24

My apologies for the long hiatus.  This thing called the doc program began, and since then, well, I've found my time for writing endeavors limited, to say the least.

And then this other thing, a full-time summer semester with a full-time job in restaurant management happened, and I found that not only did I have no time for writing, I had no time for anything.

But classes are over now, and I have a special reason for writing today.

Some of you may know that this current pregnancy is actually my third, not my second.  Eight years ago, Rashieme and I lost our middle daughter, Jasmine Celine, to stillbirth.

I was 24 weeks pregnant.

This week, I am 24 weeks pregnant with Shaylin Meadow McFadden.

Shaylin means gift, and she truly lives up to her namesake.  Every day she flips around, kicks me, and reminds me that she is growing and alive.  She only sits still when I am working (and sometimes, not even then!).  All other hours of the day, in moments when I find time to sit or lay down, she is practicing gymnastics, reassuring me that not only is she still thriving--but that she is going to be a PROBLEM when she makes her entrance!

We could not be more happy or excited.

A pregnancy after a loss is still a bittersweet time, though.  It's been years, and I've found myself reliving painful memories.  Jasmine rarely moved, at least not to the point where I could feel it.  Strangers ask is this my first, and I usually answer, no, my second, even though that's not true.

I remember the day they told me her heart stopped beating.  I remember being shocked, even though I'd been told how this was going to end.

I remember the only day I held her.  It was her birthday, Friday the 13th.  That's a day I'm not a fan of, but not for the silly superstitious reasons.  We wrapped her in a soft pink blanket, the only thing I ever bought for her, and we baptized her, and said our goodbyes.

That experience isn't one I talk about or even write about a lot, because it's awkward for other people.  They don't know how to respond.  I respect that, and also, there is no use living in the past.

But Jasmine is also an important part of who I am.  She has strengthened my faith, and shown me how precious life and motherhood are.  She's made me appreciate even the irritating inconveniences of pregnancy.

God is constantly showing me how He hasn't forgotten Jasmine.  We found out, on all days, that we were having another girl on Jasmine's birthday.  I went to her grave that morning and brought her flowers and sat and spent some time missing her and thinking about her and talking to her.  I'd felt Shaylin kick before, but that morning, while I sat next to Jasmine's grave, was the first time I was sure it was more than fluttering.  It was like she was talking to her sister, too.  That afternoon, Rashieme, Kaliah, and I went for the ultrasound and found that we are being blessed with another daughter.

Shaylin will never take the place of Jasmine.  There's no way to know how our lives would be different if Kaliah's eight year old sister were with us now.  I wonder if she would like video games and Pokemon like Kaliah, or if she would be into cheer and gymnastics like I was, or something all together different.  I wonder if they would get along, Kaliah and Jasmine, or if they'd constantly argue like my brothers and I did.  Kaliah is blessed to finally have a sister here with her, but a two year age difference and a ten year gap are not the same.

Everything happens for a reason though, and I don't say that as a trite, one size fits all, look at the glass half-full mentality.  I say it because I believe God is in charge, and that nothing that has happened to us has been outside His control.  I believe Jasmine is in heaven, and I know--know--that I will finally meet her and see her smile one day.

So as I reach the point in this pregnancy where my other one ended, I am nothing but thankful.  Thankful for the new life I have inside me; thankful for my new life in Jesus Christ, and thankful for the new life I will one day share with all my daughters, and, God willing, maybe a son, too.

Pregnant with Shaylin Meadow McFadden.  Picture taken at 22 weeks, on my husband and I's anniversary.

Nine Years Later...

Yesterday, we celebrated my daughter's ninth birthday.

Nine.

I swear, I don't know where the time goes.  It seems like it could not have been that it was nearly a decade ago that I found out I was pregnant.  I can't believe I've been a parent for nine whole years.  It hardly seems possible, when I can close my eyes and remember so clearly the way her smooth cheek felt against mine as I held her close and rocked her to sleep.  All those milestones rush by--first smile, first words, first steps... first day of school, first report card, first dance recital.... soon we'll be into the perilous world of middle school, and it will be all I can do not to have a complete and total nervous breakdown, as I KNOW what happens in middle school.

Sometimes I don't feel like I'm even a grown-up yet.  But then, I think about the fact that I have a nine-year-old-- a smart, healthy, generally well-mannered nine-year-old daughter... and I guess that I must have grown up myself somewhere along the way.

Out of all the women out there who could have probably done it better, God blessed me by picking me to be her mom.

I'm not the super organized soccer mom who's the queen of scheduling.

I'm not the all-organic health food nut who makes sure there's no sugar in the house or in her kid's diet.

But I am a mom whose imperfect love is all my child needs, by the grace of God.

What our children need more than stuff, is us.

So yesterday, the day after her birthday party, and the very first day of summer break, we had a mommy/daughter day.  We went to Bethany Beach in the midst of summer tourist season, because that was where my daughter wanted to go (and even though I've been boycotting them in the summer season due to a ridiculously unfair parking ticket two seasons ago, I agreed, because it was what my daughter wanted).

We ate D.B. Fries.  I lounged on the beach while she frolicked in the ocean.  We had smoothies from TCBY.  It was an ordinary day, but a beautiful one.

When we got home to pick up Daddy to go out to a family dinner, she commented, "This is the best day of my life."

