Sweet Dreams

Amelia, my oldest, has never liked to go to sleep. When she was a baby, I had to learn to let her cry it out (usually in tears, myself), and this task could sometimes take up to an hour. As a toddler, we had to barricade the doors to eliminate the nightly in-and-out-of-bed dance. As a preschooler, Amelia wields the bedtime weapons of manipulation and negotiation.

"I need my doggy, Mommy." Mom goes and retrieves doggy from under the kitchen table.

"I need cold water." I tell her that she has water in a cup next to her bed already.

"It's not cold; I need cold water." To Amelia, cold water has to have ice cubes. If it doesn't, it's not "cold."

We read 3 stories, we feed the fish, we brush teeth, we pray. Manipulation is complete, now let the negotiation begin...

"But, mommy, I can't sleep here by myself. Rub my back and sing me a song....Puhlease!!!!" I tell her 2 minutes, she says 10 minutes. I say 5 minutes, she says 10 minutes. This can go on and on. It is no small miracle that I ever make it out of her bedroom.

Some nights are better than others. Tonight, I could tell that her little engine was all revved up by the events of the day and after the standard bedtime ritual, I decided to employ a technique suggested to me by a friend. I simply asked, "Amelia, what was the best part of your day today?" Realizing that three year olds struggle with open-ended questions, I told her that the best part of my day was going to pick her up from school and watching her go down the water slide.

Amelia replied, "Well, my favorite part of the day was when you picked me up from school and watched me on the water slide. That was fun." I kissed her, told her I loved her, and she rolled on to her side and snuggled up with her doggy. I could sense that it was O.K. for me to leave.

I guess I have to remember that in the midst of bedtime directives and routines, what she really wants and needs is to spend time with me. All of her manipulations and negotiations are working towards that objective. Parenting a small child (or two, or three...) is a job, but it's also a relationship. Sometimes, I forget that.

Rest for the Weary

Tomorrow, our family leaves for a much anticipated vacation to northern Wisconsin. I have been visiting my grandparents' summer cabin on Rest Lake since I was six months old, and am so excited to share this place with my own children. When I think about this place, every sense is evoked: the whisper of the trees and clinking wind chimes blown in the breeze, the pervasive aroma of bug repellent, the sun casting streaks of light across the lake as the sun sets late at night.

For mainly financial reasons, I haven't been up to visit since the summer of 2000; the summer my grandfather passed away. We were there for his funeral. That year, my senses were dulled. The trees weren't quite as tall that summer, and the lake was not as brilliant as I had remembered. My grandfather was the patriarch of our family; a jovial man who sang about "pistol packin' momma," loved Jesus, and tended to his garden with the precision of a scientific mind. In many ways, I looked to him as the father figure that I needed and yearned for. Summers on Rest Lake were beautiful because of him.

I think one of two things happen when you have been away from something for a while: it can become glorified to a kind mythic proportion, or you begin to see the thing as it really was. While he was alive, I idealized my grandfather. In his death, I see that though he was an amazing person, he was also human. He could be impatient, he showed partiality to certain grandchildren, and I don't think he was comfortable with my need for a father figure. I don't love him any less because of it.

In my absence from Rest Lake, I have grown up. I am now a wife, a mother and have learned to deal with my own humanity. I don't see the world in absolutes anymore (don't tell the fundamentalists), but in a world painted in slightly muted shades of their former colors. When we arrive tomorrow, I know that I am not returning to the same place I left behind, but I also know that Rest Lake will always be a magical place because the seeds of my childhood are planted there.

Finger Lickin' Good

The flip side to our sometimes idyllic life here in Eufaula is what Dave and I jokingly refer to as the "Down Home, Down the Street" phenomena; the slogan for the Piggly Wiggly grocery chain. Since this may be difficult to visualize if you have never been to the South, I will provide one of my favorite illustrations.

While sitting at a red light on Eufaula Ave. the other day, I happened to glance to my right and notice a sturdy blond woman in a dark green Pontiac Grand Am. If the light had turned green at that moment, she wouldn't have noticed because she was in the middle of devouring an enormous fried chicken leg. I could tell she was almost through because she was sucking on the ends and licking her fingers. Then, her passenger side window began to go down, almost in slow motion, and I thought to myself, "Oh, no, please lady! Don't perpetuate a stereotype!" But she did it. She threw her chicken bone and accompanying trash on the lawn of the First United Methodist Church, licked her fingers again and drove away.

Ties That Bind

Edna and Charlie's house on Randolph

Our very first Sunday in Eufaula, Charlie and Edna introduced themselves to us, then proceeded to say how happy they were to finally meet the minister that would perform their funeral. While this sounds morbid, in Charlie and Edna's case, ages 89 and 88 respectively, this was just plain realistic. So, when Charlie passed away on Saturday, weeks shy of his 90th birthday, I thought of the prophetic words of our first meeting with a smile.

The last time we visited with Charlie and Edna was on my birthday. Our family was out for a walk and they were shelling pecans on their front porch. As we walked by, they called to us and welcomed us up. They brought out cookies and dolls for the girls and Dave and I shelled a few pecans. We didn't stay long because the girls were becoming restless, though we promised to come back sometime and stay a bit longer.

At the visitation last night, Edna flitted from person to person, assuring us that she was doing fine and that Charlie's passing had in fact been a blessing. Around her neck, she wore a gold chain with Charlie's wedding ring. They had been married for over 60 years. Mayor Jaxon shared that his elderly mother, who lives across the street from the Presbyterian church and watches from her window all the comings and goings, had called him after church last week to say that she was concerned that she had not seen Charlie and Edna that morning. Charlie had passed away the night before.

I love Mayor Jaxon's story. I love it because it illustrates a few different things. First, it speaks to the faithfulness of Charlie and Edna; faithfulness to church in the midst of illness and bad weather. This faithfulness was exemplified in all areas of their lives: faithfulness to family; faithfulness to friends; faithfulness to one another. This story also beautifully defines the kind of town we live in. People watch out for each other here. We know what's going on in each other's lives, for better or for worse. At its worst, it can be annoying; at its best, it is a blessing.

When Dave performs a funeral service in Eufaula, it has to be authentic because he knows and cares for the people here. He knows their stories; where they came from and why they're here. Many times, he knows their children and grandchildren, too. We pray for Edna's comfort, and we know that this community will embrace her like family.