Who's Gonna Fill Their Shoes? I hope we are.

"H, did you know George Jones died today?  That makes me sad," I said.
    "Wendy, he was 81," was his dry reply.

I get he was older and had lived a very full life but his passing still saddens me.  I was pregnant with E when Johnny Cash passed away.  I was very hormonal and took the news very hard.  I remember watching his tribute on TV.  There I sat with my expanding belly, nauseous from the hormones pinging around in my body, bawling my eyes out while watching footage of Johnny singing all his greats.   That night I ate a tupperware bowl of Capt'n Crunch cereal, four HEB brand chicken egg rolls an a pint of chocolate cream ice cream.  By the end of the tribute there was not a tear left but I was so satisfied I slept like a baby.  Don't judge, the baby wanted all those things.

I cried not because of some psycho connection with Mr. Cash but for what it meant for me personally which was that another link to my grandparents was gone.    I also cried because of the hormones but that was secondary I assure you.  I imagined my unborn baby girl being 14 and trying to convince her to listen because "Johnny Cash really IS good, I promise" and her huff away never giving him a chance.

Yesterday when I heard George Jones had passed I did not cry (so maybe it was the hormones) but I did pause to reflect.   I thought, "they laid a wreath upon his door" and grinned I was that clever ( until I read FaceBook and several of my friends had put that as their status).  I listened to his music most of yesterday and realized country music for the most part these days does stink.

HERE COMES THE RANT: There is no soul in country music today only commercial hits and easy one liners that get into your head.  There are punks that wear boots but hang hoops from their ears, ink up their skin, wear God awful clothing and don't seem to have enough respect to wear a suit to awards shows.  Is it really that hard to even get a "good" pair of jeans starched?

I will miss George Jones being in this world.   He was a link to a different time and a connection to people I love and have also "left this world too soon".   He sang, "Who's Gonna Fill Their Shoes" and I am still asking that question only his shoes are now included next to my grandfather's boots. 

I learned to dance standing on PaPa's black, pointy toed boots as we shuffled around the Live Oak County Coliseum.  Classic country played by the Al Dean Band filled the space and I could not stop smiling.  Good memories.

Today I looked at pictures of Boone with my dad on his John Deere tractor.  Boone's smile has no end and I have hope that my generation and my parent's generation is stepping up to the plate.  Thank God for family.  Rest in Peace, Mr. Jones.  Thanks for the memories.

Just a thought

Fritz is a miniature schnauzer who joined the Foster clan over a year ago.  He has fit right it and appropriately adds to the chaos of our everyday lives.  We have found that Fritz has a delicate tummy and should not eat the waffles, crackers, grapes and all the other crap my 3 year old feeds him.

In B's defense, he is the perfect height for Fritz to jump up on and steal whatever B is carrying around in his hand.  B thinks it is a neat trick and instead of fighting for his food once its stolen he runs to get another serving of whatever he just lost.  It is win for both of them until it is not.

This morning while getting ready and looked down to see dog puke in two small piles in opposite sides of my bedroom.  It was gross.  Really gross.  It was also interesting to see what Boone had been eating in the last 12 hours.  Hunt cleaned up the piles.  I told him it was only fair given that I cleaned up the kids' spit-ups and puke all these years.  He huffed which I chose to interpret as resignation that I was right.

Given that I am working in the final days of the legislative session I find it appropriate that I began my day with regurgitated crap and will most likely end it with a similar mess although it will be in policy form.

My name is Buffer.... The Proud Buffer

Hello, my name is Buffer.  I am the middle man between what the world can introduce into my home and my children's life at too early of an age. I protect my kids from the expectations of our friends, family, well meaning onlookers, myself and my husband.  I cannot protect them at school but I attempt to always be present in their day through a note in the backpack, a freshly washed sheet for nap time, a smile when I am able to drop off and pick up them up from school. 

I try to buffer my babies from the stress of two parents who work full time and despite best efforts cannot always erase the distance that is created because of our roles outside of the home.  I attempt to reassure that "normal" is different in every home and every childhood. I balance the explanations of why "Anna" has two mommies or daddies, why "Evan" has an iPhone because his parents don't talk to each other anymore and he needs the phone to play the adult in an ugly divorce.  

I try to not place judgement on people or situations.  When it comes to dealing with mean people we encounter I lead with, God loves them, you don't have to and close with a wink to give some levity to the subject.  Life is complicated, hard and can get ugly the older we become so I try to protect my kids from what I can now to let them be kids.  

My buffering skills are not without flaw, I am not perfect.  The job is thankless and hard and stressful.  It is but for the Grace of God I would have given up on it already because between school, the Disney Channel, magazines and the lyrics of most songs on the radio it seems like a hopeless exercise.  It is my prayer but that perhaps I have caught just enough to help them sleep a little more sound at night.  

Yesterday, my oldest and I were doing our nails.  She is nearly seven so it is almost a fun activity to do with her.  We were sprawled on the floor in my large bathroom (tile is easier to clean in case of spills and she is still seven so there are always a few) and the TV was on in the bedroom just outside of our make shift nail salon.  We have speakers in the bathroom so we can listen to the news in the morning while getting ready and yesterday the speakers were still on to share the sound from the bedroom TV to the bathroom.  My husband is addicted to investigative TV shows like Dateline and other real life who- done-it type shows about murders.  He left the TV on the network that dedicates their airtime 24/7 to that kind of stuff.  I had not even noticed the audio but my daughter did.  She said, "this type of TV gives me nightmares".  I had to stop and listen to hear what she was talking about and before I could say anything she got up walked into the bedroom and turned the TV off.  

She walked back in and sat back down and started painting her toes again.  "Well, you took care of that!" I said with a smile.  She smirked back (the smirk she inherited from me) and said, "when we don't like something we can choose to change it".  I asked where she got so smart and her response will live in my heart forever.... "from you mommy.  That's what you say".

Buffer. Mommy. whatever you want to call me just know to add the word "Proud" in front of what ever that is....