Donna Carol

When I was fresh out of high school, I had the world at my fingertips. I entered a dark depression, however, upon starting college, and had a really hard time finding my way out. When I stopped caring about school, aside from flunking out and losing my scholarship, I started throwing myself into church activities. I ended up organizing the young adult fellowship, chaperoning the youth, and teaching middle school Bible class. I was able to mostly keep my schooling failure a secret. I escaped by "doing as much good as I could do". It was about that time, a group from Tennessee came up to help us put on a youth rally.

They were from Freed-Hardeman University in little Henderson, TN. There was a good mix of college students and staff (and parents, can't forget Poppa George), and along with their accents, I fell in love with their senses of humor, their love for fun, and their a cappella singing skills. With them was the Dean of Student Life of the university, Donna White. Donna was a riot. A regular comedienne, she had me in stitches their entire visit. From her cat-coughing-up-a-hairball impersonation, to her off-the-wall remarks, I wanted to adopt her. I wanted to adopt all of them. The next year, some returned and brought new faces along. It was such a fun time for me, and I wanted to hide in their luggage and go back to Tennessee with them.

In the end, I kind of did. I got a phone call a few months after they left, offering me a tuition scholarship and a chance to start my schooling over. With familiar faces and a cappella singing, I started off my campus life on FHU's grounds an older, "non-traditional" freshman, surrounded by youngsters who were better at this schooling thing than I had been. My long-lost-sister, Jenni, took me under her wing and guided me around campus those first couple of weeks. With her and Donna keeping watch over me, I had a pretty sweet deal. 

I walked in to Donna's office one day that first week and she brought up the term she had coined on that second trip to Wyoming. "I see you've got the Val Vibe working for you...."  I blushed. Donna thought - insisted, rather - I had this irresistible quality that made people, especially those of the male persuasion, flock to me like flies on sticky tape. I was confident, I was independent, and I could tell a story or two. I had a trim figure and a wide smile, and nothing was going to stand in the way this time around of me conquering the world. Apparently, that was just the kind of gal some poor, confused souls were looking for. Every time we were together, Donna would bring up examples of "The Val Vibe", and usually embarrass me to some extent. She heckled in love, though, and I had no doubt of that. Donna was someone incredibly special to me, and I meant a lot to her as well.

She had been a contestant on Who Wants To Be A Millionaire and walked away with $250,000.  She was smart with her winnings, but she was also incredibly generous. She treated me, Jenni, and Jennifer (no, I'm not repeating myself) to a weekend in Nashville. It was just the girls, and it was one of the most special get-aways I've ever had. To this day, that trip remains one I hold dear to my heart. We stopped in the Hard Rock Cafe to have milkshakes, and when we walked out I uttered, "You know what would be cool? If we did a Dixie Chicks thing, and we all got tattoos." As soon as I said it, I realized I was out of my ever loving mind, and there was no way I would get these gals on board. Donna stopped, looked at us, and said, "If you're serious, and we all get one, I'll pay for it."

In a matter of seconds we walked across the street to the tattoo parlor and were picking out our inks. I, being the ever-responsible ditz that I was, had lost my driver's license weeks prior. The parlor was not going to give me a tattoo, since I couldn't prove I was over 18. I was 21, but looking younger wasn't necessarily flattering in this instance. Donna reached for a business card and said, "I can't believe I'm doing this, but I'm the Dean at the university she attends. I can not only vouch for her age, but I can fax you her documents when we get back to campus." The owner of the parlor was so tickled by that, she pointed to me and said, "You were never here."  We all four walked out of there with tattoos. Donna and I had the same one - a heart with a flower through it. Her flower was yellow, mine blue. Same shoulder. Same tattoo. 

You need to understand FHU is a very conservative university. We, as students, could have been dismissed  (read: suspended) for having tattoos. She, as an employee, certainly would have been fired for paying for us to receive them. It's been nearly 13 years since that weekend, and I'm still a little scared to let that secret out. 

