So Many Reasons

He loves NASCAR.
He loves classical music.
He loves mustard on his eggs.
But, most of all, he just loves.

I know this does not brush the surface of who this man is—the man I call Daddy—but it is a start. He is one of fourteen children—he understands what sharing is. He stood up to his father at age thirteen to protect his mother—he understands consequences. He stopped drinking when my mother was pregnant with me—he understands parenting by example. He was a welder by profession, which means he knows the meaning of HOT AS HELL—he understands sacrificing to provide for his family. He and my mother once borrowed money from one of her sisters to help get them back on their feet. He says he never wants to have to do that again. He and my mother opened their home to people in need in order to help them get back on their feet—he understands giving back.

Boy, oh, boy, can he tell a story! And, oh, my, does he have stories to tell! You should stick around—they are even better the second time! He can tell you what is wrong with your car. He has a green thumb—make that one-and-a-half green thumbs. He is a good neighbor—he will lend you that thing…whatever it is. He loves good food. He loves bad food. If you are a bad cook, he will eat it anyway—he would never want to hurt your feelings. When you come to his home, he never wants you to be hungry or cold. He will offer you everything he has if he thinks it will help you out. This is his gift of sharing.

He loves a woman named Brenda that he calls “Brender” when he has had enough. He is loved by Brenda more than she herself sometimes realizes. He loves a “little girl” that is not so little anymore, and I think—no, I know—that he hung the moon. He loves a dog named Gizmo that he calls “son.” My hairy little brother loves my daddy unconditionally and is by his side constantly. Daddy loves a little girl he calls “Dust Bunny.” Gretchen the “dust bunny” loves her Pop…for what she calls his “kind and gentle heart.”

And there it is. That is the thing. That is why we all love him. You cannot help but love my Daddy. His laughter is contagious, and his heart is…kind and gentle. He sees people as they are, but hopes better of them. He will give you a boost up and help you on the way back down if you fall. He laughs. He bites his tongue when others would lash out. My Daddy picks his battles.

But sometimes the battle picks you, and if you are picked…you do not back down. My Daddy is strong. This week we hold hands and cry as we face the battle ahead. As we sit on the sofa, the sun shines brightly through the window and casts long winter shadows across the living room floor. We watch the shadows creep across the floor as the afternoon passes, Daddy waiting for the pain to pass—and we cry. It is not much of a room for planning a battle—no troops to be deployed, just hands to be held, words of love to be said. The battle will not end today—not tomorrow, either—but when it ends, it will be on Daddy’s terms, we will not give up.

My Daddy has liver cancer that is non-responsive to treatment, and he has made the brave choice to face the time he has left on his own terms, not the terms of the “healing” that cancer treatment promises, and the pain and harm that the “healing” brings. He has chosen to not seek further treatment—and we cry. He is so strong. He is worried about not seeing his granddaughter, his little “dust bunny,” grow up. He is worried about leaving us all behind—and we cry.

Even today, he still calls me “little girl.” Every day of my life he has said, “I love you, little girl.” But today it comes with a little quiver in his voice and a longer hug than usual. I’m still his little girl. I will always be his little girl, which means I am lucky enough to understand what it feels like to be loved…because he loves. Knowing my Daddy’s love as a child meant that I was safe. Knowing his love as an adult means I know how to be strong and to love others. And I cry.

The evils of cancer have not come at us suddenly, but as we hold our breath, time seems to speed up. I have taken the chance to say the things that should not be left unsaid. I have had the chance to look—to really look—at the man my Daddy is, at the parent he is, and at how I am the person I am because of him. The words come…over and over I tell him every chance I get how much I love him…but I don’t think I could ever express how full my heart is. It overflows with images, my thoughts, my memories, my fear of losing him, and my love for him—for the man that now has tears in his eyes. This weight on my heart of what I want to say to him…could I ever say it all? My Daddy means the world to me. He has taken being a parent as a commission, and I have become a person he is proud of. And I know my Daddy is proud of me, because he does not let the important words go unsaid—he has told me my whole life that he is proud of me. I count that as the highest honor in this life. He is my example of love—a love that is in my eyes—a lot like how God must love us, because my Daddy does not attach conditions to his love for me or anyone…he just loves. And I cry knowing how much my Daddy means to not just me but to so many other people.

