Mr. B Quit His Job

Yep, he did it. He ripped that band-aid straight off. After serving a life sentence of 27 years.

I have so much to say. But I'm kind of waiting on him. I'm being respectful of HIS boundaries. He'll eventually give me the green light. And then you are really going to know how I feel. And how he feels.

I just want to clarify one thing. He did not retire. He quit. There is a difference. He's got a lot of life in him. And more talent in his pinky finger than that prison has in its entirety. He'll use that talent to do amazing things. Of that, I'm certain.

I'm so proud of him. You have no idea.

He's done his time. And there toward the end, he crawled through several hundred yards of filth you can't imagine. But he came out clean on the other side. Smiling and clean.

I'm going to put a link to a video up that sort of describes how I've felt about him quitting. If you haven't seen Shawshank Redemption - - how are we even friends? Go watch that movie. And I'm sorry for the spoiler. If you have seen it, you will easily get my reference. Just a head's up, there's a bad word in the video...

Shawshank Redemption - Andy Escapes

Touchy Social Media Subjects

I don't know if you're like me at all, but I rarely comment on Facebook posts for other people. Regardless of the subject matter. Because of the eleventy billion notifications you receive following the comment. Because someone else comments. Notification. Someone else comments. Another notification. And it keeps going on and on and on until you click on the original post and either remove your comment or attempt to turn notifications on this particular post off.  Because - - notifications. So many of them.

In this process, I've learned (the hard way) that there are certain subjects you should just leave alone. For various reasons. You'll get the gist. I'm going to list a few for you. In no certain order.

1. Instant-Pot

People have all the opinions regarding this device. They either love it, hate it, read where someone used it wrong and got disfiguring burns from it and refuse to use it, people who have never heard of it (and must live under a rock to avoid Amazon's number one Christmas item), or they are curious and would like for social media to give them more information.

Why, why, WHY did I comment that I loved ours? It was a constant barrage of dings. Love. Ding. Hate. Ding. Check out this burn victim. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. Ding. You feel me here?

I tried to turn the notifications for my comment "We use ours at least five times a week," off. The notifications were already off. But they kept coming. This is where I practically jumped up and down on the delete comment button. Get me away from this tom-foolery.

The opinions, y'all. They were strong. And they were plentiful.

2. Politics

Oh Lord. Again with the opinions.

Here's one where I'm going to give a glimpse of my opinion. It's about Oprah. Oh my goodness. Please. No. Just no. "You get a tax increase. You get a tax increase. You get a tax increase. You all get a tax increase! Well, except me and my buddies. We work the system. But screw you, 2%."  I'm stopping there. I think she'd be terrible.

It's a shame that you have to be independently wealthy to run for office. Current and past administrations are not exempt from this comment. Average people don't just run for President.

3. Religion

Another touchy one. I still post stuff. But mostly stuff about my relationship with Jesus. Not controversial crap. And for the record, I still go to Target. And Starbucks. I'm not a boycotter. Relatively speaking.  Love Jesus, Love Others. That's my life theme.

4. Direct Sales Marketing

I can't even. Some of you have this done right. You have a separate business page that you occasionally intermingle. You occasionally drop a little bit about your weight loss, an oil you love, or something. And that's way cool in my book. I applaud your success. But when that's ALL. I. SEE... Bye. I just can't. Then I have to remember to go check up on you occasionally. Because I escorted myself away about your second week into this new life-changing adventure. I just want to see pictures of your precious kids again. Or see what kind of cool vacay (that you didn't "win") you are on.

People have opinions. And you just got mine. A generic one. But good gravy, I'm not about to click like on one of those posts. And I'm sure not going to comment. Because I don't want to get the pitch. Does that make sense?

5. Inside jokes

How about we leave those inside? You guys text each other or something. Create a What's App group. Because the rest of us aren't too interested in guessing what the subtext of your text really is. We're all scratching our heads and scrolling on by. Because - - what? Why do we all need to see that?

