Category Archives: family

Stinky Boy

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It is safe to go outside and bre- athe. Wher- ever you live in the con-tiguous United States, I imagine you have noticed how suddenly the air quality has improved. I know why, my friends. I know why.


My oldest OS took a shower. That putrid smell you have been inhaling is gone! After three days of extensive field training at Camp Buckner, my odious oliveshoot received a much-needed and merited blessed encounter with hot water, soap and shampoo. All is well! The fog has been lifted!

If Nate smelled anything like he did when we picked him up for Christmas break, that child certainly was ripe without a shower for three days. During Christmas break, Nate’s flight had been delayed and he came home a day late. He had to return to West Point and since it is fairly shut down during Christmas, he returned to WP unable to wash up. When we picked him up, I felt like I was hugging Pigpen…remember stinky Pigpen from the Snoopy cartoons? My boy was a handsome yet acrid mix of perspiration, bad cologne and an onion-like smell, ew.

This time at Camp Buckner, affectionately known as Camp Fun-Fun, my Soldier has not enjoyed slumber on a soft cot with a Green Girl each night. To the contrary. This week Nate had his first experience sleeping on a rock. I never thought about having a child who has slept (should I say, passed out!) on a rock. Hmmmm… He pulled security for two nights and maybe got only six hours of sleep in two days. He chomped on David’s Sunflower Seeds (it’s better than chew!) and kept vigil all night taking only small naps while his buddy kept watch. I have seen my OS grumpy from sleep deprivation so I pity anyone who had to endure his wrath. On the other hand, that might be something special Nate just saves for his mama… 😉

At one point, covered in muck and sweat, his Company did a six mile ruck (hike/march) up a mountain. Nate likened it to climbing up a very steep gravel road. Then his foot began to ache and he feared that somehow it was broken. He hobbled 15 minutes on his lame foot in order to get transported for medical attention. A smelly, overtired 19 year old with sharp foot pains must have been quite a sight. My own experience with a broken foot left me rejoicing when he told us that he just had tendonitis and merely needs to tape his foot and take some anti-inflammatory medicine.

I don’t know what to think when my son relays this information. Am I worried? Yes. Am I proud? Absolutely. Am I scared? Sometimes. I love hearing his stories and at once find it all terribly exciting tinged with some maternal anxiety, after all this is MY boy.


Before I became the mama of a Soldier, I was immune and ignorant to the sacrifice of our service people. The scales from my eyes have been lifted, as the Bible says, because I am learning firsthand all that we require and expect from our military. And how many of us don’t truly appreciate all that’s done for freedom.

They don’t get to sleep on comfy beds every night or enjoy time with their family when they are out on a mission. Instead they protect us.

I think of my OS with leaves stuffed all over his helmet, camo paint covering his face and ears, exhausted and reeking to high heavens and I experience a mixture of humility and gratitude. Whoa. There are so many servicemen and women out on the real battlefield doing the same, risking their lives for you and me and countless others. I have a cousin who is an Army Chaplain serving overseas, what a brave and selfless man!

Soldiers gobbling up those MREs, (meal, ready to eat) hobbling around on a wobbly leg, finding a grit within themselves most of us can’t imagine and we take it for granted.

So today as you enjoy the fresh summer air or as you are soaking in a tub or relishing the hot water flowing out of your shower, take a moment to lift up those in the military who didn’t have that luxury. Pray for them, their families, thank them in some way.
We can all breathe a lot easier because of our service people even if they haven’t bathed in days…

A boy, a summer and two sweet potatoes

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Take one mom, a 12 year old son and two sweet po- tatoes and whad- dya get? These strange and awkward pictures…


It was Sunday and we made our usual trek to the farmer’s market. I’m going to the local farmer’s market so often, I recently was shocked to notice how chilly it is in regular grocery stores! But at the farmer’s market, virtually all the food I purchase is room temperature (at least until things really heat up around here.)
And in addition to buying this amazing goat cheese, green lettuce and other treasures, (I have a good supply of beets, thank goodness!) we bought a trusty stash of Beauregard sweet potatoes. As usual, our family likes to pick out the funny shaped tubers because well, we like to laugh while preparing and eating our food. There are some very hilarious shapes, let me tell you ~ especially if you are the mom of three OS!


