Day 29: A Picture that ALWAYS makes me smile

I love this picture.

I love the little girl in it too, even though she's almost 14 now.

Since the day she was born, my niece Holley has been this bright little light in my life.  It was the first time in my life that I got to be the "favorite aunt"...or the favorite anything for that matter.  Each of my brother's five girls has an aunt or uncle that they just took to instantly.  Holley is mine.  When she was a baby, she looked just like me.  It makes me feel good when people still see a resemblance, because I think she's a beauty.

In her 13ish years, we've spent hours on Nannie's back porch swing, done lots of cooking, and spent many Saturdays being lazy and watching "Say Yes to the Dress."  

When I was single, she kept me from feeling lonely.  She reminded me that I was special to somebody.

When I started dating Kevin, she was the first person in our family to officially meet him.  She approved.  She liked the way he opened the car door for me.  She's a smart girl.  I hope she remembers that when she starts dating.

When I found out that I was pregnant with Jackson, she was the first person (besides our parents) that we told.  Jackson was due on her birthday.  He was born three days early, but in a way I think that's better.  She deserves her own special day.

We don't get as much "just us girls" time as we used to.  In some ways, that makes me appreciate her more, because she is incredibly understanding about it.  She humors my kids when they drag her upstairs to play.  I keep telling myself that someday soon I'm going to send my kids off for a Nannie or Nana day and take Holley to get a pedicure or something, because before I know it, she's going to be all grown up with kids of her own.

She makes me proud.

She makes me happy.

She makes me smile.

Day 28: Something I'm afraid of

When I started thinking about this post, I realized I have lots of fears. 

All irrational.

But this one tops the list:  I HATE driving in the rain.

I have no terrifying personal experience on which to base this fear.  I've had two wrecks in my life.  The first one was in the rain, but it was more a drizzle, and it had more to do with me not slowing down soon enough.  The second one was on loose gravel (another thing I have a deep abiding respect for now).

It was after the second wreck that my fear of driving in the rain started to creep up on me.  I guess it's more a fear of not having control of a vehicle.   Or of people around me not having control of their vehicles. 

Now, it's not that I WILL NOT drive in the rain.  I refuse to let it cripple me.  But I'm that granny driver that will creep along at 45 mph.  And I am praying the entire time for the rain to stop (one time it actually did--which was a total blessing because I was on the verge of a panic attack), for cars to slow down, for everyone to arrive at their destinations safely.

Go around. 

I don't mind.

Day 27: My Dad and Me

I love my dad.

It's a good thing, too, because you know how most girls typically turn into their mothers as they get older?  In some ways I am--I walk like her, I have a lot of her mannerisms--but in all honesty, I think I'm turning into my dad. 

There are worse things that could happen.

When I was a little girl, I thought my dad was an author.  I knew he had an amazing ability to draw, so when he would come home with a book (from the book club my mom signed up for), I just knew he'd spent his entire day writing and illustrating it for me.

(Perhaps, just maybe, I might've thought the entire world revolved around my happiness...)

I was most definitely a mama's girl...she was the "lenient parent"...I think it had more to do with the fact that she was around me all the time and knew me better.  Dad was super protective...

"Don't lean on the car door!  It could fly open at any minute and you could fall out!!!"

(Turns out that happened to him as a kid...)

"When you go around this curve, ALWAYS stay on your side of the road."

(This little nugget was given to me in my early driving years regarding a curve on the way to our house. I've had to stop myself from saying it to my husband.  It's good advice.)

"Don't put that straw to your forehead! If you fell you could poke it all the way through your skull to your brain!!"

(Yes, he actually said that.  More than once.)

"It will feel better when it stops hurting."

(I remember the first time he said this to me...I was running through the pasture behind our house and tripped on some tractor attachment that was hidden in the tall grass.  I scraped my knees and bruised my shins and thought it might be the worst pain ever.  And that was how he comforted me.  I actually said that to Jackson just the other day and got a tiny bit of glee from being on the other end of it.)

I understand now that if I'd done some of the crazy things my dad did as a kid--and lived--I'd be a crazy protective parent too.

As I got older, my Dad and I seemed to have more in common than my Mom and I.  It had a lot to do with me being a teenager and Mom and I spending too much time together.  But I also think it has a lot to do with genetics.  Doesn't that determine everything?

