Welcome to LIS!!
As an aspiring writer, I blog about whatever happens to move me at the moment -- though some posts contain serious content, my big-picture goal is to bring a little humor into an often humorless world! Welcome, y'all, and make yourself at home! Please make sure you update your bookmarks!
Showing posts with label Endings. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Endings. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Friday, January 14, 2011
Friday, December 3, 2010
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...
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...
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
My shadow...
Everybody sees their shadow occasionally -- I saw mine all the time. My shadow even had a name -- Madigan. She never knew that was her name -- she was completely deaf. But she knew a smile, a gesture of the hand. She was feisty, would pick a fight with the other dogs over next to nothing and smart. And she was one of the best friends I've ever had.
Saturday night, she was in my lap, sitting in such a way that her head was on my chest. Looking down into those brown eyes -- one almost completely obscured by a cataract -- I had the distinct feeling that she and I didn't have much longer together. Perhaps, she knew it, too. Perhaps that's why, on the day before, she brought me a present -- a dead mole. Perhaps it was a parting gift -- I have to say I didn't accept it very gratefully but, one day, I'm going to laugh about it. Right now, I'm trying to comprehend an existence without her under my feet, of seeing that white moon-face watching my every move, of her walking in front of me, swinging her head from side to side to make sure I was still behind her -- her eyes having to tell her, since her ears could not.
She entered my life through the internet. I don't know even know why I was looking but I found her on a rescue site called Bulldawgs of Georgia -- I saw her face and knew she was mine. She had been rescued from a puppy mill (she was a breeder) and, with her deafness, I wasn't sure what I was taking on. She had some "mental" issues to begin with (the breeder called her "Kookie") -- but who wouldn't after being caged for two years with barely any human -- or canine -- interaction? Still, she came into our lives -- and our house -- and before long, she decided it was good to be queen. She lived a miserable life for her first two years; a royal life for the next ten. She was my shadow, bonded to one person -- me -- as most deaf dogs will do.
Madigan had some health problems over the last couple of years -- hypothyroidism and Cushing's Disease -- she was on medication for both -- and in the last year, her snoring had gotten really loud -- which is saying a lot, considering she was a short-nosed Boston Terrier.
Last Sunday, around 3 AM, she cried out -- and, when we turned on the light, we found she'd spit up blood. There can be various reasons for this but, in all honesty, it's never a good sign. We took her to the emergency vet -- they took x-rays and there wasn't much guessing at that point -- tumors in the lungs and near her heart. It was a situation that was not going to get better and, in fact, would probably mean an agonizing death.
When we made the decision, in the wee hours of the morning, we took a moment to go into a private room and say our goodbyes. It didn't take long -- however humans and dogs communicate, she and I had said everything we needed to say over the last ten years. I reminded her of all the pups that would be waiting for her across the Rainbow Bridge, then we let her go. I held her as she took her last breath, as her tough old heart had its last beat. She went gently, easily, with complete trust, because she knew I'd never do her wrong -- she was in the arms of the person she loved most in the world. I would not have had it any other way. What a rare privilege having her in my life has been -- and I know, without a doubt, that I was loved completely and unconditionally as only a canine can.
I know the hand of God was in this -- in the last two years, we've lost three other dogs -- and each one taught us a lesson about how long to hold on -- and whether it was for the dog's sake or for ours. I prayed that when it came to this one -- to my Madigan -- that she would not be agony and that neither would we. The quickness of the whole scenario was a blessing, though, in the middle of it, it hardly seemed so.
I think, maybe, I was her angel during the time we had together on earth.
I know that, now, she is mine.
