Little Linda and the Lorna Doone Lady

After my morning of the "dark nipple" lover conversation...the Mother Mafia had a meeting.  

Actually, it was a dinner party celebrating the start of school, but the conversation turned to, "how do  you raise strong women?"  Not the weight lifting kind of strong women but those girls who can say "have you lost your mind? I am not showing you my nipple and you are an ass" kind of strong women.

The conversation was all over the place, birth order, zodiac sign, age of the mother when the daughter is born, state they were conceived in (making that one up), seriously, it was all over the place.  

How do you raise strong women?
If my husband was ALPHA parent, Addie would be prancing around in bloomers, playing dolls until she was 16, then she would be allowed to go to school and study cooking.  She would never have a cut, an ailment and she would never meet anyone who didn't love her.  She would never have any conflict.  Her life would be like a game of CANDY LAND.  Her days would be filled with pink and purple and taffy and GUMDROPS.  How boring is that?

Instead, her ALPHA parent is me.  One of my favorite people on this planet and my former roommate, T-Redneck said to me one night, "you know, I have never seen a man offer to buy you a beer.  You are cold and unapproachable."'  Damn Right. 

It wasn't about the beer.  I can buy my own.  It was about the attitude.  I didn't come there to have a man buy me a beer, then you have to talk to them.  I came there to sit with my friends.  

But the question loomed in my head, "how to you raise strong women?"

I have been consumed by this.  I have researched it.  I have a conclusion.

You bear them and then you raise them.

When I was a child, I was surrounded by my great grandmother, Emma.  She was a character and she is a legend.

Then there was my Mamaw.  My favorite person of all time.  

My mom.  Linda.  Little Linda.  My dad always could her Little Linda, small and mighty.

And my Aunt Judy.  My mom's older sister.

I cannot imagine what this planet would have been like if they would have ruled it.

They didn't rule the planet, the world my world.

They still do.

I am 55 years old and if my mom tells me to send a card (even if I don't know the person) I send it. 

One Sunday in church, I told my brother to go through the hymnal and add "under the covers" to the end of the hymn title.  He starts giggling and Little Linda  grabs my shoulder and squeezes with all her might.  You read correctly, my shoulder.  I gave her that teenage, "what did I do?" look and she glared.  You know, the glare.  She glared.

After an hour of praise and grace, we get into the church parking lot and she whips her shoe off and clobbers me because I told him this.  

Even at 75 years old, if there was an Olympic Event for whipping your shoe off and clobbering your kid, my mom would be the most decorated Olympian of all time.

Bottom line, when Little Linda spoke, you listened and you moved.

One day, I had Little Linda and my Mamaw at a restaurant.  It was time to order.  Everytime one of us ordered, the poor waitress said, "we are out of that".

Seriously, it was breakfast.  Eggs, toast, oj and bacon.  Really?
Finally, when the waitress to my Mamaw, my grandma ordered and she said, "sorry, we are out of that too."

My Mamaw looked up at her and said, "Just what in the hell do you have?"

It is the question that is still repeated 45 years later.

I guess you just raise girls to be strong and then surround them with strong women.

My mom was one of those women in the 60's didn't wear a dress and run the sweeper with pearls.  She seldom wore shoes and when she did they were flip flops (so she could use them as a weapon) and she was fiercely independent.  She stayed at home with us and didn't work outside the home.

But it was what she did in the home that later mattered.
We got ourselves out of bed in the morning.  We made our own breakfasts, we walked to the bus stops, that were six miles away in the freezing Pittsburgh winters (kidding, 1/4 mile) and we did chores.  At ten years old,  I cleaned up the dinner dishes, emptied the dishwasher, folded all the laundry (which has scarred my for life...the folds had to be what you saw when you opened the closet), babysat, cleaned my room, changed my sheets and scrubbed the garage door.  

If you ever let it slip that you were bored, you immediately were scrubbing the garage door or cleaning out your drawers.

The point is, she taught us to survive.
Never would she have called someone for us. "You get on the phone and you ask.  You sure have a mouth at home.  Don't pull that shy thing now."

She made us go out and survive.  When I started babysitting, she said "Handle it."

I goofed on my schedule one time and accidentally scheduled a babysitting job on a home football game Saturday.  I asked her if I could go to the game,  while she babysat, then I would take over for  her after the game.  She said no.  I think this is what prompted me to write "I hate my mom, I hate my mom, I hate my mom" over 100 times in my diary.

