July 7, 2009:  Deliberately shut the door on the current attacks from the enemy.  There is no reason for you to be a victim of your circumstances, and again I remind you that you have been given the supreme authority to overcome every work of the flesh and the devil.  I have empowered you to attain victory.  Feeling sorry for yourself is counter-productive; you cannot win when you are already defeated, says the Lord.  Rise up in the strength I have provided to cause you to triumph.  1 John 5:4 For whatever is born of God overcomes the world. And this is the victory that has overcome the world––our faith.

Now…on with what I wanted to say…

Sometimes, reaching out for help requires more than just waving a finger or dropping a hint.  Some times you have to jump up and down, scream and shout and then?

Sometimes that’s not even enough either.

But reaching way down deep, finding the root, exposing the true issue will help - but talking to someone… someone who is not where you are but where you want to be does wonders.

Know why?

Because they will quote scripture written especially for you…

¹“To the angel of the church in Ephesus write:
These are the words of him who holds the seven stars in his right hand and walks among the seven golden lampstands: ²I know your deeds, your hard work and your perseverance. I know that you cannot tolerate wicked men, that you have tested those who claim to be apostles but are not, and have found them false. ³You have persevered and have endured hardships for my name, and have not grown weary. ⁴Yet I hold this against you: You have forsaken your first love. ⁵Remember the height from which you have fallen! Repent and do the things you did at first. If you do not repent, I will come to you and remove your lampstand from its place. ⁶But you have this in your favor: You hate the practices of the Nicolaitans, which I also hate. ⁷He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To him who overcomes, I will give the right to eat from the tree of life, which is in the paradise of God. (Revelation 2:1-7)

Amen. Amen. and Amen.

Until next time…

(1) I am NOT perfect… far from it.  So in no way is this post placing myself on a high horse in which I will break my neck when I fall…

(2) I’m not in the most chipper cheery mood these days, but I’m striving to get better…

Now, on with the post.

I love church signs.  I really do.  I think some of the most thought provoking statements can be found on the marquees, no matter how fancy they are.  The church around the corner from me makes me think daily and because the messages are there for at least a week and sometimes longer, I’m able to see them, read them, meditate on them.  This particular church has my most favorite message of all time.  Many years ago, when I didn’t even know this side of town existed, I was driving over here with my boss and we passed this church and their sign stated:

“Stop, drop and roll doesn’t work in hell.”

I don’t know why that struck me.  I wasn’t even saved at the time, but it stuck with me and I’ve repeated that same message to many throughout the years.  They’ve had other good ones, but none that stuck with me like that one until these last few days.

Coming home every day I’m faced with the sign that says, “The dictionary is the only place where success preceeds work.”

Think about that for just a moment.  It should be completely true.  It should be that rewards come at the cost of hard work; that success is measured by the effort that you put in.  But that’s not really the case with society today.  We live in a land where people think that they are owed something; where they feel that just because they show up for work, they should collect a paycheck.

But that’s just not the way that it is. As I look around me and my circumstances, I’m mad.  I mean, down right, ready to spit, mad.  Seriously.  I’m sick and tired of busting my butt and robbing Peter to pay Paul.  I don’t live in a fancy house.  I don’t drive a fancy car.  I don’t wear designer clothes nor do my children unless I’ve picked them up at a second hand shop.  We don’t eat out often.  We tithe.  We are living to the best of our ability based on my salary.

But…

I drive past the projects, the low income housing and I see the clothes that the people there are wearing.  I see the cars that are sitting outside their doors.  I see the “bling” adorning their bodies and I sit there and wonder why they have more than me.  And I get jaded.

I’m tired of working two jobs to pay the bills, to save, to do some fun things while I watch people trot their happy butts all over town doing what ever they want without a care in the world.

I’m tired of it.

Sick and tired of it.

But you know, it’s funny…

The other side of that church sign?

Wanna know what it says?

“When was the last time that you made God smile?”

Today. Because I’m doing the right things.  I’m doing what I’m supposed to be doing.  Every day.  And yes, I’m angered by the circumstances that I’m in and what I witness around me, but I’m not giving in.  I’m not.  I’m keeping my chin up.  I’m trying to tackle every day with a smile.  Because that, my dear readers, makes God smile.

And in the end?

That’s all that matters.  When I stand before him and I hear him say, “Well done my good and faithful servant,” it will be worth it.

So worth it.

That’s what success is and yes, that success takes work.

So very very worth it.

Until next time…

By Wednesday, I was spent.  I was in a funk.  The boy was in a funk.  The kids are clueless, which is a good thing, because they don’t need to worry about this stuff but Wednesday morning, I decided that I was going to turn my week around.  Afterall, I’m always hearing from my Pastor that my attitude is my choice and due to my spiritual struggles to begin with, I just decided that I wasn’t going to crumble…I decided that I wasn’t going to fall.

Church last night was good.  I’ve been struggling there as well with some changes that have been taking place and we all know how I am with change, but I went and it was uplifting and there was a little bit of change in me.  It was good.  I felt good.

So I get home…I call my Dad to wish him a happy birthday and then I was talking to my mom and all of a sudden I hear, “I’m going to need some help…the dog just went after a skunk and I think she got sprayed.”  I handed the phone to Samara and as I ran out into the yard, I heard Sam yell “Get tomato… uh, something … to wash her with.”

