Maybe Peter Pan was on to something. Reading to my youngest, I realize we fancied  the Darlings in our youth because they seemed so sophisticated. Adults have all the answers. They were going to a party while the children stayed home.

Some days, I think I have my youngest figured out, and then he falls apart over something that seems so trivial. I am winging this parenting and life thing. I want to stay home. I have to motivate myself to go to a party. I am betting Mrs. Darling wanted to stay home in her pajamas, too.

Peter tried to tell us, but we didn’t listen. It’s a reminder to play with your children more and go on their adventures. Neverland can be found again, in the eyes of our children.

After all, when my children laugh, I can only imagine what wonderous ferries are born.

To live (and to have children) is an awfully big adventure.

Dear Lord,

Help me never to grow weary in playing with my children, in making silly faces and taking selfies. Lord, I pray I never take myself or life too seriously. I pray that I remember that they are only children once and to embrace tents, forts, and general messes in my house. Lord, I pray that when I am tired that you provide me a renewed energy to spend quality time with my children, putting away their technology and my phone. Lord, my phone. Lord, let me look at it less and in their eyes.

Lord, give me patience and a reminder that they are still learning. Give me grace so that I can also give grace to them and myself. Lord, remind me that I do not have to be perfect to be their mom. You chose me to be their mom and that’s the greatest gift. Let me not take them for granted or myself in my abilities to be their mom.

Lord, thank you for these gifts, my children. Thank you for the ability to conceive and to be here with them. Thank you for blessing me with time.

Love,

Ashley, an imperfect mom who desperately loves her children.

There’s a friendship over my recent adult years that started as a childhood friendship. The light of that friendship slowly began to dim. I asked myself repeatedly what I had done to cause the light to not burn as bright. I tried confronting it head-on, but still no answers.

My heart ached for a long while and still does occasionally. I realize sometimes people move on, and it’s not personal even though it feels personal.

It’s a strange, uncomfortable greeting that takes the place of a warm hug when I see this person. And my heart aches.

I tell myself it’s okay. It will be. It is.

Having friendships is hard and even harder when we get older. The Lord has brought me new friends that I love dearly and hold onto as family. I will never forget the friendship that was and holds a place in my heart.

I’m healing. I’m thankful for what once was and thankful for what is now.

Thank you God for old friends and bringing new ones into our lives when needed most.

One of the major goals in planning your weekends in high school was to be seen and to hope to see others. This involved careful planning in determining where to sit at the football game or the local Mexican restaurant.

I was reminded of this last night as I ate at our local Mexican restaurant. It was packed. For a moment, I remembered the long table of people I’d eat with in school before going to a friend’s house to watch a rented DVD. We all pretty much eat chicken fingers with cheese dip with sweet tea.

At football games, we would socialize and look for our favorite number or hope our crush showed up. Pre planning included the right CD or CDs with friends such as “Cowboy Take Me Away,” by the group that used to be known as the Dixie Chicks.

Coordinating the right look was equally important – best Calvin Klein jeans with your New Balance or the right butterfly clips in your hair. Scrunchy on your wrist for good measure.

A lot of pictures were taken by a disposable camera and fingers crossed, they’d turn out right with the lighting of the stadium.

No cell phones for most part – just in the moment kind of stuff- like thinking you caught a glance from your crush. You could live on that moment for at least a month.

One of my favorite memories is running across the street after a game to the Middle School Homecoming Dance. For a long time, two of my best friends spent every Homecoming weekend with me from 2nd grade- on.

Now my days are spent not so much worried about being seen or seeing others. I prefer the life of a hermit on weekends.

That’s okay because I had my time once upon a time ago.

I think of that girl ever so often. I wonder if she’d be any different knowing what I know now. I hope not. I think it’s best living in the moment- glances, sweaty palms, butterflies and all.

Life is what happens outside the lines, and it can be beautiful. Tonight, I was working on some poster boards for work. My 4 year old wanted to help. At first, my A type personality cringed as I knew he would be all over the place and outside the lines.

Something (I think God) said, “Let him.” He was so proud helping mommy with work. I told him I’d tell everyone tomorrow he helped and he beemed.

It was so selfish of me to think it had to be “perfect.” This memory I will cherish forever as I hope he will too when he is working and his child decides “to help.”

Life outside the lines and imperfections, as it turns out, is perfect.

For just a moment, I was back in my old bedroom listening to Weezer, the blue album. My birkenstocks dangling off my feet and my room smells of incense. Beads hang on my closet door, and Spencer posters hang above my bed. I smell like Sun Ripened Raspberry or Sunflower perfume (my sister’s-don’t tell her).

