Thursday, June 28, 2012










Thursday, June 21, 2012

If Those Walls Could Talk

At the end of July, my mom is moving out of the house I grew up in. That's right...the only place of residence I had really ever known the first 18 years of my life. Technically, they didn't move there until I was a year old but I don't remember the other place so as far as I'm concerned, she's lived there my whole life. And now, she's leaving. It's a good change for her. The apartment she's moving to is gorgeous and I'm really excited for her...but it's bittersweet. That house is so full of memories and although it is quite old and needs some serious updating, it has a certain charm about it that I've loved forever and I can only imagine the stories that would be told if those walls could talk...

If the wooden panel walls in the living room could talk, they would probably tell of birthday parties, sleepovers, game nights, Christmas Eves and Mornings spent unwrapping gifts and emptying stockings. They would tell of surprise parties thrown for me and others. They would remember the laughter that filled that room on a constant basis and would tell you that some very happy and blessed people lived there. They also might tell of the rough times, times when tears prevailed over laughter, where hearts were broken, a lie was told, or the family dog sat on the couch fighting for life. Despite whatever stories those walls would tell, you would know there was love.

If the walls of the dining room could talk, they would tell of meals shared, Thanksgiving feasts gobbled up, and party food arranged on the table just so. They would tell of the time I told mom that some turkey she cooked tasted like foot. They would tell of the time I unwrapped kisses for cookies in my "fancy panties" and patent leather shoes. Don't worry, that wasn't recently.

If the walls of the small kitchen could talk, they would tell stories of baking cookies and mixing homemade bread with bare hands. They would tell of a young girl learning how to cook certain things. They might also say that the smell of pizza wafted through that air more so than it should have.

If the walls of the hallway could talk, they would tell the story of each photo that hung there. They would tell stories of a little girl using it as church aisle, walking down it slowly humming the wedding march with her sheet over her head like a veil and a fake flower in her hand. They would tell of the times that angry feet marched down the hall and doors were slammed or when a teenage girl would tiptoe down the hallway after getting home at night to shut her mom's door, the sign that she was home safely if her mom woke up in the night.

If the walls of my old bedroom could talk, oh the stories they could tell. Secrets told to friends, tears cried in a pillow, laughter at silly jokes, conversations with God. They would tell of a mother and daughter sitting on the floor sobbing because for the first time, the daughter had lost her mother's trust. They would tell of a girl growing up, becoming a woman.

If the walls of my mother's bedroom could talk, they would tell stories of tickle wars and deep conversations. They would tell of silly things said when mom was ill and on her medicine that made her loopy. They would tell of the times that a little girl would crawl into her bed with her to be close to her or when a teenage girl would crawl into bed with her after a break up so she could just lay there and cry and feel the comforting hand of her mother. They would tell of the morning that little girl, all grown up, woke up on the day she was to be married, excited and oh so ready to start her new life.

All the walls of that house would have stories to share, some sweet, some sad, some slightly embarrassing. Growing up, I'm not sure I appreciated it for what is was. All my friends had bigger houses with more modern things but looking back, I was so blessed to grow up there. We had great neighbors and I grew up with a secure roof over my head.

I'm excited for this change for my mom but leaving that house and that neighborhood (even as bad as it's slowly becoming) means leaving behind years of memories. But, change is good and I am certain that in this new place, new and wonderful memories will be made and those walls will have exciting stories to tell as well.

Sunday, June 17, 2012

Happy Father's Day






Thursday, June 14, 2012

The Small Victories












Here's to summer, folks!!!!

Thursday, June 7, 2012

The End is Here...

The time has finally come.

My final day of kids here at the Hill. It's an odd feeling. In a way, it doesn't even seem like the last day of school. It's 6th period and some kids are writing on my board, some are signing each other's shirts, some are playing cards, and some are just sitting around talking.

I look around at these kids that I've spent 180 days with, the most I've spent with any group in my last 3 years, and I realize that I really am going to miss these kids - not all of them of course, but many of them. I've created some really great relationships with them and I truly do love each and every one of them. I don't always like them, but I do love them. And even as crazy as some of them make me, my desire is to see each of them succeed.

I realize this might be my last time with middle schoolers. I'm going to 5th grade next year and unless something changes, that's probably where I'll stay until it's time for my son to start school and then I'll probably homeschool.