Tomato Juice.  In case you’re wondering… tomato juice.  And if you’re having a bad week and you go to the grocery store at 10:30pm at night, I can gauruntee you that the cheap, Kroger brand of tomato juice?  The one that’s on sale for 2 for $3?  Yeah.. it’s going to be SOLD OUT.  Can I ask why the rush on tomato juice this week? Did the same skunk hit half of Roanoke County?  Seriously!  So I had to buy the Campbell’s tomato juice for $3.39 a jar.  Of course, not knowing how much tomato juice it would take to wash my 75lb black lab, I bought 3.

But since I was there, I picked up some other stuff that we were out of… and $35 dollars later, I left to go back to the house to wash the dog who STUNK.

Fortunately, Rhoda was a champ.  She really was.  Getting hosed down with cold water and tomato juice I’m sure was not the most pleasant thing at almost 11pm at night.

By the time I fell into bed, I was beat.  But the whole time I just kept looking up…I just kept talking to God.  “Hey Big Guy… I know there’s a lesson here.  I know it.  Can you just tell me instead of making me figure it out myself?  But if I need to figure it out, I’ll keep trying.”

So when I posted about the stinky dog last night on Facebook, the Boy’s sister summed it up the best with “You really have had a stinky week.”

Understatement of the year, Sis… Understatement of the year…

But you know what?

Today is a new day.  Today I woke up and I started over.

So we’re going to see.  We’re going to see what happens.  But so far?  I think there’s a light at the end of the tunnel…

And I’m just praying that it’s not an oncomming train…

Until next time…

But the drive?  I had no idea when looking at the directions before I set off would lead me down my own personal memory lane.  I was unaware of where I was headed, never realizing that the course I would take this morning would take me back at least 15 years.

I set off and before long, I was in Bedford.  I passed the church that I attended for a long time, the one that had the pastor that I connected with.  I thought about stopping by on my way home, but quickly remembered that I attended his retirement service a little over a year ago.  It was the service where I realized that as an Episcopalian, I thought we never talked about Salvation.  In that service, I realized that we said the word Salvation over 5 times every service.  It was also in that service where I realized that growing up Episcopalian, saying the same things every Sunday, that I just said words.  I never truly understood what I was saying.

I then passed Avenel where my parents held the renewal of their wedding vows on their 25th anniversary.  Their renewal ceremony came at the conclusion of my marriage and the memories of watching my parents, so happy after 25 years when my marriage of  just three failed, came flooding back.  It was hard for me to stand there carrying the barely a year old Samara on my hip while three year old Matthew followed my brother around like a little lost puppy and smile.  It was a cross roads in my life that, looking back was adventageous for me to go through, but a point where I never wish to return.

Going a little further down the road, the scenery started looking familiar to me and it was then that I realized that this was the route my father would take after church on beautiful days to the Peaks of Otter on the Blue Ridge Parkway.  As a child, I hated those drives.  I just wanted to be home.  I had no desire to sit in the car and look at the mountains or the leaves changing or being on a road where the speed limit was 45 mph and people actually adhrered to it.  I wanted to be home.  I wanted to be out of the mandatory church clothes that I was forced to wear and enjoying the last bit of my weekend.  All these years later, I am the person that wants to take those drives.  I am fortunate in the fact that my children enjoy them as well, or at least, they pretend like they do and don’t tell me otherwise.  I was not so considerate.

When I passed the sign advertising the Peaks of Otter Winery just 4.6 miles down the road on my left, I was transported back to October when the boy and I went on our first date.  It was there that I called him out on being nervous; where I questioned if it was going to last if he was all over the place and antsy all the time.  A quick, “are you nervous?” out of my mouth followed by a curt, “insanely” out of his established that perhaps he would settle down over time.  The Winery is also where I gave him every opportunity to kiss me, but he never did.

A few miles more, I passed the sign for the Apple Festival where we also went on our first date.  When I passed the Country Store where he held my hand for the first time, I smiled.  He actually asked if it was okay.  We’ve come a long way in nine months and it was nice to be able to think back to that day, to the fun that we had, for it was that day that I started to learn how to just “be” and truth be told, it was extrememly hard for me to sit in the car for a long drive with no particular destination in mind.

I traveled down Route 43 for a little while longer and passed the bed and breakfast where my ex-husband and I spent our wedding night nearly 12 years ago.  That was the night that Princess Di passed in her horrible accident.  I remember very little about the bed and breakfast itself.  We arrived, walked around for a little but since he had falled and twisted his ankle just a few hours before the wedding, he was in pain.  We laid down on the bed and fell asleep, fully clothed, not awaking until the morning when breakfast was served.  We were home before 11am the next morning.

I knew as I passed the Otter’s Den that I would soon hit the parkway and the Peaks.  It was there that the boy finally got over his nervousness and all it took was the first kiss.  I remember the kiss as just a little one, but it was enough to catch me off guard and lose my footing.  But from then on, he was fine; no longer nervous.  He told me later that the anticipation of that kiss was the cause for his nervousness in which I joked with him for awhile that if that’s all it was he should’ve just kissed me in my driveway that morning as I knew then that I wanted him to.

