If I Could Put Time in a Bottle...

Well...school was out for the summer...it flew by...and school's back in for the fall! In fact, Christmas is creeping up on me and is already in full swing at Kohls!!! Really??? Can we get through Halloween first? And maybe enjoy a little Thanksgiving?? I digress...

The summer flew by with my kiddos enjoying time spent with Grandma and Grandpa again this summer at Camp Dixon. Loving every minute. We did our annual Holiday World excursion, bringing on the Renbargers and vowing to do it again next year!

We welcomed school back with a fourth grader and a sixth grader (gasp!) who have slid back into the routine somewhat seamlessly. And I returned to work at the preschool full time after a summer part time hiatus. Life, as they say, is good.

Carter has joined the band. He felt the tuba calling his name. We hear him plugging away on it upstairs, and occasionally see him marching back and forth with it across the catwalk.

Maggie is full force in cross country (XC, as she calls it) right now. She's a good little runner. She's also loving a hip hop dance class that she is taking. We're not sure if she'll be on the dance team at ASU or running track! : )

Frank is recovering from his bike vs. truck accident in July and is anxious to get back on the bike. Crazy man. Good for him, I guess... I'm not so anxious for him, but I won't stand in his way.

And I'm still working at Monkey Preschool! It's growing by leaps and bounds, and I'm daily throwing around the idea of expansion. Scary, yes. Exciting, yes. Crazy, maybe. Some days I'm all for it and other days I'm too exhausted to even entertain the idea!! We'll see...

That's the fall update on the Lorenz fam! I'm trying to get back to this blog. No promises...life seems to always get in the way!!

School's Out For Summer...

Tomorrow is the last day of school for my kiddos. As of tomorrow, I'm the mom of a fourth grader and a sixth grader...I'm the mom of a SIXTH grader!!! WHAT? How did that happen?? What was I when I gave birth...twelve?? I can't be that close to 40, can I?

Anyway, we may be in for a long summer around here...the kids are going to be on their own for a couple of days a week while I work. And I'll be off the other three days...thank you God! We'll see how it's all going to go...I'm a little nervous.

The first day I'm supposed to go in to work and it's storming, we're all going to be up the proverbial creek with no means of propelling ourselves. Maggie is scared to death of storms, and will go no further than an arms length from me or Frank when it storms. Like I said, we'll see!

Other than that...bring on summer! I'm ready for some down time. I literally haven't had any time off since we opened the school, and I"m pretty much over it. I'm having major burn out...I"m hoping summer is going to get me over the hump. We'll see about that too.

Sounds like there's a lot riding on this summer... Bring. It. On.

Happy Birthday, Mamaw Beas

I am very, very fortunate to have both of my grandmothers still living. I just lost my grandfather "Papaw Beas" this past Thanksgiving. Frank still has a grandmother living as well. And this coming week, my grandma, "Mamaw Beas" or "Beas" as the great grandkids have named her, will be turning 89.





Mamaw Beas has always been a huge part of our lives. She was the one who took care of us when we were sick and mom had to go to work. She would get us where we needed to be when there were three of us living at hom and schedules collided. She would bring over a bucket of vegetable soup for dinner on the nights when she knew there just wouldn't be time for mom to get anything on the table and still get us where we needed to be for the evening. And on Sundays after church, we would spend the afternoons there...eating, gardening, playing baseball, and laying out in the yard under the big shade tree while she and papaw sat in the swing.





I can remember being in the kitchen with mamaw where she always had something fun to do. We would bake...or she would bake and I would sample. She would let me use her "tube paints" which was so exciting for me...I don't even know if you can still get those today. I remember she had a check box with markers in them that I thought was so special...and how I longed to have a set like that of my own. But they were something special to play with at her house. She would give us scraps of fabric and we would make Barbie clothes...from dresses to these hideous green fur coats...our Barbies were dressed to the nines thanks to Mamaw Beas!





I remember sleeping at her house, and her sheets always felt and smelled so good. I'm not sure why...maybe just because they smelled like her house. I can remember burying my head in a pillow at her house and just breathing in that smell...I an remember it like it was yesterday.