It's a bittersweet goodbye today and even tomorrow when I say my goodbyes to my colleagues. I've made some really wonderful friendships with some really awesome people over the years. I'm going to miss those people that have supported me and helped me and made me the teacher I am today. I still have a long way to go.

The end of a chapter has come. I'm certainly excited about next year and what it will bring but the Hill will always hold a special place in my heart (as corny as that sounds). Crazy, chaotic Sleepy Hill. Oh, the stories. I sure can't wait to share some with my colleagues next year. They have noooo idea. :)

Friday, June 1, 2012

11 Years

That's a long time right?

11 years?

And yet it honestly feels like just yesterday.

I grew up without my father in my life. Yet, I was fortunate enough to have one particular man in my life. He was the father of a very good friend whom I spent a lot of time with. I always felt, in many ways, he made up for the father I lacked. I think I even told my mom that when I got married, I would want him to walk me down the aisle. His wife was like my second mother...and still is. I call her my Auntie. His daughter, though we don't speak all that often and we don't call each other best friends, is like family. She was in my wedding and her daughter, that precious not so little girl, was my flower girl. I used to be a lot closer to the whole family....brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, cousins - I considered all of them family.

But back to the main reason for my post. A few days ago (this post has actually taken me 3 or 4 days to write) marked the 11 year anniversary of the passing of this special man. In 8th grade we found out he had lung cancer. No one that close to me had ever had cancer so it was a tough thing for this 13 year old to comprehend. We didn't really have all that long anyway. It was only a few short months more before he was gone. But the memories...oh those precious memories...those will last forever.

Whenever my mom and her mom would go out, I would stay over at their house with my friend and him. Those are some sweet memories. He was a huge hard rock fan - Rolling Stones, Beatles, Pink Floyd, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Bob Seger, etc. They had a huge stereo in the den and he would crank up one of the classics and we would go crazy dancing around the house. He'd twirl us around, down the hallway, in the kitchen, and all through the house. Sometimes the volume would be up so loud that the items on the speakers would fall off. Such good times! Those impromptu dances throughout the house are some of my all time favorite memories. We could always get him to take us to Walgreen's for a late night candy run. He got us into an R-rated movie (which I subsequently got in MAJOR trouble for). He was always there, sitting in his recliner, watching his baseball or football game. We would tease him about being so skinny. He and my mom would battle over bowls of peanut butter cups. He was super intelligent and could kill us at a game of Balderdash. I loved game nights with them. So much fun and so much laughter. I loved being over there. He treated me just like a daughter.

I still remember that day like it was yesterday. We knew he didn't have long but he spent his last days at home. I didn't get to see him that last day like my mom did and when she picked me up from my friend Stephanie's house all she said was that he was gone. We spent the rest of that afternoon with the family, me wrapped in Auntie's arms and my friend wrapped in my mom's. We were always like that when we were younger. We swapped moms. Kinda funny. We reminisced and laughed and spent time together which is what he would have wanted. His service was beautiful and heart breaking at the same time. It took a long while before I could sing "It Is Well With my Soul" without tearing up.

For my college graduation my mom made an amazing scrapbook of my life. Many pages were filled with specific people. On one particular page was a special note from my "Auntie", one of my favorite pictures of her, me, and that special man dancing together at a wedding. At the top, underneath a special piece of paper to make it look "other-worldly," was a note that said "We will dance again someday. Love, Uncle Bobby." It said something else too but that's the part that sticks out right now. When I saw it for the first time, the dam broke. Tears of appreciation, love, and simply missing him flowed down my face. It was so something I could hear him saying.

He was quite a special man and he gave his life to the Lord at a 'Heaven's Gates, Hell's Flames' drama about a year before he passed. When he was baptized and the pastor asked for those that were close to him or felt they helped play a part in his salvation to stand, I think almost the entire congregation was standing. Uncle Bobby was a one of a kind man and I have no doubt that he looks down at his family and smiles as he watches his precious granddaughter grow into a beautiful young lady that is much like her mama. I imagine he is quite proud of the mother his daughter has become. I miss him a ton and absolutely cannot wait to dance with him again one day.

Until then, Uncle Bobby...