What to say…other than we closed out Summer with a confident bang.  Today is officially the last day.  And I guess I’m comfortable with saying it’s over.  The beginning of school always holds a certain promise of hope.  Hope for learning.  Hope for friendship.  Hope for growth.  And I can jump on board with a new box of crayons and a bundle of freshly sharpened pencils like nobody’s business.  But the truth is…I miss my kids.  I miss them in the mornings around 10:00 when we would be just getting around to breakfast.  And I can be known to flip the TV to a show like Full House while I putter around, cleaning and straightening my living room/kitchen workplace…just because it reminds me of when they were just here.  Those Tanners…well…they can be comforting companions to a lonely mama.

The problem is…as we begin counting down the days to things like Halloween, Birthdays, Christmas, Spring Break…and then Summer again…the kids just keep on getting older.  Which is a good thing.  I mean…that’s what they’re supposed to do, right?  But when the next Summer…this magical, laid back place were this family likes to live rolls on back around, those kids will be a whole year older.  And an 8th grader; a 6th grader; a 4th grader; and walking Annslee in to pre-school is just not something that I am prepared to wrap my brain around yet.  I know what you’re thinking.  I’m getting too far ahead of myself.  But that’s what we mothers do sometimes.  We look ahead…in order to stay grounded where we are.  In order to not wish away time.  In order to fully savor these moments we are in.  I can’t let them slip through my fingers.  They are too precious…

Like Chase calling me into the room to show me that he made The Million Dollar Quartet our of legos:

And a perfectly magical beach trip with friends…

where we frequently felt the pull of the wave take over…

to carry us…

…to carry us to shore.  To safety.  Home.

This is pure magic…these moments.  Pure happiness.

Preparations to witness the sun set over the Beach…and to toast the end of Summer and the next school year:

and making it…

It’s pure magic…these moments.  Pure happiness, indeed.

This weekend has been a catalyst for growth.  That’s the best way I know to sum it up.  It’s been hard…but without tears.  Which…let’s be honest…is nothing short of a miracle.  And as I begin to put these moments to paper…the emotions are flowing faster than the words.

Let’s start with Friday.

Chad and I took Colt to the public intermediate school and registered him as a 7th grader.  I thought I would have a hard time with this.  But I am so excited for him.  I’m excited because I know he’s ready.

I’m feeling great things for this kid here.  It will be hard.  I know that.  I will have to step back…and let him find his own way.  I won’t be able to be there…to help shoulder some of the pressure…or hurl a good come back at someone who says something that stings him.  But…I will be here.  I will be here when he gets home to talk about it.  I will be here to support him…and celebrate him…and rally for him.  I will be here to laugh with him…cry with him…and ultimately hear him.  I have your back, kid.  I always have your back.

As much as I’m hangin’ on to every last second of Summer…we did get our school shopping on.

These are the shoes she chose.  Do you know how hard it was for me to purchase these?  Do you know that these are not going to go with ANYTHING???  I’m all about some whimsical fashion…but come on???   It was all I could do to go with it.  (Not to mention that my 8 year old daughter is throwin’ gang symbols.)

But then…THEN…somehow…my girl rocked it!  And I felt really ashamed for not trusting her spirited, spunky, gutsy style.

Lesson learned.

I know nothing about 3rd grade fashion.

****

I played two Soccer games this weekend.  And they were good ones.  They were the kind that make me believe that I belong on the field.  They were ones that make me hold fast to my belief that Soccer is the best sport in the world.

****

I’m fighting it, alright.  I’m goin’ down swingin’.  We are gonna hang on to every last beach sunset…lazy day…10 am wake up call we can.  Because…it’s still Summer, people.  It’s not time yet.

And this creates all kinds of inspiration…

like filling gallon sized mason jars with my bottle caps that I’ve been saving.  You don’t even want to think for an absent-minded second about throwing away a bottle cap in this house.

And what better way to display the sweet pea’s beach shell collection???

