The Waiting Place

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I can’t lie. One of my absolute favorite writers is Dr. Seuss.

Yes, he’s simple and rhymie. But he’s also brilliant and worldly. And one of my favorite books that he wrote is the same book people pass out year after year as a graduation gift. Oh! The Places You’ll Go! I know, it sounds totally cliché. But hear me out.

Under the Knife

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Under the Knife

I wrote this blog last Wednesday, but I couldn’t get it to post. And it was 3am, which seems to be the hour at which I do the most thinking in the deep quiet of the night. Still, I finally gave up and went to sleep with this sitting in my “drafts folder.” Luckily for me, we got through the bumps of Wednesday and tomorrow my dad should be heading home to finish recovering. So now, I can take a minute and go back to what I was trying to say.

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Today was a tough day for me. My father had surgery to remove part of his lung. That is scary enough on its own. Then you add the covid-19 pandemic and it gets even scarier. And to top it off, the night before his surgery, he had a spontaneous pneaumothorax. That’s a really big word for a blood clot in his lung that ruptured. So, perhaps God designed it just so he’d be in the hands of a skilled surgeon right as this rupture threatened his life. I’m definitely seeing how God’s infinite wisdom carefully winds things together. But I just don’t understand this world where I wasn’t allowed to be there. Read the rest of this entry

6am

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6am

It’s almost 6am and I’m still not asleep. I’ve been in bed for hours, but I just can’t drift off to dreamland. I’ve always had insomnia to some degree, but lately it’s been worse than ever. Sadly, I know that the second I fall asleep, morning will be bright in the sky and these kids know nothing about tip-toes and whispers.

I started wondering if maybe I’m not getting enough sunshine. I believe we’re a lot like plants. We need water and sun to thrive. I’m reminded of that commercial about non-24. Apparently it’s a sleep disorder that affects many shift workers and those with visual impairments. They don’t get to see the sun enough, and it throws off their entire sleep/wake rhythm.

That thought reminds me of another commercial. Someone asks how Starbursts get so juicy and then you see these tiny airplanes shooting yumminess into chewy squares of fruit flavored candy. These thoughts illustrate how my brain goes in circles. The Starburst commercial alongside the non 24 commercial has me thinking about disorders and how they’re named.

I picture a little tiny office with a cartoon businessman sitting at his desk. He’s got a nameplate on his desk that bills him the “disorder namer.” And a parade of workers circulate through his office all day long.

This namer guy starts pretty strong. He comes up with clever disorder names like dyslexia, anorexia, arthrogyposis, polycythemia, schizophrenia, and myocarditus. But as the line gets shorter, he’s starts running out of clever ideas. That’s when he comes up with dropsy (fluid build-up under the skin) and maple syrup urine disease. Yes, it’s a real thing that can leave you in a coma. Ironically, such a serious threat is marked by sweet-smelling urine.

Then the namer is clearly ready to call it quits. He comes up with Coxsackie virus, which lives in the digestive tract but seems like it belongs in a junior high boys locker room. Finally, he’s ready to wrap it up, so the next list of symptoms is about legs that refuse to go to sleep with the rest of your body. Thus, restless leg syndrome is born. Namer is headed home when just one more worker needs his disorder named. The symptoms? Laying in bed for five hours wishing you could just fall asleep. Voila! Non 24 it is! He writes it down just as he shuts the door and says “let’s call it a day Jim.”

I’ve always thought I’m probably the only person who lays awake while my brain spins in circles of over-active imagination. But the other day, one of my boys told me he lays awake playing the 3 wishes game. Of course, this is where you assume you met the magic genie and you have just three wishes. I like to create compound sentences that cram two or three wishes into one. Surprisingly, my son has the same wish at the top of his list. Maybe that’s not really so surprising. He is my child that is most like me, which also means he is most likely to piss me off. But back to my disorder…

I think I’m having trouble sleeping because I’m anxious. Like everyone else, I’m exhausted by all this time at home. I’m sad for the seniors missing prom and graduation. And I’m sad for all the baseball and softball players stuck inside. I’m sad for my Blondie and her Beau, as they’ve lost 100% of their livelihood. And I’m frustrated because I know these kids just miss being out in the world. But, there are still blessings abound. We have much to be thankful for. I refuse to get twisted because my frustration is always contagious. But I’m not gonna lie, I sure wish I didn’t just look at the clock to see it’s now 6:25. I’d say good night, but I think it’s more like good morning. At least the dog is getting some Zzzz’s. Maybe in my next life I should be a spoiled little maltipoo.

