The clock has stopped...

I added the "countdown" button shortly after I found out my first grandchild was on the way. As of today, his due date, the clock has stopped -- but, so far, no baby. There are still a few more hours left  -- he could still arrive on December 3rd but I'm kind of doubting it, unless Shannon goes into labor right now and delivers fairly quickly. I wonder what the percentage is of babies who come on their actual due date.

We jump every time the phone rings.

I thought he might come early, in November, and that may have been partly because of hoping against another day -- December 6th. That was the day my daddy died, a Sunday, in 1981, and the day one of our dogs, Butler, died, on a Saturday, two years ago. And, yet, the idea that something joyful might happen on that day is maybe a good reason to hope it is that day, after all. I know one thing, after birthing three babies myself, they'll come when they come and they'll come how they come, despite the best-laid plans.

Today was another "birth" of sorts -- I finally finished writing/editing/posting my latest story. It's always a bittersweet day when that happens -- I've lived and breathed Cade and Delaine for, strangely enough, about nine months now and today was the day I could finally write "The End." I've been quite worried about letting go -- these characters have grabbed me more than any others else I've written and to have their voices go quiet unnerves me. I need the break but hope it won't be long before a new set of voices start whispering, then shouting in my ear.

So, I am free...and waiting for someone else to break free and see the world for the very first time. It's probably a good thing we don't remember being born -- or what things look like when we first open our eyes. It would probably traumatize us for life.

So, here's to endings and beginnings...

Two. Three. Four. Five. Two

That's how it starts out. Two.

Two join hands and agree to weather the storms -- and pledge to laugh through as many of them as possible.

Then, somewhere along the line, the two decide to become three, then four, then five.

And then before you know it, one goes, then two. And, then suddenly, there it is. The baby has grown up and there she goes, on a wing and a multitude of prayers.

So five become two again.

It's been twenty-five years since it's been just the two of us. Of course, it's different than it was -- back then, there was nobody -- now there is still somebody, just not continuously under the same roof.

My children are all different -- night and day and something in between. Each one holds a piece of my heart in their hands.

This one -- this last one to fly -- is a mini-me. Except for the majoring in biology-thing and the ability to cipher. I mean, really, exactly what is calculus? What do you use it for? Otherwise, we have the same slightly off-kilter sense of humor, we don't suffer fools gladly and we can spend a lot of time alone with a book and a dog (or five) and be perfectly happy. And we're both addicted to Say Yes to the Dress. And Vera Bradley and shoes. Well, I can say that about my oldest child, too, so that apple-not-falling-far-from-the-tree story must have some truth to it.

I'll adjust to the relative silence -- though with all of these critters now left in my care, it's not that quiet. But there's a voice missing. A footstep I'm not hearing. And nobody asking, "what's for dinner?" After twenty-nine years, hubby has learned what not to ask if he wants a pleasant evening.

I don't much like this new normal but it's the way of things. The birthing, the growing, the leaving. It's the way it's supposed to work.

So, the snipping sound you hear is me, cutting the apron strings.

But the door remains, always and forever, open.

The adventure begins again...

I've been trying to get my thoughts together before writing this particular post. For those who only read my blog (and not my forum or who are not on Facebook), you aren't aware that last weekend brought more than senior prom and a beautiful daughter in a Cinderella dress.

It also brought news from our beautiful eldest daughter: she and her husband are expecting a baby in December. So, that means yours truly is going to be a grandperson! It did not come as a huge surprise -- I'd had a feeling it would be sooner rather than later -- though it seems only yesterday (instead of two years ago) that I was writing about wedding festivities.

I haven't had to deal with an infant in eighteen years so I'm feeling a little rusty. Couple that with an admission -- which I've always freely given -- that I've never been a "baby person" and it's got me a little nervous. I'm just not one of those who melts when I see a baby -- or one that wants to hold one the moment I lay eyes on it. I've been told, though, that a grandchild is a whole other ballgame -- so I'm going to embrace that idea on a wing and a prayer -- and hope that, even if I can't be a fantastic grandmother, I can be a decent one. Is that too much to ask?! Or not quite enough?!

Of course, the ideas that are occupying my head at the moment are these...

The most important is that Shannon has a healthy pregnancy and easy birth and that the baby will be healthy (and easy!) as well.

Second, I'm trying to decide what I want him or her to call me.

I'm just not one that wants to be granny or grandma or grandmother. I don't want to be Mimi or Gigi or Nina -- or any other nicknames. I am willing to accept whatever the child wants to call me (and others who follow) but, until the child can speak, I have to refer to myself as something -- so I've got to decide what I want that to be. I have a few ideas but I don't know. I don't want to get ridiculous. And I don't want to make it more of an issue than it is (because, really, in the scheme of things, it isn't).

