More Than Momma

 As a child, I hated my name. It was so boring.  Teachers often mispronounced it which created belly-aching laughter from the class, ALWAYS.  How hard was it for an adult to realize that the BOY version of my name was not spelled like MY name? And worst of all? Nobody else had my name and nobody ever sang a beautiful ballad to a girl with my name. (NO MOM! That duwop song from 1963 is far from cool even though that is where I got it from.) My mother used to say that if ever she were to had a girl, she was going to name her Lisa Marie, but a family member beat me to that very awesome name by a year.  I mean who wouldn't want to be named for Elvis' only (known) child, right? But alas, pre-sonograms, the doctors all said I was to be a boy.  Heart rate.  How she carried.  Blah blah blah.  It's how I got named, partially, after some duwop chick! The only name they had picked was my father's.  I was meant to be a junior.  Maybe the joke is rea...

At the age of four, I awoke and could not breathe. Not like shock from a nightmare about those dang flying monkeys from Oz that I'd had frequently.  For real, not breathing.  It was just dawn and it felt like I had inhaled something and could no longer get a breath out or in.  Terrifying!  I made my way into my parents' room to wake them for help.   They called 911. The phone lines were down. On a completely sunny morning in the spring no less. They could not contact emergency services- no cell phones invented folks- and they pretty much freaked out while trying really hard to look and sound calm.  In dealing with my own kids many moons later, I can totally relate to what they must have been feeling... and I had access to cell service and Google for my kids! I have very vague memories of being wrapped in a blanket, taken in just that and my pjs to a nearby fire station, and a man talking to me and my parents.  In my memories, he was nice and calm....

 I know that there are people who run- like for fun.  They enjoy this form of exercise.  It is the place where they find their peace, unwind, and become calm to the core of their being. And I don't mean just those folks we see at the Olympics.  Regular folks who do not have to do this because they are seeking the gold or, say, in the military. I even know some of these runners personally.  I can appreciate their need to break free and Go.  But for as long as I can remember, my motto has been: I don't run unless my life is in danger - and even then it would really depend on the day.  I would actually weigh the odds on my ability to survive. Seriously!  I know I am slow to start and won't make it that far! In elementary school, I wanted to run.  I envied the "fast girl."  In my class, her name was Chrissy, and boy was she fast!  Petite, cute, and legs like lightning.  We would cheer her on as the boys would challenge her speed an...

Once upon a time, I was a baking diva!  Homemade biscuits, carrot cake, birthday cakes, and holy Christmas cookies galore!  I mean what kind of a momma didn't try her hand at baking deliciousness from scratch?  HA! This chick right here, right now.  And the not baking from scratch started long before this empty nest thing I have got going on now. It all started that first year in public school when one kiddo was so excited and prepping to bring in cupcakes for his birthday.  OK. It was me.  I was the one who was doing the smiling and the prepping and the promising and I remember it like it was yesterday. Open house. Kindergarten. Just a few days before my little man would be 5. I had just completed decorating the perfect cake for his party and had everything gathered to match OUR theme.  I was so excited to tell the teacher that he would come with gifts for his class on the very first day of kindergarten.  Homemade cupcakes because his birthday wa...

I remember when the first boy went off to college. I no longer had to jockey work, tending to the littlest, feeding scores of teenagers who would pop in, and making it to soccer games - He was in THREE different leagues! All of that running around came to a crashing halt. I was free. I was bored. I was bummed. What in the world was I going to do with all of my newfound free time? Travel? Nope. I still had one at home and a new expense of college life. Continue my education? Too expensive. Volunteer my time?  I still worked full time and needed to be home for the tween and my ailing father. Start working out?  Yeah, that came and went. So what?  I was beginning to go stir crazy and honestly I was getting depressed. Within the second year of my partial empty nesting blues, I lost my dad and my oldest friend, within weeks of each other and within the walls of the same Hospice facility.  I was numb. My boredom became my safe space where I could hide from the world. No on...

Why in the world am I writing a blog?  I honestly have no idea!  I have four kids, and last year the youngest left for college.  I spent months on Pinterest looking for ideas for his dorm and weeks ordering in "essentials" that I was sure he would need.  I joined all of the social media groups for his college and incessantly sent him screenshots and links of all of the things that I thought he should know, do, take part in. The result? At the end of the year he had made a handful of friends, he did not join the clubs or go to all of the activities, he missed deadlines and emails, many of the "essentials" were never used. BUT, he passed his freshman year and decided to go back! He is even looking forward to going back- without me. I, on the other hand, am not quite sure how well I have survived. The baby has left the nest. For real! So what the heck does that mean for me?  I mean I have a fairly successful professional job, an amazing husband, a dog, a house, and...