Why Mother's Day means so much to me this year ...

On this Mother's Day, 2011, I am so very grateful for three phone calls...
Perhaps more grateful than I've ever been in my 30+ years of parenting. Our older son, Jason, called Saturday morning early. Our younger son, Kevin, called Saturday evening and our daughter, Melissa, called this afternoon.

Their voices were so precious in my ear, and I am thankful to be a Mom whose children are still alive and well. There are many moms in our area who did not have that privilege today and many children whose mothers are no longer here due to what happened 12 days ago ...

If you've followed the news at all, you know Alabama was hard hit by multiple tornadoes on April 27. Rescue teams worked day and night to pull victims out of collapsed buildings for the first two days. There are many amazing stories of children and adults escaping unharmed or, if injured, surviving the F-4 and F-5 tornadoes.

We've heard many stories of babies and young children surviving because someone covered them and gave their life for the child's....

There's the grandmother whose hands had to be pried from the child she held ... and the baby who was found in a cooler unharmed ... and a three-year-old in a refrigerator that was covered with debris but propped open just enough for her to breathe.

When asked how she got there, she told rescue workers, "The man with wings put me in there." We've also heard about a toddler being found up in a tree after the tornado -- basically unharmed. Hard to imagine!

Adults have survived, too -- There's the man who twisted his ankle while trying to get to his vehicle and ended up going back inside. Moments later, the tornado took his truck up in the air and dropped it soon after, literally crushing it. He would have been in it if his ankle hadn't stopped him.

Then there's the eight-year-old who was sucked out of his home in the dark. While his frantic parents looked for him, he walked back in the house. How did he manage to make it back on his own?

"I followed the light," he explained. Only there was no light that night, because the electricity had gone off in the area during the storm. I don't know about you, but we are convinced the Lord lovingly provided some kind of light to direct a child back home to his frantic family.

There's also the young mother with three children who jumped in their van to try to outrun the storm. Their van was picked up and hurled around, the windows were blown out and the wind threatened to suck them all out of the van. All of them were banged up, but they survived.

We also heard about three people in a bathtub who got sucked up into the twister and saw their truck spinning around beside them. Amazingly, they ended up back on the ground bruised and battered but alive. Thankfully, the truck didn't slam into them during the wild ride *or* land on top of them.

Miraculous events, yes, and we are thankful for them in the middle of all the sadness that surrounds us. Over 250 people were killed in Alabama state alone with dozens of others in Tennessee, Mississippi, Georgia and North Carolina. And there are still people missing. Pray that they are found or their bodies recovered so their families can have closure.

No matter how bad things look, we can always find things for which to be thankful:

- So many volunteers from other states have loaded their vehicles with goods or tools and poured into this area to help. They have served food, repaired roofs, hugged grieving victims, run errands, repaired utilities, burned brush piles, donated food, toiletries, blankets and more.

- With all the extra hands on deck, mounds of debris were removed, roads and highways were cleared, fallen trees removed and utilities restored-- days before the projected date. It's amazing how much can be accomplished when kindness takes over.

- Local people who weren't affected by the storm have opened their hearts and hands. Businesses, churches and individuals have donated money to needy victims. Beauty shops and clothing stores donated their services and goods to high school students for special end-of-the-year events.

Mother's Day, this year, has been a good time to reflect on what our state has been through in the past 12 days. We have learned that life is precious and "things" aren't as important as people. We are grateful for new friends who have come to help Alabama recover. Most of all, we are very thankful the Lord has been merciful.















It could have been so much worse than it was.

A real man -- in every sense of the word

My Dad's first lesson in being a man began when he was just a boy of eight or nine. That's when his own father -- under a street lamp in Brooklyn, New York -- turned and walked away from a wife and four young children.

In January, this memory seems to touch my heart on a deeper level. I suppose that's because it is during this month -- the month he died in 1991 -- that I miss him most.

My Dad was a real man in every sense of the word. As a child, he stepped up to the plate and took on the role model of family man. He took that responsibility very seriously, especially when his Mom was at work and he was in charge of two younger brothers and a sister.

That's a lot to put on the shoulders of a young boy, but my grandmother didn't have any other choices ... until the state stepped in and put them in foster care. It must have nearly destroyed my Dad to be separated from his siblings. Were they safe? Who was caring for them? Would he ever see them again?

My grandmother eventually gathered up her children and moved out of state to live with her sister's family. Life was hard, times were tough and two families under one roof have to work at getting along. Dad continued to watch out for his siblings and did what he could to help provide for them.

Some people wither under pressure and become victims of their circumstances. I think the difficulties my father faced worked to strengthen him, instead. He was determined to try harder, work longer and reach higher with an eye toward the future.

Dad later joined the Army, became a radio operator and learned Morse code on one of those old-fashioned finger-tap models. Later, he was among ten soldiers who were handpicked and shipped out under cover of night to a base in Oregon during World War II. Their job was to study the Japanese secret code and break it ... and they did.

It was on a visit to his sister's home back in Missouri that my father met my mother and won her heart. She likes to recall how he told her that when they married, he wanted to make their house a real home. I believe, after his life experience, a real home meant somewhere to settle in, knowing you're loved, accepted and always welcome.

I'm thankful Dad overcame the tough times he experienced. Instead of becoming bitter, he became better -- as a son, an older brother and, eventually, as a man. He would not abandon responsibility and walk away from hard times. Instead, he would stand up taller, roll up his sleeves and meet it head on. And he did, time and time again.

Dad didn't get to finish school as a child, but he got a lot of education around our supper table at night. It was there he'd ask questions and show interest in our school experience. We never suspected just how hungry he must have been to catch up on what he'd missed. All along, he was picking up on things like grammar and punctuation and storing it away for future reference.

Back to Brooklyn, New York: I don't know why my grandfather abandoned his wife and children and vanished like a mist in the night. As far as I know, he never contacted them again. What I *do* know is that his actions caused a young boy to basically abandon childhood and put on the mantle of manhood.

