Marriage Is

  As most of you who are reading this already know, the primary purpose of my blog is to record my memories, funny stories, and bits of wisdom on life and love for my daughters. Today is my fourteenth wedding anniversary. Those years have flown by so very fast. It felt like I looked up one day and I was three people's mother.
  My mother prayed for my husband before I was born, and I'm certain she prayed for my marriage as well. I lost her entirely too soon. She and I never got to cover hundreds of important topics or plan my wedding. She never met my husband. We didn't have the chance to discuss the difference in a wedding and a marriage. Although I suppose I heard her say at some point that all marriages take "work," I had no idea what it meant at the time. So I want to take a moment and tell my girls what marriage really is.
  Marriage is so much more than just a ceremony. Yes, weddings are fantastic. Most girls have an elaborate vision in their heads of exactly how their wedding will look, especially these days with things like Pinterest and Etsy. You can plan that special day for years before it actually happens. (No pressure, guys.)
  To be honest, I never got past the big white dress. My husband spotted an absolutely gorgeous red wedding dress trimmed in white fur before we were married. He begged me to move our April wedding to December and wear that red dress. (My mother would have adored that idea.) I let him know in a hurry that I had waited my whole life to wear that huge white dress that made me feel like a princess, and by golly I was wearing it! The rest of our wedding was a pretty low key affair, mainly because I ended up planning the whole thing myself. I even typed and printed the programs. I'm sharing this because I want you to understand that a huge, fancy, expensive wedding doesn't guarantee a good marriage. While you are focusing on making every tiny detail of your wedding day absolutely perfect, please don't lose sight of the fact that at the end of the day, the marriage is far more important than the wedding.
  Marriage is compromising when you don't really want to. Occasionally it's saying that you are sorry or that you were wrong because keeping the peace is more important than being right. It's not always easy or fun. Things that were small issues in your relationship can suddenly become very big issues. Family size and religion may not seem like a big deal when you are young and planning your dream wedding, but those two things are deal breakers for some couples. Details matter.
  Marriage is learning to think of someone other than yourself every single day. It's cooking something for supper because it's his favorite meal, even if it isn't yours. It's showing him you love him in a hundred different ways, like making sure he has clean clothes and underwear for work. It's remembering to tell him each and every day that you love him and appreciate the work he puts in taking care of your family. (And, yes, he should do the same thing for you. The right man will encourage, support, protect, adore, and comfort you when you need him to.)
  If I've made marriage sound hard, that wasn't my intention. I have been blessed with a happy marriage and healthy family. (Don't ever take either of those things for granted.) I want you girls to understand that a marriage is a living, breathing thing that has to be tended to, cared for, and valued like the precious, wonderful thing it is. It grows, it changes, and if you aren't careful, it can wither away and die. When you find the partner that you want to spend the rest of your life with, hold on to each other and defend your union with everything in you. Enjoy each other. Have fun! Be thankful that whatever life throws at you, you have someone who loves you and wants to stand beside you. Know that you will walk through dark valleys and difficult days, but you won't have to do it alone. There's tremendous comfort in that.
 We aren't promised tomorrow. When I was a newlywed, I remember waking up and thinking how I now had one less night to spend with the love of my life. It made me sad, so I decided to try to make the most of every minute I had left. Notice, I said "try." I certainly don't always succeed, but the best days to me are the ones that feel like we crammed every single bit of life and love possible into them. My prayer for you, my girls, is that you have many, many days like those ahead of you.        

