Southerners.

You can try to deny it. You can go vegan and stop wearing your boots. You can even get rid of that accent. But you will always be southern born and southern bred at heart. You better watch out, because if you deny it for too long, it will slowly start to sneak up on you. You will hear that twang come out when you’re talking on the phone to your mama. You will find yourself complaining about the “terrible, awful heat” in May, when it is just starting to get hot around here. You might even start craving things like fried okra, cornbread, peach cobbler, and a big ol’ glass of sweet tea. Like I said, you can try to deny it, but you can’t ignore it for long.
I am Georgia born and Georgia bred. For a short while, I tried to deny my roots. I started smoking french cigarettes and told people as soon as I got the money I was gonna move to New Mexico, wear a lot of turquoise jewelry, and pretend I was from the west coast. Needless to say, that never worked out. Then I started to realize that being southern was a pretty wonderful thing. I found myself feeling sorry for all those people that weren’t raised in the south. I thought how miserable those “Yankee’s” and “Northerners” must be with their frigid winters and bad manners. Growing up, we spoke of “the Northerners” in hushed, whispered tones, as if it wasn’t polite conversation. Because really, it just wasn’t. I started to realize that if I wasn’t a southerner, I might not truly appreciate the first cool breeze that welcomes in fall, or the sound of a “bob white” cooing in the woods, or the incredible taste of a fresh watermelon and tomatoes from the garden in the summer. I probably wouldn’t appreciate the snow that we might or might not get in the winter. The comfort that you can get from a meal of lima beans and cornbread. Or the greeting of “hey ya’ll” that we all use down here, not just Paula Dean.
We southerners are steeped in tradition, and we are proud of our roots. Our roots run deep just like the veins in our skin. We cling to our beliefs, and our stories, and our uniqueness, that some would deem “crazy’. And just like any rich culture, we are proud of who we are. We aren’t those “stupid rednecks” that live down south. We aren’t illiterate, we don’t eat possums, and the majority of us aren’t racist. We are an educated people that speaks slow so you can hear the beauty of our language. We will hug your neck, and welcome you into our home, even if we just met. We will make sure you’re warm and well fed if you visit us. We will ask you what you’re drinking, and then make sure your ice never gets dry. We will entertain you with endless stories about our spirited families. Most importantly, we will embrace you with open arms.
So put your prejudice away. If you’re southern, and you’re tying to deny it, let it on out. Let it out, and love it, just like your nutty Aunt Caroline. And remember, whether you’re southern or not, accept who you are, embrace who you are, be who you are. Because being who you truly are, is the most beautiful thing you can do.

(*The author has no ill will towards any of the above mentioned “northerners” or “yankees.” The author was not exposed to any “northerners” or “yankees” until later in life. When she was, she realized that though they may be a little rough around the edges, they were great friends.)

Soggy diapers.

 Last night I stepped in a pee diaper on the way to the bathroom. It was five thirty in the morning, and it squished between my toes. Today my almost three year old threw a bowl of chips on the floor, crushed them up in the carpet and then ate them. Tonight my six year old got mad at me because I took away the fruit snacks she was supposed to get due to bad behavior. She screamed at me and then cried herself to sleep. I’m pretty sure my kids might actually be trying to kill me today.
I’m going to tell you a secret that no one would dare tell you. Motherhood is hard. Parenting is hard. It is not a walk in the park. It is not always play dates, and perfectly behaved kids. In fact it is rarely that. Motherhood is a raw, emotional, dirty experience. It can hurt you on an emotional and sometimes physical level, (cue getting mastitis or a bite to the arm by a teething six month old). It can make you think that you are doing everything wrong. It can cause you to have a full blown panic attack at the thought of taking a grumpy toddler who hasn’t pooped yet for the day to the grocery store. It can make you want to literally pull your hair out when your six year old talks back to you, and tells you that “you don’t know what you’re talking about,” while you’re bathing her, and her brother is spitting shower water all over your legs. It can make you feel an exhaustion that you have never before felt until you had kids. It can make you worry more than you ever have in your life.
It can also do a few more things to you. It can make you realize that it isn’t all about you. It can take any selfish tendencies you might have had, and totally squash them. It can make you look past outward appearances, and see people for what they really are, or aren’t. It can make you see what is really important, and what is bullshit. It can make you love so much and so deep, it physically hurts. It can make you worry about the littlest things when it involves the well being of your child. It can make you fierce and maybe a little mean when you feel like your babies might be threatened. It can make you love your partner more than you thought possible when you see them change a diaper. Extra points if it’s a poop diaper. It can change your priorities completely. It can make you push yourself farther than you ever thought possible. It can give you the opportunity to watch sunrises because you have been up for hours with a fussy baby. It can make you see that time does in fact pass really quickly. It can make you aware of what your limit is, and then it can make you push past it. It can change you and shape you into a better person. It can make you see what your purpose in life really is. It can show you that love really is the most important thing. It can make you know, deep down, that love really is the thread of life.
Being a parent is hard work. Being a mother is hard work. But above all, it is a divine privilege. Sometimes it can make us feel, and look like we’ve been beat. Sometimes we might find poop in our hair. Sometimes we are so exhausted we could cry. But it is all so well worth it. You will never love and be loved so intensely as when you are a mother. It is a tireless and selfless act. And it is the most important, most incredible thing you will ever do in your life.

