about kindness

Today I went to get a pedicure. I walked in and was seated in my chair. A few minutes later a young black woman came in and was seated next to me. We exchanged smiles and began enjoying our services. A few minutes later a few other ladies walked in: twin sisters and an older woman. One of the twins sneezed and several people said "bless you." The older woman said something else to her about the sneeze and she looked over and said, "I wasn't talking to you," then turned back around. It was so rude that the older lady just kind of laughed and stopped talking.

My pedicure neighbor and I couldn't believe what had just occurred, and we looked at each other in disbelief. This unnecessary display of negative, unkind behavior immediately turned our moods sour, and we began a conversation about the current state of our nation and increasing lack of respect that seems to be permeating our society at all levels.

We discussed cultural differences (especially between black and white), communication difficulties and misconceptions, and Trump's current debacle with professional athletes. As it turns out, she is a server at a local restaurant and talked about the disrespect that she experiences by her patrons regularly. I, of course, talked about being a teacher and trying to help students learn how to communicate effectively, respectfully, and with kindness. What we really really wanted to do was have a rumble with the rude twin, but knew it wouldn't change anything. If you are a nasty person, you are a nasty person. Period.

Afterwards we both realized that we were in much better spirits, and that the conversation between a 41 year old white woman and a 30 year old black woman was productive, kind, and respectful. When you put others' feelings above your own and give people the benefit of the doubt, logic and compassion prevail. We listened and were inspired by each others' stories.

I finished my service and began paying, and my new friend was at the table next to the register. She wished me well and we encouraged each other to continue being kind to others. It inspired me to pay for her service, and she was overcome with gratitude. She asked me to come to her restaurant where she would return the gesture. We both decided we needed to pay kindness forward to all people and that we had been experienced something extraordinary on a random Sunday. 

Bottom line. Be kind to people. Don't assume people are jerks. Give them the benefit of the doubt. Listen. And when others turn out to be jerks, talk about how to better yourself and pay it forward.

And my toes look nice too.

The cliches are true. "It goes by too fast" and "Things happen in threes."

I had three very poignant conversations with three very different mothers in the past two days.

For the past few months I have been feeling down and depressed. I did switch my anxiety meds...in hindsight, that probably wasn't a good idea so close to the end of the school year, but I was also trying to put my finger on this underlying sadness and restlessness I have felt. I have not wanted to do anything but sleep and watch television- no desire to exercise or socialize. So not like me. I thought maybe it was processing my mom's never-ending situation or the fact that two dear friends from work have moved on to their next phases in life.

First, I ran into a friend whose son I taught probably eight years ago. She has one son in college and one son on his way out of high school. For 45 minutes we sat and listened to each other's hearts, that as mothers, our time is limited. The second conversation I had was with a good friend who I talk to fairly regularly. Her kids are still at home, but they are on the other side of their childhood, and she is feeling the slow underlying sadness and anxiety of her kids leaving the nest soon. Finally, I spoke with a young friend who just had a baby a few days ago. Her kids are elementary-aged and she was dreading and simultaneously delighting in the eternal exhaustion of long nights with babies and long days with small children.

Three very different women in three very different times of their lives with very valid feelings. I remember the eternal exhaustion as a young working mother trying to do it all. And then it struck me. I am on my way out as a mom with kids at home. The constant loudness, carpooling, sporting events, arguing, laughs, firsts...it consumes our lives for so long that the thought of it ending just makes me want to curl up in my bed and cry because I know that soon, I will be running into friends and lamenting the end of my boys' childhoods.

Please don't misunderstand because I have an incredible life: a husband I still love and like, two boys who are on the right path, and so many blessings God has grant me. But this feeling that I can't shake is real, and it is only getting stronger with time. And I do want them to fly away, to follow their hearts and be good, strong, kind men. I need them to know that we did all we could to equip them with the tools they need to be happy productive members of society.

So, it does go by too fast. The realization that our time as mothers with our kids at home is finite begins to creep up too soon. Once it starts, it can be all-consuming, wasting even more precious time. It's healthy to mourn their childhood. I plan on not wearing make up until I can get this under control.

And things do happen in threes. These three conversations with very different women was God's way of telling me that though I am dreading the end of the young mother's life, I still have a lot of life to experience. It will be different and wonderful in its own way, but it is still ending an incredible part of my life. I have a lot of advice, perspective, and compassion to offer others in all stages, and I hope I can be a good listener.

They're not even gone yet, and I already miss them.leighlowman@gmail.com

I Am BatMom.