6. Social Issues

This one scares me the most. Because a lot of time, it's blending politics and religion and smashing it into one big post. Oh goodness. It's disastrous. I skedaddle far away from most of these. I have a few hot button subjects that I'll do battle on every day. But generally, I try to stay away.

I generally try not to step in social media doo doo. I used to. But not so much anymore. If some post has hundreds or thousands of comments, I don't usually look at them. Because chances are, someone is being a total tool. Or they can't spell. Or both. And my eyes literally bleed.

Bring back videos of baby goats doing Parkour. I demand more baby goat videos.

Whatever floats your boat, kids. Have some fun out there. Don't be a social media tool. I'll just be sitting over here, scrolling on by or hitting the unfollow button.

Being Passive Aggressive...

Hello. My name is Becky. And I am the FORMER mayoress of a city I like to call Passive-Aggressiva. It's not a title I'm proud of. But I am happy that, for the most part, the word "former" is a huge part of where I am today.

I'm not big on confrontation. At all. Actually, I loathe it.

Back in the day, if I wanted someone to know I was upset with them, I'd post a very cryptic (translation: passive-aggressive) post about it on Facebook. Usually, it was pretty dang obvious to the intended recipient. Other times it caused others to question if they'd done something wrong or not.  It took me way too long to see the immaturity in my behavior. A long time, and a lot of unnecessary hurt.

It embarrasses me to admit that I actually thought it was cute to act that way. Look at me -- publicly shaming someone on the internet because they hurt or upset me.

I would slap the crap out of my younger self if I could.

So much regret.

Bottom line these days? I don't play like that. I would hope that as adults, we can all be grown ups and address a problem head on.

Basically - - nobody wants to watch that drama play out in real life. Or on social media. It's petty and small. And y'all - - I'm sorry that I used to play that way.

But snark? - - I ain't giving that one up just yet. *wink* It's in my lifeblood. Still.

Adult Children Loving Their Parents and Parents Loving Their Adult Children

I guess God thought I needed a heaping dose of perspective. Because He heaped it on me. So much of it.

I'm going to give you the most condensed version I know how. In other words, a potential lengthy post. But I'm going to try.

Both of my parents are in poor health. My mom has been sick for pretty much my entire adult life. Hers all started with a simple abdominal hernia back in 1990 (?). Enter staph infection. Open wounds. Home health. Diabetes. Toe amputations. Cellulitis. Chest pain. Back pain. Crappy knees. Being cut from stem to sternum. She's a hot mess. (She won't argue with any of that. She knows.)

Dad has heart problems. And Diabetes. He's had quadruple by-pass surgery. Stents. Heart caths. Congestive heart failure. Serious stuff.

I know way more medical jargon than I wish I did. I also know what role genetics will play in my future. Good times.

When they moved 90 miles away, I had a tiny coronary of my own. Figuratively speaking. I knew that it would present new challenges. But they had their reasons. And they're adults. So - - get after it. They were happy and it's hard to argue with that.

Enter a few random and stressful health scares. All do-able. And so far so good.

Until a week and a half ago.

Dad called me to tell me he was bringing mom over to the ER. I talked him into using the ER in their town. Which was initially a good idea. Except "THE" (as in the only) CAT scan machine was broken. And a clot needed to be ruled out. She needed to be transported over to my town. I talked Dad into staying home and agreed to meet the ambulance at the ER. She was admitted with the beginnings of pneumonia and what they thought was cellulitis. It's complicated. But anyway, they admitted her.

He traveled back and forth to see her.

She was slowly getting better and on the verge of getting dismissed. That's when she let me know that he was DRIVING HIMSELF OVER because he was having trouble breathing and experiencing chest pain.

He's hard-headed. We had that conversation today.

Praise God we had that conversation today.

Because yesterday, I wasn't sure we'd ever have another conversation again.

He was admitted Sunday night.

Monday morning, I went to visit them both. Conveniently on the same floor of the same hospital. I saw Mom first. We were both worried that we'd heard nothing from Dad. I went to investigate.

