Travis Tritt - Great day to be alive (live)

As I shared earlier, my mom had a stroke about a month ago. She went into the hospital on a Saturday, and we spent the week with her, watching her get a little better, a little worse, a little dopey from some good tranquilizers and most of all - we watched her get really strong as she faced her mortality head on. My mom's always been really strong in my eyes. She's faced some pretty huge challenges in life with more grace and strength than she gives herself credit. This was no exception. The Friday after her stroke, she had a stint placed in her carotid artery. My dad and I waited with a few of her good friends while she went into surgery - hoping, praying, trying to stay calm. Thankfully, it went well and mom has continued to improve. She's in a little speech and occupational rehab. If you met her on the street, you'd never know she had a stroke. I'm impressed and inspired by her strength.

Anyway, so that Friday, after the surgery and mom was safe and resting in ICU, I took my dad to eat, then headed home. On the way home, I heard this song. It's always been a favorite of mine. That day it had more meaning...and I cranked it. I mean CRANKED it and sang it at the top of my lungs. Tears streaming down my face, I "howled at the moon - ah oooooh". I would hardly call Travis Tritt a praise and worship leader, but that Friday night in August, I worshipped like nobody's business.

Never Forget

September 11, 2001

I was in Virginia Beach on a business meeting - a line review with Coleman and the Navy. I was technically on maternity leave - Preston was 5 weeks old. This was an "overnighter". I had flown to Virginia and spent the night for an early am meeting. I had not seen my sales partner Mary since I had Preston, and we stayed up until 3 in the morning talking. On the 11th, we were in my company's satellite office. A coworker burst into our meeting to tell us what had happened. Our meeting came to a halt - I remember excusing myself every 20 minutes or so to go get myself together. Hormones...nursing...not good. Once we knew we were under attack, we closed our meeting and packed up. Packed up means - packing lanterns, stoves, tearing down tents and sleeping bags. Flights had been canceled, but thankfully my boss had rented a car, which we proceeded to "borrow and cross state lines". You know, ask for forgiveness later. We got out of town around 2pm that day. I just wanted to get the heck out of Virginia Beach - lots of bridges and tunnels, and quite honestly, one our major military hubs. I was scared to death, literally. We took turns driving. My boss got tired around 1am. My turn. Those who know me well know that I am not a night owl. But I drove - through the mountains of Tennessee with more adrenaline than I had ever felt. I remember the talk radio callers volunteering to "go kick some terrorist ass". Only it was a bit more racially explicit. I drove from 1am - 6 am or so. It took 25 hours to get home. We only stopped for fuel, food and breaks. When we approached Dallas, we headed to my house first. We lived in Lewisville. When I got home, I kissed my husband and ran upstairs to see baby Preston. He was asleep in his crib, peacefully. I then saw the TV. We had been in the car for 25 hours and had not yet seen images of the attack. I sank down into my chair and wept. I was sad, tired, terrified, relieved to be home and angry all up in one. It's two days I'll never forget.

I just heard on the radio - Kidd Kraddick (don't mock me, I've listened since Jr. High) said - remember all those promises we made 7 years ago and then quickly abandoned? Like not getting mad at the driver in who cuts you off, or spending time with your family, or getting in contact with friends more often? Let's take this day to remember those promises - the pride we felt in our nation and how we felt in the days and months after the attack.

And remember to pray for the families who lost loved ones in this tragedy. Go hug your kids and loved ones!

Slacker

It's not the first time I've been called a slacker...or the last. I had grand plans to share our lives with you - but when life turned into a Porsche (0 to 60 in 3.2 seconds), I just lost time. I'm not sure if things are slowing down, but I am going to make an effort to post more often. Not just for the 3 people reading this, but as a record of our life. I've said before, I'm not a scrapbooker - I wish I was and will someday put my pictures on paper, but in the meantime, I can keep up here.

So much has happened in the last 2 months - Preston had camps, Bergen went to see the Wiggles. They both had birthdays and are both growing so fast. Preston even started the 1st grade. We went ot Childress for Joe's mamaw's 90th birthday. Amazing. We also have had some hard times - Joe had a migraine headache that lasted 4 weeks. Before we got a diagnosis, he suffered quite a bit...including a trip to the ER and a neurologist. My mom had a stroke which led to vascular surgery. She's starting rehab. That was 2 weeks ago. Talk about a wake up call. There's nothing like the feeling of seeing your mom - your hero - laying in a hospital. Not fun. But she's doing good. We expect a full recovery, praise to God! He is so faithful. I started a new job...another gig where I only get paid if I sell something. If we can just hang tight for a few more months, this should be pretty good. And I love a schedule. Watch...now that I have less time than when I was unemployed, I will blog more. I just do better when I'm forced to get up and out of the house.

Almost everyday, I see something or experience something and think "I'm so blogging that". Like my drycleaner, who looks like Jeff Wiggle, or the crossing guard that is quite honestly the grumpiest looking old man I've ever seen. But hey, at least he's out there. My kids still crack me up with every word.

So life is good - it might be the hardest we've ever experienced, but looking around...still not too shabby.