Did they like me?

If you've ever been laid off, you know how golden each interview becomes. Especially when it's a job you really, really want. That's how I'm feeling right now. I'm in the process of interviewing for a senior writer position at a wonderful company. A company that is all about helping people, which was my goal when I started looking for positions.

I first had a phone interview, followed by a face-to-face with the hiring manager. That went very well. I really liked her and believe we'd have a great working relationship. That was followed by a writing "test" in which I was required to write an article for the company's internal publication. Apparently I did well on that because I made it to the top three for second and final interviews with four different people, including the director of the department. Those interviews were yesterday and I feel pretty confident about them. And I even found out that I'm being considered for two different positions.

But you know how you feel after an interview - anxious, nervous, impatient and those self-doubts start creeping in. Did I make a good impression? Did I answer their questions sufficiently? Did they find me engaging? Were they impressed with my experience? And, most important at times, did they like me?

That question takes me all the way back to grade school - waiting to be picked for kickball teams. I always longed to be picked first, but those lucky spaces were reserved for the popular kids. I dreaded being picked last, but thankfully I had some skill and was liked by the popular kids, so that wasn't a real worry. So that left me in the middle. Which was okay for kickball, but not for a job.

So, I sit and wait. Hoping I'll be picked first. Hoping they'll see I'm the perfect candidate for one of the positions. And, like in kickball, hoping they liked me.

Firefly

Sugar cookies with gumdrop middles
Hot from the old gas stove.

Smothering hugs,
Cuddled up in her bosom,
Watching Sylvester chase Tweetie
On the ancient black & white.

Simple dresses made by her own tender hands, checkered plaids and ginghams.

Mason jars stowed away for winter
The green beans and okra we picked by hand.

Laura Ingalls’ bonnets with scarlet bows
Kept away the scorching sun.

Silver triangle struck for six o’clock supper.
"What’s for dinner?" I asked.
"S.O.S." she replied.
I giggled.

Swinging on the porch at twilight,
My feet couldn’t touch the wooden slats.

Catching fireflies in the same jars
We used for canning

A voice whispers in the dark,
"Set them free so they can
Return another night."

Great-Grandma – she returned to me tonight.

***

I was catching fireflies with Blane last night and was reminded of this poem I wrote about my Great-Grandma Lathen one summer evening a few years ago. Isn't it amazing how the mind works through memories so dear to us? And how the simplest activities live on through generations?

The power of words

You know how there are some things you just hang on to forever? Some little trinket that reminds you of a special someone, or a photo that takes you back to a special time or place. I have my share of each but, in my case, it's words that have made a huge impact in my life. Words of encouragement, words of praise, words of love, words of comfort. And I've saved countless cards, letters and notes over the years. As I was sitting here at my desk this morning, I looked over to where I keep a few of these items and one stood out to me.

This letter was written to me by my dear Gran on July 4, 1976, when I was seven years old. Appropriate for today.

***

Dear Suzy (the name my grandparents' called me),

Today is the 200th birthday of our country, and we have so many blessings to count.

It is so wonderful to live in a free country where we can go do what we want and worship as we please.

I thank God for such a wonderful granddaughter.

I hope there will never be any wars to mar your growing up and, after you have finished your education, maybe the right man will come along and you will fall in love and be married. Then maybe your home will be blessed with children.

I hope you will always have a happy life and a rewarding life.

May God always bless you and keep you. Because I love you very much.

Love always,

Granny

***

I can't tell you how much that letter has meant to me over the years. It speaks so strongly to my relationship with my Gran, and has always made me feel so loved. Even at times when I didn't feel very lovable. Most important, it taught me the strength of words, and how they can change your life.

It also led me to write the same kinds of letters for my own children - letters of thanks for them each Thanksgiving, memoirs of each year on their birthdays, notes of love and encouragement in their lunch boxes, diaries sharing daily happenings and funny little things they say, cards for special occasions or "just because," and a letter to each of them on our annual vacation to the Ozarks every summer.

They save these letters and notes, so I know they mean a great deal to them. And I hope that, 30-some years from now, they'll still mean as much as they do today. Try it with your kids, or someone else you love. You never know how powerful words can be in someone's life.