Not the day before, fun as it was, spent at a horse stable and lavished with gifts from us and her friends.

Just the simple gift of being together and doing what she wanted to do.  That was enough.

Thank you, Kaliah, for being my daughter. You always remind me what the best things in life are.  If I never did anything else again in this world, I still would leave it happy, knowing that I brought you into it.

Happy Birthday, my love.

An Age Old Question Addressed...

Do Blondes Really Have More Fun?

So I got my hair done this weekend!

I was way overdue for a trim and some color.  Like, to the point that my roots were something ridiculous.  But last time I got my hair done, my stylist Margaret put in highlights and lowlights, so as it grew out, I told myself that maybe that hombre look was still in, and went on my merry business, because with the winter I had, neither time nor extra finances came easily.

But with our wedding fast approaching, I had decided that I needed to make sure of what I wanted before the big day.  I was pretty confident that I'd prefer to get married as the more natural brunette version of myself.  But blonde and I go way back, too.  I was a blonde as a kid.  I was a blonde when Shieme met me.  I was a blonde when we began dating.  So yesterday, I went pretty blonde:

 

*Photo credit to Margaret Lazaro of Cutting Edge Designs in Delmar, Delaware.  If you're in the area, please go check them out!  Not only do they have amazing stylists such as Margaret, they offer extremely competitive, reasonable prices on all services, including tanning!  (If you go check them out, please mention me--Jenny Meister--and let me know you listed me as a referral, because I can earn goodies such as free tanning and reduced prices on salon services!  Then you can refer your friends and earn free stuff, too!)

 

By the way, please don't judge the "Before" picture too harshly.  While I'm as guilty (if not guiltier) as the next girl of a few bad hair days, this picture was taken directly after a rather intense running workout, and my natural curls had been rocking a pony tail that morning.  :)

So I love the blonde, but I'm glad I did it now, in celebration of summer.  When I go in again just before our wedding, I'll ask for highlights and lowlights that look more subtle with my natural light brown color, as opposed to a root touch up on this Barbie look.  While I think it's very pretty, I feel like my signature look in my thirties should be to rock a more natural looking hair style.  Plus, my headpiece for my veil is a beautiful pearl design that will stand out better if it contrasts with brown, as opposed to blends in with blonde.

Still, I adore the color and am very blessed to have found a hair stylist who can give me what I want no matter what I ask for.  For this point in my life though, I've decided that,

1) Blondes don't really have more fun.  People who want to have fun, have fun.
2) Blondes aren't any dumber than anybody else.  The ditzy blonde actually comes in all hair colors.  You only need about a ten minute interaction with general humanity to figure this one out.

I've been playing with hair color for years, because, well... why not?  It's fun.  It's amazing how much you can change your look with a good cut and color.  Every time I visit Margaret, I come back refreshed, rejuvenated, and ready to take on the world.  With a good cut and color, a confident woman could single handedly take over whatever she felt like!  Here was Shieme's reaction:

Shieme: "You look like a cougar."
Me:  "I do??"
Kaliah:  "No she doesn't."
Shieme:  "She doesn't know what a cougar is."  (To which I thought, well, I'd hope not!)
Me:  "So I look older?"
Shieme:  "Older and richer.  Kaliah, doesn't Mommy look like she has money?  Like, a few hundred dollar bills in her purse? You look like you left to go to the bank, and came back after you bought the bank!"

So I may not own a million bucks, but at least I feel like I do!

Mad props to all the hair stylists out there that make their clients feel like a million dollars!

Please Pardon My Brief Absence...

So it's been a little over the week that normally goes by in between my obligatory blog posts, but I have a decent excuse:

EASTER!

Well, and the exhaustive daily events leading up to this joyous celebration.

My family and I had a beautiful Easter, and I pray that you did, as well.  We attended an awesome Easter service at our church home, Oak Ridge Baptist, where we were blessed with an inspiring abundance of visitors, tons of people getting baptized, and many first-time decisions for Christ.  It was a humbling experience, a day full of celebration.

We continued the good times at my mother's house, where she prepared a delicious meal for my family.  Kaliah got to dye eggs with my brother's girlfriend's kids, and it was really cool that after being the only child in the family for so long, she finally had somebody else to play with.  (Rashieme enjoyed it too.  An epic game of freeze tag may or may not have went down, in which I discovered I'm quite possibly NOT the fastest person in the family, in spite all of the miles I try to cram into each month).

So the holiday was about our Savior and time together as a family.  Mommom offered to take Kaliah for a few days, so Shieme and I can get some grown-up time in.  I'm hoping we'll get a chance to do a little wedding planning and a lot of relaxing.  I'm also going to have to squeeze in several errands of a boring nature, so I feel very blessed to have off this entire week from work.

But I know you guys don't stop on over just to hear the mundane details of my routine.  You're looking for funny.  So try this on for size:

'Twas the night before Easter, and I was freaking exhausted.