The Disney Half Marathon

   There are things we do in life that we don't want to forget. Special things, events filled with memories so precious that we latch onto them even as they are still happening. Sights, sounds, smells, and feelings become tiny bits of joy that we store away in our souls, where they wait for just the right opportunity to creep back into our consciousness. Anyone who knows me well knows how I feel about Disney parks, so it will come as no surprise to them that the Disney Half Marathon fell into that special category for me.
   Anyone who takes up the sport of running has a reason, something or someone that inspires them to keep going when their body tries to tell them it wants to stop. For me, it was a high school classmate's leukemia diagnosis that spurred me back onto my treadmill several years ago. I was overweight, tired and irritable. I wanted to be healthy, to do what I could to ensure that I would be here for the precious moments yet to come in my children's lives.
   I started jogging, painfully slowly at first, having absolutely no intention of ever entering a foot race of any kind. I agreed to my first 5K only because it was a fundraiser for my friend with leukemia who inspired me to run in the first place, having no idea what I was getting myself into.
 Fast forward a couple of years and several hundred miles run later, to a cold, dark Florida morning at Epcot Center. Having completed my first half marathon earlier that year and training for several months, I was confident that I could handle the distance. The 3AM wakeup call had come way too early, and it was as unwelcome as the migraine that had arrived with it. I had no choice but to take a Relpax and pray that it would work, as I needed to be conscious and dressed, waiting in the hotel lobby for a bus by 4AM.
   Somehow I had conned my husband into taking up running as well, and when we entered the same races, he always beat me handily. When we talked about entering a Run Disney race, we agreed that in this case it would be really cool to run it together. So there we were, shivering in the same start corral, even though based on his previous half marathon time, he qualified to start one corral ahead of me. This was my first time to enter an event so large that it required start corrals. We were clear back in corral I, which seemed like a long way from the front...until I looked behind us. As it turned out, we were actually in the middle of the pack.
  The sights and sounds of such a large event were much different than anything I'd experienced before. If you've ever run a race, particularly a long one, you know how important a pre-race potty stop is. Realizing that you have to pee (or worse) at mile 2 of 13.1 is not a fun place to be, so we got in line. Ever seen a row of eighty porta potties? I hadn't, either! Using a portable toilet in the dark while trying not to drop your stuff or touch anything requires a certain amount of skill. I'm fairly certain that my extra $25 Relpax tablet fell out of my pocket in there, which hurt my feelings in more ways than one. As it turned out, I didn't need it and I was tremendously grateful that I didn't.  
   Fortunately, we had done enough research to know that we'd be standing around freezing our butts off before the start, so we had worn old clothes over our running clothes that we could toss into one of the fifty or so donation boxes that were put out just for that purpose. We'd also brought plastic bags to sit on, which are particularly handy if the ground is wet. I have to admit that I was surprised, however, to see an older man spread out his plastic bag and lie down. He then produced a sliver thermal recovery blanket, covered himself up, and actually went to sleep. I guess he figured the fireworks at the beginning of the race would wake him up.
  Of course, no Disney race would be complete without characters. Donald Duck was the mascot for our race, and as each wave of starters came to the line, he would count down and fireworks would signal the start of each new group. At various mile markers, there were different characters to visit and take pictures with. As we ran under and through Cinderella castle, we were greeted by Elsa, Anna, and Olaf from the movie "Frozen." In an effort to distract myself from the task at hand, I waved back and yelled, "Good morning!" I was treated to a "Good morning," in return from Kristoff, which my kids found terribly exciting when I told them about it.
   One fabulous thing about races run at Disney is the abundance of costumes. Not being an accomplished runner, I was more worried about finishing than how I looked doing it, so I skipped that part. The rest of the thousand or so people standing near me was a different story. A couple dressed as Cruella DeVille and one of her Dalmations was in our corral. There were all the usual suspects, everyone from Minnie Mouse, Cinderella, and Elsa to Peter Pan and Tink. There were groups dressed like the Seven Dwarves and princesses. There were tutus, fairy wings, and Mickey ears. There were costumes that I couldn't possibly imagine wearing while running for that length of time. And there was this guy, make that THE guy dressed as Lumiere, the talking candelabra from "Beauty and the Beast." He ran 26.2 miles in a shiny gold bodysuit, with a cardboard candle in each hand and one on top of his head. Now that's a costume!
   My favorite part of big races is the crowd lining parts of the racecourse. Certain stretches of our adventure were long, dark and lonely. (Think running on a closed parkway before dawn with a few thousand of your closest friends.) Other parts of the course took us through the Magic Kingdom and Epcot before business hours. (How cool is that?) Coming into and through the parks, there were lots of people. With people come cowbells (which I love, being a Mississippi State fan) and my other favorite thing - signs! Handmade on race-issued cardboard, hand-lettered at home, or professionally printed...signs at big races are fun. I saw one that read, "You run better than our government." Another was a picture of a button that said, "Touch here for power!" There was the classic "Motivational Sign" written in huge letters on a piece of cardboard. A few said things like, "That looks painful" and "Cupcakes at the Finish Line!" There were multiple "Just keep running," and "Not far now" type signs. And then there was my personal favorite: a big bold double sided sign that said, "Go Becky! I'm Proud of You!" on one side and,"Go Random Stranger! I'm Proud of You, Too!" on the other. 
   The theme at Disney races is, "Every Mile is Magic." Each mile had the coolest distractions, such as a set from the "Peter Pan" broadway show, multiple high school marching bands, and at mile 12, a full gospel choir in robes singing, "Hallelujah!" Put together, it was almost enough to distract you from the fact that you were indeed running 13.1 miles. Running that race was one of the most fantastic things I've ever done, although I'll never look at a freeway on ramp the same way again. Think they aren't that steep? Try running up one ten miles into a 13 mile race. It was pure torture on my calves!
   As much fun as we had, there were a few serious moments in our experience. One happened at about mile 2 of 13.1. Remember when I said that you didn't want to have to use the bathroom that early in a long race? My running partner had to have a break. Since we had never run a race together, we didn't plan very well. He stopped, assuring me that he would catch up, and I kept running at a much slower pace. I moved out to the edge, hoping he would be able to see me more easily. He couldn't. Suddenly we were separated, and I had no idea how we would ever find each other again. (I had my phone on me, but he didn't.) As tears began to fill my eyes, all I could think about was how hard this was going to be without him there for support. I looked and looked for him in those thousands of people. Then, just as I was about to have myself a good old-fashioned pity party, my Prince Charming found me! Standing among those thousands of runners, he found his way back to me. I'm not sure I've ever been quite so glad to see him! Somehow he had gotten ahead of me while running to catch up, so when he got to mile marker 3, he just stopped and waited on me to get there. I was afraid I wouldn't see him again until we got back to the hotel!
   Much later in the race,  I was struggling along about mile 11. This whole race thing was becoming decidedly less fun. My feet hurt and my thighs ached. My clothes were completely drenched with sweat, and it was becoming much more difficult to make small talk. Suddenly we came up behind and proceeded to pass a soldier with a prosthetic leg who had run just as far as we. With tears in my eyes, I looked at him as we passed and choked out, "You're doing great, Sir! Keep it up!" A little further along, we came upon a blind runner who was being guided through the course by an employee. Needless to say, I was out of excuses and done complaining. Nothing like a little reality check!
   When we finally made it to the end, crossing the finish line with my husband was one of the most exciting things I've ever done. I'll never forget that feeling of accomplishment. Distance running is a physical test, but it's much more of a mental one. If your mind believes you can, your body will get you there. We've all heard the saying, "Whether you believe you can, or you can't, either way you're correct." We did something incredibly difficult, and we did it together, all because we decided that we could. There's something pretty special about that.  

