Thoughts of a Scrapbook Mama

the end...

2008-12-14T15:44:00.003-06:00

This has been fun.

I have thoroughly enjoyed the experience.

But it's time.

I am not totally deleting my blog. Not yet. I have a few "stories" that are only on my blog, and until I can permanently save them elsewhere, I don't want to get rid of everything.

I've made some friends, met new people, and kept up with people I knew. However, it is simply a "time" factor. I do not want to MAKE, nor TAKE, the time anymore to keep up with my blog nor everyone else's blogs. It is amazing how much time I can involve myself in just sitting in front of the computer and "checking up" with the blog world.

So, take care.

Later...

Kathleen

Happy Birthday, Rogers!

2008-11-02T17:05:00.008-06:00

RAA, Jr. /
Living Doll, Delicate Thing, and an Angel…

This is a scrapbooking entry I wrote in 2005 in honor of my brother, Rogers A. Adams, Jr. This past Tuesday, October 28, was his birthday. He was in Houston visiting for the occasion, and all of the boys and I got to spend some wonderful time together with him Saturday night. Time moves SO very quickly and is so precious; I want to spend what time I can with him when he is in the states.

Love you, Bubba. Happiest of birthdays to you!!! Hope you enjoy my blog entry…
_________________________________________________________________

I have NO doubt that if today one would ask my brother Rogers if the above title that was given to his little sister was true, he would give you an unequivocal, and resounding, NO!!! Growing up, he was thoroughly indoctrinated by our daddy that this little sister was just that, and that he should take good care of her and not let the boys in the neighborhood “mistreat” her. Oh, my. Never would Rogers A. Adams, Sr. ever suspect that his sons were the ones that wanted to mistreat her the most, and often did!

That’s not completely true, for my brothers did love me. Yes, they did try to scare me constantly. They knew I was a serious scaredy cat, and they played on that! They told me that a big black man lived in my closet and would get me if I got out of my bed at night, and I believed them. They also told me that monsters lived under my bed. I believed that, too. Boy was I stupid or so incredibly gullible or what!!! They would get me outside to “play” hide and go seek with them, and then lock me outside. I could go on, but one gets the picture.

Granted, I was sort of a pest, I’m sure, (I’m sure they would delete the “sort of”), wanting to be with them all of the time, doing what they wanted to do, going where they were going, and I know they just wanted to do “boy” things. Rogers and I were closer than Kelly and I. Even though there was more than 6 years difference in our ages, we got along. I loved to go places with Rogers and his friends, plus Mama would get Rogers to take me to all of after-school activities, like dancing, choir, Blue Birds, etc. There would be Rogers, Greg Pitts, Tommy Skelton, Mike and Monte Richardson, Mike Reiney, and others and they would take the LONG way to every activity, and make the “drag”, go to the Burger Bar, or Burger Chef and get cokes and ride around, smoking, being cool, and wasting gas. I KNEW never to say anything about where they went or what they did, for then I would not get to go again, and I wanted to be with all of these cute guys, and so on and so on…

I loved my brothers. We grew up and apart, but there were always childhood bonds that kept us together. Rogers was there more than once during my late teens and twenties to help me during times when I needed a true friend. We were there together during the loss of Daddy, Mama, and Kelly. He supported me, and I supported him. During the late 90’s and early 2000’s, we hit a most incredibly difficult time and he chose to not have anything to do with me and my family. It was such a difficult time for me, for he was all I had left of the “Adams family.”

Things have been great for all of us for about a year now, but even though we are getting along once again, there is now the difficulty of space – Rogers moved to Mexico June of 2004. I’m glad he’s happy, but I almost find it unbearable with him being so far away.

Included here are pictures of Rogers and me taken when he came to Houston to visit in the summer of 2005, and, of course, of the “Living Doll, Delicate Thing, and an Angel” with her “Bubba”.

_______________________

Hey, Bubba, I surely do miss you. You’ve been an incredibly good brother and the best “Uncle Bubba” – “UB”. Thanks for just being you...

And HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I LOVE YOU!!!

It's Matt's Turn...

2008-10-05T21:13:00.007-05:00

Bare with me, please, in my somewhat feeble attempt to paint a picture with words. While I do consider myself a good “writer”, the goodness comes from being grammatically correct, with “exact nouns and vivid verbs” – from being taught, and then teaching, grammar and composition. I envy writers that their words actually seem to come alive - to pop - to become pictures in my head - as I read them.

This “story” almost requires me to SHOW you what I mean, and since I can’t, I can only hope that you can “get the picture”.

My number three son, the one-and-only Roger Matthew Newton, had a birthday this past Wednesday, October 1st. He was finally 23. Because of issues with his past employment with Boy Scouts of America, I have trouble remembering just how old Matt is supposed to be. A Scout is trustworthy… hm-m-m-m… but that is definitely a whole ‘nother story…

Matthew was a beautiful baby. I mean it, too. With an infectious grin and beautiful white-blond tufts of hair. He was a wonderful baby, too. So good, so happy. So different from baby #2, Andrew… Matt was truly a joy. We knew we were blessed.

When I was about 7 months pregnant with Matthew, my daddy became very ill. There were many scary days that we just knew we would lose him. During one of these fateful times, my daddy told me he knew that we almost named Andrew “Roger Andrew” after the two grandfathers, but for some reason chose “James” as the first name. He then asked me, if this baby was a boy to please name him “Rogers” or “Roger”. Of course, during stressful times as that, without hesitation, I replied, “Yes, Daddy. Anything for you.”

As I have mentioned in previous blog stories, Andrew was stressful baby of the century, and Adam being the older brother was NOT sure another baby was something he wanted – but, he was SURE of one thing: he did NOT want another brother. Well, you know, those babies are going to be one or the other: brother or sister. So, to hopefully make the chance that there would be another boy a little more appealing, we let Adam choose the middle name for the new baby. Now, Adam was six, a bright child with a VERY active imagination, and I guess we should have been scared he would have wanted to name the baby “He-Man” or “Michelangelo” or “Thundercat” or “Shredder” or “Luke Duke” or some other cartoon name. But, he liked the name Matthew. So, Roger Matthew it was.

After a traumatic delivery, when my pediatrician finally placed my new baby boy in my arms and I looked into his beautiful little face, he was NOT a Roger. He wasn’t my daddy, he wasn’t my brother, and “Roger” just didn’t fit. Then again, neither did Matthew, as far as I was concerned. While in the hospital, I dreamed we called him “Road Map” for the RM, and that stuck. For several months, my cute little blondie was called “Road Map” – even some of his first Christmas gifts were given to “Road Map”. Truly a strange bunch we are… Thankfully, we finally got adjusted to “Matthew” or just “Matt”.

The only “problem” we had that kept Matthew from being the perfect baby was in the fact he didn’t sleep very well, nor for very long. But neither did my other two babies, so at first it wasn’t a big deal. But waking up every hour on the hour was a little harder then it was with Adam, because now I had to get up in the morning and get kids off to school, and I had responsibilities that simply come along with the job title “Mama” of older, growing children – and a household of 5 people. There was no “sleeping in” anymore. No “take a nap when the baby naps” either. And there were after school activities and evening activities that had to be attended, so early bedtime because Mama was tired wasn’t happening either.

But TRULY!!!!! My favorite memory of my sweet little Matthew was me – waking up in a “start” -- trying to focus in a sleepy haze, and seeing this cute little grin. On the side of my bed would be Matt, with his little arms crossed on top of the mattress, and his head resting on his arms, just staring at me. He knew if he just waited, I would wake up.

He would just look at me, and sweetly say, “Hi, Mama. I’m awake. Did you miss me?” Then he’d add something to this effect: “Aren’t you glad I came to see you. I went to ‘tee-tee’, just like you told me. Can I crawl in bed with you? You look kinda lonely. Just scooch over so we won’t wake up Daddy.”

Of course, I “scooched” over closer to Paul, pulled back the covers, and let him crawl in the bed with us. We had always had a “family” bed, so add-ins weren’t too unusual, but it was just so cute the way Matt did things. He always tried to make it sound like he was getting into our bed because good old Mom was wanting the extra body in the bed with her. Like it was MY idea...

Wait a minute…

I think that’s called “MANIPULATION”!!!

And, looking at Mr R Matthew Newton NOW, I KNOW it was. And, knowing that he spends the vast majority of his time trying to make other people think HIS ideas should be THEIR ideas, too, I KNOW he fist learned his lessons on me. What a willing victim he had, too. Such a sappy victim, too.

As a matter of fact, one of his favorite t-shirt sports the comment: “A team effort is a lot of people doing what I say”. Hm –m-m-m… I’m not sure if a family of 6 is a lot of people, but he got an early start. As Stephen would say, Matt’s the “Golden Child”. We all do what he wants…

What can I say…

Happy Birthday, belated, but the feelings are still the same. I love you, Matt. And I guess if there’s going to be a “Manipulator” in my life, I’m glad it’s you. HAHAHAHA!!!

It's been 3 months...

2008-09-07T14:48:00.003-05:00

I know everyone is waiting to hear the latest update on the Kathleen’s Weight Loss Program. Yeah, right! I really am not at all shy about talking about myself, but putting this issue up for “look-see” is hard for me.

People who know me, know I thrive on being the “center of attention”. Of course, I would - only girl in the family for 54 years now, and a baby of the family, too – what else could you expect. And yes, I THRIVE on praise. I have always felt sorry for Paul when it comes to this topic. I seem to require lots of “Great, dear” from my husband. It is always “do I look okay?”, “does my hair look okay?”, “did I do okay?”, “was the dinner good?”, etc. You get the picture. Lots of positive reinforcement has been needed for me. Thankfully, Paul hasn’t minded. Or at least he has never acted like he does – hm-m-m-m… I do have to admit that I have KNOWN for some time now, he just says “Yes, Dear”, or “Great, Dear”, and has NO CLUE what I have just said. Oh well, one can only expect so much, and one can only give so much...

But while I love the praise and attention, I hate phony, insincere attention. And I always question that, in an arena such as blogging, people will say things just to be saying them. Of course, that is MY OWN insecurity showing. But, whatever.

Poor Andrew knows that I blame him for me being fat. Surely no one expects me to accept the responsibility for this. HAHA! Yes, all of my life I have always had weight issues of some sort, first the "slightly chubby little baby-fat" kind of problem, then it was the 10/15 lbs overweight kind of problem. The it can be fixed with “I-won’t-eat-any-sweets-for-a-month-and-this-weight-will-be-gone” kind of problem. When I got pregnant with Adam, I was at my “proper” weight. For the entire 9 months, I was very strict with my diet, wanting to have the healthiest baby, and I gained 65 lbs. I was horrified! But, by the time I went for my 6-week check up, I had lost all of the weight except for 10 lbs.

I never lost that 10 lbs, but that’s not too bad. When I got pregnant with Andrew, I joined Weight Watchers for I knew they had a fabulous program for pregnant moms. Besides the fact I puked my guts up for the entire time, I gained 85 lbs. My "sweet" doctor always just shook his head and said obviously I was keeping something down. I DID NOT appreciate his humor.

Andrew was a 10 lb baby and by the time I went for my 6-week check up, I had NOT lost anything. This was not a good sign. Well, here I still am. Great!!! I still have those 85 lbs. Probably plus some, if the truth be really known. But who wants to admit it, ya know!!!

When one is as overweight as I am, it will take some kind of losing before anyone will truly notice. For example:

About 2 months ago, one of the “regulars” to my work came in and I was drinking one of my protein drinks. She asked about it, and I told her I was dieting. I told her “this was it”. I was going to finally lose this weight and keep it off. This little lady is about 85 years old and about the size of a toothpick. She was glad I was doing something.

About 3 weeks ago, she was in again, and asked if I was still dieting. Oh yes, I said, and I was so excited for on that day, I had “officially” lost 17 lbs. She looked right at my stomach and said, “I can’t tell. You’re still so big.”

Really made my day!

But, you know, while I can’t wait for someone to come up to me and say, “My goodness, Kathleen. How much weight have you lost? You’re looking so good!”, I know that day isn’t quite here. BUT IT IS COMING!!!!

Saturday, September 6th, was my 3-month anniversary with my eating program, Curves, and now my elliptical. (which I still haven’t even begun to master…) And, I am ecstatic to announce that I have lost … (drum roll please…)

22 pounds!!!

Glenda Martin is my hero (even though I truly am so jealous of her I can’t see straight, and feel like tripping her at church in her cute little clothes on her cute little self), but she also is my inspiration. She has lost over 90 lbs. I remind myself every time I see her that SHE DID IT, and so can I. She is a real life person, with real life situations in a real life world. She’s not a 20 year old with a 20 year old metabolism. Yes, she’s younger than I am, but that isn’t is. She made her mind up, and succeeded! She’s my hero, and while I don’t mean any offense at all to her, for she’s one awesome woman, I know if Glenda did it, so can I. I am so proud of her and I am so glad that I have her to look to in my journey.

So, off I go. And hopefully, off with more pounds. December will be 6 months. My goal is 50 lbs. It will be a struggle, but that’s okay, I’m ready!!

Andrew's bike saga

2008-08-24T17:37:00.004-05:00

There is the debate as to exactly how old Andrew was in this story, but we do know it was after Matt was born and before Stephen. Making Andrew either 4 or 5 years old. Too young, I can assure you. And the events of this story AGED this mama a lot in just one day…

I have always said that Adam was my cerebral child, and Andrew my physical one. Oh, was that ever true. While all of my children learned to walk too early, Andrew learned to RUN on his 11th month birthday. He ran EVERYWHERE after that! And, let me insert, that after that day, he NEVER took another nap. He ran ALL day, everyday, and then WE ALL CRASHED about 8:00/8:30 at night.

Andrew ALWAYS had a mind of his own. It is that simple. I remember reading Dobson’s “The Strong-Willed Child” and going to my then Pastor, Rev BH McCoy declaring that Andrew wasn’t simply strong-willed… it was so much more than that. It was a single-minded will. He got his mind made up and that was that!!! Bro McCoy agreed whole-hearted with me, and admonished me to never, never try to break Andrew’s will, just keep guiding him to the Lord, because someday his dogged-ness, hard-headedness, single-mindedness, if you will, could pay off, and he’d be one incredible soul winner. Of course, this sounded so awesome, so easy, but let me assure you, Bro McCoy wasn't living with Andrew.

