Guest Post: Being Rickie's Wife

In this little Internet space of mine, I like to give advice.

It's mostly unsolicited and always unprofessional, but sometimes I think you can relate. My advice is usually centered around parenting, but I've been known to dabble in relationships, too. I can't tell you what will work for you, but I can share the ways I'm getting things to work for me.

Someone recently approached me about offering her own words to my readers, and she has a little more experience under her belt. My mother-in-law Dianne lost her husband {you may know him as Poppy} to ALS in the spring, and since then she's been trying to translate feelings into words. She finished this piece and asked me if I could publish it on November 3, her husband's birthday. I am honored that she shared this with me and proud she wants to share it with you. This expression of love is raw and real and beautiful. Without any more backstory, these are her words:

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Being Rickie's Wife
Friends and family have told me that I am spoiled.

I never really thought about it until Rickie got ALS. Things were just how they have always been since we met one January night in 1975. Our first date was at a restaurant named Sambo's, and we were married in less than six months on July 5, 1975. Rickie took care of everything, and I do mean everything. He hung pictures, did maintenance on the car, put gas in the car, and did all the yard work, even though he couldn't breathe afterward. Mostly though, he took care of me.

When he was diagnosed I had no idea what to do or how to do it, but I did know that I was not alone. God was with me. As his disease progressed and I'd think about what I would need to do for him, I would think that I'd never be able to handle it. But God said Yes, you can, and I did. I found out that I was a lot stronger than I knew.

When we were first married, I was not the person I am today and that is because of Rickie. His faith was strong, so mine was, too. We raised Bridget and Jonathan to have strong faith and to trust in Jesus. Jesus loves us so much and He shows me daily how much, just as He did when I was taking care of Rickie. He talks to me, sometimes through the children and sometimes the homily at church seems like it was written for me. As you can see, my faith is stronger and that is because I met and fell in love with Rickie.

We did not have a perfect marriage, there is no such thing, but when you pray together, go to church, raise your children in church, and work at it, a marriage is the greatest thing on Earth. I will cherish our time together and never forget how much he loved me. Now I rejoice in the knowledge that he is no longer sick and can walk and talk with anyone who has gone to Heaven ahead of him. I know for sure he has our angel grand baby in his arms every day.

I will never forget him and there is so much more to say. A lot happens in 42 years, but my job here is not done. I will listen to Jesus and let Him tell me how he wants me to live my life without Rickie. Right now there are good days and bad days and a lot of firsts that are very hard, but I will continue on. I have moved to Hope to start a new chapter in my life and it has been great.

I hope that you all know the love of a good person, but most of all I hope you know the love of Jesus.

I love each and every one of you!
- Mrs. Rickie Bauer

Joy in the Mourning

There's always a bit of poetry that comes with this time of year.

We watch the old turn over to new as winter threatens to leave and we bounce between short sleeves and warm coats. Buds wait patiently for the perfect temperature, and we teeter on the brink of two lives. While there's all sorts of metaphors and similes and I could weave into this time of year and this season of life, it's been a difficult few weeks.

Jonathan lost his dad last week after a battle with ALS. He died on Ash Wednesday and while we mourn the loss of an incredibly strong man, we rejoice in the fact that his battle was won. "Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return." He is where he was always meant to be, and he is better off for it.

While I could write a book on what my father-in-law meant to my family, I am going to stick with a different perspective today. I can't imagine the pain his children and wife are going through in learning to live without a piece of their heart, but I can see how it's affected my kids... and you might be surprised.

It was with a heavy heart that Jonathan had to tell Owen his Poppy was gone on their way home from school last Wednesday afternoon. After we gathered in the living room for hugs and tears, I noticed a shift in Owen's eyes. I knew five would be a hard age to deal with death, and I worried how he'd wrap his brain around it. It turns out he ended up teaching us a thing or two.

Owen broke away from our family huddle and darted through the back door. I followed him and watched as he climbed into a chair and lifted his small arms toward the sky. Shouts of "Hi Poppy! Can you hear me? You're in heaven now!" filled my yard and every inch of my soul. I stared a hole through my son who understood the joy that comes with knowing Jesus. Our death was destroyed on the cross, and Owen was psyched that Poppy was able to realize that.