I thought, after passing the Peaks and travelling the 5 miles of the Parkway that my memories were over; that I had experienced the last for the morning.  It wasn’t until it was time to turn off of the Parkway and when I found myself on 43 in the Jefferson National Forest that I realized that I was where my father brought me to teach me to drive the pick up truck.  It was his philosophy to teach you in an area that was tough so that everywhere else was a cake walk and 43 has nothing but hairpin curves and hills and I might also mention that while it is two lanes, one going in each direction, they are very narrow.  My father had faith after traveling that today.  Even with 15 years of driving under my belt, that stretch of my journey was nerve racking to me.  I can’t imagine sitting in the passenger seat with a 17 year old who didn’t yet have her license and thought that she knew it all.

Making it through the curves, watching my GPS arrow look like it was wigging out going around all those curves, I found myself at the intersection of Parkway Drive and Main Street in Buchannan.  For those of you up north, you might be pronouncing that bUUUcanan.  But not here.  Nope.  Here, in the south, or more specifically around these parts, it’s Bahcanan.  Don’t ask me why.  We have several little townships that aren’t pronounced how I would pronounce them, but it’s the easiest way to tell if someone isn’t from around here.  On my right I saw the hybrid Buger King/Stop In station and there, we used to stop after softball games when we found ourselves traveling to that side of Botetourt (pronounced Bot-E-tot) county.  It wasn’t often, but we knew that we had a good hour’s drive home and we were hungry.  So that’s where we stopped.

It was there that my memory lane trip ended and I found myself on 81 just 7 miles from the conference center.  I called the boy to recount the memories and to share with him what I had seen.  On the way home this afternoon, I happened to be on the phone with him when I passed the little country store and said to him, “awww… there’s the country store again where you held  my hand for the first time.”  In disbelief, he asked, “you remember stuff like that?”

And I do.  I remember small things, insignificant things.  I remember things that I’ll never really need to know again.  I can tell you what I wore to New York City on my 8th grade field trip but I have trouble looking at one of the four kids and calling them by the right name.  I don’t even think I can tell you what I wore yesterday short of the to-die-for heels that kill my feet, yet I still wear them anyway.

Now, in addition to this being a trip that flooded my brain with memories of my past, I have to tell you that this was truly a trip through God’s country.  I was able to sit back and take in the wonder, not only of what He has created here, but what He’s done in my life through the years.

I have to be honest… I can’t wait to do it again tomorrow morning!

Until next time…

Well, I’ve been working really hard at trying to be cool and the opportunity of a lifetime presented itself to me Sunday afternoon when the boy was unable to take my children out on jet ski rides meaning I had to or face revolt.

I knew this as soon as we left the house.  I prepared the whole way there, psyching myself into the fact that I could do this, despite the fact that I SWORE I would never ride it by myself OR with children on there with me.

By the time we hit the “whee!” bump… in which I sailed over doing the speed limit when I normally slow down, I was working toward cool.  The “whee’s!” weren’t as loud, but they were happy.

By the time we got there the children were clammoring all over the boy to take them for rides.

“Unless she takes you, we can’t go out today,” he explained to them.  Immediately, their heads swiveled in my direction.  I threw up my hands and said, “I will take you, however, I won’t go where he goes and I won’t go as fast as he goes.  If you want to putter around in the cove, then we can.”

Apparently, any ride is better than no ride and they donned their life jackets and two bodies straddled the jet ski, one behind mine and one in front of mine and off we went.

As we neared the end of our cove, just before I was allowed to “wake” (which, for the record, I still don’t know what that actually means), Matthew leaded up and shouted in my ear, “You are so cool, Mom!  There aren’t many moms who would do this.”

It was all I needed.  It boosted me, which, in turn, boosted the speed that I would travel across the open lake and the distance in which I originally was fearful of traversing.  Y’all, I made it all the way out to the main channel, flying on the fact that my son thought that I was cool.  It was then I realized that there were other vessels out there and it was bumpier and all of a sudden, I panicked again, and turned around and headed back for our little dock.

But for a moment, I was flying high.  I was cool.  We made the rounds a few more times before I actually headed back in and then, still reeling from the fact that I did more than I thought I was going too and the fact that my 12 year old thought I was cool, I offered up individual rides.

“Is that all we’re going to do?” Matthew asked confirming with, “What we just did?”

“Pretty much,” I replied.

“Nah,” he said as he shook his head.  “That was boring.”

Hold up.

Wait a minute.

Boring?

Did my son just say my ride was boring?

I was confused.  I took them out to the mouth of the main channel.  I hit 54 mph, the fastest it would go with that weight on it.  I made waves and then rode over them.  What did he mean by boring?

Apparently he didn’t understand that I superceded everything I EVER thought I would do just a week after driving that confounded thing for the first time.  I was so proud of myself.

The boy was proud of me.

Just 15 minutes ago, I was so cool.

What happened?

I guess I’m going to need to kick it up a notch…

Back to the drawing board…

Until next time…

We’re given second chances every day of our life. We don’t usually take them, but they’re there for the taking.