Andrew learned to ride a bike shortly after he turned two years old. My parents had purchased a little bike that was really small. It had hard rubber tires (not the inflatable kind) and no training wheels. Well, Andrew just got on it and away he went. He loved the freedom of riding. The only way to stop was to put your feet down to the ground. This method worked well, but was really hard on the shoes.

We had one of those old-fashioned neighborhoods that had sidewalks everywhere. And, the type of neighborhood where we knew everyone and the moms visited together while the children played. (Truly idyllic, I might add, for a family.) On this day, Adam was at school, and Andrew and I were outside playing, Andrew riding up and down the sidewalk. Matthew was inside, taking a nap. I told Andrew to stay right in front of the house while I slipped inside to check on the baby. Such a great neighborhood, that I even could leave the door open as I went inside.

Needless to say, I wasn’t gone a minute. However, when I came back outside, Andrew was nowhere to be found. I called and called, then hollered and hollered. Walked to the back yard, walked around the house. Started running around the house. Ran two houses down to the DuBose’s house – he wasn’t there. Marla, the DuBose mom, came down to watch Matt while I got in the car and rode around the block.

Panic had long since settled in. Perhaps panic isn’t the most descriptive word. Fear. Anxiety. Terror. Lots of good words to describe my gut feeling. I called Paul and asked him what to do. I was ready to call the police. We lived in an area with lots of winding streets. I went up and down them all over and over. Where to next? Paul said he would come home immediately.

But, before I was going to call the police, I called my mother to ask her to please come over and be with the baby while I dealt with all of the mess that was ensuing. I was hysterical by this point.

My mother had trouble understanding me on the phone. Then she said, “Do you want to speak to Andrew? He’s right here!”

Right there??? You have got to be kidding me!?!?! Yes, he was at Grandma’s. Grandma said that he was hot and sweaty from the ride, so he’s inside watching TV with PawPaw and was drinking some Slice.

Isn’t this just great! I’m having complete heart failure, and Andrew is sitting in the AC at Grandma’s drinking "polli-pop" with PawPaw.

WHO DO I KILL FIRST – ANDREW or MY MOTHER!!!

To get to my parents’ home, which was about 1½ miles from our house, one had to cross two rather busy streets. The side streets that you had to go down were narrow and did not have a “bike lane”. It was NOT the safest of bike rides.

My first question to my mother was something close to why in the name of God's green earth didn’t you call me when Andrew arrived at your house without me!?!?! Wasn’t this a bit strange!!!!! We went over to their house every day, but all of us, not just a kid…

She was all innocence, too. We had all ridden bikes to Grandma’s several times, and I had also let the boys ride “by themselves”, with me in the car behind them. So, she thought that I had followed him in the car and let him just come over by himself. You know, to have some fun with Grandma and PawPaw!!! Fun, fun, fun. Right.

This was before cell phones, and Paul didn’t know that Andrew was alright until he got home. Paul was almost shaking by this time. We got into the car and all went over to my parents to get Andrew. We were still so upset, but at the same time so glad to know that Andrew really was alright.

We got Andrew, got the bike, and came home. Paul and Andrew went to garage where Paul made a BIG display of parental authority by putting the little bike all the way into the rafters of the garage. He told Andrew that while we loved him very much, we were very upset with him just leaving the yard and riding off without permission. Did Andrew understand all of this? Did he KNOW how much trouble he was in, had he learned a lesson from this, and did he realize that it would be a very long time before he would get the bike down?

Andrew’s response: Yes daddy, he knew he was in real big trouble, he had learned his lesson, but it sure had been fun, and beside that: It was worth it!!!

Scary words for parents…

So, as a mother, looking at the last 8 weeks of her son’s life, as he joined the Navy and is now back home - I see some similarities. This time, you’re not in trouble. But we all now know that God "let" you go, let you do what you felt you wanted/needed to do, gave you just enough rope to go and not hang yourself, then He brought you back home.

However, I think God has “put up” your proverbial bike, and while the Navy maybe wasn’t fun, He wants to make sure that you learned what you needed to learn, and that most importantly you can say “it was worth it”.

2008-08-10T22:22:00.009-05:00

Today, August 11, 2008

marks the 21st birthday

of MY BABY,

Stephen Hart Newton!!!

Happy Birthday to You!!

(a smart-alecky man one time told me that Paul had 4 sons, but I only had 3 sons. Three sons and a baby! Smart-aleck indeed!)

There definitely is a “story” with Stephen Hart. As with most of my stories, a little foundation work is necessary. However, with this one, I feel I must be more than discreet in the laying of the foundation, not to embarrass Stephen, any reader, or even me. Yet, there are some things that must be explained to understand “the rest of the story.”

As I have said several times previously, Paul and I have mainly strived to be more back-to-nature kind of people. It truly isn’t the “hippie” brand of natural, but a more simplistic Christian style. We always wanted God to be at the helm of our marriage, and therefore looked to Him for direction in all facets of our lives – including birth control. We practiced what is called Natural Family Planning, a highly successful method of planning when to have children, and how to not get pregnant. Our success rate for the first 9 years of our marriage was 100%. Adam, Andrew, and Matthew had been planned to the month.

For years, on the first weekend in December, Paul and I, with the kids, went to Dickens on The Strand in Galveston. We dressed in period costumes and simply had a blast. It was Dec of 1986. Matt was 14 months old. Paul had just come back from a class in Dallas. He came in on Friday and we wanted to go to Galveston for Saturday. I had worked and sewed getting our clothes together. I really hadn’t been feeling very well for a few days – kinda flu-ish. But nothing serious.
If you’ve never gone to Dickens on The Strand, let me assure you it is wonderful. Sights to see everywhere. Something going on literally on every corner – and in the middle of the street! There are “hawkers” selling their wears and food galore. Bagpipes, street urchins, gorgeous clothes. Remember this is supposed to resemble Dickensian England – mid 1800’s.

There was also smells emanating from everywhere and everything. Literally.

My flu-ish feeling went from bad to worse. Everywhere we went some smell would assault my nose and I would rush to find somewhere to heave. I was lightheaded, past nauseated, gagging constantly, and generally yukky, too. I felt simply awful and worried about ruining everyone’s good time, and giving Matt, who I held most of the day, my flu. I was not having a good time.

Well, of course, you’ve all got it figured out by now. My “FLU” was delivered the next August. We were so shocked when we found out that I was pregnant! Yes, we knew how it happened, but we didn’t know how it “happened”.

PLEASE, never get the idea that Stephen wasn’t a “wanted” baby. Oh, he most assuredly was. We wanted a big family – the more the merrier. He just wasn’t a “planned” baby.

However, the real truth of the matter is, God knew what Paul and I needed. I had some fairly serious, undisclosed health concerns, and if we would have waited to have baby #4, we never would have been able to even conceive him. So, God gave us Stephen at just the right time.

Of course, getting Stephen here was a whole ‘nother story. It was a very different pregnancy. Very different. I have always had low blood pressure – however, with this pregnancy, my blood pressure simply stayed out-the-roof. Then to make matters worse, the baby would go for days and never move – a concern of mine and the doctor’s. My doctor wanted me to have full bed rest. PUH-LEEZ! I had an 8-year old, a 5-year old and a 1 year old. REST!?!?! Sure!

Then came the delivery. I had relative easy deliveries with the first three boys – and they were big babies. Adam weighed 9 lbs, Andrew 10, and Matthew 11 lbs, and all of them were 21 inches long. Good sized babies.

I went to the hospital at 1:00. The doctor said I was 100% ready to have the baby. Well, this baby was NOT 100% ready to get here. The baby just didn’t want to move. Then, he decided he did want to move - at the wrong time, right in the middle of a contraction – and of course, the wront way, sideways. Then, no matter what the doctor did, the baby would not move again. (Yes, I can hear people saying, and Stephen’s still like that, isn’t he!!! HAHAHAHA!!!)

My blood pressure quickly became a serious issue, and the doctor felt a caesarean section was necessary. I was devastated to go this route, but knew I didn’t have any options. And, thankfully, even though it was considered an emergency, the doctor would still let Paul be with me.

So, at 11:23 pm (or at 23:23, as we say at the Newton house), Stephen Hart Newton came into this world, tipping the scales at 12 lbs, and measuring 21 inches.

He was a big baby. He filled up the little plastic isolette-thing they used to hold him. The hospital personnel were coming from everywhere to see the “grown baby”. He was an instant celebrity.

AND, he was a very “red” baby with DARK hair. Nothing like the others. All of my other babies were very light, pink-ish, and bald. Yes, he was different, even then…

But he was such a good baby. A very content baby. Yes, like the rest of my babies, he was happiest being held, loved being close to mama. Nothing wrong with that! I completely wore out the Lazy Boy rocker, too. Matt sat on one side, and Stephen in my arms on the other side – then they’d change sides. It was an ongoing event. Matt was so jealous of the new baby, but that’s story has already been told.

But one thing I know for sure: I would never change a thing about how I loved and nurtured my boys.

Oh, I have many more Stephen stories, but that’s for later. For now, just let me close by saying

Happy Birthday, Steve-O.

You’re my favorite piano player in the world.

And you’re my favorite son, named Stephen!!!

2008-08-09T16:20:00.005-05:00

Absolutely one of my all-time favorite scriptures is Romans 8:28,

“And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to [his] purpose.”

And I know that God’s promises are ALWAYS true.

So, with this said, and this thought in our hearts and in our minds, I want to tell this reading audience and all our friends and family that as of today, August 9, 2008, Andrew is coming home. He should be home around the 19th of the month.

This last week has been the most incredible emotional rollercoaster for all of us Newton’s. We first found out, Saturday, August, 2nd, that Andrew was named “Honor Recruit”, then 2 days later, he called and told us that YES, he was going to Officer Candidate School, and had an arrival date of September 28th.

Then, a mere two days later, Andrew called us to tell us the Navy was discharging him because of the damage to his ear drums. We knew that his eardrums were damaged or scarred, but that they were both functional eardrums: he could pass an audiological examination, his hearing within normal limits. I was shell-shocked by this news! He passed 2 physicals before he joined, and one thorough physical after he arrived in Illinois. None of us understood.

But to make a LONG story short, God’s hand is in all of this. I have repeated aloud constantly the verse found in Proverbs – “Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.”

We DON'T have to understand any of this. Our job is to trust in God.

Paul, Adam, Matt, Stephen and I have absolute peace about all of this, and we really do KNOW that God is in control, and that God is moving in a way in the life of Andrew that will soon be revealed and we all will sit back and marvel at God’s handiwork!!!

So, a mere 7 weeks after we said good by, we are now saying a whole-hearted -

Welcome Home!

2008-07-26T19:25:00.006-05:00

Change – the news, magazines, e-zines etc are totally focused on the word. Everyone seems to believe that things are so bad that we must change. While I DO NOT buy into that notion, I do think that change can be a good thing. Some are very resistant to the very idea, yet I know some people that relish change to the point they rearrange the furniture in their homes ALL of the time just for change sake. (Hello Sis A…)

But, I experienced an example of real LIFE change right here in my own home Friday night. Paul and I hosted a party / get-together for the Connect life group from church. Why are called “Connect”? It is a subject to talk about. Now just what we’re really supposed to stay “connected with” is of some concern, even debate. You see, Connect is the over-50 yrs old group. Are we supposed to be the connection between the younger kids and the older church of yesterday – you know, the “Amazing Grace” sung from the hymnal generation? Or, are we needing to stay connected to each other in this rapidly changing world where so many values we hold dear, as “tried and true”, are replaced by “brash and bold”? Or, are we just needing to stay connected to our brains in a time where some of us don’t remember what day it is, much less other things…

I really believe that everyone had a very good time. After speaking with Sis Patrick and others, I asked to change the focus of the party. The last several get-togethers we have had have been “eatin-meetins”. We have some good cooks among us, so we all bring the proverbial “pot luck” and eat and visit. While we have had wonderful times doing this, I wanted to play some games, like we did at some of the first meetings. While some of the joiners said it was kinda loud at these parties, it was still fun, and I wanted to play again.

So, in planning the party, we just asked for finger foods, snacky-type items. That way, we would eat, even munch while playing games. Keep the night “lite”.

I made “Centers” around my great room. I had a “Domino Center” at the dining table, a “Card Center” at one card table, and a “Game Center” at another card table. The “Food Center” was set on the island and around the counter tops in the kitchen. We were set to “party”. (Even though Chris and Misty Ferguson said I had finally arrived at my dream job of Activity Director at a Nursing home, I turned a deaf ear to them and still had my centers, and I acted like I wasn’t offended at their inference. You’ll be old some day, you two. ***smile***)

We had a great turn out. Most of the “senior set” came. (In fact, the youngest people here were Pastor and Sis Smith who “crashed” the party, being they are still in the middle 40’s!!!) While some simply sat around and visited, relaxing after a long week, the rest were in the middle of playing games, laughing, and having fun. I learned who NOT to play cards with, because age DOES NOT always temper everyone. One of our group, a relatively newcomer to our church, was the oldest at our card table and really played cut-throat Skipbo. (I can hear ALL of you reading this say, “You have got to be kidding? Cut-throat Skipbo? You’re losing it, Kathleen.” Let me just say nyah-na, nyah-na boo boo to you!!!) Some had to leave early, while other closed the place down about 11:30.

11:30. Is that what I really said? Yes, 11:30. The party was over at 11:30.

Change. Who would have thought there would come a day when 11:30 was LATE and the party was over because we were tired? (I know there were at least a couple of us at this party that closed many a bars / dance halls singing “Happy Trails to You” at 2:00 am).

Oh, there were definitely the days then I would have laughed my head off, maybe even gotten a little riled, if ANY ONE would have even SUGGESTED that I would be playing Skipbo with a bunch of old Pentecostals. Deliver Me! You have got to be joking!

Change. Who’d a thought! Playing dominoes and Skipbo. Playing “Apples to Apples”. A bunch of adults sitting around a table playing “UNO”. AND HAVING FUN DOING THIS!!! Who would have thought it. Not me. I never thought I’d arrive at this point.

But, I have. We have. We’re here. We’re there. We have arrived. We’re arrived at the Real Senior Moment. What a change.

