This column ran in The Covington News on October 5, 2011.

I felt rather apprehensive when I walked into the doctor’s office last week. It was a return visit to discuss the results of recent blood work. I didn’t fear news of anything truly terrible, like cancer, but I wondered if my poor lifestyle choices had caught up with me yet.

I’m over 40 now, and have to start thinking about this stuff even if doing so makes me feel like an old lady. Better to face the facts than be a walking time-bomb and not realize it. We’re so totally surrounded, bombarded even, with health information overload these days. If you get sucked into the vortex created by television doctors, drug commercials and late-night diet infomercials, you end up feeling like you’re facing certain sudden death if you don’t start juicing all your vegetables, hiking ten miles a day and going gluten-free.

Since I do none of that, I worried a bit over what my blood work would reveal. Would 25 years of carrying around too many pounds have pushed me into diabetes? Would too many nibbles of the kids’ leftover French fries and not enough exercise have ruined my always-good cholesterol levels? I just didn’t know. Being a big girl, I always expect the weight lecture. This time, though, I was in for a nice surprise.

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Earlier tonight, I realized I hadn’t been to my blog in a while. I was shocked when I logged on and saw how long it’s actually been. It’s been an extremely busy October for us, what with softball season ending, and planning for a Halloween party, and crazy neighbors going wacko, and designing a website for someone, and visiting friends, and family in town, and teething molars and one kid nearly lopping off his toe with a pitchfork.

Good times.

And in between it all, the usual homeschooling and cleaning and running of Mom’s taxi service, and church stuff, and then freelance writing in ALL my spare time.

It’s definitely a hectic time of year. I also realized that I am a month behind on posting columns, so I will work to remedy that over the next couple of days.

So…just wanted to say “Hi!” and that I’m looking forward to November. Of course, there are no guarantees, but I think at least the first couple of weeks should be a nice period of calm before the holiday madness hits. Just maybe, I’ll find time to blog for fun then!

Be blessed!

1. It’s easy to get busy with life and neglect my poor lil’ ol’ blog!

2. Other people look at them and just see messy, rambunctious, destructive, loud boys, but I consider every one of my sons ” my darling.”

3. Once upon a time, a mom woke up to find her whole house clean, her children well-behaved and a hot, gourmet breakfast served to her in bed. Then her husband handed her the credit card and said, “I have the kids today–enjoy a day just for you!” And she went shopping, and got a pedicure and treated herself to lunch, and met friends for dinner and came home happy and satisfied.

4. But then she woke up to screaming kids, a messy house and cheap coffee for breakfast and realized it was all just a dream … the end. (LOL!)

5. What is it? (That was Eli’s catch-phrase when he was about two. LOL)

6. I’d rather enjoy life sooner than later.

7. And as for the weekend, tonight I’m looking forward to finding some deals at the consignment sale, tomorrow my plans include Zach’s softball game and tons of cleaning and Sunday, I want to rest some, work some, worship a lot!

Make your own Friday Fill-ins list here!

This column ran in yesterday’s edition of The Covington News.

They say that energy is wasted on the young. I think that the concept of time is wasted on them, too. Remember when you were little, and it seemed that an entire lifetime stretched out between summer vacation and Christmas? Sometimes I wish life still passed by in that slow-as-molasses way, where there was time for everything you wanted to do. It isn’t fair how life speeds up as you get older, how one minute you’re hugging your newborn, and the next, they’re toddling away from you.

At least that is how the past two years have felt to me. My sweet little Jonah turns two years old tomorrow and I can scarcely believe it. The only thing that makes the time feel longer is when I reflect on how many months I’ve gone without a full night’s sleep—then it feels like the boy should be applying to UGA right about now.

But the bigger part of me doesn’t even mind the exhaustion, because I know that barring some truly miraculous heavenly intervention, this is my last baby. And oh, how I have cherished Jonah’s babyhood! Some would say too much, particularly when I complain about that lack of sleep. Because let’s face it—I could’ve been better about sleep-training him, and by now he’d be sleeping in his own bed independently every night like his brothers were by this age. I could’ve had a third child who never came into my bed unless something was awfully wrong.

But that would’ve meant giving up our nighttime cuddles, and listening to him cry and I just haven’t wanted to put any of us through that. So instead of simply tucking him in and saying prayers, I have to lie down with him for half an hour before every nap and bedtime—and he invariably ends up snuggled between me and my husband at some point before daylight breaks.

Does that equal lazy parenting? I don’t know—I think these days the politically-correct term might be “attachment parenting.” I just call it cherishing time that flies by too fast and will never come again. And if that makes me wrong, I don’t want to be right.

I was made to have babies. Well, my soul was made to have babies—my body fought me every step of the way. I’ve had multiple miscarriages, and without medication to treat polycystic ovarian syndrome, I’d have never had any of my sons because of the infertility associated with the disease. Maybe it’s a hidden blessing that children didn’t come easily to me—if they had, I would’ve had ten, and heaven knows we wouldn’t have been able to afford that.