Like the fact that my mom hated MASH and Barney Miller and Taxi, but Dad and I loved them.

Or how Dad could keep me captivated for hours talking about the flood and how it created the Grand Canyon. (He can still talk for hours about this.  Just ask him. ;) )

Or how we both thought the lone gunman theory was a bunch of hooey.

Or how I loved hearing his stories about his childhood and how he would roam around Pruitt with his cousins, causing nine kinds of mischief.

I also get a lot of other traits from my dad. 

Like how I would rather talk about anything else than my innermost feelings.  I can count on one finger the number of "deep" discussions we've had.  It was the most uncomfortable hour of both our lives.

Or how when it comes to any sort of project, it's has to be perfect or I won't be able to quit tinkering with it.  If you've ever watched Dad pack for a trip, you know what I'm talking about.  He is the MacGuyver of luggage.  Honestly, he's the MacGuyver of anything broken.  He is not beyond using a piece of string and chewing gum to fix something--and it will be fixed forever.

Or how one of my favorite parts of a vacation is planning it.

Or how despite my inability to verbalize my deepest innermost feelings sometimes, I know my kids know how much they are loved. 

I love you, Dad.

Day 26: Something that Means A Lot to Me

This is my desk at work.

Remember in my last post how I said I love seventh graders?  This is one of the reasons why.

Now before you go thinking that I have allowed hooligans to ruin a perfectly good desk, know two things:
1)  All the writing is on tape, or post it, or something that can easily be removed. (Well, not easily.  But it is not permanent.)
2)  This isn't a perfectly good desk.  It is old.  One of the legs is falling off.  It needed character.

There's a story behind the tape.
 

My third year at the junior high, I had a very special group of students.  These kids were the type that come along very rarely, and we were blessed to have a grade full of them.  They were bright and funny and creative and so much fun to teach.

My last period class that year consisted of 26 girls and 2 boys.  It was an advanced class, and Oh. My. Goodness.  They were such an amazing group.  The only problem was for a short period of time I didn't have enough desks, so each day, one girl would get the privilege of sitting at my desk.  They were sweet girls and I trusted them.

Imagine my surprise one afternoon when I went back to my desk and found several pieces of tape in various locations with little "love notes" written in silver Sharpie...

"Hi Mrs. Reed!"

"Mrs. Reed Rox!"

"Love you!"

"Thanks for letting me use your desk!"

Maybe I should've been mad.  But they made me smile.  From that point on, any girl that sat at my desk would leave a note.  I have several that claim to have been the originator of the tradition...honestly, it doesn't matter.

This is a shot underneath my desk.  They like to be sneaky sometimes. :)

Over the years, I've had to make rules for students wanting to leave their mark. 
1) You can't leave an anonymous note.  Your name must be included.
2)  Your note must be to me and not about how great you think you are.  It's my desk.  I need to know how great you think I am! ;)
3)  All notes must be in Sharpie and on tape or post it...otherwise it will disappear.
4)  Notes can only be left in the spring, and you must have my permission.

In some ways, my desk is a time capsule. There are some notes that are so blurred and faded with time that they are impossible to read...but I still know who wrote them.   The kids who wrote on it are, in some cases, 19 years old now.  But to me, they are still 12.  They still think I'm cool.  They still miss my class.  Their biggest problem is still not remembering the combination to their lockers.

Every year, kids move on to 8th grade, promising to come back and say hello...some do.  Most don't.  They get busy, they move away, they grow up, they find other role models.  And that's okay, because I still get to see what great young adults they become, and I get to feel like maybe I had a little hand in it. 

And that's what it means to be a teacher.

Day 25: My Day

My days have had essentially the same view since 2002.

I love my job.

I teach in the school district where I spent 12.5 years as a student.  I teach and have taught with people that taught me.  I waited 4 years before I could even interview here because there was literally no turnover.  It is a great district with great people.

I've been working at the junior high for nine years, and in those nine years, I've changed rooms four times (three of the four times were in the first three years...that's the price you pay for being the new girl).  I like my current room.  It's always interesting, because you never know exactly what temperature you might encounter when you walk through the door. In August, the heat comes on. One day while I was on maternity leave, I got a text message saying it was 41 degrees!  Never a dull moment!