When I approached him, he bubbled over. He was so excited that his Poppy could run laps without a wheelchair, speak plain as day, and see every goal scored this soccer season. He named all the dogs ready to play fetch in heaven, and he was floored when I told him Poppy's mom and dad were there, too. Never before have I seen someone thrilled about the end of a loved one's life, and it hit me like a ton of bricks. It made perfect sense. Life without our father, father-in-law, and Poppy is proving to be tough to navigate, but we are the ones suffering. Owen admits he misses Poppy, but loves that he's been made perfect and whole.

I'm also fairly certain he's having a good time rocking a grand-baby we never got to meet.

We have been a bit overrun with emotions lately. It will be hard for a while, but we feel the prayers and support and love. Thank you to all who helped honor Rickie during his memorial services, and for giving his family a place to lean. Jonathan's sister Bridget told me she adopted a new mantra: WWOBD? While it's not the best question to ask when it comes to deciding whether to jump off the top bunk, it's fitting in matters of the heart.

When it comes to his Poppy's new beginning, Owen Bauer has it figured out. Like Owen, we're all trying to find peace, but we're also looking forward to the day we join him.

PS: In lieu of flowers, we asked for donations to the organizations that helped improve Poppy's quality of life and help him live it to the fullest. Memorials may be made to ALS in Wonderland, Arkansas Hospice, and ALS Association.

Family: All We Have

"It's been so nice to see everyone, I just wish these were better circumstances."

Every person at every funeral will say this to you. You'll nod in agreement with the corners of your mouth slightly tilted and you'll move on. The statement is true, don't get me wrong, but it's not a terrible thing to be surrounded by people who love you. This particular reason may call for that more than most.

Two weeks ago, all the cousins on my mom's side were together for the first time in more than ten years. When we last gathered at my Mema's house in eastern Arkansas I was a single college student, there for a Thanksgiving meal and to escape the pressures of taking care of myself. In the years that followed, there have been countless marriages, more babies and enough life changes to make your head spin. Despite it all, flights connected, roads burned and we met at the house on the lake.

We stood in Mema's living room, making piles of items that held her memory and thumbing through photo albums yellowed at the edges. We are in our 30s and 40s {the lucky few are holding tight to their late 20s and then there's the 19-year-old baby}. One is expecting her third child next February and another will send her firstborn to college next fall. The wine and memories poured and that decade of being apart disappeared. We were the kids who snuck into the kitchen to find the candy jar full of Snickers and opened Christmas presents in order of age.

Stories and memories flowed into all hours of the night and for us, the laughter outweighed the tears. That's such an odd place. Funerals bring back memories of life and it can easily turn from mourning to celebration. Etiquette may rule against the giggling that went on, but it was what I needed. It was what we all needed.

Yes, it was hard to leave. It was painful to walk away and wave goodbye to my childhood. I know better than to say the memories are gone, though. They're more than a place; they're the people. I can always lean on my cousins to keep the legacy of our Mema alive. There is life in death. I won't be back to that house, but I will be back to strengthen the ties that have bound us together since birth.

Family is our one constant. We should make the most out of every second together.

Do you have a wide-spread collection of cousins? How often do you get together?

Heavenly Reunion

Today was a stellar day above the clouds, I'd imagine.

Obviously I don't have a front-row seat or anything, but I'd gather a chorus of angels was involved, beautiful light broke through every opening, and one proud husband was there to finally greet his wife after decades of being apart. That's just a hunch, but my Mema was a pretty cool lady.

Last week I told you about the health struggles my Mema was going through and took you on a little trip down memory lane to illustrate exactly what she means to me. This morning, however, she let go. While it's a sad time for my family, my faith is strengthened exponentially when I think about the kind of reunion that went on at heaven's gates. I was so blessed to get to talk to her on the phone last week, and for her to have been able to read the words I wrote. I won't go on much, as I've already highlighted our best times, but I will say I appreciate all who reached out and covered our family in prayer. We'll still need it in the coming days as we prepare to say goodbye, but we know this isn't the end.

One day, hopefully far from now, we'll all be eating quartered grilled cheese and watching birds with her once more. I'm thankful for the love my family has poured out to her in her final days, and I'm thankful for her, because she's the one who showed us how.

