Admitting is the Fist Step

I am the child of a work-ahoholic.  Admitting it is the first step they say.

You know part of the journey of life is discovering who you are, part is discovering who you were created to be and part is facing who life molded you to be and figuring out what to do with that.

I am the child of a work-ahoholic; times two.

I grew up in the military…moving…moving…moving.  I thought it was not necessarily by choice that they CHOSE to get settled, move, unpack, make friends, and then repeat the process 15 minutes later.  But OHHHHH I was wrong.  They loved it!  Despite anything they might tell you; they loved it. 

When I met Jeff he had lived in the same house since the day he was born (who knew people actually did that!)  AND his parents took two vacations a year. One in the winter WITHOUT their children and one two week adventure in the summer WITH their children.  I like to play… so this seemed like a great life to me.   I have been an Oakes now longer than I was a Glasgow and where I must admit even though I have my parents that I adore, close I have adapted to the Oakes way of life with ease.  The Glasgow ways are distant memories in some respects.

Now don’t get me wrong I lay out my clothes for the next day most every day of my life, I make my bed daily, I plan my work and work my plan… and above all I value family and holiday traditions…I hold fast to the truths in which I was raised! 

But recently I have been helping my mother some at her home décor store (what fun I thought) and what a kick it has been!

The first day was mild enough.  6 hours where she ran around like a wild woman starting tasks all over the store at once.  I thought it was a hormone surge and flowed with her.  She gave me lists of stuff to do before I came back the next week.  The next week she worked me 10 hours!  10 hours standing up and running at a pace of someone running from something is not usually something I do… I am more of the sauntering nature.  The store had to have a total change over to prepare for her Christmas Open House so EVERYTHING had to be rearranged; tables, displays, the works.  I systematically began in one corner and intended to work my way back and forth.  Except that 20 minutes into the massive candle move mom decided to move a fully lit, decorated and PLUGGED in tree from the back of the store to the front!  “Hey Mom, why don’t we wait until we have made a spot for that,” I meekly inquired…”Grab it Kath…. Quick my knee is going out…grab it… it’s falling.”  My dad who also happened to be down there getting his work aholic fix grabbed the base of the tree and yelled for me to.  I ran, saved the 2 bazillion pound tree and helped it find its new home by a mantle my dad was madly using power tools to affix to the wall…. Just behind the entire fall collection that they threw into the middle of the store to get out of the way so that they could do that task right that second.  Except while my mom was hurling trees she saw a planter that clearly should not have been out this time of year so she ran it to the back only to come out with arms filled with Christmas STUFF that needed to be put out instantly.  Only there were no tables set up yet so she threw it on top of something else that we had yet to deal with.  If I tell you that I mentioned to my mother that nothing she brought out was priced and that she mumbled that her employees had to do better you would be concerned about her mental health I am sure.  So I will not.  Instead I will tell that this chaos continued until I stood perfectly still in the center of the store and looked at her and said…”I have to eat”.  It took her a minute to transition and realize of course it was 2:00 and we SHOULD eat.  I was relieved.  Only I went to get my happy little left overs out of the mini fridge and she said, “Oh no dear I will get your lunch, let’s call and see who has a special today.”  Not waiting for an answer she picked up the phone, called every eatery on Main Street, whipped 10 bucks out of the cash register and told me to run down the street and pick up our lunch.  I tried to say no but alas I was walking within an eyes blink. 

The bag seemed light but who was I to question.  When I got back mom had pulled out a little round table and chairs right in the center of the cyclone mess where we were to take a well earned break.  My sister had come down to organize the book section (whew she is so good at that) and so mom included a chair for her… “Come share a sandwich with us Elly,” she said.  She opened the little white, foam, terrible for the landfills container and there was ONE (1) roasted chicken sandwich for us to share.  My mother delighted in how good her half looked… I was a little more stunned.  “Mom where is my lunch?” I inquired “Well honey, I always share a sandwich with whoever I work with,” she said enjoying her first bite OF THREE.  “Mom I have something to tell you.”

Now this is when honesty just had to prevail, no more skirting around.  I am 42 for heaven’s sake… it was past time.  “Mother, I don’t eat half a sandwich.  I eat a whole sandwich.  AND even if I don’t eat a whole sandwich at lunch time…. I save it and eat it later… I am a nibbler…. I am an Oakes… we eat ALL of our food….Mom I am an Oakes,” I said.  I had to repeat this 6 times before she could truly digest what I was saying because she kept running to answer the phone, help customers, or move things for us to deal with when we were done.  Our lunch and the half sandwich was over in approximately 4.5 minutes.  I knew it was over because she jumped up, wiped her mouth and expressed how refreshed she was as she drug her chair back to the storage area.  I knew my chair was next, with or without me…so I complied.

After 10 hours and no additional nourishment I wearily told the energizer bunny that I had to leave.  Actually I asked her to call me a cab but I managed to drive myself home.  She stayed another 2 hours and was back there at the first light of day to finish.  I have no idea how that half a sandwich could do that for her!