It's been over a year since my last post. I felt I needed to remember this special day in my literary life. Thus, I am pasting my entire Batsterpiece below. Glad to be blogging again. Enjoy

I Am BatMom

A poem at 4:35am:

What's that?
A bat
Flying around my room
At 4 am

My knight arrives
Stumbling up the stairs
Pool skinner in hand
Ready for battle
So early in the morn.

Where is it? He asks
In the closet it flew
I don't see it. He says
So we'll just close the doors.
But it will poop on my clothes.
My knight just stares at me.
So there it still sleeps...

I need to get into my closet. Drat. I mean bat.

So what were my dreams for the rest of the night? 
In my childhood home a bat, huge and black,
circles the living room with a string in its grasp;
the hook on the end catches my clothes 
and we are bound together.

The very best person
Has come to my aid.
Together we'll free it
Though now I'm afraid.  
Rabies.

We did not find the bat
though a valiant effort we did give.
Hoping it joined its extended bat family
living in our attic-
its visit likely to be repeated.
I guess we shall find out
early in the morning
when I awaken to the whirring of wings
over my head while I sleep.

that accepting Christ can happen in many different ways.

It happens every time. I am sitting in church and someone chooses that day, time, and parish to accept Jesus into his/her life.  I try to repeat what is on page 34 of the hymnal, but I am so moved by this choice, that I can't even repeat my responses because of the huge lump in my throat and tears in my eyes.

Usually it is a child who is being baptized. That child has a family and friends to celebrate this big day in the life of a Christian. The family has prepared and given loved ones sufficient notice of this very important date. These are usually babies, who have no idea of the commitment they are making. Their parents are following the Methodist tradition, a beautiful tradition, that saves them until they are ready to make their own commitments to God as a young adult.

Today, though, I witnessed something very different. A woman, whom I had not met, came forward during the final hymn to join our church. She was alone and clearly had not let anyone know her intentions of joining on this day. Usually, people transfer their faith from another parish or denomination. This woman was different.  She had no one to stand with her and she had not been baptized. She chose this particular moment to accept Christ and join our church without any prior notice.

I was overcome with emotion. From the time she walked to the front of the church during the last hymn, through the helpers running to retrieve water for the unannounced baptism, through the baptism itself-seeing her standing alone, and finally to the prayer that affirmed to her that we will support her as a family, I was moved.

Usually there is much pomp and circumstance surrounding this life-changing experience. Today, there was no pomp, no circumstance, and no personal witness this woman brought with her. It was very simple and unceremonious, which was the reason why I found myself humbled to witness such a beautiful scene.

God reveals himself to us when we least expect it. I felt very close to Him today. For that, I am thankful.

The significance of my childhood in my life.

I attended the wedding of a dear family friend last night.  This child, whom I used to babysit, no longer is a child, but a beautiful young woman starting her own life as a newlywed. 

The wedding was short and sweet-the reception was not.  Talk about fun.  We danced, ate, drank, danced, talked, squealed, hugged, danced, and reminisced the entire night, surrounded by those many familiar faces that I will always know no matter how long I am gone from my childhood home. 

These people helped to shape me into the person I am today.   They gave me such a sense of community and love.  We grew up at CUMC and that church truly was our family.  We kids are all grown up now with kids of our own, but I felt like a kid again being in their presence.  I just slid right back into my role as Paula and Fred’s daughter, or one of the Inman girls, just as if no time had passed.

If my parents had not chosen Cabot as our home, we would not have known any of them.  They were church leaders, my piano teacher, family friends, dad's patients, community business people, and Sunday School teachers.  I babysat their children, lifeguarded for them at the country club summer after summer, and experienced the ups and downs of life through their watchful eyes.  I know their stories, their personalities, their strengths and weaknesses.  I know their moms and dads and grandparents.  I have seen them get married and I have seen some of them die. I now realize that they were so significant to my life while I was learning who I was supposed to become.

Everyone has childhood memories.  Some are unremarkable, but mine are so intertwined with my being.  I was shaped by them and still I look to the most special people for guidance and reassurance, especially now that one of the most significant people in my life is no longer here.

It's not as easy as it was 30 years ago.  Things are not as safe and we don’t live in a small town.  I do hope, though, that I can give me kids the same important relationships that they will always cherish, even when they are busy adults with kids of their own.  My kids will take piano.  They will sing in the church choir, join the youth group and play handbells.  They will get to try all of the things they want to try so that they can confidently make the best decisions for their futures.

To be part of the wedding last night was one of the highlights of my year. Being considered part of such a precious family is one of the greatest gifts God has ever given me.  I know my sisters agree that it is so humbling to share their past. 