Mema

I have been thinking a lot about my Mema lately.

I've written about her a few times, most recently when I talked how it feels to visit her as a parent instead of a kid {post here}. I talked about the memories that bubble up with those familiar turns that wind past trees right to her orange-bricked house. I talked about how fun it is to see my kids start to latch onto those turns and make memories of their own.

While I used that post to talk about my kids taking my place in the wooden kitchen chairs, today's post is about my own memories. My Mema is my mother's mother and has been an important part of my life for all of my 31 years. I'm sure all my cousins would say the same, but in all the time I spend with that lady, she makes me feel like the most special person in her life.

When I was young, she encouraged me to write and always had a clean notebook and fresh pencils waiting for me. For as long as I can remember, she's made the best grilled cheese {cut into four squares, of course} and let me slurp juice from a jelly jar and watch game shows while I ate. She's still skilled at the art of the sandwich, too, just ask my kids! We did crosswords, we went shopping, we fed ducks, and I talked. She listened. She always had a book she wanted me to read and never cared when I made a mess in her closet looking for old hats and shoes.

As I grew older, she kept listening. In my college years a trip to her house was easier to manage and I did it frequently. She knew every detail of my school experience and every sordid tale surrounding boy troubles. Eventually I started bringing a boy with me. One afternoon she told me he was her favorite and later that night he asked me to be his girlfriend. He even tells me he had big plans to propose at her house a few months later, but that darn ring was burning a hole in his pocket. Things seemed to have turned out fine, though.

So much has changed since those days, but not Mema. She still lives in that same orange house and still makes me feel pretty darn special when I get the chance to visit her. She celebrated her 85th birthday last Saturday, and unfortunately had to eat her cake and rock her party hat in the hospital. She's had a rough time with heart-related issues. She had one surgery last week and doctors are preparing to perform another. My mom and a few of her sisters have been with Mema in Memphis for weeks, trying to provide comic relief and keep her spirits high.

We would appreciate it if you kept this sweet lady in your prayers as she tries to overcome. I am thankful and I am lucky to have her in my life. She's been my grandma, she's been my pen pal, and she's been my friend. I know all my cousins, aunts, uncles, and extended family love her more than they can say and are rooting for her.

The Life of a Non-Mother

Or: Why Your Single Female Friend Always Wants to Come for Dinner
{Side Note: This is a guest post from my dear SIL, Bridget. This space is full of stories about raising kids, and she's here to say you don't have to be a parent to tell them. Read on for a take from a different point of view, then have yourself a lovely weekend.}

When I was little, my absolute favorite toys were baby dolls.

I loved them. I had a little rocking chair and cradle that my grandpa made me, just the right size for rocking my babies and putting them to sleep. I had crocheted blankets for them made by my grandma. My most darling child was Amanda, a beautiful baby Santa brought me with real hair and bright blue eyes.

When I got older, people would ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up, and the only thing I knew for sure was that I wanted to be a mommy. I took care of my baby cousins with the enthusiasm of a tiny new mother who’s been praying for a stork to arrive. I’d sleep in the living room where the pack-n-play stood and get up in the middle of the night to feed, change, and soothe them. It was wonderful.

In high school, I babysat every summer and almost every weekend. After high school, I took a job working in the after school program at my elementary school. From that, I moved onto daycare, spending days alone in a room with nine two-year-olds and loving it. I took care of friends' babies, toddlers, kids. I was Miss Bridget for so long, I forgot my other first name. Unfortunately, however, as I got older I had to find a job with which I could support myself, but even then I still loved caring for kids.

My best friend at my first grownup job had a son, Stephen, and I became a godmother for the first time. I loved being there for her pregnancy and learning everything I could about it. I waited anxiously for the day she would call and say “He’s here!” and I'd rush to the hospital to hold him. I can’t explain in words what that was like, but it was beautiful. He’d spend weekends with me and we created our own little world. Years later, I would see the birth of my goddaughter to two of my best friends, and I would spend every possible second with them. The first time they asked if I’d like to take her for the weekend I tried not to seem insane with the speed of my "Yes!" I had diapers, formula, wipes, and blankets in my closet at home. I bought a car seat for my car.