Always in his heart

On Tuesday, I took my kids to see Toy Story 3. Great movie! As I was sitting next to my son, who just turned 15, it felt bittersweet. There's a scene at the end of the movie where Andy and his mom are standing in his empty room as Andy is getting ready to head off to college. His mom chokes up and throws her arms around him saying, "I just wish I could always be with you." And I was reminded that, in only three short years, Taege will be headed off to college as well. Andy says to his mom, "You will be, Mom." And I guess that's true.

Everything we have taught our children, said to our children, experienced with our children will follow them into their adult lives. And we can only hope the positive impressions will outweigh the stupid mistakes we've made as parents. (Yes, we've all made them.) This hope is what's getting me through these teenage years.

As I do every year, I spent an hour on Taege's birthday looking through old photo albums with him - the baby and toddler years, grade school, sports, the births of his sisters, all his "firsts." It's a wonderful way to keep those memories alive. My favorite photo is one of Taege at three years old holding his "Sunshine" puppy and a "Poo-Boo" and jelly sandwich. His taste buds have matured a little since then. Saturday, his birthday dinner of choice was sushi, with unagi (eel) being his favorite.

He's matured a lot in other ways, too. As I've mentioned before, he's learning to drive (and doing a lot better since running over my lamp post a couple months ago!). He's almost as tall as me now and is shaving. I tease him about his tiny mustache. We've been through the s-e-x talk many times now and, of course, he thinks he knows everything. He committed his life to Christ last year and is very involved with his youth group. He even went on his first mission trip last spring break and is now working at youth camp. He can be found hanging with his friends a lot and, most of the time, they pick him up in their cars. And he has begun moving into that "friend" relationship with me, as older kids do, at times forgetting that I'm still his mom (who makes the rules) and not one of his peers.

Blane just came upstairs with Taege's giant stuffed cat in her arms. "Look what brother gave me!" she shouted. Of course, his stuffed animals have been shoved into a corner of his room for a few years now. But still, another sign that he's leaving his childhood behind. If you've seen Toy Story 3, I'm sure you'll understand the significance of this moment. Like Andy, Taege is a little ambivalent about moving into the next phase of his life. But in the end, the possibilities are enticing. And yes, I'm excited for him because, like Andy's mother, I've realized that I'll always be in my son's heart.

Face time with God

One piece of advice I always hear is not to talk about religion or politics if you want to keep your readers. And, for some reason, I've listened to that advice...up to this point. Sitting in church service this morning, however, I realized how ridiculous that is because it's my faith that makes me who I am - as a mother, daughter, sister, friend, co-worker. It's my relationship with Christ that keeps me afloat in the often tumultuous waters of single parenting, and life in general.

This morning, our pastor challenged us to give up (for a week) the first source of information we routinely turn to each day and, instead, devote that time to God, praying and studying his Word. The first thing I thought of was Facebook. I would say, quite honestly, that this has become one of my addictions. Every morning I get on to check out what's happening in the lives of my friends, view photos posted, share what's going on in my life and see the latest updates on the pages I "like." It's like my morning coffee; I can't start my day without it. So, I'm giving up Facebook this week for face time with God.

When I told my kids about this, the two youngest looked at me funny. But it gave me the opportunity to teach them more about our faith and it set an example for them, planting another seed that I'll continue to water as the years go by. This, I believe, is my most important job as a mother - one I take very seriously. And one I won't be talked into hiding - here or anywhere else.

Tiny dancer

Sunday was Blane's first-ever dance recital. We painted her nails a bright yellow to match her costume. I put her baby fine hair up in little pigtails with bright blue bows. And, of course, we applied the obligatory stage make-up - I stayed on the light side to avoid that garish pageant girl look. As I was putting on her mascara, I asked Blane if she was nervous. "A little," she said, "The lights are really bright and everyone is watching." Reminded me of my first time on stage - the excitement and the butterflies all at the same time.

I helped her into her tights, booty shorts and costume. SO cute! She smiled big as I took her picture in front of the mantel and on the front porch just before we left. Then we picked up Brother Bear and Sissy from their dad's house. Blane was SO excited they were coming to watch her.

