A Memory- My Mom and What I Learned from Her Tuna Salad.

Janice Shockney May 4, 1937- July 18, 2012

It is the 4th Anniversary of my Mom's first day with Jesus, and I miss her. It is not as it has been said along the way, that we don't appreciate our parents until they are gone. It is just that we can never fully know all the ways we will long for them over the years. As our life changes and we face new unknowns and challenges, we just need them. We knew we would. We just didn't know in how many ways and the ways just keep coming it, don't they? Sometimes in the silence of the uncertainty of life, I strain to recall the comfort of just hearing her voice on the phone. No one has ever been on my team, quite like my Mom, and I miss her today and wish we could talk.

I have been thinking lately about the lessons I learned from my Mom. It is hard to boil down into a list all the things your parents teach you along the way, but this memory keeps coming up lately and the lesson it taught me unaware sums up my Mother's philosophy on life: And it is simply this:

We can't control everything. Plan for Joy. Expect some problems along the way. And, most days are salvageable.

My Mother was a planner. My Mother was resilient. My Mother was fun. And, if we made plans for a fun day, somehow we were going to have a fun day. On this particular day in the Summer, I woke up with excitement because Mom had planned to take the day off for a picnic and swimming for my brother, Gary, me, and my Grandmother too. My Mom worked, and during summer break, I was home all-day-everyday just waiting on something to do. There was camp, swim lessons, VBS, and sometimes, Mom would take a day off to take us swimming. Those days were the best!

 I could hear her in the kitchen before I was fully awake. I knew she was working on the Tuna Salad sandwiches we would eat for lunch. The mixture was a bit weird, but she added enough sweet pickles that I got over the mayonnaise, and after a couple of hours in the pool, a kid would eat anything. She made a pan of brownies the night before and Kool-Aid Lemonade we would carry in a Tupperware pitcher and drink in styrofoam cups as we sat on our towels with hair dripping trails of water and happiness down our backs on a brief break in the fun of the day. I could not wait!

Mom, Dad, Gary and Me in the 70's

The anticipation would build on the long car ride from the country into Goodlettsville to Pleasant Green Swimming Pool. When we were finally winding our way through the pool's neighboring houses, I would roll down my window, because you could actually smell the chlorine several minutes before you saw the gated entrance. We would find a picnic table under a tree, and mom would stake it out with a red checked tablecloth and our Blue Coleman Cooler. Towels were piled on the bench and chairs unfolded as Gary and I would run down the grassy bank and head for the pool. My Mom would sit on the hill in the shade with a paperback novel until lunch time when we would eat the sweet tuna salad and lots of chips and brownies and Double Cola over ice. It would be great.

As we were preparing to leave our house that morning something unexpected happened. My mother was walking up and down the stairs to load up the trunk of our blue Ford Granada when she called down to Gary (our kitchen was in the basement - weird I know) to bring up the Double Colas, an 8-pack of heavy glass bottles housed in a divided, paper carton. Apparently, there had been something wet near the drinks so that when my brother picked them up the bottom released and glass hit the concrete floor of our old country kitchen. The glass flew in all directions like shrapnel and a piece lodged in Gary's calf. He hit the floor crying in pain, and chaos seemed to take over. 

My Grandma started screaming for Mom and in a few minutes, we were all in the car, heading not for the swimming pool but for the ER. I was crying for a different reason now, but not so that anyone could see.

After what seemed like hours, we left the ER with my brother's leg bandaged and under the bandage 6 stitches in exchange for the glass that the doctor removed, with instructions to keep the wound clean and dry. DRY. Great, I thought. There would be no pool. No picnic. I must have said something out loud about by brother's part in ruining the day because I remember that MaMa (pronounced "MawMaw") scolded me.

I sat quietly in the back of the car with my eyes closed, and when the car finally stopped, I realized we had indeed driven from the emergency room to the pool. Just like we planned! I was thrilled! My Grandma was flabbergasted. My Mom was matter-of-fact. It seemed to her that we planned to go the pool for a picnic and a half-day was still more fun than not going at all. She reasoned that Gary could wrap his leg in a plastic bag, sit on the side, and at least get the other one wet if he wants to. And, we all needed lunch anyway, and it was already in the car. So a picnic it was!

I remember my Grandmother retelling the tell later. "Anyone else would have canceled the swimming day if a trip to the ER became necessary," she laughed, "But not Janice, she never lets anything get in the way of what she wants to do."

I loved that about my Mom. She just made the best of things (like adding extra sweet pickles to the Tuna Salad). She readily admitted that she couldn't control a lot of what happened. She taught us to plan with joyful anticipation, to accept problems or challenges as part of the deal, and not let anything ruin the fun if it is within your power. And most of the time it is. Thanks, Mom. That advice has always served me well.