– Andrew M. Greely

Second chances are a funny thing, no?  Sometimes, we don’t even realize that we’re given second chances, but I vowed long ago to seize every second chance opportunity I’m presented with.  (And let’s be real… I’ve seized a few third, fourth, and fifth chances as well… I’m greedy like that… or perhaps a little hard headed.)

I’ve blogged about my prom experiences in the past and the date that left me at my junior prom as well as the marathon run of Forest Gump in lieu of my senior prom.  I’ve also blogged about the wonderful friendship that I have with my ex-husband and his wife.

So how do these two things, coupled with second chances tie in together?

The Q99 Second Chance Prom…

It’s held every year and they’ve been doing it for nine years.  I think I went to the first or second one.  I went with my then serious boyfriend and doubled with my parents and we had a really great time!  I don’t listen to this station all the time, but I happened to have it on the other day when the signal for the Christian radio station was out and heard that the tickets would go on sale Friday… which happens to be today.

Know what I did?

I immediately emailed Jennifer, my ex-husband’s wife and asked her if they wanted to go with us.

No, I’m serious.

But then?  I didn’t hear back from her about it.  It was almost as bad as asking someone to prom itself. Thoughts of, “oh shoot…maybe I went too far…” and “well, maybe they are just friendly and don’t REALLY think we are funny after all..” went through my head.  Can you imagine that feeling of rejection? heh.

But since I had to contact her to see how she wanted to spend the $250+ dollars of hostess credit that she earned by having a show with me, I ended the note with, “Did you guys decide on the prom?”

Turns out she just thought she asked him and didn’t so a quick phone call to him and an email back to me confirmed that…

I am going to the prom and I’m double dating with my ex-husband and his wife.

Except I needed tickets.

That, people, was harder to come by than the confirmation that they wanted to be seen in public with us…

I had EVERY intention of being at the radio station this morning at 6:30…I mean, there was free breakfast and all that good jazz and I would probably be guaranteed tickets that way but you know what happened?

It was raining and I was tired.  I probably could’ve motivated myself to get out there if it had not been raining, but when you wake up, barely able to pull yourself out of the bed, turn the radio on to hear them say that the line is out the door and around the building and you know it won’t start moving until at least 45 minutes later?

Uh, yeah… right.  I hit that snooze button and grabbed me another 15 minutes of sleep before I hauled my tail out of the comfort of my bed to get the kids up and around for their last day of school.  (Don’t even ask me about how I feel being the mother of a 7th and 5th grader.  I’m not talking about it until I can without tearing up.)

I had to get the kids to school and then make it back over for the awards ceremonies that began at 8:15 and had many errands to run, so I’m calling on my phone when the lines opened at 7.

Busy.

Always busy.

I dialed, redialed, dialed, redialed…

wash. rinse. repeat.

Do you know how long I did that for?

FORTY-FIVE MINUTES…

While brushing my teeth…pouring coffee… driving down the road…

I even had Matthew calling on my other cell phone… he called the office twice and I’m still not sure how he managed that one, but bless his heart… he was trying to help me.

And finally.. it rang.  And the lady on the other end answered and said, “Q99 can you hold?”

Fear set in… I was approaching the dead zone, it was raining and I was on my cell phone.  Nothing like praying hard for the important stuff, right?

But it worked… because in 2.5 minutes, I had secured tickets.

And 10 minutes later?

All 600 tickets to the event were gone.

Lucky no?

So…

in about three months, I’m going to start looking for a dress (because the four, count them, four, formal dresses hanging in my closet won’t be good enough…) and planning my second chance at prom.

People think we’re weird, but I’m thankful, again, because how many people can say this?  How many divorced couples would even consider it, let alone do it?

Not many.

My ex and I were given a second chance at providing a wonderful atmosphere for our children and we took it.

We’ve incorporated two more wonderful adults into that equation.

And that?

Super duper cool.

Until next time…

I just wait.  I try so hard to be patient; I really do.

No, really, I do.

But I just feel like right now I’m in this holding pattern.

Which is okay, but I’m also not as strong as I have been in the past, although I’m getting back on track thanks to some amazing people at church who take the time to ask me a simple question… “how are you?”

Now that I work in the office and not at home, I have some time in the car to think and talk to God.  Most of the time, I’m talking to Him about how people just do NOT know how to drive.  I mean, seriously, does no one know how to merge?  Sometimes I wonder.

Anywho, in the car the other morning, as I was actually paying attention to God, and I was going on and on and on about how I’ve been trying so hard to do what I’m supposed to be doing and He’s making me wait.  Waah…. But in the background a song started playing on the radio.

I caught one section of the song and stopped dead in my tracks.  Well, not really dead in my tracks, but you know what I mean.

Now, I have to tell you… I’ve heard this song a million times but I’ve never *heard* it.  Ya know what I mean?

I’m waiting
I’m waiting on You, Lord
And I am hopeful
I’m waiting on You, Lord
Though it is painful
But patiently, I will wait

I will move ahead, bold and confident
Takeing every step in obedience
While I’m waiting
I will serve You
While I’m waiting
I will worship
While I’m waiting
I will not faint
I’ll be running the race
Even while I wait

I’m waiting
I’m waiting on You, Lord
And I am peaceful
I’m waiting on You, Lord
Though it’s not easy
But faithfully, I will wait
Yes, I will wait
I will serve You while I’m waiting
I will worship while I’m waiting
I will serve You while I’m waiting
I will worship while I’m waiting
I will serve you while I’m waiting
I will worship while I’m waiting on You, Lord

Think he was trying to tell me something?

