Confessions of an Inadequate Pastor's Wife

I have a confession to make. I do not relish the role of the pastor's wife. For some, that may be a shocking fact. For those who know me well, that information is about as earth-shattering as the concept that water is wet.

Here are a list of my vocational inadequacies: I am not demure. I don't always defer to my husband. I am, unfortunately, not pure of heart. I don't sew or play the piano or scrapbook. I don't listen to (and don't care for) much Christian music. I can't name all the books of the Bible in reverse order, and I don't understand Biblical Hebrew. I am sometimes outspoken. I have lots of opinions about lots of things, and I don't always keep those opinions to myself. I can be sarcastic. I very much appreciate off-color humor. I am sometimes a doubter, a pessimist, and a cynic. I am not closer to God than anyone else. Oh, and check all of the above for my children as well.

You see, if it were up to me, I would rather slip in the back of the church unnoticed on Sunday mornings -with my husband. And I could do without the hurt feelings and anger that go along with a job change. Ditto that for the very literal divorce, even in the best of circumstances, that must take place when one pastor leaves a church and another one takes over. It's painful. I very often feel like a spiritual vagabond, an employee of the church, but not a member, and without a true home.

But here's the thing. I immensely respect my husband's vocation and am honored to be a part of it. He is doing exactly what God wants him to do, and with God's help, he is really good at what he does. While internally I fight against the title of "pastor's wife" and all the connotations therein, I know that this is as much my calling as it is Dave's calling because we're in this together. It is not comfortable, but a true calling beckons us out of what is comfortable.

When God calls us, he changes us, whether that be in character or perspective. He is changing my perspective and is opening my eyes to the ways I can be used as I am. I'm not saying that some of my rough edges couldn't use a little polish. I'm open to a little refinishing. A lot of refinishing. But I am realizing that I don't have to be the pastor's wife. I just have to be Sarah, the lady in the third row whose slightly feral four year old occasionally flashes her undies to the congregation during the children's message. And who, incidentally, just happens to be married to a pastor.

Nine Years

Nine years ago today, I woke up with a smile on my face and butterflies in my stomach. I woke up thinking about the marathon first date I had been on that began at noon and lasted until almost midnight. He brought me a Ken Burns Jazz CD that I still haven't opened, and I greeted him with a hug which invaded his personal space. We walked together in a Relay for Life event, we attended a graduation party for a family friend (with my ENTIRE family), and we shared a long dinner over paella and tres leches cake at the Cuban restaurant down the street from my apartment. He held my hand on the way home, looked in my eyes, and said, "I'm not going to kiss you tonight, but I am going to kiss you." A week later he did kiss me. A month later he told me he loved me. Six months later we were engaged, and a year later we were married.

Nine years later, I woke up with a little girl putting stickers on my face and asking for breakfast. I kissed my exhausted husband before he left for a meeting, nursed a sick baby, put braids in Amelia's hair, made lunches and beds, and ran errands at Target. Yesterday, Dave brought flowers home and asked me if I remembered the significance. Then we laughed about what that night may have been like if we had known the path our lives would take. It might have made for an awkward first date, but I wouldn't have changed a thing.

Nine years from now, I know I'll have two teenagers, a few strands of gray hair, and some additional crow's feet. But aside from the inevitable, the future remains uncertain, as it should be. In the meantime, I love that nine years ago Dave Burgess became a part of my life. I love that he used cheesy lines to get me to like him and I love the path that we are on, mostly because we are on it together.

Sunday

It's almost impossible for me to remember what life was like before Sunday. There has been no way to mark the days since. No school, meetings cancelled, graduations on hold, playdates forgotten. Today was the first day since Sunday that there was something to plan for. It was a funeral.

