Riverside Park

Some of you may have trouble believing he really does wear cowboy boots all the time, even with his swim trunks. Ladies and Gentlemen.... Holt Jones.

Things that Make Me Gag Part Two

Can some brilliant mathematician riddle me this: If I haven't stepped in gum in, let's say three years, what is the statistical probability of it happening again less than 48 hours after the incident Saturday morning? In my other pair of Yellow Boxes! And it was spearmint again! I promise. I couldn't make up something this farfetched.

Holt informed me later than when he gets married someday, he's going to tell his wife to not buy any Yellow Box shoes and to watch where she steps. He is a wise young man, that Holt.

Things that Make Me Gag

My kids have been taught to equate chewing gum with Satan. This brainwashing has been intense and purposeful since birth. Some couples have to make decisions over spiritual issues before having children. I had to make sure he could support the gum blockade.

There aren't enough adjectives to describe how I feel about gum and there aren't enough verbs to describe what even the mere mention of it does to me. I have a garbage can next to the computer as I type this, just in case.

One Sunday after church Mouse announced on the way home that she had been given chewing gum in Sunday School. I cringingly asked, "And what did you say?" And she replied, "I said, thank you."

I had to remind myself that she was a child and the things I drill in her head over and over have only a 30% chance of having any staying power at all. At least she didn't use the scissors on her hair, Suzanne. It's only gum. But the saner side of my brain did not buy it. I felt she (okay, I) had been violated in a horrific manner. At church!

As I spent the rest of the way home drilling her in a way that would get me work in any branch of the military, Birch kept shooting me these looks that said, "Calm down. Get a hold of yourself. You might be crazier than any of us thought."

How did anyone ever sell this idea to begin with? Here's what it is: a rubbery substance you stick in your mouth for the sole purpose of chewing over and over. If you aren't careful other people get to witness the masticated mess on its journey through your mouth. And nothing can stop the smell from wafting a good four foot diameter from you... fruity flavors, cinnamon, and the worst.... spearmint.

And here's the pinnacle of my gum argument. If you are going to be a chewer (and yes, I'm saying that like "smoker"), please discard of your gum in a polite and sanitary manner (read: where people like me never have to see it).

On my way through the Target parking lot today I stepped in a wad that had previously been rolled through someone's mouth. In my brand new Yellow Box flip-flops. And it was SPEARMINT! If we had any disposable income left at all, I would throw them in the trash and head to Belk. But we don't. So I'm going to go remove them from my car, stash them somewhere in the garage and wait until another day when I am stable enough to handle it. Like next Spring.

Little Fishes

This week we were invited swimming three days in a row! Thank you to all of our pool hosts! Yesterday we went with the Abbotts and spent three hours in the sun with no one returning with a burn. I am serious about the sunscreen (except for the burn I am currently sporting). We all take better care of our kids than we do ourselves, right?

We have succeeded in finally luring Holt into the water this summer. He's finally tall enough that he can stand above water in the shallow end of certain pools.

I don't know why I never once thought to get my kids life jackets for the pool. I always associated them with lakes only, but now that my non-swimmers have some confidence, they are willing to do more. Plus, it's an enormous back up for my sanity!


Lisa brought a turtle float with handles that was a huge hit with all of them except Carolina. Juliana was the cruise director who took them around the pool tirelessly. She's the unseen force propelling Holt and Sam in this picture.

My hope is that one day (soon!) they can all swim as well as Juliana. She's worked a lot this summer on flips and handstands and backwards diving off of floats.


It sadly seems that summer is officially over once school starts back even though the hot weather is nowhere near to being finished. Our summer is hurtling to its end and screeching to a halt. I still haven't figured out how to slow life down.

Beautiful Bird

Sons of Thunder

There are two small identical boxes of ashes hidden in my basement. Birch has never told me where they are. I'm not ready to release them yet…. to say goodbye.

I've been waiting until I had some rich nugget of spiritual wisdom before putting this in words, but I realize now that that may not come for years and I really need to write it. Maybe then I can let them go. These words are all I have to give them. It’s a love letter.

Birch, Juliana and Holt each have their own personal version of this story. This one is just mine.

When we lost our first baby, Anna in 1996 in mid-pregnancy, it was a complete blow. No one we knew had been through something like that. You got pregnant. You had a baby. But in a way, it was almost like going ahead and getting that out of the way. It was our Great Tragedy. We had A Story. And then we could move on. And we did, three beautiful breathtaking God-seeing times.