Dad made it his mission to love, protect and provide for his siblings and mother. While it wasn't easy, it became the training ground for his future family -- the one I grew up in. The way he embraced his responsibility and put his whole heart into it left a lasting impact on all of us. That, and the fact that he never walked away from us. Instead, his homecoming every night was something we kids and Mom could count on.

Gifts and Grumpies

During the holidays, a lot of families will get together and share meals, memories and more. Gifts are often part of the equation, and how parents handle that event with children is important. Let's take a peek at a typical holiday gathering ...

After a quick survey of goodies, a Gift Grumpy might say, "The biggest box is gonna be MINE."

Another Grumpy opens a gift, tosses it aside and whines, "This ain't a present... it's only some clothes."

Some Grumpies will hurry through opening a stack of gifts and then ask, "What *else* did you get me?"

And the grand finale -- after receiving their goodies and glancing at them with a yawn, all the Grumpies tend to wear expressions that say, "What can we do now? We're bored."

So how do parents train their children to be appreciative? Here's one idea ...

When our niece was a toddler, her parents wisely involved her in the gift exchange from the get-go. Instead of surrounding her with a pile of presents and making her the center of attention, they asked her to help hand out everyone's gifts.

What a cute little helper she was -- squatting to pick up packages and taking them to the proper recipient (with a little help from Dad or Mom). We all made a big deal of thanking her and she loved it. Once everyone had their packages, she was ready to plop down and open her own. Smart parents.

They later had another daughter, who was designated as primary gift-passer-outer when she became a toddler. Laina loved her job and we loved watching her delight in "giving!" At ages 7 and 11, these girls are still very thoughtful, gracious and giving -- to their wise parents' credit.

Consider some ways to involve your children in the giving process. As you shop, ask your son or daughter's help in choosing gifts for others. This can be as simple as holding up two similar items and asking, "Which do you think Gran would like best?" Go with his choice and let him help wrap the gift or tape it closed. When the gift is opened, make it a point to tell one who receives it that your child helped select it.

Just as there are many types of families and all different kinds of personalities, there are many ways to train children to use good manners and show gratitude. It may be as simple as saying a genuine Thank you! to the giver right away.

Children can also be taught to write (or draw) thank you notes after-the-fact. We were delighted to receive crayon scribbles from our 19-month old grandson after he received his birthday package. His Mommy wrote, Thank you, Nana and Papaw, From Ethan, at the bottom of the drawing, and I imagine she said it aloud while doing it.

There are other ways to express thanks. How do you teach your children to be grateful and appreciative? Do you take advantage of gratitude training during holiday gifting? -- Please share with us -- and most of all ...



How do *you* avoid the dreaded Gift Grumpy?

Unexpected events ...

Sometimes, being a Mom is one of the toughest jobs in the world. You think you've finally got it figured out, and then something unexpected pops up and nearly tears your heart in two.

We had been planning, for weeks, to have both married children and their spouses and little sons here for Memorial Day weekend. I had meal plans and schedules scribbled on my note pad, had shopped for groceries, laid out recipe cards and worked to get the house in order.

That was also the week we painted the front porch, a screened-in extra room for nice weather. The stain is a neutral color and brightens the concrete floor a LOT, making it look more like a room than a garage. :-)

I even got inspired to wield my paintbrush in other areas and chose an apple green for an old wooden chest that sits on the porch. One thing led to another, and soon I had a most-unusual-for-me color theme going. Apple green and mango, which came from a fabric print I found at Hobby Lobby. Everything I found for renovations was on sale - even the paint had a nice rebate!

But back to the kids' visit. Our son and his wife were to fly in from D.C. on Saturday morning and our daughter was hoping to come in early Monday or perhaps meet us somewhere and come on Sunday afternoon. Her hubby would be unable to make the trip.

On Thursday, our daughter called. She had been battling a sinus infection and was to see the doctor again that day. I fully expected her to be on the mend, so

I quipped, "And how are you by now?" thinking of the wonderful reunion just two days away.

"I've got pneumonia," she croaked.

Pneumonia!?! Our girl was so sick she had been in bed with fever all that week and after two rounds of antibiotics and a powerful shot, she was told, by her doctor, that she had to rest in order for her lungs to heal.

Long story short, she and her brother, whom she hadn't seen for 18 months, would not get to meet one another's children that weekend. I managed to be brave while on the phone with her, gave her some motherly advice about drinking fluids, resting, sleeping when their 14 month old slept, etc. When we said goodbye and hung up, my emotions burst like a dam. I think I cried enough tears to nearly run the river over.

We had so looked forward to our family being together for that one weekend! I grieved, for the next several hours, that our son and daughter (who are so very close in heart) wouldn't be seeing one another and that two little boys (cousins) would still be unable to meet one another for the first time. Talk about a letdown.

Thankfully, our son in law was off work that weekend and cared tenderly for our daughter and their son. It wasn't that I worried about a lack of assistance for her -- it was that I wanted, as Mom, to be doing what he was doing ... nursing our girl back to health.

Back to Jason and his family. Knowing Melissa was well-cared for gave me a chance to relax and enjoy time with our son, daughter-in-law and Jason Cody -- who has GROWN so much since New Years' Eve when we last saw him. He is such a delightful little guy who adapts well to new situations and new people.

It was his great-grandfather's first time to meet him, so that was extra special. It was also my Mom's first time to see him, too. He got lots of hugs and kisses! What a wonderful job our daughter-in-law and son are doing in teaching him. It's obvious they love him dearly and enjoy being parents.

Our time together was very special, and I was able to relax and enjoy it to the max. It wasn't easy saying goodbye to them when they drove away, headed to the airport. My hubby was standing there beside me, waving, and what he said fit the emotions of the moment. "This is the hard part." And it was.

We hope to see them again before the end of the year, but we know our grandson will do a lot of changing in that time. In fact, soon after they got back home, they called to say he'd sprouted his first tooth. ;-) It looks like he'll soon be walking, too -- and then life will really change for them all.


We don't expect this child to miss out on much of anything due to his bright curiosity! Kerry recently wrote beside a photo of him getting into things on a shelf, "Today I learned that everything within reach is no longer safe!"