Life happens

   Please be patient with me. It's not that I'm lacking material or motivation to write. It just seems that lately whenever I open my computer life happens. Things have been crazier than normal around here, and far be it from me (or any other woman) to admit that I've taken on too much. Every day I make grand plans. I come up with brilliant posts in the shower, on the treadmill, or at the barn. Then I sit down and the children sense it. Mom's sitting down! Quick! We must find something for her to do. I'm hungry! I'm thirsty! This toy needs new batteries. Can we go swimming? Can we go riding? The list is endless.

  School has started again, which means that large portions of my day are filled with questions such as: Do we have to do this? Yes. All of this? Yes. Do we have to write in cursive? Yes. Is it almost time for lunch? No. Can I go to the bathroom? Are you able? (Can't help myself.) Do we have to copy all of this? Yes. Do we have to write the whole sentence? Yes. Can I just write the answer? No.

  For those of you who think that moms who homeschool have got the whole Michelle Duggar, beautiful, happy countenance at all times thing going on, I can assure you that most of the ones I know do not. Today was far from the best day we've ever had. I can't tell you how much it took out of me to fight the urge to say, "How can you be so smart and so dumb at the same time?" God love them, do everyone else's kids lack common sense, or is it just mine?

  It's enough to send this mama to the barn. I think I'll go spend some time with my real friends...you know, the ones who can't talk back.   

