She came and is wonderful and beautiful, sugar and spice and everything nice and just a little bit of spicy tortilla, because she wouldn’t be part of the group if she weren’t a little feisty, right? It’s easy to adore her and, for the most part, April’s pregnancy and labor went beautifully. Mom and baby are fine, Daddy is beaming and everything is happy. They are adjusting well to their new situation and those of us who waited for them to become a family can feel the love and watch them glow as they grow in their new life together.

However, sometimes challenges arise that threaten the happiness. They often do and they often will when you have a child. Some of them are under your control and some are not. Something has come up that April and Chris prepared for, but due to negligence, has fallen out of their hands. I want to draw your attention to Chris’s post where he explains this fully, but Baptist Hospital in Nashville, where they gave birth, is trying to steal from them. Yes, those are harsh words. This is a harsh situation. See, a deal is a deal and April and Chris made a deal with the hospital to pay them money for the labor and delivery up front. The hospital kept their money for 2 months prior to the birth of their child and then the hospital was supposed to offer them a discount on that labor and delivery. It is to ensure the hospital is paid in a timely manner and that if something were to happen to April and the baby prior to that date that they would still get some of their fees.

Again, this was a deal that they make with perspective parents as an incentive to give birth in their hospital and birthing babies is a lucrative practice. In a city like Nashville where there are 2 or 3 hospitals in a ten mile radius, where you give birth is important. You go to the place that you trust to take care of not only your child, but also mama and daddy. My understanding is that the care Chris, April and sweetpea received was wonderful while they were in the hospital. It is the shoddy way they are being treated now that is unfair and wrong.

The gist of the story is that April had false labor and instead of applying the money she had already paid to her labor and delivery and giving her the discount on that, which was the DEAL, which is what she had ALREADY PAID FOR, they put the money paid onto her bill for that evening. Now, the way I see it, the bill for the labor and delivery should already have been generated and marked PAID with that money and anything extra should have been billed later. If something happened and April did not give birth, then they would need to refund the money. It’s that simple. What is happening now is that Baptist is seeing a way to milk two young parents out of much needed funds and this is not just wrong, it’s bad business.

What I am asking from all of you is for your support for these two as well as what can they do in this situation? Can they report them to the better business bureau? Who should they talk to regarding this? Do they need a lawyer? What are their options? Any support you can offer would be greatly appreciated. If you have time to go read Chris’s blog and offer him support there, I know he and April would appreciate it so much.

What Baptist Hospital in Nashville is doing is not ok. A deal is a deal and you get what you PAY for, not what someone else decides you get. What awful customer service!

Edit: Well done, Baptist! Baptist has decided to fix this oversight and do the right thing! It’s nice to see someone step up to the plate!

…it’s time to break-up.

Is that a little dramatic? It sounds like a romantic relationship, right? A new friendship can be as exciting and as intoxicating as a new romantic relationship. It doesn’t mean you are in love with that person, but it activates similar levels of dopamine and you feel that same dopey feeling of, “Gosh, aren’t they just wonderful? I want to spend more time with them. I wonder what they think about…” When you’ve found someone that shares common traits and activities, it can lend something fresh to a life that may feel stale. However, just like every other relationship, it will age and it will either age like a fine wine or it’s going to age like last week’s tacos. I have some amazing friendships that are like wine bottles I have yet to open. They just keep going and I sometimes wonder if the shoe is ever going to drop…and it never does and it just keeps being wonderful. These aren’t the relationships I’m talking about today.

Today, we’re going to talk about tacos and when it’s time to toss ‘em.

First, it’s important to examine what you’re giving to your relationships. Are you giving it everything you’ve got? Most of us aren’t. Who has time to give a friendship 100% of their life? Most friends aren’t asking for 100% and that isn’t something that should be expected. However, if you are the one who is always going over to their house, who is always the one listening to their problems, who is always being the one to put forth the effort…you’re having last week’s tacos and it’s time to re-evaluate the purpose of this friendship.

People are not solitary. I’m an introvert, by nature, and generally I can spend quite a bit of time on my own and do so happily. Yet, there will always be a pack mentality within me that propels me to get out there and make friends. Call it evolution, call it “getting out my talkies,” call it whatever you want. People need friends for support and love. If you don’t have it, you want it. If you have it, but the other person gives you nothing in return, you are in a friend deficit. You are doing the giving, you are receiving nothing in return and…I’m sorry, I missed the point of the friendship. What are they adding to your life again?

What are some signs you have a taco?

-When that person calls, you are available and you let it go to voicemail.