I'm glad to finish this off by saying Melissa is much improved. She and her brother talked on the phone while she was here, and he's kept a check on her throughout her illness.

Bless those in their church family who stepped in to help and provide all their meals the last two weeks. We are also thankful for a 13 year old girl named Lauren who has been to their home to help out with Ethan. She's taken over while Melissa rested, allowing Ethan to do little-boy things, like toddling, half-running, going non-stop while awake to discover everything about just about everything in this big, fascinating world.

Though my heart was torn over the events that didn't turn out the way we had planned, we know there was a far greater plan working behind the scenes. We don't know what it is nor the reasons, but we trust in the One Who does know. And, to be honest, the awful rend in my heart that has now mended has made me stronger.

So ... I supposed I've passed a big hurdle as a Mom and Nana who felt she needed to be in two places at one time. I've learned through this experience (though I knew it in my head) that God was in both places, and He's far more able to care for our children than I am. He is faithful, and I can trust Him ... even with the unexpected events.

Learning the Language

Because children tend to mimic what they see and hear, we adults have to be on our best behavior. Our kiddos may be small, but they have a large grasp of spoken language. The photo here shows our grandson Ethan trying to communicate with his Papaw Phillip, my hubby.

I'll never forget the night back in 1981 when Ethan's Mommy was about 10 months old...

Phillip and I were sitting at the table with Melissa in her high chair at the corner of the table. She liked sitting there between us and would often mumble and coo as if joining in the supper conversation.

But that night, my hubby and I had some type of misunderstanding and both of us were silent instead of talkative. We thought we had kept our feelings private, but there Melissa sat, looking back and forth between us, whining.

Her little brow was wrinkled, trying to figure out what was going on between Mommy and Daddy. She would whine to me, then turn and whine to her daddy, as if to plead, "Talk to each other!"

That's when we, as first-time parents, learned that even a very young child picks up on the tension between people in the family. They just know. They can also tell when things are going along just right in their little world, enabling them to relax in play or at rest.

Little people learn to communicate by listening and observing their parents and others. No surprise, then, that they one day start trying out the words they've heard. Words like "Hi ... bye-bye... peek-a-boo... okay .... thank you and Uh-oh!"

A few weeks back when we visited Melissa and her family, my hubby got down on the floor to play a little game with Ethan. Phillip was at one end of the coffee table with a little plastic car counting ONE, TWO, THREEeeee! and would then give the toy a quick push. As it rolled off the other end onto the floor, he would look at Ethan and say, Uh-Oh!

Ethan loved toddling around the table, grabbing the car and toddling back to Phillip. Then he'd grin as if to say, "Do that again!"

And Papaw Phillip didn't mind a bit. ONE, TWO, THREEeeee! Before he could say UH-OH!, Ethan was already starting around the table to snatch the car again. This went on for 30 minutes, at least.

No surprise, then, that one of Ethan's first words was "Uh-Oh!" He sounded so cute on the phone when they called to say "Listen to Ethan's new word, Papaw and Nana ..."

At first, all we could hear was him breathing into the phone -- a sweet enough sound -- so we waited, and waited and waited ...

Then he said "Uh oh" and his Papaw said it back to him. Melissa said Ethan was smiling real big at that point. Seconds later, his own little Uh-Oh! was repeated several times in a row. He varied the pitch and volume as if trying it out on his tongue and liking what he heard.

He didn't say "Nana" or "Papaw," but that's okay. "Uh-Oh!" is a perfectly good start to learning the language. It won't be long before our little guy will be repeating more and more words. I don't really care what he says when they call us. He can say "Uh-oh" all day long, and this Nana's heart will still sing!

Take a closer look ...

Do you know these little girls?

A few weeks back, hubby and I were browsing an antique mall when I came upon a basket of photos marked "Half price sale - 50 cents."

While many of the snapshots were sepia toned, the majority were black and white. I couldn't help being transported back to the good ol' days while sorting through that pile.

This particular photo was taken in 1960 of sisters Lindsey (two-and-a-half years old) and Gail (two-and-a-half months). On the back of the photo is an address: 24 Grampian Way, Sandon Park, Luton Beds, England.

My attempt to look up this address on the internet was not too helpful. While there are various listings for Grampian and Sandon Park, the closest I came to finding "Luton Beds" was a Luton, Bedfordshire. Perhaps it is sometimes abbreviated.

I can't help wondering who lost this photo or entrusted it to someone else who eventually lost it. Perhaps it was lovingly placed in an album but slipped out and was picked up with old newspapers to be tossed out.

How, I wonder, did these little girls end up here in Alabama?

It's also possible the photo of these girls was passed along to a second or third generation family member when a parent or grandparent died. Not knowing the girls personally, the recipient may not have seen any reason to keep the photo. Feeling badly about the thought of just tossing it out, they donated it to charity with other goods when the estate was settled. At least it's a theory!

We will probably never know the journey of this photo before it landed in that basket on a shelf in our local antique mall. I just couldn't let these precious little gals lie there indefinitely, could I? How many other shoppers saw the photo and smiled? How many voices whispered, "Awww ... how sweet!"

Something about their expressions captured my heart.

While there's not a lot we can tell from just one photo, we can surmise a few things. Look at Lindsey's bright eyes and sweet little dimpled grin. She is proud of the new baby her parents brought home. Her touch is gentle, she holds the baby "just so" and seems to enjoy playing the part of big sister.

And baby Gail? She's relaxed in her big sister's arms and seems to be listening to the person next to the photographer. I'm guessing it is own her mother cooing and calling out to her so she will look up as the camera clicks.

Note her little hand, which is open and relaxed. This is one way of telling she's not hungry or sleepy or upset. No worries for little Gail -- she is perfectly content and at ease. Did you notice both girls are nicely dressed and well-groomed? Behind them, a pretty lace doily rests on the sofa back.

All of these hints point to one thing for me -- Lindsey and Gail were in a nice home where they were secure in their parents' love. There is no dread or fear in their eyes ... only delight. And because they were cherished and happy, I am happy, too.