Back to School

  And just like that, our summer was gone. It literally feels like I blinked and the glorious days of freedom from school were over. Most of my friends' children started their school year today, as evidenced by the thousands of "first day of school" pictures that showed up on FB this morning. (I absolutely love seeing those, by the way.) Because and only because their mother was late ordering their books, my kids will start tomorrow. I hope they are excited, because their teacher is!
  If you are familiar with my blog at all, you already know two things: I focus mostly on motherhood, with its related triumphs and challenges, and I am very honest about what those are. I would love to say that the decision to homeschool again this year was easy and I made it without a second thought. That would be what is known as a lie. I wish I could tell you exactly how many hours I've spent since my children were born worrying over what is best for them. The type and location of their education is just one of thousands of other decisions that I've been in charge of since day one. (Dear Lord, protect them. With me making decisions for them, they are going to need you!)
  I had no idea there were so many (mostly negative) stereotypes about homeschooling until I waded off into this experience. These include everything from the idea that homeschooled children are lacking socialization to the idea that homeschoolers are religious zealots who completely isolate their kids from the outside world. There are many, many more that I won't get into, but the aforementioned seem to be the most popular. As far as the socialization thing, all I can do is ask, "Have you met my kids? Would you like to have your ears talked off now or later?" When we go out, it generally takes approximately 30 seconds for them to find a friend and begin playing. As for the religion issue, we are garden variety Methodists who wear shorts and sin on a regular basis.
  Naturally, I realize that there are families who reinforce some if not all the stereotypes about homeschooling. Of course there are! That's why there are stereotypes! Fortunately, our family doesn't fall into many (if any) of them. All homeschool families are not created equal! Yes, there are moms who are lazy and incompetent and shouldn't be responsible for their children's education. I know of one lady with a drug problem whose kid ended up two grade levels behind when he was forced to go back to public school. My heart breaks for him, and for other kids in that situation. My very sincere hope is that kids like him are the exception, not the rule. For the record, I know at least ten other families personally who homeschool, and their children are intelligent, social, friendly, kind and all around pleasant people.
  My big girls will be in fourth grade this year, and I know they are ready. How do I know? Because they took standardized tests, just like everyone else's kids. In addition to their "A" averages, their excellent scores assured me that they have learned what they were supposed to learn in third grade. My baby will start Kindergarten. She's dying to learn to read so that she can read the Harry Potter books like her sisters.   
  In a nutshell, homeschooling works best for our family at this particular point in time, although I fully expect to wrestle with this decision each and every year until my babies go to college. (And yes, they are in an accredited program that will prepare them to attend any college they wish.) I freely admit that there are tons of advantages that homeschooling offers, many of which you don't even realize until you are doing it. We are looking forward to a fantastic year!    

A Double Birthday!

  Yesterday was an important day at our house. We celebrated not only my twins' ninth birthday, but also the day my life changed forever. That's not to say that my husband's life didn't change, but for this post I'll be sharing my perspective. At 6:17 AM on July 25, 2006, my life instantly changed in ways I couldn't even begin to imagine. I got to be the parent of one child for thirteen minutes, and then became a mom again. Even without the addition of a second child, in those few moments I was blissfully unaware that nothing about my experience in this life would ever be the same.
  Parenthood is one of those decisions that you can't unmake. There's no such thing as a little bit pregnant; either you are or you aren't. And once you are, from the moment that test is positive, the tiny life growing inside you is calling the shots. Your body, heart, and mind undergo changes that you can neither explain nor control. Maybe being admitted to the hospital for three days wasn't on your agenda for the week. I'm pretty certain that taking 9 months off from riding horses, as per my doctor's orders, and taking terbutaline to ward off early contractions were not in my plans. (If you've never taken terbutaline, you're not missing anything. Lying on the couch feeling extremely dizzy with your pulse racing, trying to convince yourself that you are not having a heart attack is not really my idea of a good time.)
  There aren't many things you can do in life that will affect every single decision you make for the rest of your days. Deciding to become a mother is one of those things. Never again will you be free to think only of and for yourself. You will consider how each and every thing you do affects your children, whether you want to or not. Everything from when and how much you sleep to whether you get to pee alone is now the domain of the tiny dictator wrapped in that striped hospital blanket.
  Occasionally you will develop a false sense of security. It tells you that you have this parenting thing under control; that you're doing okay. I mean, the baby's still alive and well after being in your care for its entire life, right? Go ahead and pat yourself on the back, mom. You deserve it! Then sit back and wait for the inevitable tornado that is about to hit your life. The only true thing about childhood phases is that, good or bad, they end. One day you will be rocking along, kicking motherhood's butt...and the next it will have you on your knees, begging for mercy and wondering whose insane idea it was to have a baby, anyway.
  To be fair, the flip side of all this angst is the unbelievable blessing that motherhood brings with it. New babies smell absolutely fantastic. Once you become a mom, there will be no sweeter smell in the world than that of your child. (Yes, I know that they don't always smell good. There were many times that I wondered how something so foul could come out of something so sweet.) However, I can honestly say that some of the most precious moments in my life were those spent with my babies snuggled up on my chest.
  People will tell you how fast your children will grow up. This is purely because they are looking back on it. There were plenty of times when the twins were little that time slowed to a crawl. There were days when I felt like my biggest accomplishment was keeping us all alive for one more day. Children will push your body to supernatural levels of exhaustion. I've read that sleep deprivation is often used as a form of torture. The person who thought that stuff up was most definitely a parent!
  Looking back at the last nine years, I have to say that my husband and I were changed for the better. Being forced to cultivate patience where there was none and consider the needs of others before your own tends to produce real live adults, even if we do still look at each other occasionally and say, "Can you believe we're three people's parents" and then laugh like hyenas.
       