-You consider what to do in your free time and that person doesn’t cross your mind.

-The thought of spending time with that person makes your stomach hurt, your heart race or makes you grit your teeth.

- You can’t trust that person and you wonder, quite frankly, if they have your best interests at heart.

-You think they might be using you for something you have: money, skills, a ride, who you know, what you’ve got.

-They stir the drama.  These people will eventually come around to stir you into the pot.

- When you try to tell them something that is bothering you, they may give you a token amount of time, but they will not allow you talk until you feel better.  They have no problem cutting you off when THEY are done.

-Even when they know something is important to you, you have to remind them it exists.  (Like a blog!)

-When you try to include them in your life, it only happens when they have downtime.  You are NOT someone’s downtime.

- They allow a boyfriend or girlfriend to take precedence over a longterm friendship.

- They constantly argue with you over things that don’t matter; Being right is more important than being harmonious.

- They take your life personally.  This can be in the form of your being sick and not showing up to hang out must mean you don’t care about them all the way to you not taking their advice means you think they are stupid.

- They judge how you do things such as parenting your child or choosing a job.  We are not talking about someone who carefully helps you work through things.  We’re talking flat out judgment.

- They don’t care if they hurt your feelings and they speak before thinking.

- They just aren’t as mature as you are and you’ve outgrown the relationship.

Ok, I could really go on and on and on with this forever.  This is a small sampling of symptoms of a larger issue.  We must learn how to trust our gut when it says “it’s over, let it go” because when we decide to let go we free ourselves from something that feels unhealthy to us and allows us to be available for something amazing to come our way.

Trust yourself.  Toss the tacos.

I struggle with how to describe the change that comes over my dear friend. We all head to the nearby Mexican restaurant for a night of relaxation and laughter. The rules are simple: don’t use your cell phones, don’t yell out answers and submit them within the time limit to the person running the trivia night. We spend the time, as a small group of friends, eating delicious Mexican cuisine, running through our vat of useless knowledge and really, just having a wonderful time. I look forward to trivia night for weeks prior to it happening and I think my friends feel the same way.

When we get there, however, a subtle change begins to take over my friend, April. It starts with the delicious food. April starts to hum and dance a little at she eats what is, inevitably, a mountainous plate of food that she will never finish. When she proclaims herself full it will look as though she took one bite even though she ate just as long as everyone else did. During this time, she will smile and everything will appear to be well on the surface. It’s not. Oh, no, it’s not. Do not be fooled. She’s gearing up the way some people wear their dirty socks to a game. April is in it to win it.

When it comes time to play, she will cheerfully volunteer to go get the game sheets and bounce, nay, skip to the game table and come back with our sheets. Team Android, as we are called (what? We LIKE our phones), is about to show you all how it’s done. During this time, the change begins to show itself as whomever is putting our name on the sheets isn’t writing them quickly enough and April begins to scope out the competition.

As the game is played, April’s eyes shift and she makes sure that all are playing by rules and WOE to them if they are not. This has culminated in her calling people out for using cell phones by glaring at them until they feel her eyes on them, making it known to AJ so he will say “You aren’t supposed to use cell phones” loudly enough that they get up and leave and, during one of our last nights out, had April openly mocking a team who raised their hands to cheer when they did well.

April is not a mean girl. But Trivia night brings out the fighter in her. I have to say that it is hysterical and I can’t wait to see what happens next.

Mild mannered American sweetheart by day. Cage fighter by Mexican trivia night.

I might just request that they play Eye of the Tiger just for her, next time.

So, we make a deal that whoever can get there early shows up 30 minutes early to get us a table. I don’t know about the rest of the group, but I start to look forward to trivia day about two days early. It’s not the amazing Mexican cuisine, though the food is easily the best Mexican in town. It’s not the stellar service, because the waitstaff is highly overworked on those nights. It’s not the celebrity sightings, even though we’re certain we saw a country singer the last time we went because in Nashville we leave our celebrities alone.

The whole day of our trivia night feels special and around 4pm, the texts start flying. “Is it trivia night?” “You coming?” “We’re so in. See you there.” “Can you get the table?” “Yep, got it. I’ll be there early. How many?” “Are you bringing a guest?” “Cool beans. I’m so excited. We’re gonna WIN tonight!”

It’s everything that happens in a two hour time span that makes that time together special.

AJ is the runner. He immediately goes up and gets our tickets to put our team name on there. We always choose the same name and it’s one that sends me into giggles every time. Either April or Bryan has to be the team writer. I’m not sure how this happened beyond my utter lack of attention to the questions and their ability to write fast. We can count on certain people in certain categories and me for no categories.