Donna took me with her to her sister's house for Thanksgiving when I didn't have money to get home, or anywhere else to go. She always had me over, looked out for me, and razzed me about "The Val Vibe". When I went home after that first year of schooling, Mr. Brent proposed to me and I didn't return to Freed. I  finished school in the place I originally failed in, and stayed in touch with several Freedies, including Donna. 

Three years ago today, Donna passed away. She was very sick, and had been battling various immune disorders. When she got an infection in her blood stream, she couldn't fight it, and she died. I remember the day Jenni told me she was in the hospital. I remember the moment I found out she had died, and I just sat and said, "No....no.....no....." as I fought off the tears. I remember trying to find any way I could to get out there for her funeral, but I didn't have the financial availability to get there and back.

Mostly, though, I remember Donna for who she was. She was a bright light in this dark world. She loved her God and she loved His people. She loved to laugh, and she wasn't happy unless those around her were happy. She was one of a kind.

I hope you've met my precious Harlynn, Donna. And I hope you've shown her your impersonation of a cat coughing up a hairball. You don't have to tell her about "The Val Vibe" though. I think you made it up, anyway.

Donna Carol ~ Love you, lady.

Jennifer, Jenni, & Val ~ Pretty sure we were Donna's Favorites. :)

Craptastic

Craptastic:
/krap'tastik/
nounly adjective
1. describing a situation, feeling, or day of extremely poor quality.

It's my made-up word. But it fits today.  Just yesterday, one of the blogs I contribute to posted my tips on taking care of one's self. Naturally, then, after giving advice on how to improve your quality of life, mine would take a turn for the toilet the very next day.

I don't know what happened, really. <~ That phrase right there is one I utter frequently, I know. Apparently I'm clueless as to how my life and how I respond to it, happens. I must forget to take notes, or fail to learn lessons, or something similar. Regardless, though, it's okay to have a craptastic day. I sometimes hesitate to share my struggles or frustrations because I know a well-meaning, loving, lovable, adorable, sweet, considerate person is going to say something "encouraging" at the wrong time in the wrong hormonal orbit, and I'm going to have to bite my tongue until it bleeds so I don't tell them to stuff it. No, I don't like having a craptastic day. No, I can't stand feeling craptastic. But it happens. And when it does, it's okay. Life isn't always a bowl of cherries (remember?). 

One of my new friends, and a fellow loss mom posted this link today and while I most definitely agree with the concept and point, it really made me stop and think. The Bible doesn't say, "Blessed are the rich in smiles, for they will have only good days." No. The Bible says, and we adopted this life-verse after losing Harlynn, "In this world you will have trouble." (John 16:33, emphasis mine.)

So when I couldn't get a break or any privacy, or a single shred of alone time today, I nearly lost my sanity. When I stubbed my toes for the eight-bazillionth time while trying to make the bed and having to climb on a pile of my husband's clothes to do it, I wanted to cuss out loud. When I looked around my kitchen and saw mess after mess after mess, I wanted to pull out my hair. When trying to make plans for Little Miss' birthday next month, and nothing was going the way I wanted, I couldn't understand why. When I realized our internet filter was no longer working and up popped a most disturbing image, I wanted to curse all the evil in the world for being so readily accessible. When I looked around my home and saw the chaos and disorder I was trying to muddle through, I started crying. Then I ate part of a tub of frosting. Then I felt like a sea cow. My day continued to be craptastic.

And ya know what? I didn't even follow my own advice. I was tired and crabby when I woke up this morning, so I didn't pray about my day. When one thing went wrong, I just got pissy and expected everything else to go wrong as well. I pouted and cried. And while it's okay to do that sometimes (and I have license to), I realized it wasn't the day I could have had. I missed one vital step, a piece of my own advice, and my whole day went down the dumper. Just like that.

