It's a Sign!

Today is an anniversary of a sort for me. 13 years ago today I came home from a trip to find an empty house and a letter telling me that my marriage of 15 years was over. That day I began a journey. The last 13 years have been filled with extreme highs and extreme lows, but I have to say that the destination is a pretty amazing one. I have written several posts before about how the road may not lead where you want it to and how that turns out to be a blessing. Today's is no different except that I feel different today. Today I feel like I am on the verge of something great!
I am a firm believer in signs, not STOP signs or street signs, but things that come your way that affirm what you're thinking or nudge you in a direction. Today, in the span of one hour, I saw the following quote posted on Facebook by three different friends,  “And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom” ~Anaïs Nin For a long time I have been afraid to blossom for fear that someone would not think that my flower was beautiful. I have spent a good part of the last 13 years putting myself down, always under the guise of humor. I have been afraid to get out there and realize my full potential, somehow believing that maybe I didn't deserve it. After all, I had failed as a wife. There must be something wrong with me. Well, there was. I was stupid enough to believe deep down inside that a choice my ex-husband made was somehow my fault. Those nagging thoughts of "If I'd only been a better wife." "Maybe if I'd kept the house cleaner" "I let myself go" "I'm too fat"
NO MORE!
I am ready to blossom, and I can't wait to see the garden that becomes my life!

SING OUT, Louise!

Music has always been an important part of my life. I grew up surrounded by music. Both of my grandparents sang in the church choir, and I cannot ever remember a time that I have not sung. From age 3, I started in our church's cherub choir. My grandfather taught me all of the songs from The Sound of Music before I ever began school, and I sang my first solo, Away in a Manger, as a kindergarten student at St. Catherine's. I love music, and I love singing, and luckily, I have been told I have a talent for it. This statement must be true because I have actually been paid to sing on several occasions. The point is, music, and specifically singing is a huge part of me. All parents secretly hope that their children will like what they like, follow in their footsteps, so to speak. When my children were very small I wondered if they would possess this same talent and love for singing. Their father is also a very talented singer, and I imagined how awful it would be if they were not good at singing. All their lives they would be asked, "Can you sing like your mom or your dad?" and they would have to answer, "No" Fortunately both of them can answer that question in the affirmative. They both love to sing, and they CAN. My youngest, however, has a passion for it that one rarely sees in someone her age. In the words of her older sister, "She sings like an angel." I have blogged about her voice before when she had the opportunity to sing O Holy Night at the Christmas Eve service this past December. She has an amazing ear, and can pick up harmony in a snap. I had to know she was going to be a passionate singer because when she was very little, just shy of 3, and just starting to go to the bathroom on her own, I could hear her in there singing, never a recognizable song, just something she made up. To the delight of everyone whose heard her, she decided to expand her venue beyond the bathroom. As a 4th grader she was asked to sing at the dedication of her school's auditorium, she had two major roles in musicals before she ever left elementary school, and as a freshman in high school earned the highest score in the District as a second soprano. As she began high school this past year, she only wanted two things, to make the honors group in the school, Madrigals and to make the school's female Barbershop group, Beauty Shop. She accomplished both, and that's pretty rare for a Freshman to do. She is off on her first adventure today to attend Harmony College, a Mid-Atlantic conference for 4 days that brings together all things Barber Shop, with her other three Beauty Shop members. She will perform for the first time with the group on Saturday, and I wish I could be there, but I know that she will have an amazing time and I can't wait to see what other doors open for her. So "Sing out, Louise! Mama's rootin' for ya!"

The second kid always gets slighted.

Well, it's over! Graduation was last night, and the tassel has been turned for my oldest. Because this year has been filled with so many lasts for my first, I have written several blog posts about her. Perhaps it was my subconscious need to write as much as I could because I know that soon she will not be in my life 24/7. Who knows? I looked back, and I have actually written 7 posts about my oldest daughter. More than I thought I had. How many have I written about my youngest? 2. This brings me to the title of this post, The second kid always gets slighted. I know this for two reasons. 1. I have done the slighting! and 2. I have been the slighted. I am the baby, and there are scores of pictures of my sister as a child, and she outnumbers me in home movies at least 2 to 1. She has a baby book, and to this day, I have never seen mine (I'm pretty sure there isn't one.) So with having experienced that, you would think I wouldn't do it to my own child, but I did. My youngest doesn't have nearly the candid baby shots that my oldest does, and don't even talk about the embarrassing number of home movies she has. She does, however, have a baby book, it's not filled in totally, but she does have one. Her older sister's book isn't all the way filled out either, so I think I gain a few points here, but I digress. The point is I have done it again. The baby has been slighted, this time in number of blog posts. Why am I writing this? Because, once again, my "True North" has called me to task, and though I valiantly tried to defend my position, she is absolutely right! Who is my "True North"? My baby, my youngest, and in every sense of the word, me. So, I vow, from this day forward to try to be more even in my blog post distribution among my children. Now, where is that baby book and how in the hell am I gonna remember the date of her first tooth?

Pomp and ................

