Family Fun!

Some days (a lot of days), it is hard not to question the logic I used when I intentionally became pregnant 4 times. I LOVE my children, but 1 child "times" 4 is A LOT of work. I realize this is a common theme in my blog....but really, they consume my mind, my time and my energy and so - well, I talk about it a lot. Tonight, however, was one of those times when I realized that with 4 kids, you ALMOST have a baseball team! Throw in a few spare family members and WHAM!!
The occasion was my mother-in-law's birthday (60 years old - YEAH!) and it was a great night. For dinner, I channeled my idol, Pioneer Woman, and we enjoyed several recipes from her website. PW, I think I am a good pupil and I gave you a run for your money :-), the recipes were a huge success!

Rosemary Skewers.....
Chicken Spaghetti....

Green Beans.....

And then....baseball (wiffle ball), of course! Boys against girls. The pitcher offended me a little, since he pitched with a glass of wine in his hand.....Everyone else was TOTALLY serious....
And then, I attempted a cheerleading jump and wet my pants, and the girls lost by one run. It was excellent. I would say "let's do this again tomorrow" but you just can't duplicate perfection.

~J

Early Morning Thoughts

I am starting this missive at 7:30 am because I am greatly inspired....by the sound of Wii bowling wafting through the speaker system of my house. I am wondering to myself, "what will the sleeping teenagers think of this?" and then I think, "who cares?". Next, I jump out of my bed to tell Michael (clearly the source of the Wii idea) to turn the volume down (people are sleeping, you know) and I trip on a pirate ship that is on my bedroom floor. This ship is one of an entire fleet of pirate ships that are dry docked in my bedroom because that is where Michael likes to keep them. Pirate ship is his game of choice while lurking in the parent's room.

THEN, it occurs to me that I should blog about Michael. Sweet, beautiful, blue-eyed, 7 year old Michael Decatur Quinn. Late in life baby. Only child of an only child but born into a house already chock full of kids.He is a superb artist and puzzle-doer, has an adult vocabulary (sorta good/sorta not) and can out dance anyone I have ever known. Presently, I am considering giving him a large, flat screen, plasma TV for his bedroom so he will actually want to SLEEP in his own room (and maybe take the armada up there, too). Is that bad parenting? Well, I would also like to have my shower back - free from the little army men and airplanes and submarines that keep appearing in there. Would a large, flat screen plasma TV for his bathroom be going over-board?

I am getting nervous just thinking this through. If I lure him back to his own room, back to his own bed - how will I sleep without his warm breath in my face? Will I miss the sound of his whispered prayers? Can I really sleep without Barney, too? And what about the giant Sponge Bob? He makes a nice pillow for my neck. Winter is coming and Michael is really warm. It is 8:00 am now - why sleep in? Hmmmm.

Wait. The Wii is off. Maybe I will just think about all this tomorrow.

I have another 7 year old son, only he is 20 now. He really does have a large, flat screen, plasma TV in his room. It means a lot to him.

More later.

~J

Summer's Lesson

I am back to blogging. I had to take a little side trip to my hometown to see my mama and then another little side trip with the family to fabulous and beautiful Italy. I love to blog and along the way, I have thought of many, many different topics that I want to expound upon. No matter what the topic is, though, the theme always seems to find its way back to G.O.D. Even the hurtful or serious ideas have been built upon the idea that He is the creator and author of my life and everything in it.This is the Tuscan sky. We marveled at it and sensed the presence of our Lord, sending those rays of holy light over our family and blessing our time together. I hope that you are surrounded my images and messages that affirm the same in your life.

Now, I am back to marinating chicken and bookkeeping and errands and dieter's remorse and all the everyday, familiar consequences of the life I have chosen. Sometimes it feels good and other times it feels disappointing and frustrating....and then I come full circle back to gratitude that I am not pushing through it alone. I mess up a lot. Thank you, God, that I get a fresh start every day. I thought about this many times on our trip to Italy. A different continent, a different language, a different culture and yet I admired - understood, even - the physical presence of Christian symbols above doorways, in courtyards, in art...to remind us of the source of amazing beauty and of the anecdote for misery.I am wishing my suitcase was unpacked and my desk cleared off....I regret that summer is almost over and I didn't have more time to rock on the front porch and catch fireflies in a jar. I pray that I will finally learn to let go of "should haves" and just breathe. It is all okay. Thanks to you, Lord.

Looking forward to the next sunset....

