Once upon a time in a kingdom of fabric, soft places to lay upon and guitars woven into a magical tapestry of sorts lived King Anderson. The King had 3 rules: 1. The common people aka the mom shall build and maintain the fort. 2. The fort shall encompass the entire play room. 3. “No” is not a sufficient answer. And so King Anderson ruled the kingdom every day and night. He is just 4 but wise beyond his years in his mind. His guitars pronounced buitars are the finishing touches to this vast kingdom.

In this kingdom, only your time and imagination are required. Musical talent is not required. Bring your best intentions and leave your cares at the door. There are 3 entries into the fort. Each one is designed with the utmost care and comfort.

The sounds of his drums can be heard from as far as the S curve in the land, once known as Shortleaf and onto Highway 80.

There is no greater kingdom or fort in all the land. Hail King Anderson. Long live pillow and blanket Forts. May his most loyal subject, mom, be remembered for her bravery and fortitude in building such a fort and kingdom.

I miss the crushed ice and Pepsi from the old Westside Ball Field. My best friend and I had code names for our crushes such as Sweetheart and Teddy Bear. I played the Razorblade Suitcase Bush album over and over again. I ripped their photo out of some teen magazine. I had their names memorized.

I used to throw blue sweet tarts on the floor at the movie theatre. My best friend and I claimed they were the worst. The first time I held someone’s hand, I was literally sweating.

I miss wearing knee socks with skirts and clogs. I guess I thought I was Cher from Clueless.  Am I told old to wear a hemp necklace now?

I miss a grungy boy band named Bubble and all the spin-offs that included singing the Fly’s song Got You Where I Want You.

I miss singing Ironic with my best friend and the whole Jagged Little Pill album.

I miss putting sour straws in my coke or suicide of multiple sodas at the old Pizza Hut.

With 40 looming next year, I’d like to go back for a day – maybe to a record store, a Gayfer’s, or the old ball field. Join me! Only stipulation – you have to wear bell bottoms, chokers, and dock martens.

I am here.

Recently, I graduated to going every 4 months to the oncologist, a small victory of sorts. You see, Cancer is a friend that hangs out around even long after they are “gone.” In June, it will be 3 years since I completed all treatments. It’s hard to imagine that it has been 3 years.

So now that I’ve moved into a somewhat normal life again, I find myself busily working on the house, making up for lost time. I find myself making new dreams.

There’s also a real sense of before and after cancer. Although as I said, she’s still lingering in the dead of night when I can’t sleep or in the corners of my mind.

She doesn’t completely control me. It’s something I’ve learned to accept. I hope that I’m a better person through all this, but I know I am far from perfect. I still make mistakes, eat too many carbs, and can always improve.

The one thing though that I am much better at is appreciation for every big and little thing. My nephew graduated recently, and I think I am here. My youngest hits the t-ball (not off tee), and again, I think I am here, witnessing it all.

Thank you, God, for perspective and being here. We are going bowling today. I can’t wait to slip those shoes on, laugh, and play arcade games.

I am here. I am here. She’s here, but I am more here than she is. She has not defined me but made me see more clearly.

Sometimes, I long to be in a world again of record stores, sun-ripened raspberries, Nirvana, and bell bottom jeans. I miss my dog and phone calls versus texts.

I miss hitting a softball and sliding into home. I miss winning a tennis match and pulling my hair back with a scrunchy.

I miss a time before 9/11 when I felt my childhood slip away with the mass destruction.

I miss reading CD labels and spaghetti strap shirts from Delia’s catalogs. I miss pretending to be grown reading Cosmo.

I miss the original Matchbox 20 album I played over and over again in 7th grade, a soundtrack to my adolescent woes.

I miss Friday nights under the lights at Memorial Field and “Cowboy Take Me Away.””

I miss my childhood friends.

I miss these things but thankful for the memories. I hope my kids’ childhoods are as cool as mine was (even though at the time I did not realize).

I just wish the real world would just stop hassling me.

Angst and Spaghetti striped glory

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.