My Christmas Spirit

I purchased a new Christmas tree this year. It’s a rose gold color with a knitted teal skirt. There are 2 boxes of beautiful new ornaments waiting to hang on these rose gold branches. I also purchased adorable stockings in funky colors, just to shake things up a bit. 

There’s just one problem. 

I have misplaced my Christmas spirit. 

I’m sure it’s around here somewhere hiding behind a box of unpacked home decor or under one of my vintage side tables. 

It went missing right after Thanksgiving, and I’m sad to report it’s been nearly impossible to coax it out of hiding. 

I’m fully aware of what causes someone’s Christmas spirit to disappear. It could be such a thing as the death of a loved one...a dreaded diagnosis...a financial setback...loneliness...or simply just a humbug attitude about all things glittery, glitzy, or Godly. 

I’ve seen the distress in too many eyes since becoming an adult. You simply can’t stay oblivious to peoples’ pain forever. 

Unlike some, I know what made my Christmas spirit go MIA, and I’m going to be honest and open about it. 

My oldest child, C1, moved out. It wasn’t the sweet, teary-eyed goodbye I’d dreamed about when she moves off to college, gets married, etc. 

My darling C1 literally disappeared in the middle of the night. 

She somehow decided we aren’t what she needs/wants right now. 

You see, she was what I referred to as “my little best friend.” She was literally next to me day and evening. She had a great little job here, a car, very minimal bills...pretty much anything I thought a young lady could want. That changed one December night, and a note on her pillow was all she left in her room. 

I’ve fought back anger, sadness, bitterness, and tears until I thought I might die. Nothing I could say or do changed her mind. She craved anonymity and space. She got it. She wants us to “just leave her alone.” We haven’t spoken in over a week, and it’s certainly not by my choice. 

Even though my soul and heart are healing, my mind won’t follow suit. 

Of course, I’ll climb out of this funk. My Christmas spirit will return, and our family of 4 (now) will carry on. We will celebrate all things Christmas and New Year’s as if nothing has changed. We will open presents and sing off tune to Christmas carols as we’ve done every year. 

I do have a greater reason for sharing this other than to gain sympathy or prayers (although, I find myself asking for prayers instead of actual gifts this year). 

My reason is simple: I want to shine light in to the darkness. If you or someone you know/love is suffering, recognize it. Do your best to be understanding, listen to the words they DON’T speak, and find ways to show them love and affection every minute possible. Try your best not to pass judgment. If you find yourself crying for them, that’s fine, but don’t make it all about you and your pain. Put on a positive face during your daily routine. Always be kind to those around you, because you never know what battles they’re fighting, and they don’t always know about yours. 

Be thankful for family and good friends. Smile when a sweet memory makes its way in to your mind. Find within yourself the ability to give unconditional love.

Even though I wake up each morning greatly missing my C1, I’m okay. Even if God chooses not to move my mountains, it is well with my soul. 

***And, C1, I know the real you, and I cherish YOU. And, maybe I’ll get the chance to wake up in the middle of the night and bake a blueberry pie with you again. I’ll let you make the fancy latticework top crust, though, being as I’m terrible at it. I’ll decorate that new rose gold tree and love the heck out of it, even though you thought I was crazy, and you rolled your eyes at it. I’ll even do your laundry again if you’ll let me. We love you*** 

~Andy 

The Final Straw

Blogging used to come so easily to me. I'd wake up, a topic would pop in to my head, and before I knew it, a new blog post would appear. These days, that's not how it happens.

I've been struggling because there's this one thing I'd love to talk about, but I don't know how to approach the subject correctly. Ya, maybe that's it.

Today, I'm struggling more than usual. I have a heavy heart, a wandering mind, and a tired soul. Why should I, though? After all, it's Christmas time! I should be excited to give presents, celebrate with family and friends, get off of work early...

Not this year, my dear readers. Not this year.

I've had no major loss. There's been no major trauma. I'm blessed beyond measure by those in my life, and I have the best husband and children possible. My parents/brother/grandmother/in-laws are amazing, I have a great job, I surround myself with great friends...

Still, this year hurts.

I'm about to embark on a post that I've been putting off, and I need to write it. I've danced around this topic, tried to convince myself that if I put it all out there then I'm the bad guy, and almost decided to sweep it under the rug. Unfortunately, sweeping things under the rug is what causes heartache. 

As I've said before, I have 3 very precious children. Each one is so unique. They have certain smiles, adorable laughs, crazy looks, special tastes...but, the best part is that they are all 3 mine. I have spent the last 18 years trying my best to be a momma they could look up to, and I admit there were times I failed them miserably. I've had to admit those failures right to their precious faces, too. I've had to cry in front of them, discipline them, hold them, rock them, kiss them, feed them, clothe them, etc. They are MY responsibility, and that is something I've never taken lightly. The one thing I will never ever do, though, is LEAVE them.

Divorce sucks. There's no nice way of saying it. There are no winners. Everyone loses something. Sure, you can move on, find happiness again, and live a beautiful life. It's a beast to go through, though, and children suffer the most. Don't kid yourself. As parents, you can try to get along and "co-parent," but the children still walk away with voids that no one will ever fill.