I'd just worked a shift at the Cottage.  It wasn't even really busy, but I'm not getting any younger, and it HAD been super slammed the night before, which I had also worked.  I got home just a little after Kaliah's bedtime, so since she woke as I entered the house, I had to run in and give her a quick kiss and a belated Bible story.  I headed back into the living room and collapsed onto our recliner, with the intention of waiting for her to venture off into total slumber before I began filling her Easter basket.  I even went so far as to ask Rashieme where the basket was, as earlier that day Kaliah had tried to fill it with dirt and leaves to create a nest for a robin's egg I found for her-- that's another story that ultimately ended in tragedy, so we'll save that one for another day).  He located the basket for me, and I promptly fell asleep in the chair, drooling and protesting that I was still awake as Rashieme tried to force me off to bed.

So naturally, I totally forgot to play the Easter Bunny.

I forgot until Kaliah was standing over me Easter morning, demanding, "Where's the candy?"

"Umm... the Easter Bunny must be running late," I muttered, kicking myself for having dropped the ball.

"I think you're the Easter Bunny," Kaliah responded.

"No, no.  You don't believe in the Easter Bunny, you don't get candy," I warned her.  "I'm sure he's just running late.  Go take a bath!  Maybe he didn't come because you're too dirty."

"What?  That's--"

"Go take a bath!"

So as she reluctantly headed off to the tub, I went racing outside in my robe and sneakers, hauling in the crap I'd bought and not brought in the night before, jamming Easter grass and jelly beans and chocolate eggs and rabbits haphazardly in the Easter basket, just managing to fling the last of the packaging materials into the garbage as Kaliah emerged from what has GOT to be the world's quickest bath.

"Why do you have Easter grass in your hands?"

"The Easter bunny left a mess!  Look, he came and went while you were in the bath tub.  How about that?"

If she hadn't quite stopped believing, I'm pretty sure that yesterday I effectively ended any remaining confidence she held in the Easter bunny's existence... but hey, what mattered to her the most was the candy.  I was immediately forgiven for any crimes I may or may not have committed as she dug into her goods.  Soon, it was time for the next battle:

The wearing of the Easter Dress.

And such are the holidays, and such is life:  a series of battles, big and small, a journey of mistakes and apologies, mountain peeks and valley lows.  Smiles and laughter, tears of joy and sorrow.  Thanks, dear readers, for checking in.  May you never forget to play the Easter Bunny, and may the peace of the Savior comfort you, no matter what your highs or lows may be in this supremely special existence.

Happy Easter!

Conversations with Kaliah...

So I've been considering going back to school to get my doctorate... a decision that's been weighing heavily on my mind.  Rashieme and I have discussed it extensively, but as nothing's certain yet, there was no real reason to address the subject with Kaliah.

It's not like we've been hiding it from her--there's just really nothing to discuss with her, yet, since we don't know exactly what's going to happen.  Or how it will effect her.  But on Saturday, after I'd spent four plus hours of a beautiful day trudging through the GRE exam, Rashieme and I were once again chatting about the future on the car ride home.  This time, though, Kaliah happened to be paying attention.

"What are you talking about, Mom?" she asked.

"I'm considering going back to college."

"Then who will be my mom?"

Pause.

"I will be your mom, Kaliah."

It took me a moment to understand her concerns, to which I responded that I wasn't going away to college, but rather, that I would be driving back and forth to classes each day, if I even decided to go.

She considered this, then shrugged.

"I would have been happy with Miss WizB," she replied indifferently.

(Miss WizB is Kaliah's godmother.  Apparently, she's a lot cooler than me.  Also, she has a pool).

Just in case I didn't realize how uncool I was, Kaliah reminded me again tonight on the way to her science fair.  I jokingly teased her that she was very lucky to have such cool parents.  To which she responded, "Um, not really.  You're not with it."

"Not with it?" I asked incredulously.

"You're not with it, Mom," she corrected herself.  Apparently, her father is still "with it."

"I'm not with it?" I demanded.

I could start ranting about when "it" changed, and who changed it anyway, but maybe I was never really with it.  After all, I've always preferred reading to movies.  I've seen every single episode of Grey's Anatomy and could get into a heated discussion with anyone who cares about why I'm super excited that Burke is coming back.  I run ridiculous amounts of miles without anything chasing me, for what Rashieme would tell you is for no apparent reason.  There was a small part of me that actually enjoyed taking the GRE--especially the pressure that came with watching the timer in the corner tick down as I faced increasingly difficult reading passages.

I was nerdy before Napoleon Dynamite made it cool.  And the kids in my classroom don't even know who that is anymore, which just goes to further confirm how uncool I've become.

Such is life.  I think I'll keep my uncool mom status and see just how far I can take it while still maintaining some shred of dignity.  There's a part of me that could definitely take the rollers-in-the-hair, bathrobe-around-the-house style to the next level.

And since apparently I'm completely replaceable by the cooler, hipper Miss WizB, what have I got to lose?

 

Kaliah:  "You're so not with it, Mom."

Some Kaliahisms to Get You Over the Hump...

Well, Hump Day is upon us, as are several inches of snow here in Slower Lower Delaware.  Again.

I have no flip or humorous comments to offer concerning the weather.  I have decided, though, that Old Man Winter is much more to blame for this than is Mother Nature.  Men are much more stubborn, and this is The Winter That Never Ends, apparently.

So, what to do when you are snowed in for the four BILLIONTH time with your child or your children?

Treasure them for the joy that they are, of course.

It's either that, or, you know, allow them to slowly but surely drive you insane.

Just kidding.

