LYMTUK BIG

I grew up with the influence of two strong aunts in my life, the sisters of both my parents.  Though very different ladies, what the two have always shared in common is a love for me that only an aunt can give.

In fact, they both have specific ways they tell me.

Love you Big.  

This aunt gave me a best friend, her daughter.  So many of my memories of her, growing up, involve my cousin.  And that she forced me to eat mashed potatoes.  (inside family joke)  As a kid, I always wondered if they switched us at birth because I look more like my aunt than my mom.  We even walk the same.  ...Ok, we wobble.  As an adult, I've shared vacations, recipes, and laughs with her.  She texts to check on me and I can count on regular emails of virtual hugs, nearby deals, or the latest small town news.  I know she's just down the street and a phone call away if I ever needed anything.

LYMTUK

I'm the daughter this aunt never had.  But we were also like sisters.  And friends.  Ours is and was a unique relationship.  She's the cool aunt that let me sit on the other side of church and color with Snoopy pencils.  And gave me a love for playing instruments and art.  When she was diagnosed with cancer, I sobbed in the parking lot of my office after hearing the news, fearful she'd be taken from me.  During her surgery I wrote on the dry erase board in her room, "Love you more than you know" and LYMTUK was born.  Now she's the cool aunt who tries to text but confuses me so much I have to call.  Who never fails to make me laugh and always has my back.

Oh, the stories I could write about them.

As I tucked my little niece in last night from our sleepover, those special aunt memories from childhood came to mind.  Such a blessing to have them both.

They are the examples of the type of aunt I always wanted to be - that I hope I am.  One who lets you have fun but teaches you responsibility.  One who teaches you life lessons.  One who supports you, prays for you, wants the best for you.

What I know now as an aunt is the joy they can bring into your life.  It's not just about what I give them but what they share with me.

Last night's sleepover with me was long over due with this little below.  She's growing so fast and as I watch her blossom, I see much of my baby sister in her.  Bryanna is almost eight and almost never out of wit and sarcasm.  She's smart and sassy, funny and tenderhearted.

She enjoyed being queen of the castle last night, as is the rule when staying with Aunt Heather.  We chatted and giggled, colored, watched movies, had a bubble bath, played games, and stayed up past her bedtime.  And she ate!  It's a good thing this aunt likes to cook because I was a short order chef at her beckon call.  As I tucked her in, she was already asking about breakfast.  Which by the way will probably occur very soon, since I hear her tiptoeing in the next room.

Who knows what's in store for our Saturday.  But I'm sure going to soak up every special morsel!

When I Grow Up

Think back to your childhood.  Do you remember what you wanted to be when you grew up? 
For me, I recall that I wanted to be many, many things....a clothing designer (thanks to fashion plates), a teacher (what little girl didn't?), a race car driver (I secretly envy Danica Patrick), and for a brief while, a psychologist (probably due to a love for movies like Sybil and Silence of the Lambs).  And yet a constant throughout, going back all the way to kindergarten, was the dream of being a writer. 

I remember the first "book" I ever created, pasting pages together complete with artwork and attaching a hard cover made from the inside of a cereal box.  All these years later, I may not have a book on the shelves of Barnes & Noble, but I still hope and plan.  In the meantime, this happy little blog fills my need to write and pushes me to continue the dream.

Noah's at this exciting stage in his life, where boyish dreams of what he wanted to be mix with his growing and changing self.  Though only twelve, he's already seriously thinking about his future and what he really wants to do in his life.  As any mom would say, as long as he's happy, so am I.

My wish for him though is that he finds his passion.  Not just a job that pays the bills but something he loves to do every single day.  A career that excites and challenges him.  I know that's many years away, but being the little entrepreneur he is, Noah's already planning.  And I hope that even if he lands the perfect job, he never stops growing - that he always reaches for more, to become better, and to never stop learning. 

Shouldn't that be what we all strive for?  We should never entirely grow up, at least not in our dreams.  Every day is a new opportunity and the possibilities are endless to reach them.  And it's never too late to learn something new.  At least, that's the attitude I'm keeping.  Who knows where and what I'll be when I grow up..... because I hope I never fully do!