And, I think it is really a GOOD THING…

Now, I hate to be too corny, but here I go…

Change. I really am blessed with the wonderful life I have. What a change from where Paul and I were 31 years ago. While WE'VE have really changed, I would NOT change anything for the life we share today. We are a blessed couple and truly blessed parents!

I also am blessed with the relationship I have with God. I am so glad I met Him at an old-fashioned Pentecostal altar this summer 26 years ago. He changed my life so completely. Talk about change…

Change. There was a time that “change” for this mama simply meant another diaper. Now it is life changes. And the types of diapers that I had to change can also be indicative of some of the life changes. There are some that are really foul and everybody knows about it. But, just like the diaper, you got to change or face further dire circumstances.

Think about it: The “diaper rash” of life is truly a pitiful place to be…

(And, while I am at it, let me clarify something, too. For those politically savvy friends of mine, I am NOT talking about the Obama-type of change. I know you all knew that, anyway, HAHAHA) SO...

Change. Yeah, it’s all good…

One Month Down...

2008-07-12T21:26:00.006-05:00

I have really wanted to post an “update” on the old weight issue, but felt so incredibly vain or even silly doing so. First, it isn’t really anybody’s business / does anybody really want to know anyway. Second, I feel those people who read my blog are in “my sphere” and will say encouraging words whether they mean it or not, and lastly, I feel people will be cheering me on / fussing at me for my real thoughts in the matter.

After my first month at Curves, on the Kathleen’s Instead-of-Lapband-Procedure New Eating Agenda, I lost a grand total of 11 lbs and 6.5 inches.

Now, I know that is great, I know that “losing is better than gaining”, I know that “you have to start somewhere”, I know that “you didn’t put the weight on over night and you can’t take it off over night either”, I know that “to lose weight too fast means you’ll just gain it all right back”, etc etc etc. I know all of the platitudes. I’ve said them myself, or have already heard them.

But, the fact of the matter is, I have been very, very good, and I honestly was hoping for more drastic results. There, I’ve admitted my human-ness. In the entire month, I only “cheated” twice. Once at Andrew’s going-away party where I ate fried food, though I still measured them out. Second was another weekend when we went to San Marcos to see Matt and Adam. I ate “real” food all day instead of the protein drinks for two meals, however, I still ate only what I am supposed to eat, like salad and fruit and protein, AND I only ate the correct amounts. Another reason I felt I should have “lost big”, was I was really sick for about 3 ½ days with a bad stomach virus, and didn’t eat much at all.

Another issue with my “diet” is that I truly only lasted with liquid only for about 10 days. It was the pits, and if truth be known, after the initial big weight loss the first week, I started gaining, because except for the protein drinks, the broths, soups, and Gatorade-type drinks are loaded with sodium – I mean really loaded. For example, one day, I had two “Soup on the Go”, the non-lower sodium version, and those two little 11-oz containers had more sodium than I needed for the entire day. Back to plan B, C, or D.

I have modified my regimen to drink two protein meal-replacement kind of drinks for breakfast and lunch. For my other 2 snack times, I have fruit or raw veggies or I still have a soup or something, but the reduced sodium kind. I know that I need to keep my protein level up to maintain losing weight, too.

I LOVE Curves. It is fun, I’ve made “friends”, and it makes me feel like I’m in control or something. (we all know I’ve never been really in control of anything, but FEELING like you are is good). I have set some short-term and long-term goals – nothing too outrageous – and am working towards them.

Like most other “issues” in life, the Battlefield of the Mind is the greatest obstacle. I have my mind made up, and I know THAT is way more than half of the battle.

One month down…

11 lbs down...

It’s a long and arduous journey, but...

“it’s gonna be worth it all !!”

2008-07-07T07:45:00.005-05:00

A heck of a way to celebrate

It began quite innocently on Wednesday the 2nd. Like most mornings, unfortunately, I woke up not feeling quite all right. Not bad, ya know, just not right. I really do yearn for the days I can wake up and feel good. Went to work, just not into things like I usually am. Then about lunch time it started. I couldn’t stay out of the toilet. Barely made it home after work. Just couldn’t even leave to go to church.

It was important for me to be at work Thursday because the two bosses were going to be out of the office for most of the day, so I pulled myself out of the bed and went. Thankfully, it was incredibly slow because I felt very light-headed all day long – the proverbial “woozy”. Then about 2 o’clock the gags and the pukes started. Again, I barely made it home. I was really friendly with the toilet by now.

Friday, America’s Independence Day, the 4th of July. No, we don’t have really big plans, but I DEFINITELY planned to spend the weekend scrapbooking. The house was clean, the dinner bought, and I had pictures and great paper, and IDEAS. I couldn’t wait! Well, I spent the entire day, feeling like I had been run over by a truck. I hurt all over. I got up, took a shower, put on clothes and laid on the couch ALL DAY. The only activity I had was moving from one end of the couch to the other because my body hurt so badly and my legs were cramping constantly.

Melanie and David Hauser came for dinner that Stephen and Paul cooked. I did go to the table, but just couldn’t stay very long. Back to the couch. Soon it was dusk and every one went outside for fireworks that Melanie had brought. I got up and went to the glider on the porch. I couldn’t see very well. I tried one of the rockers. Still not a very good view of the festivities. So I went and sat on the porch steps. Not as comfortable as my sore body wanted, but I could see better.

About this time, Calla, our 12-year old, temperamental, cranky, generally old-woman-type cat sauntered up to get her back scratched. I scratched her neck, her back, and then her neck again, then stopped. She meowed, and moved around and I scratched her neck again. I stopped. And she turned around and BIT ME right on the thumb. I slapped at her and she didn’t quit – it was like she couldn’t retract her fang – it was embedded deep into my left thumb. IT HURT. I moved her head to get it out, she looked at me and meowed once more.

I went inside to the bathroom. There were about 6 puncture wounds all bleeding quite a bit. I pushed on them to get the bleed more, then I washed the area with lots of soap and water and then poured peroxide on everything. I was still bleeding, so I wrapped a bath rag around my thumb and went back outside for the rest of the fireworks. I can assure you though, IT HURT.

Saturday: I really didn’t sleep very well. I know it sounds really wussy to say my thumb hurt all night long, but it did. I woke up this morning with my thumb really swollen, and a long red streak from the puncture wounds to my armpit. The tenderness of the area was something similar to a deep fresh bruise. I was shocked. I fiddled around the house a little, and got dressed and Paul took me to the Urgent Care center where they were shocked that the bite was only hours old. The doctor said the cat must “really have a dirty mouth”. No, duh. This cat licks her butt and rolls in the dirt. He said that the infection was in my lymph system and needed to be closely watched.

Anyway, I got two high-powered shots: 1) an antibiotic, and 2) a steroid. Then the doctor gave me prescriptions for more of the same and told me to watch the streak and if it got worse to go to the ER and make sure I contacted my Dr on Monday.

Well, it is now Sunday night, and if you could see my hand and my arm, you would know that the FIRST thing I am going to do tomorrow is call my doctor. The streak is very dark, pronounced, and swollen now. The swelling is not only in my thumb, but also all over the back of my hand, into my fingers, and around my wrist. The redness is everywhere the swelling is. And the swelling is VERY tender. That is what is so strange, and makes this so miserable.

Miserable – that is exactly the word I want to use. Sounds very whiney, very pity-partyish, but is just the right word. I can’t sit because the two shot areas are quite sensitive and one’s even bruised. I’m tired of lying down because I’ve been there off and on for 5 days, and beside that, I can’t lay on my left side because it hurts my arm and hand. Whaa-whaaaaa. Miserable.

Can’t wait to hear what good ole Dr Maribeth says tomorrow…

Oh yeah, there was a very bright light in here somewhere – I GOT A LETTER FROM ANDREW!!! He’s happy, but homesick, yet doing very well!!!

And finally, hope you had a Happy 4th!

One Post Script: It has been a long and expensive Monday. The good news is that Calla did not knick the bone when she bit me;the bad news is that I'm not responding to the antibiotic like I should. They changed the meds, gave me another shot, plus a tetanus booster, and told me if things weren't better tomorrow, I would need to have my thumb lanced and drained, or else it wasn't going to start healing. I can't believe all of this!

Melanie asked me if I needed to have a serious talk with God to see what I had done to warrant this "attention". Thanks Melanie.

29 and Holding...

2008-06-30T22:33:00.006-05:00

This past weekend, Paul, Stephen, and I took our summer pilgrimage to El Rancho Cima to spend time with Adam and Matthew. They had just finished week #3 of summer camp, and by all appearances, are having a very successful experience.

Last Wednesday, June 25th, was Adam’s 29th birthday – the main reason for the mom and pop trip to camp. I was having MAJOR trouble believing I was actually old enough to have a kid that was 29 years old, if you know what I mean. Really. It seems like I was just a kid yesterday.

I remember calling my mama on Adam’s 5th birthday, upset that my “baby” was already FIVE YEARS OLD. She laughed her gentle laugh, and then told me it was no big deal, since her baby – me – was 30!!!

Adam was one loved little boy. Besides having a mama and daddy that were so excited about being parents, the GRANDparent element was beyond thrilled!!! My daddy was 44 when I was born, and 79 when Adam was born. His first grandchild at 79! You would have thought that there was not another child ever born. The ICING on the cake was the fact that Adam was a red head. Whoa! My dad was especially partial to redheads! Then we named this cute little redhead “Adam”. My dad was overboard in love with this kid for sure!!

Rogers Adams was something else. I could write for DAYS about him – The Reverend R. Angel Adams, as he was affectionately known. To quickly sum up my daddy, I feel it is safe to say he was a lousy husband, not particularly a good dad, but a FABULOUS Paw-Paw. He loved those boys of mine. He never tired to them at his house, loved to tease with them, watch TV with them, even play “Nuh Nin Toe” (his very weird way to say Nintendo – just to poke at the boys) with them. And while he was sick for the last 7 years of his life, from 1985 on, he wanted to be as involved in their growing up as he could.

Adam Paul Newton was born at 11:11 am. I promise you, and I am not at all kidding, nor even exaggerating, that every day from then on, when the digital clock on the TV read 11:11, my Daddy would say OUT LOUD, “Well, it’s 11:11.” Like it was some mystical time. It was a time that was as important as Dec 7, 1941, or his birthday, or something. What a difference one little boy made.

Paw-Paw never missed a birthday, either. Whether it was at the house or at Putt-Putt or Show Biz Pizza, he was there and right in the middle of things, too. Hey, are there any Putt-Putt golf places anymore? My boys had a blast playing, and they had good parties, too.

Hey, son, let me say that time surely has gone by very quickly. Scary sometimes, I might add. But let me take this time to say, 6 days late, but you know me…

Happy Birthday, to you!!!

Love you more than you'll ever know.

It really did happen...

2008-06-19T20:37:00.008-05:00

What can I say that hasn’t already been said!?!?

Let me repeat myself by admitting I am a very spoiled mama. And, I love it!

Thanks to my father-in-law, Andy Newton, for instilling in his oldest son a respect bordering on reverence for women in general, and wives and mothers in particular. By all accounts, it appears Andy was taught / demonstrated this quality by his dad.

Thanks to that oldest son, my wonderful husband, Paul, for loving me and continuing to exhibit this love and honor for wives and mamas to his sons for yet another generation to learn.

I know many mothers. All different kinds, from all different walks of life with different families, and with all different kinds of children. Few of them have the adult children that are as good to their moms as mine still seem to be to me. Again, I know I am “spoiled” .

This past Wednesday night, June 18th, Paul, Stephen, and I had a late dinner with Andrew and then just watched idly by as he walked away from us, through motel doors into the lobby and into a new phase of his life. Anchors Aweigh just doesn’t even begin to encompass the myriad of emotions that I am experiencing.

Everyone thinks that I am “worried” about Andrew’s choice of careers: the US Navy. No. Pure and Simple – No! I am so excited about this new venture. I know he is truly in the will of God, and He is in control. Andrew is going to have a blast. I just know it. Worry has never been a factor. That is not my problem.

I AM GOING TO MISS HIM!

There is no other way to say it. Few people know that he has always come by to see me once or twice a week. Ever since he graduated from high school back in 2000, he has managed to “swing by” and see me at work. Additionally, he, like Matt and Stephen, call me on a daily basis just to “check in” – see if I need anything, what I’m doing, etc. Andrew, like his daddy, tries his best to take care of the mama!!! Yes, I’m gonna miss him.

BUT, I AM NOT THE ONLY ONE THAT IS GOING TO MISS HIM!

He’s a great man. He is incredibly active in our church – besides playing an awesome bass guitar, he does many things “behind the scenes” that no one really knows about. He goes by a couple of times a week to “check on things” – make sure the sound is okay, make sure the microphones and the cords are still straightened (he’s very OCD about these things). He is there. He’s dependable, consistent, and trustworthy – to say the least.

He’s an AWESOME cook. He can turn a simple piece of chicken into a meal fit for the King. He doesn’t do meals very simply either – they are generally masterpieces of culinary delight. He makes the best cheesy-chicken fondue / dip. His hot sauce is renowned. No one can make an alfredo sauce quite like he can, either. I could go on and on, but suffice it to say, the boy can cook! My family is going to have to settle for Mama’s plainer-style of cooking again.

He’s a fabulous friend. You can tell him anything, and he will never repeat it. He will stand by you when no one else will. He has been known on many occasions to put his plans aside to be a friend to another. He will go to all kinds of extremes to help someone out – even put himself into fairly prickly places. We kid him that he’s a KISA – Knight In Shining Armor. There have been many girl “friends” that have needed help, needed a shoulder, needed a male with no pressures, and Andrew has been that male. Much to the consternation of many, though. Talk about some “prickly places”. Girls might say they just want a friend, but they lie. Girls might say no strings attached, but they lie. But Andrew still will help anyone who needs him.

He’s an incredible worker. All of his life he has been the “physical” child. He loves doing things – loves being busy. He can figure out “how-to” do just about anything, too. He has never been afraid to work, has an incredible work ethic. There are many people all over Montgomery County that when they need something done, they call Andrew.

I guess I need to shut up. I do not want to sound boastful or prideful, but I am one proud Mama. I really am.

Yes, I am going to miss James Andrew Newton. But, I AM proud of the man my son has become. Truth be known, I am PROUD of the men all of my sons have become. And, while Andrew has made his parents proud, and his friends and family also, I now know that he has the chance to do something bigger.

He can make his country proud.
Anchors Aweigh. I love you, son.