Mostly.

I am blessed to have an amazing daughter.  Still, sometimes the things that come out of her innocent mouth are quite ridiculous. So on a snowy spring day with not much else to do, I present, for your entertainment:

Kaliahisms.

Actual sayings by our eight-going-on-nine-year-old daughter, Kaliah.

1.  My favorite so far this year:  "It only takes one person to mind the business."  I can't remember the exact context of this quote, but she said it shortly after New Year's and Rashieme and I bring it up frequently.  And true:  if the whole world had Kaliah's attitude, how much more peaceful would planet Earth be?

2.  While cooking breakfast for Rashieme:  "These are going to be the best eggs Dad's ever tasted.  Except for the ones he makes.  They're way better."  Hash tag, Chef Problems.  At least we tried.

3.  After Kaliah finally admitted to forgetting about a cup of apple juice that the cat consequently knocked over:
     Me:  "All you had to do was say, I'm sorry, Mom.  I forgot."
     Rashieme:  "Yeah.  Instead of making a bunch of excuses."  Looks my way. (Guilty as charged, 
     by the way and FYI).  "Wonder who she  gets that from?"
     Kaliah:  "From you, Dad.  You just gave an excuse."
     Rashieme:  "No, I didn't.  Kaliah, do you even know what an excuse is?  Or are you just talking?"
     Me:  "Wonder who she gets that from."

4.  "That dumb cat is so smart!"

5.  Accompanied by the picture below and followed by evil laughter:  "This is the perfect snowball.  It's glorious!"

 

Happy Hump Day, Er'rybody! Don't worry, warmer days are coming!  (Aren't they?  I mean, like, don't they have to be?)

I'm Dreaming of a White St. Patrick's Day...

Said no one ever.

And yet, that's exactly what we've got.

Poor Mother Nature.  She's really been getting beat up on Facebook these past couple days.  I've seen posts ranging from "Go Home, Mother Nature, You're Drunk," to "DIE WINTER DIE," to various other comments critiquing the Bi-Polar episodes the weather has been suffering from lately.

And I get it, I do.  They've already added thirty minutes on to every school day (which is sort of hilarious, because on the day of the scheduled implementation of extra time, school was ironically closed due to-- you guessed it-- inclement weather).  At this rate, summer vacation will begin for teachers at about the time we're ready to come back in August.

But, still.  How often, on St. Patrick's Day, do you get a chance to make one of these:

She looks bigger than she actually is.  (My mother decided she was a she.  I didn't really think about it, just assumed it was a guy.  I supposed that's sort of sexist of me, but hey, so is the term "Snowman."  And since she is wearing my hat--with sparkly glitter threads woven throughout, nonetheless-- I guess she is a girl.  Or a snowman who is very comfortable with his sexuality). 

Still, even though she's small, I'm pretty proud of her.  Granted, it has snowed approximately four million times so far this year, so much so that Kaliah asked me today if Delaware looks completely white from outer space.  But none of the previous snowstorms brought the good-for-packing snow.  I was beginning to think the problem was me, that I just wasn't talented enough to make the snow stick together.  I thought maybe I'd reached a new low in life, because, really... how hard should it be to make snow form a few snowballs?

But then this most recent snow arrived, and I could tell the difference as soon as Kaliah and I started rolling it.  It wasn't me, after all.  This snow, this was the sticky kind.  So behold:  The St. Patty's Day Snow Woman.

We'll call her Pat.

Mother Nature does get a bad rep when she goes on these wild mood swings.  (Funny how we assume snowmen are dudes but nature is a lady).  I guess she's entitled, though.  If I were responsible for the whole entire world's weather, it would be even more sporadic and crazy and unpredictable than it's been, even throughout this wacky winter.  And I wouldn't apologize for it, either.

After all, it's a big world out there.  There's a lot to keep up with.

And as for making up her mind and sticking to it?

Who are we to judge?  I can't tell you the number of decisions I'm juggling with right now, but I bet you've got just as many.  From the mundane, like deciding what to fix for dinner or what kind of damage control my hair is in need of, to the life changing--like is my career going where I want it to?

It's a miracle my child and I make it out the door fully clothed each morning, with all the stuff I'm thinking about.

I've been told I wear my heart on my sleeve, that I care too deeply and feel too much.

I know, of course, that this is true.  But my feelings are what make me who I am.  I don't always take criticism or rejection well (fun times on the publishing endeavors, let me tell you!), and I tend to overreact in all kinds of situations--to get too excited or take something too much to heart.  To dwell on something I've done wrong or to overanalyze the tiniest details.  But this same sensitivity makes me a better mother, a better listener, a better friend.  I'd like to hope a better writer.

And my child, my colleagues, and my friends know that the volcanic emotional eruption comes with the territory.  They know when to get out of the way and give me my space, or when I just need a hug.

So give nature a break.  Sure, she can't make up her mind lately.  She's been a bit moody--furious storms, smiling suns, gentle breezes, and God forbid--more snow--she's going through something, maybe, but who among us isn't?

You can't get the rainbows without the rain.

And you CAN make a snow woman on St. Patrick's Day!!

