Pearls, Peonies and Petticoats

When TLC had just turned nine, she and I had an opportunity to go to Seattle with my husband. He had a convention. It would mean a few days out of school, but we felt it would be tres educational for her. Hubby suggested she and I take the ferry over to Victoria, British Columbia and stay three nights—while he was in meetings and workshops. It sounded like a grand idea!

Who knew Victoria was a little too FANCY for a Small-Town Mom and Daughter from Texas? We stayed at The Empress Hotel. If you’re not familiar with it, you should Google it. It’s world famous and stunningly beautiful, majestic, historic, traditional, charming—FANCY. We arrived in the late-ish afternoon our first day, so really only had time for dinner near the hotel before turning in. The next morning we got on a double-decker bus (FANCY) and went on a City Tour and to Butchart Gardens (positively, absolutely, heavenly-ish FANCY). TLC was not impressed.

On our third day, I signed us up for “Afternoon Tea” in the Lobby of The Empress. I had to pay about thirty American dollars—a piece—for a total of $60 before taxes and tips—to have this FANCY tea.

From the moment we sat down in the “Tea Lobby,” TLC was uncooperative—almost fiesty. Hmmm. . . a better word? BORED. She missed her Dad and was tired of me trying to play up this very European, adult city. I was growing weary of that myself. She couldn’t wait to leave the next afternoon and kept reminding me of that fact—always with a charming whine. When they (finally) brought the three-tiered serving dish full of small finger—FANCY foods, her eyes got HUGE—and not with happy surprise. She was mad. There was nothing on those pretty trays that interested her—nothing at all. Tiny little bites of smoked salmon pinwheels, mango and curried chicken, egg salad croissants, mushroom pate crostinis, lemon curd? Nope. (She would, however, adore all of that now!) Where, she wanted to know, in a somewhat haughty voice for a 9-year-old, were the chicken nuggets and fries?

Although Afternoon Tea currently costs $47 to $58 per adult—before taxes and tips—they have a special “Prince and Princess Tea” for children under the age of 12. It’s half the adult price and has treats like fruit in a mini glass cup, a Teddy Bear cookie, a mini chocolate cupcake (sooo sorry, TLC!), a mini ham and cheese sandwich and Pringles. SURE—now they think of this. Sheesh. (Actually, that’s the menu I’d prefer! I’m not even kiddin’.)

We survived. But it wasn’t hard to decide we would not be doing anything “fancy” for several years.

The Royal Wedding stirred up a discussion between the two of us about what constitutes “fancy.”  

TLC’s List of Fanciness:

1. British accents. I often try to emulate them around my house. (I am from English descent, you know, chaps and chappettes.) Hubby doesn’t seem too impressed. Apparently he’s a Commoner. I’ve also taken to using words like “Cheerio!” And “queue.” And “holiday.” And “arse.” And “crisps.”
2. Velvet. It makes me think of fancy holiday parties. Where they serve wassail.
3. Crème Brulee. The fanciest dessert. Eva.
4. Embossed stationery. Oh-so-chic.
5. Ginormous cocktail rings. Swoon. The bigger and blingy-er, the better.
6. Champagne. Bubbles = fancy. Period.
7. The Ritz Carlton Hotel in Miami. They serve $20 pina coladas. They clearly think they’re pretty darn fancy.
8. Chanel. Timeless. Classy.
9. Peonies. The name alone sounds fancy, ne croyez-vous?
10. Gone With the Wind. The book AND the movie. Southern. Dramatic. Romantic. Just plain fancy.

ELC’s List of Fanciness:

1. Taffeta, chiffon, organza and tulle!
2. Petticoats.
3. Short and long white gloves.
4. A fur (faux is fine!) muff. (It keeps your hands warm, Sillies.)
5. Hats and Fascinators (except for those worn by the Wild Cousins at the Royal Wedding—those were cRaZy/ridiculous/ugly/seriously).
6. Sterling Silver roses and pale pink peonies (TLC’s bridal bouquet was divine with pretty peonies and pale pink feathers).
7. Pearls.
8. The Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in (FANCY) New York City.
9. Commander’s Palace in New Orleans.
10. Town & Country Magazine.

Fancy is defined in very individual and personal ways. PLEASE share with us and everyone your “fancies!”

Ta-ta for now, Darlings . . .