Mix Tape

My BG co-workers and I were jamming to some old school tunes yesterday on the way to lunch.  It's funny how a song from your past can take you right back to your childhood.  With the first few beats, you're transported back to your room, stretched across your bed, jelly shoes swaying to the song.

This day, we were listening to old school rap.  Loved me some Run DMC.  Hearing her CD of random songs, I was right back in middle school, beat boxing with the best of them.   A skip in the song reminded me of old mix tapes.  Remember how when the tape would wear out, it would unravel into the cassette deck?  And you'd have to wind it back up with a pencil?

Thinking of that just brought back many memories of being that age and making mix tapes.  Having the boombox ready, pause and record buttons pushed, so that at a second's notice I could tape my favorite song playing on the radio.  With expert practice, you could plan it so there was no back noise or carry over from the DJ.  After selecting just the right collection of songs, the end result was the perfect mix tape.

If a time capsule were found from my childhood, this could be what they might hear on a mix tape I created....

Sister Christian

Come on Eileen

Every Rose has its Thorn

Cruel Summer

Total eclipse

Fight for your Right

Push It

Jack & Diane

Call Me

Karma Chameleon

Kiss...or anything by Prince

Living on a Prayer

Walk this Way

 

So, now that I have you remembering
favorite songs from your childhood....

what would you find on a mix tape from your past?

Cow Tale

Today, I'm thankful for childhood memories. ...how a stick of Fruit Stripe gum or song can send me back there. ...how sharing funny stories about it with Noah warms my heart. ...how simple and carefree it was, even though I didn't realize it then.

I've been very nostalgic this weekend, thinking back to my childhood and specifically growing up on Evans Farm.  This was the farm and home of Dallas and Altiabelle Evans and they opened it up to us when my mom met their son.  We moved there when I was in the 2nd grade, so truly, it was the only childhood home I really ever knew.

Some of the best memories I have of growing up there include exploring the woods that surrounded our home and playing outside from sunrise to sunset but never getting bored.  There is a peace on the farm which is unexplainable.  Nature soaks up your worries and it's beauty was always an inspiration to me.  I remember sitting on the front porch, sketching charcoal drawings of the barns and tree lines.  I remember lying on a blanket of pine needles, staring up at their tall branches, inhaling their fragrance.  And I remember the dozens of different animals we grew up with, from pigs to horses, to chickens and geese, dogs and cats, to herds of cattle.


Wendy and me with a litter of Dallas' labs

In fact, I think I'll share a cow story today, one I know Dallas would've found funny, especially since he loved cattle so much.  It was not long after we moved there and, in an effort to make new friends, I was bragging about our farm.  To me, the fact that we had so many animals was unreal, never knowing farm life before.  I guess I should've realized we now lived in the country so being on a farm was the norm.  Nobody was impressed. 

This one particular boy, who I thought was cute but annoyed the heck out of me, was making fun and I needed something to make our farm stand out.  So what if I had cows, he scoffed, to which I replied, "Well, I bet you can't ride your cows like we do."  That shut him up.  And so I might have embellished the already tall tale to a story John Wayne could've starred in.  Problem solved, or so I thought.

Fast forward a few weeks to the first time a new friend came home.  At this point, I had forgotten all about the cow tale; however, she apparently had not.  On our walk home from the bus stop she said, "Hey maybe we can ride your cow this afternoon."

I gulped, and would've stopped in my tracks from the fear that washed over me, but walking was my only option to save face.  The normally lengthy trek home did not seem quite as long that day, at least not enough time or me to figure out how to get out of the lie.  As we neared the house, I told her my mom probably wouldn't let us today.

To my dismay, Mom agreed.  Of course she would, especially since Ronda only mentioned seeing the cow, not saddling the bad boy up and taking it for a stroll.  Seeing the cows was nothing out of the ordinary for us to do, especially when someone new came over.  I invited my sister to go with us, which I'm sure shocked her and gave me brownie points with Mom since that was out of character.  I wasn't being nice though, I'd hoped I could talk her into riding it first. 