We purchased these big fellas complete with our standard sweet potato chuckles. When we got home and it was time to get dinner ready, I asked my trusty sidekick, my little orange-haired OS, Isaac to help me. We stoked up the grill but before we put those suckers on the hot coals, I used my creative genius, (yes I said genius) and took these pictures.

I am the proud mama of a Soldier, a fella heading out to Guatemala to serve Jesus for two weeks and now, at long last, I am the mama of a…

spud muffin



So next time you have your pre- teen child nearby and some healthy food around, don’t forget the camera! Duh!

I fed 11 teenage boys and lived to tell the tale!

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I hope you have all recovered from my love letter to beets. Something just came over me and all I can say is that I am feeling a mushy letter for lettuce coming up in the future, just warning you. The lettuce at the farmer’s market been absolutely delicious but I’ll wait for another time to lavish its praises. However, lettuce was in some small measure, one of the reasons I offered to make dinner for a group of teenage boys last night.


For the past several months, my middle OS Aaron has been involved in an accountability group of about a dozen young men. They are Christian guys who pray for each other, talk about struggles and encourage each other. Where was a group like this for me back in the day??? I could have used a female version of this!

They call themselves BOB which stands for Band of Brothers. Isn’t that cool? Dutifully Aaron goes to BOB meetings once a week at a nearby place and the guys just talk about Scripture, share and hang out.

When I have asked Aaron what they talk about, he holds their conversations so sacred, he refuses to tell me. I respect that and see that they are forming a trusting bond, something so many teenagers (and adults) need. I admire his sincere desire to live as Scripture says, “as iron sharpens iron, so one man sharpens another.”

This week they were figuring out BOBish plans. My middle OS asked if he could go out to dinner with the guys and that’s when we suggested hosting a gathering at our house. I looked forward to it all week long because, well, I love to entertain. In my “formative” years, I tried to quell my domesticity but now I’ve got to say, it’s on. I’m full tilt and up in the housewifey hizzy, apron and all.

And it is a joy to have company, especially to have a house full of boys feasting on my food. One day I will have to share my kitchen with their girlfriends, then wives and then hopefully grand-daughters so I savor each moment now as if it were a juicy red, locally grown, in-season beet (sorry, I had to do it.)

For the meal, I made marinated pork tenderloin, brown rice, baked beans, fresh green salad with my own dressing, grilled white corn still in the husk and watermelon. I determined to feed these boys a healthy meal. No hydrogenated potato chips or CheezBalls would enter their lips on my premises, no sirree! We even had homemade soda = fruit juice and Club Soda. My OS love it and it’s better than all that other icky stuff.

One by one they arrived until 11 boys ranging in age from 13-18 circled around our kitchen island, held hands and prayed before digging in to dinner. One of the sweetest sights of the evening was when a BOB who’s actually named Scott arrived at my front door with his Bible. You gotta love it! My husband, Isaac and I ate indoors while the BOBs enjoyed fellowship outside.


In general, I find guys easy to please, at least in the food department. They gobbled up every bit of the food and even said “please,” “thank you,” and “this is awesome!” several times. I was blessed to have served them and was so proud of my youngest OS, Ike who willingly assisted me.

And then afterward, they stayed outside. It’s blazing hot these days and the BOBs were welcome inside but they crowded around the deck instead. I have no idea what they discussed except to say that when Aaron walked in for a moment and I inquired oh so innocently, “Hey, Aar, are you guys talking about spiritual stuff?” My son said yes but that was the extent of the conversation. I sat in the kitchen by my faithful friend, my sewing machine, and secretly wished I was a fly or a mosquito buzzing about, able to listen. Not to be nosey but just to hear the sweet sound of young men earnestly seeking things of God.