When we got to the high school, I walked her to the backstage area to drop her off with her group. She wouldn't be going on stage until about halfway through the program. I wondered if those butterflies would keep fluttering that whole time. She looked a little nervous. I told her to "break a leg" and she looked a me funny, so I had to explain that one. She gave me a big hug and kiss as I was leaving.

We took our seats and waited for the show to begin. I enjoyed the other performances, I really did, but I couldn't wait to see my baby girl. Finally, her group took the stage as the audience "ooohed" and "awwed" at their cuteness. They started the dance with their backs to us. As the Jackson 5's "ABC" started playing, they all turned around and, well, I couldn't take my eyes off Blane. She came to life, shaking her groove thing and smiling every time she looked at me.

I was so proud of her. So proud that I started tearing up as they finished and took their little bows. I mean, I was seriously on the verge of a full-out cry. This happens to me any time my kids perform, receive awards, get a goal, etc. I don't know how to explain it other than it's this feeling that grabs me by the heart, wells up in my chest and makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Yeah, kind of like that. I guess that's what happens when someone you love so incredibly much makes you so proud.

Anyway, Blane was amazing. Afterward, we fought through the crowd to find her backstage. She threw her arms around me and I handed her the flowers I had bought for her. We all told her how wonderfully she had danced, and my baby girl was on cloud nine for the rest of the night.

Cinderella

So, my girls asked me to come outside and turn the jump rope for them yesterday. No problem. What fun to see them chanting rhymes from my childhood - "Cinderella, dressed in yella, went upstairs to kiss her fella, made a mistake, kissed a snake, how many doctors did it take? 1-2-3..." Of course, there were new ones I hadn't heard - Strawberry Shortcake and Ice Cream Social. They took turns holding the other end of the rope and jumping.

The simple joy they got from such a simple activity took me back to my childhood - back to a time when my most difficult decision was what game to play on a summer afternoon. The days of waking up late to the sunshine peeking through my curtains. A lazy breakfast with my brothers. Jumping on our bikes and heading out to explore the neighborhood. Playing in the woods behind our subdivision. Riding to QuikTrip for a Slushie and Sweet Tarts. Chasing each other through the sprinkler. Swinging and sliding on the playground. Racing around the block. Playing kickball in the culdesac. Ah, the freedom. The freedom of being a child with no responsibilities, no worries, a time before I knew heartache.

"Mommy, it's your turn," my girls said. My youngest took the rope from me. I hesitated for a second, then started jumping at their coaxing. As they chanted the Cinderella rhyme, that freedom filled me up again. Their laughter was contagious. It was that pure and simple joy. I felt like Cinderella at the ball - young and beautiful and full of life.

I finally had to stop. I was out of breath from the jumping and giggling. I took the rope back from my youngest...and then my coach turned back into a pumpkin. Someone forgot to remind me that I'm over 40. A sharp pain shot through my lower back and wouldn't go away. I doubled over as I was turning the rope. "I'm too old to be doing this," I told my girls. They laughed. But I sucked it up and kept playing.

They say you're only as old as you feel. Well, I didn't feel so hot physically after jumping rope, but I felt a million times younger in spirit. And that little glass slipper I now carry in my pocket is a constant reminder to revisit my childhood on a regular basis. It not only keeps me young, but also keeps me closer to my kids. And that's so worth it.

Remembering my baby brother

Corb,

I'm flying to San Antonio and I wonder...are you up here somewhere? Can you hear me when I say I miss you?

As the clouds clear, I can see a lake with its many coves and it reminds me of the day we scattered you at the lake you so loved. I see crops for miles – squares, rectangles, even a triangle – all pieced together like a puzzle. This reminds me of how you always loved architecture.

There’s an enormous winding river with a boat speeding across the water, but from my vantage point it moves in slow motion. God, how you loved the lake! There is a smaller river feeding into what could be the “Muddy Mo” and it reminds me of your little girl – the one you can’t watch grow. The pilot just clarified for me – it’s the Mississippi. I wish there was a way to help Dae know her Daddy. But how when she’s so far away?