Fortunately, my 3 C's have seemed to have dealt well with my divorce from their father. He and I were married 14 years. We had ups and downs, and for whatever reason(s), we decided it was over 4 years ago. I met and married K, and he does a wonderful job being a bonus dad to them. He works hard at it every single day, and they know he loves them. I guess I got lucky in that aspect--I have no stepchildren. I don't know what it feels like to try to raise and love someone else's babies, but I'm sure I would have been okay with that had it been in the cards. Children need love. They need their parents. NO MATTER WHAT.

This brings me to the whole point of my post, Folks.

The divorce was extremely hard on C1. Being the oldest, she felt everything piling up on her, and she felt pressured to choose a side. She's my quiet one...my sweet one...my do-anything-for-anyone one. She's as beautiful on the inside as she is on the outside. The pain she felt (and still feels) is something I can't even begin to understand. I'm sure she was tired of the arguing, the hatefulness, the sadness, and the constant uproar. She wanted to protect her father, and who could blame her? I couldn't. Sure, I was hurt when she made the choice to live with him full time and only see me 2 days a week, but how could I be mad? She was just a kid in an adult world trying to figure out how to handle problems that weren't hers to handle. In the blink of an eye, her parents were divorced, her world was turned upside down, her father was remarried and expecting a baby with another woman besides her mom, she gained 4 step-siblings, she had 2 households to live in, her mom was seeing another man, and she was now in high school.
I think it would have been enough to drive me mad, yet she handled it with as much grace as she could.

A year went by, and C1 tried to adjust to life with her father, a stepmom, and a house filled with children--8 children, to be exact. Life was going on, and the dust was settling.
Or, so I thought.
In June of 2015, C1 brought some things to my attention that I could no longer sweep under the rug (remember, sweeping things under rugs creates heartache, right?). I made the choice to stand up for what was right...that included standing up for ALL 3 OF MY C'S. No matter the outcome of my choice, I knew they needed a voice and they needed an advocate.
It boils down to this: We, as parents with separate lives and separate homes now do NOT have to agree on everything. We DO, however, have to co-parent our 3 C's. We should respect each other, listen to concerns and address them, and not put the children in the middle every time. I know I'm not right 100% of the time. Neither is he. I had concerns that continued to go unaddressed. End of story.
I will not put all of the details of the events on a public blog, but I will say this: C1 took up for her siblings and paid the ultimate price.
She was kicked out of her father's house, harassed and threatened by the stepmom, had all--and I mean ALL--of her belongings thrown away by her father before she had a chance to claim them, accused of stealing, had police reports filed on her, called a liar, verbally/mentally/emotionally abused, cussed at, and ultimately abandoned.
Her father...the one man who is supposed to save her and take up for her no matter what...abandoned her. There was a single text on her birthday last year from him, but nothing after that. She watches every weekend, every holiday, and every summer as he picks up her siblings to go spend time at his house, go on lengthy expensive vacations with him, etc. She gets nothing. No birthday presents. No Christmas presents. NOTHING.
I watch as a precious young lady loses more of herself each day, because the man she trusted and loved picked another woman and another family over her. I spent many many many hours of emails, texts, phone calls, and face-to-face conversations trying to fix what HE had broken. I'm the momma. That's what I do. I fix things for my babies, and I make everything better...right? I tried everything, Folks. I begged. I pleaded. I even apologized for things I didn't do, just to bring some relief for C1. I'm not saying this for any reason other than to say that's what a parent does! You give your all, and you don't give in. I had exhausted all options, and her father wouldn't hear it. His response? "When C1 is ready to ask for forgiveness for everything she's done, I'll talk to her again." I even asked him what he would do or how he would feel if something (God forbid) ever happened to her? His response then? "Well, I guess that's just something I'll have to live with, huh." Wow.

Folks, how petty.
How sad.
He should be the one begging for forgiveness, if you ask me.

A child stood up for her siblings. She didn't lie. She did what was right by the law and by her own conscience. Sure, she knew he'd be upset, but she had no clue he'd leave her. 

Yesterday, though, was the final straw...for C1, anyway.
I think she's been holding out for her father to come back, you know, like a knight in shining armor. She saw him as the type to sweep in, say he's sorry, save the day, and everything would be okay again.
Nope.
C1 turned 18 this week. My baby is no longer...well...a baby. She's a young lady. Yesterday, she decided that in order to move forward with being a grown-up, she would try to reach out to him one more time (mind you, she'd already tried to talk to him 2 other times, and that failed miserably).
She and I talked and cried. Cried and talked. Played out scenarios over and over. Talked and listened. Offered solutions and switched up plans. Ultimately, though, C1 decided to call her father. She was prompted by the hurt feelings of no calls/texts/emails/presents for her 18th birthday, I'm sure. She knew deep down that this was the last chance she could offer him. It was all or nothing.
So, I let her do it.
By that I mean, I stepped back, let her go, and watched as her father did exactly the same thing to her that he had done to me four years ago.
Some people never change.
Instead of acting happy to hear from his firstborn who reached out begging for his love...this beautifully mature young lady who is a fantastic person to know (and if you know her at all, you love her!)...he placed all of the blame right back on her, argued his points about how he is always right, made her feel like less of a person, and abandoned her for the LAST TIME.