When I was student teaching, I knew that I wanted to teach 7th graders, and I've had the pleasure (yes, really) of doing that very thing for those nine years.  Every time I tell someone that I teach junior high, I get something to the effect of, "Wow! Who'd you tick off to get that assignment?"  But I love that age.  I've taught pre-K kids all the way up to 8th graders.  My favorite was always seventh. Seventh graders never change.  Until they become eighth graders.  I'm blessed in that every year there are kids that seem to actually like seeing me every morning.  And I'm always learning from them.  They are interesting conversationalists.  And they are great fun to joke around with, because on most occasions, they get it.

The "bonus" of teaching at the junior high is that I also have great co-workers.  I get to work with some of my best friends. We laugh on a regular basis and have so much fun. They are my "go-to girls." I'm also blessed with an amazing boss who understands what really matters in life.  More than once he's said to me, "Your family comes first.  Do whatever you need to do, and we'll handle things here."  It really is a great place.

I love my job.

Day 24: Something that I wish I could change

I've gone back and forth on this one.  There are lots of things in life that I wish I could change: my weight, the start time at school, my current hairstyle, my inability to sew, the distance between my house and Target, my ability to only speak one language, the inordinate amount of reality shows on TV these days, certain aspects of our house...  I could go on and on.  Some things I have little control over; others can change in one phone call.

But there was one thing that kept creeping into my brain. And I don't have a picture of it, so I'll have to tell you a story instead.  You'll get the idea.

When I was 15 years old, I was sitting in Algebra II on the first day of school.  Mr. Terry Waters was my teacher.  Over the summer the school had switched to a computerized attendance system.  We wouldn't get those paper report cards anymore--all our information was stored on disks and hard drives--it was a brave new world! :)  Anyway, I was sitting in class, listening to Mr. Waters call roll, when he stopped.  A grin the likes of which I've never seen crossed his face.  Not a happy, "I'm  so glad it's the first day of school" grin. No.  More like a "Boy am I going to have fun with this" grin.  And he was smiling directly at me. 

I got nervous.

He looked over his glasses, still grinning.

"Margaret?"

Crap. 

The stupid computerized system had made public my deepest secret: my first name.

For years, any time I had to register for something or go to a doctor, my mom would have to go through this whole speech. "Her name is Margaret Angela, but she goes by Angie."  Half the time they would remember, half the time they wouldn't.  It was annoying.  But I'd made it through 9.5 years of school without having to divulge that information to any of my friends.  Most of my teachers didn't even know because we'd nipped that little problem in the bud at the office.  But here I was, sitting in math, with nowhere to hide.

"Here, Mr. Waters."

I should probably clarify that at the time I'd known Mr. Waters for five years.  His daughter was my best friend.  We went to the same church.  And from that moment on, my name was Margaret as far as he was concerned.

Now, I love my parents.   They tend make pretty good decisions most of the time.  And I'm sure my namesake, my great-aunt Margaret,  was as wonderful as they say.  And really, it could've been much, much worse.  My Meme's name was Lubie Clyde.  My Mama's name was Geneva. 

Some days I thank the Lord that they settled on Margaret. :) 

Day 23: My favorite books

I have two:

...and...

When I taught fourth grade, someone asked me if I'd ever read To Kill a Mockingbird.  Actually, it was more of an indictment--"You HAVEN'T read To Kill a Mockingbird?!!???  How can you call yourself a teacher?" (She didn't actually say that last part, but she was totally thinking it.)  Her incredible passion for the book caused me to make a special trip to Barnes and Noble just to buy a copy.  It was one of the best decisions I've ever made.  I found myself knee deep in one of the best pieces of American literature ever.  I found myself reading parts of the story out loud to my dad, because it reminded me so much of stories from his childhood.  Atticus Finch is one of the most noble characters ever imagined.  And then you have Harper Lee herself, who wrote the great American novel and then tried to fade into the background...it's all just fascinating to me.