Never made a scheduling mistake again.

I went away to college and was only allowed to call on Sundays.  Her theory, "You will just need to figure it out".  And I did.

I failed a few thousand times but I figured it out.

Shortly after college graduation, I was living at home with plans to move to California. Things changed abruptly and my heart was broken.  Later that evening, my brother asked me if I wanted to go with him and few buddies to a party.  

"Mom should I go?'

"Yes, your pity party ended here three hours ago.  Nobody came.  Life moves on.  Go live it."


It is not about being strong, it is not about not crying and not caring, it is about falling off the bike, getting back on and being smart enough to know that what you did before did not work.
And taking risks.

Having a strong mind doesn't mean you are a mouthy, opinionated know it all, it means you can think and process and then act.  

Being strong means that you have the courage to do things on your own.  It also means that you are smart enough to ask stronger folks their opinions and then actually listen to their wisdom.  Being strong means being comfortable in your own skin and liking it.  

And being strong means caring with courage and guts and protection those you love. 

One afternoon, I was about ten, my brother Todd was six, my mom and Mamaw took us to Three Rivers Stadium for a Pittsburgh Pirates double header.  We were sitting on the first base line and the sun was blazing in our faces.

My brother Todd sat there in his army green Health-tex shorts with a short-sleeve yellow shirt with an army green stripe around his collar and his navy blue PF Fliers.  He had two little match box bulldozers or tractors (who knows, he was never without those things) and he sat in his little stadium seat.

It was hot.  In between games, with plenty of seats to spare, a little old lady sat down, directly in front of my brother.  Right smack in front of him.  Tons of open seats and she sat directly in front of y six year old brother who never really ever sat still.

And, she had a sleeve of Lorna Doones.  It is Africa hot out and she is eating these dry Lorna Doones.  At a baseball game.  

Occassionally during the game, Todd would accidentally touch the back of her seat, put his hand on the back of her seat, maybe kick the back of her seat when he stood up to catch a foul ball but he was never intentional.

He was a six year old kid.

About the sixth inning, Todd jumped up to see a plane and when he did, his little navy blue PF Flier rubbed the back of her seat.

The little old lady jumps up, the stadium seat makes that funky noise and she turns around and puts her finger in Todd's face.

Okay, it is no secret in my family that Prince Todd is the chosen child.  That is a whole different blog post.  My mother adores her Prince and here is some old lady with her finger in his face.

The old lady, with her drapery arms flapping, finger pointing and shaking and says, "You need to sit down, behave and quit hitting my seat.  If you mother isn't going to discipline, I will."

I was only ten but even I knew these were fighting words.

I looked over at my mom, who was the same height as Lorna Doone Lady and she jumps out of her seat like a rabid Jack-in-the-Box.

My mamaw is gripping her seat and my mom leans over and snaps that lady's finger and says, "He is six years old.  There are 63,000 seats in here and you chose to sit in front of a six year old boy with two matchbox cars.  If he accidentally hits your seat three or four times, so be it.  You can move.  So turn around, and take your Lorna Doones with you."



I will never forget it. Never.  Wake me up at 3 am and ask me what sleeve of cookie the old lady had and I will say, without skipping a beat, Lorna Doone.

It was the first time I remember seeing me mom in action. She was awesome.

Being strong doesn't mean you cannot cry, it means that whining is not an option.

It means you are faced with a mess and you see it as an opportunity.
Being strong is an attitude.  

When Adeline was born, I just kept looking at her saying, "I cannot believe I had a girl.  And what am I going to do with her?"  I hope that when she looks back at her childhood, she will see a woman that was an independent thinker and was not afraid to live her life.  And that whining was not an option and I too would snap a finger from a geriatric.  

Two weeks ago, I announced that we needed to clean the garage (wonder where I got that from).  We started but I had to leave.  Adeline had a vision.  Walker did not see her vision. She said she had this and let her be.  Darn, that girl nailed it.  

You have no idea how proud she was of the work she accomplished.  Still talking about it.  If her dad would have been home, he wouldn't have made her help.  When she said she was willing, I said go for it.  Her inner strength grew that rainy Saturday.

I guess the recipe for raising strong women is this, let them try things they wouldn't normally try and don't hold their hand while doing it....Just them go.  And learn.  

