Brothers From Another Mother

We are building a house in Avoid.

Now, this poses all sorts of challenges
that I never would have considered in suburbia where new houses pop up like weeds on every spare patch of land.

For example: In Avoid, once piping an wiring and major systems are in, it is normal to pay someone trustworthy to sleep in your house to keep people from breaking in and stealing copper wiring.

Seriously. It's a thing.

Le Compte de Grove Park

Scene: Last night as I was preparing dinner.

Jordan: At PAWKids today, me and Mr. Iverson wrote a new song!

Me: Who wrote a new song?

Jordan: Me and Mr. Iverson.

Me: Who?

Jordan: (pausing) Mr. Iverson and I wrote a new song.

Me: That's awesome!

Jordan: Which one? That we wrote a new song or that I had good grammar?

Me: Both honey. Both.

When I was growing up, my parents would pretend not to hear me if I spoke using incorrect grammar. I carry on the family tradition. My father is an attorney, but was a journalist — both print and television — before going to law school. My mother was a high school English teacher before she quit to stay home with the kiddos. My parents write and speak well, and they expected the same of their children.

Sunday Confessional: I'd Make a Sucky Foster Mom

You've probably heard the statistics. That if just one family in every third church in Georgia would foster one child, there would be enough families for every child in "the system."

(Or something ridiculous like that. I don't know the exact number. But the point being that it wouldn't take a lot of people stepping up to ensure that every foster child had a family to call their own.)

It seems like the churches I attend and the families I know are doing more than their share. Caring for the orphans and the parent-less is something that my friends are doing in droves.

Adopting or fostering or adopting their fosters.

So adoption and fostering is not a foreign concept to me. In my world it is almost freakishly common.

But I just know ... somewhere ... deep in my bones ... that I'm not woman enough.

My Son the Soldier

My 18-year-old is right now at Fort Gillem in Forest Park, Georgia, enlisting in the Army.

Mama is sitting at the kitchen table, drinking hot lemon water, and trying to picture her little boy in fatigues. I saw this, and it made me smile.

He's chosen to be an Abrams tank crew member. I suggested that perhaps a cook would be awesome. He loves food, right? And it's so saaaaaafe!

He nixed that idea.

Nooooooo im (sic) not joining the military to become a chef

My Boy of Fall

My firstborn is a high school senior, and he plays football.

This is a combination that has brought this mama to tears so many times this year. Heck, listening to Kenny Chesney sing Boys of Fall now makes me cry. 

Until high school ... or really until his senior year ... I never really understood what playing high school football is like for a boy. And by extension, for his mama. 

South Forsyth War Eagle Seniors

These boys really are his family. His brotherhood. They've got his back 24/7. They're his best friends on and off the field. 

I Miss Anonymity

This weekend was hard. No, that's not quite right. This weekend was shitty.

So Monday after I dropped the minions off at school, I just wanted to walk and be alone.

But that's something I've learned about Avoid.

YOU'RE. NEVER. ALONE.

There are people EVERYWHERE.

Kids walking to school. Kids walking home from school. Kids playing in the yard.

Adults waiting for the bus. Adults walking to the bus. Adults walking to work. Adults just walking. Sitting outside. Chit-chatting. Walking their dogs.

People are always outside, and it is impossible to go anywhere without at least saying hello to a dozen people.

I Have a Void

When we decided to leave the comfortable bubble of suburbia and move into Avoid, I knew there would be naysayers. People who didn't understand or who were outright opposed.

I expected it from my mom, but it didn't come. She had concerns, but I think she's gotten used to me doing things the unconventional way. 

I expected it from my dad, but instead I got encouragement and a story from his own childhood. After World War II, my dad's father had the opportunity to join the Army as an officer and move to Germany. He had special skill in local goverment and the towns there needed someone to help guide them in setting up democratic local governments. He indicated that his father turned down the opportunity because he thought it would be too much for his wife and children. That he didn't want to do anything so risky. My father, when he found out years later, was livid. "What might my life have been like," he mused, "how would I have been different if my father had taken that bold step and moved us to Germany?" He applauded our move to Avoid, and said that our family and children would never be the same.

  

He's so right. But in such a wrong way.