There I sat on the other side of her closed bedroom door in a dark hallway. I couldn't hear the conversation, but I could hear her voice. Then, there was nothing but silence and a few sniffles. When she was ready, she let me in to her room and up on her bed. Her tiny little body snuggled up next to me. All I could do was wrap myself around her as I began picking up the pieces of a broken soul who has truly done nothing to deserve such treatment.
Her father will never know her pain. He doesn't have to look in to her sad sweet eyes after she's cried herself to sleep. He doesn't have to see the baby pictures she's torn him out of because she was angry. He doesn't have to see the confusion in her face when her brother and sister leave to visit him and she stays. He can get angry all he wants that another man has stepped in to raise his children, but those aren't his strong arms hugging and rocking her now when she just can't take any more. He didn't take her to get her driver's license or get teary-eyed seeing her in a gorgeous prom dress. She needs a good man to look up to who will show her how a lady is supposed to be treated, and thank goodness K is here to do just that.
Yes, she's now technically a grown up, but she's still our child.
And, he abandoned her.
He doesn't deserve her, and in my opinion, he never did.
That was the final straw.

~Andy

Holidays

As we approach "The Holiday Season," I thought I'd write a little somethin' somethin' to help my fellow Earth dwellers better understand me and the goings on at Anderson Acres.
You're welcome!

I never quite know where I fit when it comes to Thanksgiving and Christmas. I'm stuck in that  in-between space---the one reserved for women over the age of 30 with children, in-laws, and a job. I really am not the best cook. I have my grandmother, mother, and daughter to cover those bases (oh, and my sisters-in-law, too!) That in-between space consists of never knowing exactly what you should host, what you should just attend, what you should cook/buy/bring, what you should decorate, what you should wear, blah blah blah.
You see, I don't have that one special dish that everyone is dying to try at a get together. I have been to ONE holiday party in my entire adult life. Sad, huh. I have no fancy party dresses, no ugly Christmas sweaters, no song that I break out and dance to in front of God and everyone, and no need for any of it, to be completely honest.

Ya, it's kind of the loser space, I guess. *head drops to chest followed by a deep, heavy, pitiful sigh*

You see, I want to be THAT daughter/mom/wife: the one that wears the cute little apron, smiles alot, and presents a full table of deliciousness followed by laughter, games, talking, and fellowship. I want to be THE person who refills glasses without anyone asking, has a beautifully decorated house/tree/desk at work/etc, and basically has her stuff together. Is that too much to ask?!?

Heck, I don't even have THAT going for me. Crud.

Anyway, I'm that "in-between-er." I'm a daughter, so I'm slightly obligated to clean up after a meal and at least ask if there is anything I can do or bring, even if it's dadgum green bean casserole that's so easy my 10 year old could make it. I'm a mother, so I'm obligated to be certain my kiddos actually eat from every food group and try something new. I'm a wife, so I'm obligated to at least attempt to host a dinner or two. I'm a woman, so I have hundreds of years of be-that-perfect-hostess guilt stacked up on me. I do have the excuse, though, that I've been a shift worker for the last 5 years, so Thanksgiving and Christmas were just like any other days. I couldn't host a single thing, even if I wanted to do so.
Yet, here I sit. I'm SUPER excited to be hosting the in-laws at casa de la Anderson this year for Thanksgiving! It just hit me, though...
Crud.
I have no menu planned, nothing bought, and no stinkin' clue what I'm doing.
Ok, that's a lie. I sort of know what I'm doing.
I have a wonderful sis-in-law who has basically laid this information at my feet, yet I'm secretly counting on my 17 year old daughter to work her magic in the food realm.
Bless her heart, she has an "in-between-er" for a momma.

You may laugh at the above meme, but seriously! That's some Turkey Day pressure!
:)
Let's not even get on the subject of Christmas! Sheesh!

WHO do you buy for? WHAT do you buy? Are gift cards really acceptable? What about age-appropriate gifts? How far down the cousin/aunt/uncle/in-law chain do you buy for? Do you participate in every white elephant gift exchange you're invited to? What in the wide wide world of sports do you buy your spouse?!? What do you do when 2 out of the 3 C's have birthdays right around Christmas? Are combo gifts acceptable? If you receive a gift but didn't buy one for that person, how do you respond appropriately?
SO. MANY. QUESTIONS.

As an adult, I have decided I no longer want anything.
Ok, that's not true.
I would love a bill or two paid. Yes, that would spread some Christmas cheer!

K, there it is...no purse, no jewelry, no fancy anything. Pay my bills, Baby! lol
Oh, wait. He already does that. Good man. :)

I guess what my beef about Christmas is, I have a verrrrry hard time buying gifts. I'm a perfectionist and an online shopaholic. That's probably not the best combination. Amazon, Zulily, and Gap are my bff's on the internet.

***By the way, if you have an Amazon list, now is the time to make that known. Thanks so much***

Now, before anyone goes off in to left field on me, I KNOW and fully understand the true meaning of Christmas, and K and the kiddos do, too. I'm just throwing out here what so many people think...I promise I'm not alone!