A year later, my first nephew joined us, and my heart exploded when I saw his face. My second godson, my little monkey baby, my Nate Dogg. Nathan. He was so tiny, with his itty hands and bitty feet and squished little nose and I loved him so much. I very seriously said to a friend, “I can’t bear to have my own children, I’ll never be able to love anyone more.” I got another car seat for my car. I was Aunt B.

Seven months later I believed with all my heart that my future as a mother was in Maine, so I packed up and moved. It broke my heart to say goodbye, but I wanted a love and a life of my own. Instead, what I learned was that my destiny lie somewhere else. I made friends with people with kids, and those kids and I adored each other. My best friend had two amazing daughters and I loved them so much I could cry {and often did}. Another friend had a son who became my third godson, and his big sister was also added to my collection. As I grew older and was gifted with more and more children to love, I realized my heart's desire had changed. Maybe being a mother wasn't my calling, but I could love these children so much they'd never know the difference.

In those five years away, there was another nephew born down south, and then a niece! Then after a tragic diagnosis, I was headed home to Arkansas, to family and a baby I could watch grow from the very beginning. Saying goodbye to sweet kids and hello to others.

I reconnected with old friends and their families and I became Miss Bridget again. I color and play cars, tell stories and read books, and talk about silly things. {Mostly toots. Kids love toots. I am learning to see the humor.}

People ask, "Do you have kids?" And I say "Oh, no, not me." But that's not true, not really. They may not be my sons and daughters, but I have them. I carry them in my heart and love them fiercely, and that love means something. I worry about them. I'm so proud when they succeed, even prouder when they try and fail, but are proud of themselves. My heart breaks when they cry, when they're confused and scared. I get frustrated sometimes and use the "day care voice" and they listen, because it's a good one. I wipe noses and hold hands and fill them with candy and laughter and hopefully love of themselves. They mean the world to me. I'm not Mama or Mumma or Mommy, but I'm Aunt B and Miss Bridget, and I hold that title just as close to my heart.

So, yes. I have kids. A whole tribe of them. They're mine and I'm theirs and I wouldn't trade that for the world.

Walking to Win

I may never know how the mile I walked Saturday will help cure ALS, but the joy it brought to my father-in-law's face was an amazing start.

About two years ago, Jonathan's dad was diagnosed with ALS. I talked about it in this post when dumping ice water on each other was all the rage. I talked about how challenging each other on social media was all in good fun, but it was even better to remember the cause and the people who need our support. That cause, and the fact that my FIL is a cool dude, is why my kids and I {plus hundreds of others} participated in the Walk to Defeat ALS.

We left our corner of the state before the sun peeked across the highway. The cows were still resting in the fields, but my kids were not. "What will our T-shirts look like?! Will my cousin be there!? Can I ride on the wheelchair!?" For those playing along at home, the answers were: awesome, yes, and absolutely. Once everyone gathered at my in-laws' home and pulled on their bright blue #GoRickie tees, we loaded up and headed to the walk. I can't describe the joy I felt when I saw so many people involved in this cause. I got to hang out with family members from Jonathan's side that I hadn't seen in years, and I loved watching our Poppy greet and thank everyone for showing up. This meant so much to us as a family, but I'm pretty sure it meant the very most to him.

After a few formalities, we were ready to roll. Owen climbed into the wheelchair, as planned, and rode into the {figurative} sunset with his superhero. Along the way, we saw several other families affected by this disease, many who had lost loved ones, and plenty who are fighting with everything they have. It was inspiring. Everyone was smiling, everyone was cheerful, and I appreciate those in wheelchairs for not putting the pedal to the metal and running us slow folks over.

Once we walked, it was party time. We ate, we danced, and we called those Hogs! It was such a fun time, and I am so thankful for the money donated and the outpouring of love. Obviously it will take research dollars to find an answer for ALS and an answer is our ultimate goal, but it takes even more support to stand beside those knee-deep in the battle.

Thank you to everyone who has given in one way or another {psst... click here for an incredible way to donate and help ALS patients in Arkansas with the costs that come with the territory}. Jonathan's dad, my father-in-law, my kids' Poppy needs as big of a shield as he can get. I loved seeing all of these people stand together, united, to form one for him.

Also, I think his little sidekick helped in the smile department:

Happy Hump Day, y'all!