So while I'm not Irish, I do consider myself lucky.  More than lucky, actually--blessed.  I pray that all of you are blessed as well, and that if, much like Mother Nature, you're struggling to make up your mind about something--that you accept each day for what it's worth--another incredible day in your journey.  No matter how far you are from your destination, you are somewhere today.  And that's worth celebrating.

Just ask Pat.  I doubt she thought she'd be here in March, but here she is.

And that, my friends, is something more than even the luck of the Irish.

Dog Days of What Felt Like The Never-Ending-Winter

This is my dog, Sue Yung.

She is guilty of many offenses.  The most recent one being that, last night, whilst I was asleep, with the bedroom door wide open and mere steps away from where Rashieme was still awake playing video games in the living room, Sue Yung sternly approached my bed and "Arfed," in the discreet but serious way that meant I had better get up in the middle of the night before she peed in my bedroom.

She is going on to be nine years old in the near future.  She was my first child, in a way, because in the brilliance of the third trimester of my pregnancy, I decided it was the perfect time to add a furry friend to our family.  That didn't work out so well.  Sue Yung ended up staying with my mother for several years, but now, Rashieme and I have been awarded sole custody.

Mainly because she has a bad habit of lazily standing or laying exactly where she shouldn't, which isn't exactly convenient in Mom and Mommom's househould, primarily because Mommom now uses a walker which Sue Yung has been known to attack from time to time.  The snarling and snapping usually occurs when the walker intrudes on her personal standing or snoozing space, which, again, is always in a convenient location, such as in the middle of a narrow hallway, or blocking the only bathroom door, or perhaps directly in front of the stove or refrigerator at meal time.

Sue Yung is a Lhasa Apso Shitzu mix.

Rashieme claims she is "A Dog."

Sue Yung was named by Rashieme after the female character who gets kidnapped in the Rush Hour movies.  I don't know why, but sometimes I do wish Sue Yung would get kidnapped.

Just kidding.

Sort of.

So we are a very diverse family.  Rashieme is African-American, I am white, our daughter is bi-racial, and, apparently, our dog is Chinese.

We also own a smaller dog, Diva, who is, in a word, Terrified.

She is the sweetest, most timid, eager-to-please creature I have ever met.  She is spoiled rotten and well-trained.

But she walks around with a perpetual look of Terror on her face.

Also, as pictured below, she was involved in a torrid romance with Kasey, and it seemed not to matter to either of them that both are girls and Kasey is, in fact, a cat.

 

 

So this post was all about my pets.  Those of you who know me know that I am really not a pet person these days.  I love them, don't get me wrong, but in mothering and housekeeping and working and all the other -ings of my days, they just don't take a top priority in my life.

Luckily, Kaliah is the most compassionate, animal-loving, constantly pet-tending child there could ever be.  She still wants to be a veterinarian or an animal rescuer when she grows up (though I'm hoping, eventually, she'll move more towards, you know, doctor.  Or lawyer.).

Of course, her manners of tending and attention sometimes result in the animals flocking to Rashieme and I to be rescued from her loving care... but her intentions are good, I assure you.

So here's to the household pets that love us, adore us, amuse us, and befriend us.  Who on the frigid days of winter cuddle up to warm us.  Who on the dog days of summer lie inspiringly motionless, sprawled out across the living room floor.

They are sparkles of light in my life, though I'm not a particularly passionate pet owner.  I enjoy those quiet moments of contentment sitting with or coddling my furry friends, infrequent as they may be.  I recognize the difference they make in my household, and am happy that I can provide them with a home in which they are adored by my daughter.

And slightly more than tolerated by me.

Just kidding.

Sort of.

I am From...

A good one for #ThrowbackThursday...

My "I Am From" Poem.

Composed on my last birthday.

Originally shared as a note on Facebook, 8/30/13.


Inspired by readings from Ms. Kim Patrick's Young Writers' Open Mic, and dedicated to all the people who have made me into who I am...

I am from golden days spent wiggling toes in sun baked sand, and the taste of salt that lingers after reluctantly saying farewell to the sparkling waves, dragging boogie boards and plastic buckets the half mile trek away from the beckoning Atlantic.
I am from Daddy's big laugh as he thrust me high above his head to do Super Girl, flashes of pine trees whirling by above us.
I am from "If I wanted to build my house in a field, I would have built it in a field!" accompanied by a satisfied nod when Mommom complained to him about those pines.
I am from the comfort of cherry flavored tobacco, snuggled up in my Poppop's generous lap--the warmest, safest place to lay one's head at Mommom's house.
I am from "Welcome to the Family of the People Who Love the Lord" sung by warbling, honest voices in the tiny Baptist church on Rt. 54, and the tears that stung as a teenager as I tried to form those words, not understanding why I cried.
I am from "If you want to be baptized, you have to be nicer to your brother."
I am from elaborate hand-stitched Halloween costumes and my mother's smiles, crispy bacon and hot scrapple on a Saturday morning, cartoons blaring in the background from one of the three lonely channels the satellite provided.
I am from Friday nights under the lights and round-off, toe touch, cheer!  Green and Gold and the swelling victorious instruments blasting out "Da-da-da-da-da, hey!" beneath starry October skies.
I am from the love of my life staring at me in a high school chorus class, tossing my music on the floor or playfully touching my side, my shoulder.... tingles that brought back smiles hours and years later.
I am from dreams of getting off the Eastern Shore, palm trees of North Florida swaying under cloudless blue skies and college life with my best friend, who went 800 miles away with me after forming a playground friendship by the sliding boards in second grade.  I am from going back to where you came from, and so is she.
I am from a bustling, vibrant, welcoming church, filled with thousands of people who love Jesus and each other.  A church that grows and changes and laughs, while staying true to the scriptures.
I am from "Thank You," as my love's beautiful brown eyes fall on me in the hospital bed, our little Rose cradled contently in his arms.
I am from "She won't look like this when we see her again," and his hand on my shoulder as we hold our youngest in the oh-so-soft blanket--the only thing I will ever buy for her.
I am from never look back, or they'll see you as weak, and the thudding of sneakers on pavement as my eyes search for the finish line.
I am from rejection after rejection, sprinkled with glimmers of hope from agents who praise my writing ability, gently admitting my novel is not quite right for them.
I am from all eyes on me at open mics, and laughter and tears and comments that urge me to sit down and begin typing again.
I am from Dr. Puma's barely legible "I expect to see your name in print some day" scrawled across the bottom of my final memoir turned in for Non-fiction class.
I am from believing.