If it's not the worry about gifts, it's the worry about decorations...do I have enough? Heck, can I even find my decorations? Do I need to string up outside lights? Fake or real tree? Colors or theme for this year? Do we hang the stockings on our mantle in the master bedroom since there isn't one in the living room? Do I put a door wreath out? Where is the tree going to be placed so it can properly be seen from the outside at night? Is everything fireproof? Do I know where my important and keepsake ornaments are? Do we need a new ornament for the family this year? Oh geez---Christmas cards!!! Do I have a decent pic of each of us to use? Do I send them this year or not? Buy the matching hand towels, place settings, tree skirt, etc, or not? Music!!! Do I have enough Christmas-y tunes to play? Am I teaching my children to appreciate the REAL meaning of Christmas?

Whew! Good Grief!

I've been thinking...a lot...about presents. In lieu of them, why not purchase 5 full Christmas dinners to be delivered to those in need?
Donate to a worthy cause such as Heifer International or Wounded Warrior Project or St. Jude Children's Research Hospital
(those are a few of my favorites!)
Grab an angel off of the Angel Tree...heck, grab 2 or 3...and let your kiddos do the shopping.

I'm just throwing ideas out there, Folks, mainly for myself I guess.
I don't want to be a Scrooge or a Grinch this year, and I know all of the above doesn't really matter.
I know what DOES matter.
The overwhelmingness (is that a word?!?) of the holidays hits every year, and I can't seem to stop it. I break out in a cold sweat around Halloween, and it doesn't dissipate until January 2nd of the new year. Yes, it's that bad. Maybe what I really need for all of this holidayness (I'm sure that's not a word either) is a chill pill...I don't drink, so that option is out the window.

The one thing I do know...it will be okay! I will probably get a new pair of snuggly socks in my stocking, watch my 3 C's open presents and give me huge grins, love on family and friends, eat some a--maaaazing food, and count every single one of my blessings.

I will survive!

:)
Happiest of Thanksgivings and Merriest of Christmases from the Not-So-Average Andersons to you! May you all get warm fuzzy feelings, sing carols to your heart's content, drink mugs filled with hot cocoa and marshmallows, and enjoy your snuggle time with family!

~Andy

Meatloaf

No, this is technically NOT about meatloaf---the kind your mother made when you were growing up...the kind you either loved or hated...the "mystery meat" at school...etc.

To be honest, I really cannot cook. Lord knows I've tried. Somehow, C1 got the cooking genes, and I am forever grateful to her for making dinner throughout our busy week. We (and by we, I mean she) has yet to conquer the recipe for meatloaf or even had the desire to do so. I digress...

Where were you in 1993? How old were you? What styles were popular then? What music did you listen to on your cassette tapes (yes, those existed then)?
I was 12.
I was in that awkward stage of whatthehellareyouwearing combined with areyouseriouslygoingtowearthat with a little bit of pleasefortheloveofgoddon'twearthat thrown in.
My mother has threatened to release actual photos from this awkward time period, but so far, I've dodged that bullet.
And, Mother, just so you know, that would be social suicide for me.
Thankyouverymuch.
*Ahem*

Anyway, I was 12. Single. Ugly. An introvert. The one thing that brought me joy and pulled me out of my shell was music. It wasn't any certain kind...I just LOVE music. To this day, I'll pretty much listen to anything as long as there are no curse words.
I tried to keep up with the latest hits, and, to be honest, I preferred country music. During this awkward time in my life, though, I chose to branch out a bit.
(I promise you I'm going somewhere with this...)
I remember the first time I heard him sing. I was riding in the car on the way to violin lessons in A-Town. We lived in a small town roughly an hour away at that time. So, I hear this voice...this song...and I was perplexed.
The singer was Meatloaf. The song was "I Would Do Anything For Love."
Now, this begs the question: What won't Meatloaf do for love?
Better yet, why is he calling himself Meatloaf?
I personally like Mother's meatloaf, so that word doesn't leave a bad taste in my mouth (pun completely intended). Not until I saw a picture of Mr. Meatloaf did I fully appreciate the song, the man, and my current situation.
That stupid song has been stuck in my brain since that day. It sneaks out every now and then, usually around 2am when my brain seems to think I need to relive my awkward childhood moments *shudder*

Ohhhhkkkkkkkk....so this brings me to the whole entire point of my blog.
I knew there were limits to what I would do for love. I mean, if you are a respectable young lady then you have boundaries. BOUNDARIES, I SAY! (That was for my girls) So, Meatloaf sings, "And I would do annnyyyything for loooove, but I won't do that...oh, no I won't do that." Well, what is that? I found out over my years of adulting just what "that" really is. Honestly, I wish some lessons weren't so hard to learn. :/

It wasn't until I married K that I truly understood what someone would do if they loved YOU enough. It's almost like he's never heard Mr. Meatloaf's song (I just like calling him that, mmmkkk?), and he doesn't have a single thing he wouldn't do for love...or for the love of me.
For instance...
Let's look at Halloween 2016, the good ol' 31st of October, where we all act like kids and play dress up. Now, I have NEVER dressed up as an adult, and by adult I mean since the age of 15. Seriously. I've been adulting almost that long, I'm afraid.
This year was going to be different. Heck, I've got one C almost old enough to move out of the house, one C almost too cool for his mother, and once C who love love loves anything to do with dress up and still enjoys being a kid. I literally waited until lunch time on the 31st to purchase costumes, mainly because no one knew what they wanted to be. After spending an hour in the biggest costume store EVER, I decided on Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf for me and K. It was gonna be a hit! I finished my work, left at the normal 5pm, and began the 30+ minute drive home. When I arrived, all 3 C's rushed me wanting their costumes. I mean, after all, it was getting dark soon! After passing them out, I gave K a crooked smile and pulled our costumes out of the bag. His was AWESOME. The mask was amazing. I was super excited. I pulled my costume out of its package, and...............................................................................................
um...............................................................................................
well, there must be some mistake.
The Little Red Riding Hood costume was missing THE RED CAPE.
No cape.
No sign of a cape being present at any point.
Just a dress. And cuffs for my wrists. And a basket.
NO. RED. CAPE.