Now, we all have different versions of how this story unfolded.  I prefer to think my way is only truthful one.  No matter, the end result still humiliates me.  I tried at first to continue the charade as we neared the gate.  My attempts at scaring Ronda off, like warning she could ruin her shoes in the cow patty field, did not work.  We climbed the fence and opted for the field that contained only one cow.

In my head I thought that one cow versus a herd of them was safer.  Little did I know, Mr. Cow was in this section alone because he was in a time-out for bad behavior.  After a few futile tries to near him, including picking up what I felt was a giant branch to guard myself, but in others' stories hear it was a tiny stick, the cow had enough.  (I had too since I was shaking at my knees and crying by this point!)  He stomped his huge hoof, snarled his mouth, and snorted me away.

We ran screaming to the nearest retreat we could find, a rickety old shack.  Thankfully, the doorway was too narrow for Evil Cow to fit through, though he tried.  As he hovered, shoulders framing the entry, we breathed a quick sigh of relief.  That is, until we turned to find a dead skeleton carcass of an old goat behind us.  This sent us all screaming again, frantically hugging each other and saying our goodbyes. 

The dinner bell saved us, as Mom stepped out on the porch around this time to call us in.  Hearing our screams, she ran across the road to the field.  I can only imagine what she thought when she saw three little girls, heads peeking out, in between a circling, angry cow.  As the hero she was, she called the cow, distracting him so we could slink out of the shack and exit the back fence.

Luckily, my friend still chose to be my friend, in fact she became by BFF.  And I chose to keep her, even though she re-enacted it at school the next week.  Lesson learned, I discovered our farm (and me) were great just the way we were, no tall tales needed.

PB Delight

What do peanut butter, corn syrup, and butter have in common?  They cure what ails you!  Or, at least they sooth my soul (and Noah's too).  More than anything for me, they take me back to my childhood sitting at the table with my Grandma Coons.  I love how family recipes connect you to generations, memories and emotions.

When combined, these three ingredients create a luxurious spread to be enjoyed on a slice of soft, white bread.  As kids we just called it Grandma's dessert; somewhere along the line it became known as "peanut butter delight", but whatever the name it is ooey gooey comfort on a plate!

Sunday evening our entire household was on a downward spiral.  At first, I'd hoped it was just disappointment of the ending of a fun weekend.  But Tim's back had grown increasingly worse (more on that in another post) and Noah had sniffles throughout the day.  By the time the sun was down, so were both of them.  I never like to see my guys in pain and knowing they feel bad saddens me, especially when I can't fix it.

After dinner, I decided to concoct this yummy treat, knowing it would at least bring some comfort to Noah.  Placing Tim in the hot tub for some therapy, I headed for the kitchen.  As soon as I began assembling the recipe, my nerves began to calm.  It was as if thirty years faded and all my worries melted when I stirred the butter and peanut butter together.  Drizzling in the corn syrup and blending to just the right consistency, I could picture my Grandma doing the same. 

With Tim dried off and wrapped up on the couch and Noah snuggled beside me, we enjoyed the treat together.  Smiling, he rested his head on my shoulder, remembering the times I'd made this before.  I loved knowing he has happy memories on this sweet delight, just as I did as a child.  In fact, I don't guess you ever really outgrow them since just preparing it brought back warm childhood moments for me. 

Mini Milk

I'm a little persnickety when it comes to coffee.  It can't be too strong, I prefer Splenda (no pink or blue packets for me, thanks), and an above ordinary creamer.  My husband jokes that I like to drink a little coffee with my milk, as he's a plain cup of Joe kind of guy.

My favorite creamer of choice is chai tea latte but I also enjoy french vanilla and caramel macchiato.  Really, I'll experiment with any flavor at least once.  Using decadent creamers makes me feel like I'm savoring a speciality cup of coffee...without the hefty price tag.  The problem with liking flavored creamer is that when we're out at a restaurant, I can't order coffee. 