As the night drew to a close, the Scripture found in 3 John 1:4 came wafting into my heart, “I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in the truth.”

A creepy love letter to…beets

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Dear Beets,


I love you! I’m not even sure where to begin. When we first met, I was just a kid. You were in a jar and Mom put you on my plate. You often sat next to the roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy which I swirled all together because
 tasted so good. Your bright purple color intrigued me and well, one thing led to another and soon, you were headed down my digestive tract.


Throughout my childhood, you were always there, beets. But then I entered adolescence and I’m sorry to say, we went our different ways. I found boys and fast food and I didn’t have time for the healthy things in life. Please forgive me. 

The crazy college days had me experimenting with a lot of different stuff. It’s there that I tried brussels sprouts and acorn squash. When I went away my junior year in college to France, I must admit, beets, you were far from my mind. I brazenly tried avocados and clams (but never together) and many other things, I’m too ashamed to mention.

It’s been a long time but beets, I never forgot you. All these years, I was impetuously always looking for something to satisfy me…like chocolate, family and friends. Where was my head, oh you beloved biennial Eurasian plant with a swollen edible root?

And then I read Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver and decided it was time to try and eat fresh, locally grown foods as often as possible.  I went to the Farmer’s Market and I walked by you. You were just sitting there next to the nice lady who was working the booth, with her pack of cigarettes mere inches from your beautiful leaves. And one look is all it took and again, I was smitten. My fondness for you begin to rekindle and I was like a schoolgirl as I purchased my first bunch of baby beets. 

Now I’m a wife and a mom! Can you believe it! How time has passed! And I am more mature and stable, you’ll be happy to know. Even so, I do get a little wild, sometimes and have tossed you raw into my salads and recently began roasting you. You’re just as tangy and packed with nutrients as ever! Your vivid colors still make me smile! 😉 😉 🙂 


And what is this that I’ve been reading about you? The New York Times is calling you the “new spinach???“ All I can say is “Congratulations, my friend! You
 deserve it!” I wish the whole world understood what you are and how much of a difference you can make in a person’s life! Perhaps one of my missions in life is to tell the world about you! (jazz hands!) 


From now on, beets, I’m not going anywhere. You are in my life to stay. No more straying and acting like you aren’t important. You are, beets! You are! 

So here I am, spilling the beans, letting the whole stinkin‘ world know this – I LOVE BEETS!

Forever  yours,
Me
PS. This letter was creepily wayyyyyyy too easy to write…

Blogging friends meet at last

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Woke up on Monday morning with nothing to do. Considering the Monday a week before was, shall we say, eventful?? I was happy but a little disappointed because I don’t like feeling unproductive.

I was checking my facebook aka my lifeline 😉 and I had a message from someone very special. It was from my friend Sharon and she and her family were coming to visit! I really love entertaining so naturally I was thrilled but what was even cooler is that this would be the first time I would be meeting this person I call my friend!

Sharon and I met through my blog. A year ago, the West Point Alumni Association placed a link to my blog of their online newsletter. My post was about the fateful day when Nathan began his journey at West Point. The day they posted my blog, I got 1,000 hits on my blog which blew my ever-lovin‘ mind, y’all!

So that’s how we met. We have kept in touch since that time and it’s been neat finding out we had a lot in common.

Mom, me too!
Wife, me too!
She blogs, I blog!
She loves Jesus, so do I!
I went to El Salvador and Peru on mission trips; she and her family are moving to Papua, New Guinea to serve the Lord!
I have an OS at West Point; her husband is a grad!

We both used to work with teenagers and teach them healthy life skills! Jazz hands!
And the list goes on and on…

This year I have met several new friends and it’s kismet when I meet someone and there is this connection as if we have known each other for a long time.

