A Good Day To Walk

We are experiencing our annual last cold front of spring and it is glorious.  The morning temperature is in the 50's with daytime highs of 70ish with the added bonus of low humidity.  I know that the heaven that God has planned for me is more amazing than the human brain can even begin to conceive of, but, if I could choose heaven weather - this would be it.  Today is last day of March, and in my corner of Texas that means that hot, humid weather is just a breath away.  I detest hot humid weather.  I have lived in Houston for 32 years, one would think I would be used to it by now.  Can one ever get used to living in a sauna?  I think not.

Cheyanne considers walking to school just one step away from adulthood.  Ah, the independence and freedom of the open sidewalk.  I knew the we would wake up to good walking weather, so I decided that today was going to be the day.  Low humidity means I won't break out in a sweat before I even take a step; my fingers won't swell before I get to the end of the street, and most importantly, I can enjoy the process.  So, last night I gave her the good news.  She could barely sleep for the excitement.

It is amazing how focused she can be when properly motivated.  Without prompting, she got dressed, fixed and ate her breakfast and was ready to leave 10 minutes before our scheduled departure.  As we walked out the door for our adventure we were greeted by cool dry air which I found refreshing and stimulating.  Chey, with her skinny little body, pushed her hands down into the pocket of her hoodie and trudged forward as though this was the frozen tundra.

Midway down the street she pauses to say, "This is your idea of a good morning to walk to school?"  I gave her the chance to ride in comfort, but there was no turning back now.  She was committed.

Around the corner and down the street, I asked her if things looked different walking rather than riding in the car.  At first she couldn't tell any difference then she excitedly said, "Look, Mimi!"  I followed her gaze and saw a mother duck with six baby ducklings walking across the front yard of the house across the street.  We paused for a moment to just watch the momma and her babies.  It was such a sweet sight.  I told her that we probably wouldn't have seen them if we had been in the car - so it WAS a good day to walk to school.

She thought I was going to let her walk the rest of the way to school alone, but like the momma duck I had to make sure she was safe, so we continued to the end of this long street.  At the last corner I let her go.  Once she turned the corner and walked a few feet she was on school property and I felt safe to let her feel like a big kid.

She is ready to be grown up and I am hanging on to each moment because before I know it, she will be grown up and gone.  I am learning to walk slowly through the days of my life, savoring my sweet grandbabies as long as I can.  These are the moments that make our tight living arrangements worth the sacrifice.  So, I came home, took an Aleve, drank a cup of coffee and enjoyed the quiet.

The Tao of Spongebob

Living in a multi-generational household presents me with a plethora of writing material.  

Every morning Chey and I watch Spongebob before school, and recently I have found myself quoting this happy little yellow sponge and his friends in Bikini Bottom.  Who knew?

• Have fun everyday.
• Work is fun and good.
• Be nice to everyone.
• Be a good friend.
• Never give up.

Yesterday I walked in the front door and was greeted with a frantic seven year old running up to me, trying so hard to get her story out that she was babbling.  "Mimi, we didn't go to the book fair until the afternoon, and I forgot Mimi.  Mrs. Evans was helping me and I forgot Mimi.  I looked at the books and I just forgot, Mimi."  Ok...at this point I had already figured out what had happened, but I wasn't going to make it easy on her.

Flashback twenty four hours.  Sitting at the kitchen table Chey and I perused a flyer for the school book fair.  To put things in perspective, Chey's main goal in life is to be famous.  She has a serious type A personality, so we don't put anything past her.  She is also a very good reader; reading above her grade level so we don't have to work to get her to pick up a book.  However, she tends to be hyper focused and has to be forced to expand her horizons.  Currently, her obsession is Justin Beiber.  With this as a backdrop I told her that she could choose a chapter book, picture books, and anything else the librarian deemed appropriate (no "Monster High"), but she was not to spend $9.99 on a picture book about Justin Beiber.

Back to the present.  She continued to plead her case without really telling me what had happened.  I just wanted to get on with my evening: change into my jammies and eat dinner, so I stopped the hemorrhage of words and confronted her with the reality, "You chose the Justin Beiber book didn't you?"  "No, I just forgot."  Sobbing ensued.  

Thus, we arrive at the wisdom of Spongebob: "Admit your mistakes."  