In the Ice Bucket

If you have a Facebook account and have been paying any attention to it, you've seen the ice bucket challenge.

As you scroll along, you've seen friends, strangers, and celebrities stand there grinning as buckets of ice are dumped over their heads. They proceed to jump and squeal and challenge someone else to take on this pointless task. Sure, it's a hundred degrees outside and the ice probably feels good after the shock wears off, but how in the world does ice on someone's head help cure debilitating diseases? What does getting likes and comments do for those suffering from ALS? What is ALS?

Hi! I'm here to help answer some questions.

About a year ago, my father-in-law was diagnosed with ALS, but before that I'd never heard of it. You may recognize it as Lou Gehrig's disase, but you should know that it's a heavily under-researched neurodegenerative disease that has no cure at this time. Whoever started the ice bucket challenge started it not only to bring this disease to light, but to bring some dollars to the cause. It's more than a trendy hash tag and Facebook entertainment.

For my family {and everyone else affected by this disease}, there's more than ice and water in that bucket. It's more than a quick thrill on a hot August day. It's hope. It's the idea that spreading awareness and raising funds will lead to the answers that are severely lacking in this puzzle. It's support. It's the idea that friends and family are willing to help, whether it's tossing in a twenty or reaching the call for donations a little further. It's change. If we can help, why don't we? Why not reconsider your spending today? That snow cone won't help your life as much as answers will help those affected by ALS.

Just like posting the color of your bra won't cure breast cancer, and jumping into a lake in February won't help those with developmental diseases, the ice bucket challenge alone will do nothing for ALS.

If the skeptics out there are still thinking, "Well this is a great way to feel warm and fuzzy, but is this even making a difference?" The answer is yes. According to this article, the ALS Association has received $9.5 million since the ice bucket challenge began in late July, compared to a mere $1.6 million raised in the same time period last year. That is unbelievable, and for people like my father-in-law, it's more than dollars, it's encouragement.

I am not going to force you to dump ice on your head. I'm simply asking you not to roll your eyes as you page down past the dozens of ice bucket videos on Facebook. I'm asking you to stop, click on the link, and give. If you can't give, I'm asking you to spread it along to those who can. And, if you feel so inclined, start the challenge up with a bucket of your own and pass it through your friends list. You don't have to be tagged to help, and you don't have to be directly affected to donate:

www.alsa.org
Thank you. You can make a difference.

My Mama

I have a lot to say about mothers {not surprising - I have a lot to say about most things}.

I've talked before about how it feels odd being pampered and lauded as royalty for becoming a parent {not to say I don't enjoy it}. I think it's because I don't like the idea of motherhood as sacrifice. This is my life because I chose it. I fell in love, I got married, I wanted a family, and I was lucky enough to become pregnant. No matter how crazy things can get, I wanted this. Motherhood is not something I deal with, it's part of who I am. For me at least, this is my story because I wrote it. Shout out to the cast of characters who gave me the opportunity.

That's beside the point for today, at least. Although I typically tell stories as a mama, my writing today comes from the viewpoint of a kid. The kid of an awesome mama. The other day my BFF and I were talking about the exact moments we became our mothers {you can read about mine here} and how lucky we are to say that with pride.

My mom has been a parent for almost three decades now, and she has gotten good at it. I know she was once in my boat, taking it a day at a time, learning as she went, and chalking failures up to lessons. If she still feels like that, she hides it well. I'm very thankful to have her in my life, and I'm just realizing how deep that appreciation goes. On this Mother's Day, I want to flip the script away from my motherhood and turn it to hers. Here are just a handful of reasons why my mom is a pretty incredible person:

• She butters my ego constantly and lifts me up in ways no one else can. I tell her when I'm stuck, frustrated, or disappointed in myself. Obviously the rose-tinted glasses of motherhood are involved here, but she does help me see things from an easier perspective. She hands me the shovel and pushes me forward.
  
  
• This goes hand-in-hand with the first one, but she's been my biggest cheerleader from day one. No matter what route I thought was right in my life, she helped me. She supported me through every bad decision, wrong turn, and failure, and she nudged me toward the right direction. I know this phase is far from over.
  
  
• She's become a friend. All my life, she fought for a balance between being my mom and my buddy. As a mother, I see that it's important to keep that line defined but as a young daughter, I wanted that space to be a mile wide. Years later I have figured out that she makes for a pretty good one.
  