Suddenly the day went from nothing to do, to having something very special to do! I rushed to the farmer’s market and put the OS to work straightening up the house. 
I am such a housewifey kind of girl, I set the table pretty which is seriously one of my fave things to do in life. My serotonin levels soar when I am decorating, especially when I am putting special touches around my dining room table, you have no idea. 

With my OS’s help, (I am determined to raise three sons who know how to cook!), I prepared shepherd’s pie, a fresh salad of ruffly, purple lettuce, ripe orange cherry tomatoes and fresh beets and then a bowl of freshly sliced peaches and blueberries. We enjoyed pleasant conversation throughout the night and Nate and Paul discussed WP things. I observed they used acronyms a lot more than non-Army people. 😉 If they weren’t moving to PNG, I’d want Sharon as a neighbor and close friend. Why, we could do girly things together, she could teach me about letter boxing and geo-caching. I have no idea what I could offer her except a few laughs, but it would have been fun.

After dinner, we treated the Bowers to Goodberry’s which is home to the world’s most delicious frozen custard. 

If you are ever in the area, come over to my house and we’ll take you to Goodberry’s as well!


In this great big world we live in, as vast and busy as it is, we carved out time to connect face to face with some wonderful people. We got to know each other via the internet but had some precious time together in person. Check out her blog and you’ll see why I’m glad to have this new lady in my life and heart! 

When things change, sometimes it hurts

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It can be a strange thing when verb tenses change. Often it has been my experience that verb tense changes signify a modification in a situation or a person. I’m sure I use them all the time without a wince or a struggle and only notice when verb tenses change if something or someone’s situation is different and I wish it had not changed. Often when I do perceive this verb tense change thing, I find myself hurting because I want the verb tense to have remained the same. (Has any of this made sense???) 

Well, this week, I have experienced two significant verb changes. Something that is, isn’t. Something that was, wasn’t. Something you have, you don’t anymore.

On Monday, I lost my job. 

On Sunday, my husband lost his much loved uncle. 

After 7 1/2 years, the job I loved and poured myself into with every fiber of my being, is now gone. In a split second, after an emotional phone call from my boss, I experienced that verb tense thing I hate. I work in non-profit ministry. Correction, I worked and I was blessed to be around people I treasured.  When donations went down to an all-time low, a difficult decision was made and I, along with several other co-workers were laid off. It happened that fast. I harbor no hard feelings (at least at this point) with the decision. It’s just that I’m trying to get used to this new way of defining myself. Who am I now? 


There have been countless times when I have wanted to quit and I have dreamed of this day. When I have been overwhelmed by annoying students or heavily burdened by a teenager’s story. When a high school girl is picking her nose and eating it! the entire time we are speaking, um, yeah, I want to quit! When a skinny, pale-skinned teenager is bent on interjecting a sarcastic answer every time I speak, you bet, I want to hand in my notice! But then, there are times when a student is crying and her tears have soaked through my shirt, that I praise the Lord because I am there to encourage and love. Or the kids who write to me afterward and say we have changed their lives. Nothing can beat those moments. My job, working with teens and meeting so many in the midst of regretful choices and pain, has been exhausting on every level. Y’all, I have seen and heard more things than I ever imagined and most of it wasn’t pretty. But it was my mission field (in addition to my own OS and DH, that is).

But it’s that verb thing that is haunting. I found myself trying to figure out what verb to use today. I was talking about my boss, was he now “my former boss?” It seriously stings just to type those words. 

This is coupled with the fact that we are driving out of state for a funeral. On Sunday, my husband called to see how Uncle Bill was doing. We all knew he was seriously ill and would not survive much longer. When Aunt Emmy answered the phone, she told us his grave condition would soon end. We talked about Uncle Bill as we drove to the farmer’s market and then, about an hour later, when we were at home, Aunt Emmy called. Uncle Bill was gone. 

I began unloading the bounty from the farmer’s market and realized, crud, here goes that stupid verb tense change thing again. 