Learning to admit and accept making mistakes and failing to live up to the high calling is not easy but it is vital.  There is a reason she reacts this way.  Before moving in with us she got in serious trouble for every little misstep - including those normal kid things that should not be the end of the world.  The road back is a difficult one.  We try to teach her that mistakes are a part of life with the facts that there are natural consequences of her choices and we love her no matter what she chooses to do.  It is hard when those beautiful blue, tear filled eyes are pleading with me for reassurance that she is still loved.

Haven't we all felt this desperate need for reassurance?  I know I have.  Sometimes I find myself going to the wrong places for reassurance.  I still fall in the popularity trap.  I always wanted to be a part of the "in" crowd and with the advent of social media like Facebook and Twitter there is now another way to feel "in" or "out."  I find myself checking my friend list and my Twitter followers to see if someone else has decided that I am witty enough or interesting enough to "friend" or "follow."  It is exhausting and futile.

Then I hear a little voice whispering to me (no, this time it is not Spongebob) reminding me that I was knit together in my mother's womb and that I am loved by my Father and saved by His Son.  How much more special can a person be?  All of that done for me?  Blessed Assurance.

Hugs,

Sheryl

Thanks For The Memories

I spent the better part of the afternoon scanning photos from my childhood and family.  For now, I will only post the previously promised Jr. High memories.

These are my band buddies - the 2 Ednas and the "greatest bassoonist" in the band.

Kay, Edna and Cheryl rejecting evil in any form.

Our friend, Manuel, moved from Harlingen to San Antonio after 9th grade.  We met in band in the 8th grade. He played alto sax and I played the flute.  Due to the seating arrangement, much of the time we sat opposite each other so there was plenty of time to look up from our music making to gaze at each other.  

Oh, the innocence of first love.  What I remember is a funny, smart and kind young man with a gentle spirit to whom I could talk for hours.  I also remember that he was the center of a bit of girl competition.  

It broke my heart when he moved, but everything happens for a reason and life has taken its prescribed course for both of us.

Through Facebook I have recently reconnected with all these people.  It is so fun to see familiar faces (albeit 38 years later) and feel the years slip away.  It is all too easy to wonder what if...what if he didn't move, what if my family hadn't moved the following year, what if I had pursued music, what if.....

Spending too much time on the what ifs of life causes one to miss the reality that we are who we are because of our choices and the consequences they bring.  For those of us trusting in God we know that He guides and protects those who trust in and lean on Him.  

Life is a blessing not to be taken lightly.  Embrace yours and those you love.

Hugs....

Sheryl

Jr. High 38 Years Later

Jr. High School.  What do those three words mean to you?  For me they represent the very best time of my life prior to 1989.  This is especially significant because I was born in 1958, in Jr. High from 1970-73, and at various places from '73-'89.  Hands down, 1970-73 were peak years for me.

As 6th grade - a part of elementary school back then - drew to a close I worked very hard to convince my parents to let me play in the band.  This was no easy task.  There was a great deal of concern that I would not stick with it.  I can't fault them for their concern.  I am sure my gnat-like attention span was firmly in place long before I realized it myself.  I found an incredible love for music through learning to play the flute.  To this day I can still remember being on stage surrounded by others as we worked together to play music.  It was an amazing feeling.  Being a band member not only gave me the opportunity to grow as a person it allowed me to belong.  Band became my life and the place where I learned many important life lessons. 

I learned that hard work leads to excellence; failure is a part of life; competition can make or break a friendship; working well with others is important and fun; and lastly, I learned that I am totally incapable of marching and playing a musical instrument at the same time.  Sadly I have absolutely no sense of rhythm.  I faked my way through a few Christmas parades but, being a part of a real marching band - not going to happen.  Thus, my musical career ended with 9th grade in 1973.

I thought the friendships forged during these years were lost forever due to moving and life in general. Thanks to Facebook, this week I was reunited with four friends from those days.  It is amazing to reconnect with people I thought I would never see again.  In some ways those 38 years have melted away, then I look in the mirror.  Oh, yeah, I really am 53.  

Pictures to come this weekend.  I'm going digging around to see what I can find that will stir some memories without humiliating anyone.  If you were a part of my world at Coakley Jr. High in Harlingen Texas...stay tuned!