  
• Her opinions and her advice are top of the line, and they always have been. Her words get twisted and her thoughts can derail, but her heart is always in the right place. If you want to know the right thing to do, even if you completely disagree, ask her. Honestly.
  
  
• She loves so hard and so much. Her relationships with people blow me away, from the little old ladies she cares for at church to the employees who work for her stores, all the way to Jesus Christ. She loves big, and hard, and relentlessly. She never stops giving. This is THE number one way I hope to emulate her.
  
  Happy Mother's Day, Mom!
  PS: Happy Mother's Day to everyone else out there, too! Sending love to the ones who wipe butts and noses on the daily, the ones whose nests are empty but hearts are full, the ones whose bumps give away their first time to celebrate, and the ones whose tears give away their sweet angels in heaven. Happy Mother's Day also to the hopeful, praying for their turn on this roller coaster ride. No matter where you fall on the spectrum, motherhood is a part of who you are. My heart is with you.

Warm Home, Warm Heart

Once upon a time, I married a boy who had a sister. That sister moved to the frigid, arctic north four months after my firstborn arrived, and made her trek home to sunny Arkansas last summer.

I'd say it's time the woman got a proper welcome, wouldn't you?

Not too long ago, all the pieces fell into place for her to snag the perfect apartment, on a hilltop in central Arkansas. This place took away her work commute, brought her closer to her parents, and gave her a blank canvas to decorate as she saw fit. Once her place was set up just so, her good friend Tiffanie decided it was high time to show it off. She threw her an amazing homewarming party last weekend, full of delicious eats, games that were basically my wheelhouse, and grand tours for all. Although I had zero to do with this party other than attend as a guest, make sure my children stayed outside, and sweep the competition in all of the word-themed games, I have a strong desire to write about it. These girls did an amazing job with every detail of the party, and my SIL has done an incredible job making this space into a home.

Since I played photographer for the night, I have all sorts of fun to share. Let's start with the most delicious part, shall we? I'm not sure what was a bigger hit at this shindig, the homemade chicken salad croissants or the delectable cucumber crostinis. {Personally, the latter was my favorite. I might have eaten two. And a half.} Not pictured are the cute little caprese bites, a big bowl of pasta salad, and some tasty spinach dip. Although most of the kiddos {read: mine} turned their noses up at all the green, the hostess pleased the pickiest with three flavors of mini cupcakes.


Although the food was in my top three favorite things about this party, I think my most favorite thing was visiting Bridget's place for the first time. From the gorgeous aqua-and-yellow bedroom to the wall displaying photos of past generations, she gave every room its own special touch. Feathers on the wall here, a collection of prized books there, and happy, bright painted pieces throughout. Sunlight bathed the floors through huge windows, and an open craft room sat full of potential {and hopefully *many* future lessons for me}. Here's a quick sample:


Even though I spent the morning correcting Owen when he was tuning up his pipes to sing "Happy Birthday" to his beloved Aunt B, this party was not without presents. That sees of mine has such a sweet group of friends and family that she racked up nicely at her housewarming. She can officially make toast, blend margaritas, cook macaroni and cheese, not burn herself on the macaroni and cheese, and store said macaroni and cheese in an airtight container. Also, my kids got her a cat cutting board. Not that it's a competition, but they win:


Speaking of my kids, I bet you were wondering what metaphor I was employing earlier when I made reference to keeping them outside. Oh no, my friend, I meant every word. Do you really think I could've whipped the competition at anagramming HOUSEWARMING with three babies hanging off of me? Aside from a brief cupcake break, they were banned outside. Thankfully, their aunt was smart enough to arrange bubbles, sidewalk chalk, and lots of other children for entertainment:



{Okay... maybe we let ONE kid play games. She gave me a run for my money, too!}
This party was such a success, y'all. A million thanks to the hostess for inviting me and my crazy family and to Bridget for opening her home and allowing me to spend time with her, meet a few of her friends, and catch up with a few of my own. We loved hearing about her awesome adventures in Maine, but I'm so excited to be with her for the next chapter in her life. And now she has a gorgeous home to set the scene.

I know I speak for the whole bunch when I say I am happy she's home.

