Thankfully, he served his six months in Saudi Arabia and Iraq without injury. When I say, thankfully, I mean "Thank you, God, for saving him for me". (I hope this prompts him to post some of his stories.)
Thankfully, he served his six months in Saudi Arabia and Iraq without injury. When I say, thankfully, I mean "Thank you, God, for saving him for me". (I hope this prompts him to post some of his stories.)
Had I been in charge, this might have been the extent of art class (plus a few popscicle stick Christmas ornaments):
Ordinarily, I would've piped right in with, "Oh yeah...a LOTTA help. Getting into everything, dumping out the dirt I just put in the planters, pulling out the plants, walking in front of the mower, climbing in the stroller we're trying to clean." Blah, blah, blah....
The card had lovely sentiments from my hubby. For instance: "Can't imagine life without you. You are the very person God picked for me, the kids and Dell." Sweet, huh?
These things do not work for me:
People who assume my Grandad is senile because he can't hear.
I've learned since moving to Indiana, they don't care much about the Derby (IU had their graduation the same day...what!?!?!?) So, when my Mom decided to visit for the weekend, we decided to have our own Derby party. ("We" meaning the kids, Mom, Grandaddy and me, so don't get your feelings hurt because you didn't get an invitation.)
We brought out a hat for everyone. Sammie made her own.
We piled into Grandaddy's room, and as the coverage started (only two hours here compared to two DAYS back home,) we tried to explain to the little ones what was going on. We talked about Derby hats and the jockeys and the silks and Churchill Downs and the throngs of people.
Most people don't know the verses to "My Old Kentucky Home." (I do, thanks to an outdoor theater gig I did for about 10 years. I'll save that for another day.) But everyone chimes in for the well-known chorus:
So, my throat starts closing and my eyes start tearing up and I think to myself, "Why am I crying, for heavens' sake?" And, I look up and derned if my Mom wasn't crying, too! What on earth was that about!?!?!
The only thing I could come up with is this: tradition. Year after year after year, Derby was a special time. A fun time. A family time. Even my dad would wear a hat. If there wasn't a party to go to, we'd have our own. Make our own mint juleps and sing "My Old Kentucky Home" as if we were right on millionaire's row.
Tradition: the transmission of customs or beliefs from generation to generation.