But my heart could’ve easily opened to a dozen children and I think that’s why Jonah’s second birthday is so bittersweet for me. It marks the end of the baby years. He’s getting so tall and thin. We look at his baby pictures, and my older sons laugh at how chubby Jonah used to be. I miss those pudgy fat rolls, those toothless smiles, the way his tiny body curled so perfectly against my chest.

Now he’s all long and lanky, and so busy—turning his yogurt into finger paint, drizzling juice on his daddy’s chair, and scribbling on the wall with thankfully washable crayons. He can point to and correctly name all numbers 1 through 10, and most letters of the alphabet. Today, he saw a picture in a book of a boy sleeping, and started snoring at the image. He loves making goofy faces and sound effects, and when he burps, he shouts “Funny! Funny! YAY!” and loudly applauds himself. I can thank his big brothers for teaching him that.

He exudes joy, except for when he’s feeling shy, or I’m making him do something he doesn’t want to do, such as walk into a room full of strangers. Then he collapses onto the floor and freezes, telling himself, “OK…” in this shaky little voice, like he’s trying to convince himself that it really will be OK.

That’s pretty much how I feel as my baby turns two, and we close the chapter of life that included having babies at home. Like Jonah, my chin is quivering and my eyes are misting as I say, “OK…” But just like my boy facing something big and unknown, I’m doing a terrible job of convincing myself that there is anything fine about it.

I’m barely squeezing this one in this Tuesday!

I’ve been thinking about my grandparents a lot lately. All four of them are looking down on me from heaven now, and I miss them so. What a blessing it was for me to grow up with all of them involved in my life — some more than others, of course, but all four of them were truly precious to me. It’s a blessing to have known them, as many people have never had the privilege of knowing their grandparents.

Anyhow, there are things that remind me of them and I thought it would make a good Top Ten list. So, here are ten things that remind me of my sweet grandparents.

1. Classic white Dove soap. My grandmother Honey never used anything else, and the smell always takes me back to being six years old, enjoying long baths in the old iron tub after spending all day making mud pies and playing in the yard at their clapboard house in East Atlanta. I love my fancy-schmancy Bath and Body Works bath gels in every fragrance imaginable, but like my Honey, I’ve always used Dove on my face. And sometimes, like tonight, I wash all over with Dove, just so I can enjoy a fragrance that was part of the safest, happiest days of my life.

2. Sauerkraut. Funny to jump from something that smells so good to something that stinks so bad, but my grandfather, Toto, was a first-generation Austrian/Ukrainian immigrant and he loved the stuff. So my grandmother learned from his mother how to make it every way imaginable. I was quite old before I realized that not everyone ate sauerkraut all the time! LOL I made kraut and sausage for a family dinner on Sunday, and that smell of sauteed onions and sauerkraut just brings me back to their kitchen.

3. Pipe smoke. I’m beginning to see a theme with this list, that it’s usually fragrances that trigger the strongest memories. I read somewhere that is true because the areas of the brain that process smells and memories are very close together. My Grandpa Allen smoked a pipe when I was a little girl, and I always loved the smell of it. I’ve been tempted to buy a small package of pipe tobacco and just burn some on a plate, like incense, to enjoy that scent again.

4. Baking. My Grandmother Allen, or Granny, as we called her, loved to bake. Now, she wasn’t quite the cook that my Honey was, but she could definitely bake. Every year at Christmas she started baking cookies a month or two ahead, and always baked a fruitcake — not the red/green/gold kind that gets joked about, but a soft, sweet, spicy cake that was actually really tasty.

5.Fruitcake! Not just because of Granny, but because Toto loved fruitcake — and I’m talking about the red/green/gold brick-shaped kind that nobody else eats. I can remember sitting at the table with him, trying to enjoy a slice right along with him, but I never could make it through a piece! LOL

6. Volkswagens. My mom’s parents, Honey and Toto, always had at least one VW and their son, my Uncle Mike, was a VW mechanic for ages. Funny that I inadvertently married a VW man as well!

7. Giant circa-1970 four-door sedans. I couldn’t tell you the make or model of the cars my paternal grandparents drove, but Granny and Grandpa always picked us up in some kind of massive boat-like vehicle with leather seats. This was before seat belt laws were in effect, and I can remember sliding around in the back seat with my two sisters, banging into each other as Grandpa flew around turns in the road. Good times!

8. Game shows. I always go back to long, leisurely summer days, sprawled out in Honey’s living room in front of the wooden console TV with my sisters, as we watched Wheel of Fortune, The Price is Right, The Newlywed Game and Pyramid. She loved watching game shows, and continued to enjoy them until the end of her life. I can just see her now, in her chair, working a word-search puzzle book as she called out answers to Vanna White. I remember wondering how she could pay attention to both things at once, until I grew up and discovered that I, too, could multitask!

9. Santa Claus. Toto played Santa Claus every Christmas through most of my childhood. He always grew a real beard for the occasion, too. All the Santa memorabilia I put out each December reminds me of him, especially the big Santa light-up figure we have on our front porch, because it used to be his. I don’t care if anyone thinks it’s tacky — that Santa will always be the centerpiece of my outdoor Christmas decorations.

10. Red roses. They were my Honey’s favorite flower and one of mine as well. My garden will always feature a red rose bush in honor of my grandmother.

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