****

Now…here’s where I have surprised my emotional self this weekend.  Yesterday…the baby woke up saying that she wanted a “big” bed.  After a short conversation with myself and her daddy…she had us talked into converting her toddler bed into a full size.  Now…it must be noted that the rails for that sucker have been tucked safely in the attic for a much later time.  Like when the last baby is done using the crib.  It’s always gone back and forth between the toddler bed and baby bed…never getting to this point.  And I’m gonna be real honest…the only reason I let this go down…was because I rationalized with my heart that it was the same screws, bolts, parts that we use for the baby bed…It’s just put together in a different way.  So…when I told Chad that we needed to keep everything within easy reach for converting it back to a baby bed…he just raised a quizzical eyebrow and laughed.  It was a knowing laugh, I think.

So…my big girl has her big bed.  I had bought this duvet cover a couple of years ago…for the future.  I thought it matched her room well.  We had money for her for Christmas from family.  It was an impulse purchase…that I didn’t think much about.  I’ve had it folded neatly at the top of the linen closet…and every time I would glance at it while going for a pillow case or towel, I would think…”for later.”

And somehow…later came.

In order for the bed to fit in her room, I had to re-arrange it.  I kept the door shut…and poured my conflicting emotions into manual labor.  I went to Target and bought her a mattress pad cover and sheet set and made myself feel better with the purchase of a gallon mason jar.  While the sheets were washing and drying…I filled a mason with her own shell collection and a rock that she brought back from Colorado last Summer, and shifted things around on her shelves…until it was…

perfect.  Perfect for her.

And when it was just right…I called her up.

This is a moment that I hope to remember forever.  After playing on her new, “big” bed for a while, she sat…and while gazing out the window, she softly said…

“Thank you, Mama.  I love it.  Thank you.”

When I left for my game…I said, “Now you wait for me!!  I want to tuck you in tonight and read stories!  Don’t go to bed without me!!”

She said, “I won’t!!”

By the time I got home…she was already asleep.

So…tonight…I folded up the instructions, bagged all of the unused bolts and screws, and put them on the top shelf of her closet.  They rest right next to the big-sister t-shirt that I bought for her this Spring when I found out that I was pregnant.  Neither being too far out of reach.

And as I shut off my computer and turn the lamp off for another night’s sleep…I pray that my dream comes true.  The one that has me pulling both the baby bed parts and the big sister t-shirt off the top, closet shelf…

…to be used once again.

I keep telling myself it has to be done.  To allow my 20 year High School Reunion to go “un-told” about…just doesn’t seem right.  We have been planning it for so long…I can’t believe it has actually come and gone.  I wasn’t a class officer in high school.  I wasn’t much of anyone.  That’s what I thought back then, anyway.  And if there is one thing that I could change about my life…the fact that I actually believed that would be at the top of the list.  It’s so wrong.  I was so wrong.

****

The reunion weekend started long before this past Friday night.  It started with a chain of e-mails about needing people to help out with the planning.  As time went on…and word got out…a Clear Lake High School (class of 93) Reunion Facebook page was created.  And slowly…but surely…we found people.  We found lost friends.  We found our class.  When the calendar turned August, people began posting old pictures.  We began digging out our letter jackets and pom poms from our attics.  And the memories that were buried deep came flooding to the surface.

I began telling my children stories. And I realized that I had to start at the beginning.  I began telling them about how Jr. High was such a shock…coming from my unconditionally loving home.  I told them about the time in 6th when grade when someone told me that I “could” be popular if I just dressed better.  And I told them about when a group of girls (who I wanted to like me and accept me soooooo badly) had a party and didn’t invite me.  I didn’t know about the party…until they called me and told me that I wasn’t invited…and that I would NEVER be invited.  I didn’t know that I wasn’t worth it…that I wasn’t good enough…until they told me so.  And sadly…I believed them.  Yet…I still longed for their favor.

I told my children about how I grew taller than everyone else and was super skinny and lanky and how I would wear long, full skirts so that I could walk with my knees bent to appear shorter.  I told them how girls passed a really mean note about me around History class.  I told them about how the football guys made up nicknames for all the popular girls…and that if I could just earn a nickname…that I would be worth something.  And then I told them about the day that they gave me a really mean nickname.  I told them how I went home crying.  I told them that I wanted to be a cheerleader really bad and that I tried out in 8th grade and didn’t make it.  I told them how I felt like I wasn’t good enough.  I told them that I believed that I wasn’t worth anything…because I listened to the world.  The fact of the matter is…that I was listening to the wrong voices.