And if they are hungry when they are done learning and doing, give them a Lorna Doone.  

it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: Stand Tall.

it wasn't supposed to be this way but...: Stand Tall.: I don't eat lunch.  I hate taking the time, the calories, just the whole thing.  I avoid lunch dates. Two days ago, an email came acro...

Stand Tall.

I don't eat lunch.  I hate taking the time, the calories, just the whole thing.  I avoid lunch dates.

Two days ago, an email came across that was for a LUNCHEON at the New Bern Country Club.  I have no idea why I kept reading.  The luncheon was to celebrate and honor the Military Family of the Quarter.  I am surrounded by military bases, have a sweet nephew in the Marine Corp and have never been to this event.

 I was in.  I said yes to lunch, yes to the country club and yes to celebrating patriotism.

The couple that was being celebrated was a very young couple with a two year old.  They are not from this area.  The shy, soft spoken Marine stood up to say thank you and said, "my wife told me that where ever we go, we need to leave it a better place through our service."

What fabulous words to live by.

A retired Marine stood up and explained what this Honored Marine did for a living.  Please understand, when you are my age, everyone looks young. Seriously, this young man was a baby with a sweet baby face.  His wife, Kate Middleton looking, was equally as young.  Both were poised and so composed.  

Anyway, the young Marine is the wartime/battle field/ combat electronics and communications specialist.   Basically, he was the one that made sure all of the radios, headsets, anything used for communications, in combat,  always work, crystal clear and perfect.

Way to make a 55 year old female feel insignificant.

While I was sitting in this lovely setting...a few days away from the 15th anniversary of 9/11, I wondered if I could have done more for our country?

I don't like the way things are in our country.  I vote.  It is a Vote of HOPE.  I HOPE things change.  I love to debate with folks who don't have my same views; that is how I learn.  I am ALL about the first and  second amendments.  All about them.    Love them.

And I am all about freedom.  

I guess if I could do it all over, I wouldn't sit down, I would stand taller.  I would stand on a ladder to try an inspire others to reach higher heights.  I would stand taller and shout louder and lead by example.   If you have a shoe fetish (who doesn't), no big deal, get shoes to kids who need them.  If your passion is helping people with different skin tones make a better life, I would grab a few, put them under my wing and start teaching and mentoring.   I would encourage others to do the same...especially if I had seven months off.

I would find my passion, my spirit and I would stand taller and yell louder and I would get everyone who feels the same to join me in my cause of being part of the solution.  I would have the freedom to do so.  

I have an adopted child.  My oldest son is adopted.  He was not a baby when we adopted him.  He had more baggage than the baggage claim at LAX.  It didn't matter.  We loved him.  He mattered.  It didn't matter to me that how many fingers, what color skin or how much baggage, we loved him.  We still do.  Unconditionally.  And my love for my oldest child, (I don't like to refer to him as adopted, he is my son) is different than the love for my other two children.  Anybody can birth a child.  It takes special people to come together as a family unit, especially when you didn't start out that way.  What a story that is to tell to others.  If my family  can stand tall and tell it after everything that we have been through, so can other. Stand Tall or Stand Taller....just stand and tell it.  Love matters.  Love for one another matters. Even if you are not the same or came together in ways you didn't expect, if you listen to one another, you can work it out and work at it.   We have all been through some stuff, let's continue to love and get though it.  Work together.  Love and Listen.  Focus on the positive and walk forward.  Grab hands and walk forward.

I don't care how much money you make or how much you do not earn.   Typically, if you are a big time revenue king or queen, you hired well.  You hired a smart firm to negotiate your salary.  Good hire.  Ever see the movie, Jerry McGuire?  Your choice to hire and your choice to negotiate. It was your choice to master a skill or trade, go to college, join the military, live off an inheritance or marry a rich person.  Your choice.  You are free. 

Love the freedom that you can attend movies, football games, poetry readings or dance recitals.  Love the freedom that you can feel and fuel your passion.  Your passion.  Love that you don't become an athletic robot, stripped from your home and your family at a young age  to belong to your government to perform greatness.  Love that you can attend college, and master your skill or athleticism even more and then make a living from this.  

Love that we will celebrate 9/11 and all the lives that were lost and changed that very day.  Love that so many were going to work that day in the Pentagon to help keep our nation and many other nations safe.  Love that Americans said "oh hell no" and exercised freedoms and stormed the cockpit. They Stood Tall.  I don't love that Americans died that day...but they were free in their jobs, careers, they were business owners and some even chose to be late that day.  Freedom. 