As I got older, I remember shopping with Mamaw. And shopping...and shopping. Literally...until she had outshopped me. We used to go into the mall, and she would take off leaving us behind and say, "May the best shopper win!" To this day, when I go shopping with my sister, we say that as we part ways in the store. It's really only been in the past few years that Mamaw has slowed down and not been able to shop like she used to.





When I found out I was pregnant with a little girl, there was no doubt that she would be named after Mamaw Beas...Mary Margaret Bullock Beasley. And so it was, on August 8, 2001, we welcomed Maggie to our family. Her great grandmother's namesake. And Mamaw just beamed with pride when we told her what we planned to name her first great granddaughter. To this day, when she introduces Maggie, she is sure to include that Maggie is her namesake. And Maggie looked, as a baby, much like my grandma's baby pictures.





I've seen Mamaw age since she lost Papaw in November. I guess that happens...when you lose someone you have literally spent over half of your life with...lived through wars and lost a child and raised three children with. I guess when you lose someone like that, you lose a part of yourself...and probably some of your will to pursue life. I know she misses him...I know she thinks of how long she may have to go on without him. But I also know she lives for her great grandchildren. I think when you've lived 89 years, and lost the one you love more than anyone else...you have the right to wonder every now and again when you might get to finish your time here and join him for eternity...I think you've earned it.





But for now, I want to wish Mamaw Beas a happy 89th birthday. When I was little, she used to dedicate a song to me each year on the radio for my birthday. I know they don't really do that anymore...but if they did...I would dedicate it back to her. Imagine you could hear Ricky Skaggs, with his bluegrass voice...singing...

"I wouldn't change you if I could. I love you as you are.

You're all that I would wish for if I wished upon a star.

An angel sent from heaven. You're everything that's good.

You're perfect just the way you are. I wouldn't change you if I could..."

I love you, Mamaw Beas. Happy Birthday...

They're BA-ack!

It's hard to believe. They've been here before and it wasn't pretty the first time...and now...the nerve...They've come back. The 80's.

My sister is turning 40 this summer and her best friend turned 40 in September. So, together, they're having a big birthday bash this weekend...an 80's party. So last night, I was trying on what I had planned to wear. I was cracking up...black leggings, a gray butterfly winged shirt that falls off the shoulder with a boybeater underneath, lots of cheap plastic beads and plastic earrings, mesh gloves and black heels. It looked so trashy and trampy I was hysterical. Frank looked at me with a completely straight face and goes, "You look like most of the girls I see walking around the mall. I mean, you look like you could be going to a bar...not an 80's party."

I should preface this by saying that Frank is wearing a burgundy polyester track suit, a Run DMC tshirt and white tennis shoes with HUGE checkered laces and some pretty massive gold chains. His piece de resistance, so to speak, is the fat handled blue comb that will be sticking out of his back pocket. I think the thing here is, he is afraid I don't look as ridiculous as he does. And let's be honest...

But what am supposed to do?? Is it my fault that the girls today can't see how utterly ridiculous the 80's were the first time around?? Is it my fault that when I walk into Claire's Boutique, I am struck by stands filled to the brim with leg warmers, jelly bracelets, and items that have been paint splattered within an inch of their lives??? I even saw suspenders there the other day, but Lord help me, I just can NOT put on high waisted jeans!

So...I'm still in limbo about what to wear. I have a NKOTB tshirt...an original. But nothing to wear it with. I have a YO MTV Raps shirt...but I don't know about that one either. Long story short, Frank may have to suck it up and just look more ridiculous than I do! Or...he could always wear the leggings...

WOOOO HOOOO!!!!

They did it...We did it? I don't know...someone did it! I'VE GOT TWO KIDS ON THE HONOR ROLL!!! So, yeah, WOOOO HOOOOO!!! This calls for a celebration, people. Carter got a new computer game that he wanted, because, let's face it...getting to this point for him was a STRUGGLE.