6 down... God only knows how many more to go...

2008-06-13T22:26:00.007-05:00

Let’s see. I really am enjoying this week. Oh, don’t be fooled. The trick to the lap-band surgery is that your stomach is cinched to about the size of a lemon instead of about the size of a football (the size of most “fatties” stomachs). With the surgery, you are “full” after drinking your 6-8 oz of protein drink, or eating your 6-8 oz of jello. Well, let me share with you that I have definitely, absolutely, positively - whatever is the buzz word that I am saying too much at the time - been HUNGRY!!! My arm looks good about 3 in the afternoon, or especially 11 at night.

BUT I HAVE MADE IT through week #1. Only going by the Curves scales – not my own or the ones at work – I have officially lost 6 ½ lbs. I worked out Mon – Fri (even went to a workout before Wednesday nite service. Just told people not to sit too closely!!! Hahaha!!!)

I HAVE MADE IT.

You have to understand. I hate, hate, HATE to sweat. Let me say that again. I HATE to sweat. I have NEVER liked to exercise. It was not even remotely close to anything I would want to do. Even in school, PE was my LEAST favorite subject. Oh, I did everything, and I could perform all of the activities well, always made great grades, it just wasn’t fun.

Now DANCING was another thing. I loved, loved, LOVED to dance. I started taking ballet when I was 5 years old and took either ballet, tap or jazz or a combination every year until my jr year in high school. I even took dance classes for all of my PE classes in college. And, of course, I danced my life away during my college years, too. In my quest to lose weight, since then, I’ve tried the “sweating to the oldies”, or the like type of exercise, but never very successfully.

I obviously needed to try something else…so…

Thankfully, this is different. Of course, I will admit, I have a different mindset than ever before. That is the primary difference. You know: the old battlefield of the mind problem. It takes waking up one morning and saying this is it!! But, the ladies at Curves have been great. They are encouraging, without being pushy, helpful without being showy. Moreover, there are other women there with great success stories to let you know “you can do it, too”. They play great “get up and go” music: some oldies, but mostly Christian music set to an up beat. I have to admit “Holy, Holy, Holy” or “Great is Thy Faithfulness” or “Amazing Grace” performed to “moving music” is a little much, even for me. Oh well, whatever works.

Now on to week #2.

Thirty Days

2008-06-05T22:07:00.003-05:00

I am definitely showing my vulnerability. Such an incredible way to embarrass myself completely. I am willing to take that chance…

Just today, I told a young friend of mine who is very new to the world of “blogging”, that I didn’t blog like most people: I didn’t write the daily goings on, or daily thoughts of my life. However, I still loved blogging. I started this journey using this writing as a vehicle for me to finally get my “stories” written down. You know, for posterity, and all of that. HAHA.

Point of Departure...

However, today marks a very important day to me. And, perhaps if I use a rather public forum to “announce” it, to talk about it, I will find success in my new venture.

I have struggled with my weight for 26 years now. No, that really isn’t true. It’s been a lifelong dilemma, just at different levels. I was “chubby” as a kid. Never ever fat, just more than I needed. I had a “normal” weight from about 12 to 17 years old. I gained a little extra weight in a fun summer in California before my Senior year. I got the extra pounds off very quickly and kept it off until my second baby. By then, I was 28 years old and it is not chubby anymore – but fat!!

I have added and subtracted, then added again, and find myself now at 54 years old fatter that I ever ever dreamed was possible. I have never had any health problems associated with the weight, until now. For all of my life, I have had low blood pressure. Too low sometimes, especially when I was having migraines. But, the opposite is oh-so-true these last couple of months. My blood pressure has been stroke level, and difficult to control.

I could elaborate here talking of other health issues, but there’s no need. Let it suffice to say there are some.

Oh, diets. I have tried them all. As a family, we try to eat very healthfully, I just like lots of healthy food. HAHA! I know it is almost past time to get serious.

Let me begin by saying my Dr is a very good friend. I like her a great deal, and trust her opinion. She feels that I am a prime candidate for lap-band surgery. She has already talked to my insurance and certified that the procedure in medically necessary, and therefore my insurance will pay for it.

I am not really sure this is what I want to do. So I have read everything I can find about the surgery, talked with several people that have had it done, talked with a surgeon yesterday.

Still, I am not sure. So, I decided that I would try to just “eat” the way one must eat after the procedure and see where that will get me. Think about it: you only get to eat 6-8 oz of food 6 times a day, with 64 oz of water “sipped” during the day. The first couple of weeks, perhaps even month, is limited to liquids and soft foods, protein drinks being a chief source of nutrition.

Come on now!!! If any “fatty” only drinks 48 ozs of “food” for about 6 weeks, one should definitely expect some changes. Right!?! So, I am going to try this first.

Oh yeah, I joined Curves today for 30 days.

So, on July 5th, my 30 days will be up with Curves and I will have completed 30 days of the Kathleen’s not-lap-band-non-surgery diet. It can’t help but be different.

Later…

Happy 31st Anniversary - 5/28/2007

2008-05-27T21:43:00.021-05:00

31 years!

Who can believe it!

Thirty-one years ago today, Paul and I were married. It was a sweet, simple, yet beautiful ceremony. We had planned and planned wanting everything to be “Just Perfect”, but we didn’t want to spend lots of unnecessary money. The day finally arrived. If you know me very well, for me to tell you the wedding started almost one hour late, you’re not surprised! But it really did start late…The florist was lost, and then didn’t bring the correct flowers. It was ridiculous! My poor mama was frantic, but I wasn’t too worried. I was so in love and so ready to get married to Paul, I didn’t care what happened.

I have so much to be thankful for that day. Paul is a God-given gift to me. God sent Paul into my life when I was definitely at the nadir of my existence. There were family troubles, failed relationships, worthless friendships, and life going haywire. However, when I reached that bottom, I remembered all of that Sunday School training and did the only thing I knew to do – PRAY. And honestly, while I was praying, telling God that I was ready to turn my life around, the phone rang, and it was Paul. I had met him about 7 weeks before, but had not heard from him at all. I was fairly taken with him the one time I met him, (in fact, I even called my mama the night I met Paul and told her I had met her future son-in-law! She told me to go to sleep and call her in the morning...) but wasn’t sure how he felt about me until he called. 17 months later we were married…

I have had a wonderful life being Paul’s wife. He has been so good to me, spoiled me mercilessly. He’s a fabulous husband, a wonderful daddy, a good provider in all ways, not just monetarily. Oh, he is not perfect. He’s anal, a major procrastinator, a “believer in compromise – as long as you do it his way” type of guy. He treats me like I’m 10 years old, and I hate it, but then if I wouldn’t act like I was 10, things would be different. HAHAHA.

Basically, our lives have been very equitably meshed together. I am the one who likes to be the center of attention; he doesn’t like attention. I like to be up front “being the star of the show”; he is definitely the behind the scenes worker. I like the whole cart and pony show; Paul is cleaning up after the pony. But it has worked so well for us. He has been my biggest fan, the “push” in my life. I don’t always have the best of self-confidence, possess limited self-esteem, but Paul has always believed in me. He helped me all of the way getting my Master’s degree, overcoming obstacles, and some serious collegiate departmental politics.

When we decided that I should be a “stay-at-home” Mama, he was there for me against the odds of most of our friends and family. He learned to love beans and rice so we could afford for me to stay home. He was my rock steady against ill winds when we chose a brand of parenting that was foreign to most people. He learned to love snuggling with his wife and his babies in a family bed. I could go on and on with examples of Paul’s love and support of me and our kids, but the greatest instance of this love was demonstrated from 1990 until 2007. Paul was my greatest support for my participation in the Christian education of our children. What a gift to me, what a gift to our children, and to others. What a wonderful man, what a magnanimous contribution he was willing to make.

It is simple: He had my back.

Last year, as we celebrated our 30th anniversary, we went out for desserts with our sons and their “others.” We had a wonderful time and we have the greatest pictures of the night to prove it! One of my favorite pictures is right here. I just thought it was “so cute.” However, as I truly looked over these pics with a more discerning eye, I noticed something else.

Yes, while I have basked in the knowledge of my wonderful husband always standing not only with me, standing not only for me, but my support system standing behind me, I now know how he’s survived.

He has made faces behind my back all of these years.

Who would believe this!!!

HAHAHA – I love it, and I love him!

(and he says he "hates" this picture - too bad!)

Happy Anniversary, Paul!!!

Blue, Baby Blue

2008-05-22T22:12:00.004-05:00

Just for you, APN---

How do people tell stories with laying the proper foundation!? This process makes my stories so much longer than they probably need to be, but…

No one, and I mean no one at all, advised Paul and me what the 3rd addition of a child would do to our family. With only 2 children, there is balance. There is one child for each of you. Or if mom is out by herself, she still has two hands – one for each child. What is a mama to do with baby #3? I know God made mothers to be able to master incredible feats, but face it – we only have 2 arms and 2 hands. Puts a whole new flavor to the ice cream…

Matthew was born October 1. He was such a beautiful baby boy, and such a GOOD baby. I felt so blessed, but still a little overwhelmed. Adam was in the first grade, had a VERY strict, anal teacher. So, even though he was an incredible student and NOT at all a discipline problem – in fact, he made “citizen of the month” the first month of school - mom forgetting to give him his lunch one day, and Adam not telling mom he needed more notebook paper because he didn’t want to bother her since she and the baby were tired, just pushed the teacher into orbit. In fact, she even sent him to the office, made him call home and “tell why he was in trouble.” Do I need to say how close the teacher and I became that year?!

It was right after Thanksgiving that Entergy sent Paul to California to go to a school. Great timing, huh! We missed him, but I have always loved Christmas, so to keep my mind occupied, I just jumped into the middle of decorating and getting ready. I thought it would be so cute to make all of the boys, and Paul, matching sweatshirts. I wanted them to have green shirts with a brown fuzzy reindeer on the front. They would look so cute. So, whatever “down” time I had I was sewing.

At that time, every Christmas, Entergy had HUGE Christmas parties for the workers’ families with children. It was a very big thing, too. Everyone came, there were NICE presents for the kids, food, fun and, of course, SANTA!!! I was a little nervous about going without Paul, but I knew other people that would be there and besides that, like I said, it was a very big event! No one wanted to miss it!

On the afternoon of the party, I finally got Matthew to sleep, and decided to take a shower and get myself ready ahead of time. Wanted to look festive, you know!

In a previous story, I introduced the Allison’s. This was one of the days that Christopher was at the house with Andrew. That should pique some interest. Things never were calm with the two of them together. (Let me interject that things weren’t calm with Andrew and Kyle together, or Andrew and Blaine together, or Andrew and Jerry together, etc. Do you see the underlying thread in all of these scenarios? Hm-m-m-m. Make no mistake. You’re right in your assumption!)

I showered, rolled my hair, listening for the boys the whole time. The sounds were “normal” household / play sounds for the most part. Then before you know it, it was just a little quieter than it should be. Of course, all mothers know that when things are quiet, or are “too” quiet – you have a problem.

However, I quickly knew things were all right, because I heard the Lego bucket getting turned over, sounds of play, and knew they were doing okay.

Mind you, I was a VERY attentive mom. Played right there with the boys most of the time. SO, let me assure you, a lot of time HAD NOT passed, yet.

Soon it was time for me to have to go get Adam from school. I needed to wake the baby, get Andrew and Christopher, and head down the street to Tyrrell. I walked into the room where Matt was asleep and the first thing I noticed was that the baby was NAKED. This was NOT the way I left him. The next thing that I saw was that he was BLUE. Yes, BLUE.

By way of story-telling, let me elaborate here: When Matt was born, he was not breathing, and was declared “dead” by the OB delivering him. He was the most intense color of blue I had ever seen – something I will NEVER forget! SO---

So---seeing him BLUE again just made my heart lurch into my throat, and I immediately rushed over to him. However, I then noticed that the BLUE was little circles each with a flower in the middle of it. Hm-m-m-m… I grabbed a blanket, wrapped the baby up, and went to check on Andrew and Christopher. Can’t imagine why I would suspect them of anything, huh?!

Those two little “darlings” had taken all of Matt’s clothes off him, and taken a STAMP marker and stamped him ALL OVER! I was livid. I “stormed” into the older boy’s bedroom, and there they sat. They looked like little meek lambs, playing contentedly in the middle of the bedroom building towers, or something.

I rushed into the kitchen and tried to bathe the baby as quickly as I could to get the marker off. Of course, this didn’t work in the slightest, for you see, I only bought quality toys, books, and “educational” presents for the boys. If it would have been “RoseArt” cheap stamps, I wouldn’t have had a problem. But, since I bought premium markers and stamps, adding water only made the blue circles RUN TOGETHER and absolutely cover the baby. I had a BLUE baby for sure, now.

OH NO!! I HAD A SMURF!! That is EXACTLY what he looked like. BABY SMURF had come to live at the Newton house. How exciting is that.

It didn’t stop the Christmas event from happening, and we all donned our new reindeer sweatshirts and went to Beaumont for the production. Kathleen, her 2 older boys, and their new Smurf baby.

The icing on this cake is when we got to the Christmas party – remember this is 1985 – it was beautifully decorated. They always went overboard making things special. And guess what the theme was ---???

Yes, you guessed right! It was Christmas at the Smurf village. Even Santa was “Papa Smurf”!

Everyone there just laughed and laughed, thought it was GREAT, and acted so surprised that I had dressed our new baby to match the theme. They really were probably thinking I was a lunatic to bring my obviously very sick baby with such a horrible breathing problem out in the cold weather. I don’t know. This is another one of those times that there are vague moments in my memory. Some things are probably for the best…

What I do know is that we had a good time, got cute toys, drank punch, and had bites of a giant Smurf cake. Plus, my three boys looked so cute in their matching sweatshirts, even if Matt looked like a Smurf. AND, thankfully, it gave me a chance to “cool down” and collect my thoughts, and Andrew and Christopher are still alive today.

I somewhere in my house is a picture of the cute sweatshirts. Who knows where, though...

2008-05-10T10:42:00.004-05:00

What do you want for Mother’s Day?

All of us moms know if you have to ask, we don’t want it. HAHAHA.