I've asked Mark what he wants to be called but all I get from him is a "hmmph". I don't think his brain has wrapped around the idea at all.

I think he's feeling a little, shall I say, too mature. We're both fifty and I think I've accepted that as a number more than an age (though my body does remind me quite often that I'm no spring chicken). The thing is, men always seem to hang on to certain juvenile areas in their brains so he needs to just connect with that and run with it. And try not to annoy me in the process.

As they say (who are "they", anyway?), the only cure for old age is dying young. So, I'm determined to embrace each new stage of my life with as much gusto as I can manage.

Even if that means my child is having a child.

So, let the adventure begin again...

This is where it all started...


Mark, Lynn and our pet, Peeve, 1984

Keeping up with the Stewart kids...

After my last post about not liking sports, here is a post about liking them. Last night, at the sport's banquet at Carrie's school, she received the MVP award for volleyball (for the second year in a row). I won't say it wasn't expected because, well, she was the most valuable player. And, while I'm at it, she's number four in her senior class.

I really shouldn't call the thing last night a banquet because the food never showed up -- we usually have barbecue with all the trimmings -- but the caterer got mixed up on the date and the athletic director didn't know until they didn't show up. Here's a suggestion -- always confirm the caterer the morning of the event. But now that I think about it, I'm not sure we confirmed anything on the morning of Shannon's wedding. Everybody showed up, though.

Speaking of Shannon, she has just received a lovely diploma which says "Master of Business Administration in Healthcare Administration". We're very proud of her for continuing her education. She never had a chance to look for a job in Florence -- she and Greg bought their first house in South Carolina and, within weeks of settling in, Greg got a promotion (he works for CSX railroad) and they are moving close to Charlotte, North Carolina -- next week, actually. They'll be about the same distance from us as they were -- and, being close to a bigger city will be nice for them. I really like Charlotte myself -- between volleyball and concerts, we've been there quite a few times. By the way, we're quite proud of Greg, too -- every parent hopes their child marries someone who is willing to work hard to get ahead. I know of some heartbreak, in other families, with children making poor decisions and my heart goes out to them. There's one thing I've discovered, though, you can give your children everything they need to make it in this world, but they have to take advantage of what you've provided.

I suppose I should talk about Wesley, too. He's at Georgia Tech -- funnily enough the University of Georgia's arch rival -- not sure where the match-up is this year (see, I told you I don't keep up with things like this) -- but I know Wesley will be here for Thanksgiving, then go either to Athens or back to Atlanta for the game on the Saturday after. Maybe since those horrid and embarrassing after-game photos came out, football fans will be on their best behavior and not trash anything. Anyway, he's doing very well in a hard school so we're proud of him, too. I haven't seen him since he cut all of his hair off so that should be interesting. When I saw his photo on Facebook, I hardly recognized my own boy!

So, I'm starting my Thanksgiving early by being thankful for my four kids. I'm proud of them all.

The Lasts of the Last

I've decided to take a stab at writing about what it's like to have my third and last child prepare to leave the nest.

When my other two left for college, it was difficult (but not heartrending -- that's what they're supposed to do, after all) but, when Carrie, affectionately known as Carebear -- or not-quite-as-affectionately as Princess by her older brother -- leaves, it will be different because there will be no more children behind her to take up the slack. Mark and I will be empty-nesters -- and it will be just the two of us again.

Back in the day, when it was just the two of us the first time, he was in medical school and we had no money for anything. He was in school for long hours, followed later by even longer, back-breaking hours in his internship and residency. For years, as an anesthesiologist, he toiled even longer hours -- some 80+ per week -- and he missed a lot of his children's activities (though he tried very hard to be there when he could). We were pretty much slaves to his schedule as far as family time went. A couple of years ago, he went back to "school" and did a fellowship in Pain Management and now, he has no call, no weekends and, although he makes less money, it's been well worth the trade-off on many levels. All of this is to say that, next year, when we have no kids at home, we'll be free to do what we want, when we want.

Well, within reason.

There's always a chance that Carrie will decide to do a year or two at the college here in town before she moves on (doubtful). And, I still have my "fourth child" to look after -- my mother (harder than a toddler, I must say). So, it's not quite complete freedom. And, oh, yeah, there are the furry and feathered members of the family to deal with as well.

So, as Carrie navigates through her senior year, I'll try to share some thoughts, some memories and some ideas about what the future may hold -- always mindful that, as we make our plans, God is sometimes chuckling behind our backs.