Then there's The Outsiders.  This was the first book I ever truly fell deeply in love with.  I was in junior high--seventh or eighth grade--and one of my friends talked about what an amazing book it was.  This was a time in my life that reading anything besides Seventeen magazine was a pain in my behind.  But I decided to read it, in hopes that I might find something that didn't bore me to tears.  There were tears, yes, but not from boredom.  Since then, I've read the novel at least ten times, which is eight times more than I've read any other book.  The fact that S.E. Hinton--a teenage girl--wrote this gripping tale about teenage boys is incredible.  It is sad and funny and heroic and tragic.  And yes, there are times when it reads just like a high school essay...but to me that was part of the appeal.  As an adult, I love the lasting appeal this story has. I've watched 7th graders fall in love with this book for years.  The characters are timeless.  The girls love the tale of heroism and the boys love the adventure.  I love discussing the book with them, seeing it through their eyes again and again.

I'm gearing up to teach The Outsiders again this year. I've been building the book up for a few weeks.  I always have some students that refuse to believe that any book can be interesting. 

"Reading is boring." 

I can't wait to shatter that myth into a million pieces.

Day 22: Something I wish I were better at

When I began reading others' blogs, I began to see these beautiful pictures they took.  All by themselves.  I love to take pictures, but they never turn out as well as others I see.  But I'm working on it.  Practice makes perfect, right?

Day 21: Something I wish I could forget

I hated college.

I've always been pretty open about the fact that my college years are the ones I wish I had a "do over" for.  It wasn't that I got short-changed on my education, and it was nobody's fault but my own. It was just a miserable, miserable time for me.  Literally one bad decision after another.  

I think part of it was I had so much fun in high school. It was such a positive experience filled with so many great friends and memories; I guess I had the same expectations for college.  It started out with a lot of promise--great roommate, great college, great outlook.  I just didn't give it a legitimate shot.  Everything had come so easy before.  All of the sudden it took work.  I didn't make friends as easily in college, and I didn't make A's as easily either.  Then there was the whole being a grown-up side of the equation.

And although I can't forget it, I did move past it.  The best part is, once you scrape the bottom of the barrel, it only gets better from there.

Way better. :)

Day 20: Somewhere I would love to travel...

I wouldn't call myself a travel buff.

I do love to travel, and I feel like I've seen  most of the places I've always wanted to see.  But there are two parts of the country that I've never seen that are on my "to do" list:  New England and Hawaii.

To clarify just a bit, I have absolutely zero desire to see New York City.  Zero.  Zilch.  Nada.  It's swell, I'm sure. It just isn't me.  But I would love to visit Boston. And Maine.  Rhode Island?  Yes please.  Small and quaint--that's what I'm looking for when I think "New England."  I also think it would be fascinating to visit the birthplace of our nation. Turns out there are cruises that take you from Quebec all the way to Ft. Lauderdale.  That's my kind of cruise.

I think my desire to visit Hawaii has a lot to do with my love for the TV shows LOST and Hawaii Five-O.  It just looks like one of the most beautiful places on Earth.  I'm all about beauty.

*And yes, I skipped day 19.  It's a picture and a letter.  Right now I have neither.  I'll get back to you on that.

Day 19: A Letter to Me

Dear 18 year old Me,

I am feeling a bit inspired by a Brad Paisley song right now (I know, it's only 1992.  You don't know who Brad Paisley is yet.  But you will.  He's a cutie.).  I am in the middle of a blogging challenge (If the internet then was the internet now, you would sooo be doing this.) and today's challenge is to write a letter to your 18 year old self...think "Back to the Future part 2"...

I have so many things I need to tell you. Life is such a good teacher...I'm just not the best learner, it seems, and some of the lessons that I've learned I had to stumble through several times.  So listen up.

First, you're not as smart as you think you are.  You think that letting go of all the things you currently love and find joy in doing will be freeing.  Band, journalism, Van, Texas...but I'm telling you now that those are the things that anchor you. Through band you learned discipline and made lifelong friends...why not let another band help you in this next phase?  Why not let your writing help steer your future?  Why the heck not?

Second, cherish the friendships you have now.  Hold them close and don't squander them. Listen to their advice. Listen to what's going on in their lives.  When outsiders try to make you turn your back on them, don't.  Remember who's been around longer. Say you're sorry when you're wrong, and accept apologies when you're hurt.  It's worth it.

Third, guard your heart.  You've always wanted to be loved in that forever hearts and flowers way.  He's out there.  But there are fakes. Frauds.  Say no.  Don't answer the phone. Walk. Away.