Miracles and Mama Bears

The truth is this: I didn’t grow up wanting to be a Mom. I was the oldest of four kids—in a challenging situation. Always The Worrier. The one who felt such little control in an extremely strained and stressed family. I think I was afraid to have children. Afraid for at least a hundred reasons. So, when I met my Hubby, who was divorced and the father of four boys, and who could no longer have children, I believed God had solved that fear for me.

I was 24 when we married. Three years later, three of my husband’s four boys had moved in with us. Watching my husband in his now (once again) daily role caring for his sons caused me to yearn for what I was going to miss. Through some dear friends, I learned about Dr. Sherman Silber’s vasectomy reversals. Bless My Sweet Man’s heart: he was game. (But... picture a man kind of shivering at the very idea. Yikes.) My husband was willing to do this for me because of his unselfish love and loyalty.

We were extremely lucky to find a surgeon in Dallas, as opposed to being on Dr. Silber’s waiting list in St. Louis for months—maybe years. While Hubby was in his three-and-a-half hour surgery (that was supposed to take two)—I had the most incredible remorse. What if he didn’t make it? What would I tell his boys? What had I been thinking?

When we learned, about four months later, the surgery had been successful, I then had some problems becoming pregnant. Much to Hubby’s confusion/frustration. I had promised him there was no reason to think I couldn’t conceive. The day I saw that my at-home pregnancy test was finally positive was the exact moment both of our lives changed—forever.

TLC was a week overdue. I had gained 60 pounds and had been lying on my bed at home for almost three weeks—unable to fit into anything but a (BIG) nightgown. I was beyond cranky and ready for her to be here. And I did know—without a doubt—she was a girl. The one sonogram I’d had wasn’t even remotely close to providing an educated guess. Everyone from the doctor to family members to Hubby was speculating the baby would be a boy. As Hubby put it: “I don’t think I have any girls in me.” I had faith God would give him a daughter—after what he had sacrificed for me.

That whole final week, I began to worry I could be the first woman on Earth to have my baby become a permanent part of my body (you do become irrational and almost psychotic at times, remember?). On a Wednesday in February, I made my (last!) daily call to the nurse, who told me I could check-in to the hospital mid-afternoon.  (Actually, at this point, I am confident they were tres sick of moi. I’d picture the receptionist saying, each morning as she put me on hold: “It’s that cRaZy lady, again.” Then the nurse was surely rolling her eyes—or looking for some vodka to add to her coffee. Bless their hearts.) Come hell or high water, that baby was coming out today.

Around 8:30 that night, with my doctor sitting bedside (he’d told the labor nurse he’d stay with me while she had a dinner break), I could hear the heart monitor getting quiet. Sometimes it completely stopped. He calmly explained the baby was going into stress and he needed to do an emergency C-section. It was at that second my Mama Bear instincts took over and I felt the urgent need to protect my child. It all happened so fast—in nine minutes, I later learned. The anesthesiologist almost didn’t make it in time to put me to sleep. In those last frantic minutes, I was petrified I’d be awake—thinking that might not be good. With a calm urgency, I pleaded with my doctor (and silently to God)—“Save my baby.”

I woke up at midnight in Recovery, watching my Hubby come towards me with an enormous grin on his face and tears rolling down his cheeks. “Guess what?” he asked me. “It’s a girl!” I almost screamed, tears starting down my relieved face. “How did you know? Did someone already tell you?” He seemed genuinely shocked. “I’ve always known,” I said. Sheesh—I’d told him and told him. When, oh when, will they ever listen—and learn? She was born at 8:58 p.m. That day and time became, in a sense, my re-birth.

Y’all know how much TLC and I ADORE Designing Women. In the episode entitled “The First Day of the Last Decade of the Entire Twentieth Century,” Charlene (Jean Smart) is in the hospital to deliver her first child and falls asleep. Dolly Parton appears in her dream as her “movie star angel.” Like the angel in It’s A Wonderful Life. Dolly seems to have a lot of info about Charlene, so Charlene has just asked her how she knows she’s from Poplar Bluff, Missouri. Here’s their conversation:

Dolly: ... I know all about you. I also know that in a few hours you’re gonna meet the best friend you’ll ever have... your daughter.

Charlene: I knew it! I knew it was gonna be a girl. I have a name all picked out, too—Olivia Frazier Stillfield. I hope she grows up to be just like you. As far as I’m concerned, you’re the greatest hick who ever lived!