It's also hard for me to remember right now that there are other things going on in the world. Reading updates from others about life as it was, life as it should be (whatever that means) causes irrational frustration. Anger, even. Maybe it's because right now, here in Joplin we are so removed from the trivial. Or maybe it's because I have removed myself from the trivial because of the overwhelming burden of guilt I feel ( I lost nothing when so many lost everything). Last week, I worried about getting my kids' teacher gifts ready in time, or the chipped paint in the hallway, or the way my upper arm flab seems lately to sway in the breeze. But that was before. There is only here and now, doing what we can, though it will never seem like enough because the well of need is so deep. There is a world outside of Joplin, Missouri, but right now it is hard for me to fathom.
This is an amazing community. A relative newcomer, I stand on the periphery in awe of all of the ways that people are working together because they love this town. Because they love their neighbor. Amelia's school sent people door to door to account for the whereabouts of every child who had not been heard from. Reconstruction has already begun on several of the school buildings to be ready in time for next year. Everywhere you turn restaurants offer free food. Free bottled water is stacked in parking lots for whoever may need it. After only five days, the major aid distribution centers stopped taking item donations because they were at capacity. There was standing room only to celebrate the loss of a beautiful and innocent life, ripped away by the tornado. There are tears of joy mixed with tears of grief.

I understand now why we are here in Joplin. I am bonded to this community, for better or for worse, and in a way I could never have imagined this time last week. Out of the chaos, there is hope in the new week that is to come. A new Sunday, a new week is on its way.

Moving On...

Home. It's a city named after a citrus in Southern California, comfortable and worn in, it feels like childhood. It's a town on the Hungarian plains, lovely and complicated, both in language and inhabitants, a place of independence and personal discovery. It's a suburb of San Diego, sanitized and homogenous, my first baby's first home. It's a small, charming Southern town, a kind of living museum, where neighbors quickly become family. These are the places I have lived, the places that have shaped me, the places that have become part of the very fiber of my being.

Our latest move, even ten months later, has left me stunned and saddened, longing for a place where I no longer belong. And it got me thinking about the definition of home, mostly because I have felt so homeless. Each move brings with it a little death, a falling away of a certain way of life. You can always return to a place you once called home, but those places are forever changed: stores close up or open for business, people move or remodel, relationships evolve to accommodate the distance, or sometimes fade away entirely. And there is inevitably a time of loss before the regeneration can begin in a new community. Some losses are deeper and more indelible than others. This one, for one reason or another, hit me hard. A long winter.

But there are buds on the trees. My winter is giving way to spring. Slowly. There are new friends at the park, and familiar, loving faces at church. There is a porch swing and long talks with my husband. There are daily walks to the neighborhood school, and a great park down the street. And there are swim lessons and soccer games, play dates, birthday parties, and school carnivals. There is a new routine, a new normal, and there is comfort in that.

With each move, I am reminded in a very clear and tangible way that ultimately, and no matter how badly we long for it, we do not have a permanent home here on earth. We are just passing through. And while we long for the eternal, we should not live for it, just as we should not live only for the past. Thus, home is now; home is the present.

Home is my little redhead with the missing bottom tooth who loves Little House on the Prairie and Strawberry Shortcake, whose little fingers are perpetually stained with marker. It is the little girl with the enormous brown eyes and runny nose, who has an insatiable need for scotch tape and bedtime renditions of "You're a Grand Old Flag." Home is my sweet, blue eyed boy who wants nothing more than to nurse, eat his prunes, and laugh at his sisters. And it is the man with the quirky sense of humor and cute dimples who promised to always love me and actually does, even though I'm covered in spit up ninety percent of the time and lacking regular access to a shower. They are my base, my comfy socks, my heart, my home.

Full Tank

My oldest daughter Amelia. Where do I begin? I love her so much that, at times, I could eat her up with a spoon. Other days? Well, today I had to take a "mommy time out" in the bathroom of "Los Portales" because I was just about ready to overturn my table of chips and guac. You see, she began the day by exclaiming that she liked her preschool teacher better than me. Then, at church, in front of God and everyone, she put her sister in a choke hold over an inflatable ball. At lunch, she refused to sit by me. But it was that snotty, sing-songy tattle-tale voice, the one that can only be learned on kindergarten playgrounds, that sent me over the edge. I went to the bathroom and cried.