Saturday night, she was in my lap, sitting in such a way that her head was on my chest. Looking down into those brown eyes -- one almost completely obscured by a cataract -- I had the distinct feeling that she and I didn't have much longer together. Perhaps, she knew it, too. Perhaps that's why, on the day before, she brought me a present -- a dead mole. Perhaps it was a parting gift -- I have to say I didn't accept it very gratefully but, one day, I'm going to laugh about it. Right now, I'm trying to comprehend an existence without her under my feet, of seeing that white moon-face watching my every move, of her walking in front of me, swinging her head from side to side to make sure I was still behind her -- her eyes having to tell her, since her ears could not.
She entered my life through the internet. I don't know even know why I was looking but I found her on a rescue site called Bulldawgs of Georgia -- I saw her face and knew she was mine. She had been rescued from a puppy mill (she was a breeder) and, with her deafness, I wasn't sure what I was taking on. She had some "mental" issues to begin with (the breeder called her "Kookie") -- but who wouldn't after being caged for two years with barely any human -- or canine -- interaction? Still, she came into our lives -- and our house -- and before long, she decided it was good to be queen. She lived a miserable life for her first two years; a royal life for the next ten. She was my shadow, bonded to one person -- me -- as most deaf dogs will do.
Madigan had some health problems over the last couple of years -- hypothyroidism and Cushing's Disease -- she was on medication for both -- and in the last year, her snoring had gotten really loud -- which is saying a lot, considering she was a short-nosed Boston Terrier.
Last Sunday, around 3 AM, she cried out -- and, when we turned on the light, we found she'd spit up blood. There can be various reasons for this but, in all honesty, it's never a good sign. We took her to the emergency vet -- they took x-rays and there wasn't much guessing at that point -- tumors in the lungs and near her heart. It was a situation that was not going to get better and, in fact, would probably mean an agonizing death.
When we made the decision, in the wee hours of the morning, we took a moment to go into a private room and say our goodbyes. It didn't take long -- however humans and dogs communicate, she and I had said everything we needed to say over the last ten years. I reminded her of all the pups that would be waiting for her across the Rainbow Bridge, then we let her go. I held her as she took her last breath, as her tough old heart had its last beat. She went gently, easily, with complete trust, because she knew I'd never do her wrong -- she was in the arms of the person she loved most in the world. I would not have had it any other way. What a rare privilege having her in my life has been -- and I know, without a doubt, that I was loved completely and unconditionally as only a canine can.
I know the hand of God was in this -- in the last two years, we've lost three other dogs -- and each one taught us a lesson about how long to hold on -- and whether it was for the dog's sake or for ours. I prayed that when it came to this one -- to my Madigan -- that she would not be agony and that neither would we. The quickness of the whole scenario was a blessing, though, in the middle of it, it hardly seemed so.
I think, maybe, I was her angel during the time we had together on earth.
I know that, now, she is mine.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
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.
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.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Princess Carrie
I have trouble resizing photos so please go here for a few of Carrie's prom photos -- I think she looks like a princess -- don't you?!
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Set to Kill
Well, it's over.
Volleyball, that is. The big regional competition was in Charlotte, NC, last weekend. Carrie's team played very well on Friday and Saturday but, on Sunday, they just didn't have it together and they were eliminated after the first match. Well, you know what they say, you win some, you lose some...
I would have loved to see them win at least one match -- because this was Carrie's last hurrah with the CSRA Heat, the volleyball club she's played in for five years -- it would have been nice to have exited winning, rather than losing but, again, that's just the way it is.
Her tears were contagious after the last game -- before I knew it, I was sobbing like a baby. Hugging her, I told her it wasn't because they had lost but because it was the end of an era, not only for her but for me. My oldest daughter played for the Heat (then called by a different name) and for various reasons we didn't get to go to many of her games but, with Carrie, we pretty much made them all -- that's what happens, I guess -- the last child at home becomes, for awhile, an "only" child and, with that, gets all the benefits.
I've never been the "team mom" or "room mother" type but, during the last few years, I've served as team mom three times (including this year) and was pretty much it for one other time when the titular team mom pretty much turned it over to me toward the end. For the most part, I had parents who responded and did what was asked. When parents do what they're supposed to, it makes the job a lot easier.