Uncle Bill was a heck of a guy. He was into everything. An avid Boy Scout leader, a researcher, very active in his church, he was a microbiology professor at Bowling Green University, he was a husband of 56 years and a father of four. And he was quirky. Like you’ll never meet another Uncle Bill. They broke the mold, as people would say. For example, he and Aunt Emmy were fascinated with Civil War medicine and attended conventions and seminars about it. Did you even know there were Civil War medicine conventions?? On their way to these conventions, they would stop by and visit. It’s there that I got to meet and love good ‘ole Uncle Bill. 

When Mark’s mom (Uncle Bill’s sister) died about 15 years ago, I gave the tearful eulogy. As I recall, he was the first person to come up to me afterward and give me a hug. I will never forget his kindness.

So in the span of 48 hours, I have reasons to weep over loss and verb tense change. We are on our way to Ohio for the services. I have Kleenex, family, memories and my Jesus to see my through.

Milestones and recognition

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pubertyWe usually think of milestones in our children when they are little.

They start to roll over and drink from a cup, say their first words.

Big whoop. (Said as a mom of kids that are over that!).

Those things are a big deal but our OS have experienced milestones of their own recently that I just have to share.

How ironic (that is, if I believed in irony) that each of my OS would cross a major threshold in their lives at practically the same time.

May I have your attention, please?

Ike became a seventh grader. Woo hoo!

Aaron became a sophomore.

Take that you annoying upper classmen!

And…cue the snare drums…

Nate became a recognized plebe. Crowd goes wild!

No longer are my boys at the bottom of their respective proverbial social heaps of life. (Was that an awkward sentence?) After all the travail and toil, when it seemed as if the day would never arrive, my OS are happy to be movin’ on up, just like the Jefferson’s, remember those guys???

This means that Ike is eager to try out for basketball and not have annoying eighth graders hogging up the good spots. As long as he keeps his grades up and his tongue in control, my orange-haired fella will be just fine.

For Aaron, being a sophomore means the leadership skills he has honed this past year that will serve him well and he is positioned to forge ahead in whatever way the Lord directs.

But neither of them went through the valley like Nate. Sure, it’s tough being a sixth grader. And no one would dispute that a 9th grader is pretty low on the high school totem pool.

But try being a plebe. Just a few days ago, Nate successfully completed his plebe year. To a large extent, I feel like I also completed my own plebe year as a mom. I need my own badge or pin for surviving! I was counting down the days when Nate would make this transition, he’s been more than ready!

As I reflect on this last year, oh, my soul, there were so many days when I just wanted to scoop my baby up and take him home.

R-Day+and+after+244How could he endure such treatment?
Why did they have to be so sassy and mean to MY child? He doesn’t have to put up with that! (insert the “that” of your choice, especially if you have a cadet at WP or are a USMA grad!)

And while I’m at it, why couldn’t the professors understand that my boy was overworked and needed a break? Or had a nasty cold?

Despite my numerous offers to contact the higher-ups and plead his case, Nate never budged. He could handle it.

(For the record, if any WP folks are reading this, I would honestly have never done that but I thought about it. Nate would have KILLED me! I would have been disowned as a mama!)

And my OS finished really well. Since I will get in trouble if I say too much, let me say Nate should be very proud of himself. Thanks be to God!

A Spirit Week Day we won't soon forget.

A Spirit Week Day we won’t soon forget.

P1070031On Thursday, Nate got recognized.

It was a day he has been talking about for weeks.

What does getting recognized mean?

Well, at West Point, when you have completed your plebe year, there is a special moment, almost divine in nature, when the upper class cadets, acknowledge your existence.

Instead of calling you “Cadet Last Name,” the cadets extend a hand of fellowship your way. They shake your hand and learn something very wonderful about you. They learn you have a FIRST name! That is a MAJOR event in the life of a plebe!