He is Phillip Stephens.
He is strong.
He loves sweets and midnight snacks.
He sings funny little songs about anything and everything…like sandwiches or flip-flops.
He hangs things on his ears to make you laugh when you are sad.
He loves.
He watches late-night TV.
He makes funny faces at my mother when she is upset.
He grows fabulous tomatoes.
He knows how to fix stuff.
He sings jingles.
He is a son.
He gives movies 1½ thumbs up.
He loves.
He does not have a middle name.
He loves seafood and hot sauce.
He says “ask your momma.”
He likes the color green.
He is a friend.
He built our home.
He is thankful.
He knows more uses for duct tape and bread ties than NASA does.
He is a Brother.
He loves.
He always has a snack with him.
He watches westerns.
He keeps marshmallows on his nightstand.
He has a story.
He is a Husband.
He has never met a hushpuppy he doesn’t like.
He gives nicknames to almost everyone.
He says “okay, you can keep it” when you bring a dog home.
He loves.
He could grow a houseplant jungle with his green thumb.
He can never remember Robert De Niro’s name.
He likes to sit in the shade.
He is tacky.
He is giving.
He tries to dance.
He cannot dance.
He is Sonny.
He loves.
He listens to rain on the roof.
He likes beets.
He laughs to defuse conflict.
He laughs because it is funny.
He is an uncle.
He has a nickel taped to the door frame so that we will never be broke.
He loves.
He is Catfish.
He is the Frito Bandito.
He can wiggle his ears.
He calls everybody “neighbor.”
He likes to take the long way home.
He loves.
He will not cross his eyes.
He loves hummingbirds.
He is a good judge of character.
He is proud of you.
He always tells you he is proud of you.
He loves.
He loves “Brender.”
He is Uncle Sonny.
He is Gizmo’s Man.
He is Pop.
He is Dust Bunny.
He is Daddy.
He is so many things to so many people.
He is a fighter.
He loves us.
He is loved.

I am so unsure of what the battle ahead holds…but I will hold his hand and tell him I love him and that we won’t give up. I will know that I am loved…that I am strong. I know this because the man that puts mustard on his eggs told me so. And I believe he always means it. He loves.

I hope that he knows how much he too is loved by this little girl. I LOVE YOU, DADDY!

Then Jesus said, “Come to me, all of you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest.” Matthew 11:28

A day at the spa

I'm not sure why some things creep me out. I'm not really a girlie girl. I like lotion, have a large collection of lipstick I do not wear and I love cheap jewelry, but I don't fall to pieces over stuff..... I don't think I do anyway. But stuff creeps me out sometimes. I'm sure stuff creeps you out too.

This morning I reached the point of the Heebie Jeebie dance. You know the dance, you have done the dance. It goes something like this, you are startled by something ( insert your own fear here), after the startling you get cold chills, pinch your shoulder blades together and then squeeze your knees together only for them to bust apart in a squirm / urge to run, you may or may not achieve the run. The Heebie Jeebie dance is sometimes accompanied by a need to squeal or aghhhh. Either is fine and appropriate. The squeal will be followed by a involuntary clinching of all of your muscles, even muscles you did not know you could tighten, like the scalp, who knew. You may also feel the need to walk like Frankenstein. The Heebie Jeebie dance(should it be hyphenated?) may be proceeded by a short / long sprint if the creepy occurrence is deemed harmful.

My morning sprint was prompted by a snake.....

We have a small veggie garden in our back yard. Prior to planting this years harvest we had hopes to steam out some ants and bake their residence. We covered said garden with black plastic, thus creating a green house effect. Heres the science; heat in and it stays in, cooks the unsuspecting creatures of God and thus no need for chemical annihilation of ants. Your tomatoes will be safer.

Today was the black plastic removal day. I'm glad to report the ants are mostly gone, mostly. But the black plastic created a warm steamy spa like resort for some of God's other creatures. I have not taken my Malaria pill as of late and I hope from the rainwater collection on top of the plastic that I have not contracted some unknown and soon to be discovered illness. I stray.... the snake. You do not want to be a snake in my small spa resort veggie garden, it will not turn out well for you. I promise it will not turn out well. For those who may be members of PETA or if you are judgmental when not involved in the situation stop reading now. SPOILER ALERT.