Will I miss it? No, not the team mom part -- nor will I miss the early morning traveling to various locations -- or sitting on my butt all day (it's amazing how sitting can wear you out). I will miss seeing Carrie play. Maybe one day, Shannon and Carrie can play a game together -- now that would be a sight! The lo
ng and short of it -- considering Shannon is 5'10" and Carrie is...not.
Carrie served as setter the last few years, not only on the Heat team but on her high school team as well. She goes to a Catholic school and their motto is the same as Notre Dame -- the Fightin' Irish. So, we called her our "Irish Setter". If you don't know volleyball, the setter is basically the quarterback of a volleyball team. She pretty much has her hands on every ball -- she determines where to set it so that the hitter can hit it. She also had some moves of her own -- tipping the ball over the net when the other team didn't expect it. Carrie is actually left-handed but she uses her right-hand a lot -- but with tipping, it could be one or the other. Carrie was a good server, too -- something she also did right-handed. Like everybody else, there were days she was on and some she was off -- but when she was on, her serves were hard to return.
Volleyball is a great sport because all shapes and sizes can play. They need tall girls, for hitting and "killing", but they need shorter ones, too, because tall girls have trouble "digging" the ball. And, quite often, the setter will be one of the shorter girls -- on this team, this year, Carrie was the shortest one of all. But sometimes tremendous power comes in small packages.
So, at the end of the game last Sunday, I cried. I cried because it was the end. And, somewhere in there, I cried for all the other volleyball, basketball, baseball and soccer games that are over, too.
They do grow up, don't they? And, that's the way it's supposed to be.
And then there will be grandchildren and it starts all over again. Well, sort of. At least then, I won't have to be responsible for anything...
And I'm certainly not going to be Team Granny...
But, then again...
Volleyball, that is. The big regional competition was in Charlotte, NC, last weekend. Carrie's team played very well on Friday and Saturday but, on Sunday, they just didn't have it together and they were eliminated after the first match. Well, you know what they say, you win some, you lose some...
I would have loved to see them win at least one match -- because this was Carrie's last hurrah with the CSRA Heat, the volleyball club she's played in for five years -- it would have been nice to have exited winning, rather than losing but, again, that's just the way it is.
Her tears were contagious after the last game -- before I knew it, I was sobbing like a baby. Hugging her, I told her it wasn't because they had lost but because it was the end of an era, not only for her but for me. My oldest daughter played for the Heat (then called by a different name) and for various reasons we didn't get to go to many of her games but, with Carrie, we pretty much made them all -- that's what happens, I guess -- the last child at home becomes, for awhile, an "only" child and, with that, gets all the benefits.
I've never been the "team mom" or "room mother" type but, during the last few years, I've served as team mom three times (including this year) and was pretty much it for one other time when the titular team mom pretty much turned it over to me toward the end. For the most part, I had parents who responded and did what was asked. When parents do what they're supposed to, it makes the job a lot easier.
Will I miss it? No, not the team mom part -- nor will I miss the early morning traveling to various locations -- or sitting on my butt all day (it's amazing how sitting can wear you out). I will miss seeing Carrie play. Maybe one day, Shannon and Carrie can play a game together -- now that would be a sight! The lo
ng and short of it -- considering Shannon is 5'10" and Carrie is...not.Carrie served as setter the last few years, not only on the Heat team but on her high school team as well. She goes to a Catholic school and their motto is the same as Notre Dame -- the Fightin' Irish. So, we called her our "Irish Setter". If you don't know volleyball, the setter is basically the quarterback of a volleyball team. She pretty much has her hands on every ball -- she determines where to set it so that the hitter can hit it. She also had some moves of her own -- tipping the ball over the net when the other team didn't expect it. Carrie is actually left-handed but she uses her right-hand a lot -- but with tipping, it could be one or the other. Carrie was a good server, too -- something she also did right-handed. Like everybody else, there were days she was on and some she was off -- but when she was on, her serves were hard to return.