I know how to handle Amelia. In fact, I have it down to a science, and usually, I'm pretty good at staying in control of my emotions in the midst of her "spirit." It's just that my sweet girl requires me to be on my "A" game. All the time. And it's been a hard month. With Dave's mission trip, company in town, Halloween, seasonal allergies and Dave's recent pneumonia diagnosis, I feel like I've barely been able to keep my head above water. I fell out of sync with myself and my kids. I am tired, I am edgy about laundry and schoolwork and upcoming trips, I am annoyed by all the little piles all over my house, and my priorities are out of balance. When this happens, I fall in to maintenance mode with everything, including my kids. Maintenance mode doesn't phase Sadie, but Amelia just doesn't roll with maintenance mode. And really, she shouldn't have to.

So, after a nice little cry in arguably the most disgusting public restroom in Eufaula (but that's another post), I went back to the table and decided that we were in need of a date. Just the two of us. She was mad at me so it took some convincing, and actually, a little bribery, but I knew we needed the time together. We spent the afternoon in Columbus. I let her spend a leftover birthday gift card at Target. She bought a pretend bathtub for her dolls and a 100 piece rabbit puzzle, just in case you were wondering. I let her have a (very small) diet coke for the first time. We walked the aisles of Pet Smart and I named all the different kinds of fish for her. Then it was off to Micheal's where she helped me choose some craft paper for a project I'm working on. On the way home, we called Aunt Abby to thank her for the gift card that bought her new toys, we sang "Wheels on the Bus" and "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star," we talked about school and her friends and the girls on the playground who are sometimes not so nice. And she told me that she didn't mean it when she said she liked her teacher more than me. By the time we reached Eufaula, she was a different girl than the one who made me want to overturn tables in public places. Her tank was full and so was mine.

Happiness or Blessing?

Lately I've been thinking a lot about what it means to be blessed. It seems like the word "blessing" is everywhere I turn: a chapter in Amelia's children's Bible is called "God's Blessings Grow"; an earlier CNN headline reads, "Flood Survivors Count Their Blessings"; a friend of a friend's blog post today is entitled "Deliriously Blessed." I ask God to bless my home, my family, and my loved ones, but do I really understand what I am asking for?

What I think I am asking for is for a happy home, for a healthy family, for safety and peace for my loved ones. However, I wonder often about how my definition of blessing might be applied to the faith of those who live in a constant state of violence, misery and poverty. Are they not blessed? Do they live outside of God's favor? If I adhere to my definition, the answer is yes. If I adhere to my definition, blessing is equated to my own personal and selfish happiness. If I adhere to my definition, then I also must believe that I am more deserving of God's favor. I do believe that my God is just; therefore, my definition of blessing must change.

Thoughts?

But I get turned around
I mistake some happiness for blessing
But I`m blessed as the poor
Still I judge success by how I`m dressing
-Caedmon's Call

Redemption in the Deep South

Today as I was driving to the grocery store, alone with my thoughts for the first time in about a week, I had an epiphany about happiness. I realized that I was, that I AM happy. This happiness of which I speak is not a giddy euphoria, but more of a steady, deep current of contentedness. I think I have felt this way for a while, but on this solo trip to the store, I realized that I am no longer waiting for that other shoe to drop. I trust this happiness. I know it won't go away.

Moving from California has been cathartic for me. I needed a new canvas. Growing up, and well into my twenties, I became accustomed to what I now call "crisis living," going from one personal or family crisis to another. I couldn't slow down and enjoy life; I was constantly anxious about turning a corner and running headlong, unprepared, in to my next tragedy. So I stayed on my guard, rejecting before I could be rejected, struggling to keep my head above the tide of anger and bitterness. This way of life was so ingrained in my mental topography, I honestly didn't know, until recently, that there was another way to live.

Early in our marriage, my husband helped me to recognize that the unhealthy consequences of living with this constant fear, but I had no idea how to change. Physical distance has been the only way for me to repair my faulty wiring; Alabama has been my soul's rehabilitation. We did not move here as a means of escape, and I did not foresee that this new found peace would be the result. But it was, and it has been, and I am thankful.

I am thankful because, though redemption has always been a part of the story, it is now a part of my story. I understand what it means now, and because I understand it, I can pass it on. I am no longer waiting for the other shoe to drop, or waiting in fear for the next crisis to arise; but when it does, I have a deep well from which to draw.