Then, Maggie and I were at CVS, and she wanted some toy, and I said, "No." And she sort of mutters under her breath, "I had good grades, too." Ugh, it was like a punch to the stomach. She does have good grades....all the time. She's had straight A's all year long...and it's what we've come to expect from her. What I don't want to do is lose sight of the fact that although A's may come to her a little more easily than they do to Carter, she still puts in the work.

I remember growing up and feeling that way a little. I would work sort of hard, and get A's and it was no big deal. My sister worked much harder, and sometimes still couldn't achieve those A's. But when she would bring home a good grade, it seemed like the world knew. When I brought home an A, it seemed no one really noticed. I hated that. I am determined now that it won't be the same for her.

Maggie and I went to the store last night and she picked out a DS game that she's been wanting. She also knows that if she maintains straight A's for the year, she will be rewarded...grandly. I'm really, really proud of her work ethic and her grades.

I know someday, she'll get it. I get it now...why it WAS a big deal when Michelle brought up a grade or Johnathan's grades came up. But right now, while she's little, she shouldn't have to "get it." She should only have to know that I'm so, so proud of her.

And I'm proud of Carter, too! I know I've two smarties on my hands...it's nice when the report cards agree with me...

Go on...Take the money and RUN!

I don't know if this is sick and wrong...or healthy and right...but we're paying our kids to exercise!!! Why?? Because we want them to start exercising, and we've found that the way to our kids' hearts is through their wallets.

Carter is a bit of a weight struggler...and we want to help him with that as much as we can. Maggie is an all around athlete. She wants to run in the Geist 5K this year, and we want to help her be successful with that. So...they're running, and we're paying!!

Here's the plan:
$2 a mile.
You run more than 10 miles in a week, you get a little bonus.
15 miles in a week...a little bigger bonus.
20 miles in a week...you get a nice chunky bonus.

And the kicker? We don't have any restrictions on how they get to spend the money. We figured they are working for it...hard....they sould get to spend it how they want. When they get birthday or Christmas money, we let them spend some, but most of the time, it's well thought out, and a lot of it goes in the bank. This is their get it, spend it how you want to money...FUN money!

I'm really proud of both of them. They are down in the basement on the treadmill running their little legs off. I'm really proud of both of them. We don't nag...it's their responsibility. Right now they are both really excited to do it. Now...I just need to find someone to do the same for me...

The House That Built Me...

Have you heard the new song by Miranda Lambert called The House that Built Me? I love, love, LOVE it. I could listen to it over and over...and sometimes it makes me cry a little. When I listen to it, I picture in my head the house that I grew up in. I was fortunate when I was growing up that we didn't move around. We moved into a white farm house on a hill when I was around 5, and we lived there until after I was gone to college.

It had an awesome yard...at least a couple acres I think. It was no fun to mow, but when you grow up in the country, you appreciate a big yard. It's your roaming place. Our yard was full of great hills...for rolling in the summer and sledding in the winter.

And great trees...my sister and I each "had" one for climbing. Hers was better than mine, but she would usually let me climb hers anyway. I can remember our neighbor Brian could climb all the way up (this was a big tree, people) and stick his head out the top! I never accomplished that feat. About a third of the way up, there was this great cluster of branches that sort of made a recliner...I sat there a lot in the summer...reading...thinking...dreaming. Don't get me wrong...I liked my climbing tree, but we LOVED Chelle's climbing tree. When I picture it in my mind, it is picture perfectly shaped and groomed. I'm sure it wasn't that way in real life, but I don't care to know that.

We had a big circular driveway that wrapped all the way around our house. I will never forget when I got my license and backed my car into my dad's car and he said, "How do you back into another car in a circular driveway??" I drove around with a crunched bumper my entire high school career.