I’m listening, God.  I’m waiting, too.  But seriously… is the wait almost over for all these things?

Until next time…

Most of you probably think that I’m excited to see the boy after a long day’s work and don’t get me wrong.  It’s exciting to see him too, to see him smile, and ask me how my day was.  Because you know what?  He’s that kind of guy.  He asks me every single day how my day at work was.  Every day.  He never forgets.  Sometimes it’s after the chaos settles down, but he asks.  I like that.

But no, I’m not excited when I hop out of the car to see him, I mean, I am… I should probably stop now before I find myself in a HUGE dog house… but I’m excited about seeing if there are any new blooms on the things that I’ve planted, watered, fertilized and otherwise drove the boy crazy with over the last few weeks.

The annuals that I bought at the nursery were blooming when I bought them… it’s the help me plants that I bought and the bulbs that I bought.  I want to see them grow and I’m not patient.  If there is something good about not going to the boy’s house every day it’s that I am convinced that when I see the plants on the next visit they will be even bigger.

Tonight I snapped some pictures to show you what I’ve been working on…

Remember the penises?

I’m serious when I state that’s what they looked like… (and oh did Pastor Man have a field day with that post…  I told him to leave me alone since my writing was finally coming back…)

See?

Tell me that doesn’t look like a little penis…

You can’t… because it does!  But ya wanna know what it looks like now?

That’s the start of my begonias.  I’m so excited!

But I bought some help me plants too… like the Boob Daisy.  Ok, so I call it that because they came in the pink bucket with the little pink ribbon from the breast cancer foundation. And I figured it would sound cooler if I was planting penises and boobs. Heh.

Anywho, they were not looking so great when I bought them at 75% off… I loved them but they cost $10… and I’m cheap.  So I paid a whopping $2.50.  Wanna see what they look like now?

There are blooms everywhere beneath those leaves and I’m just so tickled.

And here are some other things that I’ve planted…

New Guinea Impatiens

Lollipop Gerbera Daisies

Wave Petunias and oh these colors didn’t come through as bright and prettiful as they actually are!

Petunias… and these were help me’s too… 50 cents a piece!  And they are GROWING!!

Ok, so there’s nothing there right now… but there will be.  Five different kinds of geraniums and Canna Wyomings…

One day, they will look like this… except in the spot that I the boy planted them.  He even put a worm in every hole.  I didn’t think that was such a big deal but I was told that the worms dig through the soil and make it better.  Who knew?  But anywho… what they are going to look like?

But there’s no picture of the other ones… I guess they don’t have them anymore for sale… so I don’t even know what they are supposed to look like.  I hope they are pretty.  Well, they were in the picture, or I wouldn’t have bought them…

Now, go back up to that picture of the dirt.  See the back there?  At the top?  I weeded all that.  Without being asked. Just because I was trying to be nice and help the boy.  Two days later?

I still have dirt under my nails and I can’t seem to get it out.  But weeding?

That’s tiring.

And gross.

When did I turn into such a girl?

I’ll tell you when…

Here…

When I parked my big butt in that chair and WATCHED the boy weed and dig up those two raised beds.  I asked if it was okay.  He said that it was.  And there I sat.  Supervising.

I felt terrible… for a little.

But the view was nice. Heh.

Anywho… I’m getting the hang of this…and the rest of my stuff will be here today.  So I’ll the boy will be out there planting some more.

I’m so excited!

So there you have it.  I’m getting things done…

Wonder if the Master Gardener’s will ask me to speak on my extensive knowledge of growing penises and boob plants?

Until next time…

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The kids are immersed in throwing the eleventy two bajillion balls the neighbor gave us.  I should be grateful as in one hand was a bag of assorted balls from whiffle balls to softballs and everything in between and in his other?  A box of Barbie dolls, clothes and even more little, teeny shoes to fit the unrealistic figured plastic idol that no matter how hard we try to keep them contained will invariablt end up in the vacuum cleaner.

Then, not only will we not be able to find the match to our real, every day shoes, melt downs will ensue because Barbie does not have the match to her favorite foot coverings.

The drama here people.  It’s almost more than I can stand.  No.  It IS more than I can stand which is why when the boy and I found ourselves with no children Saturday we meandered up to the Lake.

Now, I mentioned about losing my cool and the fact that I was not overly fond of the jet ski ride that I took last weekend.  But as if riding on the back of it wasn’t bad enough that same weekend, he handed me the dummy key (this key won’t allow you to go over 30 mph), strapped a life jacket on me, and told me to go.

Is he RETARDED?  I don’t know how to drive this thing.  It’s Memorial Day weekend and despite my tears and the cries of  “please don’t make me do this” I began to drift away with he and the kids waving to me from the dock.  I DID NOT want to be on that thing.  I knew enough to idle out to the end of the cove.  There’s a law that states “no wake within 50 feet” and I know this because everyone and their brother has a sign posted.  I don’t know what a wake is, but I know that to not “wake” you have to idle.  And idle?