I told them that I wouldn’t go back and change what happened to me…but how I allowed it to shake my understanding of my worthiness…and steal my focus.  Because while I was busy worrying and trying to be accepted…there were others hurting too.

As I told them my stories…I saw the sadness in their eyes.  I saw them feel compassion for their fun-loving momma…who throws kitchen dance parties and makes them laugh.  I saw them feel a justified anger.  Because their momma…the girl who they thought hung the moon…was treated that way.  I listened to my 8 year old daughter say in a hurt voice, “But I don’t understand!!!  I think you’re beautiful.”  And I listened to my sons tell me that they would never treat anyone like that…because they saw how much it hurt.  And if my stories of Jr. High can teach them to care more about including the kid in the corner…or standing up for the one being laughed at…or sitting with the lonely…than they care about what people think about them, then what I went through is worth it.

****

High School went better, thankfully.  I came into my own.  I figured out who I was.  The boys finally got taller than me.  I made the dance team.   The only guy I really cared about noticed me.  And some of those people from Jr. High even became some of my friends.  But I never forgot.  And that’s the problem.  Those old wounds may have thick scars over them…but you always know they were there.  And I would be lying if I said that some of those scars weren’t poked at a little…while remembering these old memories.  I decided that for me…this reunion wasn’t going to be about me…or what people thought about me.  It was going to be about people.  It was going to be a chance to love people…and build them up.  It was going to be about kindness.  It was going to be about friendship.

And it was.

I’m ashamed at my lack of pictures from the weekend.

Friday night:  Dempsey’s

Sweet, sweet Claire.

That cute man on the left…well…that’s Chuck.  He was my very first date.  Freshman year…Homecoming.  Jennifer and Dea became two of my closest friends freshman year.  And the tall one…he went on to marry Tracy…my best friend from childhood and fellow NKOTB fan.

The “reunion committee” at the pool party on Saturday.

My daughter loved playing in my cap and gown.

Annslee helped me with the decorations.

That’s all my stuff on the “memorabilia” table.

This is the memorial table.  It was so important to honor those whom we have sadly lost.  11 candles for 11 souls.

I adore this couple.  One of my favorite friends from college years.

Claire was still getting ready.  Typical.  And Leigh was MIA.  But…we are getting ready for our fellow graduates to begin trickling through the door.

One of my favorite people on this Earth…and my Maid of Honor.  She never did anything but make me feel good about who I was.  A true friend.

Dea and Chuck.  This just makes me happy.

My camera may not have been clickin’…but the dancin’ was.

My baby in my old dance team stuff:

No.  I wasn’t a class officer.  I wasn’t a cheerleader.  I was never on the Homecoming court…or the class favorite list.  But…BUT!!!  My principal did award me with a character trait award.  I was chosen to go to the elementary schools and talk about the pressures of Jr. High and High School and tell those kids that they are worth it…and to not let anybody tell them different.  I did get to stand firm in who I was…a follower and child of Jesus Christ.  And although I wish I had done a better job of it…I got to love people.

I’m not sure how I got to be lucky enough to help plan this reunion…but it was a privilege and an honor to be able to see all of these people again.  I hope they know how much I care about them.  I hope they know how much I care about them all.

I’m convinced that instagram has become the downfall of the blog post.  It’s too easy.  I have become a photography cheater.  A lazy snapper.  A snippet story teller.  I’m going to have to do something about this.

I am beyond excited to be sitting at my desk this morning…watching the televising of the Houston Rodeo.  Why they are showing this in the middle of the Summer still escapes me…but the barrels are up next and I’m pretty sure I couldn’t be more excited.  Summer or not.

I still haven’t hit my stride yet…after traveling.  We are still going to bed at midnight and rolling out of bed, begrudgingly, at 10 am.  This causes me to miss my workouts.  And to be late wherever we go.  And if I could just change my inner dialog of “this is bad…this is lazy…this is terrible…this needs to change…etc.” then maybe I would be enjoying it more.  Because lawd knows…it’s gonna change soon enough.