He wasn't on the same floor. He'd been moved to ICU. He'd been sedated and intubated. I was called into the little room. The room where bad consults happen. According to his cardiologist, he was very sick. Critical. He needed surgery right then. Did I consent? Did I want life-saving measures? I needed to sign paperwork.

HUH?

(When exactly did I become the responsible adult? I didn't get the memo.)

I walked into ICU and broke down. I'll never be able to un-see him hooked up to so many wires. A machine breathing for him. Him slumped over. I get a knot in my throat just thinking about it. I was able to hold his hand, kiss it and tell him I loved him as they wheeled him away.

Critical. Minute to minute.

I don't care how strong in your faith you are, moments like that rock you to your core. And my mom still didn't know what was going on.

In the meantime, Mr. B had arrived. This man is a rock, y'all. A freaking rock. Strong and comforting. (I married way out of my league, but we can talk about that another time.)

We went together to tell my mom. Her doctor had prepped her for it and was delaying her dismissal until my dad got out of surgery. We cried. I called her pastor who prayed with us over the phone.

We waited in ICU waiting for his doctor to talk to us after the procedure.

He made it out of surgery okay. No blockage. There is no cure for congestive heart failure though. His doctors are working hard at finding the best treatment for him. It won't be easy. But he seems very determined to do the work.

It's been an exhausting couple of weeks. But I still have both of my parents. And I'm so grateful for that. Dad gets another night in ICU, to play it safe. Then hopefully just a couple of days in a regular room. I know he's probably already itching to get home to his pups. And Mom.

It's hard to watch your parents age and experience health problems. I'm sure it's hard for them to slowly relinquish control to their kids as we help them navigate this portion of their life on this earth. It's an interesting place to be as their "kid."

All I know is I had the privilege of spending the day with my dad. I got to help him and love him. And I'm so glad. I needed it. I think he may have needed it, too. His tell? When I told him I loved him, he didn't reply with "thanks." He told me he loved me, too.

I think I may actually sleep good tonight.

This whole "Me Too" thing...

I am so irritated.

Brace yourselves, friends. I'm about to go there. The place I vowed to stay away from. Political/Social hot button topics. And this one oozes hypocrisy.

I'm sure many of you have heard of the "Me, Too" campaign. If you're on social media at all, you are likely seeing so much of it. Traditionally, April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month. A quick Google search will give you all kinds of information. But the actions of a few high profile celebrities have brought the issue to the forefront.

Let me start with this - - I take sexual assault VERY seriously. And I honestly feel like I have credibility when it comes to the topic. For a couple of years, I worked with the local rape crisis center as a "crisis intervention specialist." That's a fancy title for someone who works with victims of sexual assault, incest, abuse, etc. While I hold a bachelor's degree in psychology, I'm not a psychologist or a licensed counselor.

My job was to help victims navigate the process. Many times, that process (for staff and volunteers) included meeting victims at the emergency room. We had an agreement with the hospital. When a victim came in, we were contacted. If it was during business hours, whoever was available would go over to the hospital to greet the victim. After hours, we worked on-call. I went on several calls. And a few still linger in my head.

At the hospital there were at least two, possibly three, Sexual Assault Nurse Examiners. I won't go into the details. It's a lot. And those nurses are freaking amazing. They are trained to collect evidence.

We would explain the process to the victim and whoever accompanied them to the E.R. We would discuss evidence collection, how the process worked with law enforcement, expectation with the legal system, what to expect in the days to come, etc. And we would offer our services to them free of charge. It was an amazing program.

I'm not entirely sure how the program works today. I know the agency is still in town, but they've expanded their umbrella of services to include those who identify as LGBTQ and the issues they struggle with. I don't understand linking the two. Especially since we were taught, for so long, that sexual identity has nothing to do with sexual assault. For that matter, neither does sex. Sexual assault is about power and control. (And let me be clear, I have NO problem with services being offered to the LGBTQ community. None.)