No wonder this was one of her life verses.

#pleasantgreenswimmingpool #missingmom #philippians413 #justwrite

Friday Thoughts About Good Gifts

A few weeks ago on a remarkable fall afternoon, I sat with family and friends, in folded chairs semi-circle style, as an adorable mom-to-be unwrapped a mountain of gifts. Most of them from her registry, things she had pre-selected for baby boy. She, like most jubilant first-time moms, has endured the pre-partum countdown by thinking, planning and SHOPPING for his every need. This most loved and anticipated bundle will never know cold wipes on his bottom (why didn’t I think of baby-wipe warmer?), non-organic bedding, or naked, germy shopping carts without anti-microbial, designer, protective covers. His clothes will be the cutest little-man outfits ever, and she will carry him in the most stylish slings and carriers that will multi-task in ways my babies never knew. This is a special child, and he has had been carefully planned for.

What marketers and I know about my species, the parent, is also pointed out in Mathew 7:11; we “know how to give good gifts to [our] children.” And, we delight in thinking about and planning for their future. As flawed as we are, we usually ere by loving our kids too much if anything. God can relate; His love for us is “deeper than the oceans and wider than the sea,” and He has been planning for and dreaming of our future long before our birth announcements (Psalm 139:16). 

I thought about God’s love again last week while watching a mom adoring her smiling baby. Moms (and Dads) are crazy about their children’s smile. Not long ago, I came across my third grade school photo, and I remembered how embarrassed I was that my mom had placed it in a frame on the mantel back then. My hair must have stood up in every direction! But, she would always say, “I just love that sweet smile.”  I think God looks at us and says something similar. We know we are goofy and a mess, but He claims us and adores us because we are His. 

And about those “good gifts” from God, He sent His own son, Christ, to die for a sinner like me (Romans 5:8). What a gift! Just like the baby boy above, I didn’t even understand my need, but God, my Father, did. From before the first sunset and long before my baby shower, God was thinking and planning for me, and you too.

#Goodgifts #Daughtersofjoy #justwrite #babyshower

Fourth Grade is a Jungle!

I must get this story in print, before it gets lost in the folds of time.

This fall was such a dive into the deep end for me. I really did not know what to expect. We had the summer to just be a bit broken without alarm clocks and expectations. We had some time to begin healing. And we did. So in August I loaded lunches and loose-leaf paper into backpacks and held my breath.

One afternoon in September, we were having the usual let-me-tell-what-happened-in-my-life-after-school-girl-talk. One of the older girls was relating a boy-girl-tale heavy on the drama and light on common sense. I was giving my usual, "See, boys are such a waste of energy." speech. Then I catch the sweet face of my baby-girl all just turning 10 that month. Says I, "My Hatty is never gonna act like that, she's  never even gonna hold hands not to mention kiss a boy in Middle School!" "Right sweetie?" (I said this knowing that she did indeed have a boyfriend. Hatty is just one of the girls that the boys don't know what to do with. She's confident, cute, and loves bugs and dirt. Instead of following the path, she blazes one, so she intrigues them. Like 'moth to a flame'. It was no surprise when she announced her 'boy' earlier in the fall. That did not mean I had to encourage it. So I ignored it. I down played it. I denied it. I hoped it would be over soon.)

Hatty looks up with that "My mom is a dork." expression and confesses boldly, "Mom! Will and I hold hands ALL THE TIME." (Now, I can over-react for effect on a dime and I was having a little fun.) Says Dorky Mom, "Oh Hatty! How could you? Where do you do this holding of hands?" A little quieter she responds thinking she has been too forthcoming, "On the playground, just around our friends." "Oh Hatty, I just can't believe that you are Holding Hands With A Boy In Fourth Grade!" (I too can pull out a little drama-queen when I need to.)

Then Hatty looks at me with the most serious of faces and proclaims, "Mom! Fourth Grade is a Jungle!"

Good Stuff.

(Fall 2008)

#kidssaythedarndeststuff #4thgrade #justwrite

We Don't Always Get What We Want, and Other Vacations Thoughts

We are officially home from our week of Spring Break today, and I am thinking about our trip. This was the first big trip for us, just us girls. We did go to the beach with friends in June. We also went to D.C. with the family in November. But this was just us getting away as a family, and it was new terrain for me. On a whim, I booked a trip to Universal Studios in Orlando. We had wanted to go back since we first went in 2005. It was not as I imagined it, though. I never imagined going without Brian.