Today is a very special day in the life of our family. My oldest will graduate from high school. She is the first, she is the trailblazer. I have written many posts about her over this past year beginning with the first day of her senior year. This will not be the last post about her, I am sure, but it will be the last one that I write as we close the door on this chapter of her life, and yes, I am already crying while writing this, did you have any doubt? Last night I attended her Baccalaureate Ceremony. I didn't cry as much as I thought I would, but I watched her walk out of the gym as the seniors recessed, and I thought, "She looks like a grown-up." There's a reason for that. She is. Sometimes I think that she's been a grown up since age 6, and there have been times in the last few weeks where she seemed like my baby at age 18, but one thing is for sure, after today, she ends this period of her life where decisions are made for her, and she starts the journey on making her own decisions. I have every confidence that she will make the right ones. This past week someone approached me at one of the many Graduation events, and congratulated me and brought to my attention how much more this must mean because she was raised by a single parent. I had never thought about that until she said it, but she was right. It is hard to be a single parent, but I have had so many people to help me along the way. Without those people's help, I don't know how our little family of three would have turned out, and I am not sure whether I would be attending a Graduation this evening. I stopped to think about so many kids who come from broken homes who give up or act out. They end up with a drinking problem or on drugs or worse. Mine didn't end up that way. In the words of Lorelei Gilmore, "I got the good kid!"
This is a huge accomplishment, and I am so proud. I wanted to celebrate in a big way! But celebrating in a big way requires resources, and those are a little slim, so all I have to give her today are my words, PRIDE, GRATITUDE and LOVE! Indulge me today, dear daughter, and cut me some slack if some tears are shed as I close this door.

Dogwood China and Cherry Cabinets

I just recently moved. Now, over my 47 year lifetime I have moved many, many times. Specifically since I became single 13 years ago I have moved 7 times. That's almost moving every two years. I hope that my current residence is the place I will stay for many, many years to come, a place that I can actually call my own and make my own. This move will present all kinds of possibilities. I have never had beautiful furniture. I am always taking hand-me-downs or buying off Craigs list or Yard Sales. Two Saturdays ago I watched some of that hand-me-down furniture move in, but I also watched one of the most beautiful pieces move in, a piece I have never been able to claim until now. It is a gorgeous cherry china cabinet that I grew up with. My grandmother and grandfather owned it. I remember so often helping my grandmother set the table and pulling the china and special glasses from that cabinet. It has this amazing smell when you open the door. It's sort of sweet, but not too sweet, and it just smells smooth, if that makes sense. I stood there in front of that cabinet this evening, letting the smell waft over me as I opened the door, and unpacked the other beautiful heirloom I have from my grandmother, her dogwood china. I was a little panicked as we were packing the last loaded boxes for the move, as I had not seen that china for at least 3 years. My last move I had no occasion to really use fine china, so the box was never unpacked. Again, from my childhood, I remembered setting the table with that beautiful china. It isn't like most china patterns. It's base color is a rich cream, and the border is large white dogwood flowers, but not gaudy, delicate and illustrated like a watercolor painting. I loved that china, not only because it is beautiful, but it means something to me, holiday dinners and Christmas Circle meetings and just when we wanted to get fancy. I was so distressed when I thought I may have lost some of it. As was my grandmother's habit, she wanted to see her children and grandchildren enjoy her legacy. Several Christmases ago when I was still married she had this huge box for me, and I thought, what in the world did she buy? When I opened that box and unwrapped that first plate and saw that it was her dogwood china, I was so thrilled and extremely touched, and, of course, I cried.
I had unpacked several boxes here in my new home marked dogwood china, but I still had not found the dinner plates until tonight. I unpacked them, and reunited them with their rightful place, the cherry china cabinet. I will pull that china out and set my holiday tables for many years, and perhaps, one day, so will my grandchildren as they begin to build their own memories of dinner at Grandma's house.

Happy 100th Birthday Grammy

Today my sweet Gram would have turned 100. I am re-posting her birthday tribute from last year:
http://terrilynnemoore.blogspot.com/search?q=tippy+toe

Yep, she's mine!

Last night I sat in a very crowded, hot, sticky classroom. No, I was not in driving school for a speeding ticket. I was attending my daughter's performance in her Senior One Act. The Senior One Acts are something that her school does every year as an end of the year project for the Senior Drama IV students. They all pick a one act and cast and direct it. My daughter was in 3. She had done two the previous night, and last night was her final. She had told me about the other two, but not this one. It started off very funny, spit takes and all. The audience was laughing and seemed to be enjoying themselves. This was fun, light-hearted fare, and then something happened. I watched my kid stand up on that stage and deliver this incredibly touching, bittersweet monologue that had me in tears, not because I was proud, which I was, but because of the story she was telling. Because it was so hot and sticky in that room, the audience had been restless, but while she was delivering that closing speech, you could have heard a pin drop. When the play was over, a mother who was in front of me heard my conversation with my other daughter, and something I said indicated that I was Leah's mother. She turned around and asked if Leah was mine? I felt so honored to be able to say, "Yes, she is!" In that one moment, I realized, that I will be saying that for the rest of my life as I KNOW she will go on to do great things with her talent. This is her calling, this is her passion, and it shows. So indulge me as I do a little bragging, and I'll try not to beam too brightly the next time I say, "Yep, she's mine!"