Fourth, GO TO TEXAS A&M.

Finally, enjoy this time. While this is NOT as good as it will ever be, it is pretty dang sweet.  And you can never, ever get it back.

Bittersweetly,
Me

Day 18: My biggest insecurity

Sadly, this one was easy.

But before you read any further, I want you to understand that this isn't a pity party.  I'm happy with myself and my life. I had a wonderful childhood/adolescence.  I just wish my perspective had been better.

I have always been the "fat girl."  In my head, at least.  Back before "body image" was even a concept, I firmly believed I was the heaviest person in the room.  This didn't start with puberty, either.  I don't ever remember not feeling fat.  I think it started when I was 8.  I had always been at least a head taller than almost everyone else in my grade. I was 5'7" in 6th grade.

The absolute most horrific days of school for me were the days when we were weighed and measured in front of God and everybody.  It didn't occur to me that being six inches taller would cause me to weigh more.  I just remember coming home with my report card at the end of the year and my mom freaking out because of how much weight I gained.  I'm not blaming her at all--but let's just say I get it honest.  I also remember asking the nurse to not say my weight out loud.

If you're a boy, you're probably not going to understand this post even a little bit. 

I remember my lunches in high school almost always consisted of some sort of weight loss bar or shake or a salad or whatever weight loss fad was going on at the time.  I went to dieticians and Weight Watchers and aerobics.  Some things worked; others, not so much. It didn't matter that the nutrionist and Weight Watchers told me I only needed to lose 5-10 pounds.  They were obviously using the wrong scale.

I remember one of my "friends" getting mad at me for something and calling my a "fat cow."  I remember nothing else about that day, but I remember exactly where I was standing at that moment.

I remember being in a dressing room and overhearing a conversation two other people were having about my size.  They didn't know I heard, and they weren't trying to be mean.  But I wanted to crawl under the floor.

Thank God I was blessed with wonderful friends.  Those people made me feel beautiful no matter what.  I never sat home on Saturday night by myself.  I never felt alone or unloved.  I basically had the best friends ever.

By the time I was a senior, I had pretty much learned to accept myself for who I was, how I looked, and be happy with it. But at the same time, I remember a moment during that same year, when Homecoming nominees were announced.  I wasn't one of them, and it honestly had never entered my mind that I would be.  But as we were walking to class, one of my guy friends said something about being surprised that I wasn't nominated.  I just laughed and said, "I guess nobody thought I was pretty enough." 

He replied, "I did."

Now, this guy was never ever more than a good buddy of mine, but at that moment I wanted to kiss him square on the lips.  He made my day (year? decade?) with those two words.

Looking back, I wish I could've seen myself more realistically.  I wish I could've had more confidence in my appearance and appreciated the compliments rather than wondering who in the world they were talking to. I still struggle with my weight and how I must look to other people.  But I'm working on it.

Day 17: Something that has made a huge impact on my life recently

Well, duh!

Having kids changes everything, obviously.  I am so glad God allowed us to have Annabelle join our little crew.  Yes, we went from man-to-man to zone, but it usually works out.  I find myself referring to "my girls" now...oh the fun we will have!

Day 16: Someone who inspires me

When I started thinking about this post, I knew I couldn't choose just one person.  One of my life's many blessings is that I am surrounded by people that inspire me.  I happen to be a sister to three of them.

I was born a "few" years later than Debbie, Kim, and Andy (John, to those of you who went to school with him, but seriously? He's an Andy.), so we didn't have a typical sibling relationship.  My mom was 36 when I was born, and they all thought she might keel over in the delivery room.  She was SO OLD, after all. Yes, they were all a lot older than me.  But I can't imagine a better way to grow up.

Debbie was 18 when I was born, and she was married and out of the house before I was 2.  Kim and Andy like to say that she was bossy, but I don't remember that. Maybe that was the effect I had on her...everyone just mellowed when I was around! :)  Debbie and I are alike in many ways:  we were both drum majors in high school, both English majors in college, both teachers as adults.  But Debbie also possesses qualities that I can only hope to have some day.  She's always been the organized one.  The one who pulls out her daytimer any time a potential get-together is mentioned.  The one who sends her kids off to church camp and donates any clothes they haven't worn in a year to charity.  The one who taught me the beauty of a ginormous purse and a great cup of coffee.  She's also the diplomatic one; though she is rumored to have lost her temper a time or two, I've never seen it.  I always admired her relationship with her kids.  I can remember being in awe as a teenager at how her kids told her EVERYTHING (seriously.  And if you know Mark...).  She is kind and patient and objective and an amazing listener. 