Dolly: Well, thank you Charlene. Actually, she is a little like me.

Charlene: Which part?

Dolly: She’s no angel either... Oh, it’s so exciting... Everything’s changing. This whole world is just opening up. Why that youngun could be anything!

Charlene: Wow! She could be the next leader of the free world!

Dolly: Well, that’s right, but she could also work at a car wash.

Charlene: Wow! A car wash! That could be interesting, too. I’m just a little sad, though. Whatever she is, my grandma and grandpa, and my sister Pat who died—they won’t be here to see her.

Dolly: That’s where you’re wrong, Charlene. When Olivia comes into the world tomorrow, they’ll be with her. I mean, everyone in your family that’s gone on before you—everyone you’ve loved—you’ll see them in her eyes, and her smile, and in the way she walks. And when she takes her first step and says her first words, they’ll be there. When she has a fever at three o’clock in the morning, when she gets caught in the rain walking home from school, when she hits her first baseball, they’ll be there... when she’s afraid of the dark, when she forgets to say her prayers, when the wind catches her voice on a warm summer day, they’ll be there... You just remember that tomorrow, when you meet your daughter, you’ll be meeting the person that’ll be holding your hand when it’s your time to go. And even then, Charlene, she won’t be alone. They’ll be there.

(Brilliant/touching writing/words, yes? Must pause to sniff and find a tissue. Sorry.)

As it turned out, my child-bearing came to an abrupt end when TLC was fifteen months old and I was told, by two doctors, I needed a hysterectomy. I cried—buckets of heartbroken tears. Hubby—well, he didn’t. He tried not to jump for joy! I understood. Five children is a lot in this frightening world. Life happens the way it’s supposed to—the way God plans. TLC has given me more than I could have ever asked for or dreamed possible.

My daughter has made me stronger than I thought I could be. She’s taught me to laugh, sing, dance, think, hope, believe, wait, act, listen, pray. Lordy, has she ever taught me how to pray. I’ve made my share of mistakes—as her Mom—as a person—and she’s forgiven me. But, most of all, she’s made me deeply grateful for understanding what true, unconditional love is and how that love can get you through life’s roughest stuff. You surely don’t have to have a child (or a daughter—all of you Moms of Guys!) to feel unconditional love—we all know that. I’m just deeply and profoundly grateful I was blessed with her.

Today, on my 28^th Mother’s Day, I thank God, again, for my amazing and selfless husband and my smart, beautiful, funny, kind, sweet, sassy, silly, precious daughter. I love them both—with all of my heart and all of my soul. I feel like the luckiest Wife and Mom on this glorious Earth.

Amen.

A Yummy For Y'all

Five words:  Water For Elephants – The Movie

Oh! And two more:  Robert Pattinson

image via Vanity Fair

this image clearly speaks for itself

Swoon. That should be all it takes to get your tookus (aka:  tush) to the theater. Like yesterday.

Last Saturday, ELC and I spent the most perfect day with three of the loveliest ladies – January, Lillie and Robbie. January and I have been friends for nearly five years. She was my first buddy at my new (and current) job. Lillie is January's Mom. Robbie is Lillie's sister. They are now my adopted "Auntees." ELC and I adore these women. They are gorgeous, crafty, smart, witty, funny, and treasure RPattz, to boot. What more could you want in dear friends? January also has a beautiful, precious and absolutely angelic baby girl that I love. I'm her "Aunt T," and for that I'm truly honored.

We decided we'd meet at the movies mid-morning. The tickets were only $5/each! Not quite as economical as the little theater in my home town, but still outstanding for my suburb of Big D. In fact, the popcorn Auntee L purchased cost more than the tickets! We got a good chuckle from that and Mom's monstrosity of a "small" diet soda.

We settled into our cozy seats, impatiently waiting for the movie to begin. OMG – there were 1000 previews. I thought Auntee R might start throwing her popcorn at the screen if she didn't see her RPattz STAT. LOL. Once the movie (finally) began, we were all transfixed. It transported us to a magical world of secrets, murder, love, danger, and, of course, the circus. Queenie, the Jack Russell terrier, and Rosie, the big, beautiful and brainy pachyderm, were incredibly FUN to watch. (Side note:  Do you think Hubby would let me get a smallish elephant for our backyard?) It was a magnificent movie (even though there were a few tough scenes). Not a chick flick in the least! (I heard Pepper, a SPECIAL friend who lives in Houston, went to see WFE with her hubby, who also read the book! Wow – he gets lots o' MAJOR points for both of those efforts, right?) You ladies need to drag your fellas to see it. Better yet, make them take you! Tell them it's about a war. With lots of "shoot 'em up" scenes. And robots. And aliens. And really mean, thirsty elephants.