That’s my speed.  It’s about 2 mph.  You just putter right along.

As I idled out to the end of the cove I was attempting to man up and over come this fear.  It can’t be that hard, right?  I can drive a car.  I can manage the President & CEO.  I do fairly well with a group of teenagers.  So why was I letting this little jet ski bother me?

About halfway out of the cove, it dawned on me that if I learned to drive this contraption?

I could ESCAPE!  This might be the answer.  No one could come and get me.  It would just be me and the open water… and all the other idiots out there which as I neared the end of the cove came into sight.

What am I doing? I thought to myself.  I can’t go out there!  They’ll laugh at me because I’m going so slow.  I’ll get run over.  I can’t believe he sent me out there all by myself.

The confidence I had built up the second leg of the trip out of the cove was quickly diminshed by the mere sight of the bigger vessels before me.

At the mouth of the cove, I had a decision to make… either venture out and pray that the Good Sweet Lord would be with me and get over this silly fear or turn around and head back.  Realizing that I never once hit the gas and had only hit 3 mph, I knew that I had to go a little faster or I would be laughed at when I returned to our little abode on Smith Mountain Lake if not by the boy then definately by the kids.

I hit the gas and topped that baby out at 10 mph.  My heart aflutter, my palms sweating (or maybe that was just the mist from the water) I turned the appartus that will be the death of me around and idled back to our dock.

I had to park it and they laughed at me.  They asked how fast I went and they laughed at me and despite my threat to never go on it again, they still thought this was funny.

Later that afternoon the boy’s mother chaperoned the swimming children and just he and I went out.  While it was a little better without a four-year-old between  my legs to worry about, I was still deathly afraid that he was going to throw me from the back.  He was showing off and while he promised that he would never do that to me (even though he’s dying to but he would prefer not to be single) I was afraid that it would happen my accident.

So it was a little better and he promised me that when we were able to come back without kids, he would take me out and teach me.

Well, that day was Saturday.  We donned our life jackets and he gave me the real key.  I wanted the dummy key but nope.  I had to take the real key.  I rocked it out of it’s little dock and we idled out to the cove.

“You have to give it some gas, hon.  The faster you go the easier it is to steer.”  he said.

I sat there… still idling.

“Get it up on top of the water.  Give it some gas.”

I was petrified but I gave it some gas.  I hit 18 mph.  I told him my speed just in case he didn’t see it from behind me.  But I still couldn’t steer right.

Slowly I began going a little faster and he took me to a little place that was open, uncongested and I could practice steering.  It was there that I made it up to 25mph but eventually, despite the fact that I was scared to death that we would flip the thing over, I was bored with going around in circles.

“I’m tired of going in circles,” I whined.

“Well, do you feel confident enough to go into the main channel with the other boats and the rougher water or… what do you want to do?”

“I don’t want to go with the other boats.”

“Well then putter around in here,” he replied as he pointed out the area in which I should stay to practice.  To point out the areas he was standing up on the back of the ski and leaning forward and he was making me insanely nervous.

“Sit down,” I said.

“I’m fine,” he replied confidently and then with a little ‘tude “I can balance myself.”

Oh dear readers…

I couldn’t resist.  I wanted to stop the thoughts running through my head.  I wanted to stop myself from what I was about to do.  I knew it was wrong, oh how I knew it was wrong, but dear sweet Jesus, please forgive me.  Without missing a beat, I put my thumb to the throttle and no sooner did I do that did I see the blur of his red trucks leaving my periphial view.

I froze.

Oh my gosh!  Immediately, I realized what I had done.  What if he lost his sunglasses?  The boy doesn’t have many expensive thing, but his signature are his shades.  They are pricey and they never leave his head — like he has permanenet marks on his head indicating the residence of the shades.

When I glanced back the first thing I noticed were the shades where they were supposed to be and the boy bobbing in the water.

I couldn’t help it.  I burst into laughter.  I was laughing so hard my stomach ached and then laughed even harder because I didn’t know how to go back and get him with without running him over.

He was laughing as well, which was a good sign, although I’m sure I wouldn’t have been able to stop laughing even if he wasn’t and amidst my laughter I managed to get out a dozen apologies to which he, intermingled with his laughing, he said it was okay.

“How do I come get you?” I yelled to the bobbing boy in the water and found myself now needing to play the role of the hero rescuing the dame in distress.  I managed to turn it around and get close to him.  Scenes of giving the police report as to what happenend to him after I tried to rescue him and ran him over ran through my head and when I got close enough, he yelled, “Hit the stop button!”

I did as I was instrcuted and he climbed aboard and I again apologized profusely while laughing even harder.  I believe there were also some “I didn’t mean to’s” that came out to which there were many “it’s okay” responses.

The boy took over and took me to an area of the lake that was quieter and I could go a little faster.  When he told me to gun it I did and I would report how fast I was going and then?

I hit top speed.  54 mph.  The fastest that puppy would go with two people aboard.  My only problem was to slow down instead of easing off the gas I just let it go and that, if you’re not aware, is like slamming on the breaks and the boy was flung into me.

