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!

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...

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

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...

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!

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..."

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...

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

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

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.