Meet Our Little Mrs. Sunshine AKA Moonbeam

One of the sweetest, dearest phone calls I’ve ever received:

Ring.

Me:  Hello?

Her:  Hello, Mother-in-law.

Me:  Hello, Daughter-in-law.

And I grin from ear-to-ear.

The newest member of our family is our sweet, sweet ClaireMarie. Well, she’s been a member of the family for a while but now it’s OFFICIAL (tah-duh-duh-dum!!!!).

She and our oldest got married out in Arizona.  Met with the State and/or County Authorities for paperwork to sign.  Then went to a botanical garden where they met up with a small number of friends . Words were said over them.  Vows shared.  And a kiss to seal the deal.

Unfortunately we didn’t get to attend but that’s okay.  There will be a huge party later.  We’ll all show up, ooh and ahh over them, meet new friends, hug old ones, eat, take pictures, eat some more.  And if we’re lucky – maybe we’ll get to dance. 

These two are certainly meant for each other.

She’s smart.

He is, too.

She’s beautiful.

He ain’t bad either.

She’s a tad shy.

He’s never met a stranger.

Her other persona is Doctor PhD) Clark .

He doesn’t have another persona.  What you see is what you get.

She’s (hopefully) finished with school.

He’s (hopefully) going to graduate in 3ish years.

She’s kinda grown up.

He’s working on it.

We couldn’t be happier – unless they lived closer to home.  But they’re working on that, too.

I’m so pleased that they met each other.  For years we’ve been praying that someone very special would come into his life.  To soften his heart.  To make him happy.  Laugh at his jokes.  Groan with appreciation at his puns.  Stand by his side.  Learn to love him.  Listen to his woes (and he’s had a few of those). And help guide him in the right direction.

She’s done that..

Our sweet girl is helping smooth away the rough edges.  Soften his heart.  Strengthen his soul. Appreciate his many good qualities.  And teach him how to love. 

All that and EVEN more.

They are blessed.  And they don’t even know how blessed they are.  But someday they will.  I think that they will come to that realization of all their blessings and how much love they have when they hit a rough spot, start to skid off the road of life but are able to right their direction – clinging to each other. And they’ll look at each other in amazement – “We did it!!!

As Jim & I grew into our marriage we hid many speed bumps.  But we were very lucky because we were able to get back on our path.  Stronger than ever.

Bring on the world.  My Sunshine and Moonbeam can handle it.  Together. With hearts in hand.  A smile on their faces. A prayer in their heart. Ready to meet and greet whatever comes their way.

Ta da!

All that and more . . .

Look at me – I’m Brenda Lee!!!

(With apologies to the song writers of “Grease” fame and to the writers of “The Closer”.)

I’m supposed to watch my sugars. 

“Supposed to watch them do what?” you may ask. 

Not be anywhere near the vicinity of my mouth.

But I just can’t seem to help myself.  Most know that I have little self control.  I have a hard time telling me, "no".  And it's even worse when it comes to food (of any kind) that I'm not supposed to have.

I’m the department admin so I’m “responsible” for making sure that my little band of co-worker bees are happy AKA have swell treats on hand.  Which I do – in abundance.

I do try.  I keep the “good stuff” in another part of the office.  I keep a container of things I don’t particularly care for on my admin bar.  Less temptation.  Plus Starbursts stick to my teeth.  And make my tongue turn funky colors.  So it’s not a big threat.

However, the candy in the files area IS a threat to me.

So I sneak over there during the day and just grab a piece or two.  Toss it in my desk so that I can’t see it, shut the drawer, and pretend that I don't know it's there.  And for the majority of the time I’m just fine with that.  Until I hear those obnoxious little murmurings from my drawer.

“Eat meeeeeeee.”

“You want some of this?  You know you do!”

“These are snack size so they don’t count for much.”

I can usually sometimes ignore those promptings, that is unless I’m stressed, depressed, happy, sad, lonely, frantic, etc.  You get the idea.

I opened my drawer a few minutes ago and I can say is that Brenda Lee would be proud.  Candy of just about any brand that you can think of.  Even a few that I’ve never heard of before.  And for today those lovely little bite-sized chocolate candies will be my nemesis.  Tomorrow – who knows?  Maybe the bananas or apples or oranges that the building management supplies for us, but I doubt it.

But for now I’m licking my fingers, trying to catch every tiny little morsel so that it doesn’t land in my keyboard (what? You think I use canned air to clean once a week just to keep my desk in some semblance of order?  Silly.  Not even close.

Twizzlers used to have the slogan, “Makes mouths happy.”  Unfortunately I’ve discovered that they aren’t the only ones that are making me happy today.

I know.  I’ll pay for it later.  But this is a sad case of “I want what I want when I want it.”

Check on me tonight.  I’ll be the one passed out on the couch.

When I was 17 . . . .

When we had our first cold spell a couple of weeks ago, I woke up just knowing that I was 17.  17?  Really?  Yes, really. 

I was ready to jump out of bed, grab my favorite jumper and long sleeve blouse from the closet.  Put on my cat-eye glasses.  Find my penny loafers and my knee socks.  Rat my hair, smooth it in place and spray the living daylights out of with AquaNet hairspray.  Smear lip gloss on my lips (Bonne Bell, of course).  Grab my books that were covered with paper bags from the Safeway.  And race out the door just in time to catch the school bus. 