Facebook Won’t Let Me

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Today is my birthday. And it’s a bummer to be stuck in quarantine. For so many reasons…

My grandpa has been gone for almost seventeen years. We shared our birthday. So whenever this day rolls around, I can’t help but imagine the way we’d be celebrating together. I remember when I turned 16 and he took me to get my driver’s license. After I passed my test, he took me to lunch at James Coney Island. I never told him that I hate hot dogs. Because I was just so happy to be with him. I think I’d eat a snail to have one more birthday together.

I’ve yet to see a day when he didn’t cross my mind. I think some people are just so amazing they occupy a space in your heart for all of your days. He was definitely that force for so many people. But I’m going to claim a special spot in his heart. I was his first grandchild. And I made my debut on his birthday just to be sure we’d have a special bond. At least I tell myself I was born that day on purpose.

Several years ago my dad started taking me on little birthday road trips. We go to Fredericksburg or some other town full of junk shops. My parents stop at anything I want to see. No concrete plan. But there are always places to stop and have pie. Sadly, my dad is one of those who can’t afford a respiratory virus. He’s minding quarantine orders to the T. So I’m missing him a lot today.

My mom usually takes me to lunch. No kids. I don’t often leave my kids behind when I go do something, but every now and then it’s nice to have a conversation that doesn’t include these words: Boys! Stop biting your brother! (Biting can be exchanged for hitting, pushing, shoving, bullying, or pantsing. Yes, I said pantsing.)

Last year I convinced my husband to take me on a weekend getaway. We went camping in Big Bend. It was the first time we’d done something like that, just the two of us. I had every intention of making that a tradition. Instead, we got a “shelter in place” order.

To top it off, a bad storm knocked out our power. Just as I was finishing up an article. I’m afraid to log in and see if my changed were lost. Because I have a bad feeling about it….

Last, but not least, Facebook stole my joy today. It used to be fun to see all the birthday wishes generated by social media. But today Facebook says I have about 80 birthday messages on my timeline. But I can only see about 20 of them. With 3 weeks of being stuck inside with lots of kids, it would have been great to have some kind of outing today.

But, it’s not all bad. I spent the day hanging out with my kids. And my dad just sent us pizza! I guess he took me to dinner after all.

The Magic Words

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The Magic Words

I started writing poetry when I was about eight years old. By the time I was 10, I had a Trapper Keeper full of pages I had penned. Junior High and High School gave me lines and lines of inspiration as I awkwardly navigated the halls. But I rarely shared my words with anyone.

I do remember entering a contest. I think I was in 8th or 9th grade. I was going to turn my poem in on notebook paper. Then I showed it to my parents. My step-dad was so proud of me, he went to the store and bought me a foam core poster board and these letters you had to rub onto the poster. He helped me space my lines perfectly. The moment stays in my mind because it was one of the first times I let someone see my writing. That was a truly vulnerable moment. And when I won the prize ribbon, I was so surprised that I kept that poster for years, until the letters faded away.

By the time I was 20, I had three binders jammed packed. And one binder that I attempted to weave into a book. I named it “Lost and Found,” and I filled it with the poems that I used to work through the lows of first loves lost, and growing pains. Everything from missing my father to being uncomfortable in my own skin. Those were the stories of my ‘lost.’

The stories of my found celebrated the excitements of young love. I was pretty dramatic when my pen flowed across the notebook paper. I could stretch my emotions to a level real life had yet to show me. And I chronicled so many things like my adoration for my grandfather. My appreciation for the rocking chair my mother passed down to me. My love of Christmas. Those were my ‘found,’ but no matter how joyful my words, I kept them closed in the binders. These words exposed my heart. And that is a dangerous endeavor.

binders, poetry, words

Then I became a wife and a mother. Sometimes my husband would try to intrude on my moments alone with my pen and paper. He’d grab a page and read it, which made me feel so vulnerable and exposed. I wasn’t ready to share my words. So I kept them neatly in the binder on a shelf hidden in my room. Every once in a while, I’d share my words. But never all of them. Because my heart needed shielding from prying eyes that sought to know me better.