Into the woods.

Nestled in central Georgia, approximately twenty five miles north of Macon, Georgia and eighteen miles east of Forsyth, Georgia is the Piedmont National Wildlife Refuge. This now sprawling and thriving 35,000 acre wildlife refugee, was not always as beautiful or fertile as it is now. In the early 1800’s, the forest was cleared by early European settlers. Cotton soon became the king crop in the south, and over farming robbed the soil of it’s natural health and richness. Furthermore, the loss of forest trees and the roots that stabilized the soil, caused erosion to take place. In 1939, the area became officially established as a game and wildlife management demonstration area. The area was used to demonstrate that wildlife and game could be restored on completely eroded, worn out, and desolate land. Thankfully, with careful care the area soon thrived again. Today, because of the efforts of the US Fish and Wildlife Services, the Piedmont National Wildlife Refuge is once again restored to its former glory. It also now serves as a model forest ecosystem for game and wildlife. My husband first stumbled upon this diamond in the rough, when he took up bow hunting several years ago. Knowing just how much I love to spend a good day or days in the woods, he loaded our family up in his jeep and took us to see it. I was instantly surprised and amazed by how fast and sudden the whole landscape can change in the Piedmont NWR. One minute you are cruising down a deserted dirt road surrounded on both sides by thick forest, and the next you have come to a sprawling field full of wheat glowing in the early spring sunlight. You can drive down fifty miles of gravel roads in the Piedmont, and in that time you will find yourself amazed by each and every sight you see. It never gets old and every trip there is a new adventure. I have spent hours sprawled out on warm rocks at low water crossings watching my husband track deer prints in the sand, while my kids catch tadpoles and stay on the lookout for the ever elusive crayfish. I have been startled by deer jumping out in front of us as we drive along, and hawks flying right in front of our windshield, so close you can see the markings on their wings. Here in the Piedmont NWR, you can find over 200 species of birds, 92 confirmed species of butterflies, and a menagerie of animals. If you are lucky, you might come across a whitetail deer bedded down and napping in the closest brush, or you might even catch a glimpse of a wily coyote hunting for prey in the forest. A huge fox squirrel may call to you from an overhead tree, or as the sun starts to set you may see a raccoon or opossum run across your path. When we go into the woods, we leave behind the the constant chatter that so commonly can drag us down and make us forget the beauty of nature. When we go into the woods, we find a rhythm that we usually would not hear or feel. When we go into the woods, we go back to what we came from and what we are still a part of. Because for now, the woods are calling and I must go.

Before you know it.

Tonight I was doing laundry, and my three year old was turning the over head light on and off, on and off, so he could see the light in the dryer. I was close to losing my cool and pulling my hair out. Then he wanted to help me put ALL the clothes in the dryer from the washer, which really slows me down. But then I heard a still small voice say “before you know it.” And although I am not always, or even sometimes remotely patient, or even that much thoughtful, I got to thinking about this. Before I know it, those grubby little hands won’t want to hold mine. Before I know it, those sweet, slobbery mouths will be embarrassed to kiss me. Before I know it, my kids won’t want to come and sit in my lap and hug me. Before I know it, when I am not in the room, they won’t come and find me in a panic. Before I know it, they won’t need me to bathe them, or help them brush their teeth. Before I know it, they won’t ask for my help, most likely, they won’t even want it. Before I know it, they won’t think I am funny or cool. Before I know it, they won’t ask me for more milk about a billion times a day. Before I know it, I won’t find crusty sippy cups under the couch or behind the bed. Before I know it, I will have no more diapers to change. Before I know it, all those big, clunky baby toys will be replaced with small little ones and video games I don’t understand. Before I know it, doors that are always opened will start to close for “privacy”. Before I know it, that sweet speech impediment that almost all kids have will correct itself with age, and “futterfly” will most certainly become “butterfly”. Before I know it, I won’t have to watch my three year old like a hawk, because he likes to throw rocks in the pool. Before I know it, my daughter will start asking me if she is “pretty,” and start talking about boys. Before I know it, I won’t find squashed pop tarts on the stairs, and crumbs in the bed. Before I know it, poop jokes won’t be half as funny to my kids. Before I know it, my babies won’t be babies, and they won’t need their mama, near as much as they do now. Before I know it, I won’t tuck little ones into bed. Before I know it, my kids will come and visit me. Before I know it, all the day to day that often wears me out, will only be a memory. And before I know it, I won’t have to do laundry with the light flickering on and off, with little hands begging me to hand him clothes.