There was much laughter but there was also payback.  On the way back he didn’t take over to take me through the main channel and home.  Nope.

I had to drive through it, only I didn’t realize that I was.  I was just following his directions and I didn’t realize what he had done until he said, “Now… this is the widest part of the lake.”

“Cool.” I said.

“It’s also,” he continued, “the most choppy.”  And it was.  I was all over the place.  I would get scared and slow down and he would yell, “don’t stop!”  Apparently you lose steering when you stop but I was scared, y’all.  I didn’t know what else to do.  There were boats and bouys to obey and channel markers and I didn’t know where I was.

It was at that point in time that I stated that the lake should have lanes and stop signs.  And stupid people?  They shouldn’t be allowed to be in the water.  Additionally, I think that any student jet ski drivers should have a big neon sign that says, “I’m learning… move out of the way.”

He thought that was funny.  I was being serious.

What?  Student drivers in cars have them…

As we pounded across the waves created by the other boats and I screamed at the top of my lungs, “I don’t want to do this anymore” (which he SWEARS he didn’t hear me say), I prayed for two things… that I would get us back to the dock without dying and that I wouldn’t kill him for putting me out in the middle of the lake not knowing what in the heck I was doing.

He would say things like, “stay to the outside of the channel markers.”

Ok, people, that means NOTHING to me.  “To the left or right?” I would yell in response.  Apparently there is different speak in lake world.  Also, in the nautical world, there are no street signs and you are forced to remember land marks.  If I had a nickel for every time he asked me, “do you know where you are now?” I would be a rich woman.  I guess he didn’t realize that on the TWO prior trips out on the jet ski I kept my eyes closed the whole time because I’m a baby and a scaredy-cat.

It’s rather embarrassing.  Seriously.

All of a sudden, I slowed down. I saw the boat coming at me.

“Don’t stop!” he yelled. So I hit the gas again.

“Do you NOT see the boat in front of you?” he said, his voiced raised.

“Yes, I see it, that’s why I stopped.  I’m waiting for you to tell me which way to go.”

Did you know that when a boat is barraleing down on you, it’s not the time to have a discussion on what to do?

It’s not.  He quickly stood up behind me and steered us out of harms way and to safety.  He’s a good man that boy of mine.

When we got back, I docked the jet ski, crooked of course, and after I got off and he straightened it up, I stated, “I am not going out there by myself and I will not take any children on the back of that.”  It really had nothing to do with being worried for the kids’ safety, rather that if I took them out, I would go at a snail’s pace and they would be bored and hate me.

I’m just not cool.

While sitting on the back porch, he accused me of throwing him on purpose.  “I did not,” I retorted, hurt that he would make such an accusation and again we laughed.

“Ok,” I said, “I can’t lie.  I intentionally did it.”  I quickly added, “But I didn’t mean for you to go off the end, I just meant to make you sit down.”

But dear readers, I have to be completely honest.

I totally meant to throw him off and you know what?

This uncool mom?  The one that plays it safe?

I gained some cool points.

But then I lost them when I screamed like a baby and almost got us killed.

Oh well.

I tried, right?

Until next time…

No, really.  I do.

Yes, I know it’s sad.

Ok, so… that’s the love part, the (a).  And if we’ve got an (a) then we need a (b), right?  The hate part?  I hate to tell you that I’m going to write something and then not write it.  It’s almost like I’m not delivering what I’m promising which makes me a fake, a liar, and a host of other things that I don’t want to be or even implied.  But I know if I look back through this blog o’ mine that I’ll find things that I started and never finished.

Well, I know that I still owe you a post about my job.  But really?  It’s so not new anymore and I’ve already told you the coolest part… I get to Twitter and Blog… what more do you really need to know?

Ok, fine.  I’ll work on it.

But first?  I’m going to elaborate on falling in love with my father and becoming my mother.  While I have a slew of other posts that are milling around in my head, including one about me actually DRIVING the jet ski, I promised myself that I wouldn’t write anything else until I explained what I meant.

As I stated in my last post, I’m losing my cool.  Growing up, I often looked at my mother and wondered if she was happy; if she ever had any fun.  Mom was… well, Mom.  She took care of us, she fed us, she bandaged up our boo-boos and more often than not she was scolding my father for doing something she deemed “unsafe” or simply shaking her head at him.

Mom is an awesome Mom, but rarely was she jumping in the leaf pile with us.  The afternoon that we blew up (and I mean it was a big boom and flames that were incredibly high) the leaf pile in the creek she freaked out.

There was the day that my brother told my father he couldn’t drive the jeep up over the hill in the front of the house and so Dad did… there was a lecture there.

Or maybe to help prove this point I can mention the time that my brother told my dad he couldn’t kick the football from down below in the yard up to the house (in essence up the same hill that he bet my dad he couldn’t drive up).  Well, Dad kicked the football and not only did he make it to the house, it went through the lower right pane of glass in the bay window.

Shall I paint a picture for you?  It’s Thanksgiving day and Mom’s cooking in the kitchen when there’s a loud crash in the living room.  She turns the corner sees shattered glass and a football in the living room and my father and brother down below attempting not to laugh when they see that she is looking to see what’s happened.