Volleyball is a great sport because all shapes and sizes can play. They need tall girls, for hitting and "killing", but they need shorter ones, too, because tall girls have trouble "digging" the ball. And, quite often, the setter will be one of the shorter girls -- on this team, this year, Carrie was the shortest one of all. But sometimes tremendous power comes in small packages.
So, at the end of the game last Sunday, I cried. I cried because it was the end. And, somewhere in there, I cried for all the other volleyball, basketball, baseball and soccer games that are over, too.
They do grow up, don't they? And, that's the way it's supposed to be.
And then there will be grandchildren and it starts all over again. Well, sort of. At least then, I won't have to be responsible for anything...
And I'm certainly not going to be Team Granny...
But, then again...
Friday, November 20, 2009
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.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
It's my party...
There's nothing like going to a funeral to make me not want one.
Now, I don't mean I don't want to die -- I'm not ready to go yet but I'm comfortable with the idea, if that makes sense. Like most people, I think our fear comes from the dying process, not death itself. For a Christian, death is only the portal to another, better life. And, yeah, I believe that. I also believe I'll see people who have gone before me. And dogs. Lots of dogs. I imagine I'll be put to work in the heavenly kennels. You can imagine what I hope dogs don't do in heaven.
I accompanied my mother to a funeral this afternoon. It was for the son of one of her friends. He'd been found dead several days ago -- heart attack, they think. I was thinking, as I sat there, that it must be the worst thing in the world to lose a child -- no matter how old you or the child was -- and that it was something I absolutely could not -- and don't want -- to comprehend. I didn't know the man and had only met his mother a couple of times but she and my mother have been friends awhile (even though this friend's husband sort of "hits" on my mother -- take into account they are all in their 80s). I guess I shouldn't really mention that but, honestly, it cracks me up. It drives my mother up the wall -- and, yet, I think it sort of flatters her, too. But I digress...
I told Mark -- and the kids -- that I want to be cremated when I go. I also told the children to mix my and Mark's ashes together (eventually) -- along with all the dog's -- then put us all in one big urn together. You should see the faces my (all grown or nearly) children made. But, hey, I'm serious about this. But, as Mark says, are you really going to care at that point? Well, no. But I care now and I think it's important to honor someone's last wishes because they certainly aren't getting any more of them.
Going to a funeral makes me think of my own send-off. I know some folks have a pre-cremation viewing. No, thanks. Don't be looking at me like that, wearing something I'd never wear. Come to think of it, I don't really want a funeral, either -- I want a celebration -- of my life, not my death. I'm not saying there can't be some somber moments but, hey, talk about the good stuff -- and I hope there'll be some good stuff to say, though sometimes I wonder about myself in my worst year-round-bah-humbug moments.
And, here's another thing -- don't break your neck getting to my funeral/celebration if you
didn't say "boo" to me while I was alive. I do realize that sometimes we go to funerals for the sake of the living, not for the deceased -- who we may not have even known -- but it seems that folks sometimes attach too much importance to the funeral, not to the life. Sorry -- I know this cute little emoticon doesn't quite work but it's as close as I could get on short notice.
So, when it's my time, I hope those left behind will do as I've requested: Put the fun in funeral.
And, if my wishes can't be followed, do expect some paranormal activity.
Now, I don't mean I don't want to die -- I'm not ready to go yet but I'm comfortable with the idea, if that makes sense. Like most people, I think our fear comes from the dying process, not death itself. For a Christian, death is only the portal to another, better life. And, yeah, I believe that. I also believe I'll see people who have gone before me. And dogs. Lots of dogs. I imagine I'll be put to work in the heavenly kennels. You can imagine what I hope dogs don't do in heaven.