And, up until the last time we went, we never got close to winning. Last time, we got third. It was a proud, proud day.

The one thing that we can guarantee is that there will be a lot of laughter. Many attempts will be made to screw up the other teams by saying the wrong answers loudly. AJ will say the right answer loudly several times until I threaten to take away whatever junk he’s gotten from the bubble machines by the door if he doesn’t knock it off. April, who is as mild-mannered as they come, will look around suspiciously at people who are using their cell-phones (against the rules!) and may even scare a couple of them into leaving with her glare.

But there will be lots and lots of laughter.

I miss it, terribly.

I can’t wait for winter break.

It’s time for Trivia Night.

We’d moved to a larger room in the back of The Dubliner and our group was gaining people like crazy. By this time, many in the group were inebriated. I was drinking my Coca-Cola (yeah, yeah, I’m drinking caffeine again–I’ll pay for it later) and enjoying the show.

It’s not my job to tell you everything that they did or said. It’s really not fair to them. Truly. They desperately need to be tattled on, but they all have their own blogs and if they can remember, more power to them. What I remember most keenly was our waiter. In an Irish pub, anyone with any kind of European accent sounds Irish. This is particularly true when everyone in the room is inebriated. What happens is that everything is much funnier than it really is.

Because of this situation, when it came to conversing with the waiter, I thought that it was hysterical that he wasn’t really Irish (look, he SOUNDED IRISH–if it looks like a Lucky Charm and walks like a Lucky Charm–yep, I’m kidding and yep, someone is gonna take that personally and yep, someone is gonna call me names). If you’d like to call me sauerkraut, go ahead.

Anyway, I made it my mission to discover the heritage of our waiter. As such, I refused to give him my order until he would disclose. What? I was in Washington. Disclosure is the name of the game. You can’t live there and not carry around your birth certificate, right?

Eventually, he gave it up to me and my friend Sarah that he was English and French. Sarah is French so this was an incredibly delightful conversation that ended with us holding our waiter up for ten minutes while we compared family histories and had a new best friend who was now required to serve all of our food “with love” because it was inevitable that we were somehow related (me being 1/4 English and Sarah being French).

And yes, I required him to say that everything had love in it.

This was much better than the experience we had at a bar later in the week where they wouldn’t allow us in because Caleb’s license had expired and they refused to believe he was over 21 even though he was supporting a full logger beard and it was clearly him on the license. And then when the guy who refused to let us in mouthed off to Caleb and Ben and made the situation ten times worse… Oh, you want to hear about that, too?

It was a long weekend. And I met a girl named Beer.

My YMCA card had dust on it, so I blew that sucker off and decided to get back to business. Over the weekend, I’d managed to get ‘er done (yes, I just said it-go on and disown me), but after the car fiasco, I knew there wouldn’t be time to workout. My fitness guru and very good friend, Mike, has been yoda-ing me in this go-round and he’d cautioned that I needed a recovery day for my body. So, I decided that a nice, leisurely walk with Reagan would do the trick.

I don’t play favorites with walking the dogs, it’s just that Sophie tuckers out after a block and Molly is so busy sniffing and marking territory that I’d never get anywhere if I took them. Reagan is built Ford-tough. She has tiny legs and some serious muscle in that little weiner dog body of hers. She went with me today for 35 minutes without complaint. We did have some adventures, though.

-We attacked every crunchy leaf in the vicinity of our walk. As the trees are letting them drop like crazy, this amounted to some serious attacks.

-A school bus full of children waved at us.

-Reagan whined at the school bus full of children because she knows that the school bus might mean AJ is there.

-When the bus went past with no AJ, she pouted, moped, and refused to jump on crunchy leaves until I was ahead of her crunchy leaf ratio 10:1.

-We went around a park and found a small stream that I didn’t know existed.

-A car drove past us with a little dog in it that so desperately wanted to make Reagan it’s “friend” that it almost jumped out the window. I watched as it slowly drove past with the dog hanging out the window and the owner laughing so hard he almost let go of the little dog.

-We saw some beautiful fall foliage.

-A LOOSE doberman came running after Reagan. Apparently my horns came out because I yelled at it “NO!” and “YOU GO HOME YOU VERY BAD DOG!” and it literally turned and ran with its tail between it’s legs. Wussy. I must have a fierce angry face. Don’t mess with anything I believe belongs to me. I will ruin you. I don’t care if you have teeth that can tear me apart. I look really mean when I’m mad. And if I see it again I will have no problem calling animal control and letting those people pay to get that dog back. Leash laws are there for a reason.