Leaving Las Vegas

  I had it all planned. Two fabulous nights in Vegas alone with my husband. Hours of time to fill in airports and on planes. The solitude of my hotel room to type in. I was going to get so much done without my kids, horses, and housework to stop me. And then, just like it always does, life happened. A one hour layover in Houston turned into a five hour layover when our plane had "maintenance issues.""Fantastic," I thought, "Here's my chance to get some things done!" But alas, my brand spanking new laptop decided that it needed to update itself and promptly gave me the finger.
  So we sat, and we sat. Then we ate ice cream and sat some more. We watched people, because airports are always good for that. We watched a lady trip over her own flip flops and bust her arse. Forget fifty shades of grey. Her face turned fifty shades of red as she looked around to see if anyone noticed. Yep, sorry lady. We ALL saw that go down.
  As what should have been a short layover turned into a marathon visit to Houston International, it occurred to me that we could let this ruin what was supposed to be our first night in Vegas. We could get ill and frustrated, and do what several of our fellow passengers had elected to go with, which was gripe at the lady making the announcement over and over again that we would have "information" about our flight in an hour. This happened at least three times, before she finally decided to have some fun with the group and blurted out, "Look, I have absolutely no idea when your flight will be leaving here. None at all." After a sincere round of applause from the assembled passengers, she settled back into typing furiously on her computer. I have to tell you, I don't think she was doing a darn thing other than trying to look busy so the passengers would think she was working on it.
  Don't get me wrong...I definitely want any maintenance issues on any plane I will be boarding to be addressed. I want that sucker in tip top shape. I want everything from the lock on the bathroom door to the GPS to the thingy that keeps birds from crashing into the plane gizmo (if there is such a thing) in prime working order. Therefore, I will be the last one to complain about having to switch aircraft if the need arises. I have to say that I was extremely pleased to finally be headed to Las Vegas, though.
  We made it to the Luxor in time to fall into bed, thoroughly exhausted just from trying to get there. If you haven't been to Vegas, it's a city you should experience once in your life, preferably after you are over 21. Having been there several times myself over the years, I always forget what it's like. Vegas is a place where people will wear anything, regardless of age, size, or any amount of impropriety any time of the day or night, and no one bats an eyelash. Gift shops close for the evening; bars don't. This particular trip, I marveled at the fact that I could buy alcohol at 7 AM, but I couldn't exchange the tee shirt I bought until 10. Priorities, I suppose.
  Vegas is also two time zones away from my house. Our very brief first night of sleep was interrupted by a phone call from my 8 year old who, having no concept of time differences, decided to call mom at 5:30 AM. After a fun day of no set schedule and a mani/pedi (approximately the 3rd one I've taken time to get since my wedding 13 years ago) while Kirk was working, we went to the Criss Angel "Believe" magic show. I've always enjoyed his tv show, so getting to see it live in Vegas was really cool and something I never thought I would get to do. The show was awesome, by the way, and you should definitely go if you have the chance.
  As we were packing up this morning, my husband apologized for the fiftieth time and reminded me that this wasn't how he had scripted our trip. I told him for the hundredth time how much fun I had, and it occurred to me that life really never goes how we have it scripted. I didn't plan on having twins. I didn't plan on leaving my job to stay home with them. I didn't think I would ever want to have a third child. I didn't plan on homeschooling last year. I certainly didn't plan on raising three little girls without my mother's help and advice. Suddenly I realized that some of the most beautiful things in my life have come from times that things didn't go as planned.
  As we boarded the first flight of our trip out, Memphis to Houston, our flight attendant welcomed us aboard "United Airlines flight 1054, service to Honolulu." She paused for a few seconds, then giggled and said, "Oh, wait! We're going to that other "H" city." It was just a joke, but it caused me to consider for just a second what we would have done had we found ourselves on a plane headed to Hawaii instead of Houston. I have to admit, a tiny voice in my head voted to stay right where we were. You know what they say about the best laid plans of mice and men.       