Then one day I noticed my sunshine wasn’t shining so bright. My Blondie was growing up and being an 11 year old girl is dramatic. There’s no other word for it. Especially if you are the creative type. For some reason, emotions are a roller coaster through those tween years.

She had so many things she was trying to work out in her mind. And we had just bought her a piano keyboard for Christmas. She was already the karaoke queen. And I thought maybe, just maybe she could grow into something more. A true artist. But I’d have to show her the words.

For the first time in my life I opened the binder and let someone dig through the pages. And then she got out her own pen. And she put her own heart on the lines. And together, we made music.

She was born with soul in her vocal chords. She could sing her joys and her pains in a way that just pulled you in to her world. We spent so many hours up late at night weaving the words together until we got it just right.

This language formed between us. And this journey began. I remember when my dad bought her a guitar. It was a pretty basic acoustic pawn shop guitar. It came with a promise that if she learned to play it, she’d get a better one.

It took a few months for her to truly start learning. One day she picked jingle bells and suddenly her interest was sparked. My father-in-law showed her a few chords and a silly little diddy. She entertained the neighborhood from our front porch. Somehow this little trip back in time still exists on YouTube.

From there, grandparents tipped bands big bucks to let her on stage. They bought her first PA system, a beautiful spalted maple acoustic-electric Dean guitar, and even an HD video camera to make YouTube videos. But it was always me and her when it came time to make the magic words.

That tween turned into a teen and started chasing a dream. And after high school she went off to Nashville and I’d have to go online to see her live. And there she met a boy. They say it was love at first song. And for the past 6 years, they’ve been growing strong!

My little songbird came back to Texas. And she had exactly what I knew she’d find- a boy to sit on the couch and write songs with. And I watched them fall in love and write the songs that tell their story. I’ve seen them up, and I’ve seen them down. I watched them become parents, artists, a team! They are the duo known as Treble Soul. And if you’re wondering where that name came from, well I looked at two ‘kids’ who weren’t kids, on the verge of creating magic. And I saw the music in their hearts, and I knew they’d live a life with music as the very vein running through them. So I called it Treble Soul and they forged into something so incredible I can barely find the words!

Every now and then she still comes and gets the binders off the shelf. Or brings me a verse in the middle of the night. Because I’ve shared the words with her like I’ve done with no one else. And sometimes, she takes my words, and gives them a voice. I can’t tell you how it feels to see someone put your heart on display, but I can tell you she’s the only one who knows me like that.

Some people see the journey unfold on social media. They watched her on Undercover Boss as Darius Rucker was blown away by her sound. They voted for Treble Soul to be the 2018 Texas Country duo of the year. And now they’re all tuned in as her American Idol journey unfolds.

American Idol, Treble Soul, Hannah Prestridge, life with blondie

This girl dreamed of that her entire life. But that’s a story for another day. For now, I am just looking through time at all the words we weaved together. And thinking of this daughter who is an absolute treasure. And hoping the world takes a moment just to see what I see. The magic words from the soul of a truly special girl. And yeah, I’m that mom with the sparkly “mom” hat, sitting in the back, cheering her on. And I have an extra pen if she needs one…

 

This Man Right Here

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This Man Right Here

We’ve been in and out of love, and everywhere in between. Sometimes we’re trudging through nightmares and sometimes we’re living the dream.

We’ve pushed and pulled each other hard. We’ve tested our limits more than once or twice. Sometimes we’re hotter than fire, sometimes we’re colder than ice.

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If Only

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If Only

Do you ever go to bed with the “if only” list running through your head? I do. Almost every single day.

It usually goes something like this. If only I had a little more money, I’d pay these bills on time. If only I were a whole lot thinner, I could buy cute jeans online. If only there were more hours in the day. If only my child <insert one of their names here> could just find his (or her) way.