I started being okay with small victories instead of big successes in my day. I cleaned up the clutter in my home. I did laundry. I cleaned the kitchen. I got hugs and snuggles from Little Miss, who was the same one who wouldn't let me have a moment alone earlier. I hugged her tighter. I split a chocolate milkshake with her. I single-handedly fixed our internet filter problem. Then I praised God for getting this sulking, upset, hormonal, grieving, pile of mess through another day. 

Now it's time to end on a good note. Tomorrow's another day. And there's still time for a dance party tonight. 

A Whole New World

...A dazzling place I never knew - but when I'm way up here, it's crystal clear, that now I'm in a whole new world with.....life.

It's been a crazy, different last couple of weeks. I've been at the new job for a month now, and it has been an adjustment going from daily routines, meetings, and structured tasks to each day being different, meetings having children, animals, and nap time run right through the middle of them, and structuring my own tasks to be what I know I can do well, and kicking butt at it. An adjustment for sure, but a good one.

There is something to be said for waking up each morning and not having to rush around to get Little Miss ready to drop her off somewhere so I can run and punch in on time....or close enough to it. Instead we get up together, snuggle, and I make her breakfast, complete with a gummy vitamin. Most of the time she wants to sit in my lap, or crawl on my shoulders, or get in my face, or some sort of physical toddler harassment, while I try to get work done on the laptop. Some mornings she pretends to be a kitten, some mornings a puppy, and lately she pretends to be a baby cheetah. They all make the same noises, coincidentally, and they all like a good snuggle from their farmer/owner, played by yours truly. Until recently, I didn't even know baby cheetahs lived on a farm. Apparently they do, though, and they chase away foxes and wolves. I know, because this baby cheetah told me so. I digress.

Instead of sitting in on lunch meetings at a cozy restaurant in town, chiming in on business conversation, I now slice hot dogs and apples and provide plenty of dipping ketchup. My lunch conversation material consists of reminding my business partner to chew her food, keep her hands out of her hair, and count how many bites she has left before nap time. Oh.....and glorious nap time. Yes, Little Miss gets to take a nice afternoon nap, but so do I. I get to nap. In the middle of the day. In my bed. Right after lunch. Why is this not mandatory for everybody, every day?

I never know what each day will bring. I've learned I have to "let each day happen" rather than being disappointed when things don't go how I envisioned. The other day I had a three hour prenatal appointment, followed by a trip to the grocery store. I was completely wiped out when I got home, and it wasn't at all how I had planned spending my day. But it happened. And everything turned out rosy in the end. I was exhausted, but I was blessed. 

There are some days it's impossible to get anything done. There are some days where running at full speed is the only way to not get lost in the chaos of everything that needs attention. There are some days where I can pace between work and play and absorb the best of both worlds. No matter what my day holds for me though, when I can sip my decaf in the morning from my favorite mug, and listen to the coos of my farm cheetah as she nuzzles up against me after running off those darn wolves, it gives me pause enough to know that even though we have less money, we have far more worth in blessings. Far more worth in trusting God. Far more worth in the riches of time as a functioning family. 

I'm able to cook for my family every day. I've gone one day in the last month without making the bed. Previously, we were lucky to find our bed at the end of the day.  I stay caught up on laundry (mostly). I run the dishwasher every stinking day, rather than taking out the trash from the week's piling up of take-out containers. My home is blessed. 

At work, I get to connect on a daily basis with dear friends, who happen to be my bosses. I flounder around trying to figure out the best way for me to do my job, and they give me nothing but lenience and praise. I haven't really done much in this last month, but I feel like I've been a part of their company for years. I go to their home-office, and I share table space with six kids, (seven when mine is along), three dogs, and three cats.  It's nothing if not chaotic, but I love it. I feel at home there just as much as in my own home. I get to do things that are nerdy and completely fun for me. Like career fairs. And home shows. And ordering brochures, bookkeeping, setting out to find new ways to do old things, and having lunches with my sidekick every single day.

It's been different. Definitely different. But it's a good different. I'm looking forward to what the next few crazy weeks have in store for us. Hopefully lots of chocolate milkshakes. Mama's gotta have her milkshakes.