Movin' It On Over Monday!

So since I can't give away ALL of my new stuff (if I ever expect you guys to buy anything assuming I'll someday be published)...

Here's what I think is an oldie but a goodie.

It's a throwback to 2011, when my daughter (currently a third-grader) was on the cusp of her kindergarten graduation.

This was originally published on an earlier attempt at a blog that I've since abandoned.  It was inspired by the famous poem “All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten,” by Robert Fulghum.
I call it, "All I Really Need to Know in Life, I Learned From my Kindergartener."

It is, of course, dedicated to Kaliah Rose, now eight and a half. 

My how a few years makes a difference!

THEN:

As my daughter nears her kindergarten graduation, I cannot believe the way these few years have swiftly passed us by. When I close my eyes, I still can feel her snuggled up against my chest, wrapped in a cozy onesie and a cloth blankie, smooth cheek resting on my shoulder. Now, I watch her zip by me at any given moment, eyes laughing and voice bubbling, going a million miles a minute. Watching her easily transition into school, friendships, and the second half of her first decade on this planet, I pause to capture the simple yet profound lessons we can learn from a kindergartener.

• If you’re going to be sloppy with the toothpaste, you might want to put your nice shirt on after you brush.

• Work first, then play. But make sure you do plenty of both. Too much of either leads to less than desirable results.

• Read. Read during the day. Remember that the ability to read is an amazing skill. Later in life, you will probably forget what an intricate process learning to read was, but try not to take the gift of literacy for granted. Above all else, read a bedtime story every night. And if you’re able to, give someone a kiss and a hug before you shut your eyes.

• You can have a Reese cup. Or even two. But make sure you’re eating the healthy stuff, too, and don’t overdo it with the sweets.

• Be nice to everyone, even those who aren’t nice to you. Sometimes people will hurt you, or your feelings. Don’t make it a secret that you’ve been hurt. But if you get no apology, forgive them anyway and move on.

• Laugh every day. As many times as possible.

• Everybody mispronounces a word, gets a problem wrong, or screws up an assignment every once in a while. Accept corrections and criticisms with dignity, and don’t allow yourself to be embarrassed.

• Always tell your mommy and daddy that you love them.

• We all have meltdowns occasionally. If you’re having one, the best thing to do, usually, is take a nap.

• If you don’t understand something, ask. If that question leads to another question, ask that one too. If the person you are questioning doesn’t know the answers, don’t be discouraged, ask someone else. Never lose your sense of curiosity.

• Sing loudly, even if you sing off-key. If you’re trying your hardest and having a good time, no matter what the task, who cares what anybody else thinks?

• Follow the rules. Follow the directions. If you break a rule or skip a direction, be prepared to live with the consequences. When you’ve done something wrong, say that you’re sorry. And mean it.

• When you come home, tell somebody about your day. The more details the better. Then, listen while they tell you about yours.

• The show must go on! I was particularly proud of my little girl for getting up on stage by herself for the first time ever during a talent show. She had a nasty cold, and her partner didn’t show, but Kaliah dancing ballet to “Jesus Loves Me,” the first solo act of the evening, her tiny little figure moving gracefully, cautiously, and a little unsteadily across the stage all by her lonesome self, showed me that bravery comes in all shapes and sizes.

• Enjoy the little things in life. Sunshine. A rainbow. An encounter with a butterfly. Be amazed by the small stuff.

• Love someone all the way to infinity and back. If we all possessed the trusting, innocent love of a kindergartener, we could take our relationships to places we never imagined.

• Go to bed at a decent hour, or you’ll be seriously cranky-pants in the morning.

• Every once in a while, go ahead and be a show-off. Shake it like there’s no tomorrow to “Walk Like an Egyptian.” Be proud of your accomplishments, and share them with your loved ones. Don’t get carried away though—everything you do is a gift from God.

• Be honest. Kindergartners are particularly good at this, as they’ve yet to learn the art of “tact.”

• Have faith the size of a mountain. Be unashamed of it, and willing to share with those who need it. Pray for everyone you love, and even those you don’t. Pray for yourself, too. Always remember that God is with you. Allow your heart to be touched by the bigness of our world and the people in it who need our love.