Not every child comes into a loving home, nor do they have reason to relax and feel secure. Some parents abuse and/or neglect their little ones. Others have no time for storybooks or quality time, which builds a child's self-confidence and gives them that "I know I'm loved" look. Oh that we could rescue all the little ones who are hungry for food and affection!

Oh, that every child could be raised in a loving, happy home!

If I've figured right, the eldest child (Lindsey) would now be perhaps 52 years old and the baby (Gail) would be about 50. I wonder where they are today, and if they get to see one another often. Are they both still living? Do they live in England or America? Did they somehow settle right here in Alabama?

When I first saw this photo, it touched my heart. Perhaps Lindsey and Gail wanted me to see this photo and interpret their story for them. I hope I got it right.

Pumpkin Pie Memories!

Thanksgiving and pumpkin pies just go together, in my opinion!

I remember watching Momma make pumpkin pies for the holidays -- especially at Thanksgiving. While she prepared the homemade crusts, I'd sit on a stool near the counter and watch. Her hands would work the dough as the rolling pin flew back and forth across it. Then she'd flip it and do it again.

When the crust was big enough 'round to cover the inside of the pan and come up over the sides, Momma gently laid it inside -- almost like putting a baby to bed. Then, with one hand, she'd twirl the pan slowly while with the other, a sharp knife would slice off the extra dough hanging over the edges. Last, but not least, she'd "crimp" the edges to make pretty patterns like those pictured below.

The scraps that fell from her knife were all mine -- and I knew just what to do with them! When my enthusiasm with the rolling pin threatened to tear the tender dough, Momma would remind me to handle it ever-so-gently. It took more than a few tries, but after I rolled it out just-so, I'd slather butter on it and sprinkle a cinnamon-sugar mix on top of the entire piece.

We would then cut it in 1-inch-wide strips and place it on a cookie sheet for baking. I could hardly wait for it to come out of the oven! Those baked cinnamon strips were a melt-in-your-mouth home made experience ... but one that had to be shared with all my siblings.

Momma's pies were always made with just the right mixture of Libby's canned pumpkin, eggs, milk, butter and sugar, along with the perfect balance of nutmeg, cinnamon and all spice. Our electric mixer would whip it to a lovely height while the smell of spices tickled my nose.

After the filling was in those lovely crusts, Momma would decorate them with a cookie-cutter pumpkin shape made of scraps of dough she'd reserved for that purpose. Then, with all the love and care of a domestic goddess, she'd slide her pies into the oven.

Once that happened, we children were reminded not to run or jump in the kitchen. Pies in the makin' must not be shaken! The whole house smelled like Thanksgiving on those days, and I could hardly wait until it was time for our special holiday meal. Momma's pies were the crowning touch after a chicken and dressing meal complete with all the trimmings: Mashed potatoes, homemade gravy (always made with giblets), homemade yeast rolls, corn, beans and of course, the cranberry sauce.

When our children were growing up, we carried on the same pie-baking day traditions. Just like me, they enjoyed rolling out scraps of dough to sprinkle with cinnamon and sugar. Once in the oven, they watched through the glass door or sometimes called from another room of the house, "Are they done yet?"

While I finished preparing the pies, they would decide on a special shape for the decorations on top. I've collected a lot of cookie cutters over the years, and during the holidays, the kids enjoyed dumping them all out on the table to sort and admire. We made lots of tea-cake cookies of various shapes and sizes with those cookie cutters, but when Thanksgiving pies were baked, the children chose a thematic topper -- a pilgrim, turkey, pumpkin or leaf shape.

This year, our daughter, son-in-law and grandson Ethan are coming home for Thanksgiving. Our son Kevin will be here for dinner that day, too, along with one of my four sisters AND my Momma. I'm planning to make pumpkin pies again, just like she used to make.

She's altered her recipe through the years, but I don't think you can improve on perfection. So I stick to the original ... the one I remember Momma making when I grew up. No matter how you cut it, you just can't beat a homemade pumpkin pie that's full of just the right combination of ingredients ... and pleasant memories to match.

Happy Thanksgiving to one and all!

Nan in Virginia!

Here I am holding my new little grandson, Jason Cody. He is three weeks old today! After waiting so long to meet him, having him in my arms is a wonderful feeling!

He has the cutest lil' frown between his brows in this photo and a few other photos I've taken, too. Maybe he's carefully considering everything about his new "outside" world and will soon make a decision ... on whether this one or the other (inside) is best.

What a joy to be here and help out. Today we spent some time rocking and reading and singing and sleeping. I'll say this -- he's one very alert little man who studies things carefully. He can also melt your heart. So far, he's given his Papaw and me some precious little smiles. What a thrill! I felt sorry for Phillip when he had to say goodbye and go back to Alabama yesterday. He had to report to work today, but he's called me twice to check on us. I think he's missing his little buddy.

I'm on a laptop that belongs to my daughter-in-law and can't figure out how to insert additional photos in different spots of this blog, so I'll add more later!

I heard a cry, and my heart responded ...

Our son called the other night to talk about his son awhile. It's a blessing to hear your own child talking about parenthood and the awesome feeling of holding his own tiny newborn. While we talked, I heard a little mewing sound in the background.

Soon, it turned into a tight whimper and then a full, high-pitched cry. My heart responded immediately! Our brand-new grandson was making conversation, though not necessarily with his Nana on the phone. There was a rustling sound and then our son's deep voice.

"Hang on a minute, Nana ..."

More static over the phone as he situated Jason Cody on his shoulder and said, "Okay, big boy, I know there's a burp in there somewhere. Show Nana how you can burp!"

It's an amazing thing how the human heart continues to grow and enlarge through the years. I know mine has certainly expanded each time a new family member has made an appearance.

First, there was a sweet baby girl named Melissa, who made her entrance at 5 a.m. on a lovely Saturday morning in May of 1980. The doctor held her up for me just as she opened her mouth and gave a pitiful little Where-am-I? cry, and my heart responded.

Oh, how we loved our dainty firstborn child! Just looking at her perfectly-formed fingers, toes, chin, eyelashes and mouth could bring tears to my eyes. Could there ever be another baby so precious?