Sexual assault and incest are violent and ugly. They steal dignity. It can flat out destroy a person. I saw the consequences every day I worked there. It was an honor to be an advocate for those whose world had just been turned upside down. Or those who had pushed aside events from their past and finally had summoned the courage to speak out.

On that note...

The way the definition of sexual assault has evolved makes me absolutely sick. And it minimizes what, I feel, is true rape or incest. How in the world can you compare the brutality and violence of rape with someone who may have had their butt grabbed by some guy? Or some person at work who tells a dirty/inappropriate jokes? Or someone who stared at your chest? How is that the same? Someone please educate me. I know those things are wrong, wrong, wrong. No denying that. And I truly believe they need to be called out on their behavior.

I've had my butt grabbed.

I've had my chest oogled over.

I've heard plenty of dirty jokes. I've probably told a few. (I totally have.)

I'm not triggered. I don't feel the need to shout out, "Me, too!"

I'm angry. I'm angry for the fourteen year old I worked with who was violently raped by an acquaintance. I'm angry for the gay service member who was suicidal over memories that haunted him over years of childhood incest. I'm mad, y'all. Mad.

I'm angry with the Hollywood hypocrites who had no issue, FOR YEARS, in accepting roles from the perv who "assaulted" them. Whatever to get or keep the job. Right? I'm upset with him for abusing his power. See the theme here? Power and control. It's not about sex. I'm mad at the sudden onset of outrage from the political elite. I'm angry at any woman who is using this "Me, too" thing to garner attention.

Look, if someone grabbed your butt in the bar or in the office, you weren't sexually assaulted. Not in my opinion. Were you the victim of some very inappropriate behavior? Uh, yes. Of course. But stop saying "Me, too." Because I can assure you, it pales in comparison to so many of the actual victims I worked with.

You do not have to agree with me. And if you can present a credible argument against my words, please reach out to me. Maybe I need educating. I don't know. But right now, I've had enough.

What's sad is there are some legitimate "Me, too's" out there... And they need help. Legitimate help. They need advocates. They need a safe place to talk.  I'm safe, y'all. If you need to talk, you know how to find me. If you're local, I'll meet you for coffee. I'll take a phone call. I'll offer a shoulder to cry on. I'll try to help point you in the right direction and help you get counseling. If you need to speak out and are afraid to, track me down. I don't play with this topic. Not. At. All.

Victims, I've got you.

And with that, I'll climb off of my soapbox.

All the thoughts. Heavy hearts.

Sit back and grab your coffee or favorite Sonic beverage. This could be a lengthy one. Me? I have my Diet Cranberry Limeade and a lot on mind. I have to get it all out.

I don't know where to begin.

Maybe over the summer.

I was struggling. A lot. As a mom. And as a friend. Praise God the wife thing was going so well. Still is. Love me some Mr. B. But as a mom, I was struggling.

I can't go into it too much detail because while I overshare often about my kids, I recognize their need for privacy in such a public world. Let's just say that about an hour before I was scheduled to get on a plane and head to a conference out of state, some things surfaced that literally knocked my feet right out from under me. While all the "stuff" that led to this moment had been building progressively over the summer, I was not prepared for it to shift so quickly.

We got some quick answers and luckily, God has really blessed some changes that were made.

As the plane taxied down the runway, I popped my earbuds in and fought back the urge to sob uncontrollably. I took a deep breath, asked God to guide and guard my husband and kids in my brief absence, and then cranked up my workout playlist. Yes, the workout one. Because I needed loud music. And I clearly had not been using it to workout.

I went on to attend an AMAZING conference and make a new friend. And my family would have epic fun while I was gone. Bless. Bless all that.

But friends. Summer can be ever so isolating in West Texas if you don't have a pool or a membership to a pool. And when you have an active kid with all the friends and all the invites and then a kid who prefers the isolation of his room - - I was stuck like chuck. Then you see the pictures of your friends living it up. Together. Don't misunderstand me. Please. I understand fully that we aren't going to get invited to everything. And that's really okay. We can't all do everything together all of the time. Life just doesn't work that way. I learned, the hard way, to not let that get to me.