I sighed heavily, dropping my chin to my chest. I admit, I began to cry a little bit.
My feelings were so hurt. After all, the costume store was 45 minutes away. There was no way I could fix this problem. I had no red table cloth, no red shirt, no red ANYTHING in my house.
K, seeing me in such distress, grabbed my costume, put it back in the bag, and grabbed his keys. I gave him a perplexed look, and as he walked out the door he said, "I'll be back in a minute." I could see where this was going. He was on his way to return my costume and get one with a red cape! I begged him to just forget about it. I told him over and over that I had never dressed up as an adult, and I really didn't need to start now. After all, this evening was about the kids, not me.
He just turned and walked out the door. I literally sat there amazed. K drove alllll the way back in to A-Town, argued with the clerk at the costume store, got a cape from another costume bag, and drove allllll the way back home in record time.
All for me.
The red cape was wonderful. Heck, we all looked great. I was able to walk around from door to door with K and the kids, everyone dressed in costumes, and thoroughly enjoy myself! Here's proof:

After the kids were in bed that night, I laid next to K and watched tv with him. I turned to him and said, "You know what? That is literally the nicest thing any man has ever done for me. I mean, truly the NICEST thing. You have no idea how special that made me feel." He just smiled and said, "Well, I love you. I'd do anything for you and anything to make you happy."

So, unlike Mr. Meatloaf, K will do anything for love....and he doesn't expect a single thing in return.

All of my awkward moments growing up, all of my heartaches as a young adult...all of it brought me to where I am now. There is a man named K who will do anything for love---or better yet, for the woman he loves. I really need to learn to cook for him. Maybe make him some meatloaf sometime.
Ya, I'm good with that. :)

~Andy

I FLIPPED....WITH A FLOP

It's been a while since I've blogged...yes, I know this. Life happens, and that's what I love. Writing is a passion and release, but it never takes the place of life happening.

So, let's just dive head first in to this new post of mine, shall we?

Mmmmmmkkkkkkk.....

*deep, heavy sigh followed by shoulders dropping*
 I'm sure, like me, you've done something in your life that you're not proud of doing. Personally, I can't count how many things I've done that I'm not proud of, because there have been MANY. I've said unpleasant things to the people I love. I've smarted off at co-workers for no reason. I've danced like no one was watching----but, unfortunately, they were. I'm often reminded of these incidents when I'm acting a fool. Today was no different. I was in full FOOL force, bright and early.

Anyway, today's post takes us back to July of 2015. Follow me, if you will...

K and I were trying to sell our house in A-Town so we could move to one out in the country. We had worked very very very hard to be sure everything looked perfect. I had tried to sell this house TWO OTHER TIMES before marrying K, so my hopes were not high. I just chalked it up to the fact that God apparently needed me to stay in THIS house in THIS town. Hmmmm....
Anyway, we had had the house on the market for approximately a month when we got an offer. AN OFFER, FOLKS. Someone wanted to buy the house, and they were serious! The call from the realtor regarding the offer came at a terrible time, however. We were literally trying to load the truck to go spend a few days with Kirk's family in New Mexico.
To say I was already stressed out would be an understatement. K always jokes and says, "Before I met you, I only had to worry about me. I spent money on anything I wanted, I lived rent-free in an apartment, I could keep the thermostat on 64 year-round, and I could pack up and go anywhere on a minute's notice. I used to make fun of my sister when she'd roll up somewhere late and with an entire Suburban filled to the top with stuff for a short stay. Now, I have a  wife, 3 kids, and animals to worry about--and, I can't seem to go anywhere without planning for a week and taking twice as long to get there. I have literally become my sister. Oh, and I've compromised on the thermostat setting, too."

Thanks, K... :)

So, I found myself standing in the middle of the garage talking to the realtor. I was checking numbers in my head, stressing over timing (we had not really picked a house for ourselves yet), and worrying that MAYBE I wasn't supposed to leave A-Town. Ugh!
I hung up the phone and, wide-eyed and freaked out, walked back in the house to the downstairs bathroom to finish painting my face (putting on makeup). Follow me here, if you will: My hair was in some messy-bun-meets-bed-head up do. I had on a white tank top, no bra (oops), purple polka-dot pajama pants, and flip flops. I was the epitome of a mess, and not a hot one either. I was applying mascara to one eye when K came blasting through the garage door, asking where this was, where that was, and how long it would be before I was ready to rock & roll outta there.
To this day, I'm not quite sure what snapped inside of me. It could've been one of a million different things, but at that very moment, I snapped. One eye (the one without mascara) began twitching, and I whipped around to say, "I don't know! Why are you in here being so demanding?! Give me a d**n minute!!" K just looked at me with a perplexed look, turned around, and walked back out in to the garage.
That set my inner beast off even more. How dare he walk out on this conversation when I'm the one who is entitled to the dramatic exit?!?