Two years and one week later, our hearts nearly burst with joy again. It was 6:32 on a June morning in 1982 when our son Jason arrived ... fast! The dr. described that delivery as if our son was "on a slippery slide and there was no stopping him!" Seconds later, he split the silence of the delivery room with a lusty cry! My mommy heart responded again, swelling with love and compassion and tenderness for our little man. Holding him close to my heart, I couldn't help laughing and crying at the same time.

How could we possibly love two children so much! Yet love them we did, and our happy little home seemed perfect and complete with one lovely daughter and one handsome son. Imagine my surprise when hubby suggested, two and a half years later, that we consider having another baby?

He had been to a men's conference and was extremely touched by a story a young father shared that day. Like us, this couple had a son and a daughter and figured their family was complete. One afternoon, however, their children surprised them with an unexpected request. Offering a jar full of pennies, nickles and dimes, they asked, "Could you use this to get us a little baby brother or sister? "

The father shared, at the conference, how unreasonable it all seemed ... their dreams of one boy and one girl had been fulfilled. Their lives were organized and prioritized to the "nth" degree, and he thought things were just fine. Should they even consider another baby? Why were the children so anxious for one when the parents were not?

It struck him as selfishness on his part -- strictly for convenience sake. Didn't God say that children are a blessing? He and his wife agreed to pray about it and ask God to tender their hearts if another child was His will for them.

Long story short, they did have a third child and their family was blessed beyond measure with the little 'caboose.' Why was my husband telling me all this? It was a sweet story, and I was moved by the tenderness in my husband's eyes as he related it, but...

We had recently sold off the playpen, crib, walker, highchair and everything else related to baby care. We, too, had finally settled into a little routine, and our son was sleeping well through the night after 15 months of up-and-down. (He wasn't a crier, he was just a happy night owl!)

It was almost unbelievable to think of starting again, wasn't it? I was in shock, to say the least. My hubby didn't press the issue. That night, when he prayed with me before bedtime, we specifically asked for God's wisdom and guidance in the matter of another child.

Long story short, we had a third child and our family was blessed beyond measure! On a blustery, raw day in January 1986 -- after a painful labor and our son being born with the umbilical cord choking him to blue and purple -- we cried out to the Lord!

When Kevin finally gave out a serious cry, my heart responded. Such relief and joy and bliss and thanksgiving it was to hold another son in my arms! A healthy son that was going to be just fine! God is so good, and we thank Him for each of our children.

Watching them grow up was a delight to my heart. There have been times -- many times -- I would pause to observe them working or playing together and think ... What we would have missed if we had stopped at two! It was hard to imagine life without our cuddly, comical, curly-headed Kevin. Surely, my cup -- and my heart -- was truly full!

Time rocked along, and our children grew up, left home for college and met their future spouses.
In 2005, the Lord gave us a brand-new daughter (in law) -- a perky, precious girl who thinks our son hung the moon. My heart expanded again.

In 2006, a son (in law) was added to the clan when Luke married our daughter, and lo and behold, I had room enough in my heart for him, too. He is a fine man and treasures our girl, so what more could we ask?

Their son Ethan was born in March of 2009, and we got to the hospital shortly after his arrival. I didn't hear him cry at all until the day we took him home to new surroundings. When I did hear him cry, my heart responded again... almost like he was my own. We sure have learned to love that precious lil' guy. When I am with him or hear his baby noises over the phone, my heart is full of love and joy.

And now we have Jason Cody! I can hardly wait to get him in my arms and fall in love all over again. I've learned the heart is an amazing organ and has plenty of room to grow. No matter how many family members are added, God has designed the human heart with the particular ability to expand with love!

Well, I'm off for now, but I'll post again when I get back, and I'll bring lots and lots of photos to share! For now, here's a sweet shot of my latest heart-expander ... doing some serious snuggling with his mommy.

"Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above ..." James 1:17

The fifth child ...

The young couple had four daughters. When a fifth baby was due, there was great hope it would be a son. All during the woman's pregnancy, the thought was there -- she wanted to give her husband a son this time!

On a cold November day in the early hours of morning, the mother awoke and "just knew" she needed to get to the hospital. Since her husband was across town working a night shift, she called her next-door neighbors. They came over and took charge -- the woman stayed with four little girls, and the man loaded a very pregnant, in-serious-labor woman into the back seat of his car.

He happened to be a deputy, and his car happened to be equipped with a siren and flashing lights... so there was no problem getting her to the hospital on time!

The baby was delivered without incident at 7:10 a.m. The father had arrived by that time and anxiously awaited news. When the doctor came out, he told him his wife was fine. His little baby girl was also doing well. Yes - another daughter. The gender scales in his household were seriously tipped to the feminine side: 6-1 now!

What emotions struggled in that father's chest on receiving the news? Some disappointment? A bit of resignation to the fact he would have no sons? Possibly. But he was a good man, a good husband and a good father. He thanked God for a safe delivery and another healthy baby.

It had been an eventful day with a dramatic start. That father named his little girl Nancy Lorraine Keltie. Her family calls her Nan. That's how I started my life -- delivered to the hospital with sirens blaring. Maybe that's why I've always been a gal of action with a flair for the dramatic!

Long-distance Nana

Our daughter and son-in-law came through late last night with little Ethan. They are moving to Florida, which means they will be twice as far away as they were before. After a short night and a bit of Ethan-cuddling, my emotions were doing flip-flops. When my hubby held him and I took this photo, my heart nearly melted.

We're going to miss this little guy. Since he was born in March, I've personally made at least three trips to their home (4 hours away) and they've been in our home on three occasions. Plus, dear hubby and I have gone up together twice, so that means in his short life (3 months), we been blessed to cuddle and coo with our grandson on many occasions. I realize there are many grandparents who don't have this privilege, so I appreciate the blessing of knowing Ethan.

Every time we've said goodbye in the past, it felt like a part of my heart was left behind, still connected with this child's heart. He has always had such a grown-up look in his eyes, as if he understands everything I say to him. We've shared a lot of special moments, the two of us. I've walked and rocked him through those first few weeks after his birth when Mommy needed a bit of sleep. Most nights, he fell asleep on my tummy while I rested on the couch.