We'd had all three (live, healthy) babies in different states- Juliana in North Carolina, Holt in Georgia and Carolina in Kentucky. It was all so sing-songy. I’ve always wanted four children and when we moved back to Georgia I remember thinking "but this will mess up the pattern" and later having the superstitious thought, "maybe if we'd moved to South Carolina or Alabama it would have all worked out". Seriously stupid stuff.

In June of last year while we were in Indianapolis for the Southern Baptist Convention, the double lines showed up. I was excited for so many reasons. I want to know the people in my family. All of them. I'm so curious who that final family member will be. I want to meet him or her and hold a newborn of mine just one more time. I want to inhale the top of his head in that fresh-from-God spiritual experience that reminds me of standing at the foot of the ocean. My desire for a baby is a real and physical presence that sits on me and moves with me throughout my day.

And when I went to the doctor mid-pregnancy last September and saw my tiny boy there on the screen, so still, I saw that all my planning was over. Holding him the next day lying in a hospital bed, I knew that I was cramming all the love I would ever be able to give him into one moment in time. This was it. This was the one opportunity I had to be his mother and I knew that it was sacred. If ever I'd felt the Spirit of God, it was in that room in that moment.

When Anna was born, I never held her. I saw her and wept for her and grieved for her and missed her. Her birthday is on my calendar thirteen years later. But I never got to hold her. I never told her that she was beautiful and that I loved her and that I had longed to be her mother.

I didn’t want to miss that again. It was as if I had been preparing to do it right ever since they carried her off. I can say that the time we spent with Crawford after his birth was right and good and beautiful. Birch rocked him. I unwrapped his blanket and looked at all his fingers and toes, so tiny but formed so perfectly…created in the image of God. I took pictures I will never share with anyone other than Birch. We said goodbye.

We prayed for another.

Tests and procedures were ordered by my doctor and we were given the green light. And since actually getting pregnant has never been our problem, by November we were expecting again. My dad pointed out our odds as batting averages. We were statistically (barely) on the positive side.

I felt the outpouring of prayers that had been said for us. I was in the Word every day. I spoke at church. I had been comforted by God through all of this. I was seeking to learn what He was trying to teach me. I deserved a baby at the end of all of this.

But I didn't get one. I got another dead baby boy wrapped in a blue blanket. A cotton one this time. With Crawford, we were given a crocheted blanket that stuck to his unfinished skin. It's hard to remember sometimes which memories are from which dead son.

This one we named Josiah, but Juliana had really wanted a brother named Teddy (from Little Women) and that is how we refer to him when we speak of him, which is only in code or in private. Holt, who was so angry and broken the first time, was never told of this baby. Someday, hopefully when his new baby is clutching his finger, we will tell him. There are some things you can't begin to explain to a six-year-old, things I will never understand myself.

I do know this. My God is sovereign. His grace is enough. I've believed these things all my life. The first statement I can not only say, I can unequivocally believe and live. I know my God is in control of everything. He was not surprised in that ultrasound room like I was. But is His grace enough? That is the beauty of all of this, I guess. We sing it all the time at church, but now I get to also chew and swallow those words.

His grace was enough to get me through September 17 and March 3 and August 3, 1996. His grace was enough to get me through yesterday and it's seen me pretty well all the way up through this morning. I know that there will be days more horrible than I can imagine yet to come in my life. I have to believe that His grace will be enough then also, because if it's not, there is nothing else. So I believe.

Why am I writing this now? It's eating me alive. I'm holding out for doctors to fix whatever's wrong. I'm still waiting for that moment when breaths catch as a baby is ushered into this world and not the world of heaven.

I'm writing these things down to say this: I had sons that lived in me for a time. They were real. Crawford was here. Teddy was here. I'm writing this down so that hopefully one day I can say to my little one, "See! Look how much you were wanted! Look how long we waited and all the things we did just so you would be here with us."

A real baby. No more ghost babies. Please Jesus.

"Let me hear joy and gladness; let the bones that you have broken rejoice." Psalm 51:8

My Girl

No one should have to learn to ride a bike at ten, especially not at eleven. Juliana has never been interested in learning to ride. We explained to her over and over that some day she would care and it would be so much easier to learn to ride when she was little.