Leaving our church home a little over a year ago would bring both blessings and heartbreak. We knew God was calling us out of our comfort zone. Since 1995, we'd worshiped in that church. We got married there. We lived through infertility there. We celebrated two adoptions there. Our babies were dedicated to God there. Our friends were there. But God had other plans.

Change is hard. Being obedient to God isn't always the easy road.

We were invited to attend Journey Bible Church. And on our first Sunday there, we felt like we'd finally come up for fresh air. We immediately felt a sense of family. We felt welcome. We were truly able to worship together as a family. Through music, the preaching of God's word, fellowship - - church, the way we felt like God had designed it to be. Flawed people loving flawed people.  We were home.

Leaving a very large church for a much smaller one would introduce a hiccup for me. The friend thing. Sure I would find new friends. But I would have to be intentional about maintaining old ones. And that would prove to be difficult. I still struggle, but I'm finding that God is slowly blessing our obedience.

In the midst of all of this, I watched several friends endure some really tough life events. One friend lost her boutique in a bad storm in June. Another friend lost her father. Some friends experienced betrayal on a level that absolutely boggles the mind. Our best friends moved out of state.

The enemy knows where the chinks in our armor are. And he capitalizes on them. Divide and conquer is his M.O. What a fart-knocker. Seriously. Could he be a bigger tool?

The doubt consumed me.

Was I good enough?

Why do I feel invisible?

What is wrong with me?

What was God thinking in trusting me to raise these two boys?

And I told nobody.

I had never felt more alone and more isolated. So much of it, my own doing. Because I didn't reach out and ask for help when I felt like I was beginning to sink. How arrogant of me to wait for someone to notice.  Especially when I was trying really hard to hide my heartache.

I was in a funk. A bad one.

But God is faithful, y'all. Always.

What a privilege it is to carry our burdens alongside friends and family. To pray for them. To pray with them. To ask God to intervene when all seems hopeless. To have them pray for you. To reach out to you.

Friends, both old a new - - with fresh eyes and an open heart.

This day had so much hurt. But so much love at the same time. There was unexpected loss and renewed relationships. Family. Friends.

I love you guys. And I thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for putting up with me. I can be a handful. So much sass. But a heart that doesn't know how to really quit. That love comes from Jesus you guys. He gets me through.

I leave you with this amazing new song by Matt Redman. Hope - - One Day. No more tears. No more shame. No more walking through the shadow of death. No more cancer. All of this will change when we see Jesus face to face.

Perfectly Imperfect, Flawed, Forgiven and Loved,

~b

Friendship Deal-Breaker

Recently, one of my friends (who teaches at the college level) gave an interesting writing prompt to her students. Here is what she shared on Facebook:

In class, I asked students to write on this prompt: "What's your 'deal-breaker' in a friendship? What would you consider something so bad that you'd back away from the relationship?" Before the students got started, one of them asked me, "What's YOUR deal-breaker?"

Then she challenged her Facebook friends with the same task of answering that question.

I had my fingers on and off the keyboard. Then I finally commented that it warranted a blog entry.

So here goes...

It's interesting. Because I have had very few friendships break up. Let me explain. I think we first need to define what, to us, is a friend. Because I have lots of "Facebook friends." I have a whole lot of acquaintances in real life. To give you the title of friend is a pretty big deal to me. And honestly, it wasn't something I really understood until I was WELL into my adult life.

I had friends growing up. But none were really solid, mature relationships. Because - - well, I wasn't a solid, mature person. I always struggled being friends with females. I could relate to guys so much easier. Girls, in my experience, were catty and mean. Jealous. Nasty. Held grudges. It was never easy.

I was one of those girls who developed early. And I just kept on developing. Most girls hated me for that. Truly hated. Guys noticed. Some were pretty obnoxious about it.