Now, a big chunk of my heart is moving eight hours south to Florida. I'm sure Ethan will change a lot before our next together-time. During our last moments together this morning, he gazed into my eyes and seemed to understand I was having a tough time disconnecting. In the past, he's grinned and chortled, but this morning, he had an almost wise look in his eyes ... a look that said, "It's going to be okay, Nana ... "

Forgive my pitiful post. I'm hurting, but I'm also happy for my kids. Do hurt and happy go together? I think so in this case. I'm hurting to say goodbye to them, but happy they have a lovely home to move into when their furniture is delivered. I'm also happy they will be closer to Ethan's other grandparents -- Nonny and Papa -- so they can love on him more often. They're precious people and Ethan needs to know them better.

So I have to grow up and get used to being a long-distance Nana. I shouldn't whine too much -- my own mother has been a long-distance Grandma to most of her grands and great-grands. She's handled it with grace, and I want to do that, too.

When our children were little, we lived 10 hours drive away, so I made it a point to send her and my Dad (who's now in heaven) audio tapes, video tapes and lots of cards and letters scribbled by little hands. Now it's my turn to be a long-distance Nana. Knowing our daughter, she'll be a good little scribe and make sure we keep up with our grandson's development.

While Florida is only (!) eight hours away, it seems much further somehow. Maybe because a part of my heart went out the door with little Ethan this morning. Okay, it's time to put on my little blue engine attitude -- I can do this. At least I think I can ... I think I can ... I think I can ...

Parenting by Phone ...

How does one parent by phone?

Some parents are, on occasion, separated from their children due to military deployment or long-term hospitalization. Others are away from home due to job-related travel and similar circumstances. Other parents are at the other end of the line due to divorce or separation. These parents find themselves parenting by phone. Hopefully, they do so faithfully so their children will still feel they are loved and connected.

Then there are those children who have grown and left the nest. How does one parent by phone then, and how do we do it in a way that encourages our children to stay connected? This is a whole new ballgame we're talking here. The turf is unfamiliar and the home stadium is echoing with an eerie silence.

It's not the same as hands-on parenting. When raising your children, they sleep under your roof and stick their little feet under your table. You don't have to wonder what your children are doing, feeling, thinking, planning -- usually! Because you are connected pretty much 24/7, you can read their little hearts by looking into their faces.

Parents with young children at home have a lot of responsibility -- and many privileges. They get to see their sleepy smiles, watch their eyes light with discovery, hear them whisper, giggle and even guffaw now and then. We wipe their tears away, bandage their boo-boos and are on call as parent, counselor, nurse, teacher and official cleaner-upper.

When your children live away and you see them less frequently, you take a quick course called "Parenting by Phone 101." The professor is life, the course is difficult and the grades are awarded by the children themselves.

Parenting by phone doesn't mean you call them five times a day (or even every day) just to "check on them." Because they are growing and maturing and learning how to live life on their own, you give them a little breathing space. You've had 18 years to impact their lives, and now is the time the love and life lessons you poured into them comes into play. So you step back a bit.

Especially if they are married, you must (!) respect their priorities and schedules and try not to hover or hound them. You must often squelch the temptation to put on your Mommy robe, grab the phone and growl, "Just wondered if you were still breathing ... "

This parenting-by-phone thing also means loving your children in creative ways. If you can't see them in person, you love and support them via email, snail mail, UPS, Fed Ex, and any other means available. If a friend is going their way and calls to offer delivering a basket of fresh-baked goodies, by all means grab your apron and get in the kitchen fast! Try to avoid putting ads in the paper to ask strangers who are going that direction to deliver you and/or your goods.

Parenting by phone means you remember their birthdays, but you don't necessarily wait for calendar dates to do something special. I have been known to send a package of goodies or sillies just to get a toe in their front door now and then -- via Fed Ex. They open it, laugh at it or gobble it up. And then their conscience stirs and they gasp, "Mom ... I've got to call Mom!" This is known as creative parenting.

As we parent by phone, we find ourselves listening "between the lines." Are they discouraged? Do they seem extremely fatigued? Are they a little depressed? This is where it gets a bit touchy. You must not play the part of an overly-concerned parent and assume your child wants a mother-load of wisdom. "I told you to take your vitamins..."

Next time, caller ID will betray you when the urge to check in and counsel overcomes you -- and they may decide not to pick up the phone. Hang in there, moms, they know you are just a phone call away if they need you. Tuck in your chin, throw your shoulders back and repeat after me ... "I will not hound my child, I will not hound my child..."

Parenting by phone is extremely difficult when your child is injured or ill. Do you jump in the car or grab a flight and just go? If someone's life is in danger, you hang up the phone and make plans to go. And as you go, you remind yourself to respect the position and privileges of the spouse, if your child is married. This is not the time to take charge and give advice on medical situations without weighing the results very carefully. In other words, you won't don your Mommy robe and assume your child is waiting for you to make these decisions. Your biggest role is to just be there, quietly supporting your child and his/her family.

If they are not in danger, but they've got the cruddy ol' flu or have fallen and broken a leg or have a possible kidney stone, you give them the chance to ask you to come. If they don't, you remind them that you are only a phone call away if they need you. In other words, you respect their ability to handle a tough situation as an adult. They might ask you to come, and they might not. That's the tough part of being a parent -- giving up the right to take charge.

Parenting by phone is possible, even if it's not as much fun. Yes, you will miss out on those megawatt smiles, but you can still see them in your mind's eye when they call to share good news! You may not be there when they are exhausted or sick, but you can still send some good ol' homemade encouragement via packages or handwritten letters and cards. Today, these are considered rare and precious gifts in one's mailbox.

But mostly, parenting by phone means listening. You are a sounding board for this fine adult you've raised, and their keeping the lines of communication is a way of saying you did a great job. There will be times when you are asked for personal input. Take a very deep breath before you open your mouth. While you are exhaling, remember the invitation to advise is a privilege and not a right. Proceed with care.