I accompanied my mother to a funeral this afternoon. It was for the son of one of her friends. He'd been found dead several days ago -- heart attack, they think. I was thinking, as I sat there, that it must be the worst thing in the world to lose a child -- no matter how old you or the child was -- and that it was something I absolutely could not -- and don't want -- to comprehend. I didn't know the man and had only met his mother a couple of times but she and my mother have been friends awhile (even though this friend's husband sort of "hits" on my mother -- take into account they are all in their 80s). I guess I shouldn't really mention that but, honestly, it cracks me up. It drives my mother up the wall -- and, yet, I think it sort of flatters her, too. But I digress...
I told Mark -- and the kids -- that I want to be cremated when I go. I also told the children to mix my and Mark's ashes together (eventually) -- along with all the dog's -- then put us all in one big urn together. You should see the faces my (all grown or nearly) children made. But, hey, I'm serious about this. But, as Mark says, are you really going to care at that point? Well, no. But I care now and I think it's important to honor someone's last wishes because they certainly aren't getting any more of them.
Going to a funeral makes me think of my own send-off. I know some folks have a pre-cremation viewing. No, thanks. Don't be looking at me like that, wearing something I'd never wear. Come to think of it, I don't really want a funeral, either -- I want a celebration -- of my life, not my death. I'm not saying there can't be some somber moments but, hey, talk about the good stuff -- and I hope there'll be some good stuff to say, though sometimes I wonder about myself in my worst year-round-bah-humbug moments.
And, here's another thing -- don't break your neck getting to my funeral/celebration if you
didn't say "boo" to me while I was alive. I do realize that sometimes we go to funerals for the sake of the living, not for the deceased -- who we may not have even known -- but it seems that folks sometimes attach too much importance to the funeral, not to the life. Sorry -- I know this cute little emoticon doesn't quite work but it's as close as I could get on short notice.So, when it's my time, I hope those left behind will do as I've requested: Put the fun in funeral.
And, if my wishes can't be followed, do expect some paranormal activity.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Go down fightin'...
We spent the day in Savannah -- one of my favorite places -- it's about a three-hour drive from where we live -- not too bad -- but enough to make us "old folks" weary going there and coming home in one day. Not to mention sitting on bleachers watching volleyball for most of the morning and part of the afternoon. I need to lose weight but the one place I don't have much padding is my backside!This was the regional tournament for volleyball -- basically a "two strikes and you're out" kind of deal. They played well in their first match -- they split with the other team, then lost in the tie-breaker. The next match they won but they still ended up in the "loser" category. I swear I think volleyball needs to adopt the Hollywood way -- and the non-winner is...
Anyway, they lost the third match -- which was their second strike -- and they were finished for the day. I would have liked to see them play on but you get what you get. Honestly, for a small Catholic school -- with a limited pool of players to draw from -- they actually do quite well for themselves. But, like many games, either they're "on" or they're not -- for any specific game, we were never quite sure which team would show up. Today, a pretty good one showed up but they just weren't quite able to make the cut. But there's always next year...
Except that there's not. Well, not for Carrie, anyway. This was the very last Aquinas Fightin' Irish volleyball game for her -- and the three other seniors. So, with many tears -- which had nothing to do with "losing" -- we've ended the season. Carrie served as setter for the last two years -- and she was a very good one. Yeah, I'm her mother but I do know a few things.
Volleyball isn't over entirely, though. In a few weeks, she'll be trying out for the CSRA Heat -- a traveling team she's played on for the last several years. So, come late January, we'll be hitting the road again for her last year playing for the Heat -- of course, she has to make the team first -- but she will. We've been with the Heat for years -- Shannon, my oldest, was on the very first team -- when there was only one team -- and they were called the Augusta Juniors. Today, there are often multiple teams in each age group so the organization has grown, along with all the girls who have played for them.
So, another last for the last. Carrie's last high school volleyball game. I have to admit I teared up a bit myself.
Friday, September 18, 2009
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