I removed the lumber holding down the plastic and pilled back the black skin, and there in the first garden bed to be uncovered was the snake. Cue sprint and Hebbie-Jebbie dance, (I decided to go with the hyphen) exit broken gate garden right and squeal like girl at a NKTOB concert.

From a safe distance I regained composure and decided I needed back up. This is where my True Love comes in. Everyone needs someone in this world to have their back. Until my last breath he has mine, this is why I married, not so someone could kill the spiders or protect me from the bad, but so I did not have to face it alone. He is my partner in life, bless his heart. I tell my Love, that there is a snake and I need support in my daring Indiana Jones adventure. “Can I finish showering?” “Yes...” I tell Lee. This is not a clothing optional invite. I add “....and get dressed.... please”

When you talk to people about snakes, there is by chance that person that is a “live and let live activist”. That person (Rhonda) might say “It's more scared of you than you are if it.” my reply would be “it damn well better be.” I had given it time to go to it's “scared of me spot”, but it did not.... it was still there. Lee retrieved a hoe and shovel from the garage. Armed with hoe in hand, in my multi-colored pastel striped rain boots I took a few deep breaths. With encouragement from my back up I ended the existence of one of God's creatures. I had done it. I shook the hoe over my head like a Tuscan Raider in Star Wars. I shook out another chill and clinching of my shoulder blades at what I had done. All this for veggies.

Que second Hebbie- Jebbie dance. Because there was one big-ass spider crawling out from under the cozy black spa over there. It is going down. Why does it not see that I have a shovel? Spread the word spider. Scurry. There is no “Welcome to my Garden” sign.

I will let you know when I have too many tomatoes.

Staying in the middle.

I received the best Mother's Day gift EVER. A trampoline! My legs are sore and my laundry is not done, but I have had the time of my life the past few days. Don't tell my mom, she will be worried I will break something

The Trampoline....the perfect gift it is. I know that sounds like Yoda but if you have ever jumped on one I'm sure you understand. We put the trampoline together, spring by spring until it was finished . I had to take a quick jump before we put the enclosure on the base. It was everything it should be....it got my stomach, like driving over a hill to fast. The mesh smelt of baby dolls at Christmas. My feet left the springy black mesh and returned again and again like I had always imagined. Aww...but after the puppies and daisies of my wishes fulfilled I must tell the rest of the story.

For those of you who do not have kids or have not even thought about a trampoline in years, an enclosure is now what is available to safe guard yourself from falling into harms way while jumping. You can flail about like a fool and still (hopefully) remain safe and snug on the black mesh cloud of childhood dreams. So here we go, we open the box of the Sky walker Safety enclosure and ....... 1.) there are no instructions, yes we read instructions, 2.) there is no netting.... that would be the safety I had promised myself and my child. I'm like a participant of “Circus of the Stars”, I need NETTING. I can't daily sport a cast in my real life. Why is it not all here?.......

I have a few words for people that return USED things to a store thinking the are going to stick it to the man, or sneak one by and put themselves a few dollars ahead.....SHAME ON YOU, SHAME, SHAME, SHAME.. Shame on you for stealing my netting and trying to pass off a few duck taped foam guards and still getting your money back. You are not sticking to the man you are sticking it to the next unsuspecting person that happens to purchase you shamefully returned goods. The next unsuspecting person would be me and the goods would be my Mother's Day present. SHAME.

The shameful person will not know that now, I HAVE TO JUMP IN THE MIDDLE! I have to be supervised! And for the next few days until a replacement enclosure is found I have to be afraid of taking a spill after a perfectly executed toe touch or butt bounce.... what the heck. AGGGH, they will never know! and wherever they are with MY netting I hope they are safe.... so safe that they jump close to the edge and.....will still be OK, because that is how I roll, I hope they are safe...so there. Take that.

But to repeat, I have had the time of my life the past few days. I love my mesh cloud of childhood dreams and I love my husband for realizing I'm mature enough to jump in the middle... and for that I thank him.

And come on over and jump... just stay in the middle for now.