Parenting by phone means you are unable to see their faces -- but after all these years, you can still read their hearts. As the conversation winds down and you anticipate the goodbye and disconnect, there is one other requirement for those who parent by phone ...

You never hang up without giving your child what they really called for all along ... a sincere, heart-felt "I love you ... "

Seasons of parenting ~

I've been looking through old photos and feeling a bit "sniffly." Photos like this bring back so many mothering memories ...

As you can see, everyone is looking at the camera but me -- and I'm sure it was because I was playing the mother hen. We were perched on a rock that overlooked one of the highest points in the Ohio Valley. You never know when boys might make a sudden move and wiggle right off the edge of a cliff...

I love old photos! There's a certain nostalgia there, of course, but it also shows me that this parenting thing moves all too quickly. I remember the children in this photo so very well. Melissa, at 10, was quite the grown-up starlet as you can see with those cool shades. She loved writing, drawing, playing the piano and being involved with skits and musical recitals.

Jason, on the far right, was our sports enthusiast who actually learned to read by studying the backs of baseball cards. He loved playing ball and would invite all the boys in the neighborhood to our place for a game of wiffle ball (we wanted to keep our windows). I didn't mind serving up Koolaid or popsicles on those hot summer days. Boys aren't a whole lot of trouble -- just give 'em room to run and put out a plate of cookies or peanut butter crackers now and then. :-)

Kevin, beside me in this photo, was probably the happiest (besides my hubby) to be perched in such a precarious place. He was a miniature Marco Polo that loved to explore, experiment, and -- in general -- make a mad dash to the very edge of adventure and hang on by his toenails. Bless him, he usually looked back to make sure his Mom wasn't having a heart attack.

I miss the children in this photo. They don't live here anymore, so they won't be asking for popsicles or Koolaid on hot summer days. There's no gang of boys on our front lawn slapping high-fives and tagging the oak trees as bases. There isn't a sweet little starlet at the piano practicing for her next recital. There's no miniature Marco Polo planning his next escapade to China and beyond (though he did get close -- he spent time in South Korea while in the U.S. Marine Corps).

If parenting can be compared to the seasons, spring is when our children are very young. Summer is when they are elementary age and autumn is when they are teens that will soon be out the door and on their own. I suppose I'm in the winter stage ... parenting from afar and enjoying the lovely snows of grand-parenting.

But it doesn't feel like winter around here. The outdoor thermometer is registering the upper 90's and I'm kinda enjoying the summer of parenting all over again ... compliments of some favorite family photos.

One mean Mama!

I was one of those "mean" mothers who taught her young children how to help around the house and yard.

Worse than that, I made them carry their own books in and out of the library, hang up towels after a bath and put their dirty clothes in the laundry hamper! I was one mean Mama!

Now, lest you think our three children were overworked or under-appreciated, allow me to include a little story about my methods:

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"Hey, sis! Mom's being Mrs. Grump, today!"

When I overheard our son's excitement, I couldn't help grinning. The creative approach we'd taken to doing chores was paying off!

It all started when I was one very-pregnant Momma with a prolapsed uterus. Because this put painful pressure on the cervix, I had to stay off my feet as much as possible. This meant the chores I normally did during the day would be added to our younger children's to-do list.

I felt badly about that. On the flip side, I felt this situation could be turned into a character-building experience for our children. So I turned chore time into fun time!

Some days I played the role of Mrs. Grump, wearing a perpetual frown and pointing out the pickiest little things. She would also "fall asleep and snore" while they worked, then wake up fussing. I'm normally an even-tempered person, so our children thought it funny to see me play the grouch.

I would call up Mrs. Grump when floors needing sweeping and mirrors and sinks needed to be shined. Result? My kids worked extra hard, did a great job and laughed a lot at Mrs. Grump's snoring.

On other days I put on a pretty apron and became Mrs. Sweet. She was the gentle older lady who handed out praise and sweets simultaneously. Her visits were less frequent, but that made them more anticipated.

Mrs. Sweet usually came on days when outdoor work like raking leaves, picking up acorns or sweeping the porches were on the schedule. After working hard in the fresh air, the children loved her praise - and the sweets she brought along!

Then there was Mrs. Honey, a true Southern Belle with an accent to match. One thing I'll say for Mrs. Honey: she knew just how to work a situation. She could tell the best (and longest) stories while little hands scraped dishes and loaded the dishwasher. And she oh-so-kindly requested that her dishes be handled with special care, because ...

"Mah dear de-pahhh-ted husband brought them back with him af-tuh the wah between the Nawth and South."

Not only were our children bewitched by her accent, they tried to be extra careful with any breakable items. (mission accomplished) I also overheard our son tell his sister, "Be careful with that plate! Mrs. Honey's husband got it for her in World War Three!"

Looking for an alternative perspective on children and chores? What we adults consider to be "work," our young children imitate in their play. Try this formula and see if it works for you, too: 1 part fun + 1 part work = lots of cooperation.

Oh, by the way, if you need some extra help, be sure to call on Mrs. Honey, Mrs. Grump and Mrs. Sweet. I'm sure they'd be more than happy to stop by your house, too!

Footnote: In the photo above, 2-year old Kevin was delighted to help Daddy mow the yard. Ten years later, he took over that job and enjoyed tinkering with and maintaining the mower.

The faces of tomorrow ~

Surrounded by extended family at a recent reunion, I was reminded of the days when *I* was one of the little ones dashing between grownup legs. I also remember being interrupted from playing with cousins to pose for one of those infamous annual photo shots. You know ... the ones where you're reminded to "stop talking, quit wiggling and say cheese!"

That seems like just a few years ago, but in reality, I'm now one of what I once considered OLD. You know ... 35 and above. And those above 50 were ancient, which means I'm in that category now, so I guess I'll be needing a cane soon.

And just like the adults of former reunions, I'm behind the camera now -- trying to catch all the little ones and line them up with their parents, grandparents and great-grandparents. Gotta have those memories on CD's and SD flashcards or uploaded onto computer hard drives!