Then last summer she decided to try. Birch took her out several times and by the fourth or so time she somewhat had learned to balance. She "checked off the box" of bike riding and her bike has been relaxing in the back garage ever since.

This summer Birch has been teaching Holt and tonight she decided she wanted to ride also, assuming she'd pick up right where she left off. It was really like learning to ride all over again.

Just getting started was a huge uphill battle. Several times Birch and I both asked her if she wanted him to give her a push to get her started. She didn't. Quite frankly, she didn't say much at all to us the entire duration of time we were there. Once she got going, she had to completely relearn how to balance. Over and over again, she hopped sideways off her bike before falling to the ground. I could see her getting more and more frustrated.

About the thirteenth time she had barely avoided disaster, she shrugged her bike to the ground and began the typical Juliana Meltdown. It goes something like this:
1) Make That Face
2) Begin to Cry
3) Speak Aloud all the Reasons You are Upset

At this point, I felt it was all over. I started walking toward her to bring her some of that Mama Wisdom and she saw me coming and walked the other way. I respect that. When you need a moment, you need a moment and I completely wanted her to have it.

I turn around and give her some space and focus my attention on Holt's progress. The next thing I know, I see her coming. I think I audibly heard the soundtrack from Chariots of Fire. The look on her face I will remember forever. It said, "I am doing this. It didn't beat me. I didn't give up. Don't count me out." I will never forget that moment. I won't forget the sobs I held back. I won't forget the overwhelming urge to pull her off that bike and hold her. Dear God, thank you for this girl. You made her with all her glorious quirks and I love her so much I think I'll burst!"

Later this evening, she told me the whole time she was making that triumphant ride across the parking lot, she was in-her-head singing the lyrics to the song from VBS "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me."

It's a good thing I didn't know that at the time. There's only so much I can handle before becoming a public mess. And trust me, no one wants that. Least of all Juliana.

Carolina actually fits on the first bike we ever bought for Juliana. Most of the time she wanted to walk it like it was a horse, but she decided eventually that she wanted Daddy to push her on it also.

At one point this evening she pointed to the rectangular reflector underneath the seat and asked, "Mama, is that my tv?" This is not a question I would have ever asked my mom in the year 1975 when I was learning to ride mine. It actually kind of made me sad.

Birch has been working with Holt to get the training wheels off of his bike. He pedals just fine until he knows that Birch has let go, and then he stops pedaling and puts his feet straight out to the side. We did seem to make some progress tonight.

Here's a head to head summit meeting about continuing to pedal.

And, finally, a close-up of Mouse, who always always wants her picture taken.

Day's End for a Fairy Princess

Humiliation is always on sale.

Let me start by saying that while thriftiness is a learned art, the absense of finesse can be a terrible thing.

Several months ago my friend Tara introduced me to the thrill of couponing. You might wonder at the overkill of the term "thrill", but to couponers out there, there really is an element of excitement to how low you can go at the checkout counter. I have a very complicated system of organization that should earn me an honorary degree from some fine institution. I started out simply using coupons, but graduated to electronic doublers, discontinued items and other high level strategy planning.

One of my favorite jackpots is found at Kroger. They have shopping carts located between the aisles and the pharmacy that are filled with clearance items that are half priced. Tonight, I picked through them, found some Cascade at half price and located my coupon to get a dollar off. I'm rockin'. I go down the next row and when I come back out near the pharmacy, I see there is a cart I've overlooked. You never know. The Holy Grail could be lurking there.

So I approach it. Park my cart beside it and begin to eye where to start. I locate a 24 pack of Deer Park water. A staple! At half price! Yippee! I am bending over (yes, from the waist...picture it) and am sideways maneuvering it out from beneath the cart when I see feet. As I look up, for the very first time, it occurs to me that I never actually saw those orange half price stickers.

I am pawing through this woman's cart (yes, this woman standing right there)... and her groceries... and, say it isn't so...why, yes, there's her purse sitting in the baby seat.

This would be an excellent time for the tornado warnings to start sounding. Or for Elvis to enter the building. Anything.

As the words, "Oh, no...Is this your cart?" come out of my mouth, I picture what she witnessed from the pharmacy counter. I am a crazy woman manhandling her bottled water. She actually said (insert drawling Southern accent here) "I just thought maybe you really wanted my water." I can see that this impossibly put together stranger (well, actually I'm the stranger) really wants to get away from me.