I developed some pretty wicked self-esteem issues and I would say that I had a very negative body image issue. I hid behind clothes that were too big for me. As a matter of fact, I'm in my mid-forties (holy crap, how did that happen) and I'm just now learning to dress for my size, throw my shoulders back, and stand tall. Confident in who I am.

But back to the friend thing.

I made some friends in college. Ride or die friends? Well, maybe a couple. Lots and lots of social friends. People I knew, hung out with, and stuff. But people that knew the inner workings of me? Not really. I found that most people disappointed me. They let me down. They cast me aside when a better offer came along. They didn't include me in their group dates because my boyfriend ran in a different circle.

I only dated one guy in college. Seriously dated. And it lasted two years. It ended rather abruptly after he graduated and went into the Air Force. He actually broke my damn heart. I've heard through the grapevine that he's like a Colonel or something now. And really, he was a great guy. He just knew that I wasn't the one. Ewwwww. I don't want to talk about this anymore. Why did I even let this go there?  I actually struck gold one week after I graduated from college. Hello Mr. B! I'll post more about how we became Mr. and Mrs. B another time. It's quite a story.

But friends...

That not being included thing stung. A lot. Still does. Facebook has made that worse. Because of stupid tagging and inside jokes. I hate that crap.

Grown up friendships are very different. So I'm going to use that as my reference to answer the original question. What's my deal-breaker? For authentic friendships. What can make me run the other direction?

If you've thrown me under the bus for something, I'd give myself a pretty safe distance. But if you were driving the bus you threw me under? Bye. Seriously, bye.

What do I expect? Honesty. Loyalty (within reason, I understand priorities), Respect, and Love.

I've had many acquaintances come and go. Some are due to distance. Others are due to straight up incompatibility. I've said it a million times, I think we can have seasonal friendships. Seasons change. Lives change. Priorities change. Life happens.

I had an awesome group of friends that met weekly to scrapbook. We had a firm agreement. Politics was off limits. Religion was really limited to curiosity questions. (We were very diverse.)

Politics. Oh Lort. Not a deal-breaker as long as you aren't an asshole about your beliefs. Again with the respect thing.

I've been through hell and back with a friend. We had to "go in the tunnel" to work our crap out. It wasn't pretty. But I'm so glad that we did.

I have a very small group of women I'd go to if a crisis crept up.

I know who to call if I need a glass of wine or a cup of coffee and a good conversation.

I know who to call if I need to pray about something.

I know who to call if I need to belly laugh at an inappropriate movie.

I know who to call if I get a kidney stone in the middle of the night.

I know who to call to bury the body of the bus driver.

I have those people in my life. And I'm not afraid to sic them on you if you hurt me. And I will straight up cut you if you hurt them.

Deal-breaker? You have to REALLY screw up to get out of my inner circle once you're in. It's simple. Stick with the code and we'll be fine.

See why I couldn't squeeze all that in a comment box? Heh.

He is his father's son...

It's funny how adoption works. You know, how God just works it out. We get the kids we were supposed to get.

When Justin was born, he had a head full of dark, dark brown hair. I always highlighted mine, but I immediately stopped. Because I wanted him to look like me. So I (temporarily) ditched the highlights.

Then Cameron was born with super blonde hair. And blue eyes. Just like Dad.

We got that a lot. People were often shocked to find out our boys were adopted. Justin looked like me and Cameron looked like David.

But personality wise - - Justin is David and Cameron is me.

Cameron and I are all go, no quit, work a room, social butterflies. Justin and David are not. SO not. Not in a bad way. They have friends. They'll go out in public. They'll semi-socialize. But given a choice - - being home and not being peopley is it.

Yesterday, I was perusing Instagram when I saw a friend's pictures of her adorable daughter doing her cheerleader thing at the middle school both boys go to. Only now, the school is so big, only 8th graders get to go to the pep rallies. I forgot that their games were on Tuesdays. So naturally, pep rallies would be on those days.