Love that you can read to this blog and say "she is a crazy lady or worse"  and not read anymore.  You can close up this blog and listen to any type music you want or even play Candy Crush.  You are Free to do so.  You can even do it at work. 

Or, you can Stand Tall and use your voice and encourage others to use their talents too and perhaps with your passion, you can send a man to Mars.  People laughed about the man on the moon idea, didn't they?

My husband and I didn't plan for our son to become involved with drugs and the law.  We thought he was going to be a Marine.  It didn't happen.   Instead, I found something that stirred my soul, drug addiction and helping those in the addiction hell.    It totally sucks to stand in front of an auditorium filled with people and tell some of the truths I have to tell but I stand. My voice may crack  but I am still standing. 

I applaud those who draw attention to those things that need fixed.  Like my favorite boss always said, "no bitching if there is no pitching  to fix."  Love that expression. Live it.

This Sunday is 9/11.  Fifteen years ago on 9/11, I found out I was pregnant with my son Walker.  He was born that following May.  He weighed 9/11.  He is our sign of HOPE. LIFE is the greatest form of love.

On Sunday, celebrate Love, celebrate Freedom.  Celebrate our Country.  Celebrate those who went before us and even if you don't agree with what they stood for, celebrate their ultimate sacrifices and passions.  If that is too much for you....celebrate the fact that a group of folks got on a boat, skimmed on the supplies, over packed the beer and salted meat, forgot the fruit, brought  a lousy map and ended up in the coldest part of the East coast, right before winter.  This was just to  worship freely.  It really does seem like an overwhelming feat just to pray.  So, tip your glass to them and what they stood for.  What they did was way tougher than sitting down. 

This Sunday, take somebody to lunch.  When the hostess  asks if you want a booth or a table seat, say you want the counter and STAND.  Celebrate Freedom.  And sing if you want too, even if it is off key.  

Does ANYNODY go to Second base any more?

I was a late bloomer.  I never really dated.  Never really wanted to get all up in some guy I knew I would not end up marrying or being committed too.

If I did date, I got engaged, married, then divorced and eventually married.  I have stayed married now for 18 years.

I am not a "hugger" and I kiss on the cheek the first date.  Most times I never kissed.  These two reasons are most likely the reason I was a late bloomer. 

Late bloomer but not a prude.

Today, I was in between appointments and was forced to sit and steal WiFi with about five young girls.  This "squad" was either about to be seniors in High School or going to Community College.  I was never able to establish.

Anyway, I was sitting down, pounding out work and answering emails, when the "squad" came in.

Nice girls.  Polite.  Neat and clean.  Very "typical" looking.  They sat down with their fru-fru coffees and their phones and they were boring.  Answering text from moms about picking up laundry detergent and what scents they all like and then BAMMM! the conversation was a head turner and a body mover.

I was "listening" to them but not really.  I could hear them but I was slammed and really focused.  And when the "boob" came out, I was in.  Not going to lie.  I was listening.  So much so that I acted like my plug wasn't working and I got up rearranged my seating arrangement so I could listen attentively, without them being able to watch me listening to them.

Now look, this wasn't just audible rubber necking.  I have a preteen and a freshman in high school in about 4 days.  I have a daughter to protect and guide and a son to teach.  This conversation got my attention. This was parental research.

The quieter young lady, who just sat and sipped her coffee was a texting machine.  She would give my niece Allison a run for her money.  She was quiet with a soft demeanor.

All of the sudden, she looks up and exclaims, "Shit, he only likes dark nipples."

"Who?", the chatty one asked?

"Colin, this new guy I have been texting with."

Okay, "new guy I have been texting with" was just ringing in my brain.  "New guy I have been texting with?" and you already know what color nipples he prefers?  Do you know his favorite holiday, color, smell, meal or cookie?  Have you looked into his eyes and asked these questions or did you forgo tonality and text questions and answers?

Chatty Cathy jumps on this like a fly on syrup, "the new guy? the one from the race?"

"Yep.  I SEXTED him my boob and nipple and he responded."

Now I need to just say this...Nip Girl was lovely.  Graceful.  Not trashy, lovely.  Never would you refer to her as SKANK or trashy.  She also was the one who quietly said that lavender was her favorite detergent scent. 