Orlando

I have been typing and deleting status updates on my personal facebook page about Orlando for days now. As soon as I think I want to share something about how I feel about the Orlando tragedy, I stop myself and delete it. At first I couldn’t quite figure out why I didn’t have the courage or as my husband would say the idiocy to post it, since I pretty much let it all hang out when posting on facebook anyways. But as I have thought, and prayed, and stewed, and gotten angry and sad, and read and watched all the information and all the opinions that have come out since the shooting in Orlando, I realized it is not about my personal opinion right now. Right now, the wound is still open and the pain is still unbearable for those that have lost the most. Who am I to spew my opinion on the public right now? I think we will have a time for that, and it is not now, but in the coming weeks and months. I have really had to get over myself with this. I am mad, I am angry, I want to blast folks on facebook and start keyboard warrior fights that will send my blood pressure through the roof. But when I have basically typed a whole dissertation in a status update, I have swallowed my pride and stopped myself. Because it is not about me. This is much more than me. This is everyone, and I have to take everyone into account before I try and make it about me with my stupid, anger filled status updates and political innuendos. We are hurting as a country right now. But mothers and fathers and sisters and brothers and husbands and wives and children and grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins and friends in Orlando and around the country and world are hurting much more than us. They don’t care about our politics right now. They don’t care about how we feel. They don’t care about that status update, and they don’t care how many damn news articles you have shared in the last 24 hours. They are broken, and they hurt, and they are in the storm of grief that is overwhelming and heartbreaking. They need us to put down our opinions, our beliefs, our politics, our sides, and our egos. They need us to stand behind them, and show true compassion, which is going beyond yourself and caring for others that may not believe the same way you do, or feel the same way you do, or even vote the same way you do. We are so eager to turn on each other like rabid dogs. I have seen the division in the past couple of days so clearly. I have even taken part in it. And while I think debate is good and needed and necessary, now is not the time. Now is the time for standing behind the victims and the loved ones of this despicable act and tragedy. Now is the time for us to show our solidarity. Now is the time for us to show each other and the world the compassion that I know we have in this country. Now is the time for us to unify as one people, even if it is only for a short while. Now is the time to show that we can lay it all down and give love and compassion where it is needed. Orlando is not alone, because we are Orlando. Stanley Almodovar III, 23 years old Amanda Alvear, 25 years old Oscar A Aracena-Montero, 26 years old Rodolfo Ayala-Ayala, 33 years old Antonio Davon Brown, 29 years old Darryl Roman Burt II, 29 years old Angel L. Candelario-Padro, 28 years old Juan Chevez-Martinez, 25 years old Luis Daniel Conde, 39 years old Cory James Connell, 21 years old Tevin Eugene Crosby, 25 years old Deonka Deidra Drayton, 32 years old Simon Adrian Carrillo Fernandez, 31 years old Leroy Valentin Fernandez, 25 years old Mercedez Marisol Flores, 26 years old Peter O. Gonzalez-Cruz, 22 years old Juan Ramon Guerrero, 22 years old Paul Terrell Henry, 41 years old Frank Hernandez, 27 years old Miguel Angel Honorato, 30 years old Javier Jorge-Reyes, 40 years old Jason Benjamin Josaphat, 19 years old Eddie Jamoldroy Justice, 30 years old Anthony Luis Laureanodisla, 25 years old Christopher Andrew Leinonen, 32 years old Alejandro Barrios Martinez, 21 years old Brenda Lee Marquez McCool, 49 years old Gilberto Ramon Silva Menendez, 25 years old Kimberly Morris, 37 years old Akyra Monet Murray, 18 years old Luis Omar Ocasio-Capo, 20 years old Geraldo A. Ortiz-Jimenez, 25 years old Eric Ivan Ortiz-Rivera, 36 years old Joel Rayon Paniagua, 32 years old Jean Carlos Mendez Perez, 35 years old Enrique L. Rios, Jr., 25 years old Jean C. Nives Rodriguez, 27 years old Xavier Emmanuel Serrano Rosado, 35 years old Christopher Joseph Sanfeliz, 24 years old Yilmary Rodriguez Solivan, 24 years old Edward Sotomayor Jr., 34 years old Shane Evan Tomlinson, 33 years old Martin Benitez Torres, 33 years old Jonathan Antonio Camuy Vega, 24 years old Juan P. Rivera Velazquez, 37 years old Luis S. Vielma, 22 years old Franky Jimmy Dejesus Velazquez, 50 years old Luis Daniel Wilson-Leon, 37 years old Jerald Arthur Wright, 31 years old