I realized and have been very vocal (surprise) about how much we forget living away from our parents.     I came home to my full house of people where lists are posted of things they need to do… from their mama…hahahaha.  Without thought I texted my kids and reminded everyone to have their bathrooms cleaned before school b/c we had home group that night at our house.  It was as I was running through the house with Camden following me “helping” me pick up before we left for school/work and he was yelling, “I’m coming Khaki…Cammy’s coming!”  He was running as fast as his little legs could take him while he carried a pop tart… that it hit me.  The apple doesn’t fall from the tree! Hahaha

I’ve actually gone back to work with the crazy woman again… it is the highlight of the week.  This week we shared lunch but I brought snacks… AND she actually let us sit down once for a break.  My mom is probably my favorite addict on the planet and I wouldn’t want to be more like any other person I know…. Maybe a little more systematic but definitely like her.  Admitting it is the first step.

Freedom Has A Price~

Freedom has a price and that price is sacrifice… and every time in life there is a sacrifice I believe there is a greater reward.  I’ve only been alive 40ish years and I know I certainly have not weathered some of the greater storms of the last century.  However, I can attest to price of freedom.

During this time as we look at so grave a choice our nation faces with this election I look into the faces of the young and feel almost sad for their ignorance.  I watched the “Barbie” girls standing on Roan Street today waving Obama posters and blowing kisses to passersby and I was caught by… well their stupidity.  The reports all agree that the youth of this country are strongly behind the not even necessarily a Naturalized citizen wanna-be president guy.  I know there are many MANY MANY topics that are huge but to love one’s country is HUGE to me.  I am one of those.

I cry every week at the high school football game when someone sings the National Anthem…yes it’s true.  When the music swells to the part “AND OUR FLAG WAS STILL THERE” it just gets me. 

Maybe if this generation of youth had met their father at 4 because he was serving in Vietnam they would feel differently.  Maybe if they had not had every birthday party they had dreamed of, demanded or instantly gotten all of the things and attention they wished for they would understand.  This country is spoiled.  Kids today live in a comfortable place with a ridiculous abundance and yet without the understanding of who gave it to them.  Maybe they should have lived on an army base or two.  It sure helped me.  I understood as a child that sometimes daddy’s don’t come home and it is their blood on the flag BUT it is because of them we still have a FLAG.  I understood at all too young an age that if we share who we are and give what we have then we, ourselves make this country great.   I watched my tired mother serve in the Red Cross while my dad was on his 3^rd tour of Vietnam.  I watched my dad march through the streets while people spat on him; all the time I felt so proud of my dad.  I sat on his lap as he wept and explained that he fought for their freedom to do that.  My dad taught me to love this country.  By the time I was 12 he became a civilian and by the time I was 29 he became a dad again; it took a while.  That sacrifice was a tough one.  I understand.

I wonder if those in this country understand what it will mean when no one fights for our freedoms anymore?  When no one can speak up or speak out.  When we can’t have everything we want when we want it.  That time will surely come, mark my word.  When we as a country put someone in leadership that doesn’t cry when they hear the National Anthem (because it isn’t theirs) we will all pay.   When we choose as a nation someone to lead us who did not sacrifice for us by giving up his father or his own youth then we ask for a future of no freedom.

I gave my dad….and my childhood and consequently lived in a world all too real so that people can act, speak, worship, educate, and … sing along to the National Anthem at Football games and not be embarrassed to wipe their faces when they are done.  I tell my children to love their country but without sacrifice there is no reward.   Tonight on the eve of this election I fear for this country and reckon myself to the sole and sober fact that Father’s sacrifice provided us a more divine freedom and it is there and only there I must trust.  We must pray and we must vote.  We must defend with everything in us the freedoms that have been won.  If we don’t then my grandchildren will not see the reward of the sacrifice.       

Just to have a Laugh and Share a Smile~

I doubt I have ever laughed so hard before 8 AM as today.  I was minding my own business trying to get ready for my day and thinking how nice it was that Camden was sleeping 30 minutes later than usual…when the little guy stumbled into my room wearing nothing on the bottom…YEP AU NAUTUAL from the waist down.  As he squinted at the light, he held up his diaper and cried, “Khaki help Cammy I lost my pacy!”  Laughing hard I startled him and said, “honey, you lost more than your pacy…why are you holding your diaper?”  He didn’t answer … he just wanted his pacy!  Hahahahaha   Oh  my goodness.

You know it has been almost a year since Camden came to join  our lives.  We were busy in the throes of grown up children life and enjoying some sense of independence.  He interrupted all of that; that’s for sure.  This weekend we get to go to a dear friends wedding in North Carolina and then Jeff will preach at a Masterbuilder church in that region on Sunday.  Thanks to Saint Aunt Betty we will have our first break from this little guy all year.  Our first breather with our “big kids”.  We will watch no Mickey Mouse or Barney… no sippy cups, stopping life for afternoon naps…. And no diapers.

5 months ago I needed this break…thinking I, myself  was going to …well ‘break’.  But now the bottomless, pacifier-less, most hilarious 2 year old you have seen is the bright spot in our days.   Don’t get me wrong I am desperately looking forward to some overdue ‘Big People” time but now we greet the revelation that it is starting to feel  tangible that little man must return to his ‘real parents’ soon.  That thought, feeling all too real, makes me hate to leave him, even for a weekend. 

This journey is a funny one.  Winding roads,  unexpected curves that throw you in a detour or direction you never planned.  First you are scared you will lose something you had on the original road then you settle down and begin to enjoy the new scenery.  About the time you naturally feel the road, you have to merge back onto the other highway of life.   I am grateful for the detours, for weekends away,e ven if they never come when we think WE need them and for curves in the road that make us laugh hard before 8 am. 

Change Is Here~