I don’t talk to you as much anymore, I know. I knew you were near when I heard “Good Riddance” in the wee hours of the morning. I felt a peace and glancing at your picture brought a smile to my face. How I miss you – your smartass comments and your crooked smile – the same as Dad’s. You know, he did always love you – the only way he knew how.

My two favorite pictures of you and me together – the one on Mo & Po’s deck when we were little (your curly blonde self!) and the shot taken at my wedding when you grabbed me and hugged me as we laughed. I love your face in that photo and how you’re nuzzled over me. I always felt you’d do anything to protect me, even though you sometimes acted like a complete jackass to me. Your smile in that photo reminds me of early Christmas mornings when you’d tiptoe into my room and whisper to me that Santa had come. The three of us would tiptoe together out to the living room to see what he’d left for us. Remember how we’d just sit there staring like kids in a toy store window? We didn’t dare touch anything until Mom and Dad woke up or they would...what would they have done? I don’t think we were ever brave enough to find out.

Do you remember swimming lessons in Albia, Royals games, Worlds of Fun (Dad and Dale puking – never drink and ride the barrel, a life-long lesson!). Remember how you used to crawl into the recliner next to Mom? I was always envious because that was your spot. Teddy – poor, poor Winnie the Pooh, stripped of his identity and forced to live the life of an imposter. Did you ever figure that one out? We thought you’d carry Teddy forever. Mom made sure you didn’t leave this world without him. I remember holding your ashes – the ashes of you and your Teddy – and sprinkling them into the lake. As always, we joked – about how you were becoming fish food. But I knew better – you’d kick their fins before they could get their mouths opened.

There are now acres of red dirt below. Remember spending summers with Granny and Papa and how, every time we visited our Okie relatives, we just had to bring home a plastic milk carton full of red dirt? Remember getting so mad at me and Dedrick that you chased us around the house with a table knife? And the day I decided to pack my stuff and run away from home...I remember thinking you’d be the only one I’d miss.

Remember using our "Matrix" moves on the gumball machine and that damned noisy glass cookie jar? Mom and Dad did bust us on those. That gumball machine now sits in my kitchen – but I’ve already taught my kids how to open the top with a coin and use a teaspoon to fish out their favorite colors. Yours was yellow. Maybe because Teddy was yellow. Blane got her hand caught in there once and I remember thinking I saw you in her face that day.

I loved the conversations you and I had toward what we now call "the end." I hated what you were going through, but I’m thankful it brought us closer and that you turned to your big sis in your time of need. We talked about God, you giving your life to Christ, your struggles, your baby girl...come to think of it, I believe one of those late night conversations was the last one I had with you. Can that be true? What would I have said or done differently that night had I known it would be the last time I’d hear your voice? I’ll never know. But I do know that our last words to one another were "I love you" because we always hung up that way. For that, I’m grateful.

Remember Anderson family Christmases, the Albia Country Club and driving Po’s golf cart? What about trips to Melrose? We didn’t wear seat belts then. Heck, Po let us sit on his lap and drive the car!

This morning at the airport Papa recalled the time you "learned" to like oysters. What are you – nuts? I KNOW they don’t have oysters in heaven. Nasty!

Whenever I wear that old flannel jacket I gave you for your birthday, it’s like a hug from you. Ugly as it is, I’ll never get rid of it. You know, I never knew you were such an awesome soldier but I should have because you were great at everything you did...as long as you liked to do it (Hmmm...maybe that’s where Taege gets it). Keile loves remembering you – especially sending balloons up to you. She said "sorry" about the one that got stuck in the tree. I told her you’d come down to get it later. She cherishes you as her godfather. She’s my sentimental one. And oh, how I wish you were here to see Blane. She’s you through and through! Living up to her namesake’s attitude, my friend. Thanks for that because I know you had something to do with it...talk to the Big Guy about that one, did you? "Let's give her a challenging one." :)

So, what do you think about this iPod craze? I bet you would have one – the best one, I’m sure. Well, we’re getting ready to land. So, I’ll close for now and catch you later, okay?

I miss you and love you, Little Bro.
xo Sis