Summer Time

The days are longer and the nights are shorter.

Becoming a grandmother has been a surreal experience. I am watching this little tiny girl and I remember her mommy being a little tiny girl, always attached to my breast and with my heart closed up tight in her hands. My daughter made me a mommy. Her birth catapulted me into a new world of sacrificial love and unbridled care giving. I was a nurturing ninja, always standing close by to release a trapped burp, protect against the unsanitary hands of well wishers, and arming myself with Desitin and a diaper wipe after every guttural grunt. I knew my job and I did it well.

But, now I look at this new milestone child, the one who made me a grand mommy, and I not too sure of my role. She already has a ninja as a mommy, (You’ve learned well grasshopper). So, I stand by like a waiter purposely seeking signs of want. “Does she need to burp?”, “Do you want me to take her?”, “Does she need a blankie, baba, or binky?”

As I stand on the side lines, I realize that I am not the star player here. She has her mom and daddy and this is “their” nuclear family. Tiny and new….. and not dependent on me. I am a visitor in my granddaughter’s life, and though her parents would protest such a remark, the fact remains the same, I am not the staple ingredient in this family pie.

I am part of the history of this brood and they are my legacy, but I am not the captain of this ship. That means I share my knowledge instead of making the rules. It means offering suggestions instead of demanding compliance. It means I can teach a song but can’t make them dance to it. I am a “type “of mommy but the “grand” in front of that title makes all the difference.

Summer is my grandbaby’s name. Born in Texas. In July. During a record heat wave. Instead of naming her “Sizzler”, as I suggested, they chose a more appropriate name.

The days of summer are longer than the nights. That means you have more time to do things and to see things before the sun goes down. That thought gives me comfort. Though my mother role has changed, I recognize that I am in the summertime of my life. I am in a wonderful season. When I was a young mother, and with all I had to do, there was not enough hours in the day. But in this season, my days are longer; the clock tics slower. I will have time to chill. I can lick ice cream cones and make castles out of bed posts, broom sticks and sheets with my little princess. I can laugh when the meatloaf burns as I tell her it’s the extra crispy variety. I will have time to absorb her smiles and tears. And I will say, “Humm” before I answer all one hundred and fifty questions she can ask in a day. I can sit back and watch her grow…so “full grown” can’t sneak up on me like it did with her mother.

Summer is the time to enjoy the harvest God has allowed us. My Summer is here and with her comes a new me; a new relationship and a new season.

Jon & Kate Plus Eight... minus a Pastor

I never really watched the show. I don't know the children names or who prefers Cheerios to Frosted Flakes. Frankly, I found it too close to my own life, (being a mother of five) and watching another woman sort clothes just reminded me of the piles of laundry waiting for me. One episode, I faintly remember Kate and Jon, were getting the children dressed for church. Kate mentioned what a big help her church family was and how their faith was very important. So, now I wonder, where is their pastor?

Truly the Gosselin marriage is a real life example of, "What is it to gain the whole world and to lose your soul?"...or your marriage....or your children's stability. I pray that there is someone in their life that can say, "You two...in my office...right now!" And as they are sitting there with their arms crossed and lips pursed the pastor says, "Where did you get off thinking this was about you!"

I am glad I had a pastor there when I wanted to leave my husband. "What do you want?" he asked. "I don't know" I answered. "Do you want a divorce?" "No" "Well maybe you first need to find out what you want." So, I made a list. These were my tops three: 1) Healthy and happy children 2)Healthy and a happy marriage 3)My husband to stop acting like a Neanderthal!
Separating from my husband would not have given me any of those three things. Honestly, I wanted to leave him because I was angry and I wanted to hurt him. Purposely hurting your spouse always hurts your children.

Someone should tell Jon and Kate to make a list. Someone should remind Jon and Kate that if God has graced them with the patience and love to handle eight babies at one time, then surely He can give them the strength to forgive each other. Someone should tell Jon and Kate that people just think about two things on their death beds: God and family.

I pray that they have an intercessor. Someone who is more concerned about their eternity than their ratings.

Kissing Death On the Mouth

I remember a story someone told me of a missionary who wanted to prove the protecting power of God. This missionary went up to a man who was sick and frothing at the mouth. He wiped the foam off this man’s lips and smeared it on his own.
Sometimes death is imagined as a stalker who is forever following you. When you are a newborn or very old it is always breathing down your neck. And when something violent happens that is when it runs up to you when you are not thinking and you turn around startled at the fact that it came up on you so fast. What if we just stopped looking around our shoulders and face death? Not only face death but surprise the hell out of it and kiss it smack on the lips.
I hate fear. It’s a trap. We think that if we embrace it we will be protected and prepared for any evil that might befall us. But the truth is that fear kills you. It robs you. It hurts you. It makes you do dumb things. It is wisdom, prayer, knowledge and faith that protects, prepares and gives peace. My son sales home security systems. And I think the reason he is so crappy at it is because he is not a scary guy. He can’t tell a good horror story with a straight face if his life depended on it. He stands at the front doors of strangers and tells them, “since the recession crime has increased by twenty percent” and they feel no fear. Instead they invite him and offer him cookies and lemonade. If he let his hair grow out and braid it in cornrows and places his big foot on their doorjamb then look into their souls like a soothsayer and say, “ since the recession crime has increased in your neighborhood by twenty percent…ask me how I know”, well he could retire his mother early.
Fear gets people to do what they don’t want to do. I don’t want to fear death because I am tired of thinking about it all the time. I am not afraid to die. I can look at my stalker death angel straight in the face and have no fear. But when it comes to my children and husband I feel as anxious as Obama Bodyguards. “Put on your seat belts”, “Did you check your sugar?”, “…because if you are having sex I hope you are using a condom”, “You’re warm. Get me the thermometer.” “Honey, should you be eating that?” I am like a ninja standing in the shadows willing to lay down my life if necessary to keep that death from reaching my family. I am afraid all the time. I don’t want to be overbearing, nosey, stressed out and depressed but that is the price I have to pay when I partner with fear.
What if it instead of sharing my fears with my children I share my wisdom. And instead of complaining to my husband I complement him when he makes good choices. Instead of dying to save others I rely on my faith that reminds me that Jesus already did that and He did a damn good job. If I did those things it would be like kissing death on the mouth; saying, “I am not intimidated by you. Death you are just a tool God uses to transport us from one existence to another and you can’t do anything unless He commands it. So tell your little toothless mongrel, Fear, to shut up!”
I think the foam tasting missionary was stupid but at least he wasn’t afraid.