Seriously, though, I don’t want anything, I really don’t. I am at the age and time in my life that if I really do want something, I just get it. Of course, the fortunate part to this scenario is that I do NOT have extravagant taste – mine are not of the “Champagne taste” category. My wants are fairly conservative, and with the exception of dishes and scrapbook stuff, there aren’t many “things” I feel I just have to have. If I’m at the store and see a blouse I want and it’s ON SALE, and in my size, well, I’ll probably get it. If I see the newest Patterson or Steele book and it’s ON SALE, well I just might get it, too. But that’s about it.

HOWEVER, I CAN tell you what the

GREATEST MOTHER’S DAY GIFTS

really are. How do I know that? Well, I know what they are because I have gotten them recently. Here’s the list:

1. A trip home to spend the weekend, “just because”. Our oldest son lives in Northwest Houston, and like most almost 29 year olds, leads a very busy, involved life. He has started to make time about every 6 weeks or so, creating a weekend that he has free (probably loses money, too) to come home. Nothing fancy, nothing grand, just here with his family. (how many of you moms watched the NFL draft with your son? Talk about quality time! Or something like that!!!)
2. Surprised visits – the same son shocked the shinola out of me 2 years ago when he just showed up at church for Mother’s day festivities. Really made me cry and cry!!
3. A call of the telephone asking me where I am!!! What a wonderful change of circumstances. The boys want to make sure that I am safe!!!
4. The “I will meet you at the store” telephone calls. Stephen and Andrew are always “willing” to go with me to the store. This really isn’t true for, basically, their dad has trained them this way, I know. BUT, the flip side real TRUTH OF THE MATTER is - they do go!!! They are there for me. They know I hate to go by myself, and don’t like me to have to carry things out by myself.
5. The “what can I cook for dinner” phone calls!!! They’re great, too. Andrew has definitely spoiled his mama. Of course, it has been SO MUCH MORE than that, too. He has tried to take such good care of me, doing what he does best by keeping our house clean, dinners cooked, clothes washed and folded, etc during this past year of my dark abyss.
6. My red lap top bag. Matt, you did WELL with this one!!!
7. The fact that I have 3 chauffeurs. Especially, Stephen just will do what he has to do to take me where I have to go. I hate to drive anymore. (In fact, he has even driven me more than once to Port Arthur to see Bro and Sis DeLano. I know he was excited! NOT!)

CAN YOU TELL THAT I AM REALLY

THE QUEEN!

And recently, I got this gift:

Two years ago, Matt and I sat down and had a heart to heart talk about college. Adam and Andrew had flown through college, both doing incredibly well. (Adam is a given, and then Andrew did not even buy a book in the years he was at SHSU, worked 50+ hours a week, and then graduated with honors and a 3.5 GPA) Matt was trying to emulate his brothers, but wasn’t as successful. His hard-headed self was going to do it by himself – come hell or high water.

I told him of my mother, who very early in my education, realized I didn’t learn quite like everyone else. I was an auditory learner, and definitely a “hands-on” learner. I could read and read, but never completely understand and truly comprehend what I was reading. My mama taught me about flashcards, reading aloud to her or myself, writing down what I was learning, etc, etc. She spent many nights calling out spelling word, calling out tests, makings funny acrostics and acronyms to facilitate my memory. She was great. She was there all the way even through my Master’s Degree helping me learn and memorize. I graduated with honors with my BS and Summa Cum Laude with my MEd. She did something right.

I have tried to do the same. (It really helped in Bible Quiz – hahaha) I never minded studying anything to prepare the guys for a test. We have written, typed, sang silly songs, played games, etc. to help the learning process. So why would do anything different now. I tried to assure Matt that I was “in this for the long haul” and would do what it would take to help him.

Fast forward to May 2008.

It was late Monday night. Well, not really. It was early Tuesday morning. 2:30 to be exact. Matt had LOTS going on both in school for finals, and with his job as Program Director for El Rancho Cima Boy Scout Ranch. It had been a LONG couple of weeks of trying to get the “research paper from Hell” finished. And it is due today!!! The teacher wanted 15-20 pages, at least 10-12 sources. Matt and I have a system – he talks and I type. Granted, he talks a lot faster than I type, but after this long, we do “pretty good”. He has his own definite style of expressingly himself – getting his opinion across - so I have to pay close attention to type it correctly. (if you know what I mean!)

I was exhausted. It had been several nights of this. We finished. I left the office for him to go through the paper one more time reviewing for any overlooked errors, for the paper to be copied, and things shut down for the night. I went to lie down on the couch. I was fairly “wound up” and knew I couldn’t go to bed immediately, or I would twist and turn and disturb Paul.

Matt walked into the living room, went to the door to leave to go to his room, turned, and said, “Good night, and thank you, Mama.”

He quickly opened the door. Then, just as quickly, he shut it. He walked over to the couch, stood right in front of me and said, “I hope you know I really do love you, Mama.”

There is NOTHING at the mall

that can compete with this.

I love you guys, and THANK YOU Paul, for being the best husband and daddy, and for helping me become the mama that I am.

Happy Mother’s Day to Me!

And of course to all of the other mother-type people in my life.

Yes, he still has 10 toes - big and hairy now, but still 10 toes!

2008-05-01T00:38:00.005-05:00

What in the world are you talking about, Kathleen, one might ask. Well, this is a Matt and Stephen story…

I don’t think there are many “visitors” to this blog that don’t already know my family-know my sweet husband, my 4 great boys - but for those who are not long time friends, I felt I needed to write a Matt or Stephen story to “introduce” more of my family. Of course, I also don’t need any more “sibling rivalry” in my household, so I am attempting the more “well-rounded” approach.

And while this story seems slightly far-fetched, it is quite true – only at the Newton Nut House…

Matthew was only 14 months old when I found out I was pregnant with baby #4. Matt was such a great baby. Beautiful. Such a cute little boy with white-blond hair. Sweet face and the sweet disposition. Gorgeous smile that one saw ALL of the time! “Sheer bliss and happiness.” He was such a great baby, and only 22 months old when Stephen was born.

Matt had been sick over the weekend and first thing Monday morning, I called the doctor for an appointment. I was very pregnant, and had been having LOTS of labor pains for several days, so the pediatrician got me into the office as quickly as possible. My mama gave over to watch Adam and Andrew, and my friend Cinda Aery came to drive me and Matt to the dr’s office. It was there that things really got exciting…

While standing at the dr’s office signing Matt it, be quickly became completely evident that before too long the Newton’s number 4 baby would be here.

Having 3 previous labor and deliveries that went quickly, we all knew that this delivery would be maybe too quick. My doctor, knowing that I hated hospitals and detested a great deal of medical intervention with my babies, made me promise to get to the hospital as soon as possible – he didn’t want me to have the baby in the car. So, as soon as Paul made it home, we were off.

Of course, things never go as they seem and even before birth Stephen it should have been evident that Stephen was going to do things his way. If only we would have seen more of the signs – hm-m-m. Hindsight is always 20/20. Just kidding, Stephen. But, in reality things were and still are definitely different with him. I basically had 3 very easy births with the other boys, but some HOW, some WAY, Stephen got just enough sidewise during labor that he wasn’t able to come down the birth canal. The dr, just laughed – really – said that is was impossible. For once the baby was engaged in the birth canal it couldn’t just move out of it and move around, but alas, this baby #4 did! We tried EVERYTHING known at the time to get the baby to move back into position, turn, do something, but it wouldn’t budge. We knew that it was a large baby, and that was why it was having trouble moving - there wasn’t room. Things went from ”this is different”, to we have a “crisis on our hands” and I was rushed off to the OR for an emergency caesarean section.

My OB and our pediatrician were both fabulous doctors, and while very conservative in their medical approach, were very progressive in thought. Everyone agreed that barring any problems, I would immediately have the baby, we would return to the room, and after the first 24 hours, I could go home to my family – back to my “sheer bliss and happiness.” I was concerned with Matthew because at 22 months, he had never been separated from me. Well, not only did the quick labor turn into a fiasco, I have several other major problems and my 24-hour stay was now on day 3. While we had been very pro-active in getting the boys ready for the “new arrival, and while Mama and Paul had brought the boys up to the hospital to see me and the “new baby,” Matthew would have NOTHING to do with me. He wouldn’t talk to me, or look at me or let me hug him. I was devastated. I could just look into his face and read, “You left me, and not only have you not come home, I come to see you, and here you are piled up in the bed, I can’t lay on you and snuggle, and NOW there’s this little THING with you”. Very upsetting for everyone, to say the least. I begged my OB to let me go home to my family, and he agreed. Finally, we were on our way to “sheer bliss and happiness”…

I definitely was “bright enough” to not walk into the house holding the baby. I went in loving on the boys. Matt very shyly seemed to be coming around, and soon we made it to the living room and he immediately snuggled up with me on the couch. Yes, the “sheer bliss and happiness” is going to still be right here. No sibling rivalry at the Newton’s!

Being so actively involved in many mothering and parenting organizations, my boys were around other’s babies all of the time. I had always cautioned them to not hold the babies’ hands, but they could pat their little feet. Matthew was so sweet. He kept coming up to me as I was holding Stephen in my arms, patting me and patting the baby. It wasn’t long before he asked to “kiss the baby’s feet”. Isn’t this just too cute! I am ecstatic! My wonderful family of all boys living in “sheer bliss and happiness.” Couldn’t get much better. So, with that cute, innocent little smile of his, Matt SWEETLY took Stephen’s little foot in his hands and began kissing his toes.

Suddenly, with lightening speed, he bared his teeth and sunk them down into Stephen’s toes! Stephen started SCREAMING; Matthew started SCREAMING; I was horrified, and felt like SCREAMING.

HE BIT HIS TOES. AND HE NEARLY BIT THEM OFF!!!!! If you don’t know, I will tell you – babies little toe bones aren’t completely calcified and “attached” to the feet. And Matt bit the toes right at the joint where they should attach to the foot.

NOW MY BABY HAS 3 TOES JUST DANGLING ON THE END OF HIS FOOT BY MERE STRIPS OF SKIN.

Of course, there is Daddy to the rescue. He takes Stephen, wraps his foot up (little if any blood involved), I get Matt into my lap to settle him down, and after an interminable length of time, we assess the damage and decide that a hospital visit might be necessary to stitch the toes back on the foot.

Needless to say, we were received with many chuckles and downright laughs at the ER! After a couple of stitches in 2 little toes, we are back home.

I would LOVE to say that everything was “sheer bliss and happiness” after that one incident, but I would definitely be lying. We had never had a playpen with the first 3 boys, nor had we used a baby bed since Adam was about 9 months old. However, it wasn’t long before I had to use both: Not to keep the baby “in” something, but to keep Matt “out” from the baby. He would sit on Stephen, lay down on him, put LOTS of covers or pillows over him, put LOTS of toys on him – need I go on. I had to do whatever I could to keep the baby safe. Matt always assured me the baby wanted the covers, the baby wanted him to jump on him, etc. It was a trip! Yes, I could go on, to the story about the broom and the Dr Scholl’s shoes, but those are for later. Don’t want to overload you with too much fun at one sitting…

And here we are, 20 years later. And while the implements of “torture” have changed, the attitudes haven’t. Oh, I have NO doubt that they love each other, and, as brothers, have each other’s back, but they are still a trip! They still can’t get along very well. They just now have MUCH to say to each other about EVERY thing. Don’t believe me? Just ask all of the people that sit behind us at church.

Rev Guy C Broadway - and Old Soldier...

2008-04-17T23:08:00.003-05:00

General Douglas McArthur, one of America’s most formidable, prominent, and memorable military leaders, in a speech given before a joint session of Congress during the Korean war, made the line from an old army ballad quite famous. He felt he was talking the heartbeat of the military.

At 54 years old, I have known quite a few guys in the military – from old boyfriends, to cousins to uncles, now some students. Every one of my mother’s six brothers served in the military. Even Paul and his dad and Paul’s brother David all served in the military. All branches of the armed forces have been represented in my acquaintances. Some serve their minimum time, others “Lifers.” Let it suffice to say that many men I have known in my life had donned the uniform and served their country. Mostly with pride and a true sense of duty.

They might have served in the military and were soldiers at the time, but none of them was what I think McArthur was talking about when he made his speech. The type of soldiers of days past is not the soldiers we know now. And, whether that is for the best or not is not the topic of this writing. And, I do not know if McArthur’s saying is true or not. I’ve never had the chance to know any US Military type of soldiers at the end of their lives.

Before a packed room, McArthur quoted the ballad - instantly making the words famous: “Old soldiers never die, they just fade away.” However, I can say one thing for sure:

McArthur didn’t know the

Rev Guy C Broadway!

Bro Broadway was definitely a General in the Lord’s Army. A true Soldier of the Cross. Such an example of how we all must join and serve. As he once reminded me – “ya know, girl, (his name for me), once you are a front-line fighter in the Lord’s Army, there’s no turning back. In fact, there’s no R&R in God’s Army. We just fight!”

Even in his last year, full of hospitals, doctors, and sickness, anyone that knew him KNEW there was no way that Bro Broadway was going to “fade away” in any way, shape, or form.
Ø his wit and humor never faded
Ø his sparkle in his eyes never faded
Ø his work ethic never faded
Ø his LOVE for his beautiful wife, Rachel, never faded
Ø his desire to ONLY serve the Lord never faded
Ø his desire to win souls never faded
Ø his LOVE and complete DEVOTION to his Lord and Savior Jesus Christ NEVER NEVER NEVER faded.

And let me make one fact perfectly clear, he wasn’t just going to “fade away” from life, his church, his friends either. Even on his deathbed, he masterminded his last days – the cleaning of his yard, the goings on around the house – he was still in control. Why, he even orchestrated his own funeral.

Fade Away! I don’t even think so.

And let me say one more thing I know for sure: Rev Guy C Broadway will NEVER just “fade away” from any of our memories. Talk about making an impression. You didn’t just “meet” Bro Broadway. He was kind of like an “experience.”

And yes, while people for 50+ years have spoken of Gen McArthur, and his name is in history books all across America, I can say even more about Bro Broadway. Yes, I will also say that he was definitely a “formidable, prominent, and memorable leader” in God’s Army of Truth. People across Texas, the South, even the US know who Bro Broadway was. Everyone knows a story to tell about him, knows one of his stories or his jokes.

But more importantly, the Rev Guy C Broadway’s name is also written down for all of history - The Eternal life kind of history. And his name is in a book, too, for you’ll find his name written down in the most precious, most important book – The Lamb’s Book of Life.