Ultimately, we have our parents to thank for that.  They chose our community.  They chose which friendships to cultivate.  They chose to give us every opportunity to try everything we wanted to try.   I am so thankful, yet I feel undeserving.  How did I get to be so lucky?  Even today.  I still wonder and am truly moved by God’s gifts.  I believe that my past is one of His gifts and I will always be in awe of it.

I am still searching.

When I ended my career in DeKalb County, I thought it was going to be great.  No more lesson plans, paperwork, and nonsense for a while.  I would be free to volunteer my time for the boys, for the community, and to work on my personal relationships.  

Fastforward.  It's January and I don't know what to do with myself.  I have taken on more responsibilities at church, for JDRF, at Winding Vista, and at GAC.  I have started new programs, made my own Christmas cards, made Christmas gifts, organized, volunteered, and exercised.  I have also relaxed and recognized the fact that I am lucky to be in this position right now.  After all, who gets to slow down halfway through life to re-examine priorities?  I have been teaching since I was 20 years old.

It comes down to one thing.  I miss it.  

Don't get me wrong.  I have loved being a TA.  I didn't know if I could handle not being in charge, but it has really been a good and humbling learning experience.  I get to know the families at GAC without having to be directly responsible for children's educations.  This has afforded me the time and energy to learn the climate there, which is very different than what I have always known.  Running for the School of Music and the School of Ballet has also been rewarding, as I have met a few very cool people I feel fortunate to know.  

Yet, I still yearn for the classroom.  Why can't I be satisfied with God's plan for me right now.  I keep trying to change my course and constantly forget it's not mine to change.  He has already mapped it all out.

So, I'm still searching.  I don't know what is in store for me.  I want to be used. To make an impact. To help.  

Most of all, I want not to want...and to be able to fully trust Him.

Leaps of faith are life-changing.

I moved to Atlanta the day after my sister's wedding in August of 1998 with a friend with whom I had just graduated from Hendrix.  I had visited Atlanta and secured a job (Avondale Elem.) in DeKalb County over the previou months and was excited to have a job, move away from Arkansas, and be an independent, employeed college graduate.

I met John about a month later and the rest is history...yet another strange happening in my life that seemed too good to be true.  That story is also interesting.

So, three years after that, we are married, have a house, and I weasel my way into Livsey and into one of the most rewarding parts of my life as a teacher to some of the best kids and families I have ever known. 

To leave all of that was a very unexpected decision.  Three weeks ago I was ready to come back to Livsey as a 5th grade teacher, something I had wanted to be for many years.  I knew the students because I had taught them the previous year.  I knew the families and had their blessings to teach them again.  I was really excited.

It seemed perfect, and yet, out of nowhere, it became incredibly apparent to me that I couldn't go back.  I knew that if I did, I would not be what those kids deserved because I was beginning to go through a transformation.   A break was what I needed and time to decide what I wanted to be for the rest of my life.  Being with my family more, both physically and emotionally, was at the front of my mind and though I know I will return to the classroom in some capacity, I can't say what that will be.

Right now I am relishing a cup of coffee after sending my kids off to school on the first day that I am no longer impacting kids directly and daily in my own classroom.  I am going to do laundry, clean the kitchen, and plan dinner so that when John comes home, he will know how much I appreciate his support while I work things out for myself.  I don't know what I would do without him.

There is no doubt in my mind that God has His hand in this.  There have been so many signs...too many to mention-and some that shouldn't be mentioned.  I had been searching for more and He decided three weeks ago that it was time for more.  It just came in a way that I never expected...nor could I control.

Isn't that the way it always works?  You search and search and just when you think you have found nothing, you are shown the very thing you never knew you needed?  I am so thankful for my journey and am at peace with my choice to leave my safe little Livsey world.  I just wish I could take the kids and families I love with me!

My body is still kickin'...kinda.

#390 Lowman, Leigh 36 F Swim-41:10 Pace-2:45 T1-3:32 Bike-1:58:40 Pace-13.2 T2 1:39 Run-1:16:09 Pace-12:16 Total Time-4:01:08

So, a year's worth of training came to fruition this past weekend as Nancy Herbert and I participated in the Tugaloo Olympic Triathlon. A lofty goal, the Tugaloo is one of the hardest triathlon courses in Georgia. It consists of a one mile swim, 26 mile bike, and 6.2 mile run, in that order. Might I mention that this is a qualifying race for the Ironman Hawaii.

Now I have participated in two half marathons, many 5ks and 10ks, and several sprint triathlons. Nothing compared me for this. And if I thought I was going to do well, I was sadly mistaken. While life made it difficult to truly train for this triathlon, I quickly realized that this was a triathlon for young, fit, beautiful, cut people...except for the few 60+ year old hard-core competitors. Waaaaay out of my league.

