California poppies grow in cement cracks and flourish amidst rocks alongside of the freeway. Similarly, dandelions can grow through asphalt cracks…or almost anywhere the wind takes them.
Both are examples of flowers that thrive, despite adversity. Both are symbols of strength and life.
One single dandelion can produce up to 172 seeds per head, sending its dandelion babies up to five miles. Oh! And the endless wishes and magic a dandelion brings when you blow its fluffy white head, spreading wishes seeds.
We made a magic Key lime pie. Magic because it disappeared in one day.
The making of this magic pie was a family affair.
I sent my oldest son to the grocery store with a list of ingredients. And he nailed it! (Oh, by the way, sweetened, condensed milk is located in the baking aisle.)
My daughter helped squeeze the limes and grate the zest. And formed the graham cracker crust into the pan.
My youngest son? He helped all right. In fact, he helped eat two slices.
We all enjoyed a freshly made Key lime pie, a gift to my husband on Father’s Day–a tradition of ours. Except this was the first year that everyone had a role in the pie’s creation. Perhaps that’s what made it so magical.
Whenever I ask my children, Hey Guys, wanna go SHOPPING?! They know exactly what that means. It’s code.
It means heading to one of our favorite antique stores and goofing around.
It means trying on silly hats. Band hats, military hats, tea hats, fancy hats, smelly old hats.
It means checking out stuff from the good ol’ days like Scooby Doo metal lunch boxes and telephones with curly cords. Imagine that!
Hey Mom, what’s this?!
Um, it’s a typewriter. I typed my English papers with one exactly like that in high school.
We pour through vintage books and magazines; check out matching salt and pepper shakers; Aunt Jemima, squirrel, and hobo figurines; rocking horses and rocking chairs; mismatched silverware; dolls with broken limbs.
Odds and ends from the past that delight us as we peer through the aisles and squeal Check this out!
All it takes is an hour to pack in tons of fun and bring some of the past to the present. Oh and take some selfies.
Football practice at the high school started up a few weeks ago.
The soon-to-be incoming freshmen–still eighth graders–with their eager faces, thin bodies, adorned in Under Armour and Nike logos, get out of their Mama’s SUVs as they get dropped off for practice. These boys who are all big time in middle school get a reality check as they step onto high school grounds.
Their jaws sorta drop. Not so big time anymore.
As the boys look around, they are surrounded by men. Men who cut their t-shirts into tank tops to show off their muscles. Men with facial hair. Men who drive.
Hey freshmen! Meet the juniors and seniors!
Two years ago, I was one of the Mamas in a SUV who dropped off her eighth grader amidst confident young men ambling to practice, laughing and strutting. I remember thinking: whoa!
Now, my son is one of those…one who borrows his sister’s special fabric-cutting scissors to transform perfectly nice t-shirts.
When I was a girl, my grandmother and I played a game. We sat side by side on the grass in the shade and stared out at the highway to count cars.
My grandmother lived outside of the town limits. Alongside a country highway. Where you could hear the train’s whistle blow. Catch a whiff of a skunk at the wood’s edge. And where you were surrounded by an abundance of marigolds, which my grandmother tended with love and care with her green plastic watering can and expert dead-heading skills.
When I visited, she let me care for the marigolds. And when we needed a break, we counted cars. I picked blue. She picked black. Then we’d count. Whoever picked the most colors won.
Sometimes I picked red and she picked blue. Your odds were best if you picked black, blue, and red. Trust me.
Time stood still for us, as the cars whizzed by.
After all these years, whenever I see marigolds and smell their tomato aroma, I am reminded of my grandmother and the sweet, simple times we spent together.
“Holy cow! You’re a rockstar!” praised the imaging technician when I completed my mammogram.
I nearly high-fived her with so much excitement and all! I guess I’m pretty good at having my breasts flattened like Flat Stanley. Go me! Go team!
Go you. Go get your mammogram scheduled. You can handle it. Read here about what a mammogram entails. The American Cancer Society recommends annual mammograms for women who are 40 and older. If you’re in your 20s and older, monthly breast self examinations and an annual clinical breast exams are recommended.