A Short Story by Amelia Burgess

When Ajee (Dave's mom) came to visit last April, she began an album of short stories dictated by Amelia. Remember, I record it as I hear it. No editing is involved. Here is her latest work:

Jack Anderson's Best Cousin's House
by Amelia Burgess

Once upon a time there was a baby butterfly. She was going over to her friend Jack Anderson's cousin's house. She saw her friend's house was on fire, so she jumped on top of the roof and she got some water from the water fountain and she got where the fire was and there was a hole. Then she didn't know what to do, so lots of friends came over and they had a birthday party.

The End.

We must work on denoument and resolution...

The Summer of Brokenness

Here's my list:

• Our lawnmower is broken and the grass is a foot high
• The top oven no longer heats, while the bottom oven runs about 200 degrees too hot
  
• We discovered wood rot and pulled a handful off of an outdoor window casing the other day
• There is a leak in our roof that has already been fixed twice...and is still leaking
• The face of our dishwasher fell off; it gives my kitchen an unintentional, industrial look
• The toilet in the girls' bathroom in unusable; Dave tried to fix it a few weeks ago, but now it sprays water from the top of the toilet instead of the bottom when you flush
• Via CT scan yesterday, I learned that I have sinus polyps (the cause of my chronic sinus infections this spring), which will have to be surgically removed a week before school starts; recovery time is a week...

But here's the other list:

• A fellow congregant offered us a free riding lawn mower that he no longer uses
• We have a microwave...and now, an oven thermometer
• The wood rot is localized to a very small area
• The big leaks are taken care of; at least it's not running down the wall anymore
• Our urban chic dishwasher is a great ice breaker when we have people over for dinner
• The toilet is most likely an easy fix, just not by my husband
• My silly little polyps are not life threatening, just a bit uncomfortable
  

Enjoy the View

Today, while Amelia was playing some computer games and Sadie was napping, I went to the bookshelf where we keep old journals and selected one at random. Dave and I used to be avid journal writers, but life creeps in and slowly, and inevitably, the busy-ness of everyday chips away at time for solitude and self-reflection.

The journal I grabbed off the shelf today belonged to Dave. I felt at liberty to read it because he had read it to me before, when we were first dating. Page after page of this journal was filled with poetry, beautiful poetry, and before I knew it, an hour had passed; Amelia was still playing computer games and Sadie was up from her nap. Life crept back in and snapped me out of my reverie.

Dave reminds me every day why I married him. He makes me laugh out loud on a regular basis; he loves our girls in a way that I didn't know fathers could love their daughters; he takes care of our family in little ways that I don't always immediately recognize. But life creeps in. After six years of marriage, two kids, two full-time jobs and more laundry and yard work than we could have ever hoped for, we have both lost some of the serendipity of our youth. It did my heart well to revisit the passion, idealism and sensitivity of the man I fell in love with. It reminded me that he is still that man and I'm still that woman. We just have to work a little harder to find that part of ourselves these days.

Contrast

Here are my girls' legs, side by side, after the same amount of sun exposure. I swear they have the same father...

Leaps and Bounds

With her favorite book, Dora Loves Boots

Amelia, lending moral support

Little girl, big room

Sweet dreams...

Between my girls, Sadie is without question the more easy going of the two; however, when she sets her mind to something, it is nearly impossible to dissuade her from that path. When she was two weeks old, Sadie decided that she would never take a feeding from anything but her mother's breast. And she never did. Not once. I tried every bottle on the market, even the kind that are made to resemble a real breast that you find advertised in the back of parenting magazines. When I went back to work, her babysitters had to feed her with a little medicine dropper because she refused everything else. At two weeks old, she made a decision about the way she wanted to be fed...and there was no going back.