I did have a few goals.
1. I did not want to finish last.
2. I did not want to quit.
3. I wanted to complete the entire race in less than 4 1/2 hours.
4. I did not want to drown, wreck, or fall.
5. I wanted to finish before they took down the Finish Line, so my name would be called over the microphone.

I realize that I met all of my goals.
1. I finished like, 10th to last.
2. I did not give up and actually felt good throughout the race.
3. I completed the race in 4 hours 1 minute and 8 seconds.
4. I did get water up my nose, wobbled a few times on some potholes, and stumbled on the run.
5. I finished and had my named called right before they took down the Finish Line.

I cannot think of anything that is physically more stressful, difficult, and yet so fulfilling, than to complete an Olympic triathlon. Crossing the finish line, knowing I had accomplished my goals, and knowing I was still lucid and happy, was such a great feeling. Don't get me wrong. I felt every last second of the entire race. I talked to myself, talked to others, made fun of myself, and cheered on those who seemed to be struggling.

I do not think I will compete in a race like this again, but I am so thankful to know that I did it. I will cross it off my Bucket List and know I did the best I could do. I do stand by an earlier, relevant observation, though. No man, no matter how lovely, should EVER wear just a Speedo. Gross.

The apocalypse

So, I believe I last posted in December of 2010. Not sure a whole lot has changed since then, except that now the world is coming to an end...this weekend. Not really sure how I feel about this since I have a bunch of fun stuff planned for this summer. But let's say it happens.

1. Will I go to heaven?
2. Will my family and friends join me if I do?
3. What about Hank?
4. Who do I need to talk to when I get there so that all of those I love, even those who struggle with belief, will be with me in the afterlife? After all, my happiness IS the most important thing.
5. And I WILL have words with those in charge to advocate for those I love.

Seriously, though, even if nothing happens this weekend, we should evaluate where we are in our lives. For Christians or non-believers, an event like this should make us all stop and think. If you are reading this, you are of age and have made some good and bad life decisions, lived a little, and learned even more (or less, as the case may be). Otherwise, you wouldn't be taking the time to see what I have to say. I have lived a TON, would make different decisions, and am stronger because of my experiences, both good and bad.

This weekend, I will take time to make sure I am treating people with respect, following the Golden Rule, continuing to strive to be my best, and enjoying the most important thing given to me on this earth. My family. In the end, these people love us for good and bad and there is nothing I wouldn't risk to make sure they are safe and happy.

Good luck this weekend!!! We will be camping!!!

The holidays can be really wonderful.

So many things are different now during the holidays than when I was younger. I find that I just coast along and take things as they come. Fortunately for me, I don't have to cook and entertain at my house. My WONDERFUL inlaws have hosted Christmas Eve and Christmas Day at their house for many years. I tried to cook for their family once. Let's just say we won't do it again anytime soon. While I know my strengths, I can also appreciate my shortcomings...

It was our first Christmas without Dad this year too. We all had a very tolerable (actually fun) and stress-free time! I missed hearing his smartass comments and familial inserts. He had this funny language that my sisters and I try to imitate and memorialize. It's so goofy, but it was who we were.

Despite the fun, I had to appreciate the irony of it all:

I went to look for my new bike on Christmas Eve at about 1pm. I ended up back home 30 minutes before we were to be at church for William to sing (4:30) because I a) got bad directions (THANK YOU JOHN) to the bike place and b) had to go to a second bike place. By the end I was DONE with life and ready to go to bed.

Thomas woke up with a fever at 3am on Christmas morning. Not a mild fever, though, it was one of those that requires you to get up out of a deep sleep and get your kid Motrin and stay awake to make sure it worked. Fifths Disease was the culprit and we are still battling it two days later. He's 7. I thought we were done with these pesky diseases.

We woke up Christmas morning and opened gifts. After that, we (I) decided to watch the Nutcracker. Sadly, when William thought the Nutcracker had died after the battle with the mice, he cried like a baby. It took me a while to convince him that the Nutcracker would come back to life. As we were watching, Thomas couldn't stand it anymore and periodically danced like MJ to the rest of the pieces. Needless to say, we didn't finish the ballet, but we had fun- in an unconventional sort of way.

At one point, I was practicing my new holiday song, 'Shingle bells, shingle bells, shingles on my face."

Then, I overheared a conversation between John and Thomas. Thomas was saying that he promised he'd TRY to be good, but didn't promise he'd actually be good. That's been our mantra for the break so far...