Proportions

Every time I wander down the hallways and past the foreign tchotchkes and ceramic angels in my grandmother's house, I feel an odd sensation that the proportions are off.

The enormous portraits that feature a different season of life are much smaller than they used to be. My tiny mother sits atop her mother's lap, flanked by siblings in matching outfits, eager to capture one second of 1962. I used to crane my neck to look into each of their eyes. I stopped in my tracks as I strolled past them during our visit earlier this week. My head lined up with the wallpaper above the frame.

I followed Owen into the living room as he took a self-guided tour of one of my favorite homes on the planet. It was then that I noticed the grandfather clock wasn't nearly as intimidating as I thought it was. Its booming chime didn't startle me nor did its scale compare to my height. It was strange how different everything seemed, but my youngest son's eyes lit up on the hour, every hour.

Later that evening, Jonathan told me he needed to step outside for some air clear of cat dander. He and I bundled up and stepped onto the back porch. The brick railing that lined the tall concrete deck and kept kids from falling several feet barely hit above my knees. There were much fewer steps leading down to the yard and the expanse of plush grass and golden hardwoods had shrunk in recent years.

The squishy recliner, the round wooden table, the sun room with a gorgeous lake view, and the waters of the deep green lake itself - they all felt small. Too small.

I stood there thinking everything in this house looked out of place, and then I realized what was wrong. I'm a far cry from the kid who treasured grilled cheese cut into perfect quarters and chicken soup in an over-sized mug. I'm years from the little girl who sat on the dock with pen and pad and let the movement of the water inspire lines of poetry. It's been decades since I have rummaged through my grandma's closet for warm afghans, worn dolls, and hats from a time I'd never seen.

Her house isn't different. I am.

As I sat mourning my childhood, I saw my oldest son head to the hall closet of my Mema's house, the one that used to be stacked from floor to ceiling with board games and puzzles. He pulled down a classic and took a left to my Mema's room. He walked up to the giant bed that would require a jump and peeked beneath it to try to spot a cowering cat. Then he stood on tiptoes to peek through the high windows for a gorgeous view into a vast body of water full of happy fish, playful turtles, and the snakes my late grandpa would've warned him about.

Carrying that dusty old board game, he walked into her bathroom and he found her. He looked up into her warm eyes and he didn't miss a beat.

"Mema, do you want to play Chutes and Ladders with me?"

She didn't miss a beat in response and headed to the kitchen table that spread out large before him. Nathan shuffled a stack of paper and pencils out of his way. Among his work included a very factual story about giraffes, a picture of a princess, and a love note to his Mema. Beneath his work were writings pulled from the formerly gigantic desk in the corner office. They were filled with eerily similar stories penned by my nine-year-old self.

Once the game was in place, he scooted his chair closer to her so he could reach his blue game piece and he did a happy dance each time it landed at the base of a ladder. We were a few minutes late to dinner that evening, but it didn't matter. Nathan wanted to play a board game and my Mema was not going to miss out on that.

It was in that moment that I saw it. I found the magic.

My childhood is not gone, y'all. It's just in a different body.

Well, three actually:

May the Force Be With You

.....and also with you.

Last weekend my fellow Bauer grownups and I broke out our light sabers and performed a Jedi mind trick or two to pull off a surprise birthday party for everyone's favorite Poppy.

Can you guess the theme?

This year, the founding father of the Bauer Bunch turns the big 6-0. His actual birthday isn't until this weekend, which sweetened the surprise. We sweetened it even more by making it all about his favorite movie... trilogy? Sixogy? I obviously needed help from my sister-in-law and Google to make this happen, but we did it! My father-in-law's dimples were extra deep as he pulled into the parking lot filled with vehicles he recognized. Family members, friends from church, work colleagues, and people he's known for decades all stood at the ready, anxious to greet him and get the party started.

I would say the weather didn't exactly cooperate, but that would be a lie. We prepared the food in a different city about half an hour from the party location. At that particular place, it was raining cats and dogs. The freezing cold kind. I'm pretty sure we all prayed the whole commute and the rain slowed turned to mist once we arrived. It wasn't particularly good hair weather, but it was much better than it could have been. We zipped our jackets, pulled up our hoods, and set to work.