Imagine living in a confined place for nearly a year and not having someone call you by your first name. Or having to wear a uniform every.single.time.you.go.out.of.your.room.

And consider for a moment, not being able to talk once you leave the confines of your room.

But Nathan did and the transition from lowly plebe class to becoming a Private First Class is something so sweet. He strutted outside his room in cadet casual (khaki pants and shirt) and acknowledged people by their first name. He didn’t have to cup his hands or do any of those things that have been the bane of his existence for the last 11 months.

Plebes are people too!

Plebes are people too!

Liberation,

exhilaration,

jubilation sum up how he felt stepping out as a PFC.

Lest my awesome OS become too content, reality will come crashing down on him. Tomorrow he begins Air Assault School and rumor has it, it’s not a picnic.

If you are reading this, please pray for the cadets as they begin a grueling 11 day training school. Nate must pass this in order to come home June 6th.

If he doesn’t pass, (and apparently many will not), he will automatically be re-enrolled and spend another 11 days there until he passes.

In Memory and Honor of Mr. Beall, someone I never knew

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I never knew Mr. Beall but I have heard a lot about him and tonight I want to honor this teacher who taught my husband a couple of things about how a republic works and a much deeper lesson about caring.


It was 1979 and in typical teenager mode, my DH thought he was fearless and immortal. Perhaps that is why one day he was goofing off after school at Maconaquah High School in Bunker Hill, Indiana. It was before swim practice which was held about 1/2 mile away and I guess, since Mark had nothing better to do and was trying to show off, my DH had a great idea and I use that term loosely. He mused, “How about if I sit on the hood of my buddy’s car and have him drive me to swim practice?”


With nary a second thought, the guy agreed and Mark jumped onto the hood of the car, grabbed tightly to back of the hood and said, “Let’s go!” Weeee eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! According to Mark’s recollection, the guy cooked along pretty fast about 40-50 mph and they quickly reached their destination. No biggie, no consequence, no nothing, Mark didn’t think anything of his antics until the next day.

That’s when Mark strode into Mr. Beall’s Government class. Everyone sat down, got ready for class and before Mr. Beall started his normal lecture, he announced he had something to read. The stubby little teacher pulled out a newspaper article and without anyone else knowing, glanced intentionally at the cocky and really cute 17 year old swimmer aka my DH who was sitting at a desk.

Mr. Beall proceeded to read a story. He was known for having a file cabinet stuffed with newspaper articles. Long before the Internet, Mr. Beall had an arsenal of facts, stories and notifications. If there was a tidbit or a snippet, Mr. Beall must have had them neatly categorized, waiting for the perfect moment to share. And a perfect moment had arrived about 24 hours ago. 

And so he began to read. Most of the students were clueless as to why he was reading this particular story. But the cocky and really cute 17 year old swimmer aka my DH was keenly aware of what Mr. Beall was doing. The teacher shared with his students a newspaper article about a young man who took a joyride on the front of a car and fell off. He cracked his head on the pavement and died instantly. As Mr. Beall finished the story, he paused, looked at that kid and promptly told his class to open their books for the lesson.

That happened 31 years ago and although Mr. Beall has since passed away, his memory will live on. I can’t tell you how many times I have heard that story. I can’t tell you how many times our OS have groaned as Mark begins to repeat the “Mr. Beall” story.

But you know what? I love Mr. Beall. And you know what else? This world needs more Mr. Bealls. We have a shortage of people who care and are willing to stick their necks out and risk being mocked or hated when it comes to young people. I am now on my soapbox…

Today I had a Mr. Beall moment, I think. I dropped a friend from my facebook. He was a high school student, someone that had been in one of my classes. A very handsome young man I taught several months ago but lately his language on his facebook has become so curse-laden and offensive, I felt that I had no choice but to delete him as a friend. Before I did that, however, I wrote to him and explained why I was doing this. He in turn, promptly wrote me back and said he could care less whether I was his friend or not. 

Ouch.