The year was 1998 and my summer attire was a collection of American Eagle shorts and spaghetti strap shirts. Tan from the pool, my days were spent sleeping in, vacuuming the den, and washing dishes. Afterwards, I spent time on the house phone and trying to find a way to hang with friends and my first summer boyfriend.

We hung out a lot at the trailer park located across from the elementary school. A lot of our friends lived there. We watched a lot movies rented from Movie Gallery which is now a furniture store. I remember watching Scream and Austin Powers with friends. I remember the nervous feeling of getting ready for to hang with friends and guys.

In a word, summers like this were innocent. We didn’t know what we didn’t know. Living by the hour and the moment. Eating whatever we wanted with no scale consequences.

And when school rolled around, picking that first day of school of outfit was crucial. I still remember the cream colored shirt and brown skirt I wore the first day of 7th grade. I still remember the bell bottom jeans I adored in the 8th grade with the butterflies on my back pockets. I remember when boys suddenly had deeper voices and wore cologne for the first time.

The sound of my childhood also echoes in my mind-Weezer, Bush, The Cranberries, Green Day and so on. The angst of the music matched my anxiety of trying to figure out who I was. I cherish these times and hope that my children are as nostalgic about their childhood one day as I am.

The late 90’s was our time. I look down at my feet. 38 and still wearing Birkenstocks. Some things never change. Maybe I never changed. Maybe I have.

I don’t care what they say about us anyway. I don’t care about that.

My husband and I went to a Sister Hazel concert this weekend. We both grew up listening to the band at our respective colleges, Alabama and Auburn.

I am naturally a people watcher and thought I must be younger than the people attending. Slowly, I began to realize I was one of them. When did it happen? I swear 2003 was a year ago…

Conversations drifted in and out throughout the evening about our kids, where we were when we first heard a particular song, and plans to eat breakfast at 8 am. Yep, we officially are no longer the young people. The lead singer quoted from Dazed and Confused – he was getting older, and we were the same age. Naw, bro- we are getting older.

At breakfast, over omelets, pancakes, French toast, diet coke, and coffee- our friend said something similar – “we aren’t older; they are just younger.”

I’ve begun to realize over the years that it’s okay to get older. It’s a blessing really as time here on earth is relatively short in the scheme of things.

And I think it’s good to remember and celebrate all the stages of your life. More importantly, having someone to grow old with that still sees you as that 23 girl you were when you first met ain’t half bad either.

Warning! This post may not align with your personal beliefs regarding tattoos. This post is not meant to sway your beliefs. It is simply a story, a memory I am choosing to share.

I was 36 when I finally got a tattoo. I had been adamant that I would never get one but after chemo something changed.

I felt fearless, a rush that stemmed from my dance with the devil (cancer). I was exhausted from my perceived well planned life. I was ready to step out of my comfort zone.

On my beat cancer bucket list was a tattoo, so I convinced my sister to go with me and get one too while at the beach on Spring Break that year, very cliche I know. A few gulps of cheap champagne, and I found myself ready.

I couldn’t have asked for a better tattoo artist as he sensed my fears. He guided me every step of the way. Afterward, when my sister and I finished- we both felt a rush, a rush similar to feeling like we had done something forbidden. Silly, I know, but it’s true.

So now I have a tattoo. It’s four stars to represent my family, but it also represents a time when I was battling and a time when my sister did something with me that would be a memory only we share.

So, regardless of how you feel about ink, remember that for those who have tattoos, it’s usually for a reason, a memory, and/ or reminder.

I look at mine and think I really did finish my treatments. I have so many blessings that those stars represent.

Count the stars, if you are able. God commands. As countless as the stars, he assures Abram, so shall your descendants be. (Gen 15:5)

I turned 38 on June 22. A few days later, I woke up and decided if I was going to do what had been tugging at me since I was an undergraduate, now was the time. I lept and applied for a doctoral program.

I have always wanted to pursue a Ph.D. and eventually teach in higher education (after a lengthy career).

I am excited to report that I’ve been accepted to Oklahoma State University’s online doctoral program in Healthcare Administration. This path will benefit my current role and hopefully open other doors down the road.

Honestly, I don’t know how long it will take as I can only afford to do a class at a time, plus my sanity in trying to raise a family and work. Maybe I’m a little crazy for going back, but it’s always been a dream that kept showing back up every step I’ve taken.

I’m thankful for my husband and family support. I am excited for Spring of 2024 when I will start my program.

Maybe just maybe my own healthcare journey will lead to something beautiful and impact others.

This year, I worked with pre-med undergraduate students from UA in a shadowing program I developed at the hospital. It still needs lots of tweaks, but we will get there. These students inspired me and pushed me to think more about a doctorate degree.

So look out, OSU, here I come virtually. Go Cowboys but always Roll Tide.