As far as decor goes, we learned a sad fact about the lifespan of streamers. When the air is full of moisture, streamers become papier-mâché in about 30 seconds. We also learned that tortilla chips revert back to tortillas, but that's beside the point. We still had a star-studded birthday banner, dangling likenesses of everyone's favorite Jedi, and outer space tablecloths. We went for a minimalist approach. Very hip.

What we lacked in decoration, however, we made up for in food. We started planning this party when I was pregnant, so it's been a long time coming. About a month ago we had a meeting of the minds to decide the most important aspect - the names of the food. Guests munched on a Hutt Dog or a Boba Burger and washed it down with their choice of Yoda Soda, Leia Lemonade, or Padawan Punch, poured straight into their own Hans Solo Cup. What's that? Amazing? Oh, I haven't even gotten to the best part. They topped their Vader Veggies with Droid Dip and finished the meal with a Wookie Cookie or three. You're loving it, you say? Wait! I have one more. I'll go ahead and admit I have no idea who this person is. I assume I've lost all credibility at this point, but when my SIL told me to use Lando Calrissian, the Internet gave me this:

Although the yummy food and soggy decorations were spectacular, the best part of this sixtieth shindig was spending time with a ton of people who love our Poppy. It was great to see many family members we hadn't seen in a while and it was fun to watch our children play together. There were cousins galore, y'all, and they had a blast together. And if you know my FIL, you know a pavilion full of family was the best kind of pavilion:

Happy 60th Birthday, Poppy! We love you!

{PS: Do you like Star Wars? Do you like Halloween? Don't go too far, then. A post that's right up your alley is on its way.}

Life's Grand

Today we honor the parents of our parents. Those awesome people who always have quarters in their pockets, candy in their kitchens, and room on their laps.

Maybe you see them every day or maybe you haven't heard their voices in decades, but I bet I spark a memory when I mention the incredible way grandparents make you feel.

I'm blessed to have two grandmas who still think my fellow grandkids and I hung the moon. And they both still have an endless supply of treats and praise. There's something special about hearing the good in your life sung from the mouth of a grandparent that makes it sound amazing. I am a much better person in their eyes than in my own.

I really need to visit my grandmas more often.

And not just because I'm 100% sure both still have a chocolate stash beneath their kitchen counters.

Although I love how young and full of life my grandmas make me feel, one of the coolest things about becoming a mom has been watching my own parents take on a new role. My parents and in-laws are superhero grandparents and this bunch is one lucky crew. Whether it's unlimited babysitting, an extra push on the swing, or a tight-as-possible hug, they are there. My three are enamored with their grandparents with good reason.

As I tried to think of a way to honor these four people who fill my children with love, life, and chocolate milk, I realized I needed a different point of view. I was in need of a guest blogger. Below, Nathan has listed his favorite things about his grandparents. {Owen and Nora both said they wholeheartedly agree.}

1. I like to go swimming with her at her house. She swims so fast and teaches me, too.
2. She is very helpful, like when I say, "Nana, I accidentally spilled my drink," she just comes and cleans it up.
3. Me and Owen like to play Legos with her.
4. She is really good at cooking steak and macaroni and cheese.
5. When she goes to church she wears sparkly necklaces and looks really pretty.

1. She takes me shopping for toys sometimes when my mom doesn't.
2. When she gives me hugs she always squeezes really tight.
3. I love to make her laugh whenever I do funny voices and funny faces.
4. She has a Kindle Fire and she has a game called poo (it's not about poop or anything).
5. We really love to play Lincoln Logs together. She builds houses better than my dad.

1. I like to go on Jeep rides with him. Last time he spotted a locust shell.
2. He is really good at telling jokes and he taught me the one about the boogie.
3. He lets me play his iPad and I really like Plants vs. Zombies.
4. He's super good at playing the guitar.
5. One time he taught me to burn leaves with a magnifying glass for a science lesson.

1. Sometimes we sit on the couch and watch Ninja Turtles together. I'm pretty sure his favorite guy is Mikey.
2. He's really good at video games and I like to play Harry Potter with him all the time.
3. I like the way he cooks hamburgers for me.
4. We like to play outside together and he has a REAL big airplane we fly.
5. I love it when we go together to the donut store. I always get blueberry.