Kim is only 15 years (ish) older than me.  I actually remember her in the house with me.  We even did sister-type things together. We would bust out the suntan lotion and hop in my baby pool.  She would take me cruising for boys.  She would tell me stories at bedtime.  If I claimed to have the hiccups, she would let me have a spoonful of sugar.  I was 5 when Kim got married, and I was her flower girl.  I stood at the front of the church and cried like a baby because she was leaving home.  If you know Kim, none of this surprises you.  She is quite possibly the most thoughtful person I know.  Care-taking is her gift.  She loves her family deeply and cherishes her friendships.  She is outgoing and fun.  She is so much like my mom it's almost scary; but it's in all the most positive ways.  She cares about her community, her co-workers, and her school.  She works tirelessly in support of the things she believes in...I don't know how she does it!  She will be the one getting all those awards for things like that...I will be sitting in the crowd giving her a standing ovation! 

Andy is 12 years older than me.  He was my hero growing up.  Honest to goodness--I thought that boy could do no wrong.  He also let me hang out with him more than most big brothers would.  When Kim moved out, he let me sleep with him.  He would even read me bedtime stories--except unlike Kim, he would start with the cover, then the title page, then the copyright page...he hoped I would get bored and let him quit, but I never did!  He taught me how to ride a bike and how to ride a four wheeler...he was the coolest person I knew.  He was even my peewee basketball coach one year.  Then, when I was a teenager, he changed.  And he wasn't my hero for a long, long time.  We barely even spoke.  It's one of those things, I realize now, that he had to go through to find his gift.   But of the four of us, he may just be the most inspirational of all.  He has this amazing ability to help people. I have had people tell me that if it weren't for him, they don't know how they would've made it through.  He has a story to tell--one he's now willing and able to tell--and he inspires others.  Thankfully it has a happy ending.  He is the brother I remember, the one I love. 

One of my very favorite places to be in the whole wide world is surrounded by my family.  It's pretty easy to see why.

Day 15: Something I want to do before I die

I couldn't think of anything for this one, probably because I don't like to think about dying.

Karen totally hit the nail on the head though.  I would love to see Hawaii, or Italy, or New England.  But my life will be complete without those things, as long as I can see my kids grow up.

I want to see them fall in love and find their own happiness.

I want to hold my grandkids. 

I want to laugh with them and cry with them and let them hate me because I'm "unreasonable." 

I want to see their first days of school and their college graduations.

I want to help them move into their first homes.

I know this is totally selfish of me, and I know as a Christian I should have no fear of death.  In that regard I don't.  But I still pray that God allows me to live long enough to raise my children. 

Day 14- Someone I cannot imagine my life without

I've thought about, and started, and erased, and restarted, and erased again, and thought some more about this post for a few days.  There are several people that fit this description to a T. I don't want to imagine my life without my babies or my husband.  I was fine before they came into my world, but I would never be the same if they weren't here now.  But there is one person who impacted my life so profoundly that I can honestly say if it weren't for him, I literally wouldn't be here today.

These are my brothers and sisters. 

The blonde headed boy in the middle is my brother Scott.

Scott and I haven't met yet.  Scott passed away almost exactly a year before I was born.

It's not something I think about or dwell on, but I know that his death is the reason I'm here.

When I was a little girl, my mom would show me pictures and tell me stories about Scott.  I think it helped her to be able to talk about him to someone who wouldn't worry about her or look at her with pity.  I enjoyed them. She just wanted me to know him, and I am so glad she did.  It was a blessing that would reveal itself later.

As I got older, bits and pieces about the week before he died would come out, and when I was in college, I wrote a story about it in a creative writing class.  It was a descriptive story, I think, so I could've written about anything, but for whatever reason, I knew I had to write about him.  It was good enough that the professor chose to read it in front of the class.  And then the professor did something he'd never done before: he told the class who wrote the story he read.  Of course, that made my day, but looking back I know it was a total God thing.  You see, when I went to my American Lit class the next hour, a woman I didn't know sat down in front of me and turned around.