So it was with sleeping in a crib. Saturday night, I put her to bed and within ten minutes heard sobbing in her room: deep, racking sobs as if she were scared. She never does this, so I went to check on her and as I walked in, she screamed between sobs, "I want sleep Pooh bed. I want to sleep Pooh bed!" It took several more minutes before it became clear what she was trying to communicate in her broken toddler English. "Pooh bed" is the toddler bed with Winnie-the-Pooh sheets we still had set up from our friends' visit back in April. Fine, I thought. I'll just put the sheets on her crib mattress. As I changed her sheets and began to put the mattress back in the crib, Sadie began waving her hands wildly and sobbing again, "I want sleep Pooh bed! I want to sleep Pooh bed!" So once more, I took the mattress out of the crib and this time put it on the floor. As soon as it touched the carpet, Sadie dove for the mattress and requested her favorite doll and blanket to snuggle with. I stayed with her for a minute, kissed her and closed the door. We heard not a sound from her room for the rest of the night. That's all it took for her to make that leap from a baby to a toddler.

Last night, we set up the toddler bed and removed her crib for good. Here are the obligatory "first night in a big girl bed" pictures. Sweet dreams, little gir! You are growing up too fast...

Where I've Been

Snow in Alabama!

Daddy with his matching girls

Sadie and Amelia, hamming it up for the camera

Messy playroom

I love how close they're sitting in this picture:)

Sadie and our new swing set= thanks Ajee and Bapa!

T-ball- Go Royals!

Elton John, backstage before the performance

Easter Sunday

Hunting eggs at church

The Nygren's visit- sweet times with sweet friends

Sadie and Molly Grace

Sadie's 2nd birthday!
Perfecting the art of time out
Ajee's visit in April

Tired, but happy

February through May has been filled with illness, visits from friends (hurray!), visits from relatives (so thankful), decisions about schools (for both children), job applications (for the fourth year in a row), a trip to the Dominican Republic (Dave's, not mine), more illness, two T-ball games a week, and now finally, the end a very long, exhausting, but fulfilling school year. I feel like I am at the end of a marathon for which I did not properly train; I am weary in both body and spirit. I look forward to spending quality time my sweet little girls, replanting my flower boxes, wasting time with a diet coke in our inflatable backyard pool, reading some good books, and getting organized again. Posted above are some pictures from the last four months; more blogging to come!

The Sunday School Tree

About 18 miles outside of Eufaula is the tiny community of Comer, Alabama. There's not much to it: a few old, overgrown buildings, a couple of little churches and a smattering of country houses. Dave had been out there a few times on visitations and had shared with me about the little town that time forgot. So, today I packed the kids in the car, put Peter Pan on the DVR and headed north on Highway 82. I really just wanted to look around, maybe take a few pictures and be back within an hour.

As I pulled off the highway and into the little hamlet of Comer, I noticed a pick-up truck heading towards me, then pulling over to let me pass. When I drove by, I noticed that the lady in the truck was Martha Grant, a sweet member of our church. She rolled down her window and jokingly asked if I was lost, because really, if you don't live there, there is no good reason to be all the way out in Comer. Embarrassed, I told her that I had always wanted to see what it was like. She laughed at me, but then she asked if I wanted to come out to the family property and bring her husband Frank his morning coffee. I agreed. So, she hopped in alongside me in the mini-van and away we went. The Grant's cow pasture

On the way, Miss Martha told me what Mr. Frank was doing in the cow pasture; he was erecting a monument on the site of The Sunday School Tree. The Sunday School Tree, Miss Martha explained, was an enormous Red Oak tree that sat on the property of the old Russell plantation before "The War Between the States." When the weather was nice, Mrs. Russell, Mr. Frank's great-grandmother, would teach Sunday school under the old Oak tree to all the little boys and girls, both black and white together, that lived on the plantation. After the "War Between the Sates," the Russell plantation house burned, a forest grew up over the cotton fields, the old "Sunday School Tree" died and the stump was eventually removed. Miss Martha laughed about how ridiculous it must sound to be erecting a monument to a tree that no longer exists, in the middle of a pasture, surrounded by cow patties. But, really, I thought it was beautiful.

The site of the old Russell family plantation

Working on the monument for "The Sunday School Tree"

The old vault in the Bank of Comer

One of the little churches in Comer

Amelia, Sadie and Miss Martha on the Grant property

Duh...