~J

Revelations

I have a confession. On the surface, it isn't pretty. Maybe down deep, it isn't pretty either. Anyway, it is the truth and when you keep the truth from the light, it grows into a little invisible gremlin that sits on your shoulder and whispers mean things in your ears.....so, here it is..... I WANT TO RUN AWAY. ALOT. The older I get, the worse it is. I first desired it while standing at the bus stop during college. There, one spring, as I patiently waited for my ride, an aroma tickled my nose that was a most familiar smell. What was it? I don't know exactly (honeysuckle, asphalt, a peach that was too ripe in my lunch bag), but it immediately reminded me of my grandfather, Pop. Without warning, tears sprung to my eyes and I wanted to RUN AWAY. To him. To Pop. To childhood. To the familiar place that I lost. To his garden, his yard, his truck, his arms....

The thing is, I don't want to run FROM things. I want to run TO things. I couldn't imagine my life without my children, my mother, my siblings, my friends - but I miss the cicadas. Yep, you heard me. The cicadas. The sultry, humid, heat of tonight's summer night has me yearning for past times, because the cicadas are LOUD, singing and lulling me into a slumber of memory that is seductive and powerful. I don't want to stay in the air-conditioned, pre-conditioned, dutiful cycle of the NOW. I want the days of my childhood that ring loud with similar hot summer evenings when the cicadas were purring. Back then, I was free and my bicycle took me everywhere - I doodled in the dirt and my mother was singing (light, airy, free!). Bugs bit me and I went to bed scratching but woke up happy and looking for more outside adventures. The cicadas sang in my grandmother's back yard, while the grown-ups talked and I circled them searching for lightning bugs to catch in my jar. The cicadas sang and chirped while I played "kick the can" with my neighbor friends under the street lights. When I was a young mother, they sang in my back yard in the heat of the summer while I rocked my first, sleepless baby to sleep. The cicadas call me back, over and over again to a simpler, more free time, when someone else was in charge. Rivers glisten, "Pops" hum, dryers run and I sleep - free from worry or responsibility - sweaty from play and not caring - giggly and giddy and happy and joyful. Childhood. I want to run there. Where the cicadas sing and my daddy is there and I am small and smart and free and I can hear and smell summer without all the traffic in my head sounding out and drowning out the beauty of life.

The cicadas are in my back yard, now. I hardly hear them. I wonder if my children hear them. Sometimes, I walk out there and listen and imagine I am wandering backwards in time to when I heard them in the background of play and laughter and exploration and I had not ONE CARE in the world. That is where I want to run away to. I miss it. I long for it.

My children didn't have the same childhood as I did. They had a more "present day" childhood, with fancy vacations and battery operated cars. They dyed Easter Eggs in the Caribbean and watched fancy, professional fireworks on the 4th of July. They had sparklers and ripe mangoes and corn-row hair in Jamaica. They had big city trips in fancy hotels - bottled water and mints on their pillows. Is there a sound or a smell from those places that will visit them 30 years from now that will make them want to RUN TO ME?

I took my teenage daughters on a shopping spree this week. During the long car ride, we listened to a book on tape, ate LOTS of fast food, shared some secrets and got in shouting matches. I realized I haven't done such a good job in making them appreciative, yet, at the same time, I realized they are good girls. We sang, spoke in foreign accents, told secrets, critiqued our clothes, stopped to pee a thousand times, indulged in chocolate delights (too many), had outbursts, laughed uncontrollably (at nothing) and came back exhausted. But, there were no cicadas. Yet, the cicadas are singing in my mind and calling me back. I want to run away.
I can only hope that some day, my daughters will want to run back to each other. To me. To a happy childhood. To the cicadas. To whatever made them easy and laughing and free. I will be there waiting - as will my father and Jim and other lost loved ones who have enriched our lives.

In the mean time, I will keep trying to live in the present - restored by the past and blessed by the present and .....reveling in my new shoes!! Did I mention that we bought SHOES??? Listen, I don't hear cicadas - but, my shoes are humming.... they are AWESOME (singing their own sweet song of promise)!!!

Cicadas are the lullaby of my childhood, but shoes are the song of my womanhood. Shoes don't lie. Really. Goodnight. ~J

The Ah-Haaaaas of Summer!

First, I was gone for a bit because I birthed another baby.....well, not technically. I birthed a great expression of my "artistic" side - a renovated, redecorated, shabby-chic beach house! In fact, my greatest compliment came from my daughter who said, "nothing goes together and yet, it all goes together"! Perfect! It evolved from a neglected 70's era beach house into a modern, but still "old-fashioned" beach-side cottage. I poured my soul into it. I haven't slept well or eaten well or performed my "other job" very well, but every one has been very understanding! Thanks, guys! I am having a hard time letting it go...to the renters....but I have faith that they will love it, too.
There are many bits of me there....the things that I love and the things that remind me of another house by the sea (from another life/another time). May God bless it!