Gel Nail Nancy (with the color pink you could see from space) asks, "So when did you go out with him?"

"We haven't.  We are just talking."

What?  What the hell?  Are you kidding me? You are just texting and then you send over a picture of your boob and he comments and you are upset about how the pigment of your nipple is going to affect your relationship?  Where is Laura Ingalls?  I am locking up my 13 year old daughter THIS afternoon!  Seriously, am I this old?

So, now you too are hooked and want to know how this is going to end right?

Gel Nail Nancy flips her flat ironed hair back and says, "You haven't gone out with him yet and you already sexted him?" 

What is missing in the words above is her tonality.  Gel Nail Nancy was flabbergasted.  Not that she sexted him but because she had done it so soon.

So, I wondered, is this the new version of "fast girl", "sleazy", "easy", "tramp" or whatever.  Honestly, I don't even remember what I called fast girls because it has been so long.

So, Nip Girl says, "look, I have a ton on my plate right now.  Work, school, practice, helping out with my grandmother and if HE isn't going to happy sexually, there is no point."

Yes, you read it correctly.  2016.  2016 where you can facetime from your phone in a Dunkin Donuts to your son in Iceland while he bathes his new baby.  Companies are experimenting with driverless cars and this young girl is worried about some dude she doesn't even know yet and his sexual happiness.

And, after she very softly made her stand known, the squad nodded in agreement with her and went on to the next subject.  No big deal.  Acceptable.  Like she said she was getting a puppy.

It took all I had in my soul and my skin to not stand up on my chair and burst into Helen Reddy's "I am just an embryo, with a long, long, way to go, until I make my brothers understand"...but I knew they had never heard this song.  It was an anthem for all women in the 70's, their parents were not even born yet. 

I was stunned. 

And then Chatty gets a text from her mom and the "squad" leaves.
Two pair of white converse, two pair of Jack Rogers, four Iphones and one girl with light pigmented nipples.

I sat back in my seat and just wanted to cry, laugh and scream.

I remember the first time I was kissed.  Really kissed.  Not the seventh grade kiss at the bus after school, but really kissed. 
We all remember THAT kiss.

I remember notes of affection, hours of phone conversations and the thrill of the first time he reached for my hand.  I loved the business cards with flirtatious notes on my car from my husband (ask me when the last time was I got one of those) when we in the beginning of our hot and heavy relationship.  I remember riding in the car with him, holding hands, driving to meet his parents.  Crazy, cause I was what, 36?  But, I was still excited to be in the car with him and nervous to meet his mom. 

Everything was fun.  Every conversation.  Every lunch date. Every kiss.  All the flirting, all the lust, all the fun.  Hanging onto every word, questions, answers, all of it. 

How sad it was for this young girl and this boy.  Where was the excitement in learning?  And her business like attitude...what's the point?

In a strange way, I understood the "what's the point?"  But, I think that is for the "I want kids, he doesn't, or "he wants me to convert and I don't feel good about" or even "he expects me to sign a pre-nup".

But the pigment of anything?  Really?  Wait till this young man becomes 61 with a 55 year old wife.  I can tell you he won't be that particular then. 

Does anybody hold hands anymore?  Go to second base?  Seriously, does it ever happen anymore?  Do folks even date anymore?  Who drives, who pays, whatever happened to courtship?

Where has romance gone?  Is it packed away with my 8Track player and my STYX tape?

Is this the reason our divorce rate is so high?  When did romance evaporate?  Whatever happened to looking at someone and holding their chin and saying "I love you" instead of texting emoji heart eyes.

How do you teach romance?  Is it the mom's job or the dad's job?  When do you begin that lesson?

Adeline has spent the majority of the summer watching High School Musical One, Two and Three over and over and over again. Her favorite part is when Troy Bolton asks Gabriella to go to the prom and they dance on the rooftop. 

She loves this scene.  She better like watching it cause she is NEVER going to experience it.
My favorite scene from the Sound of Music is when Captain VonTrapp is filled with emotion at the Music Festival that he cannot finish  Edleweiss and Maria comes from the background singing and grabs his hand and finishes his song and then they stand together.

Franklin and I don't have a "made for the big screen type of romance" but we spent years getting to know one another.  Half the fun was the few times I let him get to second base.  It was part of the process. 

I talked to Walker tonight on the way home about being polite to girls.  He looked at me like I had three heads. I told him to "ease up on the heart emojis". 