For as long as I can remember, I have suffered from a serious (and apparently incurable) case of what I like to call "Duh Syndrome." I mean, I consider myself to be a relatively intelligent person, but I have moments (more than I would like to admit) that my brain completely shuts down and I do something so stupid that my husband is often left wondering how he wound up with such a "special" wife. As I write this, my poor, long-suffering spouse is driving up and down highway 431, in search of my wallet that I most likely left on top of the car at the grocery store this morning. Yes, I had bags of groceries and a sick child to worry about. And yes, I was also engaged in a conversation with Callie Peak about their three cases of RSV and two bouts of pneumonia this winter. But really, that's no excuse. Duh.

And then there's a month ago when I was checking my cell phone messages in the driveway at Sadie's babysitter's house and backed right over their mailbox, knocking it completely out of the ground and denting the back of our brand new mini-van. Yep, say it with me...Duh.

Our poor Camry, which has been my car for the past three years, has a dent in the front fender from an unknown source (my fault, most likely), a dent and some chipped paint on the rear fender from when I backed into a tree last year, and a missing hubcap from when I pulled up a little too close to the curb. Duh...to the third power.

Essentially, I'm a scatterbrain. I leave things places (luckily, I've never left my children anywhere), I forget stuff that is important, I run into and break things that aren't mine. Though this post is written with tongue in cheek, I don't think it's funny. I spend a fair amount of time beating myself up over this glaring shortcoming in my life. I know we all have them, shortcomings, that is. I just wish this shortcoming was less destructive. What I hate the most is that my "duh" moments create a hassle for others. I hate that my husband had to take time away from work to look for my wallet and though we payed for it, I hate that Sadie's babysitter had to spend time on a Saturday afternoon to replace their broken mailbox. I really hate all the money we have to spend fixing my mistakes. So, if you're reading this and you've been a victim of my "Duh Syndrome," I'm sorry and I'm working on it. In the meantime, i wouldn't recommend loaning me your car.

Love Your Neighbors

Amelia and Bailey

Growing up on Barkley Ave., I lived in the same house for nineteen years and honestly, I would not be able to tell you the name of the man that lived next door. I played with the neighborhood kids from time to time, but they were mostly boys and I often found myself cleaning their room before I would allow myself to play in it. Boys are messy, you know. We were friendly with everyone, but we weren't about to close off the street for any 4th of July block party or anything, either. We did our own thing. We didn't exchange Christmas gifts. Or bring over a plate of cookies for new neighbors. Or watch out for one another. There was just a general lack of community. And it always made me a little bit sad.

I knew plenty of people in California who had block parties and great neighbors, so this is not a slam on any particular region. I, personally, just had to move to a small town in Alabama to find the kind of neighborhood I always dreamed about. The kind of neighborhood where the kids across the street spend hours at our house on a Saturday and then invite us for dinner that night. The kind of neighborhood where Meemaw and Granddaddy Ang take Amelia for rides in the wheelbarrow and bring us handmade deer sausage every Christmas. The kind of neighborhood where we take vacations to Disneyworld together in the summer and pick up eachother's kids from school because the baby is still napping. The kind of neighborhood where we take care of eachother's pets when we're away and can stop by to say "hello" without calling first.

Our neighborhood, in so many ways, has been a salve to that broken piece of me. Here, I have found the community I always longed for. I think that is why, despite the laundry list of Southern idiosynchrasies we could do without, for now, we love living in Eufaula. It is home.

Ninety-Nine

I wasn't tagged, but thought this looked like fun!

So, here's what you do...

Things you've already done: bold
Things you want to do: italicize
Things you haven't done and don't want to - leave in plain font

1. started your own blog
2. slept under the stars- haven't done that for a long time...
3. played in a band
4. visited Hawaii
5. watched a meteor shower
6. given more than you can afford to charity
7. been to Disneyland/World

8. climbed a mountain- I haven't done this, but couldn't unbold it for some reason

9. held a Praying Mantis- um, I don't think so...
10. sang a solo -a few...
11. bungee jumped- no way, no how!
12. visited Paris

