Category: daughters

16Apr

I’m waiting

I grew up in a household that there were very few arguments and very little conflict. At least, not to my recollection; and maybe perhaps disagreements between my parents were kept behind closed doors. Even in my teenage years, I don’t recall many “knock down, drag out” fights between my parents and myself. We didn’t always agree, but it rarely got ugly.

I was always extremely close to my dad, but my mom, well, my mom always played her life pretty close to the vest. She was distant. I don’t recall many heart to heart talks. I observed friends that had a close relationship with their mom and I was always a bit envious, but sad as well.

One day when I was in my early teens, my Mom and I got into a disagreement. I can’t recall what it was about, but I recall that I felt like I was completely and utterly in the right. I stormed out of the house, slammed the front door, and sat down on the front steps of our house.

As I have said before, I forever sought after my mother’s love and approval; always laying in wait for that magic moment when I felt more than just a bother or an inconvenience to her.

I was fuming; so mad I could barely see straight.

I was right.

She was wrong.

As I sat there, all I could think about was how right I was, and how wrong she was. Righteousness was running through my veins. How dare she not see my point.

I sat there for what seemed like a really long time.

The longer that I sat there, the more I began to realize something. I wanted my mother to come after me. Come find me. I wanted to be important enough that she sought me out to make this right. But she never did.

Who knows what was going on in her head. Dinner needed to be made. Clothes needed to be folded. The floors were dirty. Who knows. But I’m pretty sure it wasn’t about our disagreement.

After what felt like hours (I’m sure it wasn’t), with my proverbial tail tucked in between my legs, I went back into the house, carrying on with whatever. But my feelings had been hurt. One more notch in the belt of disappointment with my mom.

There’s really no point, or moral to this story. Just that I hope as a parent,  I hope that I was more in touch with my kids.

And if you are currently a parent of a precious young human being, on occasion, meet them where they go. It could mean everything to them. 

Love,

Cat

‘

29Nov

Black Friday

Today is Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, Black Friday. I’ve never been one to want to go shopping on Black Friday; wake up before the chickens, crowds to fight, traffic to contend with; it’s just not for me.

I much prefer sleeping in on Black Friday. No agenda. No plans. Just take it easy after the much anticipated Thanksgiving day. Maybe not even get out of my pajamas.

Charlie has his own Black Friday tradition. Weather permitting, he and a group of friends ride their motorcycles to Waynesville, NC for lunch. It’s an all day event that keeps him out until dark.

In the three years since Charlie and I have been married, we have hosted Thanksgiving in our home each year. Some years we have had all of our children present, some years not. Sometimes work schedules have not permitted, other times one lives out of town.

Our Thanksgiving gatherings are always a mad house. Kids running around. Dogs chasing kids. Kids chasing dogs. Multiple conversations going on at the same time. Laughter. Photo bombs. Wine flowing. The dining room full. Overflow at the kitchen bar. Smiles, all around. Controlled chaos, if you will. Or maybe not.

This Thanksgiving didn’t go as planned and I’ve been a bit sad today.

The flu hit.

My daughters Heather and Robin (and all four grands) were exposed to the flu last Saturday. On Tuesday, Heather became the first flu victim and now, Lexi is showing symptoms. Thankfully, Dave (Heather’s husband) has not fallen victim yet. Robin and her family graciously bowed out of attending Thanksgiving in order not to expose the rest of us.

So here we are yesterday with a feast to feed 15 and only a few family members there to enjoy the bounty.

For the first time, all of the guests were able to gather around the dining table – with seats left over. It was a wonderful evening. Conversation flowed freely, no children there to interrupt, the dogs finally settled in to having company. We even played a few games of Smart Ass in peace. Ahhh… so this is what a quiet dinner is like.

But it wasn’t the same. At all.

Bring back the chaos.

Let me hear multiple conversations going on at the same time. I want to see Robin looking in the fridge for more deviled eggs. I want to glance over and see Heather having a conversation with her daughter. I need to watch my adult children interact with one another. I missed watching Charlie and Dave in deep conversation about a subject that’s generally way over my head. I need to purvey the room and see all of my loved ones under one roof. Brandon and Shane giving each other a hard time (what brothers do). Jason holding Logan. The trio of Lexi, Luna, and Lucas running through the house. Stephen and Amber sitting on the sofa taking selfies and making jokes. And later, the adults once again, gathering around the dining table for a few hours of board games.

Nope. It wasn’t the same.

So instead of sleeping in on this Black Friday morning, I was on a mission. Get up, get dressed, pack up all of the leftovers and deliver them to the doorsteps of my daughter’s homes. It was the least I could do for the self imposed quarantined families.

My deliveries have been made. My quest fulfilled. And now I sit at my local Starbucks sipping on a Breve Latte and nibbling on a piece of pumpkin bread. And thinking….musing….pondering…

….and counting my lucky stars of just how fortunate I am to have the family that I have. All of them. Their quirks, their hearts, their imperfections, and the perfect way they love me. And although this Thanksgiving brought a bit of disappointment, it was still a good one. Sometimes it takes the absence of something to really appreciate it.