As Promised: An Adam Story

2008-04-10T20:20:00.005-05:00

Again, some background info: Mary and Ellis Martinez were probably our dearest friends in Port Arthur. Mary and I met at a La Leche League meeting, Adam was just months old, as was her Christina. Their birthdays are only 4 days apart. It was an instant bonding. We truly were inseparable after that – everyone knew that if you couldn’t find Mary at home, call Kathleen, and vice-versa. Our Andrew was born in Feb of ‘82, their Erik in Nov of the same year. More bonding… Not only did we have our kids in common, we both loved kids period, plus, we both loved to sew and craft, loved to cook, loved our families, and were “stay-at-home mothers”. (that moniker is a joke, because Mary and I were so busy with our kids and families we were never home – hahaha!) And – hey, Mary – we Newtons all remember that huge Lincoln you use to drive all over town. And then the potty in the van. Carne guisado at “Grandma Liscano’s. Dickens. Renaissance Festival. What memories… Oh well, back to the story…

I really am not sure what year it was, but it was September. Time for the Mexican Heritage Fiesta in Port Arthur. Mary’s children had always danced in the fiesta as soon as they were old enough. She and I have made many a gorgeous costumes for the occasions. Christina’s “ribbon dress” was my all time favorite – the hardest, yet the prettiest! Mary and I would spend time together sewing and making while the kids played. Adam and Christina were quite alike in their ways, as were Andrew and Erik. Made for two “two-somes” of friends. We were all entertained. Even when the Newtons added extras, they all seemed to fit right in together.

The festival was held each year at the Port Arthur Civic Center. We would go for practices and for fittings, and then, of course, for the fun. This story centers on one HECTIC day. Everything was going way too fast, there were many things left to still do, and precious little time to get it all done. Mary and I and the kids were at the Civic Center, and so were lots of our friends working and trying to get everything readied for the activities. We had worked quite a bit, we were all tired, but with much to do later. It was time to go. Time to round up the kids – the easy part, and get all of our stuff together to go home – the hard part.

We were trying to get everything together in one place – the lobby. We got the 4 older kids and asked them to stand together, outside, right outside the lobby doors while we grouped more stuff together and carried it to our cars. Suddenly it began to POUR!!! I mean really coming down. “Pitchforks and shovels” or “cats and dogs” whichever best describes the downpour. Mary and I rushed to get to the cars, and rushed back to the kids.

Now guess what we found?!? Out in the middle of the rain stood Adam and Christina. Andrew and Erik were nowhere to be seen. We grabbed the very WET kiddoes, and went inside to see 2 DRY little boys standing right by the door, waiting for us.

.
Why were Adam and Christina standing in the pouring down rain one asks?!? Well, that is where they were told to stand. They were doing what they had been told to do. Compliant, sweet, mindful children. The 2 dry kids – well, one could easily say they had the “common sense to come in out of the rain”, which they did. They also knew well enough to not go “off” somewhere in the Civic Center. While neither Adam nor Christina had a self-righteous bone in their bodies, they knew that those two little boys should get in trouble for not minding. It was worth getting wet if it meant doing what you were told. In fact, they told Andrew and Erik to do what “mama said”, but they wouldn’t listen. Of course, that wasn’t a news flash, either.

What’s a mother to do! This was not a win-win or lose-lose situation. AND, these situations and the appropriate responses are not ever described in “The Big Book of Mothering”. Don’t have a copy? Oh well. We did the only thing we knew to do, what we hopefully did the best: Just mothered them. We dried the wet ones off, got clean clothes for everyone, gave everyone a good snack to “hold ‘em” until dinner, told everyone we were proud of them – and then we loved them all – just the way they were, and ARE!!!

4-year-old's view of a Wesson oil party...

2008-04-05T16:34:00.004-05:00

Since there are so many events that happened in the Newton household that I deem worthy of a “story” that include the Allison clan, I felt I needed to include some “background information” before I tackle another story. John and Mary Allison were not only our neighbors, but also our dear friends. I watched their children for years while they both worked. We camped together as families. We were involved in Scouting together – John, aka Yogi, was even Adam, Andrew, and Matt’s Scoutmaster for some period in there. I even spent many a midnight hour sewing motorcycle handlebar grips for John’s fledgling company “Wrap-on Industries.” Great times.

They had three sons: Wesley, who was 9 months older than Adam; Christopher, who was 8 months older than Andrew, and Michael who was 7 months younger that Matt. That made for 3 pairs of great buddies. More great times.

It is Christopher and Andrew who win the prize for most stories. I can promise you – what one didn’t think of the other did. They were a force to be reckoned with when they were together. They were very ingenious – clever, resourceful, creative – in their play, to say the very least. They were definitely outdoor boys, too. And we were outside as much as possible. I folded clothes outside. I had a 50 ft extension on the phone cord so I could talk outside. I even had a table sturdy enough so I could sew outside. Anything to keep Andrew, and Christopher, busy. Therefore, it is this beautiful springtime that always brings to mind most of their more unusual tactics.

We had a fence around our yard in Port Arthur. It was NOT necessarily built to keep people out – it was built to keep Andrew in. He was a master at escape. Whether it was carefully watching the cat to see what “holes” the cat maneuvered through to get out of the yard, and quickly following, to learning very early how to unlock the best of “childproof” devices. He was ready to go.

It was Spring Break 1986. As with many Spring Breaks that I can remember, it RAINED! Here you have kids at home and neighborhood kids at home, so everyone can play, and it rains. No outside for the guys. That “Go” that Andrew had inside of him needed some release. That’s the beginning of an “uh-oh”.

Since Mary was a schoolteacher, she was home. Adam was down at the Allison’s playing with Wesley; Christopher was with Andrew at our house. Matt was just a 5-month-old baby. Such idyllic life, huh. I don’t remember the time or necessarily the sequence of events surrounding this story, but I do know that I went into my bedroom to lie down and nurse the baby where it would be quieter. It was the quiet that was soon disturbing…

We had a big old house in Pt Arthur, but as a mother, I had learned most of the “sounds” that the kids generated. There were “play” sounds that came from the different rooms. However, it was soon almost too quiet in the other part of the house. Then I started hearing a very muffled giggle. I got up; sneaked quietly down the hall to get a peek at what the guys were doing.

THEY WERE HAVING A SLIP AND SLIDE “WESSON OIL” PARTY IN MY KITCHEN! How, you say. Well, they had opened a huge bottle of Wesson oil and poured it all over the vinyl floor. Then, they had taken off their clothes and were slipping and sliding everywhere. I had a big old kitchen and they were taking full advantage of it. They were having a great time.

I realized very quickly that I was NOT going to have a “Great Time” cleaning up the mess, but I really hated to stop their fun. I have to be honest and say I really wasn’t happy at all, though. What an INCREDIBLE mess, and what messy boys.

I scooped them up, put them in the tub with this wonderful product that would strip grease off anything, but was “earth friendly.” Then squirted this same product all over my kitchen floor and began the clean up.

Again, I must admit I don’t remember the specifics of the clean up – I really don’t. Especially after all of these years, my memories are somewhat selective: I like to remember to “good times.” What I best remember about this day was two naked little boys, all shined up and glistening, with eyes sparkling and twinkling over their chubby little hands that are covering their mouths so I wouldn’t hear their squeal of laughter, jumping, running, twisting and sliding all over the kitchen floor.

Oh Lord! What a mess. But, what a day. Why didn’t I have a camera back then? Thanks for the memories…Great life – great times!

Anchors Aweigh for real!

2008-03-31T23:12:00.002-05:00

I learned something the other day. After years of only singing a song, having never seen the words to said song written down, I learned that the Navy’s Service Anthem is “Anchors Aweigh,” not “Away”. Gee, you can learn something reading your son’s newest literature left lying around the house.

“Hm-m-m-m”, one might say at this juncture. What is Navy reading material doing at the Newton home? Well, I am the proud mother of a brand new Sailor. Sailor? Seaman? Recruit? I’m really not sure just what to call Andrew these days. But he DID just join the Navy. Am I shocked? Yes, as shocked as shocked can be? But I also know just how much this mama, plus his daddy and his brothers and family and friends, etc. have been praying for Andrew’s job situation and for direction and for his future these last 9 months.

And YES! I do believe this is the divine will of God for his life. God’s word admonishes us after we’ve done all we can to stand and see what God can do. Well, I am ready! I can barely wait to see what God has in store for Andrew. It’s gonna be GREAT!

When I realized I had always assumed the spelling as away, like the anchors were gone, or at least going, and it was the different spelling, I had to admit I really didn’t know what “aweigh” meant. So, like the good student / teacher that I am, I immediately went to the internet to look up the definition of the word “aweigh”. What I found was profound to me…

And (drum roll, please) “aweigh” means by the Navy’s definition that the “actions has been completed. The anchor is “aweigh” when it is pulled from the bottom and the event is noted”. Another definition is that “the anchor is clear of the sea bottom and that, therefore, the ship is officially underway.” Or better yet, Merriam-Webster dictionary succinctly defines aweigh as “raised just clear of the bottom, and ready to move on.”

Anyone who knows anything about what Andrew – all of us that love him, too – has gone through these last months will shake their heads with me in agreement – this is it. This truly is IT! This is PERFECT.

So, as of tonight, with our newly enlightened vocabulary, it isn’t simply “Anchors Aweigh” we’re shouting at the Newton house, it’ll be “ANDREW AWEIGH”.

They are simple words to a very old hymn, but they are truth.
"Have Thine own way, Lord
Have Thine own way.
Thou are the Potter,
I am the clay.
Mold me and make me,
After thy will.
While I am waiting --
Yeilded, and still."

He’s raised you from the bottom and you’re ready to move on – with Him.

Love you, son. You’re a worthy man. You’re gonna have a blast! And yes – I am one proud mama!

And YES – you will look good in a uniform. HAHAHA!!!

"I'm baa-aa-aack..."

2008-03-29T13:46:00.001-05:00

Oh, I’ve really missed this…blogging. Who’d a thought!?!?! I really loved telling stories about my family. I’m such a blessed woman having these men in my life. Truly a queen’s life…

For Erin, my newly-found friend, and Adam, not only my son, but my friend, I want to thank you for your continued encouragement. Erin, I honestly hope I have the honor and privilege of getting to meet you face to face someday. Your love and the love of God that shines through you has been a shining light to me in this terrible darkness of depression. Never, honey, will I ever be able to thank you for what possibly is just being you. You have the gift. I know by reading your blog that you and I are on such different life paths with different aspirations and different thoughts about many issues. However, I also know that reaching out, loving others, and trying to truly be a Jesus to those that may never see Him or know Him anywhere else is not only your heartbeat, but for years was also mine.

There was an old song that said, “When any one looks at me, let them see Jesus…Let me be the reflection of His love and mercy…” That was my theme song for so many years. It was why I did what I did – Why I taught mothering classes for 11 years. Why Paul and I encouraged other young couples to make Jesus first in their marriage. Why I went to WIC clinics to help young mothers learn to mother their children. Why I cared for so many children while their own mamas worked. Then ultimately, why I gave my life to Christian schools for 17 years. I will never forget what Jesus has done for me, and I wanted someone – everyone – to have such a wonderful life.

Now, the problem is what to do next. As I am seemingly climbing out of the dark abyss, not only again, but also hopefully for the last time, I stay poised and ready for God to move and open all of the fabulously wonderful doors for me to walk through – or run gracefully through, with this fully, wispy dress on, my hair loose in the breeze as I gently glide into this heavenly place. In my simple little mind’s eye of the child I really am, that is what I expect. That is what I really have expected to happen these last 12 months. (it seems more like 12 years ago that Paul and I told the Smith’s that I would be resigning at school). Of course, silly girl, dream on…

As I look into the reality of it all is I don’t think it’s happening that way. During the years of teaching high school aged kids, they always questioned me about how to know what direction God was taking them – what did they need to do to know what direction to go. I always told them to just keep on walking, don’t give up, and always staying “right”, for the steps of a right person will be ordered by God. He will direct your paths. His word says so, and He can’t lie.

I have been trying to take my own advice and just keep on walking. In the natural or physical realm, I have tried to start walking trying to help with the weight issues and the health issues, yet I have hurt my right leg, rupturing a varicose vein deep in the calf muscle. It is quite painful, and has seriously hampered the walking. I am not going to let it truly stop me, though. When I am trying to move, it is quite slowly, but I still am moving.

OK, God. In my spiritual realm, I will keep on moving. Maybe it is slower than it should be, but You and I know I have not given up, I’ve not turned at all. Been the proverbially “down and out”, but still here. I just know I must stay “right” and keep on moving. Baby steps sometimes, but moving thus the same…

While I am here, let me thank a few more people for being there for me:
§ Of course, Paul, who truly doesn’t understand at all why my brain works the way it does, but has loved me through it all and encouraged me to simply just get out of bed some mornings. HAHAHA.
§ My family for just continuing on and on. Andrew, you’re the best cook I know!!!
§ Mickey Blagg, for honestly and truthfully being the brightest light in my world. Thank you and thank you more for just being you, and loving me and my family.
§ Bro Guy C Broadway and his beautiful wife Rachel – who have been prayer warriors for me. How selfish of me to be needy of them this last year, but they have been there for me in ways unimaginable to others. My favorite Broadwayism: “just get up, put on your pants, and live for God. It is that easy.”
§ Melanie, not only my boss, but my bestest type of buddy. She loves me in spite of myself. Thanks for knowing that 8:34 or 8:37 was my kind of 8:30. hahaha!
§ And of course, my sisterhood – Amanda and Joyce – who through their own seemingly insurmountable trials of late, have loved me and have even become my “walking buddies” (or is that hop-a-long buddies, or strolling buddies, or sit and wait for Kathleen buddies, hm-m-m-m)

And NOW
On with...

MY STORIES

Again, sorry for the months and months delay, but hopefully you’ll stay for the rest of the journey…

To Err is Human, or something like that...

2007-11-03T21:07:00.000-05:00

My apologies to my myriad of readers (smile). I did not realize that I had inadvertently stopped anyone from commenting on my new posts. I know everyone is feeling writer-deprived by the mistake.

I really do consider myself fairly technologically minded -- semi-computer savvy with heavy emphasis on the semi part. However, I read the instructions erroneously, I guess.