At this point I was L-I-V-I-D and not really sure why. He and I exchanged some heated words, and he grabbed his truck keys as if he meant to drive off or something stupid like that. Ugh. Men! Well, the truck was in the driveway, so he had to walk a few feet. As I watched him climb up in to the truck, I went completely over the edge.
We are talking STRAIGHT off of the crazy cliff with a decent running head start.
I'm fairly certain my eyes turned a scary shade of black, and my head spun...
My first instinct, for whatever reason, was to grab a flip flop off of my foot. K, at this point, had started the truck and was sitting behind the wheel watching me through the windshield. Out of complete rage, I took that flip flop and threw it as hard and as far as I could.
Do you know what it did?!?!? It hit the ceiling of the garage and fell about 2 feet in front of me.

Holy smokes.

I was sporting straight psycho now.
My eye began to twitch more, and I suddenly found myself running toward the truck with the flip flop in my hand, like it was a sword or something. I glared at K through that windshield, and I commenced to beating the hood of his truck with the flip flop. I beat it fast, furiously, and as hard as I could with that flimsy object all the way from the big front grill to the driver's side door, all the while yelling obscenities and flailing like a banshee.

Timeout: So, here I am, looking like a mess, one flip flop on and one in my hand, screaming and cursing. My oldest C happened to hear the ruckus from the kitchen, and she came out to see what in the wild-wild-world-of-sports was going on. I can't remember it completely, but I'm sure when I saw her peek out of the garage door, I growled something like, "GO. BACK. INSIDE." Let's just say she quickly did and slammed the garage door like she was keeping out some form of evil. 

Ok, so like I said, I had beat the hood of the truck up to the driver's side door with said flip flop.
K was just calmly watching me the whole time. He didn't make a move or say a word.
THEN, I opened the driver's side door. There K sat. He didn't dare move, and his eyes started bugging out a little in disbelieve. His sweet bride was poised with a flip fop, a messy-bun-meets-bed-head that was now a sloppy mess of red waves, her ta-ta's (not being harnessed by a bra) which were unfortunately out of the tank top a bit, and "that look" in her eyes...

Now, I did pause for a millisecond and consider that if I did, in fact, beat K to death with this flip flop, that I'd be headed to the county jail where I actually worked. No good. Very bad idea. Not necessarily worth the bond money and social media photos. Don't need the co-workers knowing I was a hot-headed freak. Oh, and the charge of Assault Causing Bodily Injury/Family Violence, a Felony, wasn't tempting either.
So during that millisecond, I chose to do something else. I took the flip flop and commenced to beating the steering wheel, steering column, and complete inside of the driver's side door, including the window. I used that flip flop to beat things like it was my last line of defense. After I felt the driver's side door had suffered enough, I closed it and walked back in to the garage, not looking back. I honestly didn't want to see K's expression.
Feeling like I had not fully unleashed the anger inside me, I dropped to my knees, then laid down on that disgusting garage floor, and began flailing around...kicking and screaming...throwing some sort of wild fit like a 3 year old. After I wallered around for about a minute or so, K turned off the truck, got out, and walked up next to me. He leaned over me and said, "Hey, you need to get up now. I'm sure you've freaked out the kids. But, I have to admit, that was some funny sh** when you went to throw that flip flop and it hit the garage ceiling and fell right back in front of you!! But seriously, now. We need to get loaded up to go."
Embarrassed, defeated, tired, and dirty, I gathered what was left of myself up off of the floor, put my flip flop back on, brushed off my purple pajama pants, put the ta-ta's back inside the tank top, fixed my hair a bit, and shuffled back into the house. He was right. I needed to pull it together and get ready to go.

Now, I ask myself: What in the WORLD was I so mad about? What had K done or said that sent me in to the pits of hell and roaring back out with a flip flop in hand? Was I crazy?

I think, to be honest, stress had worn me down both physically and emotionally. I worried too much about selling the house, being perfect, and getting on the road on time. Who was I impressing? Why did it matter? Truth is, it didn't matter.
Like a dog that had just had an accident on it's owner's shoe, I slinked into the living room, found K, and apologized profusely. He just laughed and said not to worry about it---he knew when he married me that I had the ability to go psycho on him (wait, what?). He was also feeling stressed. We made the agreement to: 1. NEVER speak of the flip flop incident again (that failed miserably), and 2. Leave the stress at the doorstep while we were on vacation.

I was NOT proud. I'm definitely NOT proud now that I put it all out there. I am, however, satisfied knowing that no matter what I do, I'm not too crazy, too embarrassing, too emotional, or too whatever.
I'm ME.
Let life "get in the way" sometimes. Let things play out, and you'd be surprised just how often the plot twists and you find yourself in a better place. Just make sure you wear the right footwear for the occasion.


