10-28-2004

In 1977 my parents divorced and my mother found herself in the difficult position of having to go back to work with a 3 year old child and a 4 month old baby. She knew she had no choice, but that didn’t make placing her young children in the care of someone else any easier. So, my mom began to pray fervently for an answer. Ovada Carr was the head of the nursery at our church. She was kind, gentle and understood small children in a way that made her irresistible to them. Every Sunday morning she would be in there, rocking other people’s babies so they could hear the sermon. So, it was only natural that she came to mind when my mom was thinking of her options. You see, my mom didn’t just want someone to see that our needs were met and that we were unharmed. She wanted someone who would love us, nurture us, and in effect mother us. So, even though it was unlikely that someone who was already so dedicated to children would want to keep 2 more 30 hours a week, she decided to ask her anyway…so she did. Ovada said she was flattered that she thought of her and that she would think about it. I don’t think my mom was very hopeful that she would answer in the affirmative, but she prayed that she would. Well, as you may have already guessed, she did and thus began my relationship with the first people, other than my family, that I loved…and boy did I ever. Of course love is not a tangible thing, but there is one object that is the perfect evidence of my devotion to these people. It was just an ordinary Olan Mills picture in a little gold frame, but to my little 1 year old hands it was the perfect piece of love for me to hold on to. I carried it around with me so much that over the years, it became practically unrecognizable, but I never forgot who it was. How could I? You never forget someone who feeds you, changes you, plays with you, helps you learn to walk, lets you help in the garden, sits next to you while you attempt to “fish” in a ditch, fixes you honey with just the right amount of lemon juice, buys you your first tricycle and bicycle and is there for every birthday, Christmas, Halloween and every other major life event? No, I will never forget Ovada and Willard Carr, not only for the 4 years that they cared for me as a small child, but also for the part they played in my life long after that. I will always love them both not just as family, but as the closest kind there is.

Ovada passed from us this Thursday morning, October 28th. I know heaven is a better place, but this earth is less without her and this earth is where I am right now.

I miss you and love you.

Jana

Yeah...what he said! 

Henry sure had a way with words... 

Finding Nemo in a Haystack

Ahhh...the excitement threshold of a toddler. Wouldn't it be great to achieve nirvana over the sighting of an orange and white fish? Well, it's just as much fun (maybe more) seeing your little boy get there.
We had originally planned an extended family vacation to the Gulf of Mexico this weekend. However, Ivan had other plans. After logging on to weather.com every five minutes and searching for a reason to hope, we finally decided to change direction and head north to Chattanooga, Tennessee. A much shorter ride in the car and essentially a much shorter duration of "100 Best Loved Kids Songs" was a nice way to start. We arrived just in time to visit the Tennessee Aquarium where we all had a blast watching Ethan recite the entire script of "Finding Nemo". No, really...I'm serious.
Today we went to the Tennessee Valley Railway. It was a very cool exhibit. We even got to ride in a vintage 1930's train. Once again, Ethan was in heaven. Donning an engineer's cap, he entertained everyone with his reenactment of his favorite "Thomas the Tank Engine" stories. I have to admit, and I know I am a little biased, but he is the cutest, smartest, sweetest, most precious little boy I have ever seen. Our trip comes to an end tomorrow, but it has been a welcome retreat from reality. I will, however, be ecstatic to see Hallie (my 4 year old daughter) tomorrow. It just hasn't been the same without her!

Me Time...

"Me Time"...it's a concept perfectly alien and incredibly desirable to a mother of small children. Not that I don't get a few stolen minutes every now and then, like running to the grocery store for a forgotten onion in soup-splattered sweats after my husband gets home from work. However, it is not exactly what I would call revitalizing. It's more like a workout involving produce. "Me time" is something we dream about while wearing our hubby's t-shirts sporting spit up and Enfamil (hey, if it dries before you change, why bother?) and during attempts to shower while your toddler redecorates your bathroom in a Charmin/H2O motif. It usually involves a steaming mug of caramel machiatto, the latest issue of Cosmo, and a low-carb danish all while you're wrapped up in some incredibly sexy and stylish, yet comfortable, outfit in a size 8 or less. Sounds great, huh? Of course "Me Time" varies from person to person and even from mood to mood, but it's always there, this entity awaiting you sometime in the future, enticing you to just hang on.
So, on that first day of "school", after taking a zillion pictures of your kids grasping their new lunchboxes on your front porch and peeling your toddler off your shirt, you find yourself sitting in your car and all of a sudden, it hits you. This is the moment you have been waiting for for two years. There are no restrictions on what you can do for the next four hours. A smile crosses your face as you drive on over to Barnes and Noble. About halfway there, however, you realize you are not wearing a new outfit...just your Gap blue jeans and that shirt with the mystery stain you consider "hidden" in the seam. "Oh well" you tell yourself, "I'll go shopping next time." As you read the menu in the Starbucks section you do your best to order like a professional, realizing too late that there is no such thing as a "medium". You blush a little and smile, laughing off your ignorance and silently wondering when drink sizes began being measured in height. Eventually you settle in with your coffee and magazine, ready to begin the process of depressurization. As you begin to read all about what men wish you knew about sex and the newest way to work out your Kegels, you wonder if your toddler has settled down and whether or not your 4 year old is making new friends. Suddenly, learing how to achieve multiple orgasms in the middle of a national chain bookstore starts to lose its appeal. You realize you are trying to recapture something that has no chance of resurrection. It's like attempting to recreate kindergarten in college. Dick and Jane were fascinating when you were five, but they can't be the topic of your graduate thesis. Gradually, you put the magazine back and walk out, carrying your "tall" cup of coffee with you. As you drive on home, your favorite Dave Mathews song comes on the radio and you roll down your window, letting your hair blow out the window along with your expectations.
The next time Mother's Day Out rolls around, you make your own coffee and curl up on your couch with a book, write in your journal, or browse the aisles at Target. At 12:30, you walk into the preschool eagerly anticipating your children running to you with their arms open, ready to hear all about fingerpainting and the new sandbox. You have had a few hours to yourself and in that time you have rediscovered who that self is. Without me, "Me Time" is nothing but time.

Besides, you have been having multiple orgasms for years.

Ethan's first day of Mother's Day Out...1 year, 9 months of age