But alas and alack.  Imagine my surprise when I got to the bathroom and found the reflection of someone’s grandmother looking back at me.  I was sure that I would see my seventeen year old self in the mirror.  Who was that person staring at me?  My brain was absolutely convinced that I was a junior in high school, with all the perks and problems of youth.  Way before I had gray hair, stretch marks and crows’ feet.  Just in time for the youth revolution of the late 60s.  Right at the end of the girl groups.  And the beginnings of Jimi Hendrix’s flaming guitar, Me & Bobby McGee and the Beatles vs. Yoko.

Until recently, I never thought about how much someone’s outside never really reflected their insides.  And, suddenly, there I was - a teenaged girl trapped in this old(er) body.

No wonder my kids (especially my older daughter) cringes when I dance in the aisle at the grocery store.  And now my Gkids are starting to look the other way, too.  What.  You don’t feel the urge?  Well, it was okay when I was younger!  And when folks saw me dancing to the music down aisle 7 – they’d smile.  “Aaah.  Someone so young who loves life!”  But now it’s just staring – or heading the other way when they see me coming.  A grandmother would NEVER act like that.

And sometimes – no, a lot of times - I forget that I’m supposed to act my age.  How does one do that?  Do I suddenly need to find a cane that goes with all my outfits?  Can I no longer wear glasses that are a little funky and have to settle for wireless granny glasses?  Will I have to have blue hair that’s ratted into place and resemble a hair sprayed helmet (with or without AquaNet).  Is this the end of my car dancing days (Which tickles the crossing guards as I drive by on my way to work.  Well, at least they seem to appreciate it and they always wave back at me.)  And that I can no longer keep up the kids, much less my grandkids?   And that the fart/burp jokes that my Gkids tell are no longer funny?  But if I do that by accident (I swear) that it’s embarrassing for them but funny to me?

Well, let me just say this about that:  (ahem!)  Hell. No. I. Won’t. Go.

I can’t help that the 17 year old me comes flying from beneath the surface from time to time, which sometimes means that the filter comes off of my mouth.  And I enjoy having people think that I was once a hippie chick even if I never inhaled.  I mean – never even touched the stuff (I didn’t have to because I’m a party waiting to happen all by myself.).  That I laugh at all the wrong times and for all the wrong reasons just like I did back then.  I apologize (but not really) for embarrassing either my husband, kids or my Gkids from time to time because I don’t “act my age”.  I enjoy feigning shock at all the right times and for all the wrong reasons, getting a kick out of Aggie jokes horrid puns, and knock-knock jokes.  That I’m just as socially awkward now as I was back then.

But I do mind creaky joints, aching muscles, being reminded by my father (of all people) that I don’t need a two-story house.  I hate having to act my age when all I want to do is squirm out this old(er) body, getting my dancing shoes on and rock to the beat.  I don’t like that often I have trouble climbing stairs.  And that sometimes going downstairs is no picnic either.

I hate not remembering things, events, places or faces.  As I’ve stated before – my poor husband and older daughter have to be my memory.  Some of the things I do recall I consider odd or embarrassing to have remembered (like convincing my younger brother to dress up in a blouse, pencil skirt, scarf & high heels and then taking a picture to prove it).  And then I find myself fretting myself into a frenzy because I can’t even remember what I did last weekend.  Or the name of some of the members of our ward.  People I’ve known for years.  And their names?  Gone.    (That problem would be solved if everyone would just wear a nametag like the missionaries!)

I don’t like not being able to hear everyone’s conversations.  And why does it, at times, seem that everyone’s whispering?  Am I supposed to be thrilled that my hearing isn’t as good as it used to be?  And my eyesight?  Not too bad, but why am I now get nervous driving in a part of town that I’m not familiar with when it gets dark. Or almost panic driving at night when it rains. 

My hair is fine.  Very short and worn with Attitude. And I’ve come to appreciate the lovely patina that it’s developing.  And my wrinkles?  I’ve earned them.  My skin does have a lovely glow – thanks to a great shade of blush and the wonder of modern cosmetics and skin care.  And I hate that my cute freckles are now merging together and turning into age spots.  At what age did my skin start doing that?

And I just hate realizing that sooner rather than later that I’ll be leaving this earth.  Which isn’t a bad thing, but it’s just that I really am only 17 and I still have so much to do. 

See – I have this bucket list that gets longer every day.  The younger me is proud of that list and just knows that all will be checked off one by one.  But the older me realizes that I have to be practical and just scratch some things off, knowing that I’ll never have the money or the time.

Regrets?  I’ve had a few.  But the good I’ve experienced in my life outweighs all the sorrows, bad luck, missed opportunities, and wrong decisions that were of my own choosing.

Yet when I compare the “old” me (at 17) with the “new” me I realize that I’m more blessed than I could ever have imagined. And that I keep forgetting the Powers that be how grateful I am for all I’ve experienced – the good, the not so good and the bad.

That the image in the mirror may not be as cute as that 17 girl, but I’m okay with that.  I’ve had so much fun and I know that are still plenty of happy times ahead and great memories to build. 

That I haven’t used up all the gifts that were given to me.  I’ve even discovered new ones as I gained experience in this life.  That at 17, I never really appreciated the people and things around me.  I’m still working on it, but I’m so grateful for what I have.  And the things I know.  But that there’s so much I still have to learn.  And experience.  And share. And grow.

My life’s grand at 17 or 62. 

When I was 17, it WAS a very good year.  But at 62, so much better.

Dedicated to LED.  Keep on dancin'!