Thank you, Kaliah Rose, for being the best thing that has ever happened to me.

Love,

Mom
5/26/11

Now:

13 Kaliahisms for 2013

Kaliahism:  Noun.  (Kuh-LEE-uh-ism).  Saying produced by Kaliah Rose McFadden, daughter of Jenny Lynn Meister and Rashieme Lamar McFadden.

As we bid goodbye to 2013, take a few moments to view the year through the eyes of an eight-year-old.  The following Kaliahisms are actual sayings as uttered by Kaliah throughout the year 2013, as closely directly quoted as my overcrowded memory allows.  Here are 13 of them for 2013.

1.  "I have a Mario head, Mom.  You have a Luigi head."
2.  "Back in the 1950s, did the world used to be in black and white?"
3.  "Mom... why did you sleep in that?
     "I didn't.  This is what I'm wearing to work today.  It's 80's day."
     "That's not 80's.  It's just crazy."
4.   "It is 80's.  This is how people used to dress back then."
     "YOU were in the 80s???"
5.  "Pull over, Mom!  We have GOT to pick that dandelion!"
6.  "You could probably win a potato chip eating contest, Mom."
7.  "I might want to be a farmer when I grow up."
     "We don't have a farm, Kaliah."
     "So?"
8.  "Kaliah, do you understand this cartoon?"
     (Cartoon features the caption 'Punctuation saves lives.' Family is surrounding Grandma, and there are two examples given:  "Let's eat, Grandma!" and "Let's eat Grandma!"
     "Yes, when you move the comma, they're not telling grandma to eat... they're saying they'll eat Grandma!"
9.   "I know how to swim.  I just can't do it, yet."
10.  While "Sexy and I Know It" is on the radio.  The line that goes, "There's a passion in my pants and I'm not afraid to show it..."
     "Mom, what does fashion in his pants mean?  Does that mean he's wearing really pretty underwear?"
     "That's exactly what it means, Kaliah."  (Changing the channel quick, fast and in a hurry).
11.  "Remember when you got the parking ticket and started crying, Mom?"
12.  "Uncle Billy can drive?"
      "Yes, we bought our car from him."
       "Huh.  I never knew he made it that far in life."
13.  "I'm good at gymnastics because I'm so stretchable."

As we close out the year, I thank God for my smart, sweet, funny little girl.  I thank Him for all of my other blessings, including another year spent with the love of my life, the joy of spending time with family, the roof over our heads, the job I have, the dreams I work toward.  I pray that you and your family will be blessed tremendously in 2014, and I thank you, as always, for taking the time to read! 

In Honor of Thanksgiving...

I am so thankful for my beautiful family, especially my daughter.

I am also deeply aware of how blessed I am that I have the ability to express myself in writing, and even more humbling... I am thankful for those of you who enjoy reading my thoughts...

So in honor of Thanksgiving (and the fact that I am now 100 PAGES IN!!! Woohoo!!) to my latest project, a collection of non-fiction...

I give you a crazy but true story of everyday life that celebrates the one, the only, Kaliah Rose McFadden:

The “Budding” Artist

            Considering how much crazy runs in our family tree, I count myself extremely blessed when I ponder how intelligent, compassionate, kind, and well-behaved our daughter has turned out to be thus far.  As a teacher, it is especially important to me that she treat her teacher and classmates with respect.  Rarely has she let me down in this aspect.  The one time she got herself in a somewhat serious bind occurred in the first grade.

            We were driving home from martial arts practice.  Each day after school, my daughter rides the bus to the martial arts studio, where she receives babysitting services and a tae kwon do lesson, two for the price of one.  So I hadn’t yet had a chance to ask her about her day when I picked her up from the studio.  She had barely shut her door and I had just climbed into the driver’s seat when she announced, “Mom, I have something to tell you.”

            “Okay,” I replied, backing the car up.

            “I don’t want to tell you,” she continued, seriously and honestly.

            I closed my eyes briefly before shifting gears and pulling out of the parking lot.  This had already been a long day (as most of my days dealing with seventh graders were).  I remember thinking, what now?, as I caught a glimpse of my daughter’s worried face in the rearview mirror.

            “Kaliah,” I said slowly.  “Whatever it is, I will still love you.  But you are going to be in much less trouble if you tell me the truth about it now than if I hear about it from someone else later.”

            “Well,” she began reluctantly, “I drew a drawing at school.  Because Kevin asked me to.”

            “Okay…”
            “It was an unappropriated drawing.”

            “Inappropriate how?” I demanded, feeling my blood pressure begin to rise, trying to keep my voice at an acceptable decibel.

            Silence answered me from the back seat.  I met my daughter’s eyes in the rearview.  They were shining with tears.

            “What did you draw, Kaliah?” I asked her, fighting to stay calm.

            “Well… Kevin asked me to draw a naked lady. So I did.”  She then burst into uncontrollable sobs.  “I feel so ashamed!” She wailed.

            For a moment, I nearly laughed.  My seven year old had drawn a naked woman, and now was beside herself, crying and apologizing.

            I grimaced to hide my smile.  “Kaliah,” I said sternly.  “You know better than that.”

            “Are they going to expel me?” she moaned.

            Again, I furrowed my brow to suppress a giggle.  “No, I don’t think so.  What else happened?”