Our house was just up the road from the Overton's....Bruce, Bonita, Bridget, and Brian...and their dog Kelly. Wonder to this day why he didn't have a B name. Anyway, Bruce and Bon were some of my parents best friends in high school, Bridget and I were best friends growing up, and Brian was the big brother Michelle never had. We were about three quarters of a mile apart, and spent endless summer days at one another's houses. Brian taught us girls how to play war, and we could hang with any boys who would come along looking for it. When it snowed, Bruce would load up the kids, and they would all come down for a day spent playing in the snow with us and then mom and Bonita would have hot chocolate ready for us when we were done. We would have weiner roasts in the back yards (no city ordinances when you live in the country either...pile up some sticks, light a match to 'em, call the neighbors in and you've got a cookout!) We had so much fun growing up with the Overton kids. Brian was killed in a car accident his senior year of high school...the night before prom. I was at a slumber party with Bridget when Bruce came to get her. That night is so etched into my brain. You never "get" death, but when you lose a childhood playmate when you're still a kid...that's rough. I can't picture our yard without thinking of Brian and Bridget growing up there with us...and when I think of growing up, I picture their house, too.

Inside our house, it was simple: a kitchen...with no dishwasher...that was me or Michelle!--no formal dining room, a family room--no formal living room, 3 bedrooms...but one was realllllly cold in the winter, so during the winter months, all three kids usually crammed into one, one bathroom with a bathtub...no shower!...and one sink, and a cellar basement. That's it. Nothing fancy. I remember my mom always trying to "fix up" our house. She always wanted it to look nice, but we didn't really have money to spend on that, so she did what she could. We got a lot of hand me down furniture, curtains, knick knacks, etc... I do remember once when she remodeled our kitchen. It was during the blue duck era...and she went at it full force!! My gosh there were ducks everywhere!!! And lots of blue hearts. But it looked nice, and she was proud of it.
I also remember in that kitchen one summer when Johnathan and I opened a can of refrigerated biscuits, rolled them into a ball, got a skillet, and played biscuit ball!! I really don't know if mom knows that to this day...There was a spot on the under side of the blue shelf where the biscuit dough stuck and left residue on there...still there the day we moved out.

Then there are the things I remember...I remember sitting at the bar in the kitchen and eating mom's homemade donuts on weekend mornings. Our house was a popular one for sleepovers...everyone loved those donuts. I remember playing in mom's wedding dress that she kept in the closet in the "cold" bedroom. I remember when the Giese's came to visit and we made mud clay from the driveway in the rain. I remember watching the movie Midnight Madness over and over and over because it was one of the only ones we had on a VCR tape. I remember when we got our loft beds from Uncle Ronnie...and how we were the envy of all of our friends. I remember learning in that house that our parents were getting a divorce...and even though I knew it was coming, feeling like I could have torn the place down with my fists. I remember spending countless hours on the phone with Kevin Brown...and then handing the phone off to Michelle because she was going out with his brother Doug. I remember Chelle leaving for college and feeling like she was taking a part of my heart with her...only not daring to say it. I remember packing up myself for college, and finding it strange that for the first time since I could remember, I would be crawling into a different bed at night. I remember coming home from college the day we had a yard sale...because after all, the house had sold, and we were moving on without so much "stuff". And I know that all of those things made me who I am...and that if you remove even one of those, I'm different. Maybe better, maybe not...but different.

And then, I remember the weekend I came back to my hometown to look up on the hill and see that the new family had torn down the house...our house...the house that built me...and it hurt....knowing I could never see the inside of that house again if I wanted to.

But you know what? Maybe that's ok. Maybe that house belonged to my sister, and me, and my brother...and maybe I don't really want other kids to make memories in our space. Maybe I just want it to be the house that built us...an no one else...

What Can Make Me Feel This Way....

I went on a date last night. Went to the movies. Frank knew. He was ok with it. He even paid for my ticket...and my date's ticket. It was just the two of us. We shared a bucket of popcorn...we even put that white cheddar salt on it. Can't do that when I go out with Frank...he doesn't like the cheddar salt. But my date did. So we had cheddar salt...lots of it. And we shared a drink, too...with two straws. It was sweet. People kept looking at us...but I expected that. My date was one of those people who is so perfect looking that other people stop to look...not to mention a LOT younger than I. I didn't mind. I didn't even mind that I faded into the background when standing next to my date. I was just proud that I was the chosen one. "Ha." I thought. "Look at your date...and then look at MINE." I couldn't help but wear a smirky little grin on my face the entire evening.