-Reagan gave me the biggest, happiest face when she saw the front yard. Dogs can grin, you know? We both got our fitness on.

Overall, my walk today was simply breathtaking. It helped remind me why fall is my favorite season. I hope that all of you are spending some time outside just enjoying the scents and beauty of this time of year. I want to take a second and thank Mike, one more time, for the time and effort he has been putting into me. My friendships mean a lot to me and he’s holding me accountable this time and it is what I needed. I’m one of those needy, hard to be friends with people because sarcasm is my defense mechanism, so it really is hard to put up with me on a regular basis. I’m also sensitive, so I take things the wrong way a lot. To be “in charge” of anything I’m doing, especially when I’m such a type-A, has got to be a pain in the butt, so thank you, again.

Livvy was born three weeks before my junior prom. As such, my mother didn’t have time to go dress hunting with me or even see me before my junior prom. Thankfully, my aunt stepped in and green eyes and I had a fine night. I think. I don’t remember much of it because there was so much emotional turmoil around that time, both with his absence and Livvy’s health.

Livvy eventually came home and green eyes eventually drifted away and a new normal came to me. It wasn’t without much resistence on my part, however. I lost 30 pounds simply because I wasn’t interested in eating. I was depressed and had lost interested in most everything and everyone around me. I was starting to finally feel like myself when I developed what felt like the worst cold ever. My nose started dripping like a faucet and I’d rubbed the thing raw. My best friend, at the time, was a boy we later determined was related to me somehow. He and I went to Wal-mart, where I worked (I have SO many stories about that place) and saw the new guy stocking the shelves. A cute new guy. One I’d only seen in passing while we were zoning the area at night. I’d been lucky enough to help him a couple of times.

I’d never been a forward kind of girl. I’m shy, especially where my looks are concerned and even with the weight loss, I was sure he wasn’t interested in me. Nevertheless, I went up to him with my dripping, peeling nose and started talking to him. He talked back and seemed amused by what I was saying. Eventually we made a date. One date turned into several and we dated on and off, though mainly on, throughout my senior year of high school. He was a few years older than I was and was very different from the guys I went to school with. He introduced me to “No diggity” (which is still one of my favorite songs) and was probably one of, if not THE nicest person I’ve ever dated. He also took me to Olive Garden for the first time in my 17 years.

I don’t know anyone that didn’t like Aaron. He made friends with all of my friends and the people at work adored him. The girls at work really adored him. He kept his eyes on me. I felt adored. His sister and brother felt like my family. I thought a lot of them and still do. I have no idea what my senior year would have been like if his kind spirit hadn’t been a part of my life. My family was dealing with a lot of issues, not just a new baby. He was there for me and I will always appreciate that about him.

He was also my prom date that year. Strangely enough, I remember most everything about that night. I remember sitting in the chair at my salon and watching my stylist place mini-flowers in my hair and wondering if they looked Asian enough. Would Aaron like them? Was it too much? Were my bangs too high? The answer to the bang question was YES, THEY WERE TOO HIGH.

I remember the moment he saw me and the smile he gave me. I remember that his hands are really strong and when he held mine to walk me into the convention center that I couldn’t stop smiling. We sat with our friends and there was much dancing and laughing. When prom was over, we went to a friend’s house and, in my typical party animal fashion, I promptly fell asleep on the couch.

I’m a winner.

Three weeks later, I broke up with him for a guy who truly believed that there is a dark side and he was a jedi knight. I still have a lot of guilt about this and I’m so, so sorry, Aaron. It was among the most stupid decisions I’ve ever made. I’m a firm believe that things turn out the way they should, though, and I’m really glad that we are still friends. You were the best prom date ever.

Full-fledged geek extraordinaire.

I’m ok with it and I’m not sure why others aren’t, especially when I’ve embraced this aspect of myself. Is it no longer cool to go with the self-acceptance? Dork has such a negative connotation, but there is something to be said for people that are eccentric, quirky or don’t go with the flow. We tend to stand out. Some may say that it’s not in a positive way, but I don’t think that the way I am presents itself in a bad manner.

Last week, I was in class and one of my friends was talking to another cohort about the highlights she’s had all semester. She has spent a lot of time on her outer beauty this semester and I’ve really noticed. She’s beautiful. I don’t swing that way, but if I did, I’d give her a second glance. She’s a precious, sweet, amazing, funny woman and I think that she is special. She’d commented that it took almost the entire semester for this other person in the cohort to notice that she’d had her hair done. I made the comment that I’d noticed and that I’d “been digging on her all semester.”