At one point, I was listening around the house and realized that John could only use the 'Santa's watching' thing for about 8 more hours. I immediately started looking for things that we could use for the rest of the break, but couldn't come up with anything.

I could probably come up with a few more good stories, but what stole the cake was actually having a white Christmas in Atlanta. Apparently it had been over 100 years since that had happened. The boys, my mom and my sister were overwhelmed with the sight. It truly was beautiful and very special. At one point, one of the boys said that Poppy was making it snow. How true and how beautiful that he was with us, despite being absent.

We hope to have a prosperous and positively eventful 2011.

Boys are so different than girls.

It happens every day. We come in from school, unpack our stuff, and the boys immediately go into the den to play 'Hut, Hut, Hike.' What's that, you ask? Well, if you must know, it's an indoor version of tackle football played in a very small area that usually involves Thomas throwing William's little body to the ground to impede his quest for a touchdown. That act is usually followed by much whining by William, which leads to Thomas allowing him his own touchdown, which is necessary to William deciding to play another down.

I don't understand what compels little boys to be in constant motion and physical contact with one another, but it seems that they are always competing, trying to be first, and one-upping each other. I see such hateful attitudes and unfair behavior sometimes. It reminds me of growing up with siblings myself. Man, we were really tough on each other. It's really strange to see it in your own children.

Even though I don't understand it, it seems to be a very natural and fun way to interact with one another. I must say that I have seen many unsolicited acts of brotherly love during this play and hope that my boys are learning how to be compassionate. They have this great relationship and seem to really like spending quality time together lately, even if it involves throwing each other to the ground.

I am happy they have each other. Long after we are gone, I wish that they will become the best of friends. Family is everything.

Something good will come from diabetes.

It is the eve of the JDRF walk for diabetes. This will be the second year we have participated in William's short five year life.

He was diagnosed at 20 months-a baby still in diapers with no idea why this awful hospital trip was happening to him.

I remember his diagnosis at the pediatrician's office. They checked his blood sugar and came back with a reading of 491. She said, "I'm sorry, sweetie. William is diabetic and needs to go to the emergency room immediately." I was shocked, scared, and full of dread, as the prospect of what was to come loomed. It was every bit as horrible as I imagined it, culminating with the nurses' (plural) inabilities to start an IV on my little boy's small veins. I don't like to remember, but feel that I should document it for his sake.

Since then, he has endured countless finger pricks, injections, pump change-outs, highs, lows, infections, ketone checks, and hours of fear and pain.

Diabetes is not a death sentence. It is more a life sentence. It never stops and it can never be ignored. It is constant and requires vigilance.

As a parent, I have come to realize that I cannot rest easily unless I know that his blood sugar level is stable. That is something which John and I can control. But what happens when he is in college? An adult on his own? Our fears are real and constant.

There must be something positive that comes from having a child with type 1 diabetes. There has to be.

Self-sabotage is the worst kind.

So, I went to see the doctor yesterday. I was there to see if the medication I am taking is working. While I appreciate him following up with my health, I really don't think I should have to make an appointment with the doctor for another $30 copay, so that he can tell me that he will refill my prescription because I seem ok.

I digress....

At the appointment I had my kids with me...not a great idea, but there was no other choice. After stepping on the scale, I realized that I had gained SEVEN POUNDS in the last month or so. SEVEN POUNDS! I'm not sure I gained that much between ob visit while pregnant with my kids!

Again, I digress...

After the disgust of seeing my weight gain, I had my blood pressure taken. It was in the high-normal range. HIGH NORMAL. Seriously? I gain seven pounds and my bp spikes? I am hoping it was because I had my kids with me and was all hyped up trying to make them behave and because I had gained weight. The doctor rechecked it and it was down a little.

So he asked me to what I attributed the weight gain. I said that I thought maybe it was the higher dose of medication. He asked if I had made any eating or exercise changes. I averted my eyes and said that I had made negative changes in both areas. I countered with the fact that the meds could have caused the weight gain and maybe I should decrease the dosage. He asked me if I felt better. I said that I did. He told me that I had to ask myself if it was worth feeling worse for the chance that the meds caused the weight gain. I really wanted a quick fix, but he forced me to look at the facts.

Yes, I had an incredibly stressful month or so and yes, I had stopped exercising and was eating horribly. Yes, I felt better, but I told him I was so busy that I didn't have time to exercise. He just looked at me and said, "We're all busy." We ARE all busy and there comes a time when we have to take responsibility and make choices for ourselves and follow through with them, no matter how long it takes. I sat back and told him that I needed him to say that, that I needed him not to allow me to make excuses for myself. He told me that I was the one who needed to think that and it was up to me to make healthy decisions for myself.

