What a Wonderful World

I've been humming my favorite song all day.  What a Wonderful World was written for me, I just know it.  It was certainly written for a day like today--beautiful blue sky, nice temperature, low humidity (a gift in August in the midwest).  And I just found out one of the writers of my favorite song, George David Weiss, passed away. 

I think the ability to write songs is such a gift. I am not a songwriter.  I wish I was.  For some reason, on those rare occasions I've tried to write a song, it comes out very 1st graderish with every line rhyming:

I'm so in love with you,
Thank God you don't have the flu.

Okay, not quite that bad, but close.  Regardless, it's easy to see why I appreciate good songs.  The ability to express what others think or feel or go through to the point where it spurs them into action, or to tears, or just makes them smile is a gift.  Not everyone has that gift, but I can certainly appreciate those who do. (And, for the record, I am so in love with my husband, and I really am thankful he doesn't have the flu.)


What a Wonderful World

I see trees of green, red roses, too.
I see them bloom for me and you.
And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.

I see skies of blue, clouds of white,
Bright blessed days, and dark sacred nights.

And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.

The colors of the rainbow, so pretty in the sky,
Are also on the faces of people going by.
I see friends shaking hands, saying "How do you do?"
They're really saying, "I love you."

I hear babies crying,

I watch them grow.

They'll learn much more

Than I'll ever know.

And I think to myself, what a wonderful world. 

I think to myself, what a wonderful world. Oh yeah.

Rest in peace, Mr. Weiss.  It really is a wonderful world.  Thanks for the reminder.

Happy Birthday, Dale!

I am the president of the Dale Duncan Fan Club.  Not an easy task.  The guy has lots of fans.

My dad, for example, loved Dale more than he loved me.  He thought Dale was incredible.  In fact, if Dale would have professed a love of country music, my dad would have deemed him perfect.  What Dad did believe, however, was that Dale is perfect for me.  My dad was right.

My mom, who met Dale before we even started dating, thought he was perfect as well.  When I called to tell her we were dating, I could hear the smile in her voice from 1200 miles away.  She loves Dale and thinks of him as one of her children.  She recently gave Dale something that had been my dad's.  When Dale suggested that maybe one of the sons should have it, she told him that one of the sons does have it.  He loves my mom.

Dale is helping raise 3 of his biggest fans.  These boys are blessed to have such a great father.  He loves them.  He listens to them.  He helps them.  He works hard to provide for them.  He defends them.  He corrects them.  He even lets them beat him in video games.  Isn't that right, Dale?  You are letting them beat you, aren't you?

Dale has some fans at work, too.  It's really hard not to respect someone who works so hard, who knows so much, and who is so helpful and patient.  He enjoys helping other people do their best.  He celebrates the accomplishments of others, and he doesn't throw people under the bus.  Plus, his knowledge of 70s rock music trivia is pretty phenomenal.  Who wouldn't love that? 

And Dale is a pushover when it comes to little girls.  Nieces, little girls I've babysat, little girls in restaurants--they could ask him for anything, and Dale would say yes.  God, in His infinite wisdom, gave us sons (and they were hard enough for Dale to say no to).  When it's Girl Scout Cookie selling time, well, let's just say I've learned to budget for Dale's inability to say no.  (Secretly, it's one of the things I love most about him.)

I am amazed at how difficult it is for me to adequately describe this guy I love.  Let me try it this way:  Dale has a good soul.  And he's the best person I know.

Happy Birthday, love of my life.  Thanks for being born.

Military Mom, Part One

NOTE:  This is the first in a series of sporadic posts about this military thing happening in our family.  How many Military Mom posts will there be?  No clue.  But more than one.

Perhaps I shouldn't have decorated my den in Americana red, white, and blue.  Perhaps I should have hidden my tears when the Star Spangled Banner was played.  Perhaps I never should have watched any war movies with my boys. All of these things have led to numerous conversations about how this nation came to be free, and how it continues to be free.  Somewhere along the way, my older two boys came to their own conclusions that they wanted to have a part in protecting that freedom.  So now while other moms are shopping for dorm refrigerators and cute rugs, I'm saving Pringle's cans (for sending cookies overseas) and buying Bibles with camo covers.

As Americans, these are the kind of people you want defending and protecting your country.  They believe in freedom, they believe freedom has a price, and they are willing to pay it.  They believe in it so much that you don't have to agree with them or like them, and they will defend your right to voice that.  That is a level of belief with which few of us are familiar. 

As a mom, I don't want my boys to be in harm's way.  I don't want them to see things that will haunt them for the rest of their lives.  I don't want them to be ordered around by people who don't love them as much as I do.  And I really don't want them to miss out on life--marrying, having children, being uncles, worrying about mortgages, finding good schools, staying up late to make sure the kids get home safely, etc.  I want my boys to be happy.  I want them to be healthy.  I want them to live very long lives.  Preferrably near their mom.

My older two boys have decided to be in the military.  Spencer has been in the Army Reserves for two years, and Tanner will be leaving next summer for Marine boot camp. (We have extracted a promise from our youngest, Calder, that he will go to college and party like a normal kid.)  We've learned new lingo, mapped out trips to graduations and celebrations, joined support groups, met recruiters, had conversations with current and former military personnel and their families, packed foot lockers, washed uniforms, and planned ways to make the most of the next several months while we still have everyone close to home.

There have been many late nights, when everyone is asleep and the only sounds are the deep breathing of boys and dogs and the hum of the diswasher set to run in that short window between the last shower of the night and the first shower of the morning, when I think about what these boys are doing.  And I could not be more proud.  I am a military mom.