Easter Chickens

Our Dad was famous in our eyes for bringing home gifts from the road throughout our childhood. One particular time he arrived home from England with a set of Beatles lunch boxes, each came with a neat thermos. We danced around with joy for hours until after later inspection we realized they were all stamped on the bottom with "Nashville Airport." We were crushed.

Easter always reminds me of one of those "special gifts." This particular Easter he came home with brightly colored baby chickens, one for each of us. We were thrilled with our new little pets. They were much easier to handle than the baby crocodiles he brought home the year before. They met their demise after eating too much bologna and surviving in our bathtub. Mom was not happy. Back to the chickens, after hours of amusing myself with my energetic sweet little pink chicken I decided to see what my siblings were up to. I happily skipped around the corner of our 1960's ranch house only to be tackled hard by my much younger, smaller brother Sonny Boy. Something was drastically wrong. I was so surprised at the strength of his tackle that I began laughing hysterically because I knew something was amiss. After screams of laughter and agony mixed in Pam and Connie came running. I felt he was hiding something from me. I yelled "Sonny Boy is hiding something!" They soon discovered his little lavendar colored chicken at deaths door in a deep puddle nearby left over from a rain storm. Sonny Boy had confused his chicken for a duck in trying to make it swim...minutes later the chick took it's last breath. Sonny was devastated that he had killed his pet, not knowing the difference between a chicken and a duck. We consoled him as best we could. We secretly wondered what Dad would bring home the next year.

Since that time, I've learned that chocolate bunnies make the best gifts at Easter, and the only agony involved is the stomach ache your kids have later.

Small sacrifices heap big rewards

It doesn't seem right that the school year is two months away from being over, or that I have will have two children in high school next year. I can't stop time, so I won't begin to stress on that topic. I've learned in parenting, that often it's the small sacrifices that don't seem important at the time that your kids notice. I was reminded of that this week when my son told me at the last minute that he had to have a judge for a speech tournament, it would mean 100 points to his grade. I was originally scheduled to be out of town at a women's retreat from church - something I was really looking forward to but I decided it was worth more to be there for my son than for a few days away with my friends. I let his teacher know and within the hour I had the most endearing text from my son, it was simple..."thanks mom..I love you so much." The words still ring in my heart days since and I know I made the right decision, it was worth those few words I'll treasure. It was just as restoring as my planned women's retreat and I realized that occasionally it's the small sacrifices that heap big rewards!

Loaded question

I marvel at the status updates that come through Facebook and the all encompassing "what are doing " question on Twitter. The questions are simple on the surface but far too often I find myself musing over my responses. It shouldn't be that hard. I suspect it has something to do with the running list of items I work on simulataneoulsy while darting back in forth between kids, laundry, husband, dogs, homework, reading, and my next task list. It's exhausting so I am thankful for Sunday afternoons at mom's with nothing much to do but watch movies, drink coffee, talk about everyone else who's not in the room (a Tillis tradition) and stress over the lack of cookies in the house. I treasure my time with my mom, though she doesn't know it. A nap on her couch makes the world seem right again and I'll take that any time over a quick answer to a Facebook status update.

Unpacking my faith

It's that time again. Time to make my way to the corner of the garage, haul multiple boxes to my den all to unpack my Christmas ornaments and festive items. I confess, I haven't been the atypical Christmas decorator. In fact, last year I finally put my tree up two days before Christmas. Some would say it was my childhood. Dad and mom would wait a week or so before Christmas and then go on their only date night for the year and come back with a truck full of gifts. Or, they would conveniently hide them in all too familiar places.I found my first sparkly blue banana seat bike behind drywall in our garage weeks before the big day. It nearly killed me knowing it was there, and again later when I convinced myself I could let go of the handle bars. (that's another story) I suppose the gig was up early for me. What I do remember with great fondness is lying in bed late at night trying to hear the hoofs of the reindeer on the roof. It was magical. If we really cherished Christmas for the real reason for the season many of us would not have to "unpack our faith." It wouldn't get shoved in a box, in the corner of the garage or misplaced with the tote full of miscellaneous garage items. We wouldn't get discouraged at broken lights because we would know the true "light." The real light to our feet is our Lord and Savior. I have no one to blame for my Christmas decorating malaise. Perhaps it is because I do celebrate the birth of Jesus that everything else pails in comparison. The only thing I marvel at now late at night on Christmas eve is the thought of Mary, Joseph, a stable of farm animals and the sweetest gift on earth. Unpacking my faith continues to be the most important thing in my life. Have you unpacked yours?

Snakes under the porch

We have a large snake, under our porch. He comes out when the sun is out. It's been a cause of some concern since our new little puppy could easily be swallowed up by the monster. There is some debate over what kind of snake it is...it seems relatively unafraid of us so far and has put up with a brutal attack by our son, and his friends but remains unscathed. We have armed ourselves with three shovels...just in case. We've researched the snake and are pretty sure...(key point) that it is harmless. Alas, I've been away from the farm too long and don't relish the idea of a snake so close.

Mom, McGyver, and Grandma Moses

My mom, Doris Tillis, is a modern day Grandma Moses. In fact she has many traits in common with her. Not only is she a tremendous artist but has only ripened with age in her artistic talent. Like Grandma Moses, also a mother of five, my mom continues to explore new dimensions of art. Just this week, while walking I found a 6 ft. snake skin. Immediately my mom decided to make "nature" art and varnish the last remains of one of her least favorite critters. Earlier in the week, an old ham shaped piece of wood miraculously turned into her palette. Within days she had created a pastoral Ozark scene with the deft stroke of her pen . Today she surprised me with her declaration that she was watching her beloved Tennessee Titans and whittling away at a piece of pruned peach tree limb from an industrious peach tree off her back porch that had far extended it's branching dimensions. I must say though, she also reminds me of another character, albeit less artistic...McGyver. The popular character was known for his quick thinking creative fixes while facing sure demise. Mom has not faced such trauma...but is able to creatively solve most any household problem in an unusual and artistic fashion. What an amazing lady! She's my idol.

Legacy of Laughter

One of my last great Aunt's passed away this week...Aunt Virginia. (now that's a southern name) My aunt was visiting this week and she shared the legacy of laughter that the entire family, all nine children on my grandmother's side, had. Apparently they kept the church pew shaking each Sunday with their laughter during the service. There were eight sisters and one brother in the Rogers family. My Aunt told me that if one started laughing during the service, in time the entire clan would crack up and slowly but surely each pew row thereafter would catch the bug and before you knew it the whole church would be giggling at their antics. I imagine they had quite a reputation at the First Baptist Church of Dover. I'll think of Aunt Virginia the next time I laugh at church and I am grateful for her legacy of laughter. I know heaven is richer today with the Rogers sisters laughing up a storm.