My Youngest Son--Part 2

To my youngest son,

Dec 27th is a day for me to remember!  Happy 40th birthday. Wow, I am having a tough time wrapping my brain around this. My baby is turning 40 years old. When did that happen? What has happened to the last four decades? And mostly, why did it go by so fast? I hope you know how much you are loved, how much you were wanted, and how proud I am to be your mom. 

When I discovered I would have my 3rd baby, I was so happy--for many reasons. To name a few--your big sister and brother were about to have another sibling! Your dad and I knew we wanted three children, so we were excited to hear the news! Baby number 3 was on his way. Oh, yes, I knew you were a boy before I was even tested. I just knew. Just like I knew you were going to be a great little brother. I loved that you were the perfect size when you were born, not too small like your sister or too big like your brother. Just right. Within a few months, I watched as your personality emerged. Super funny, intelligent, and easygoing. Until you were two, however, I'll skip that part; most kids go through the terrible twos, so why dwell on it. Right?

I always thought it was interesting when you were school-age. You were much wittier than most of your teachers. I could see it, but they could not. You seemed to outsmart them at every turn. But, once in a while, you'd get a teacher who saw you! The real you. The bright, witty Curtis. And they thoroughly enjoyed having you in their class. Those were outstanding years for you. They helped nurture you.

I never doubted that you would turn into the man you are today --a great husband --hard-working and a great provider. A great father - you always loved kids! And, a wonderful son. But, I can honestly say a son who became a real man- thank God for answering my prayers. And by real, I mean gentle, tender-hearted, and kind - actual fruit of the spirit. When I carried you, I prayed for you just like I did for your siblings. I prayed for your childhood, adulthood, and future spouse and children. And, God, in all His wisdom and mercy, gave me you and answered every prayer.

Continue, Curtis, to always put God first, serve Him all of your days, and do what is right in the sight of God. These are the words of wisdom I want to give to you. You are an amazing son. I am so proud of you. I love you so much. I love everything God has done in your life, and I will continue to pray for you until I take my last breath. 

Happy 40th birthday!

God bless you and yours and thank you for being my son.

Love, Mom

This Is Where Home Is

As I age, I always make wonderful and fascinating discoveries about myself. For example--I discovered that my true home doesn't reside inside a house. It's taken me all these years to discover that my true home is where my husband, children, and grandchildren live. Not in proximity to my house per se, but almost. It isn't necessarily living distance--it isn't as though I need to live closer to them (although I certainly would be okay with it). It's more like a feeling of closeness when we are all together. That time of "living" and "being" together. 

Our sons live within a 30-minute drive, and our daughter lives about 6 hours away. And my life feels complete when she and her family visit and join us for the holidays. That's the only way I can describe it. It's a completeness that makes my heart feel safe. Knowing that my baby chicks are within my wings reach. Silly as it might seem, it's a feeling that appears extremely real to me. 

Yes, there are some holidays, some horrible holidays, that I have to share my children with their in-laws. I will be sincere here and say I hate that part. The part about sharing my kids' lives. I don't want to share. I understand that the in-laws wish for their time also; I really do. I just don't like to share. I want my kids close by--joining in our family fun, playing games, laughing, eating, and watching TV together. Sometimes, I want to stop time. I want them home. With me, especially during the holidays. It's a weird feeling; it feels selfish, yet they, indeed, are my feelings. My very selfish feelings. 

Tonight, as I write this, everyone is where they are supposed to be--according to me. My daughter and her husband are sleeping here in my home, and my oldest grandkids are here also. My sons are close by in their homes, all within 30 mins of each other. That is home to me. It's that special feeling of peace, safety, and love, and once again, I feel as though I can protect them--for I am their mom. 

How do I describe this feeling of home any better than this? For this is where my home is. It's in the heartbeat of my family. Snuggled in their beds, safe and sound, with their mom watching and praying over them. Just as it should be. 

Merry Christmas, kids--I'm so glad you are home.

Christmas Time

I find myself becoming so reflective at Christmas time. I think most of the birth of Christ and what God means to me. And also, I think a lot about my memories. Many memories contain my parents and relatives; however, most are of my husband and children. They are memories of past Christmases. All that to say--I am reflecting. And, when I remember, I learn about myself. When I do that, I can grow and change, hopefully for the better. That's what this is all about. Growth and change. 

I actually have a lot of quirks. Most people don't care for their idiosyncrasies; they wonder if they irritate others, are too different, or fit in. They question themselves. Oddly enough, I don't do that. I have learned to be content and embrace my quirks. I like them. I'm a little strange, and that makes me--well, me.  