But perhaps my absolute favorite story is the time that we hit the black ice.  It was winter time and we still owned the pickup truck.  At that time, it wasn’t illegal to transport children in the back with a top on it and we traveled across the country with a mattress between the wheel wells, a cooler and my brother and I in the back.

The old black Ford had a bench seat and this particular trip was a short one, an hour in length, from my maternal grandparent’s house to my paternal grandparent’s house.  It was cold.  It was icy. My brother was isolated in the back and I found myself perched on the seat in front between my mother and father.

My mother had placed her book on the dash board after it got too dark to read and we were all chatting about something or other.  I’m never quite sure but they were always interesting.  All of a sudden, the truck was spinning, the book that was once sitting on the dashboard was not swirling around the inside of the cab along with the maps and other assorted goodies that had been tossed up there.

Soon, we were again pointed in the direction that we were supposed to be going and looking to my left I saw my father grinning from ear to ear; he was on an adrenaline high and loved what just happened.  It was obvious.

To my right was my mother, obviously in shock and working hard to push her stomach out of the back of her throat back down to where it was supposed to be.  All of a sudden, her hands were flung on the dashboard and she screamed, “Jesus Christ, John.  If you’d slow down under warp speed…”

“What?” my father replied.  “I was impressed.  I kept it under control and missed the car that was coming at us in the next lane.”

Yes, Mom was furious blaming everything on his lead foot and Dad saw it as an adventure and something to break up the monotitiny of the hour drive through the Pennsylvania countryside.

The best part really has nothing to do with the coorelation of my current relationship to that of my parents, however it’s the funny part.  About five minutes down the road, my brother poked his head up from the back and asked what happened.  We always chuckle over that story.

But my mother played it safe.  She cooked.  She cleaned.  She made sure we were all where we were supposed to be when we were supposed to be there and Dad?

Well, Dad was the cool one.  Dad got us the best Christmas presents.  Dad was always presenting an adventure.  Dad did things with us that no other kids got to do and we loved it.  I love my mother to death but when it came to cool?  Well, let’s put it this way. Dad had a rule that he shared with my brother and I both when we entered our teenage years… “Teenagers do teenagers things.  If you do teenager stuff, I’m going to turn my head the other way.  However, if you’re mother finds out, then I have no choice but to punish you.”

And that was the honest to God’s truth.  When I cut school, I had no idea that Dad knew, but he did and he never said a word about it until that final report card came home indicating that I had missed 23 or so days of school.  After Mom’s rant and rage and after I departed for my room for safety, my father came to my room and repeated the rule to me, telling me he had no choice but to punish me.

So there’s that relational similarity.  I just don’t have the cool anymore like my mom.  Don’t get me wrong, we did cool stuff with my mom, but it was safe.  Like we would go on walks and pick Queens Ann Lace and put it in water with food coloring in it so they would change colors before dying leaving little colored dust all over the place.  We made cookies and decorated them and mom talked with an Irish accent on St. Patrick’s Day making us believe for years that she changed into a Leprechaun for that one day.  I have amazing memories of time with my mom and I’m sure the kids will have memories like that of me.

The reason I bring this up?  On the drive to the lake, we have to go over the “whee!” bump which is nothing more than a hill in the road that if crossed while accelerated (above the safe speed set by the law) you fly over it, your stomach drops and everyone yells “whee!” But me?  I won’t let him do that while I’m in the car because I’m deathly afraid he’s going to crash.  You can’t see what’s on the other side of the hill.  But the boy?  He “knows what he’s doing” or so he says.  After seeing the tire marks and the new sign at the establishment just past the “whee!” bump I stated, “I bet that guy thought he knew what he was doing to!”

But on Sunday?  All the kids piled in the car with the boy because I refuse to speed up to go over the “whee!” bump.  My dad would’ve been all over it and my mother, nagging.

My father and I used to purposefully tease my mother just to get a rise out of me.  (I know. I’m horrible.  But it was so much fun to see her reaction!)

And now?  The boy and Matthew do the same thing to me and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve apologized to my mother.  Again, Mom… I am sooooo sorry.

But despite all of this?  My father made sure that my mother was happy.  He catered to her.  It was her decision on where to plant the flowers and he would make it happen.  She designed the house when they remodeled and he made it happen.  Mom supervised on big projects (except for painting and staining, that always has been and continues to remain her job) and Dad made it happen.  Dad made sure that Mom was happy.  My brother and I knew it as he was very clear about it.

The boy?  Does the same thing for me, right down to the painting and staining.  That’s my job.

And remember my meltdown over the begonias that arrived as bulbs and not flowering like I expected?  The conversation the boy and I had was the exact same one that my father and mother would’ve had.

There are so many more similarities that I could point out, but we’d be here all night and seeings how It’s after one in the morning and I have to work in the morning, I’ll end it here with a difference…

Mom was always the first to head to bed while dad stayed up working and I can tell you that the boy sent his nightly text over two hours ago alerting me that he was headed for bed…

But seriously, short of my Dad channeling Dave Ramsey, the boy and my father are twins and I am becoming my mother.  Which, really?  If I’m truly honest with myself?

My parents are celebrating 34 years of marriage this year…I couldn’t think of a better woman to turn into nor could I think of a better man to fall in love with.

Until next time…