I don't know what it is. When I wake up in the morning I am full of all of these resolutions for the day. As I work through the day, though, I find my resolve to fulfill those goals weakens. By nighttime, I am self-righteous and feel that I deserve what I want because I have worked so hard. Self-sabotage. Why is it so difficult to stay true to a resolution? It shouldn't be that hard, but it is a constant struggle that I wish would end.

I am currently back on the exercise wagon and ran three plus miles today. I am going to have a nice little chat with myself later tonight...without ice cream or nachos.

L

God knows what He is doing.

No matter how much we think we want to change it, God's will always shows us the best way. It has been two weeks and three days since my dad's spirit left this earth. Looking back, I can tell you that there were signs that he was ready to go all along our journey to his death.
When he entered the ICU on August 4th, my dad never saw the date on the dry erase board. It was supposed to have been changed every day with the new date and the name of the nurse for the day. It was August 4th and the date on the board was July 22, 2010, which was his 62nd birthday.
After he was transferred to the multiple myeloma floor, he became increasingly uncomfortable. I got really upset and began the process of getting him transferred to hospice as soon as possible. I remember my mom and the pastor of their church saying that my dad locked eyes with my mom and held up his arm and gave the "I love you" sign in sign language. Also noteworthy was that anytime the three of us went to talk to him, tears came out of both sides of his eyes. I'd like to think that was a meaningful gesture instead of a physical response.
The morning he slipped away, my aunt had stayed the night with him, refusing to allow us to stay at the hospital that night because we were so exhausted. The phone rang at our house at 5:48am. I got the phone, but didn't answer because I didn't recognize the name. I went back to bed and the phone rang again two minutes later and it was my uncle's phone. He told me that dad had passed away. I immediately called the number back and got the nurse who was on call that night. My aunt had used the nurse's phone to call us because hers had died. She told us that she called the nurse to have him suctioned and repositioned and as she was closing the door behind the nurse as she was leaving, she heard him take a light breath and he was gone. She said she looked out the window and there was a beautiful pink sunrise in front of her.
We were mourning on our way to the hospital and it had not rained in days. As soon as we left the house, it began to pour angrily. As we neared Little Rock, the rain began to subside and we too, saw the sunrise. I think it is quite fitting that God chose to take him three short hours before his transfer to hospice, which he would have hated.
I have always believed in signs and I am sure that I missed many that I was too upset to see. But the point is that God knew what he wanted for my dad and I am at peace with the events that took place. My dad's death has brought much pain, but has also been a catalyst for new and better relationships with his side of our family, which my dad would have loved. It has also been the blessing and answer for our concern for our mother, who is actually happily beginning a new chapter in her life.
My sisters and I are just sad. We miss him terribly. I am sorry for people who will never know him because he was so good. He was just such a unique person. He was good and kind and had too many lives to count. I don't think I have grieved for him yet. I am consumed with handling matters of his death, my mom, my family, my job. That doesn't leave a lot of time for the grieving process.
I will grieve in my own time and we will all learn something from the last nine years of pain and disappointment. He is happy and with God. He is watching us and laughing at the mess he left at home that the three of us have to sort through and clean up. Somehow, I knew it would happen that way. And I'm ok with it.

To know you are loved eases your pain.

I am overwhelmed by the outpouring of support that our family has received since my dad had his stroke on Tuesday. It was a severe left-sided CVA, which affected the part of his brain that controls speech and language. He is still mostly unresponsive and we are not sure about his prognosis yet.

Initially I wanted to just ask for prayer, but this support has evolved into an amazing testament to what an amazing man my dad is. My sisters, family and I are a united front that has only his best interest at heart. Even though decisions may be tough for us, his well-being is our number one priority.

Please continue to remember him in your prayers by asking God to show us His will, whatever that may be. And know that we are extremely moved by all of the prayers offered to us during this difficult time.

Life is so unpredictable.

I was at work this morning when my sister called and said they thought my dad had a stroke. He was rushed to the hospital and is in the ICU as we speak. I guess I always knew this would happen, but it just kind of stops your breath for a minute when it actually does.

He was diagnosed about nine years ago. At the time, his cancer (myeloma) gave him a life expectancy of about 18 months. Since that time, he has undergone countless rounds of chemo, has had two bone marrow transplants, and has been to the ERs and hospitals around the southeast for various related illnesses. Sadly, he has also witnessed the death of his father, father-in-law, and the unfortunate accident of his wife, which has caused a permanent change in their relationship.