~Andy

PS: During any disagreement now, K asks if I'm going to beat him with a flip flop or something...he's got jokes. :)

Take Me To Texas

Like the sign says, I was not born in Texas. My family moved here when I was 3. I spent the majority of my elementary/junior high years in a tiny town--population 285 according to the sign. My dad was the Deputy Sheriff for years, then he was the County Judge. I have many fond memories of being picked up from school in his on-duty vehicle, being taken up to the courthouse, and being allowed to sit around and drink a Coke. I would wander the streets of our town on my bicycle, visit friends' houses, try my hand at raising litters of kittens that my cat, Doll, would have, and spend long nights up at melodrama practice with my parents. During summer months, it was an understanding that you stayed outside and entertained yourself from the time you ate breakfast until you were called in for supper. And, your rear end had better be in that house when the street lights turned on...or...else.

I can honestly say I had a wonderful childhood. If we didn't have money, I wasn't aware of that. I had everything I needed at all times. I was taught to say yes ma'am/no ma'am, yes sir/no sir, and please/thank you at a young age. I was raised with one brother who is 3 1/2 years younger than me, and we just did things the simple way. I would help my dad velcro his bullet proof vest on before his shifts, and I would either be right up under my mom's feet in the kitchen or I'd be waiting patiently on the other side of her locked bedroom door until she finished her homework from college. My favorite past times included jumping on my bed for hours on end while listening to Tina Turner's "We Don't Need Another Hero," playing with my thousands of My Little Ponies, and playing with my millions of Barbies.
It's just what I did. It's how I was raised. We got dirty. We ate popsicles on the front porch in the evening. We ran through the sprinkler in the 100 degree weather. We drank straight from the garden hose in the yard. Life was good.

As I hit my teenage years, we moved to A-Town. I attended a private academy due to being somewhat picked on as a youngster and having issues with large groups of children. It was at this academy that I met the father to my 3 C's. I can't say I have any regrets, because I don't regret having the 3 most wonderful children in the world.

C1 was actually born in the Dallas/Fort Worth area, so I've lived in the "big city,"
Deep down, I knew the fast-paced, keeping up with the Jones', crazy traffic life wasn't for me. We moved back to A-Town before C2 was born.
The Panhandle of Texas had a way of drawing me back.
The house C2 was born in was by far my favorite...built in the 1950's with original creaky wood floors, pocket doors, cozy-sized rooms, and the smell of old. I don't know how else to describe it.
Unfortunately, their father did not enjoy the smaller home, and we moved to something bigger and better before C3 was born. It was great and all---I had my pick of a nice mom mobile or a brand new sports car to drive on a daily basis, I stayed at home with my children, and I did pretty much anything I pleased.
But, it wasn't me.
As their father and I fell apart after 14 years of marriage, I found myself wondering what in the heck I was going to do. I had started working as a corrections officer when C3 was old enough to attend Pre-K, and I didn't make enough money to support the lavish lifestyle I had been living.
The simple country life was calling.,,

Then, I met K.
It wasn't your typical meet. I made eye contact with him in the gym wall mirror as I was finishing a set of shoulder presses with dumbbells. I was wondering why this Hulk of a guy was looking at me. Then, I saw him walking my direction. Oh no. No no no no no no. No guys. No talking. I was NOT interested. Having just been through a horrible separation/divorce, a man was the last thing I was interested in. After being quite the sassy-sasserton to him, he finally convinced me to give him a chance.
I admit, I judged a book by its cover.
K would show up to the gym in muscle shirts or tank tops, so I assumed he was one of those who would drown out the sound of a girl's voice with head-banging junk music blasting from his truck stereo.
The first ride I took with him in that truck had me doing a double-take. First of all, he cranked up the COUNTRY MUSIC. Wait, what?!?
Second of all, he took me on a nice tour of the countryside to see his HORSES. He talked about growing up in a small town just East of A-Town, how he was his daddy's sidekick when they worked cattle and planted crops, and how he was riding a horse at the age of 3. He also talked about running wild and crazy on hundreds of acres of land, drinking from the garden hose, and building fences with his grandmother.  He was born and raised in Texas, and he loved the country life.Yes, he is a police officer, but it isn't what defines him. His cowboy boots and hat were the real deal.
I wasn't just impressed, I was blown away....
I've been along for the ride with K since that day.

We sold the big ol' house in A-Town as quickly as possible and found ourselves knees-deep in a lifelong project of restoring a farmhouse on 10 acres built in 1950---complete with the creaky floors, pocket doors, cozy-sized rooms, and the smell of old. I don't know how else to describe it.
It's perfect.

I believe you can raise your children right anywhere in this world. I'm not saying that way out in the wide open spaces of Texas is the be-all-and-end-all, but it's certainly my cup of tea. My kiddos get to experience doing chores, caring for animals (16 chickens, 6 guinea hens, 2 goats, 5 horses, 5 cats, and 4 dogs, to be exact), splashing around in the mud with muck boots, wandering around in the fresh air while exploring and catching frogs/snakes/etc, looking at the millions of stars without city lights, and drinking from the garden hose. The porch light will always be on, and family/friends are always welcome.

K says this is where he wants to stay for the rest of his life, watching the sunrise while holding my hand on a porch swing. He loves Texas, loves the country life, and obviously loves us.

When this song came out, he couldn't wait for me to hear it. He said, "This is it--this is me. Take me to Texas...or better yet, leave me here."