He asked, "what is up with you?"

I said, "You are growing up.  If you like a girl, tell her to her face.  Don't text her.  Don't send her an emoji, just tell her.  Hold her hand."

He looks at me and says, "Mom, that isn't going to happen.  I don't have a girlfriend.  Not planning on getting one and you told us not to hold hands with anyone because of germs."

We need to resuscitate romance and make second base hip again. 

Seeds from God

My friend died.

She wasn't just my friend, she was the lady who wiped butts, potty trained, put cold rags on boo-boos and loved my kids from 9 to 5 for many years.

It has been a month.  I have gone through a million emotions in the last 40 days.  I have been so fortunate in my 55 years that this is really the first time I have seen someone be in horrible pain and pass.

And she was young.

A couple of times after her sweet husband left the hospital I would stay behind.  I wanted to give him a break but I just felt the need to be there.  I don't know why.  It was peaceful.  Two of those nights amazing thunderstorms came.  The lightning reflected in the room and it was so surreal.  It was in those moments that I reflected on my own life. And, I was so happy for the rain.
After that thunderstorm, I came home for bed.  The next morning, I got to my office upstairs, looked out the window and I saw this sunflower smiling at me.  I didn't plant the sunflower.  Some bird or no doubt a squirrel dropped it there.  Didn't really care how it got there, just that  it was there.  Standing tall, with a huge, yellow blossom.  Who doesn't smile when they see sunflowers?

I left my office and went outside to admire it.  As I stood there and looked at all of the weeds in the wood pile, I noticed a pumpkin growing, some zinnias and another sunflower.  I planted none of these.  I didn't water them, I didn't pick weeds, they just appeared, seeds from God.

As I walked back to my office, I noticed a few of the dogwoods that were also coming up that I did not plant. 

Funny, I busted my behind in my vegetable garden and it looked horrible, worst year ever actually and here I was surrounded by all of these lovely trees or flowers that I did nothing to and they were awesome.  Seeds from God with the help from a squirrel and they were amazing.

As I was working, my eyes were drawn to the sunflower out the window.  At some point, after pre empts and program changes, I just put my head in my hand and gazed out the window.

People are like that sunflower straight ahead of me.  Some people just sprout up in your life and your friendship prospers.  You don't have to spend time weeding it, or watering it, your relationship blossoms.  Others are filled with weeds, or do well then go to seed or just never bloom. 

And just like in the wood pile, it takes one Seed from God, just one seed, to bring joy into your life.

In the case of my friend, I had a friend who told me to call a friend, she told her friend and this friend became our friend.  She and her husband also took care of another family's kids, also friends  of ours and the circle began.

I often wonder what our lives would be like if she hadn't shown up at our house that day to talk about taking care of the kids?   I wonder what her life would have been like without our kids?  She was that special seed placed in our lives.

We all have the "one" friend, easy, peasy.  No water, fertilizer, lousy soil, it just blossoms.  Others, you spend all that time and fuss, fertilize, weed and prune and still the relationships never blooms.

And isn't it so amazing how seeds get blown in your direction and you don't even realize it until  they begin to sprout?  Why is it that God puts certain people into your life when you need them the most and you don't even realize it?  And how crazy is it that you can just meet someone and you know?   You know they are "your type of person".  And how surprising is it when this new "seed from God" turns out to be the one of those special people in your life? 

My friend was like that flower.  Standing tall.  Shining bright and blossoming.  A Seed from God.  She and her husband.  God planted                                                                                 her in our lives.  She blossomed.

Plant a flower.  Make a friend.  Pick a flower.  Give it to someone.  Smell the flowers.  Appreciate those lovely people in your life.  Have a bouquet of folks who give you joy, pluck the weeds and understand there are no coincidences in life.  One choice leads to the next. 

God has a hand in all you do, even when he is done planting seeds.

"You know, she will never get anything from all this"

Last June, our small community wept.  Two young siblings became angels. One of those angels was a dancer at our local dance studio.  Both of these children and their family are so loved. 

This past Saturday was the dance studio's big dance recital.  Dancers of all ages, sizes, shapes and costumes would gather to dance their hearts out.  Moms and Dads, grandparents and siblings would sit in front rows, flowers in hand, phones in the other videoing or taking pictures of the performances.

After each recital, parents and dancers would pose outside for more pictures.  Truly, a monumental occasion. 