If only the dishes washed themselves. If only I could go on a shopping spree at Lowes. If only I never said the wrong words. If only I could prove how much I care. If only I had the courage to try something completely new. If only I didn’t hate seafood.

If only I was an extreme couponer. If only I could stand on my feet just a little bit longer. And here’s one that I always say to the too-tired-to-sleep version of me, if only I won the lottery.

If only I had three wishes… for I’d surely make them in compound sentences! I’d cram three wishes into one, because that’s the way it’s cleverly done. If only I could speak three or four languages. If only my grandpa wasn’t gone. If only I could ask him one more time- about the oranges. He knows which ones.

If only my son’s stomach didn’t ache. If only my kids didn’t have bones that tend to break. If only I still had my great-grandmother’s ring. If only the whole world could hear my daughter sing.

If only I didn’t feel like I let my parents down. If only my house was a place where no one ever yelled. And while I’m dreaming up fairytales, pure unadulterated fantasies, if only my laundry magically gathered, sorted, washed, dried, folded, and put away itself for me.

If only my walls didn’t have so many holes. If only my car didn’t have so many miles. If only my smile never seemed to wear a little thin. If only I had been a better friend.

If only my prayers were answered in black and white. If only I held on a little more tight. If only I knew when to let go. If only all of this didn’t have to be so hard.

If only I could write the book that’s in my head. If only I’d been an artist instead. If only I could take back the wrongs I’ve done. If only I had taken a chance, just one. Or maybe I did, but if only I could remember when.

I guess “if only” is just a way to fret over things left undone, or things already done. And if that’s case, it’s too late to undo them. “If only” isn’t real. So why do I lay awake all night making lists of all the “if only” sentiments I feel?

High Fives!

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High Fives!

We recently celebrated my grandbaby’s 5th birthday. It’s hard to believe she’s already been part of my life for five years. Seems like yesterday, she was brand new. I take that back, it seems like yesterday when her mommy was toddling down the hall.

I remember when I was a kid, and people told me to watch out because time flies. I sure didn’t realize how serious they were. But I’ve definitely learned just how true that is. In fact, I think I realized exactly how finite time really is the day my grandfather passed away. He meant the world to me, and knowing I would never see him this side of Heaven again was possibly the most painful realization in my life.

My grandfather was magical. Seriously. He left no giggle unsolicited. When I look at my grandbabies, I sure hope they can say the same for me someday. And I hope I don’t just leave them things in a will. I want to give them things through a lifetime that mean something, just like my grandfather did. So, a few days before Presley’s birthday, I decided I really needed to make her birthday party outfit. Read the rest of this entry

A First Kiss

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A  First Kiss

It’s been three days, and I’m still giddy about my New Year’s Eve. I feel a little like a teenage girl with a brand new boyfriend, who just got her very first kiss. In a way, I did.

First, I think it’s important to note that I planned to stay home for New Year’s Eve. I’ve gotten over my fairy tale fantasies of the perfect night. In fact, I think I’d been married for about 20 years when I realized I never had one of those oh-so-romantic nights to ring in the new year.

Now, that’s not to say I’ve never had a fun New Year’s Eve. I remember a pretty kicking party at our house for the whole Y2K ring in. Of course, I had a ten-month-old and my sister had a one-month-old so somewhere halfway through the firecrackers popping and the sparkles in the air, I ended up in the nursery rocking two little boys in my antique rocking chair.

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One of the Worst Weeks

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One of the Worst Weeks

I’m going to warn you now. This isn’t a one minute read. But it’s not a novel either, so stick with me for just a few minutes.

Monday morning I had a plan. A plan to get this house back in order, or at least semi-order, because it’s been a disaster lately and honestly, I can’t even sleep when it gets like this.

I wish I could say it never gets like this. Or I wish I could just blame it on football season and say the chaos is short-lived. But the truth is, sometimes I’m drowning in a sea of dirty socks and since I can’t see the shore, I just retreat under the water and see how long I can stay down there without any air. Maybe that doesn’t make any sense to you, but it’s just where I’m at. Read the rest of this entry