When I saw the pictures, I nearly died laughing. Not at the beautiful cheerleader. No way. She was adorable. But I was laughing knowing that Justin was probably in there. I even joked that I could imagine seeing his eyes roll right past the video in the gym.

Fast forward to after school. Here was the conversation.

Me: Hey, Dude. How was school.
Justin: It was alright.
Me: Was there a pep rally today?
Justin: Yes.
Me: Did you get to go?
Justin: Mom, I had to go. They made us. I didn't have a choice.
*cue me giggling*
Me: You didn't care for it, huh?
Justin: Not at all.

So I told David about it. He went on about how much he hated pep rallies in high school.

*insert my fake shocked face*

Y'all. I lived for that stuff in junior high and high school. So much that I tried out for (and was voted in as) my high school mascot my senior year.

I spent a week at cheerleading camp (where I won the mascot spirit stick, thank you), I helped paint banners during the summer to decorate the gym, I helped decorate the gym, I had my dad make me cool props for the games, I sweated my butt off in that un-airconditioned gym, I was at every game, I posed for a gazillion pictures with kids... I lived for it and absolutely loved every second.

I don't have an athletic bone in my body. So when I jammed my finger in my very first (and only) junior varsity basketball game (during warm up, I should add) I quit basketball and signed up to be a manager. Because I loved it. I loved being there.

I even managed track so that I could go to track meets. Who loves track meets? Me. I kept those girls hydrated, at their starting blocks on time and I loved every dang second of it. Well, except for the distance runners who ALWAYS puked. Gross.

So my oldest detests it all. And I married a guy who isn't much of a fan himself. He'll got to Ram Jam with me. But we go in two cars. Because he and Justin cheese it when the festivities end.
\



Cameron and I walk over to the football game and sit in our same reserved seats. We're on our third year now. He missed his very first game last week due to a family commitment. But me? I haven't missed a single one yet. My goal is to get a not-yet-existent perfect attendance award for football games when I'm in my 90's or something. I want them to cheer on Grammy B for sticking it out and being loyal to her guys. Because Rams, y'all. Go Rams, Go!

I love my time with Cameron at the football games. I love watching him interact with players on the field after the game. I love the looks he gets from the players' moms when he asks them to sign his t-shirt. He loves those boys. Cameron is all in with his Rams. And so am I.

So it all has worked out. The son that doesn't look much like me acts like me. And vice-versa for David.

And it's all okay.

We're happy. We have fun.

Kicking it old school...

My garage door opener broke. Because of course things break in this house. All the things. All the time. Break, break, breakity, break. I had just pulled in from the ASU football game Thursday night and pushed the button in my car to close it. I was getting out as it closed.

And just like that, I thought I was about to die.

I heard a loud snap. I ducked, y'all. Because something gadgety was trying to kill me.

When I realized what it was, I was thankful that wire didn't pop me in the head. That would have hurt.

So I went inside to spread the good news to Mr. B.

He was super thrilled that something else had gone wrong with The Money Pit. (That's what we call our house now. For future reference, TMP.)

For the first day, the mister braced it open so I could get out. I ran errands and stuff. Then I would have the kids get out of the van, go punch in the code, and open Mr. B's side of the garage so we could get in. You would have thought I asked them to solve world peace or something. The exhaustive sighs that came from them.

Bless their hearts.

That was my one of my jobs growing up. We didn't have fancy garage door openers. Shoot, we didn't always have a garage. It didn't matter though. Rain, sleet, snow, gale force winds, millions of degrees outside, my brother or I got out and opened the door. And we stood there and waited for the family truckster to be tucked safely away and we'd roll the door back down behind us.

Other jobs we had that involved "manual labor" were changing the TV channel and adjusting the volume. We were the remote control to all twelve of our channels.

And let me tell you, lawn mowers haven't always pulled themselves for you and you just basically guided them effortlessly through the thick grass. We pushed those beasts with all our might. And my dad was a stickler for bagging the grass. Only he would have us dump the cut grass in the bed of his truck. Then, because we smelled and there wasn't room for all of us in the cab, we'd ride in the back (with the loose grass) to some mystery destination where we'd sweep the truck bed out.

