Let’s just play in the dirt again

As I peeked into the quiet room, I gazed upon the sleeping boy. The slight snore from the persistent allergies signaled that deep sleep – the kind of sleep where dreams of animals talking and people visiting from other worlds comes.
How I wanted to curl him up into my arms and snuggle one more time in the rocking chair, tucking my nose into that place on his neck where the sweet smell of boyhood lingers.
Except that boy is now a man.
“Turning twenty kind of sucks,” he told me earlier this week. “It sounds old and yet you are still too young to legally drink away your sorrows.”
I didn’t focus on his use of that word “legally.” He is, after all, an independent college student who is “legally” of age to die for his county.
How can it be that twenty years has passed since his grand entrance into the world? It seems like just the other day he was clamoring for a bottle, climbing onto furniture, begging to play outside, sneaking into the bed in the middle of the night.
The hardest part about becoming a mother is being needed so much.
Ironically, the hardest part about watching your child turn into an adult is not being needed.
Happy Birthday, Mr. Happy! The past twenty years have been the best twenty years of my life.

Conflictions

Excitement.  Amazement.  Overwhelmed.  Anxiety.
These are just a few of the emotions I’ve entertained this past week since we found out my son got accepted into an Ivy League school. 
When he first mentioned his desire to apply, I encouraged him.  What was I thinking?!  We don’t live any where near these schools!  While I knew he was bright and motivated, I knew it would be hard for him to get in.  In fact, I really didn’t think it would happen.  Prior to this week, we were working to decide between a couple of schools in Georgia where we live, for crying out loud. 
Of the five Ivy Leagues he applied to, he was wait listed for two, turned down for two, and accepted to one.
Now that one school has become the one.
Suddenly, I’m having to pull my head out of the sand making flight and hotel arrangements to some city I’ve never visited.  Heck, I haven’t even been to that state.
Now that the reality is settling in, I’ve been grappling with nearness of my impending empty nest.  Tears fighting for a chance to surface and a heaviness in my chest are ever present.
I’m not looking for pity.  Being accepted to an Ivy League school is the kind of stuff dreams are made of.  I’m proud of my son and I’m proud of myself for encouraging him to do his best.  Being a single mother wasn’t easy and I worried that I didn’t or couldn’t do enough.  Looking back, I think his independence thrived as a result.  So, hover mothers, write that lesson down for the books.
So, how did this happen so fast?  Is he going to be okay so far away from me?
As I gazed up to the sky, I noticed a young hawk coasting on the breeze.  Not far behind him was a larger hawk, presumably his mother. 
Like that hawk, I know the truth.  He is ready to fly.

Reason 134 Why I Love My Secretaries

Not only do these ladies protect me from intimidating parents make me look good, they have an awesome sense of humor.
Phone Message to Overwhelmed 5th Grade Teacher: “Please call Mr. Lyon.  Your name has been drawn for a prize. 555-555-5555.”
Overwhelmed 5th Grade Teacher: “Is this Jim who called me?  I know Jim Lyon but I don’t recognize this number.”
Secretary #1: “It might be.  Give him a call.  We want to hear what you won!”
Overwhelmed 5th Grade Teacher picks up the phone and dials.
Person on the other end of the phone: “Atlanta Zoo.”
Overwhelmed 5th Grade Teacher with a confused look on her face: “May I speak with Mr. Lyon?”
Person on the other end of the phone (who is probably not amused): [Insert Uncomfortable Pause] “Ma’am.  It is April Fool’s Day.  I think somebody is playing a joke on you.”
The entire office erupted into laughter.
And it appeared that the 5th grade teacher was slightly less overwhelmed when she walked back to her classroom.

When one door closes…

On one hand, I love spring.  After winter’s harsh weather, the warm breezes and the blooming trees and shrubs breathe new life into me.
On the other hand, spring is the season where I wait to hear from the Superintendent’s office as to how many teaching positions my school earns and how many teachers will be moved.  This year is especially tense as the Superintendent has announced that due to budget restraints, positions will be cut. 
Moving teachers to different schools suddenly looks like the good old days.
I’ve never seen education have to face the cuts it is currently facing.  And the governor hasn’t quit cutting.  Nor does he seem to have his priorities in order.
The other day, I had to tell a sweet but ineffective teacher that she wouldn’t have a job next year.  I came home and cried.  While there isn’t room in the classroom for ineffectiveness, it breaks my heart to be the one to shut a door.
But when one door closes, another one opens, right?
I’ve got to believe that everything is going to be okay.  I’ve got to hang on to that thought that one bad event can open a door to a new and better opportunity.
I’ve got to believe that every thing does happen for a reason. 

