this man, because I’m stupid like that and he looked like a super nice guy. He was wearing khaki pants, a matching khaki golf shirt, and normal shoes. He had a pair of glasses hanging from his collar and had an almost-empty can of Mountain Dew in his hand. He had most of his teeth. He did not smell of alcohol or smoke one bit. No one’s nose picks that up better than mine.

At this point, he began his story.

“Hello, ma’am, I need to ask you a question and I mean no disrespect by asking it. I am a 67 year old veteran of the Vietnam War (took out a very nice wallet to show me his ID) who is technically considered homeless at this time. I am two weeks from Government housing, but I have to make it until then. I have congestive heart failure, a pacemaker (yeah, he pulled his collar aside to show me that bad boy), and I’m on 9 different medications to regulate all of that. Now ma’am, I’ve been in these clothes for 6 days without a bath and I smell like my own bottom. (Ohhhhhh Kaaaaaaaay) And I mean no disrespect in asking, but would you by chance have $8.50 so that I can get a room tonight at the Salvation Army?”

I’m not going to tell the ending of that conversation because I don’t want to be judged OR congratulated. You’ll just have to fill in the blanks with what YOU would have said to him or what you think I did. I will say this. He was sweet and believable.

And I couldn’t have explained our Walmart to Lilian any better than this incident did. There are very few homeless people in the Netherlands. Interesting.

Once inside Walmart, I bought the essential tropical storm items: 3 pounds of bacon, 5 pounds of roast beef that we apparently did not need because Todd bought 5 pounds last night (10 pounds of beef will go a LONG way even in Armageddon type situations), au jous gravy packets, tortillas, Rotel, 2 family packs of Double Stuf Oreos, a 6 pack of Diet Mountain Dew, some yogurt, yellow bananas, and 2 gallons of Infant Water jugs, because that was all that was on the way to the checkout. I guess if the water is purified enough for an infant, then it will work for me, too.

Boom. Prepared. Bring on the tropics.

And then we came home and resumed life as normal. I bailed the fishing boat after lunch and was checking email when the wind began kicking up. At that moment a text came through.

Oh, man. I thought. The wind was howling and the rain had begun to slap against my windows in earnest and now I was receiving a text saying that Lewis was releasing kids early due to the storm. I looked at my watch. It was 12:30. I debated. Should I get them now? Get in car line? Walk up to rainy dismissal at 1:15? Ultimately, I decided to just go check them out. Lilian and Brady decided to come, too. Because why not? It’s a tropical storm. Go have an adventure.

The wind turned my umbrella inside out when I stepped out of the car to get the girls. The walk across the school lawn was not unlike the meteorologists who film from stupid locations as they nearly blow away. It was something. Apparently, there were about 30 other parents who decided to pick their kids up early also. It was nothing short of a fiesta in that front office. There wasn’t even standing room for the two I brought with me. When the girls were finally safely in my care, we walked out into the howling storm…which had actually stopped for the moment.

“Why did you get us early, Mama?” Lucy asked.

“Because…” I said pointing around the sky, “THIS.” She made an effort to follow my wild gestures and jump on board with me. But I guess she just couldn’t get there.

“It’s not that bad,” she replied. “And I was IN LUNCH.”

“Sorry, babe, but when I got the text that they were closing school early because of it, I just felt like I needed to come on and get you.”

Lucy actually stopped on the sidewalk.

“Mama,” she said with emphasis. “They didn’t close school early for this storm. It’s MONDAY. It’s early release day.”

Ohhhhhhhhhhhh.

Well, so it was. Huh. They get out at 1:15 EVERY MONDAY. All year long. Been doing this since August.

“You would’ve forgotten us today, wouldn’t you?”

Yes, yes I would have. I mean, but we have meat. And infant water.

The end of this completely unnecessary story is that I’ve gotten up from my laptop 3 or 4 times because of the power going out. I’ve heard 4 transformers blow in the area (sound carries across the river…very disturbing noises) and the trees are flopping back and forth like wind socks.

This is a little worse than Hurricane Georges.

Wonder where I put that propane lantern…

 

Tropical Storm Colin is coming. He’s a coming for us, baby. They talked about canceling school, which would be the worst idea ever since we already have a last day of school that is a full two weeks past every other American. They are talking about sandbags in my fair city.

There are no bananas to be found in grocery stores, except for the dark green ones that were picked about a month before they were ripe. I know this because I have a bunch of those green ones sitting on my counter. If we decide to bite into one of those bad boys, we may chip a tooth.

Aside from buying this week’s groceries and green bananas, we didn’t do much to prepare.

Why?

Because I’ve been down this road before. On a bike. So today, in honor of my past glories, I will just link to how I used to prepare for the tropics and maybe it’ll make more sense that now I just do nothing. Honestly, I think we’re all better off if I just stay home and watch it rain.

Biking with Hurricane Georges

I’ve been thinking about life and death quite a lot lately. Not because I took a chunk out of the end of my finger by grabbing the wrong end of a razor blade. And not because I dropped a chair on my foot an hour later. And not because there’s anything wrong with me at the moment. But because in a moment it can all change.

It did for our friend, Brad.