Thanks to APN for emailing me my faux pas. Hopefully everyone will now flock to the site and read all about the Newton Nut House and Fine Emporium, and COMMENT. I want everyone who reads this blog to know I have a few friends. HAHAHA

Hey, APN -- did I ever tell you that even intelligent, educated people in the 40's and 50's pronounced "faux pas" as "fox paw". There was even some kind of story explaining why a "fox paws" was a social blunder -- poor fox what did he do...

Now, on with Act II, Scene 1...

Ode to Witch Hazel

2007-10-31T00:54:00.000-05:00

It was October 31, 1921. Late. It was the night of a full moon, too. Into a family of 3 children, a little girl was born. She was a tiny thing, but with a big voice. Her grandpa was there for the “birthin’”. He looked into the face of the brand new baby, and said she was an “old soul”. She had probably lived for hundreds of years. She had a shock of red hair, and right out of the womb, she had the “darkest of brown eyes”. He proclaimed that “red hair and brown eyes was a sign of the devil” – she was a witch -- and being born on a full moon verified that thought. He named her Jezebel.

Isn’t that a HORRIBLE tag to place on a beautiful baby girl! Her mama stood up against the older man and reminded him that they were a Christian home and they would NOT be naming a baby Jezebel! He backed down after about 2 days and named my mama “Jessie Beatrice”. She went most of her life as “Jessie B”. Pretty close to Jezebel, if you ask me…

That’s the beginning of the story for my mama: Jessie Beatrice McMahon Adams. A witch. Back in a time in our very recent past when no one thought anything evil about Jessie saying she was a witch. Boy, you go around nowadays saying your Sunday School teacher, or PTA President, or Camp Fire leader, or Cub Scout Den Mother, or even just your favorite hairdresser was a WITCH. Different response all together. Hm-m-m-m…

Paul even joked about the fact that he was probably the only man that could call his mother-in-law “an old witch” and get away with it!!!

But there couldn’t have been a woman further from a witch, or even a bad person. She was love personified. Good, kind, meek, gentle, a wonderful mother, a giving wife, the best of friends. But she’d tell you she was a witch, after all, and once a year she would try to prove it!

She loved Halloween and dressing up as “Witch Hazel”. It was her mission once a year to actually turn into Witch Hazel and see just how many people she could trick! You see – she was good!!! She already had this red hair! Plus, she had red hair pieces that had been made from her own hair that she had weaved into forms when she would cut her hair. She let them fall naturally down her back, and being “real hair”, they were dry from age, so they stuck out down her back.

She had this slinky black skirt that had about 8 gores made into it that would ripple when she turned. She had “lacy leg” hose that I have no idea where she got such an item in the ‘50’s. They were really something else – really lacy legs – but she said all of her spiders weaved them for her. She had an incredible black thigh-length jacket with lots of pockets she had sewn into it to put extra spiders, webbing, candy, or whatever.

She made this fabulous nose out of silly putty and put it on her face, under her glasses, and then coated her face and nose with green face powder. (that she bought at Bluestein’s – who’d a thought!!!) She added a few extra warts for effect, plus spider earrings, necklaces, and other jewelry. Plus she had made this fine witches hat. Out of satin, nonetheless, too

She was so very real looking. And she was GREAT!!!

Then off she would go to Port Arthur public schools. She would pass out candy and let the kids talk to her spiders, and talk to them about being safe on Halloween night. She was a “good witch”, and wanted them to be “good little goblins”, too. She was the best.

This went on every year. All through the 3 of us kids being in school, and after we were grown and had left. She even came out to West Hardin when I was teaching there for a huge Birthday party in her honor. She loved it!

Few people can imagine what it was like for her when her grandchildren were in Port Arthur schools and she was told she couldn’t come to school any more. Halloween had become too real, too scary, and too violent for them to bring a “witch” to school. The school board had spoken.

She was devastated. How could anyone not want Witch Hazel to come and love on the kids and tell them to be safe. She was truly wounded. However, in true Jessie-style, she rebounded quickly. Surely there was someone that would appreciate her venture. And there were – the area nursing homes and facilities welcomed her with open arms. She had a calling once again. For a while she even talked Andrew into dressing up life a cat and being “Felix” along with Hazel. What a pair!!!

Not one to “celebrate” Halloween myself, but…to the one and only Witch Hazel…

Happy Birthday, mama. Words can never express how much we all miss you. You were the greatest mom in the world. Thanks for showing me the way towards motherhood. I can only hope and pray I have influenced my children as much as you did me…

Off/On/Off/On

2007-10-27T15:44:00.000-05:00

Growing up in Port Arthur, TX during the 50’s, 60’s and 70’s appears to have been an interesting time. Janis Joplin and I didn’t share the same perspective of my hometown. I lived a rather idyllic life, perhaps truly with my fingers in my ears saying “nyah-nyah-nyah” and not paying one bit of attention to what was going on around me. Or at least that is what my brothers think. I never had even heard of the term “refinery mentality” until I was grown. I had no idea that people thought less of Port Arthurans, or that we were suspected to be rough or trashy. Never crossed my mind. I was just living the life: growing up, going from watching Gunsmoke to the Monkees on TV, being in Blue Birds and Campfire, dance lessons from “Mr Johnny”, piano lessons, going to Central Baptist Church and involved in every facet of church life, touring with Melody Maids, loving school, and liking boys. (It was always the boys that kept me in trouble beginning in 1st grade. I had to sit in the corner for kissing Jimmy Hughes behind the boiler house at Lee elementary school. It went kinda down hill from there, I guess. But this is DEFINITELY another story!)

On the surface, my parents were fairly typical parents, too. Mother was involved in our lives, doing all of the right mother stuff. One major difference, however was that mother worked. None of my other friends’ moms worked. Mine did well, too. Made good money, too. Daddy worked at Texaco, always working shift work, plus he always had a second or third job. He loved money, and loved to spend it, too. My parents and their money. I never truly understood it, I always guessed it was living during the Depression and being old enough to be affected by the loss AND remembering it!.

I really can never remember much “cussing’ growing up. My daddy threw a few of “damns” and “hells” around when things were tense at home, and I actually remember him getting mad at some parents that he felt were neglecting their kids and called them “lazy SOB’s” however with words included. But my mama simply abhorred dirty language. The end. Or it was until we kids got older and cussing was the way to express yourself and be cool. Or so we thought.

My brother, Kelly, was the first to try to get away with cussing in front on my mama. I would say he was a brave soul, but he wasn’t – just nervy! He got mad and said, “that just pisses me off”. Well my mother, in her soft ways, just looked him DIRECTLY in the eyes and said, “Well, Kelly, I’ve found that it’s always better to be pissed off than to be pissed on”. Talk about shutting a mouthy teenager up!Think about that next time you say the phrase...Hm-m-m-m. Whole new perspective, huh.

The next one to try to “mouth off” in front of Mama was my friend Vikki. I could never imagine Vikki getting sassy enough with my mom, but she did – once. She was standing by the back door and said “S—T”. With her typical sleekness, Mama looked at Vikki (yes, directly in the eyes) and said, “You know, Vikki, I wouldn’t have that on my shoe, much less in my mouth”. Talk about getting the point across!!!

But that was it. I spent years learning to cuss and out cuss just about everybody! I thought it was so cool. No one could convince me that “studies showed” that only dumb people cussed because they didn’t know what else to say. Wrong. I knew exactly what to say. Then I met Paul. He wasn’t real fond of trashy mouth girls. Okay, I’ll clean up this mouth a little. Then came Adam. I wasn’t about to have my child hear me cuss. I’ll clean up this mouth some more. (Don’t you wish the parents behind you in WalMart felt that way now!!!) Then came the Lord, and he finished the work. Oh, I have to admit, it hasn’t always been easy, but it has always been right.

Recently, I was introduced to a new facet / opponent in my new career: Insurance companies. Whether it is Blue Cross, or Medicare, or Medicaid – I feel like I have met a worthy adversary. They truly have strange, ingenious torture systems built right into them. They do not want to give you money, they do not want to have to pay a claim, and they want you to be the one to quite trying. They know how to hold you over the pit trying to get you to yell “uncle, uncle – you win”. A worthy adversary, indeed. However, like in most other times in my life when I am faced with an obstacle, I do one of two things, (rarely anything in the middle): I determine that I will win, or I quickly abdicate and let the new opponent win.

Oh-h-h-h…this time I WILL win. But it is quite a learning curve that seems endlessly long. And it has brought out my evil twin. I have let my mouth override my common sense. It has been such a frustrating endeavor trying to win the Match, that when I have lost Round 1 or Round 2, I have said the “wordy dird”. Felt good. Felt appropriate. Felt like I had control. NOT! NOT! NOT!

Thankfully, conviction is winning and so is God. I have NO desire to have to relearn some of the many lessons I have had to learn in the 25 years that I have strived to live for God. I do not EVER want to go back, either.

So why the mouth? Who knows! Whatever! Going through this strange depression surely hasn’t helped my frame of mind. I just know that not only can I hear the sigh of God when I am saying trash I don’t need to say, but also I can hear Jessie’s sigh of frustration, too. I can see her face with those piercing brown eyes just boring holes through me letting me know SHE KNEW I’d done something wrong. She was never a yeller, or a screamer, rarely even raised her voice. BUT she did know how to give “the look”. I was so glad she was a forgiving mom, and knew how to help me get right and want to do right, too.

So glad He’s a forgiving God, and knows how to help me get right and want to do right, too. More importantly, I so glad He’s the God of 2nd chances – and 3rd, and 4th, and 5th one, too.

Orange macaroni

2007-10-06T15:25:00.000-05:00

I’ve probably tried them all. From Weight Watchers to NutriSystem, from old school “Wisconsin Diet” to new-fangled “South Beach Diet”. All with incredibly limited success. I’ve tried to “just accept the way I am” – bigger and better for Jesus (hahaha) – again with limited success. I hate being fat. It is just that simple. Also, I simply don’t seem to have the intrinsic capabilities to get thin. I guess I really live and love the joke that there’s a skinny girl inside of me just screaming to be let out, and I keep her quiet with chocolate…or something like that, I think.

The most important thing is, however, I try to eat right and feed my family the right foods. We have definitely seen both ends of the spectrum on this subject, too. We’re on the uphill side, though. The downhill side began insidiously about 22 years ago…

I truly love the Willow Tree collection by Demdaco. They have come to hold a very special meaning in my life. And like other collections, they are some “meaningful” portrayals: mother and child, father and child, mother and father, new mother, and so on. Again, meaningful portrayals of life situations. Where are the TRUE portrayals, though. I have never seen a Willow Tree or a Precious Moments figurine of a mother and her three children all clinging to her skirt as she ushers them through the grocery store. Where’s the cute little depiction of a mother with two in the stroller, another holding her hand, and there’s obviously only weeks to go before there’s an addition to the family. Where are those pretty representations?!? Huh?!?

A larger family is still a most beautiful thing. Don’t ever get me wrong. I wouldn’t trade my four sons for anything in this world. If God wouldn’t have intervened, I would have had many more. I love large families. I feel it is God’s way: He opens the womb and he closes it. But with two kids everything is balanced: One for mama. One for daddy. Everyone is taken care of and everyone has a “buddy”. Then there’s the third child. Suddenly – you as parents are outnumbered. Who will manage the third one? Or if you’re alone, what mother has three arms? Do you see the dilemma?

Our little “back to nature” family was ambling along though life just fine. We had a garden – grew a lot of our own vegetables. I baked our own bread twice a week, always making a couple of extra loaves to share with other families. We ate organically, as much as we could – there wasn’t an organic section in Howard’s grocery store, I guarantee!!! I didn’t let artificial colors or preservatives come into my house. Not for my babies!

Then Adam went to Kindergarten. Did I know that the other children had write bread for sandwiches? It was prettier than my bread. The other kids had Ding Dongs and Twinkies. He had an apple, or some fruit leather, or a good banana nut muffin with extra wheat germ and sprouted wheat. Not even close… And then Halloween came. His first school party. He was ecstatic -- he was the bubbliest little kid. He came out of the school, little candy bag in his hand, and oh I wish I could paint a better picture with mere words. His eyes sparkled with excitement. He couldn’t wait to share his days events. Guess what he had at school that day? GUM! It was so-o-o-o good! Why hadn’t he ever had any before…? Oh, things were quickly spiraling out my control.

And by then,we had the third child. My hands were more than full, and as I said before, we were outnumbered. Our little family was growing not only in size, but also in age. We were moving out of our little space of absolute control in the home into “extra-curricular activities”. There were Sunday School parties, we joined Cub Scouts, we had neighborhood friends and “sleepovers”. There were birthday parties at Putt Putt. Need I go on…

Plus. we were busy. If our kids were going to be involved, well, as parents, so were we. We joined PTA. We joined Scouts. We taught Sunday School. We organized parties. We helped other mothers with their activities. Again, need I really go on…

Soon, as my children’s worlds expanded, they brought home grand stories of even grander adventures in the food world: Did I know that Grandma’s macaroni and cheese was ORANGE!!! Why was ours just plain. Did I know that Marla got her spaghetti sauce out of a JAR!!! It is good, too. It doesn’t have green things in it like yours. Did you know that you could get biscuits out of a CAN and make doughnuts with them? And then there was Cokes, and chips, and cheese puffs, and real life.

Soon there were four little boys in the family. Life is really real, too. Basically, we started looking for ways to cook/eat easier, faster, “make everybody happier”, and also CHEAPER.

We strayed for a long time in the world of not always eating right, but there were areas where we never slacked. We’ve never allowed a lot of preservatives or artificial colorings. I’ve never bought or made white bread. I’ve never cooked a lot of sugary desserts.

I have said all of this to say this: Last Monday, Oct 1, was my number 3 son’s birthday: his 22nd for the second time (but that’s another story). We are all doing everything we can to eat right. We’re sitting around the table and I tell the orange macaroni and cheese story – and he asks for macaroni and cheese like I used to make. Did you know that you can buy boxed whole wheat macaroni with white cheese with no additives? Well, I didn’t – but there it was in the natural food section at the store. I bought some, looking for the easy way out to Matt’s request. Big Mistake. Here I am, still 22 years later looking for the fast way to healthy eating for a family that is too busy.

The fast way doesn’t exist. Neither does the cheap way. If you want healthy, it will cost you, and you will have to take the time to do it right. It is worth it in the long run.