If you’re going to act like a turd, go lay in the yard.

My oldest daughter is at an age where she’s starting to learn that not all other kids she comes into contact with are going to be nice to her. I would like to think that Clara is nice by default. It’s in her nature to be kind, and she was born with an innate compassion that I am ridiculously proud of. But her dad and I have stressed being kind and respectful to others since she could talk. And for the most part, except for that streak of aggravation and bossiness that she gets only from her father, she is. She discovered Minecraft, and then we upgraded her to the version where she can play online with friends and talk to them, and overnight we got a gamer kid. We found kid friendly forums or whatever the hell you call it, so she can only play with other kids her age. She usually plays with really nice kids, but every once in a while she comes across one that is a real turd. I say turd because that is a nicer way of saying shit head when you’re talking to your child. Her father and I have found ourselves having conversations with her about why said turd was mean, why she had to befriend said turd, and why she can no longer play with said turd. And sometimes we have found ourselves having much deeper conversations about why said turd might be acting like that, or saying that, or possibly feeling that. It’s not so easy to explain to a seven year old what I used to think was sometimes human nature. But this is what I have learned from it. It isn’t human nature to be mean. Period. Period. Period. It just isn’t. While I am sure many people will argue with me, I can tell you with certainty that children are not born mean. If a kid is mean, they have been taught that. They have seen it, they have heard it, or they have been the victim of it. They were not born with it. You don’t come into this world, from a source that is much bigger and more brighter and more miraculous than any of us will ever understand while we are here, mean. You just don’t. Children learn by example, and if they are mean and hateful, they are following an example. And this is where I have had to try and explain to my seven year old why said gamer kid is being such a shit head. Oops, I meant turd. For me it is easy to understand. I have been the one that was hurt by a so called friend, or the butt of a joke, or even the bully. But she just doesn’t understand why and how someone could be mean to her. Because it’s not in her nature. It is in a child’s nature to be kind and compassionate, and playful and silly and goofy and loving. But not to be mean. So I find myself telling her that so and so turd face is being ugly because he learned it from his parents, or from the kid at school that makes fun of him, or from the neighbor down the street. I tell her that he isn’t just mean to her, but to everyone he meets. I tell her that he might not be very happy, and he maybe even be a little sad, and that is why he acts that way. And I tell her that it isn’t her fault, not one bit, because so and so turd face has been taught to act like that, allowed to act like that, and now doesn’t know any better. I tell her it’s not okay that he acts like that. That is never okay to be mean and hateful to someone. And if you ever find yourself being mean and hateful to someone, you need to remember that it hurts people when you are. I tell her that is okay to be angry, and it’s okay to be sad, and that she will get her feelings hurt. And then I tell her one of the hardest parts that I have often found myself struggling with. That when you feel this way, you have to remember to be brave and stand up for yourself. You have to tell that turd face no matter how hard it is, that you won’t let them treat you that way. And then you don’t allow them another chance to treat you badly. I also tell her that if she ever finds herself being mean and ugly as we call it around here (it’s a southern thing), that she needs to realize that she has probably hurt someone very very much and she should say she is sorry, no matter how hard that is. So I say this. Be kind to others. But don’t roll over. Realize that you are always setting an example for someone. Learn to recognize that you are not perfect and that you will make mistakes. Learn to say you are sorry. Don’t tolerate bad behavior, but have some grace with those who’s mama didn’t teach them any better. Love one another. Learn life lessons from the simple things like minecraft. And don’t be a turd.

Over Yonder

Follow me as I explore over yonder.