On the other hand, he has seen all of his daughters get married, has known and enjoyed three grandchildren, and has found peace in a slower paced kind of life that has not included dentistry, continuing education, and orthodontia. We all, literally, just returned from a vacation at the beach, one which seemed to be very pleasant for both mom and dad, if not a little stressful for everyone else. He seemed to be in really good spirits and interacted with the kids more than I have ever seen.

So, I'm changing out William's insulin pump tonight. I fill the chamber with insulin, prime the tubing, and get the sterile pads ready. Then, I pull out the old pump site, clean the new area and get ready to stick the needle in his behind. I just had to stop for a minute and realize how unfair this all seems. My son is getting his insulin pump changed out every three days, my dad is unresponsive after a stroke, my mom can't comprehend what is happening and I am about to start a new year of school in a few days, except that I am heading to Arkansas to help make decisions for my parents.

Now, I realize that everyone has their "stuff," but if seems that some people get more "stuff" than others. All of these things that have happened have caused such stress and unhappiness in our lives. Eventually, one has to ask why. I can only say that there has to be a good reason.

My dad is such a good guy. He doesn't deserve this. I'd like to think that I'm a good person too and that the people I love don't deserve these things. William certainly doesn't deserve what he has experienced in his short life.

Maybe I just need to feel sorry for myself for a minute or I need to vent. Maybe I just need to document these feelings so that I remember them when I am old. Whatever my reason for writing right now, there has to be something good that comes from these situations. I don't know what they yet, but there has to be.

Running in weather with a heat index of 105 is good stress relief.

I have entered a time in my life when stress is at the forefront of most major events in my life. It seems that the older I get, the more I am plagued with situations I can't control and that pain me to experience. Even vacations, which are planned to "get away from it all and relax," tend to offer a few minor or major traumas that make vacations a little less than relaxing.

Take kids, for example. Travelling with children today is a recipe for stress. Going on vacation without your significant other with said children is just plain scary. I think I am used to sharing the burden of being a mom with a husband who is a hands-on dad and always makes my job easier...well usually. When by myself, I am more irritable, concerned for their well-being, and I can't really let myself unwind, especially with William. His illness is not urgent or terminal, but it is constant and it is so hard to be constantly watchful by myself when I'm used to sharing the load.

So, I got home today after leaving Fripp at 7am to get the boys home early enough to spend time with John after being gone for a week. Once home, I couldn't relax and kept pacing the house. So, I decided a run was in order. Maybe not the smartest idea at 2:30pm on one of the hottest days in July, but I really needed to run, sweat, and expend energy.

About halfway through the run/walk (because who am I kidding? It was 100 today,) I felt this huge surge of emotions and energy leaving my body. I walked harder and sweated more. It felt good and when I got home, I was fine.

I say all of this to recognize that I have had many, many, many big stressors in my life, some at a young age. To identify a way to relieve some of what is physiological, as well as psychological has been very helpful in my quest to come to terms with unfair situations.

I think if I were to be still for too long, I would explode.

Panty lines happen to good people.

I didn't know which topic I would discuss today. It was a toss-up between panty lines and inconsiderate people. While I was trying to decide, I was watching an episode of SVU and one of the witnesses didn't remember a woman's face, but he remembered her panty line because she had a nice $#@. So...there it was. The topic du jour was decided.

Ahhh, panty lines. Never has there been a more obvious social faux pas. Really, though, there is no excuse. That's why we have friends.

Take a normal woman who goes to work. She is somewhat socially conscious and is mildly fashionable. Heck, she might not give a hill of beans about fashion. So, our woman puts on a really cute top, a cute pair of pants and fabulous shoes. Sadly, though, when she walks away, you can tell the size, cut, and color of her underwear. The whole outfit is effectively ruined. Does she know? Is she hoping no one can tell? Surely she knows.

Now, I realize that this topic might seem incredibly shallow. It probably is. But, can you honestly tell me that you haven't noticed someone walking in front of you with a huge panty line? I'm not talking size here either, because there are all sizes of women and they are all beautiful in their own ways. But even then, do we want to see their underwear?

I must confess that I'm not totally innocent in this situation. I, believe it or not, am guilty of going out of my home knowingly having a somewhat obvious panty line. I was the woman who was hoping that my outfit choice did not give away the fact that I had gained a few pounds and therefore, my pants were a little tight; hence, my panty line. I know, I know. It's tragic, but panty lines happen to good people, too.

That's why we should always depend on our friends. You tell that size 2 friend that she should not go out in pants that show her whale tail. You tell that size 12 friend that she really should not wear those tightish linen pants that fit last season, but clearly not this season. You especially tell that teenager that she can't go out of the house with her visible thong above her incredibly tight jeans.