As I continually try to explain myself while backing up, I say to her "maybe this will be funny by the time I get home."

I then had the pleasure of scouting out the rest of my list while muttering "that did not just happen" and praying to not see her at each corner I turned. I will admit to loitering at the paperback display while waiting for her to leave the store. I doubt she saw me hiding there. She was too busy double-checking the contents of her cart.

Things I will miss when my kids grow up #1048

Carolina uses double qualifiers. Things are "more faster" and "more prettier". My favorite is her triple qualifier- "more bester". And she is more bester than any other mouse I know.

Star-Spangled Smiles

Independence Day the Small Town Georgia Way

I complain a lot about living in the South. It's too hot. It's muggy. There are more mosquitoes than people. Racism abounds here. And on and on. And these things are true. But, there are also things I love about where I live. Let's start with sweet tea. That is reason enough alone to dig my roots deep here. We're a friendly bunch and we have wide front porches and dogwoods and crepe myrtles and magnolias. You can say "fixin' to" here and people know just what you mean. Something about Independence Day just demands to take place here in this setting.

As part of our holiday festivities we set up the hundred-foot slip and slide again, but somehow this time things went awry. The hill grew, the water was slicker, the earth had rotated to a steeper degree on its axis, or all of the above, but there was an element of danger and adventure for which we weren't prepared. Juliana and her friend, Alexandra went down first with no apparent trouble. Holt's turn. All systems go. Then comes John whose new nickname is Greased Lightning. He flew off the sheeting, across the grass, through the concrete bottom of the creek and straight into the fence. I, sadly, don't have any pictures of that as I was mentally preparing the fastest way to get him to the hospital. Unbelievably, he was only really cut up and even more unbelievably, he went down at least two other times I can recall.

We finally decided the weight limit on the sheeting was 60 pounds, which excluded almost all of us. We have no idea what caused such a drastic change, but next time we will try it on a gentler hill on the other side of the house.

Later that evening we were reminiscing about the other time John almost met with extreme catastrophe at our house. One of the dozen times he's helped us move he stepped off the back end of the moving truck while carrying the treadmill. In both of these stories, he comes out with nothing but flesh wounds (to quote Monty Python. I'm so sad I know that). John is apparently living right.

So we had a marvelous time with my mom and dad, John and Lora, Juliana's friend and the Abbotts. We later fought (okay, joined) the (light) traffic to go see the fireworks in the school lawn. Mom stayed home (not a fireworks kind of gal) and Walter, who had ignored all her advances since Thursday, decided that all those loud noises justified them becoming friends. He managed to fit his body between her and the couch cushions. He's not looking forward to Labor Day. Turns out my mom had a great view of the fireworks from the deck in our backyard. Guess where we'll be next year?

Nothing like some fireworks, tea, homemade peach ice cream, good friends, and skinned up backs to remind us how incredibly lucky we are to be free. And how truly grateful we are to be granted ultimate freedom. Thank you God for Your grace.

And now I'm fixin' to get another glass of that tea.

True Grit

Today was the day my husband has been anticipating for over a month. He and my mom got into a smack-talking competition about how long it takes to mow the lawn. Birch may not have realized he was talking to the woman who went into labor with me while mowing her lawn in South Florida in the month of July. My mom is made of stuff I can only dream of. I'm pretty sure she's not your average grandma.

We were grieving over wiping lawn service off of our budget and she was not the least bit sympathetic. This is a woman who mows for fun and her pleasure of pushing a vacuum borders on inappropriate. We felt that she had underestimated, forgotten, or just plain unappreciated the size of our yard. So, the gauntlet was thrown down, some challenges made, and today was the first ever (hopefully annual, Mom?) Janet vs. the Jones family lawn. We offered to stop the clock as many times as she would like to rehydrate and cool down (She is, after all 67. Please don't tell her that.) but she mowed the whole entire side lot in one hour and thirty-five minutes. I figure that is maybe one fourth to one third of our yard and Birch's total time is just under five hours.

She plans to finish on Saturday morning, bright and early. (She's taking a break and going to John's to grout his bathroom). Birch and I have called dibs on the front porch rockers to enjoy her strong finish. Lemonade is chilling. Spectators welcome.