We watched the movie. My date laughed in all the right places....not an annoying laugh, either. A wonderful laugh...like it was sent from heaven. We snuggled during the movie...and I didn't care who saw. My date said, "I love you" right in the middle of the movie...and didn't care who heard. When the movie ended, my date thanked me, thanked ME, for the date...as if I weren't the one who should be grateful. And when it was all over, and The Tooth Fairy ended...we went home, my date and I...and I tucked her in to bed...and she said to me "Thanks for the movie, mom. It was fun." And I said, "The most fun ever." But what I thought to myself, "You have no idea..."

My girl. Maggie Ann...Mags...Doodle. And the light of my life.

Somewhere along the way...we grew up

So yesterday, my sister Michelle posted some old high school pictures on her FB page. I looked at them, laughed, posted a few comments, and have been reading lots of comments left by other people...mostly old friends that we grew up with. People who drifted in and out of our house when we were younger. It got me thinking about growing up...how it happened, where it happened...but mostly, how it seemed to happen when I wasn't looking.


We had a great, GREAT childhood. We were not wealthy...not even close. In fact, we were probably living in poverty. My mom was a "secretary" for the government working on a military base (she was probably much more than this, and I know she did move up the ranks through the years, but in my eyes as a child, she was always a secretary). I can remember her taking shorthand classes when I was very little, and bringing home binders full of notes. I'm still amazed by shorthand and the ability that she had to process it. Anyway, my dad worked for years in a feed mill, and then worked in the coal mines with his own father and one of his brothers. I can still remember the smell of coal dust on his clothes at night. I can also remember the scared excitement when he would take us out to the mine with him and we saw all that huge equipment moving around. It was a very surreal feeling to be in that world..almost like a different world that we wound around those man made mud roads to get to the bottom of those "pits" where my dad conducted his business. Growing up, and still to this day, I am, in the words of Loretta Lynn, Proud to be a Coal Miner's Daughter. My dad still works in the mines...night shift...at the ripe old age of sixty-something. Smoking like a chimney, living on bolgna sandwiches. His doctor swears he's a science experiment just waiting to happen..I digress...

My childhood...

We didn't have much, and didn't have money to buy much more. So we made due with what we had and what the outdoors gave us when it came to playing. We had a big red wagon that hitched to the back of our lawn mower. We would load up everything we could...blankets, dishes that mom would give us for play, toys, dolls, even an old Flintstones car that we could sit in and drive. We'd drive the lawn mower around (we were country kids...dad let us drive that thing when we were like five!) and pretend we were traveling the world. We'd find places to "live", set up camp, and open our own Nature Store. Spices, grasses, special rocks, whatever we could find and mix up...we made it, zipped it up in ziploc bags and hung it on the clothesline for potential customers. We could play that for hours and hours in the summer. Well after dark, we would still be playing Nature Store until mom would make us come in.

Rainy days weren't an excuse to stay inside...rainy days were an opportunity to play water factory! We would gather rain water in bottles, coolers, pitchers, bowls...and pretend to run a factory where we were filling bajillions of orders for water in these fancy bottles. Lucky for us, our babysitter "Kate" was an Avon lady and gave us all her old perfume bottles. Once the water had been "purified" (dumped into a big Kohlman coller and pumped out the side through the spicket) we would put it in the fance bottles and sell it to our customers. I laugh now with Michelle and tell her we missed our fortune...that water in a fancy bottle business is one of the richest in the world...and we were doing it when we were 5 and 7! Totally missed the boat on that one!

I remember as we got a little older lots of evenings and weekend spent at the "Ball Park" which was the Odon Softball Diamonds. We were all involved on a team, so someone was always playing. As we got older and into our "tween" years, it became a social outlet. An opportunity during the summer to catch up with our friends, see our boyfriends (maybe sit by them, but rarely actually SPEAK to them), and get involved in a rousing game of cupball. If you don't know what that is...story for another time. There was always some sort of construction going on, so there was usually a huge mound of dirt somewhere awaiting a game of King of the Mountain. I had short sturdy legs...so I was great at this game...and could usually even beat most of the boys. I lived for those warm summer nights at the ball park. The end of those meant the start of school was close...a time of year that we pretended to dread, but secretly couldn't wait for!