Take Me To Texas---George Strait Video     (click link to watch)

~Andy

Too Hard

I was schooled yesterday on several things:
1. How NOT to lose my stuff...ever...for any reason
2. How to loosen up...sort of
3. How to be a better momma
4. How to have fun
5. How to appreciate every moment given to me

K took the day off to spend with us doing whatever in the wide world we wanted to do. The 3 C's needed some entertainment, so we decided to drive down to the lake that's only 30 minutes from our house. K and C2 wanted to fish, and we three girls wanted to chillax under the pop-up awning with some good beach tunes. To be completely honest, I wanted to clean my house and not go anywhere or do anything. I had already spent an entire day off doing something else, and there were chores and laundry calling my name. K convinced me that there are times to make chores wait, and he would help by doing everything I needed done over the next 3 days he has off. I reluctantly agreed.

So, there we were. The boys took off for their fishing site while we girls sat in comfy lawn chairs, soaked up some sun, and listened to our tunes. C3 did her fair share of swimming right off the shore, as well as covering herself in mud, dancing like a fool, and hollering at me every 5 seconds to "watch this!" It was nice, I must admit. Even though C1 and I had spent the entire previous day outside at RCSO's Mud Mania (look it up...it's way cool!), we still enjoyed every second of the sunshine. After about 2 hours, the boys showed back up. Apparently, the fishing wasn't ideal--they didn't catch a thing. I snapped a pic or two, and we all discussed the dinner plans we had for the evening.

As C2 was telling me about fishing, he grabbed a water bottle from the ice chest, popped the top, took a drink, and looked at me funny.
"Momma, there's something wrong with this water. Can water go bad? I think mine did. It smells funny."
"Son, there's nothing wrong with that water."
"Momma, I'm serious. I think there is. Here, smell it." He tried to hand the bottle to me.
"No, boy. I'm not smelling your water. There's NOTHING wrong with it, I promise."
He looked at me this time with a sad/worried/freaked out look.
"Mooooommmmm, pleeeeeeeease? I'm serious! It smells weird!"

I gave him the biggest "mom annoyed with the world" face possible. He reached out to let me smell the bottle. Right as I stuck my nose to it and took in a deep sniff, that boy of mine squeezed the bottle.
I don't know that I can accurately describe to you what went through my mind at that very moment. All I know for certain is I was hit with a TIDAL WAVE of ice cold water. It shot up my nose, alllllll over my face and hair (I need to add that I had already done my makeup and hair for dinner, so that was now ruined), and down the front of my bikini top.
Ice. Cold. Water.
I came up from this tidal wave with mascara in my contacts and swearing like a sailor.
No. It was NOT funny! This was not fun and games! C2 had just destroyed all trust between us. I can no longer trust that sweet baby boy face pleading with his momma to "just smell the water."
Heck no.
Done.
I think I said words that haven't even been deemed as curse words yet.
I instantly demanded that everyone load up in the truck, because this mad-as-a-mother mother was heading home!!

The drive was a quiet one, to say the least. I think I heard C2 squeak out a "I'm really sorry, momma," but it was met with a death glare. C1 and C3 were just trying to fly under the radar. K was trying to control the laugh that was building up inside him.
Right about the time we turned in to the driveway, K said, "I'm sorry hon, but that was the funniest thing I've ever seen in my life!!" Every started dying laughing, except me. I just sat there with my grump face still on.

What in the world was I so mad about? It WAS funny. C2 got me good!

At that point, I was ashamed of my reaction to the situation. I was embarrassed that I cursed like I had. I wanted to just go to bed, pull the covers over my head, and pout.
So. Embarrassed.

As we all piled out of the truck, I grabbed C2 and hugged him. He is such a good boy. I can't be mad very long. I just let him in on a little secret...Momma is terrible with practical jokes.

Everyone was busy somewhere in the house, and I found myself staring in the bathroom mirror at what was once a nicely put together face and hair.
It was fixable.
I was not hurt.
I was just ashamed.

K came through and saw me standing there. He knew what I was thinking. What he said next changed my whole perspective...

"Hon, you know what? You're too hard on yourself. Way too hard. It's okay to not look perfect. It's okay that you raised a boy who's ornery and not perfect. It's also okay that you freaked out and cussed a little. We all have our moments. You're just too hard on yourself. It's okay to have fun."

What he said next hit me straight in the face, and it was just like being shot with ice cold water all over again...

"I'm not sure if I've ever told you this, but my daddy called me up one weekend and asked if I'd go to a funeral back home with him. We knew the family well--he wanted me there with him. I was off at college, and I'm sure there was a girlfriend that I wanted to hang out with, because I told him I couldn't go. Truth was, I could have gone, I just didn't want to. You know what? He died a week later. *Emotions began to rush through K and were visible in his expression* "Babe, don't ever take a single thing in this life for granted. Ya, your son messed up by squirting water in your face. But, at least you went to the lake with him. I know you're tired, worn out from being in the sun for 2 days, and you didn't really want to go, but I'm glad you did. You never know when it will be your last chance to do something with the ones you love. I miss my daddy so much, and he's been gone since I was 19."

I learned a lot yesterday.
I also realized that being too hard on myself or those I love is not okay.
Messed up makeup/hair or not, I'm choosing to enjoy what I have while I have it.
K and my 3 C's, y'all are my everything, in more ways than you know.


~Andy