During our pandemic years, each person I've talked with had a unique way of dealing with their isolation. My method was to pretend it wasn't happening. So, each morning I made a plan. I got up, drank my coffee, got ready, and went somewhere--anywhere. I had to go and get out. My husband and I did some pretty silly things. We made picnic lunches and ate them by ourselves in the car. We took long drives along Lake Erie. In other words, we made the best out of a bad situation. As restaurants and businesses were closed, we were forced to make due with what we had. We did a lot of hiking and biking. Cleaning and baking. Remodeling and gardening. Anything to make the time go faster.

And now that things are back to normal and we are about to experience a typical Christmas with family and friends, I have again begun to reflect. I can look back on 2 years of crummy Christmases and holidays, and I can see that growth took place.  

I've come to realize this: I am living each day as if it's my last. I get up thankful, and I go to sleep grateful. I get ready each morning, and I'm ready to explore, wonder, and appreciate all that I've been blessed with. I plan my days and pack them full of time with my friends. I make plans to get together with my children and grandchildren. I want to experience life to its fullest each day. So that when I lay my head down at night--I can say--this has been the best day ever. I can pray and thank God for all that happened--good and bad, for each encounter, and I find that each endeavor is a learning experience, and I can see growth in my life taking place. It draws me closer to God, makes my heart more thankful, and makes me reflect on the goodness, mercy, and grace of the God I serve.  

What better time than Christmas time.  

Time to reflect, time to heal, time to praise, time to worship--at Christmas time.

11 Boxes

I don't know how it happened. Well, yes, I do. I know how it happened. It happened because I love Christmas. I do. I love it so much that I've lost all self-control. So I have boxes and boxes of decorations. And that's not including the trees, wreaths, and garland. In those 11 boxes are nothing more than knick-knacks and bric-a-brac, from Santas and sleighs to candles and manger scenes. And believe me, each one holds a memory.

Some--friends gave me, and some were handmade by my children. Some were from European Christmas markets, and others were found in wonderful gift shops. So tell me then--which should I dispose of? Which memory shall I throw away? This is what I face each season as I ask my husband to haul those 11 boxes down from the attic. So what do I do with these memories of mine?

After almost 49 years of marriage, 3 children, and 8 grandchildren--do I toss the handmade ones? Do I throw away the photo ornaments? How about the one from Germany that we picked up on vacation? Do you see the dilemma here? This is what I face each year.

We have downsized homes substantially, which means fewer rooms, fewer walls, and less floor space. So, where do I put my treasures? As I walk around our house, where do these memories hang? 

However, I've made myself a promise. Each year I will donate one box of tchotchkes until decorating for Christmas is manageable. Notice that I did not promise to stop buying. I cannot stop doing that. It goes against my nature. But, donate, I will. And I did. After putting out my favorite and most loved items, I donated one box to charity. I shall never again view, touch, or hold those memories in my hands. They are gone. Hopefully, to create a memory in someone else's home. 

And as we pack up 10 boxes of decorations after Christmas this year, I hope I don't miss that 11th box. With 10 left to love and then deciding next year what to donate, I shall be happy with what I'm left with. 

I really hope I don't hit up the after-Christmas sales and fill that 11th box again. But I'm really going to try. I promise. I really do.

It's Not Writer's Block

No, it isn't writer's block. It's--I don't have time to write. So, it could be time block. I just don't have time. I love to grab my computer, and jot down some thoughts and ideas, just as I love to grab my kindle and read a bit. However, I am at a loss--for time. 

By the time evening rolls around and dinner is made, I'm ready to cozy up, throw a blanket on my lap, watch some TV, and knit. But, instead, the thought of thinking hurts my brain. It's a problem, though, that needs to be fixed. I need to write. It's how I process; without it, I will eventually crash and burn. And nobody wants to see that.

Without this way of processing, my thoughts tend to pile up like a wreck on a foggy night on the freeway. Get the picture? As each story of my day or week goes by without an outlet, my brain begins to overcrowd. Things get messy up there, and pain (also known as emotions) begins to back up. I truly never realized how much I depended upon this outlet of writing and how important it is to me.

My goal now is to write about something going on in this brain of mine. I want to put my thoughts down and rid myself of this backlog of emotions. I find that by just grabbing my laptop and writing--poof. Brain drain commences. It's incredible--this way of downloading my innermost thoughts. It's like jumping into a pool on a hot summer day. Refreshing is the word I'd use. I need to be refreshed weekly, if not daily. 

So, there you have it, my first of many brain dumps. I promise to start the week off right-- brain dump at least once weekly. Tell my stories, share my thoughts, and make writing a part of my life again. Story by story, I'll make time for writing. I promise.