13. watched a lightning storm at sea
14. taught yourself an art from scratch
15. adopted a child
16. had food poisoning- a horrible night at a B&B in Williamsburg, VA
17. walked to the top of the Statue of Liberty
18. grown your own vegetables
19. seen the Mona Lisa in France
20. slept on an overnight train...and been accosted by dirty Italian men!
21. had a pillow fight
22. hitch hiked
23. taken a sick day when you’re not ill- yesterday, but Sadie was sick, so...
24. built a snow fort
25. held a lamb
26. gone skinny dipping- don't tell...
27. run a marathon
28. ridden a gondola in Venice
29. seen a total eclipse
30. watched a sunrise or sunset

31. hit a home run - I'm not the type...
32. been on a cruise
33. seen Niagara Falls in person
34. visited the birthplace of your ancestors
35. seen an Amish community- I've seen the Amish at a Missouri Costco...does that count?
36. taught yourself a new language- Beszelek egy kicsit magyarul:)
37. had enough money to be truly satisfied
38. seen the Leaning Tower of Pisa in person
39. gone rock climbing - Joshua Tree in 5th grade

40. seen Michelangelo's David in person- same trip I was accosted by dirty Italians on a night train from Rome to Vienna
41. sung karaoke - fun!
42. seen Old Faithful Geyser erupt
43. bought a stranger a meal in a restaurant
44. visited Africa
45. walked on a beach by moonlight
46. been transported in an ambulance
47. had your portrait painted - does a caricature count?
48. gone deep sea fishing
49. seen the Sistene Chapel in person- once again, dirty Italian trip...
50. been to the top of the Eiffel Tower in Paris

51. gone scuba diving or snorkeling- snorkeling in Catalina and Hawaii
52. kissed in the rain- probably, though I can't remember off hand
53. played in the mud

54. gone to a drive-in theater- those were the days...
55. been in a movie - split second overhead shot in "Sister Act II"
56. visited the Great Wall of China
57. started a business

58. taken a martial arts class
59. visited Russia
60. served at a soup kitchen
61. sold Girl Scout Cookies- and eaten LOTS of them, too!
62. gone whale watching
63. gotten flowers for no reason
64. donated blood
65. gone sky diving- nope...
66. visited a Nazi concentration camp- Aushwitz in Poland. A very powerful experience
67. bounced a check
68. flown in a helicopter
69. saved a favorite childhood toy
70. visited the Lincoln Memorial
71. eaten caviar
72. pieced a quilt- started to, but never finished:(

73. stood in Times Square
74. toured the Everglades
75. been fired from a job
76. seen the changing of the guard in London
77. broken a bone
78. been on a speeding motorcycle
79. seen the Grand Canyon in person
80. published a book
81. visited the Vatican
82. bought a brand new car
83. walked in Jerusalem
84. had your picture in the newspaper
85. read the entire Bible
86. visited the White House
87. killed and prepared an animal for eating- No! But my neighbor does and makes us deer sausage every Christmas...
88. had chickenpox- still have the scars to prove it!
89. saved someone’s life- hope I never have to do that...
90. sat on a jury
91. met someone famous -Drake, of "Drake and Josh" was in my 10th grade English class...ha, ha!
92. joined a book club
93. lost a loved one
94. had a baby- TWO!

95. seen the Alamo in person.
96. swum in the Great Salt Lake- yuck!
97. been involved in a law suit- I rear-ended a crazy lady once. It's a long story...
98. owned a cell phone
99. been stung by a bee- only once in my whole life!

Dog Days

On her first birthday, Amelia received doggy. That's what she calls him. Doggy. Back in the day, doggy was plump with stuffing and so soft you could use him as a pillow. Amelia took to him right away, but it wasn't until our move to Alabama that he became an irreplaceable fixture in our lives. Two years later, doggy's fur is coarse and matted, his glass eyes are chipped from several trips to the washer and dryer, and bits of stuffing escape from a hole at the tip of his leather nose. He has been doused by just about every bodily fluid (and solid) imaginable (our recent trip to Arkansas left him covered in vomit twice). No matter how much we wash him, doggy is a disgusting, well-loved mess.

