"You're an idiot!"

This is a quote from the final episode of the sitcom, “8 Simple Rules” which starred John Ritter up until his death…

Cate: [reading Paul's last article]
Okay readers, today we're having a little pop quiz, it's multiple choice, so sharpen your number 2 pencils and put your thinking caps on. Ready?
Here's a quote: "Dad, you're an idiot."
Now, contestants, this was said to me because of which of the following transgressions? A: Coming to the breakfast table wearing pajamas and black socks?
B: Asking my oldest daughter if that guy I saw her talking to yesterday at school was her boyfriend?
C: Referring to rapper Fiddy Cent as "Fifty Cents"? or
D: Entering the room?
Okay, pencils down. Actually it was a trick question. The answer is all of the above. Now do you know how many times I called my father an idiot? Zero.
Why? Because I feared him.
Back then we didn't share our deep personal feelings, our deepest conversations usually revolved around the Tigers bull pen.
But MY kids, I can't get them to shut up!
There's not a feeling that my kids are afraid to express over and over and over.
And my wife reassures me this is a good thing over and over and over, and she's always right.
So do I wish that my kids feared me? Well my house would be quieter, and I'd spend a lot less time in the bathroom, but no.
Because I know that whenever they insult me whether it's a "You're an idiot," "You're a geek," or an "I hate you," an "I love you" isn't far behind.
And it's the knowledge that my wife and kids love me that makes it safe for me to wear pajamas and black socks to the breakfast table.

I remember this final episode of 8 Simple Rules. I remember this part of the show in particular.

I was sobbing at this point. The year was 2003. I was the proud Mom of a 5 year old preschooler and a 1 year old little girl. Everyone was saddened by the death of John Ritter…a television icon. The final episode made me think about family past, present and future…

I visited my grandparents last weekend. Words can’t express the love and admiration and complete adoration I have for my grandparents. I am their only grandchild. Only child and only grandchild. Perhaps I have been a wee bit spoiled in my life, but I have tried to always maintain graciousness for everything in my life that my parents and grandparents have given me. The most important thing they have given me didn’t hurt their wallets though…it has been their time. I have found myself getting caught up in the hustle and bustle of life over the last few years, and I feel like I haven’t been giving my kids the most basic of needs…my time. Sure, they have iPods and Wiis and Nintendo DS’s and DirecTV receivers in every room of the house , but I have been slacking in the time that I have been devoting to them. This is not something that I am proud of.

I was piddling at my grandparents’ house the other day and I wanted a sheet of paper. I looked around and found a spiral notebook and opened it up to grab a piece of paper. When I opened it up, I saw it dated the Fall of 2000 and it started “Dear Riley…” It went on to tell my then 2 year old son how much great grandma loved God and her family and him and the changing seasons and the beautiful world God made. As I flipped through the pages of the notebook, I couldn’t believe that she had left this treasure for my children. I wish the kids could’ve seen their great grandparents 25 years ago, when they were so much more lively and full of energy, but I am so very glad that they have had the opportunity to know these wonderful grandparents.

The following quote reminds me of my grandma:
“When I admire the wonder of a sunset or the beauty of the moon, my soul expands in worship of the Creator” ~Mahatma Gandhi

That’s my grandma, alright. She loves the basics in life. She and my Papaw have spent the bulk of their lives in their Bibles and in prayer and taking in the simple things of life…watching the robins in the spring, watching the gray squirrels run about the yard and quietly and selflessly giving to others.

Flipping through the pages of the notebook, the tears started flowing down my cheeks as my Grandma recited poems that she had learned in grade school about the fall leaves. She told the kids how I used to sit under a tree at Concord and write her letters (I had forgotten about this, but Momaw didn’t.) She told them about the winter snows of her childhood and how the winter soon turned into spring and then summer and all over again. My grandma really is the Proverbs 31 woman. I got to thinking about my life and my missteps and my imperfections. I could blog for the rest of my life, just on those things, alone. I think if there was something I could do butt backwards, I have done it. I got married at the ripe ole age of 20. I spent my 21st birthday 6 months pregnant, while most other girls my age were spring breaking in Daytona. I didn’t finish my Bachelor’s degree as I set out to do, and I don’t live in the big, roomy house in the suburbs like I always dreamed of. I have a stack of bills that I worry about getting paid every month. I yell at my kids too much. I get frustrated with life in general on a daily basis. I smoke from time to time, I drink from time to time, and there hasn’t been a day that has gone by in quite a few years that I didn’t utter a curse word. I keep balances on my credit cards, I don’t volunteer enough, and I complain too much, among a multitude of other faults I possess.