The girls were pretty excited as we headed out the door. At the airport, I instructed them to stay by the bags while I checked us in. The Delta employee gave me the first bad news of the evening. “Because of storms in the area, your flight is delayed and it might not leave at all tonight." She then suggested I might actually be better to drive to Atlanta than to wait in Birmingham. I don't know about you, but any solution that begins with a three-hour drive to Atlanta sounds a bit hasty to me. So I told her I would check in and take my chances. That's when she delivered the next round of bad news. I booked our flight online through Travelocity and there were "problems" with the reservation. These were not problems that she could solve and I had to call Travelocity Customer Service. In a nutshell, it was my mistake (Yes, It was my first rodeo flying with the kids). I booked myself and Alex a ticket, but when it came to Kristian (13) and Hatty (10) I misread the instructions. I thought I needed to book them under my name because they would not have I.D., and it clearly states that all passengers must have an ID. Just so you know-NEVER do this. There was no way to fix this problem, but it took two hours for me to understand this. I'm a bit slow. After two hours of hoping no one in the airport actually knew me (it was not my finest hour), the Delta employee found me behind a potted plant waiting on hold for my next attempt at saving the trip. She told me they figured out a way to let us on as 3 Traci Kings and 1 Alexis King. So I looked at my daughters #2 and #3 and said "if anyone asks your name is Traci. Got it?" They got it. "This is my daughter Traci and this is my other daughter Traci!" Hey, we're from Alabama, what did you really expect? That made for a good laugh for the rest of the week.

When we were finally able to board, they separated us and we all had different seats all over the plane. Hatty had these big puppy eyes that made think I would just tell the person beside her and they would have to understand and switch places with me. But in the end I told her she would be okay, and I went off to find my seat. I felt so bad for her having to sit by herself, and it had already been a long day. As I made my way to my seat, I told myself what I would do differently next time. Should have double checked the rules, stick with Southwest for customer service, etc.

Well, it’s Monday; so the trip happened. We had a great time. When the first flight landed in Atlanta over three hours late, I still didn't know if we would actually make it to Orlando. We were booked on three connecting flights hoping that we could catch one of them. As soon as we landed, I rushed up to make sure Hatty would not be looking for me (mother-hen). She was deep in conversation with her two new best friends, a couple in their 40's, she-ex marine he-marine. She beamed at me when she saw me and told me all about them. They had played Sudoku, and talked politics, and school. Hatty was sporting a bracelet given to her by the Marine made of special rope and clasped with a military button. My youngest has a way of making instant friends. It’s a gift. If we could bottle it...worth millions. As we ran to our connecting flight which had also been delayed by the weather, Hatty looks up and says "I had the best time." Then, "I'm actually glad I had to sit by myself."

We made our flight to Orlando. The trip from there was fun. As we waited for the first flight to leave Birmingham we all realized about the same time had it been on time, we would not have been on it because of the identification debacle. The delay was a blessing for us-we just didn't know that at first.

I thought about the trip today, I thought of all the fun we had "fast-passing" through the lines all the way to the front. The best was riding the front row on Dueling Dragons (Screaming the whole ride!), calling my girls "Traci-Ryan" and Traci-Ellen" all week, and Hatty reminding us - “It could be worse. We could have no arms and no legs!" more than once. But, what kept coming back to me today was how we don't always get what we want. We want everything to go smoothly. No Red lights when we're running behind. No long lines in the express lanes. No Flight Delays! No seat changes! No sickness. No disappointments. No sad goodbyes. But what happens when that is exactly what we get? - We have to take a detour. We regroup. We learn patience. We make new friends and create new memories. And...We gain perspective. And...We go on. And we find out that we can. And Hatty is right it could be worse, we could have no arms and no legs - or no Jesus.

March 2009

Gaining Fresh Perspective from a Ranting Twenty-Something

Don’t you love it when one of your offspring calls to chat about life? I know how busy they are with school and work, so when they take time to poke my picture on one of their iPhones to check in and share the activities of the day, I just get happy! On this particular day, as I rushed from work to my grayer-than-I care-to-ever-know monthly hair appointment, I see the face of my oldest cherub and although harried, it pleases me to spend a few moments while in transit to catch up with my girl. But her tone let me know quickly, like Santa’s visit in The Night Before Christmas, this call had a purpose.

My mind skipped from hassle to crisis like a stone across the lake… It’s too early in the semester to have failed a class…Is she out of cash? Did she have a wreck? Is her car broken down on the side of the road? Another ticket? How fast were you going? Wrong, wrong…none of those…whew!

“What can I help you with?” “I need to order checks!” she rants.  “Okay,” says I obviously not grasping the gravity of the situation, “Order some.” “I have been trying to for an hour and I can’t get it to work! What address did you give the bank for my account?! Whatever it is, I don’t know it because I have tried everything, and I can’t order checks without knowing my zip code!” declares my precious.