Why I can't be "that" blogger

  I absolutely love to write. I'd be lying if I said I never wondered how the course of my life could have been altered had I chosen, in all of my third grade wisdom, to pursue writing instead of veterinary medicine. I'm not saying I wish my life were different, mind you; I'm just saying I think about what might have been. Perhaps I told myself that I could always be a writer "too," as if it weren't important enough to become the sole focus of my career. (It's worth noting that I told myself the same thing about barrel racing, which was and is a passion of mine.) Or maybe it was my mom's dire warning that the "only" way I would ever be able to work with horses and have any money was to be a veterinarian. Sorry, Mom, I jokingly say that's the only piece of bad advice you ever gave me.
  Bear in mind that there was no Internet when I was making decisions about my career. My nine year old self couldn't Google the myriad of choices out there. I couldn't consult Facebook and read about the increased incidence of both suicide and depression among veterinarians. I had no idea that a love of books and writing could lead to anything other than becoming a librarian or a teacher. I wasn't really aware that authors wrote anything other than books. "Blogging" wasn't even a word yet.
  Needless to say, I'm extremely glad that writing doesn't have an age limit. You'd better believe that as long as my fingers can type, I'll be writing something, even if no one else will ever read it. I enjoy writing this blog, even though I'm finding it increasingly difficult to carve out time to do it.
  It would seem that I have the best of both worlds. I finished the degree I set out to obtain as a third grader. I can still be an author, and thanks to technology I can write any time, anywhere. Technological advancements have made it possible for my work to be read without being sold to a publisher or put into book form. I'm getting everything I want.
  So what's the problem? In a nutshell, it's this: I'm too nice. I would love to be the kind of blogger that gets thousands of "likes" and "shares" every time they put up a new post. Unfortunately, I'm not the kind of person who feels comfortable ranting about this topic or that news story, forcing my opinions and beliefs onto other people without a second thought. I don't deliberately hurt other people's feelings or sensationalize an issue that I know will cause pain and controversy. When I hurt someone's feelings, even a total stranger, I genuinely feel bad. It bothers me, sometimes even after I've apologized and they've moved on. That said, I am genetically hard wired to be sarcastic, which means that my sense of humor is not for everyone. When I find myself in an uncomfortable situation, often my immediate response is to make a joke, and that doesn't always go over so well.
  Is it because I'm a lady, a born and raised genuine Southern belle who was always encouraged to "be nice" and keep up appearances? Is it because I'm just a decent person and a fiercely loyal friend? Maybe it's the fact that years and motherhood have turned me into an adult, and I can see that the things I say and do affect the people I love. Perhaps all these things together keep me from being the type of blogger whose audience both sings their praises and fills their inboxes with insults and death threats. Anyone who is involved in creating anything will have their share of critics, but to be told daily by perfect strangers to "go kill yourself" because of something you wrote is not for me. My skin just isn't that thick. I can't be the person who offends my friends and family members in the pursuit of more readers. So from my little blog...you can expect more of the same. Funny stories about life and motherhood and how I try to make it all work together. If you're still here, I'm glad to have you!