I'm really bad about leaving my creamer out and forgetting to put it back in the fridge.  In the summertime, this is a big no-no as milk and heat do not mix.  There's no telling how many bottles of creamer I've thrown out due to my forgetfulness.  Spoiled milk makes for a sad me so you can imagine my delight when I happened upon mini flavored creamers at the store.

A few weeks ago, I was road trip shopping for the snack bag to be used for our lake vacation.  Heading down the coffee aisle, my intentions were to buy powdered creamer (much to my dismay) as I knew it would hold up to travel.  I'll settle for powdered creamer for vacations and camping trips, and knowing I planned to enjoy coffee on the deck overlooking Kentucky Lake each morning, I was willing to settle.  As I was reaching for the best of the worst among the selections, I happily spied flavored mini liquid creamers.  And....they had caramel macchiato - one of my faves!

I must say it was glorious each morning, holding a steaming cup of Heather's speciality coffee, while watching the lake come to life.  Our last day, we decided to have breakfast at a diner in town.  Tim laughed when I pocketed half a dozen creamers to bring in with me.  Sitting in the restaurant, pouring the creamy liquid into my white ceramic mug, I flashed back to my childhood.

Until that moment, I hadn't realized what those little creamers reminded me of...my Grandpa Coons.  When we were little and visiting our grandparents' house on the weekends, Grandpa would treat us to lunch out after church.  He'd always order coffee with extra creamers so that my sister and I could share a few.  We'd gingerly open the the mini milk containers (or so that's what we thought they were) and take a sip.  The sweet drink would make us feel special and grown up, we'd giggle, and Grandpa would smile at us.  As long as we ate our meals, he'd keep the creamers coming our way. 

It was a tradition we continued all the way into teens, even though we felt a little silly sipping creamer at that age.  Now, each morning as I add a couple to my coffee, I smile remembering those moments with Grandpa.

The RC Matinee

I'm not sure how I missed this, as we are frequent customers to our local movie theatre (also known as "Sticky Floors"), but I did not know they still did RC matinees.

Last week, I noticed the old sign in their lobby, with duct tape covering dates/locations/etc, and was excited to find there would be one final showing before school started. I began collecting wrappers in anticipation of Thursday.

Nowadays, anything free could bring joy to just about anyone. Nostalgic memories aside, it did bring a smile to my face to watch a current movie and not pay a dime. (Well, I did break down and buy popcorn and a coke because there is an unwritten rule that you can't watch a movie in a theatre without them both!)

When I was younger, I remember going to the RC Matinee. In fact, I can picture myself standing outside in line, clinking with every movement from my bag of RC caps. I don't remember much else about those days, other than it was fun to see a movie and spend the day with my mom.

I guess, in a way, I can recall some movies with mom because we didn't go a lot when I was a child. I grew up in a different time. No instant gratification. Going out to eat was a special treat, not a daily occurrence. Going to the movies, even rarer. I'm sure mom looked forward to the RC Matinee too because it was a way for her to spoil us, without breaking the bank. I grew up appreciating what I was given, probably because I knew how mom struggled. Or maybe I appreciate it more now that I'm a working mom.

One of the movies I can recall seeing in the theatre was 'Bambi'. I remember going with my mom, my Aunt Faye (her sister), and my cousin, Jennye. It was maybe my first "awe moment" at the movies. I can still envision the excitement, the fear, the happiness, and the laughter, from those stand out scenes in my head. I've loved movies ever since!

It doesn't matter to me if I'm surrounded in the darkness at a theatre, sitting in a lawn chair at the drive-in, or snuggled on my couch at home, I greatly enjoy watching movies. It's fun to lose yourself, if only for a couple hours, into whatever story line there is. A movie is always a great mood lifter for me.

What brought me the most joy though yesterday was that I was reliving a bit of my childhood, with my child, and with my mom sitting next to me. It was a step back in time for mom and me, and replayed so many memories for us both. And hopefully, it started a new set of memories for Noah. Maybe, if we're lucky, Sticky Floors will still be around when he is grown and he can continue the tradition with his children.