So, on the aforementioned vomit trip to Arkansas, I decided that maybe it was time to upgrade doggy for a newer, less contaminated option. The day after Thanksgiving, I took Amelia on her very first trip to Build-A-Bear. I talked to her about it before hand, explaining that we would always keep doggy, but maybe she could have something new to sleep with. Amelia seemed amenable to this plan, so off we went. And we had fun. We chose a bear, watched as it was stuffed before our eyes, picked out clothes and named her Emily.

The excitement of it all lasted until we got to the cash register. All of the sudden, Amelia's brown eyes welled up with tears and when I asked her what was wrong, she replied, "I don't want to sleep with my new bear. I want to sleep with doggy. I love him even though he's yucky." It occurred to me at that moment that doggy is Amelia's Velveteen Rabbit. All of the chipped glass and matted fur and vomit chunks are the things that make him real; the things that make him safe and familiar and loved.

So doggy remains. Emily, the replacement bear, is long forgotten. Doggy, who is loved even though he is yucky, is safe tonight in Amelia's arms and all is right with the world.

Growing Pains

As Amelia grows up, she is more and more like me. Her red hair, brown eyes, lanky figure and dimple on her right cheek are just the beginning of our similarities. At four, her personality has begun to emerge. She is an observer, more comfortable to stand on the outside of the action until she gets a feel for it; she isn't one to jump right in to the fray. Though she sings and dances and laughs and makes jokes at home, she rarely does so in public. Her preschool enrichment teacher says that she rarely talks; it takes a long time for someone to work their way in to Amelia's circle of trust. She is incredibly sensitive and emotional. If she is defying me in some way, all I have to do is say that I am sad and she will almost always comply. She is also able to express the way she is feeling at a depth that is unusual for a child of her age.

It is a bittersweet thing to see myself reflected in Amelia. When I watch her draw for hours, making up stories about her characters, I celebrate her imagination. When the question, "why" follows every little thing I say, I celebrate her curiosity. When her brown eyes sparkle with laughter over a "joke" she made up, I celebrate her sense of humor. I love these things about her because she gets them from me. Then, there are other times. There are times when she lingers behind my legs, too shy to engage with other kids at a birthday party. I admit that I cringe a little bit when she refuses to go down the inflatable slide or jump in the bounce house because she is scared. And sometimes when her emotions swing dramatically hot and cold, I wish that she had inherited her father's temperament. I struggle with these things because she gets them from me, and throughout my life, these qualities were painful.

Amelia's bright little life will not be hindered by my emotional baggage. I made that decision a long time ago. However, I have dreams for Amelia. As parents, our dreams never involve our children experiencing pain, but I know that if I want her to excel in her gifts, I also must relinquish her to her flaws. I know that some of my flaws became scars in the wake of a very difficult adolescence; some of them, admittedly, by my own consequence. What this has taught me is that pain is inevitable; I can not and will not eliminate this reality for her. I also realize that what I may see as flaws in myself, depending on how they manifest themselves in her, may become a part of Amelia's beauty. That's why, I stand back, hold my tongue and focus on her gifts: her bountiful imagination, her curiosity about the world, her off-beat sense of humor. I will teach her to lead with these gifts and let the rest fall away.

Taxidermy and Collard Greens

A sample of what one might hear on a day in a rural Alabama middle school:

Chris: Mrs. Burgess, I can't ever do my homework.

Mrs. Burgess: Why can't you do homework, Chris?

Chris: Because I have a garden: 136 collard greens. No time for homework!

##

Mrs. Burgess: Tyler, why aren't you doing your work?

Tyler: I'm going to juvi tomorrow and I ain't coming back, so why should I work?

Mrs. Burgess: juvi?

Tyler: I'm up for two felonies...

Mrs. Burgess: What did you do?

Tyler: Attempted murder and killing a cat. But Mrs. Burgess, I swear I didn't kill that cat!

Mrs. Burgess: Um, ok.

##

*Cody (yelling from across the room): Mrs. Burgess!! When I get my deer head back from the taxidermist, can I bring it in to show you?

Mrs. Burgess: How about you bring a picture...

*Cody is also the student who, on the Monday after we read The Raven, brought me a REAL (and freshly dismembered) crow's foot. He says I'm his favorite teacher. Sweet, but can't I just get an apple?