When we were about 29, a 19 year old Brad showed up at Florida College as a lively, fresh-faced freshman. Early on in his college career, FC sponsored a song writing contest. I’m pretty sure the prizes were things like Dinner for 2 at the Pouch or $25 off your book fees for the semester. But among the prizes was recording your song in a professional studio with a professional dude. Guess who that dude was and where the studio was? Todd. My garage. Next stop, Hollywood.

Todd is forever getting roped into things because he is technical, musical, and both combined. He’s good at everything and before we had children, he had time for all of that. When Brad walked into our house as the winner of that contest, Todd thought he was just fulfilling a promise to Florida College. What he discovered was that he was the real winner. Because through that single exchange, he gained a lifelong friend. A fellow music nerd who liked to write music, sing, play, jam and laugh. (They both liked the Bee Gees and NO ONE likes the Bee Gees. Sheesh. Sing in your real voice, Barry. Come on.) They became fast friends, in spite of the 10 year age difference. And I became chopped liver.

I don’t remember minding.

But I also didn’t hang around much when they were talking shop. It was their thing and it was a good thing. Brad would be over often late into the night. When the music stopped, the talking would start. Sometimes the conversations were deeply spiritual and they would solve the problems of the church and the entire free world. Sometimes the activity would rise out of sheer hunger and the raiding of the pantry would degenerate into the mixing of cereals to try to create the perfect breakfast food. They laughed a lot at the one named “From Kashi.” Who names a cereal “From Kashi?” I mean, Kashi…ok. But FROM Kashi? Take 5-7 extra minutes around that conference table and come up with something just a tad catchier. Something that sounds less like tree bark.

After college, Brad took up life and family and career in Texas. He kept in touch about as much as anyone does who has kids and work and busyness. We didn’t keep in touch as much as we should have. We certainly wish we had talked more now.

Brad died in his home on Saturday, May 21 of flu-like symptoms. He hadn’t felt well in almost a week, but hadn’t been to a doctor. I don’t see a doctor when I get a virus either. I wait it out. We wait to get better. But he didn’t get better. He passed out and that was that. He was 35. 

Since that Saturday and since finding out shortly after it happened, Todd and I have grieved over this loss and observed those closest to Brad grieving a sorrow that I can’t even touch. He has left grandparents, parents, sister, wife, 7-yr-old son, 14-month-old baby daughter, good friends, and co-workers behind to wonder what happened. But what they wonder most is how do we go on? How can we make it? How do you fill a gaping Brad-shaped hole with anyone or anything but Brad?

It’s awful.

I struggle to wrap my mind around a grief this intense.
What do we do for those who sorrow? What do we say? How do we help?

I’m not always sure. I’m careful about it, because the last thing I want to do is make a person feel worse. And I do think that’s possible. I’ve watched it happen more than once.

When someone dies, I see people post comments on social media like this:

“Heaven must have needed him more than we did…”

“Our loss is Heaven’s gain.”

There are 100 variations on the same sentiment.

But then I saw this one the other day.

What?  I am completely stunned by this concept.  Are we seriously saying that God kills good young people but leaves the rest of us here to age like the ugliest, “worst” flowers? Where is that taught in the bible? And how is that comforting, exactly? I mean, I can see a kid asking his father why the best people die? But the answer to that question should have been that ALL people die. Why people die young, I don’t know. It’s an imperfect world and we have decaying, temporary bodies. Things happen. Time and chance happen to us all. We die. The good people who die young are grieved more and differently than good people who are elderly because their time was clearly cut short. Their purpose of being a young husband, father, son, or friend has not been fulfilled. Their job isn’t done. But I don’t think the bible teaches God is sitting in Heaven with a grabby hand and angel wings, plucking the good people off the earth so he can put them to work in front of the pearly gates.

But hey…who’m I to say I even know? And that’s the thing. I DON’T know. Nobody does. And if my husband or child dies long before old age takes them (please no, please no), don’t comfort me by telling me it was meant to be or God’s plan that I should lose my loves too soon. I think that would just make me angry. And it wouldn’t help me at all. What that would do for me is cause me to question God’s intent. As if God had chosen to DO that to me. In an hour of grief, I will need to trust God with even my broken heart. 

I know people mean well. I know the concept is that we are saying that Brad is so amazing that now he is an angel. We like to think of our loved ones watching over us here. Maybe they are. Or maybe they are actually resting in peace. Whether they can see our every move or not, God can. And God is watching and caring and hearing and helping. He’s got this. He’s got ALL of this. Every grief. Every sick stomach. Every unspoken word. Every uncontrollable sob. Every desperate thought. Every sleepless night. He has GOT it. If we let Him.

So what I would say to Brad’s family is this: I’m so sorry for your loss. It’s a huge loss. He was amazing. He was kind, funny, considerate, thoughtful, hard-working, spiritual, dedicated, and diligent. He was a bright light. He would never have chosen to go home early. But he did. And we’ll go home someday too. Until then, shine your light a little brighter. Shine it for Brad. Shine it for Jesus. Shine.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-12

“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to seek, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; a time to tear, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time for war, and a time for peace. What gain has the worker from his toil? I have seen the business that God has given to the children of man to be busy with. He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man’s heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end. I perceived that there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and to do good as long as they live;”

‭‭Ecclesiastes‬ ‭3:1-12‬ ‭ESV‬‬ http://bible.com/59/ecc.3.1-12.esv