Not only did she smile, but she came over to me, hugged me tightly and then she and another girl made me an “Oreo sandwich.” Apparently, this is where two amazingly precious African American sweethearts hug a confused Caucasian girl and make her the cream filling. Needless to say, there were some interesting comments about what I said, but I shrug them off. I’m an equal opportunity flirt and this girl deserved what I said. Yes, it took cajones to say it, but it’s part of being quirky: You say things that others might not and it changes the outlook of the group, one way or another. She needed to hear that she is adored and accepted. I met the need and was rewarded by her, kindly.

It’s part of being a friend.

I sing in the car. Loudly. With hand gestures. Cars around me either laugh and point or join along.

I wear my heart on my sleeve and it gets me into trouble more often than not. I get hurt a lot. It’s who I am.

I will eat chicken pot pie 4 days in a row and then convince my twitter friends, they should, too. Don’t lie. You know you ate the pot pie.

I laugh at fart jokes. I tell them in public.

I’m the girl who doesn’t wear the camisole under her shirt and doesn’t realize she’s flashed people until after the fact. It wasn’t that I was trying, I just didn’t realize the shirt went down that far. It didn’t occur to me. I’m glad you enjoyed the show. They ARE beautiful.

I rarely spend more than 5 minutes on my makeup and if my hair takes more than 10, I leave it where it’s at.

I wear sneakers most every day. Screw dress up shoes.

I’m a jeans and t-shirt girl.

My perfume smells like lemons. Not a girlie smell, a CLEAN smell.

I hate to cook and clean.

I literally just played rock, paper, scissors with a presenter while the professor took over her presentation and we got bored.

I make inappropriate jokes. All the time. At the wrong times. In company where it’s wholly inappropriate.

I named my car “Betty” because anything I spend that much time with deserves to have a name.

I make fun of my education. I have to. 22 years of education makes me a nerd, along with being a geek and a dork. Yes, it also makes me smart. I’m proud of it, but not so proud that I have to make you feel stupid. I may be stupid for sitting my butt in desks made for a 7th grader for so long. We can all be happy about our education.

I wear braids, pigtails and buns. I go out in public like this. I think I look cute.

I wear the friendship bracelets my 13-year old sister made me with pride. I’ll wear them until they wear out. If you don’t like them, don’t look at them.

I want people to be my friend. Including my professors and people that may not necessarily want to be friends with someone as free with their words as I am. I have no problem joking and cajoling until people give in and become my friend. I can be charming when I want to be. Not in the typical manner. I will run up to people and invade their personal space by hugging them before they know me. Sorry about that.

I’ve done the time warp.

I’ve made, worn and given out warm fuzzies.

Butterfly and eskimo kisses are my favorite to give and receive.

I spend way too much time on my computer, but I do it because I miss the people I’ve met on here when I don’t.

I text more often than I should.

When I have my sunroof open, I feel invincible.

How are you a proud dork?

Perverts. I’m not telling you about that. It was a special moment and you can go make your own.

The brown-eyed girl smiled and took his hand. From the other room, she heard his friend yell, “Did you kiss her yet? Have you asked her out? Is it official? C’mon man, I don’t have all night. Just do it!” She laughed and blushed, as did he.

Days turned to weeks and over the winter holiday they spent much time together. They had the same group of friends, so they were able to spend time apart without it overwhelming them or feeling threatened, as so many do at that age. However, they found it hard to find time alone and decided to get creative.

Just outside of town was a farm area that sat atop a hill and next to a wooded area. The snow was crisp and she would slowly pull her crimson colored car to the edge of the woods. He would sit on the hood of her car and she would lean against him as he held her. They would make up stories of wolves and ax-men and all of the things that might be in the woods. Really, it was an excuse to look at the stars and the trees and the beautiful, snow covered hilly area. Never in her life had the brown-eyed girl been happier.

However, all good things must come to an end. At the end of the holiday vacation, Green eyes called her. It was clear from the tone of his voice that he’d been crying. He told her that his father had been relocated and that they were moving in less than a month.

She was crushed. She was losing him just as she’d found him. She was also losing her best friend.

Their parents were very supportive; Perhaps moreso than they should be have been in a situation with teenagers so young. You don’t need to know the details, but they tried to make it work. They tried desperately, but with over 600 miles separating them, and before free nights and weekends, it was not possible to maintain the relationship. Reluctantly, the brown-eyed girl said good-bye.