Last night I went to Oak Hill, West Virginia with my Dad to Family Night for my Papaw’s sister, Dorothy. Dorothy was Papaw’s last living sibling. Momaw and Dorothy lived together when Papaw went off to war. I walked in the chapel of the funeral home and looked in the casket at Aunt Dorothy. She didn’t look like the Dorothy who came down to Covington for my 8th birthday…the birthday when I got my orange 20 inch Huffy. She looked so old to me. I sat down on the pew in the chapel and I thought that it wouldn’t be too much longer until I would be there for Momaw or Papaw--Momaw will be 90 in July and Papw will be 91 in June. I thought about how much older Momaw and Papaw looked to me at that moment…just like Aunt Dorothy. Then I watched Momaw get up and work that room, like a movie star. I heard people say, “I have to get over there and talk to Thelma (that’s Momaw).” I watched her talk to Aunt Dorothy’s children and I know she was telling them stories about the “pet” groundhog that she and Dorothy bottle-fed, and the way they used to walk to the tippy-tops of the hills and sleigh-ride down when they were young--and I‘m sure she let them know that she had talked with Dorothy last week and made sure she had been reading her Bible and praying. I realized how many other people looked up to my grandma. I realized even more at that moment, what an incredible servant she was, and how important her friendship and thoughtfulness and faithfulness had been to so many people over the years. I thought about family and I thought about the kind of person I wanted to be.

On the ride home, I looked over at my Dad and thought about what a wonderful mother this man had. And I know that’s why he has been such a wonderful father to me. I thought about my grandma again and how she has always been there for me. I thought again about how everyone wanted to see her and hug her last night…I have a feeling she has been there for them over the years, too. She’s the best listener I know. She calls me every single morning. And sometimes I’m too “busy” to talk to her. Sometimes I don’t even answer the telephone. I’m not going to do that anymore. Sooner, rather than later, Momaw won’t be calling me on the telephone…she will be going home to be with Aunt Dorothy and her Mother and Father and all the other loved ones she has lost along this long, but yet so very short, journey of life.

I’m different from Momaw. Very different. I talk about things with my kids that she would never dream of talking about. Life is different in 2010 than it was in 1940. Raising kids is different. My Dad would’ve never called my grandmother an idiot when he was growing up--just like in the 8 Simple Rules dialogue. I’m sure I called my dad that though--and I’m CERTAIN my kids have called ME that. My Dad wouldn’t have run through my grandma’s house like my kids do…or uttered the word “fart” at the kitchen table. I am a lot different than my grandma in so many respects. I only hope our hearts are similar. I’m certain my heart will never be as huge and as pure as my grandmas, but I hope when I’m 89 and see my family at the funeral home, that they will all come to me and seek comfort and familiar-ness and love. I hope they will think about me on the ride home and think what a good listener I was and how I was always there for them…

Isn’t that what it’s all about? Being there for each other? Supporting one another and comforting one another when life is great and when we are so tired and so weary and so lost that we can’t lift our heads? Love can be defined in so many ways…here’s my latest stab at it…

Love…what does it mean? Does it mean this overwhelming feeling of needing someone and them needing you? Does it mean happiness? Does it mean smiles and light and sunshine and rainbows? Does it mean flowers and birds chirping? I have discovered that love means never giving up. God knows I’m a royal pain in the butt…so does my dad, my husband, my kids, my mom, my grandparents and my friends. Yet none of these people give up on me. I can say I’m sorry when I disappoint them or do things that are unpleasing to them and they forgive me. And when I forgive them for their imperfections, I return love.