The same with family, except the fast way truly exists. They grow up only too fast. So it is imperative that you do what it takes to do it right. It will definitely take time. It will definitely “cost” you. But you only have one chance to try to do it right. It IS worth it.

A Mother's Sweet "Revenge"

2007-09-20T19:34:00.000-05:00

As a Christian, trying to raise not only my own children, but helping to influence other kids, too, to live a Godly life in a less than godly environment, I have been challenged by the expression “tell a story”. As a child of the 50’s, we lived such a pristine life – no really an ostrich life – never saying bad words such as “pregnant” or “divorce” or “lie”. The only time I know that one could say “lie” and not get that ugly look was when talking about George Washington. We at least could say he never told a lie and that was okay – but don’t ever say “You lied”, or “That’s a lie”, or – the worst – “You’re a liar”. That was not tolerated. One simply “told a little story.”

So, when I want to tell a “story”, or talk about a “story”, I immediately get that “uh-oh” feeling. I can hear Jessie B – my saintly mama saying, “Are you sure you’re telling the truth? We don’t want to be telling stories, now do we?” But I do have stories, and I do want to tell them and the difference is these stories are the truth (at least the way I remember – hahaha). The stories are sometimes about my growing up years – my daddy was worthy of a book himself – but mainly centered around the growing up years of my 4 sons – the main reason I have early onset senility and a head full of very grey hair!

For as long as I can remember, my sons have joked about my repetitive story telling. They even suggested numbering my stories so they can simply yell “number 12” and not have to hear the whole story one more time. While I haven’t always appreciated their witticism, I have wanted to get the stories “down” instead of always depending on my memory. I had a grandfather that had some of the neatest stories of growing up in Texas from 1882 – wild and wooly Texans, Indians, wildcatting at Spindletop and in Mexia, even riding with the Texas Rangers – and while he told these stories, I was young, and didn’t really want to listen to the ramblings of an old man. Now, while I have some vague ideas, the details are buried – literally. Why he never wrote them down… That’s why I want to write down some of my kids’ stories. It is their history. It is their lives that made mine and their daddy’s journey these last 30 years so much richer. I don’t want them to forget the fun.

Wait. That’s not completely true. It wasn’t all fun. But, it was all an adventure. Hey guys – that’s it. Don’t you get it?!?!? I love this! This is just perfect! This is truly a mother’s revenge! I love it! I love it!

While you dreaded getting into the car for those infamous weekend rides – you even called them ugly names, “Mom and Dad’s Bogus Journey” – it has come the proverbial Full Circle. It truly has been a “Mom and Dad Excellent Adventure.”

And don’t you ever forget it!! HAHAHA!!

Perception -- is it really everything?!

2007-09-18T21:20:00.000-05:00

Well, the best laid plans…, And so on and so on and Scooby dooby do on…, and all of that…

My original intent, and still my primary focus, is to use this “blog” as the place to get my stories – finally – about motherhood and mothering, and life with my sons, out of the cobwebs of my mind and onto “paper”. However, things can change, can they? As a young girl growing up in the late ‘50’s and ‘60’s, I was encouraged to believe that a woman’s prerogative was to change her mind. Of course, we don’t talk in non-politically correct terms anymore, but there are some old adages that are worth trying to use when one deems it appropriate.

“Perception is everything” is another adage that has seen it’s time and perhaps is passing from usage. However, I believe it to be quite true. Here’s an example: This past weekend, Paul’s youngest brother and his wife came to visit. Really a treat, and an unexpected one, too. He’s probably the only in-law that likes me, and he is definitely the only one that has made an attempt to be in my boys’ lives. (ie coming to birthdays, Eagle Scout events, graduations, etc.) He’s a great man, very witty and smart, and very talented. And, so is his wife. They’ve only been married about 3 years, and we all really like her and glad she’s a member of the family.

Well, Tom told a story about when he was still in college and was painting Adam’s room with a “Wink ‘em, Blink ‘em, and Nod” motif, complete with shooting stars. He said that I told him he reminded me of the Carly Simon song “You’re so Vain”, because I felt he must be the vainest guy I knew because every time he walked past a mirror, he looked in it, smiled, fixed his hair or something. He assured me that even today my remark still kinda stung, because he was far from vain, instead being very insecure and unsure of himself, especially in the looks department.

Deliver me!!! This was 28 years ago!!! He was the cutest of guys then and is still a nice looking man at 50! Not only is he a good looking man, he only looks about 40! Unfair! And he was walking by the mirror checking himself out because he was afraid he was a dork. Who would have believed that!!! I perceived Tom to really have it all together – and knowing what to do with it!!! Then, it’s the perception was everything to me, but nothing to him.

However, in observing my 4 sons, who are the biological sons of me and Paul, been raised in the same house (we didn’t farm any of them out, promise!!), one can’t help but notice they are 4 of the most different men I know. They were raised by a mother that read the books about children’s self-esteem and tried her best to make sure the other people in their lives at least heard of some of the positive techniques. (I’m sorry, Stephen. Nothing could change your Paw Paw making “wah-h-h-h, wah-h-h-h” noises and horrible faces when you cried. Talk about self-esteem issues.) While I wondered, even worried, about them growing up with such well-defined egos they would believe they were invincible and unbeatable, and not depend on God enough, they are not as self-assured as I want them to be. Yes, I know I have one son that knows he’s “Superman” or at least is every girl’s “Knight in Shining Armor”, but that’s not what I’m talking about.

It’s the perception thing, still. It’s what I “perceived” I wanted them to be vs. what I “perceive” them as being today. I wanted them to grow up to be ready to tackle the world – to be ready to do anything and be able to do anything. Can they not do that? It was my perception that they would grow up to be successful, rich businessmen. Granted, while two of them are still young enough to be in college, none of them is quite what I perceived them to be. Hm-m-m-m…What then is successful? What is rich? Successful with money, with women, with God, with themselves… Rich in these same parameters… How shallow can I be! On the other hand, how normal is that for mothers? What did I perceive would be the “right thing” for them?

Again, it’s all a perception thing. As I was writing this down, trying to put my thoughts into some logical order, attempting erudition and eloquence, I began to read it aloud to two of my sons. Quietness ensued, and then my critical son – known to me as “my worst critic” -- bellowed this long, extended, LOUD Burp! Perception truly is everything. Some things never change and some adages are “truisms” always.

"Let's start at the very beginning. A very good place to start."

2007-09-08T10:00:00.000-05:00

Motherhood

Sorry guys (i.e. the men folk), but you’ll never understand it, appreciate it, or comprehend it. And girls, you too will never fully grasp the true scope and sequence of the word unless you join the ranks of motherhood.

Mothering

Yes, and while it is both a noun and a verb, it is a term that should not /never be compared or confused with Smothering. While many of us have felt the two were often synonymous, they are not. In fact, they are truly polars apart. I have so many people in my life to thank for helping me learn the fine art of “Mothering,” and while I have tried to share this knowledge with many other women, not all women have been receptive. Of course, there are many, many levels of mothering, many kinds of mothering and we shouldn’t be “judgmental” of those who “do it” differently. HOWEVER, thankfully, there were women who risked my non-acceptance of them and their ideas to share with me a lifestyle of mothering/loving/nurturing/parenting my children that I embraced. I would have been far less of a mother if I would have followed the traditional mores of the late 70’s and early 80’s, and I never would have had the chance to have the relationship with my now grown children that I so cherish.

Mother

On June 25, 1979, at 11:11 am, a nurse placed into my arms my first-born son for me to hold for the first time. He was a wanted and welcomed baby. I was 25 yrs old, my husband 30; but my parents were 58 and70! And this was their first grandchild! Wanted and welcomed, to say the very least! Here’s your baby. He’s yours. It’s your turn to take care of him. The interesting part of this baby-holding experience is that he was the very first baby I had ever held! Really!?!? You’ve got to be kidding, you say. No, truly I avoided babies altogether. I hadn’t baby-sat as a teenager like my friends. I was career-minded and didn’t have many friends that were “mommies”. I didn’t have any nieces or nephews that I had known as babies. I wasn’t really the baby type at all. And NOW, what is this cute little red-headed doll someone has placed in my arms that has IMMEDIATELY stolen my heart.

Paul and I had long decided on a more “natural” kind of existence. He was already the “live on an island”-type of guy, and was pulling me – oh, I mean encouraging me -- along into this lifestyle. We were learning to do without many trendy gadgets, opting for more homespun. We had decided that I would be a “stay-at-home” mom, and while I definitely knew that was the right thing to do, there were many other avenues, where I wasn’t going along very well, yet. We desired to have a 70’s style of natural childbirth, complete with daddy in the delivery room and mother-infant bonding via nursing on the delivery table. (These were still very big issues in the late 70’s. Few drs in our area were compliant.) Thankfully, the JERK that was my OB went out of town, and another dr, that seemed not to care what we did, was on call. Of course, we still had to follow the most conservative rules of the hospital (wearing masks and gloves to hold the baby, etc.), but we had a successful experience of sorts.

Finally, back to the mothering part. Let’s face it. I had no clue what I was doing. I don’t know how that could have been correct, however. Why, I had read ALL of the books available at the time whether they were good or not. I wanted to know it all. (The teacher/learner in me!) I was going to be a well-educated mother. Of course, a lot of that book-learning isn’t important, because we all know that this mothering thing is “natural.” All I had to do is follow my instincts. NOT! NOT! NOT! What a joke. Who ever told that lie, and got us all to believe it, was good! But, it is still a lie. I simply had no clue what to do.

Mothered

And, how dare he! This little beautiful red-headed doll wasn’t by Mattel after all. He was a live real baby. AND, he did not follow ANY of the rules in the books. He couldn’t tell time! He didn’t know how to follow a schedule! He wasn’t doing things the “right way”. Again, how dare he! He was messing up! Then, I “obviously” didn’t have enough milk, or my milk was “bad”. Why, this baby needed formula. Now it was ME messing up. I couldn’t even do this “naturally instinctive” mothering stuff. What was wrong with me? Well, perhaps this is all of the best, they said. That way we could give the baby a bottle, and I could go back to work and use this wonderful education I had instead of wasting it by staying home and becoming dumb.

Motherhood 101

La Leche League came to my rescue. Such an interesting bunch of nutty-as-a-fruitcake women, but with an idea, and a “brand’ or mothering that appealed to my “natural instincts.” Their battle cries of “baby the baby while it’s a baby, and you won’t have to baby the adult”, or “no one knows what is best for your baby like you do because no one know y our baby as well as you do”, became my mantras. All of the wacky ideas that seemed “natural and instinctive” to Paul and I, but the books and the doctors said were “wrong” or “harmful” or “potentially” something or other bad, we discovered weren’t so wacky anyway. There were many people and many doctors that found our particular type of mothering / parenting not only appropriate, but also nurturing, bonding, cultivating, and just downright, the RIGHT way to approach this mothering.

SO, first we threw away the clocks, then we forgot schedules, then we didn’t look at the calendar, and settled into simply loving our baby. Of course, we were now attempting to swim up stream amid raised eyebrows, scornful looks and acrid, crass remarks and opinions. Oh yes, in due time, we decided to risk further disdain and we even threw away the baby bed. I “scooched” over into the middle of our bed and made room for the baby and FINALLY we all got to sleep, to rest, and to snuggle, and to bond, and most importantly, to -- love!

Ah, Mothering!!

One word. No explanations.

2007-09-01T14:18:00.000-05:00

I have waited and waited for the chance, the place, the time to do "this". Thanks, Adam for all of your help, your love, your support. I hope you feel the same from me. You are the greatest #1 son in the whole wide world.

And now... TA DA...

1. Yourself: accepting
2. Your spouse:BEST
3. Your hair: graying
4. Your mother: pattern
5. Your father: brilliant
6. Your favorite item: punches
7. Your dream last night: tiring
8. Your favorite drink: coke!
9. Your dream car: cadillac
0. The room you are in: office
11. Your ex: gone
12. Your fear: alone
13. What you want to be in 10 years: grandma!
14. Who you hung out with last night: couch
15. What you're not: skinny
16. Muffins: spice
17: One of your wish list items:"craft room"
18: Time: flies
19. The last thing you did: ate
20. What you are wearing: denim
21. Your favorite weather: fall-ish
22. Your favorite book: old
23. The last thing you ate: burrito
24. Your life: GRAND
25. Your mood:hyper
26. Your best friend: unexpected
27. What you're thinking about right now: me
28. Your car: Chevy
29. What you are doing at the moment: typing
30. Your summer: difficult
31. Your relationship status: loved
32. What is on your TV: jibberish
33. What is the weather like: humid
34. When was the last time you laughed: tonight

This is it! Or something like that...

2007-09-01T13:45:00.000-05:00

I've been told -- or perhaps by some standards encouraged -- to start a blog. A blog! Why -- I've said slightly ugly things about people who have all of this time to sit around and not only write their own thoughts, but also read other's ramblings. Then, during an incredibly trying time in my life, while reading the only 3 blogs I've ever kept up with, I decided to expand my proverbial horizons and try my hand at writing and reading at other sites.

Oh, was I ever dismayed (if that is even a word!) While I have belonged to many diverse organizations during my lifetime (La Leche League, Scouts, Ham Radio, food co-ops, a fundamental church) that have definitely made me feel that there are DECIDEDLY different people in the world, I now had hard written proof of their existence. I read about these people and entered into their world of words that gave me more the reason to feel like I needed to just keep my thoughts and opinions to myself -- I surely did wish they had!

Oh well, here I am anyway. My favorite oldest son has come home for the weekend and, with the suggestion of a family friend, has taken me to this site and helped me begin what hopefully will be a fun, exciting, and learning experience.

I want to begin my making the admission that I really don't expect anyone to read this with any regularity. Sure, I know that my "booster club" of APN, Nate, and Wilsonian might keep tabs on me making me feel good about my endeavor, but I don't expect the masses to come. This is not a "you write it and they will come" type of experiment. Like many people, I have always wanted to write a bookor even better a school curriculum. However, while raising 4 sons and working to "school" them, I never either had the time or made the time. So, I want for this space and time to be a place where I can tell my stories, where I can share my experiences, where I can put to paper the words in my heart.

Was that syrupy or what! But that's what I want in/from this venue. And... I do have some stories to tell, too!!

later...