"Your story was good, " she said.

"Thank you."

"Can I ask you a question?  Does your mom still keep pictures of your brother around her house?"

"Yeah.  Our hallway has family pictures in it, and he's there.  She still talks about him  a lot too."

She was quiet for a minute.

"My son died last year.  My family thinks I need to clean out his room and put away his pictures.  They want me to start moving on with my life.  But I can't. I don't think I should have to."

I didn't know what to say.  She said it made her feel better to know that my mom still talked about Scott.  She asked if she could have a copy of my story. I gave her the only one I had.  I never saw her again, and I was never able to find another copy of my story.

I think about Scott a lot.  I sometimes try to imagine both of us in the world at the same time.   I like to think we would've been buddies.  But I know that wasn't God's plan, for whatever reason. 

And I know He knows what He's doing.

At Last!! Day 10: The person I do the craziest things with...

**Finally!  Day 10 is posted!  I have been trying to get the perfect picture for this post, and this week was just too crazy.  Then this morning, Kelly Lockwood posted the picture you see below on her FB...and I said to myself, "Self?  That is the perfect picture for Day 10."  So thank you, Kelly L.**

Okay.  Full disclosure.  The actual topic for today was the person you do the most ***** things with.  Do you even know me?  I'm not even sure what the **** stand for! :)  To say I don't have a wild side is a bit of an understatement.  But I do have a friend that I laugh with on a daily basis, and we have had a lot of fun over the years. 

I knew Holly in junior high and high school, but we didn't really become good friends until I started teaching at the junior high.  We have so much in common--for example, we both come from big families (Hers is definitely bigger.  Try to find someone she's not related to. Go on.), we both are total homebodies, we both taught fourth grade for one--and only one--year, and we were both voted "Most Likely to Succeed."  Yes really.  Holly is--as the picture indicates--not afraid of much and the perfect mother for boys. 

I can always tell it's going to be a good day when Holly says, "Hey, I've got an idea!"   

Like telling our students that we got into a fist fight in junior high and that we still hate each other and we only pretend to like each other because we work together. (And if you're a seventh grader reading this--it totally happened.  And I won.  No matter what Mrs. Braswell says.)

Or the "Christmas Parades" down the halls...which involved tacky Christmas decorations, Mrs. McGuffey's scooters, rolling chairs, and having to run ahead to plug in the CD player so that everyone could clearly hear, "Merry Christmas from the Family," by Robert Earl Keen.

Or our "Donkey Derriere" video for our friend Tammy, who was leaving us for greener pastures. 

Or the letter.  Oh wait. Wrong friend. :)

There are a few key retirements coming up this spring at the junior high, and they've requested that a big deal not be made of their exit.  But Holly's already said, "Hey, I've got an idea!"

This should be GREAT!

Day 13: My favorite band...

For someone who spent most of my formative years in piano lessons, band, church choir, and in my room listening to the radio, I am musically illiterate.  I like what I like, but if you ask me the name of the song, or, heaven forbid, the name of the artist, I'm probably just going to give you a blank stare.  I chalk it up to my brain being full of more important things--like 36 years' worth of lyrics.  Those I know.

So I guess I would have to say I don't have a favorite band or artist.  But I LOVE Genius on iTunes.  Genius and I have become best buddies since my sweet husband gave me a new iPod Nano for Christmas.  I was sitting at a redlight one day, trying to figure out how to make a playlist, when I touched the Genius button.  Curious, I touched the name of a song, and poof! Instant playlist with songs I actually love.  Genius introduced me to "Everything is You" by Eli Young Band, which is probably my current favorite song.   Texas Country music has started growing on me (which is good, because our iTunes is full of it!!).

I also like Cory Morrow.   For those of you who don't know Cory Morrow, he has a song called "Angela."  When a singer writes a song just for me, I listen. :)

My other favorite song right now is "All That I Can Say" by the David Crowder Band...it is amazing. Probably one of my all time favorites.

I could go on and on...but not really.  I've exhausted my musical memory.  That's what Genius is for.