Months of practicing  and months of preparation were all leading up to the opening number.

Let me just add, I am not a dance mom.  I don't go back stage.  I don't hire a hairstylist or makeup artist.  I don't meet with the teachers.  I let my daughter do her thing.  I get her to practice, along with some other carpooling moms and I celebrate my daughter. 

Last Saturday, I dropped my mom and my sister-in-law off at the front, I drove around back to get a parking spot.  When I got out of the car, I saw a fellow that I have been acquainted with for years.  Typically, our interactions took place at wrestling tournaments or baseball games and the occasional chat at the concession stand.  He greeted me and asked, "what brings you here today?"

"My daughter is a dancer."

"Really, you don't look like a dance mom (now you understand why I inserted the paragraph above) and I didn't realize you had a daughter."

"Yes, I have a daughter who dances."  (I am not really sure what he meant about being a dance mom but I am sure it something to do with the fact that I am usually sporting a WVU or STEELER sweatshirt and not a tutu.)

"Well, one recital isn't too bad"

"Actually she is dancing in all three"

"Really, all THREE?  What does she dance?"

" Hip hop, tap, jazz, ballet and pointe".

"Wow, that is a ton...you know, she will never get anything from all of this."

Now, typically, my first instinct would be throw some Yankee-Pittsburgh smack at this dude but instead I just tilted me head and looked at him and said, "Have a great time getting culture.  Nice to see you."

I watched the other two recitals and was amazed and the smiles beaming from the dancer's faces, including my own daughter. 

And long after the finale, we basked in the after glow.

I tucked that statement in my vault.  "she will never get anything from all of this."  And I just could not let it go. 

Sunday morning I was up and on my back porch at 5:30am. I could not wait to get a blanket, a cup of coffee and look at pictures and see all of the pictures and the videos that others had posted.

And while I sat there at dawn, again, his words came back to me. 

And finally, so did my response. 

Damn, I wish I could have said the following to him.

"Really, I am surprised that you would say or think that she would never get anything out of this because she has gotten something out of it already."

"This is the "anything" that my daughter has gotten from dance.

1.  She has five classes per week.  Plus cheerleading, plus track (spring only) plus youth group.  She has to be organized.  She has to look ahead at her schedule and say I need to get this done tonight because I will not have time on Thursday night.  She needs to pack her gear, pay attention to dates and times and have the weekly itinerary in her head.   She needs to be organized.

2.  It takes courage to stand on a stage and tap dance.  She has gained courage and she manages to be courageous with a contagious smile on her face.  When she falls, she is poised, when she lands a jump, she is poised.  Being poised and courageous at the same time is an art.  Some of us never master this art and some cannot perform these simultaneously.  When you are four and five, there are not many things for you to try.  Dance can be that starting point.  When you have the courage and the poise, you can play softball, volleyball, basketball, debate team, color guard, the list is endless but for so many young people it starts with a "Little Red Riding Hood" tap routine on a Saturday afternoon.

3.  Intelligence.  You have to be intelligent to remember 20 cheers, chants and routines, five different  dances and remember what you were taught in class and then be tested.  You have to know your stuff.

4.  Dance is not for pansies.  You have to have stamina.  My daughter has abs of steel (something I have longed for) all because of dance, horseback and track. 

5.  Adeline has a group of friends that have seen her fall, undress in a hallway for next routine, helped her fix twisted bra straps, encouraged her, made constructive suggestions and she has done the same for them.  She is learning the art of coaching and being coached.  Learning to be coached and accepting constructive criticism can make or break you in the professional world. 

6. Dancing is also a TEAM sport.  Do you not get that these girls are a team?  They help with the younger girls and cheer the older girls on.   They embrace one another in a "sibling love" kind of way.  You have to learn to work together and accept that the better dancers are often in the front.  You learn to aspire to be in the front row.  You learn to pay your dues.  You learn that practicing as a team and working as a team pays off. 

7.  In life, you typically have different bosses and they all have different ways of doing things.  My mom folded towels one way and my husband folds them another way...both correct.  When you have different coaches, dance teachers, horseback riding teachers, whomever....you learn.  When you learn, you grow.  When you Grow you become fabulous.

8.  Culture.  Theatre.  Acts.  Music storytelling.  Theatre behavior and theatre dress.  All of these are part of the word culture.  I love the theatre, I love musicals.  I love telling stories in song.  Story telling is as old as human civilization.  It is a good thing to be exposed to and to learn from.  You will never walk away from any musical performance without having learned.