As I have plowed along on the "project", SUMMER HAPPENED! Yes, my husband and children are getting along with summer jobs and camp and golf and sleeping in - embracing the lazy, humid, days of June. I have tagged along and grasped a little of it: Coastal Carolina baseball (go, Chants!), beach days (sharks teeth!), the farmers market (Caprese salad!), mosquitoes (2 legs full!), pan-seared grouper (YUM!), thunderstorms at night (blessing!) and a little boy who forgot where his OWN BED is (sweet, sweaty breath).....I have been renewed by the encouragement of friends, the knowledge that I am not alone and the revelation that life goes on, anyway.

Keep the summer memories coming~J

What do you "do"?

I am a little sensitive to the question "what do you do?" I know it's a silly sensitivity - I was raised in the after glow of bra burning and g-spots and equal opportunity. I had a working mother, for Pete's sake, before working mothers were "normal"! I know what I do has eternal value and that I am doing a silent, unrecognized and yet ultra-valuable job of providing hearth and home to my husband and children.....and yet, I feel bad that I don't have a business card.

It really hit home when my 6 year old son came home one day and asked me "what do you do?" See, they were studying careers in 1st grade and lots of parents had come in to speak to the class about being a lawyer, dentist, restaurateur, weather-man, teacher, coach - and it was logical for Michael to wonder what I "do". I tried to explain that I cypher, organize, clean, schedule, cook, change, spread, water, paint, hang, hem, hook, plan, pray, defend, discipline, compromise and commandeer the lives of 6 people everyday - and his response was "yeah, I know, but what do you do?!" Jeez.

When I was a little girl, my mother played a game with me every time she buttoned up my dress/shirt/shoes/coat: for each button she would point and say "rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief, doctor, lawyer, Indian chief" and wherever the buttons ended corresponded to what I would "do" when I grew up. Would I be proud to be any of these things??

Mom was a career woman with the demands of home and work forged upon her and still taking time to make a riddle out of buttoning my blouse.

What do I do?

Last week, we had 3 trees cut down in our yard. The arborist came to remove the stumps and, later, we stood out in the yard discussing the economy and such. He asked, "How is your business doing?" - and yes, "what do you do?" AHHH!!! I am still stewing over how to handle this from here on out. I am tempted to give a sarcastic response, but that would further degrade the still underestimated station of stay-at-home-mother.

Recently, in a meeting attended by all male professionals (except for little 'ole me), there were introductions via conference call with a well respected South Carolina attorney. Each male was defined by his glamorous title and then there was me....Jeanne Quinn....no title or profession....and then the big shot attorney says "I have heard of you Jeanne, and your reputation as a true Southern Lady"......Can I have THAT on my business card?????
This is my REAL business card. I can't tell you how very proud I am to call myself their mother. They don't know what I "do" either - but God knows and now, you know too!

Good night! ~J

Fruits

In the last days of my father's life, he seemed particularly concerned about being forgotten...the human mind is a mystery, and there were a lot of medications involved, but still - he wanted us to remember him. So, on the white board in his room, we wrote "A tree is know by its fruit". Indeed, my father was a fruitful man in many ways - but what came to my mind were his children. I will continue to lead my life in a way that honors him - the values he instilled in me, the trust he placed in me and the faith he had in me. Oh, and the pride he had in me and my children. Because he was such a good example, I have tried to graft those same values and expectations into my own "fruits". He lives on!!

And so, today, my daughter, Carol Anne is graduating from high school. I am very proud of her for her many accomplishments - the "things" she has achieved, awards, recognitions - but I am especially proud of her soul. She has been steadfast, trustworthy, brave, loyal and well....good. Not perfect, but good. She has always had a big heart, never been mean-spirited, and gosh, I love her. She is bossy. She is dramatic. She is stubborn. She is smart. She is caring. She is giving. She is my fruit and I am ever grateful for the blessing of being her mother.

The love of a parent is a sacrificial love - I have lost parts of "me" in the loving and caring of Carol Anne - but what I have gained is immeasurably better. We are defined by those who love us, and I am blessed to be Lanier's daughter and Carol Anne's mother.

Carol Anne, while you will be leaving me, our home, our daily lives, you are forever in my heart and always my daughter. Thank you.

~Mom