Well, this is not quite the “Hi, Mom, how are you? I am fine and I appreciate the free education,” kind of call I was expecting. I was slowly becoming aware that the purpose of the call was not for my banking expertise. None of my suggestions were welcome. “Do you need me to drive five hours from Nashville to Auburn to help you with this?” I finally offered, becoming agitated. “No thank you, I can handle it and bye,” were the final words to our friendly chat. Wow! So glad I could help! And, what did I do to deserve that? I declared to the sky as I drove on to my hair therapy.

On the way home, I thought about the call with my kid. She was my kid, for sure. She had items on her to do list and felt frustrated with the lack of progress. She should have been halfway down the list, not still stuck on top of the list. She needed to vent; I was safe. I get that. I do the same thing.

I have a mental to-do-prayer-list that I occasionally wave to my Father in frustration. “Why is this one so hard?” “Why is this one not working?” I rant to God in prayer. He smiles and says, “It’s good to hear from you. I was just thinking about you!” I let him know I have a specific purpose for our talk and I don’t have time just to chat. He listens patiently, unlike me the parent. He doesn't respond in agitation. I deserve it, but I do not make him mad. He is safe place for my ragged to-do-lists. He gets my frustration, because he knows me. I am his.

To be a Mom and to be a child. Such perspective.

What Do 6 to 8 Year Olds Know, That I Forget?

When I grow up, I want to be a kid. Somewhere between 6 and 8 will do. I could spend my weekends in a princess costume (without causing the neighbors to talk), or summers pool-side perfecting my cannonball, not to mention the joy of VBS and skipping to class holding hands with my BFF. I think the ripe old age of 6 to 8 is when a person knows all he/she needs to know to be happy and well-adjusted. In fact, it is all downhill in my opinion much later than eight. Six to eight-year-olds are so much cooler than your average adult. At 6 to 8, I had never carried a sweater around just in case it was cold in the movie; I had never looked forward to ‘soup weather’; and I could not understand why parents would sit in a chair when you could lay down on the comfy floor instead.

If I grew to only 6 to 8, I could tie my shoes, and learn to read. But, I would like to stop growing up before Santa becomes just a nice idea, or I believe someone when they tell me I can’t______ – whatever it is. Yes, I would like to stop growing up before I let others' opinions darken my soul. Wouldn’t you? Would you like to go back to the day before you starting apologizing for yourself and your lack of self at every turn? The day before you became aware of every imperfection and forgot about how awesome you were just the day before. That would be just cool beans- I think my eight-year-old self might say cool beans. I mean let me show you my new yo-yo trick or look how fast I can count backward from 100. You need someone to read out loud? I might stumble over the big words, but I’m your girl!

How many times have you put on your favorite dress, and instead of feeling pretty and smart, you thought about how you will measure up to the world that day? I have, too many times. I am also in the habit of lying. I say things like, “I don’t always look like this,” or “My house is not always this messy.” Why do I say things like that? What I should really say is, “You have caught me in my usual clothes, looking about as good as I usually do, in my house which is usually just about this messy; I always love to see you, but I would rather you told me you were coming so that I could have stressed myself for hours working on my looks and my mess to make you think I am something better than this. “

And, I often don’t feel like I am the one for the job, regardless of my ability. I can usually think of another who can do it better than me even though I would do just fine. It cheats me out of joy and cheats others out of my service, and I need to be no more the eight again.

An eight-year-old would find me silly.

I was thinking about something that happened several years ago, and it made me think of one of my girls who at the time was about 6 to 8. We were on our way home from an out-of-town-family-thing, coming home ragged and dirty and tired.  And, someone called unaware of our weary state and wondered if we could rescue a young couple who had no place to stay for the night. I immediately thought of a dozen reasons why I was not up for the challenge. The house was a wreck when we left, we had no food, I didn’t know if I had clean sheets to make up a guest bed, my mind went on…but then it stopped when my daughter, who had overheard, offered her room to the couple, her twin bed with pink polka dotted sheets and Polly Pockets on the floor, ‘They can stay in my room. ‘ I knew the Holy Spirit was calling me out at that moment, and I was ashamed. Of course, they can stay at our house for the night.  They met us at our house in their ragged car, and they were tired and dirty. I manage to say hello and show them inside without apologizing for my home or its messy appearance. I realized at that moment what I should have known without our unexpected guests; it was a perfect refuge, and it was all that was needed at that moment. And, I was completely up to the task at hand. In fact if you need to be rescued, I might not be as good as I was at 6 to 8, but I am your girl!