In the meantime…we are clickin’ along over here.  I had the genius idea to play “Cinderella.”  The girls were getting bored and in need of something to do with purpose.  So…I put them in charge of morning chores.  Don’t be too impressed.  Morning chores are meant to be completed every morning…but actually get completed, mayyyybe, once every two weeks…or so.  But make no mistake.  This particular day…they were completed with gusto.

Have you ever seen anything so precious?

This bed making situation took longer than it should have.  And the finished product had lots of wrinkled sheets and crooked quilts…but it was beautiful.

With Colt at Basketball camp all day this week…and Chase going to Church Camp…the girls have had more time to do…well…girl things.

They decided on a lemonade stand.

Don’t even get me started on the fact that Aiden got them both dressed this day and that Annslee is in Winter clothes out in sweltering heat.  I didn’t dare suggest she go change.  I mean…her shirt has horses.  It wasn’t comin’ off.  Heat or no heat.

And after waiting in the heat for about 5 minutes without any customers…they took it upon themselves to go find some.

And there ya go.  $1.25 in the bank.  And…apparently, that was the fiscal goal…because they were on to fort making promptly after this.

This situation has been brewing since Sunday.  I think it looks nice there.  And BONUS!!!!  It’s a great mound of “clouds” to jump in for a certain 3 year old.

And when she’s not jumping in clean laundry that may actually start begging me to fold it…she is unrolling every ounce of toilet paper that we own and swishing it around in the toilet.

Welp, folks…the before mentioned 3 year old just brought The Dark Knight to me and asked to watch it.  Apparently…she has tired of Sprout.

Welcome to the new site!  I am excited to write here…and to continue to preserve our story for the kids.  It took us a while to get it up and running…and there is still a lot of learning to do.  Uploading pictures is super different.  There’s a lot of “transition” going on around these parts.  (In more ways than one.)  It should be really easy to leave comments…which I LOVE…and engage with us.  After all…I do consider this little community a part of the family, of sorts.

****

I was just reading a book…(fiction, of course)…nursing a cup of coffee in our lodge room.  Have I told you about our “lodge” room?  Well…it is my favorite room in the house.  At the moment, anyway.  Admittedly, at times, it is one of the kid’s rooms.  Or my bedroom.  Or the newly re-arranged kitchen or living room.  I am waiting for it to be the patio.  But we have to get the round, stone fire pit built and the 7 adirondack chairs purchased first.  7.  Just in case.

Anyway…Chad walked in, kissed my cheek and told me that I could start reading in James with the kids this morning instead of us all going to church.  This was welcomed by us all.  I’m just not quite ready to step back into our normal lives yet.  I still feel like I’m on vacation.

Speaking of vacation…

We spent the last 18 days in Iowa.  Like every Summer since we got married…our summer vacation in going to visit Chad’s family in Iowa.  And at some point over the last 13 years…they have become my family too.  Sometimes I wonder if I’d like to go somewhere else, for once.  Like Disney World…or Destin…or the river at Garner State Park.  But, in actuality…I’m always content with Iowa in July.  Friends are there.  Siblings are there.  Nieces and nephews are there.  Links to Chad’s past are there.  Family.  And…fireworks.  We can always count on seeing fireworks.  It’s tradition.  And we all know that there ain’t no way that I can fail to live out a good tradition.

Speaking of tradition…

Every year…Chad’s Grandma Janice takes all of her children and their families to Lake Okoboji for a long weekend.  This year was the 40th year.  We make it every few years.

This Okoboji weekend was the first time that I pulled out my camera.  I’m realizing that the iphone 5 and instagram have become the down fall of real photography.  It’s too easy.  But on this day…I wrapped my good camera in a beach towel, tucked it in my tote bag, surrounded by goggles, and captured unforgettable Okoboji moments.

The above picture was about 15 minutes before Chad took me out to the middle of the Lake and threw us both off the jet ski.  That’s ok.  I was dying to swim in the middle of that clear, blue lake.  “Just off the dock” just isn’t the same.

Tune in tomorrow for the fireworks and sparklers.  Part 2 of Iowa coming next.

And once again…welcome to our story.

I’m off to do “home church” with the kids.  Talk soon…Okay?