We should look out for each other and unite against panty lines. They can be prevented so that we protect the integrity of our girlfriends.

L

We don't have time for our elderly.

I took Thomas today to see Mr. Quinn's body and pay our respects to Mrs. Quinn. Mrs. Quinn is absolutely devastated and honestly does not know what to do, but has been at the funeral home day in and day out to greet everyone who takes the time to come and visit her beloved husband.

It was difficult for Thomas, I could tell. He was very quiet and clung close to me. Mrs. Quinn did everything she could to make him comfortable. She lit incense for us and let us talk to his picture. Then he led us to Mr. Quinn. He was laid out in his uniform with all the things that he loved nestled around him. His extra pairs of glasses because he was always losing them, Sharpies because he would only write with them, Thin Mints, Jolly Ranchers, and bundles of 100 dollar bills. We paid our respects and were ushered into the kitchen where one of Mrs. Quinn's sisters insisted, "We are all family and you will stay and eat with us."

Later, we went back for the demonstration and were approached by one of Mrs. Quinn's brothers. He said that he was one of 10 kids in their family. Nine of them lived in Atlanta to "surround their mother." The other sibling was still in Vietnam. The other elderly relatives at the funeral were treated with the utmost respect.

Flashback a few weeks ago. I took the boys to meet a man whom I have known all my life. He and his wife were role models in our church and I remember them being present for most major events in my life, my sisters' lives, and other young people in our church's lives. Many years ago they sold their home and moved to an assisted living home. His wife died a few years back and I thought he had as well. He seemed old even when I was a teenager.

I took the boys to visit him. Surely he would remember me and would like a welcome reprieve from what I would assume was just another day. He was there and we were led to his room. He was asleep on a small bed in the corner of a double room and looked exactly the same, except with a little more unruly hair and less one front tooth. He was awakened by the nurse and was disoriented. I tried to talk to him, but he couldn't see well or hear. I wrote my name on a legal pad and showed it to him and for a moment, there was the recognition of my face. I tried introducing the boys to him, but he wasn't able to comprehend what was happening. We left there with many questions and I left sad.

I don't know what I expected, but it wasn't that. How could this man who had been so constant in my life be a little old man in a nursing home? Why was he there? What do I want for my family and myself when we are in that situation?

We are so busy. Our lives don't allow for the slow deterioration of a life that is ending. We have our work, our kids' sports, our own commitments.

It was just hard. Seeing Mr. Gannaway, seeing Mrs. Quinn mourn the loss of her love, and trying to explain these hard life lessons to two little boys who look to mom and dad to answer hard questions. Because there will be hard times that they will experience. Sooner, rather than later.

So, I will humble myself and ensure that I make the most of the time I have with those I love. I will try to help make the right decisions for them, not what is the most convenient or cost-effective. And I will try to make time for those to whom we should be seeking for guidance in how to live a good life. They are the ones who have the advice and the stories and the knowledge.

L

I don't like acrylic nails.

I don't know why I don't like acrylic nails. Isn't that sad? Clearly there is a market for them and many women love them, but I don't. Maybe it's because it is very obvious that they are not real. Maybe it's because I have had them once and know what it involves to keep them looking nice or maybe it's because people seem to get them for major events and then let them go. For whatever reason, it seems a colossal waste of time and money to pay for something that is going to need constant care and repeat treatments.

Speaking of repeat treaments, waxing is something that I like and I can't figure out why I hold it to a higher standard than acrylic nails. I guess I would rather not have a unibrow or eyebrows with tons of stray hairs underneath than to have beautiful fingernails.

Being a woman in this society is so tiring. If you're not worrying about your nails, then you're worrying about your eyebrows. If not your eyebrows, then it's your toes. If not your toes, then it's your hair. Don't even get me started on the amount of money one could spend on hair care: Especially when I have recently realized my hair is not a light brown-blondish anymore.

I used to have the lightest hair, eyebrows and eyelashes. Throughout the years, my hair has become darker, but my need to maintain my hair color has not wained. So what do I get? I get great highlights on the front of my head and really dark hair (my true hair) in the back. Maybe I should go to full foils and jack my price at the salon up 25% more. I think not.

Secretly, though, I really just want to be myself. I think I will keep waxing my eyebrows, getting my hair cut, and getting pedicures because it makes me happy. As for my nails, any money I spend on them will be negated the next day due to my tendancy to be a clumsy oaf. I think I will become a natural brunette, instead of an obviously highlighted blond, and I will try to remember that there is still a place for beauty on the inside.

I will give in to coloring my grays a subtle brunette, though. That will be acceptable.

L