(Disclaimer:  I only condone lying when it's positively necessary.)

I'm not just partial when I say this, but I feel RPattz was truly perfect for the role of Jacob. He became Jacob. He WAS Jacob. It's a very different role from his sparkly Edward. Nonetheless, he "shines" even brighter (pun intended). My fav gal, Reese, was darling as Marlena. Her costumes were to-die-for. Christoph Waltz (the scary man from Inglorious Basterds – no, ELC, not spelled wrong) played another frightening man, August, and brilliantly. Wow. I was left (nearly) speechless.

After the movie, we simply HAD to continue our "Girls' Day Away" at Cheesecake Factory. We were definitely "ladies who lunch." The waitress couldn't dynamite us from the booth. We were glued to it for over two hours. The "crown" of the eventful day was the scrumptious cheesecake:  Dulce de Leche AND Chocolate Coconut Cream. My mouth is salivating as I type this. Those deserve their own "yummy."

I can promise you this:  you will be remiss if you don't see this wonderful piece of cinematography. Thank you, January, Auntee L and Auntee R, for being the best movie dates – EVA.

Here's lookin' at you, RPattz!

Rent

Service to others is the rent you pay for living on this planet.

                        Marian Wright Edelman (1939 - )

Y’all recognize her name, right? I did—yet I wasn’t sure why. I think she may have had a postage stamp in her honor—and I’m all about postage stamps (more on that to follow soon). So I Googled her:

She was a lawyer, educator, activist, reformer, children’s advocate, administrator. (All that just makes me pooped—and makes me look and feel like the slug I know I have become.) She was born in South Carolina, one of five children. Her father was a Baptist preacher who taught his children that Christianity required service. He died when she was 14, but told her to never let anything get in the way of her education.

She became involved in the civil rights’ movement after college and studied at Yale, becoming the first African American woman to practice law. She established the Children’s Defense Fund in 1973 as a voice for poor, minority and handicapped children.

Clearly she is an amazing woman. I adore her definition of “service,” and I’ll admit I probably wasn’t committed to true service until I had TLC. Up to that point, I was mostly concerned with my own survival. I worked from the time I was ten years old—beginning with babysitting (50 cents per hour—seriously)—until I was eight months pregnant with TLC. Even with a B.B.A., I made little money. Once I had TLC and was blessed with the opportunity to be a stay-at-home Mom, I became committed to volunteering.

One of my most favorite peeps on Earth, Jackie, has been a role model to me and many others for her unselfish service. After volunteering in our community for over 36 years, she is still going strong as an advocate for many causes. I’m proud to call her my friend. I truly treasure her—despite the fact that she makes me slightly (okay, VERY) jealous, because she’s also tiny and gorgeous! (Please—have a Crave cupcake, Jackie. I beg of you.)

On January 1^st this year, hubby and I started our own little RAK program (Random Acts of Kindness). Each month we contribute cash to our “RAK Jar.” We also write down the random act(s) of kindness we’ve accomplished in the past thirty-ish days.  At the end of this year, we’ll let an impartial “judge” (hmmm—sounds like a great job for CeeCee, my forever candidate for President of the U.S.—see our post Welcome Home a Hero in March) decide which of the two of us did the most meaningful Random Act of Kindness. Yep—it’s kind of a competition. Can’t hurt, right? Go moi!  Then that person who “wins” will choose the charity or service organization to which we’ll donate our money. If this contest makes it "un-random," well, it's the thought that counts. Plus it makes it much more challenging!

One of the many things I cherish about my Sweet Man is the fact that he has always participated in Random Acts of Kindness, although he rarely shares or brags about them. He’s simply not like that. I usually have to find out what he’s done from others—or from conversations we have where he slips up! We both plan to continue to encourage our children and grandchildren to spend their lives thinking in terms of service to others.

Let’s have a drumroll before lifting our glasses of Diet Mountain Dew (or insert here the beverage of your choice)—aannndddd . . . CLINK:

To SERVICE: the ultimate act of love, gratitude, and hope—and “the rent” we must pay!