Only we usually didn't get all of it. And then our family would feel the need to go on a road trip to see the grandparents. In the truck. And guess who got to ride in the bed of the truck. That's right, load up, kids. A few hours in that hot truck with grass in our eyes. And no benadryl. We couldn't afford luxuries. And in case you've ever looked, there are no seat belts back there. I can't believe we did that.

It was a rough life. We're lucky we survived.

So count your blessings, boys. You hopped out and entered a four digit code. Oh the humanity...

After being trapped in our home for a few days (which wasn't the worst thing ever) the garage door people were able to come and fix it. I am free to lurk about town again.

And the kids are able to rest their index finger. Because it was hard to get out and enter that code.

Rough Morning

It seems like the more I make myself vulnerable with parenting and stuff, the more the enemy attacks me.

I sent out a group e-mail to both boys' teachers last night. Just kind of giving them a background. I went to bed, feeling pretty good that I'd checked that off of my to-do list.

Then this morning, all hell broke loose. It was rough. It was ugly. It was hateful. It was all part of living with a kid who deals with anxiety. He's normally an AWESOME kid. But sometimes, it takes a bit to get there before his medication kicks in. This morning was no exception. He was being pretty nasty to me when I flat out lost it. Maybe he needed to see me cry. He needed to know that I have feelings, too. Because he cried.

So the car ride to school was a big cry fest.

This is where I'm thankful for engaged leadership at the school. Our principal is out there, front and center, at drop off. Every morning. He stopped what he was doing and took over.

More tears from me once I drove off.

Then I get home to a barrage of answered e-mails from his teachers telling me how amazing he is in their classes. How helpful he is.

More tears.

God's got this kid, y'all. I know He does.

If you have an extra minute or two, will you pray for him? And his teachers? And any other adult in his life? I always ask God to put the right people in his path everyday.

I know today will get better. I have complete confidence in how he's being treated at school.  But I have even more confidence in a sovereign Father who wants the best for us.

See, I told you guys that it wasn't all sunshine and glitter up in here. We are not the perfect family. But we are going to keep loving big.

Love y'all. Thanks for loving my family. And for putting up with a lot of nonsense from me. My squad is pretty dang amazing.

School Body-Slam

Let me get this out there first - - I love our school. I love the teachers. I love the administration. Love, love, and more love.

But I miss the simplicity of summer. The break, as a parent, that I get from needing to correspond with teachers is much needed. And it's about two weeks into the school year, when grades start to show up on the online reporting system, that I start to realize that it's time for ME to go back to school. When I start getting those auto-generated e-mails because a grade is THAT bad, then I know I waited too long.

The first one came today.

It was a lovely two weeks.

But bless his heart, he does math about as good as his mama. Toss in some anxiety about not being good enough or smart enough or worried that someone is judging you or lots of other things. Add in puberty and trying to figure out who you really are. Are you still a kid? Are you a man? Are you just another awkward middle school kid? What? We don't know. We just do our best to parent through this and team up with teachers.

I am still, 100%, Team Teacher, y'all. For real. I should have t-shirts made up for conferences. They would say This parent is on your team. #teamteacher If I didn't think that would come across as a total butt kisser, I would get right on that. I don't complain about them. Because frankly, they are doing a job I can't.

So - - here I am again. The fun part of first day of school pictures is over. Reality has kicked in. I've initiated first contact with my first teacher of the year. And so the cycle repeats.

Oh, what I'd give to be back on the big boat, floating around in the Caribbean with a fruity beverage in my hand listening to a steel drum band. Or listening to the rain gently fall on the roof of a cabin in the mountains as the thunder rolls through the canyon. But alas, I hear the notification of e-mails coming in and alarms reminding me to get my butt out of bed in the mornings.

Reality. It body slammed me today.