If I were king of the world, I’d make Tuesday happen a couple of times a week

It is Tuesday, right? The day in the blog world known for randomness, eh?
All is well in our world. Thanks for all the comments and emails. We are slowly getting back to normal. Well, normal as defined by us.

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I got a speeding ticket from the nicest cop this morning. At 4:45 a.m. I was on my way back from the gym when he clocked me going 68 in a 45 mph zone (it was a 4 lane highway with absolutely no traffic… relax). I’m sure I was looking lovely with my sweaty self. I begged asked for a warning but he pointed out his supervisor in the other cop car. At least he knocked the speed down a bit so I wouldn’t get hit with the hefty fines associated with the super speeder law in Georgia. On average, I get one speeding ticket a decade. Typically, I drive like an old lady. And by old lady, obviously, I mean my grandmother. She is one of the original speed racers.

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Speaking of driving, why is it so difficult for some folks to figure out how to use turn signals. And there needs to be a course on the purpose and use of the turn lane. Personally, if I were a cop, I’d focus on those folks for my ticketing fix.

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Life at school has been hell hectic. The superintendent announced that jobs would be lost then decided to keep it a secret wait until after the state test to tell the pink-slipped folks and their principal. Enough already. Just let us know. The not knowing is causing typically kind people to start tattling and making stabbing behind back motions all kinds of anxiety. It hasn’t been pretty.

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I’ve been thinking about ordering a few of these awesome bottle openers. If they were painted gold, they could make some awesome awards for some real winners out there.

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Spring in Georgia is awesome. While it is still cold in the mornings and evenings, I have decided that I am done with winter clothes. I’ve pulled out the spring skirts and dresses. Let’s just say that I am embracing my whiteness.

Suddenly silent

It is never good news when the phone rings in the wee hours of the morning piercing the subconscious, wringing the soul in preparation for the changes to follow.
“I’ve got bad news.”
My husband’s mother has been failing in health over the past years.  A little over a year ago, we moved her into a full-care, assisted living arrangement.  From there, the decline has been like a free-fall.
Each visit, each phone call brought us closer and closer to the inevitable.
“At least, in the end, she knew who we were.”
Memory is a funny thing.  When it fails you, it can keep you in a grand, make-believe world where life is happy and good.  Her reality may have been a fantasy, but at least in her mind, she was happy and content.
“If she’d known she was in the state she was in, she’d have wanted to pass years ago.”
Over the years, I prayed for her comfort and I prayed for her to pass quietly in her sleep.  For several years, she had let go of her role as a mother.  A child-like replica stood in her place.
We will miss you, Mom.  We already have.

Redefining Normal

Last weekend was an amazing weekend. Running (mostly) the half marathon is something that has changed me (sorry to sound superficial). A year ago, I couldn’t run for two three five minutes. When I signed up to the Disney Princess Half Marathon, I didn’t realize how much work and commitment I’d have to put into making that goal a reality.

But I did it!

Plus, I got to meet some amazing people. I’m already planning to sign up for next year’s run.

The morning of the race, I got out of bed before the alarm went rang out. I hadn’t slept much and my stomach was in knots.

Nerves? Why now? I wasn’t aiming to compete against any hard core athletes. I just wanted to finish the 13.1 miles in a somewhat decent time.

I tried to eat breakfast but it just wouldn’t go down. So, I got dressed and went on down to the lobby to meet Krystyn and get on the bus to the line up. It took 20 minutes to find my friend, Page (which is a real miracle as we had no cell phones and it was crowded).

It was COLD. The number of people were incomprehensible. There were thousands and thousands of women there. Thousands willing to get up at two something to go stand in the cold so they could run 13.1 miles.

My muscles began to tense and ache while standing in the cold. Still, the excitement warmed my heart. Finally, the last corral was walked to the start line and we were off… running and cheering each other on.

All in all, things went well during the run. Except that my back and side began hurting. And I started getting winded.

“Obviously, I need to focus on more hills in my training,” I thought. Little did I know.

The entertainment was top-notch and inspired me to keep plugging along though I think someone was out to do us in with those awful gel packets because you can’t spit that crap out!

I was never so excited to see a finish line in my life!

My husband and I spent the day with Page and her husband in Epcot. You could say we ate and drank our way around the world.

By the end of the night, I was hacking and barking the most awful cough. In a fevered haze, I knew I was going down with a real kicker.

Three doctor visits and 9 medicines later, I am happy to announce I’M ALIVE (even if I still have a little bit of a barky cough)!

In a few more days, I’ll be ready to lace up those running shoes, again. For so long, I’ve been trying to feel like a runner. I think I’m almost there.