So today, on this Black Friday, I give thanks for my family.

Love to you all.

30Oct

It’s just a jacket, right?

It’s old. It’s faded. Some of the edges are frayed. There’s a tear in the cuff that can’t be repaired. It’s definitely seen better days.

This jacket has been with me for the better part of 25 years.

There’s been a few times I’ve had it in my “toss” pile, only to  change my mind and pull it back out.  So, I ask myself, what is it about this jacket that I keep running back to like an old friend? What is it about this unpretentious article of clothing that I can’t seem to let go of?

Simple.

It’s history.

It’s the history that is held inside the body of this jacket.

In the years since I have owned this piece of clothing (or, does it own me), this jacket has kept my body warm and my soul comforted. It’s the comfort of chicken soup and the warmth of hot chocolate.  This friend of mine has kept me warm at  UT football games, hayrides, and  pumpkin carvings. Its sleeves have wiped noses, its hood has kept the rain off. It has served as an impromptu pillow and a blanket for little ones. It has accompanied me on walks, endless farmer’s markets,and soccer games.  It has been with me on some of my best days, and some of my worst days. On some of my darkest days, it has caught tears that couldn’t be held back.

Just look at this picture. That jacket is keeping my daughter warm on a chilly Saturday morning in 1994. That’s Shane on her lap (he’s 30 now). 
jacket

Fast forward to October 2012 (18 years later), that’s Shane wearing that very same jacket. He and Brandon supported me by participating in the Out of the Darkness community walk for Suicide Prevention. 
shanejacket

 I asked my daughter Robin to put on the jacket so I would have a picture of her wearing it too. 🙂

robinjacket

And just 2 years ago, I brazenly got it back out of the toss pile  and wore it while running errands on yet another chilly East Tennessee Saturday morning.

catjacket

And then, just this spring, here “we” are with Charlie on a video shoot in Birmingham, AL.  This old jacket and her ample pockets came in handy storing camera batteries, filters, lens caps, and a handful of C47’s (also known as clothespins).

So, if I could turn back the hands of time would I make her new again?

No, not really. Because, like its owner, this beloved jacket of mine has worked hard for those worn edges, she has earned the frays and the imperfections that make her what  she is today.

And what happens to this little sweetheart when I’m no longer around to need her? Well, Ms. Ames, she’s yours – as you wish.

29Aug

Heather Denise

 

1

Mother and Daughter

*** I write this on the 38th birthday of this remarkable woman that I am so proud to call “Daughter.” She continues to fill  my life with joy, pride, and awe.  ***

I thought I knew about life. I thought I knew about love.

Then she was born. August 29, 1977. We named her Heather Denise. She weighed in at 6 pounds, 14 ounces and was the most beautiful sight my eyes had ever seen. I was all of 21 years old.

From the very first time I held her in my arms I knew that my life would never be the same. When people say they don’t believe in love at first sight, they clearly don’t remember that moment they looked into their child’s eyes for the first time. That moment when you know that you will love this person until the day you die.

Heather was an easy baby. She slept well, she nursed well, she cooed, she loved her baths, she adored being held. She loved being rocked to sleep in the hand me down, freshly painted yellow rocking chair.

There wasn’t anything about this child that was difficult. I recall at times feeling a bit smug about this, thinking that it was the calm, peaceful environment that she was being raised in that contributed to her good nature.(I would learn later after her colicky sister Robin was born that her “peaceful environment” had nothing to do with her temperament.)

Time taught me that Heather did things in her own, carefully executed time. She didn’t walk until she was eighteen months old. I had well intentioned, concerned people to advise me if I would “get her off my hip” she would walk. I have to admit, I was a bit concerned myself, enough so to consult her pediatrician. After his careful examination, I was reassured that Heather would walk when Heather was ready. And she did just that. At eighteen months old, without fanfare, without any attention called to herself, she pulled herself up next to the sofa, she let go – and boom – she walked the entire length of the living room without falling, stumbling, or the least bit of wobbling.

And so that act of walking became indicative of the way Heather has lived her life; on her own terms. She’s a thinker, a planner, a woman that envisions success before she has even made her first move. Oh how I admire that! She has a heart of gold and empathy for others that stretches for miles. She loves tirelessly and persistently. The challenges she has faced would break anyone else. Yet, she continues to tackle each and every one with determination, faith, and an unyielding spirit.

In her 38 years Heather has had many accomplishments. She is a graduate of the University of Tennessee. She enjoys a career as a graphic artist. She has been married to her one and only love Dave for 15 years. They have a beautiful, articulate, intelligent daughter named Alexis Rhea (Thank you Heather & Dave for giving her my middle name, Rhea.)

But if you asked Heather, her treasure above all, it would be the salvation she received through Jesus Christ. That redemption continues to be the foundation of her life that all else works around. Her faith is uncompromising, unwavering, and undying.

This woman is one of my heroes. Is it selfish that I hope that I may have had a part in her becoming the woman that she is today? Because what a legacy that would be for me. Regardless if my influence was great or insignificant, I am one proud Mamma.

Happy Birthday Heather Denise,  Mamma loves you oh so much!