Both moved on and found happiness elsewhere, but years later, with the accessibility of the internet, found one another again. The brown-eyed girl was newly married and the green-eyed boy was, again, miles and miles away. They agreed to keep in touch.

And they do.

Some connections remain, regardless of time and circumstance.

However, Tuesday rolled around and it was time for some change. I’d scheduled a cut, color and highlights with my friend Chris, who is an awesome stylist. He’s been taking care of me for almost 2 1/2 years and, beyond being good at what he does, we have a good time when we are together. He’s one of those people that I feel like I can be myself with in that he’s going to get my jokes and he might even laugh at them. We’ll sit and talk for 3 hours with no awkwardness and I’ll leave feeling like I’m caught up on his life and, hopefully, he’s caught up on mine. It’s a good relationship and there are precious few of those around lately.

I got to hear about old women and dirty Subway jokes, political jokes that we have to whisper, just in case the other patrons might hear and I can tell him that my theme for this haircut is “Hot. Just make me look hot. I don’t care what you do to it” and know that it’s going to happen. And it did. And he’s awesome. At one point, his co-worker, who’d kept himself in the majority of our conversation, had commented that he liked to laugh, too, because we were both laughing so hard that Chris had to stop working.

Rare friendships. I love those.

Well, what do you think? It’s got some red in it, as well as some blonde. Oh, and there is a Chris in the picture, too. I’m not getting rid of anyone that says “You already are” when I tell him to make me pretty. Nope. He’s a keeper. I’m not telling you anything else that was said. We share an odd sense of humor.

Besides spending time with one of my favorite people, as well as the best stylist in the area, I got to see one of my besties, Kristin. I rarely go to her neck of the woods, as it’s almost an hour away and there is more to do in my area. However, it’s where Chris is and my hair isn’t going to take care of itself, though wouldn’t that be awesome? “Hair, color yourself!”

Anyway, I happened to choose the day that Kristin only works until 3, which was awesome because I was done around 3:30. I hugged Chris goodbye and set off to the mall. Leon and AJ, who’d both taken a couple of days off for fall break, decided to meet us there after Leon hurt himself playing golf. I’m not going to say a word about golf. Nope. Not a word. It was a somewhat last minute decision that Leon and AJ would come to do some mall-wandering and ended with all of us going to Olive Garden.

I love Olive Garden.

I want to marry Olive Garden and have little olive-ettes.

Then, on the drive home, which was blissfully quiet except for some *whispering* country */whispering* music, I was treated to a sunset that literally brought me to tears. One of the reasons I love Nashville so much is the scenery. There is something so beautiful about the rolling hills and the trees and the natural rocks. When I turn a corner, I’m treated to something new and amazing with every breath. Sorry for the junky windshield pictures. I’m too lazy to clean it and too mystified by the beauty of it to not share it with you.

As I pulled into Franklin, I swore I heard bells. The closer I got to Five Points (an area of historic downtown), the louder they pealed. As I checked for signs of neurological disorder, I realized that I was driving closer to one of the beautiful historic churches in the area. Someone was ringing the bells and it was glorious. The bells and the sunset and the sky and day I’d had…it was all too much.

What a wonderful day. Can I please have more of these?

Of course, with the excitement of a new relationship, the girl and the boy chose to canoe together, against the sage advice of the adults in the group. A man that the girl loved and respected very much warned her that the relationship wouldn’t last the weekend if they sat in that canoe. She smiled, hugged him and sat down with a smile. Because he loved her like a father, he kept his mouth shut and said no more.

All of the teenagers in the group knew the girl couldn’t swim well. She could keep her head above the water when necessary, but beyond that, she would have difficulty. Luckily, the boy could swim well and he assured her that if the canoe tipped, he would be well equipped to save her from danger. She trusted the boy and picked up her paddle and began to stroke. She never anticipated anything bad would come from the day. The sun was shining and she and the boy were doing well.

Until 2 hours later when conversation began to get heated. The boy had difficulty paddling and the girl was exasperated with this as her steering was flawless. The water was entering a difficult passage of particularly deep water and the girl was getting nervous with the amount of rocking in the canoe. The boy had begun to paddle with choppy strokes, due to his frustration, and the girl looked at the water with trepidation. She begged him to calm down, but he snapped at her and she snapped back at him and then…

She was in the water. It was cold and she couldn’t touch the bottom. She opened her eyes, though the water was muddy and she couldn’t see anything except a tree branch directly in front of her eyes. It was at that moment that she felt the branch grasping her ankle. She thrashed her head to the left and to the right, and realized she was in trouble when she saw the large tree to her right. She tried to move upward and, as she hit her head, she realized that she was under the canoe and her breath was running out. She jerked on her ankle over and over and couldn’t move. She heard shouting and realized that there were people coming for her, but they couldn’t find her and they might be too late. She’d had dreams of drowning, but never anticipated it to be like this. As her breath ran out and she began to feel dizzy, she twisted her ankle free and kicked away from the tree.