            “I got into trouble with Mrs. Williams.  I didn’t mean to!  I’m sorry,” Kaliah melted into tears again, pressing her face into her hands.

            “We’ll talk about it when we get home.  It will be okay.  Thank you for telling me,” I practiced my best maternal discipline voice—firm but not heartless. 

            Upon arriving at home, as I fished my child’s folder from her book bag, removed her homework packet and placed Kaliah at the kitchen table with it, I rummaged through the take-home side of the folder, finding at once a handwritten note from Mrs. Williams.  I removed it from the folder, leaning over the counter to read the story according to Kaliah’s teacher.

            Dear Ms. Meister,

Today during reading time, Kaliah drew the following picture in her journal.  When I asked her about it, she claimed that a classmate asked her to draw it.  When I questioned her classmate, he denied asking her to draw this.  Kaliah approached my desk a bit later and claimed that actually, a family member had told her to draw it.  I sent a copy to Ms. Fox and explained to Kaliah that these kinds of pictures are inappropriate for school.

Thank you,

Mrs. Williams

            I could feel the blood rushing to my temples as I lifted the note to discover the drawing folded neatly underneath it:  Undeniably my daughter’s artwork:  The face, smile, and hair were mirror images of other artistic efforts she brought home.  The neck, the shoulders, and then, the reason she was in trouble:

            Two large round circles (each about twice as large as the drawing’s head).  Each circle had a carefully defined smaller, shaded circle within it.

            Boobs.

            The drawing continued to the end of the page with two long lines underneath the breasts to indicate the body, a dot in the middle of the parallel lines for a belly button, and then, thankfully, the end of the page.

            I spun around to stare at my daughter incredulously.  “You told Mrs. Williams a family member told you to draw this??” I waved the drawing in the air.

            Kaliah’s big brown eyes gazed up at me, swimming in tears.  “Yes,” she said in a small voice.

            “Which family member?” I demanded, barely recognizing my shrill, squeaky voice.

            “Um… I just told her a family member,” Kaliah said quietly.

            “Why?” I demanded, panic gripping me.  Oh, my God, Mrs. Williams was going to think we were all perverts!  A family full of them!

            “Well, Kevin lied and said that he didn’t tell me to draw anything.  Even though he did.  And I didn’t want Mrs. Williams to think that I came up with drawing the lady on my own,” Kaliah was crying again, refusing to look me in the eye.

            “So you let her think that people at home told you to draw this?  Kaliah Rose!”

            “I’m sorry, Mom!” Kaliah was dissolving into full break-down mode again.  “I didn’t want to get in trouble!”

            “Well, it’s a bit late for that!  Who’s Ms. Fox?”

            “The assistant principal.  Are they going to expel me?  I don’t want to be expelled.  I like school,” she was sobbing inconsolably again.

            I stared at my daughter, a mixture of emotions ebbing away at me.  I was humiliated that Mrs. Williams might be viewing our family as group of perverts or nudist enthusiasts.  I was proud of Kaliah for confessing her wrongdoings, and a little amazed at the degree of regret and shame she was displaying.  I was angry at this other kid, Kevin, who clearly had more experience with getting into trouble and lying his way out of it than my daughter.  Of course I believed that she had been told to draw the nude—every single day, when she finished her work early, she drew, probably to date, thousands of people, most of them girls.  Not a one amongst the thousands had ever been naked before.   Also, she hadn’t drawn it in some obscure place, knowing what she was doing was wrong.  She’d put it directly in the journal that Mrs. Williams was sure to look at. 

            At a loss for what to do, I called her father, relating the tale to him while Kaliah was taking her bath.

            “I think I did that, when I was her age,” he said vaguely.

            “Drew a naked woman?” I asked dryly.

            “Yeah… it might have been in kindergarten.”

            I hung up the phone.

            That evening, I wrote a long apology letter to Mrs. Williams, explaining that Kaliah and I had spoken about the situation, Kaliah was deeply sorry for her actions, and now she knew that drawing anything like that was completely unacceptable.  (Of course, I also mentioned that no family member had suggested that Kaliah draw a topless woman, and that we had also discussed how lying to make a situation better will inevitably make it worse.  I managed to jot down my belief that she had drawn her picture at the other child’s suggestion, but concluded that nevertheless, my daughter should know better than to listen to every idea her classmates have).

            To my daughter’s relief, no further disciplinary actions were taken.  She was not expelled, as she dreaded she would be.  The rest of her first grade year passed by uneventfully.

            Recalling the incident to a bartender at the restaurant I work at part-time, my free-spirited friend shrugged.  “It’s art!  How dare they limit her right to express herself!  Can’t anybody enjoy the form of the human body anymooooore?” he demanded, winking as he shook his dred locks from side to side.

            All’s well that ends well, I reasoned.  Taking some comfort in the fact that she had been so hard on herself, I hoped that in the future she would think before she… well, drew.

            And to this date, she has yet to be reprimanded for any additional nude drawings, nor feared expulsion for any other offense.  She may be taking less artistic risks… but in my opinion, it’s a fair trade.  After all, one year is down, and only eleven more remain.  Then, Kaliah Rose, you can draw all the naked women you want.

            Just don’t tell anybody I told you to do it.