I wasn’t expecting him to be devastated by losing me as a friend but I have to admit, that hurt my feelings. And that’s when good, ole, may he rest in peace, Mr. Beall popped into my mind. Mr. Beall risked popularity and ridicule to try to help someone. I tried to do the same. 

I wasn’t trying to be this boy’s mama or get in his business. I was sincerely wanting to be his friend in the truest sense of the word. Even though my oldest OS thinks I should have never written to the kid and simply let him go, I thought he deserved more. Like Mr. Beall, I wanted to give that boy something to think about.

I asked Mark, “did you ever tell him thank you?” He thought for a second and said, “I don’t know. I’m not sure.” I guess that’s how my story will have to end also. 

We always have lessons to learn. I am a work in progress and that’s an understatement but what would this world be like if someone didn’t speak out? 

I’d love to hear your stories and recollections of people who made a difference in your life. Maybe it would help me feel better. I have no regrets about what I did, I just wish his reaction would have been different. Here’s to you, Mr. Beall. Thanks for caring enough about that cute and cocky 17 year old kid who is now my precious husband and father to my babies. 

The VCR project

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On the Honey-Do list I placed a humdinger of a project for my husband. Convert all of our old VCR tapes to DVDs. Sounds easy, right? HA! I get these crazy ideas and lately I’ve been on a mission. As I am cleaning out closets and purging the unnecessary, I have uncovered boxes and boxes and boxes of VCRs. They have littered our drawers and now it’s time to do something about it. “NOW!” she cheerfully bellows to her doting DH.  Double HA!

We ordered a VCR/DVD converter and after many attempts, my good man has figured it out. In order to preserve our marriage, I told him I wanted nothing to do with this project and have deferred to his good judgment, (most of the time). He has risen to the task and will hopefully be finished sometime before the DVD becomes extinct and I’ve given him yet another gargantuan chore. 

Completing this job, is not easy to do partially because we made it more complicated thanks to our very stupid video techniques.

I shall now confess… 

I mistook the on and off button and captured hours and hours of nothing. Example – when my brother got married, I lugged the clunky camera to the reception wanting to capture special moments of the happy occasion. Apparently I forgot to turn off the camera. I set the camera down on a chair still in “record” mode and now we have about 45 minutes of compelling close up footage of the upholstery. In addition to hearing all the background sounds of the wedding reception, you can hear the whirl of the video camera as it attempts to try to figure out what in the world it’s supposed to be taping! 
In addition, we didn’t label most of the VCR tapes. If you like a bit of mystery, this is the way to go. You will never, ever know what you’re looking at and that keeps things really exciting! 

And if we labeled a tape, one of us knuckleheads advanced the tape about 30 minutes and then taped new material from oh, say, 5-7 years later. In other words, everything jumps around. You are in a very funky time warp.

As crazy as this process has been, I am relieved to be retrieving old memories.  I’m laughing one minute watching my babies and tingle inside at the sight of their soft faces. Then I hear their squeaky voices and I want to cry. Although I desperately love my big boys now, I could burst into tears at this very minute as I wistfully recall those times. 

The little boy who was  is almost finished with his plebe year at West Point was a toe-headed leader almost from the start. Last weekend, this same child successfully completed an 18 mile ruck and earned a German Armed Forces Badge for Military Proficiency to don on his uniform.


The chunky toddler with a husky voice, is a tender-hearted musician /thespian/athlete. We have footage of him fake karate-chopping his baby brother as he swings innocently in the baby chair. Aaron remains my expressive boy but there’s muscle, arm pit hair, a young man is emerging.

And then there’s my Orange Love (Ike). In one movie, my youngest OS is sucking on his paci and I’m lugging him around on my hip. He can’t say a word but you still knew that Ike needed/demanded/expected something. Oh my, if I could just reach right into the television screen and squeeze him again – 

Dozens and dozens of tapes and memories await. I’m going forward but looking behind, it’s a bittersweet journey.Â