In the good ole' days, family photos were placed in gray-page albums and held in place with those cute little white photo-mount stickers at each corner. A few years later, someone invented the plastic-page albums that were magnetic in their ability to cling and hold any photos you slipped inside them. But those days are long gone. We have evolved into a hi-tech generation and now realize those other methods resulted in lost or damaged photos.

I've noticed, in the past seven or eight years, that more and more faces at these reunions are those of the younger generation. It was good seeing so many babies and young children in attendance. Their shy smiles and comical antics provided lots of smiles and laughter -- and brightened an otherwise melancholy day for Mom. I think it was hard for her to be one of only two siblings there this year. She grew up in a family of more than a dozen children, and only three are left, one of whom had a stroke the week before the reunion and was unable to attend.

I'm also thankful the parents and grandparents of those babies made it a point to introduce their offspring to Mom. She loves children and draws strength from their energy. I believe she also saw in their faces the hope and promise of tomorrow and the knowledge that the original family name is still alive and being passed down to dozens of new Dentons.

What a precious moment when one of my cousins led in prayer, asking God to bless each member of the family and to help us raise and teach the generations to come to love and serve Him. Although my grandson Ethan (photo above) didn't get to be there, I wanted to include him in this post. He is the youngest baby in the next generation at this point.

Truly, the little ones coming along behind us are the faces of tomorrow. We can learn a lot from them in the days to come. They'll keep us up on world events and coach us as the technology venue explodes with newer upgrades and development. They'll teach us the new lingo that goes along with all those new-fangled inventions and how to maintain them. Good thing, too, because I'm still lagging behind on everything introduced in the last five years.

As we grow older, we'll depend on the younger generation more and more. They'll be the ones that contact each of us with news of the next reunion. They'll cook and bring more of the food and help the rest of us load and unload our baskets and boxes. They'll offer an arm to lean on and bring their little ones to our laps for formal introductions.

In the meantime, I'm not looking for a cane or wheelchair. As long as the Lord gives me health and strength, I'd like to be at the annual reunion with camera in hand. Hopefully, my generation will maintain the tradition of passing down family history and interesting stories about our ancestors to the next generation. That way, those who come after us will have something to pass down to their own children. Who, at that time, will be the new faces of tomorrow.

How Curious!

Recently, I wrote an article about bulletin board ideas with a "Curious George" theme. You remember -- the little brown monkey with a big dose of curiosity?

His curious nature often got him into trouble, and as a result, he'd run and hide beneath his master's big yellow hat. Just thinking about little monkeys brought back a flood of memories for this Mom.

You see, we had two little Curious George's at our house over 20 years ago. Not the stuffed kind, pictured here, but the flesh-and-blood kind. How the stuffed monkeys entered the picture is another story.

It all began when their we gave their sister a stuffed teddy bear and she named it "Precious." When the boys kept grabbing it and hiding it from her, I interpreted that to mean one of two things: either they thought her stuffed bear was silly, or they were a teeny bit jealous of her new acquisition.

So I took a chance on the latter and decided to get the boys stuffed animals, too. I couldn't get them bears, however, because they were making fun of their sister's teddy-bear pal.. So I was in the market for something a bit unusual. You guessed it -- when I saw the two monkeys pictured here, I couldn't resist.

Jason named his "Art" for Art Monk, the pro-athlete who became the league's all-time leading receiver in a Monday Night footbal game against Denver on October 12, 1992, with his 820th reception. Pretty perceptive of my son, naming a stuffed monkey after Art "Monk." In time, Art became "Artie."

Kevin, at 5 years old, wanted a suitable name for his monkey, too. When we suggested "Rusty or Rustin" for the color of his fur, Kevin agreed. Hence, Artie and Rustin moved into our home (and hearts) and made themselves comfortable.

They sometimes spoke for the boys, as in, "Artie wants to know when lunch is going to be ready, Mom." Or, "Mom, how long does Rustin have to rest after lunch?" And, oh, how they entertained us! Their long arms were perfect for giving high-fives or hanging from bed posts, and they often put on a fun puppet (er, stuffed) show.

We traveled a lot back then, because their Daddy was speaking every weekend for churches that were without pastors. On 1st and 3rd Saturdays, we'd travel two hours to Birmingham, AL and spend the night in the church parsonage. Melissa took "Precious" along, and the boys stuffed "Artie and Rustin" in their duffel bags to haul out when they got bored.

Oh, the mischief those monkeys got into! (I'm guessing they gave Curious George some pretty stiff competition). As we traveled, Rustin would sometimes beg to stop for French fries, and Artie loved to crack corny jokes that kept us in stitches. They also did acrobatics in the van -- leaping, bouncing, twisting and gyrating to music. Sometimes, quite by accident, they would hit the back of the driver's head, and Artie and Rustin had to take a time out.

One Sunday afternoon in the parsonage, while the boys were supposed to be resting, we heard a loud crash followed by a quiet "Uh-oh." I found our sons standing in the middle of an empty guest bedroom with pieces of white glass lying all around them.

"We were playing a game," was their explanation. Out behind their backs came Artie and Rustin. "They wanted us to throw them up to the ceiling fan so they could ride while it was turning."

Someone tossed too hard, the ceiling fan light cover got knocked off, and you know the rest. They helped clean it up, even though it was all Artie and Rustin's fault for wanting to ride the fan blades. Their Daddy saw it as a good opportunity to teach the boys some responsibility, and he told the church treasurer the boys would replace the light fixture with their allowance money. Monkeys (stuffed or human) must learn some hard lessons now and then.

Thankfully, Artie and Rustin were a lot more fun than they were trouble. They became quite subdued as they grew older with our boys. Now and then, they'd pull them out for a good wrestling match. (It's much more acceptable to pound a fellow monkey's head than your brother's.)

I'm glad I found Artie and Rustin in the cedar chest after writing that Curious George article. They probably needed some fresh air after all these years. One of these days, I'll have Artie dry-cleaned and wrapped nicely so I can pass him down to Jason's son, who is to be born in late September.

I have a feeling our grown son will introduce his own son to the antics of Artie -- and tell him all about Rustin, too. Though I'm not sure what kind of entertainment and mischief Artie will provide for the next generation, I'm guessing my grandson will love him!