As she came up for air, the first thing she saw was the boy. He was laughing. As this was a very strong-willed girl, her best friend stood between them as the girl was going to go show him exactly what she thought of him. Her friend said that the boy had rocked the canoe on purpose, and that he hadn’t realized she was stuck beneath the canoe. The sage father-figure was right. The relationship was over and the boy’s life nearly ended that day.

As such, the girl no longer trusted the boy, for good reason, and could no longer canoe with him as the urge to end him was strong. She needed a new partner to canoe and she needed someone who was even tempered and who would not attempt to drown her for laughs. A quiet boy, cousin to her best friend, volunteered with a “Hey, y’all, I’ll switch canoes. You don’t even have to paddle unless we need to turn a corner. As long as you talk to me and keep me company, I’ll do all the work.”

Sold.

Randy (not the boy’s real name) was a farm boy from a town about 70 miles away from where the girl lived. The girl had grown up on a farm, but had moved to a less rural area about 4 years earlier. She took a shine to his cheekiness and gladly hopped in his canoe. They were carrying one of the coolers, so his flipping the canoe seemed unlikely. There was something about him that seemed genuine and kind and she trusted him.

They talked all day. Early in the conversation, Randy looked at the girl and said, “By gosh, I think yer a real city girl, aren’t ya?” She laughed and said, “I’m no redneck, that’s for sure.” And City Girl and Redneck were born. City Girl kept her end of the bargain and paddled when necessary. Redneck used his farm boy muscles and paddled the whole way without complaint. Conversation never lagged and the canoe moved smoothly through the water.

Throughout the rest of the weekend, they stuck together like peas and carrots. Though they had little in common besides their ability to talk to one another freely and without judgment, the weekend went smoothly. As 15-year olds did, at the time, they exchanged addresses and telephone numbers. They did not have email and Redneck wouldn’t have used it if they did. He was too busy rebuilding cars and spending time with his faithful dog. City girl was technologically stupid.

They wrote back and forth for several years, but, as time often does, it got the better of them. They saw each other last when the sage father figure passed from a particularly malevolent form of cancer. The girl was broken-hearted. As she walked into the dinner hall, for the family meal, as she was considered family, she saw him. He walked up to her and hugged her tightly and held her. Then he softly held her back, looked her up and down, smiled that Redneck grin and said, “CITY GIRL! How the hell are ya?”

Yes, time moves forward, but out there in the universe are a Redneck and City Girl. Both are married with children and not to one another. It never would have worked because it’s not how it was supposed to be. But City Girl looks at a letter and a picture of a boy next to an old car and a dog, often, and smiles when she remembers how a Redneck gained her trust and her lifelong friendship.

And they both lived Happily Ever After.

The End.

P.S. None of these pictures are the picture the City Girl has of the Redneck. She’s saving that one all to herself.

Prior to getting to the site, I was already aware that there are differences in how Southerners handle weddings than how Northerners do. Etiquette books were consulted and everything was in its proper place. We didn’t have to worry about arranging his suit or hotel. We just needed to get them his measurements and tell them our preferences. Everything was taken care of for us and our stress levels for the wedding were, at most, minimal. We had to be there and be pretty. We can handle being pretty.

When we got to the hotel, and walked in the door, it was clear that we were in the most beautiful suite the hotel had to offer and that our hosts had taken care to make sure our needs would be met while we were there for the wedding. A small basket was on the table and filled to the brim with goodies, including bug spray (this is in a town known for mosquitos the size of small bats), as well as drinks and snacks. There were Legos for A.J., soft cashmere socks for me and BBQ seasoning for Leon as well as other thoughtful items to make us feel treasured. It worked. I rolled on the bed like a true rags to riches hick and then jumped up to flat iron my frizzy hair that, due to humidity, made me look like a troll doll.

At the rehearsal, the first question out of the bride’s mouth, after greeting me, was “How was your room? Is it ok? Everything alright with it?” Are you kidding me? There is not a thing in the world wrong with that palace! I grinned and hugged and told her no and, to myself, thought it was especially sweet-natured of her to be worried about us and our comfort on the night before her wedding.