And getting older still, I remember sleepovers, and cheering at football and basketball games, cruising around town...but even those memories aren't as fond to me as the memories that I have of just being at home....just being kids...just being.

But somewhere along the way, we grew up. I remember the feeling of almost sheer panic when I realized Chelle was going to college. I remember crying...no, sobbing...when Johnathan played his last high school basketball game. I remember the softball size lump in my throat the day we sold the house, the home, where we had all made those memories, and somewhere in those rooms...grown up. I remember bunk beds, and Barbie houses, and an ornate office set up in the unfinished basement, and a full court Nerf basketball court across the length of the family room, and new pink carpet in the bedroom I shared with Michelle...but I don't remember the moment when we all grew up. It just happened, and then one day we were all gone...on our own.

And the thing that scares me the most...it's happening again...in a different house...with different kids....and this time...I'm the parent.

If you have a few minutes, you should watch the video of Katrina Kenison "An Ordinary Day" on youtube. Amazing...AMAZING.

Melting my Heart...

I've been under the weather this week. Not really "sick". Just that feeling of blech...I don't feeeel good. I go to work, I go home, I hit the couch, and I do the bare minimum when I get home at night. It's not fun. It's not who I like to be. But this week, at least, it's me. My kids know I haven't been feeling great, but I try not to complain too much to them. After all, what are they really going to do about it, right? But the other night, I was laying in bed, really feeling miserable when Carter walked in. He had a cup in his hand. He sets it down on my nightstand, and says, "I thought this might help." He kisses my forehead and leaves the room. In the cup is about two thirds full of water with a couple of ice cubes floating at the top. I didn't ask for it. He thought of it...and thought it might help. He genuinely is a great, great kid. He makes me want to pull my hair out sometimes, but his heart is like the size of New York. He really cares about other people and how they are feeling. The problem is getting other people to know that.

He was being bullied on the bus, and I spoke to the principal about it. It all worked out ok, but what I want to say to her is, "You don't know him. He's not the kind of kid that would bully someone." I sound like such a mom when I say that. But he really isn't that kid. He doesn't want to hurt someone else. How many 160 pound 5th graders do you know who play football and get in trouble because they don't want to hit??? You know what he tells me?? "Mom, I don't want to hurt him." It drives me crazy, but at the same time, how do you not love that about him??

And when I look at him, I think, "How could anyone want to bully him or not think he is the cutest thing that ever walked the face of this planet??" He's freaking adorable! Am I biased? Yeah, probably. But, come on, people...I'm not blind. He's a cute kid, I don't care who you are!

OK...enough already. The point is, I love my son. He is 11. He has an attitude...sometimes. He can be mouthy...sometimes. He forgets to clean his room...sometim...OK, most of the time. But in those moments when he really shines, does it really matter? No. It makes me realize that deep down, under all that pre-teenage wasteland, there's a little boy growing into a wonderful man. A man who someday is going to be a wonderful husband and a phenomenal father...because he has that underlying natural instinct to care. And that, in a nutshell, melts his mother's heart.

So...What IS the Story??

The story is this...I know people who blog. I read blogs. I read blogs of people I don't even know. I LOVE reading blogs. So why am I not blogging for myself??? I don't know...I don't have time? Probably. I'm not that interesting? Definitely. But you know what...so what! I'm gonna blog. They may be short...they may be few...the may be boring. BUT no one if forcing anyone to read this stuff anyway, right? I'll type it, and maybe it will sit here forever, unread by the masses, and that's ok. Maybe someday my kids will read it and think, "Hey, our mom was funny...or cool...or crazy." Who knows. But at least there will be a little piece of me somewhere. Somtething that someone who knows me may read and think, "I never knew that." Or maybe something that someone who doesn't know me may happen across and think, "I don't know her...but I'd like to."

So...here I am...a blogger. Putting my life on paper...sort of...for the world to see...or not.

Join me for the ride...Let's see how this pans out...