9. Every person should  belong to something, anything that helps fuel their passion.  It is a wonderful thing for your soul  to belong to a wonderful thing that fuels your passion.

10.  Mister Jerk, my daughter will most likely never be on Broadway and she most likely will never be an equestrian Olympic star or a track and field Olympic contestant, she will, however have built her self esteem.   But for one afternoon, she was a Broadway star.  And she did all of that, herself.  It wasn't bought, supplied or ordered on line...she did it.  She went to the practices, juggled her schedule, did her schoolwork, learned her routines and then performed.  She did it.  Her success or her failure was hers to own.  She aimed for it and she accomplished it.  She was proud.  She was happy.  She learned the value of working hard to achieve a goal. 



Later that Sunday afternoon, I attended the dedication for the Butterfly Memorial Garden for the little dancing angel.  I don't know what I expected on a Sunday afternoon but the number of people who came out to show all of their support was amazing.  And there, tucked in the crowd at the dance studio lawn were dancers.  Older Dancers, past babysitting dancers, teenage dancers and young dancers, dance teachers and dance studio owners all there to celebrate the dancing angel.

As I watched the young lady play her ukulele and sing "Somewhere over the Rainbow", I let my tears flow.  And I said a silent "thank you" for every dance, every bun, every hair net, every costume,  every jump, every spin, every note, every count, every giggle and every smile that our angel dancer had ever experienced.  And I said a silent thank you for the sisterhood of dancers who were standing around me and all of the fabulous moments my daughter has had because dance. 

 I think I became a "dance mom" at that particular moment.

And so Mister, you are correct....my daughter will never get ANYTHING from all of this...."she has already gotten  SOMETHING bigger than you and I will ever know. 

Get your "SHINE" on

A few months ago, Addie was in a pickle.  She was alone in a social setting.  She said, "I felt so alone and so scared and so clueless."

I turned to her and asked, "so what did you do?"

She looked at me so genuinely and said, "I let my personality shine."

Next week, I have been asked to serve on a panel of women during the 3rd Annual Faith and Beauty Women's Conference.  This year's theme, SHINE.

I have four friends that I admire.  All four of them lost a child.  And all four of them took this ultimate loss and created something amazing.

One of these women has educated health care workers so the accident that took her child will not take another.  Additionally, she and her husband has raised thousands of dollars for scholarships.  They are relentless.  The amaze and inspire me.  The two of them are changing and saving lives. 

My "Prom Date Darrin" and his wife lost their soldier son, not in the line of duty, but during vacation, to a motorcycle accident.  Instead of retreating, they built a home for veterans in his honor. 

My friend who helped me and guided me through the worst of the "button's" antics and suggested a support group that saved my life, gives me strength daily.    While my son lives, her son died of an overdose.  In months, she reinvented herself.  She left her job, pursued her dream and is becoming a chef.  I cheer her on in my prayers daily.

My friend Candida and I were pregnant at the same time.  Beside her husband, I was the first person she told.  Neither knew what we were having.  Our daughters were nine days and nine ounces apart.  Her precious baby girl drowned at 22 months old.

Despite her loss, Candida began to SHINE.  Three children, an awesome husband, her own business and now her passion.  Faith and Beauty weekends.  Women coming together to grow spiritually and to celebrate inner beauty.  Candida and her first born inspire me and make me a better person.

Candida asked me to be on this panel.

I am a little nervous about serving one this panel.  Seriously, what if I cuss?  I have been known to do this once or one million times.  What if I get a question that I just don't know the answer to or don't understand?  What if I trip?  Why did she ask me?  I am not an expert in anything....I bet I was on the B list.  I am a little more than a little bit nervous.  I know nothing about the other women.  I bet they have PHD's or are CEO's.  Ugh.  No doubt I will be seated beside the skinny, young, lovely one.  Oh, and while I am usually blemish free, you know one will appear on my nose. 

And yet, there is a sense of adventure that excites me about this panel.  Never have I been on a panel.  I have asked a panel questions, but never answered.  After my nerves, comes excitement.

How am I going to handle it?  Going to take some advice from my own daughter.  I am going to let my personality SHINE.  Hope to see you there. 

But, if I am terrible, please don't tell me you were there.