But, what I realized is that this is just how people roll in the South. The bride wouldn’t dream of NOT thinking of us and our comfort because it wasn’t just her wedding. It was her chance to spend time with us and make us honored guests at her wedding. It was a chance to be a hostess as well as a princess for a day and it’s not something I feel like I can adequately communicate unless you see it for yourself.

Famous Southern hospitality is not something women in the South are born with, rather it is bred every single day of their lives. Class isn’t something you buy, it’s something that parents give you and teach you as you age and I have been privileged to see how it is done here in the South. That doesn’t mean I have it–far from it–but I’ve been able to see how it’s done and if I ever have a girl, I might be able to give her a little of it.

The bride and her family have it and besides being a beautiful event that reminded me of how special marriage is beyond just a ceremony, I will remember the lovely way we were treated and how we felt to be a part of their day. Did I mention that we were there because my husband is close friends with the groom?

That’s just how they roll.

I have friends that laugh and remind me of my naivete about once a week. It’s true that I’m a 20-(mrph) year old woman, but I don’t think I’m naive for going with the best in people. I have experiences in my life that I don’t talk about here or in the offline world. I have personal scars and things that have wounded and hurt me. I’m not a Pollyanna and I’m not an eternal optimist. I work at seeing the good in things. And it’s hard. But it’s worth it.

With that being said, I also think Karma rocks. Back in May I wrote an article based on something my friend Rsmcain said: If you want to get visitors, throw other bloggers a bone. He didn’t put it that delicately, but as a Southern woman (I know better than to call myself a lady), I think I’ll just leave it how I wrote it.

Because I’m a new blogger, I spend a lot of time looking at other blogs. Lately, it’s because I’m bored with the design of mine and am looking to poach a designer (not a design) from someone and get myself a handy, dandy new style. It’s also because I might find some new widget or gadget that they have, or a new setup or some new inspiration that I might build on. Ultimately, I’m an introvert and I like making friends through the internet. It’s less messy that way, isn’t it?

While looking around, I noticed an interesting button on someone’s blog. It said: “I’m very nice.” And I thought, “You are? How very presumptuous of you to think you are nice!” However, then I immediately thought “I want one, too! I’m very nice. I must have that button so others know I’m nice, too!”

When I clicked on the button, it took me to an orange and black site that was, for a kindness junkie, the mecca of all that is good. It’s called “Operation Nice: Encouraging Individuals to be Proactively Nice.” The goal is pretty self-explanatory in encouraging others to do just a little bit every day to make the day of another person a more worthwhile, fulfilling experience.

On Operation Nice, you can share personal stories of kindness, nominate people that you know that exhibit kindness as the “Kind Person of the Week,” get a blog button for your site telling everyone how nice you are (YES!!!), as well as download your own gratitude notes for those that have done something nice for you in your life (freebies are awesome!).

The site is very nicely put together and is a new one that I will definitely be adding to my reader. Take a look and join the mission. You’ll be glad you did.

At whatever time of day I would have to get ready to go, I would lug out my Plano box and choose the daily colors. If I didn’t have to go out, I would sit in front of the tv with a mirror and play dress up with my girlie-metics. AJ loved to watch me put on my face and would often sit behind me and view me in my mirror.

He would come up behind me, hug me with his chubby little arms and grin at me in the mirror and tell me I was “bootiful.” One day, however, he was looking at me with a particularly tender smile and he said, “Aw, mama, we’re friends.” From that day on, when I did my makeup, he would come behind me, hug me, look at us in the mirror and say “we’re friends.”

As he’s grown, there are times he continues to reaffirm not only his love for me as a mother, but his genuine feeling that I listen to him and take care of him as a friend. This does not mean that I am not in charge or that I’m a permissive parent. I’m an authoritative parent with equal parts strict and loving. What I hear from him, however, is that my boundaries provide security and love and that my being his parent doesn’t effect how he feels about our friendship. This flies in the face of all of those parents that feel like they have to be permissive for their children to love them more.

Yes, AJ. We’re friends. I hope you will remember that when you become a teenager and hate me for all the times I reinforce your security and safety. I hope you remember it when I keep you away from the people I know aren’t good for you. I hope you remember it when you want to go on trips that lack structure and put holes in your body and dye your hair (hey, feel free if you want to pay for it). When you are an adult, freedom is yours and I’ll still be your mom and, yes, AJ, we’ll still be friends. Hopefully.