This past Saturday morning I went to Panera so that I could try to get some writing done. Please make note of the phrase “try to” – because what I didn’t know at the time was that there was a huge soccer tournament in Birmingham this past weekend, and starting about 11:00, one soccer team after another filed into Panera for lunch. I was at a table in a little alcove by the cash registers, and at one point I counted 22 other people who were attempting to share that little alcove with me. Some were sitting, some were standing, some were crouching next to tables, and while everyone was very nice and well-behaved and etc., there were moments when I thought that it sure was going to be a shame when I experienced a bout of claustrophobia in the middle of a bunch of 11 year-old boys who just wanted to eat some turkey sandwiches and hang out for a little bit before their next game.

WELCOME TO BIRMINGHAM, YOUNG SOCCER STARS. PLEASE DO ENJOY THIS PUBLIC DISPLAY OF MY CRAZY.

When I got home later that afternoon, I cooked supper, visited with my people – and while the little man read what I’d written earlier in the day (listen. that child is going to be our family historian before it’s all said and done.), I tried to re-work the beginning of a chapter in my head. I had an idea, but I needed some input – and I thought the Twitter might be able to help.

So Saturday night, I asked the Twitter a question:

And y’all? The answers?

Oh my goodness. If I could, I’d carve them into some sort of Southern Mamaw Monument. They are priceless.

Here’s a little sampling.

Is that not some Granny Goodness? The nicknames made me so happy – and that’s not even half of them.

Mary Lauren was one of the people who replied, and she mentioned that she’d written a post on grandmother names. After I read it I realized that I don’t remember any grandmothers who went by “Grandma” when I was growing up. There was the occasional “Grandmother,” but mostly I knew MiMis and Mamies and GaGas and MeMaws. I’d never thought about it until the Twitter helped me out.

So what about y’all? What did you call your grandmothers?

And better yet, if you’re a grandmother, what do your grandbabies call you?

By the way, I’m hoping that I’ll get to be Shug or Honey one day.

Maybe even SoSo.

But definitely not BooMamaw.

Which means that’s exactly what I’ll be.

A little over a month ago I was reading Paige’s blog when I saw a picture of a custom sign that a couple from Athens, Georgia made for her kitchen. Paige had the sign personalized with one of her favorite quotes, and as I read Paige’s post and pondered the wonderfulness of that big ole wooden sign (it’s 4 ft. by 2 ft. – BIG), a thought began to crystallize in my mind: OH. I’VE GOT TO GET ME ONE OF THOSE.

I thought long and hard about that sign for the rest of the day. I really loved the idea of using a quote that’s special to our family. Plus, the last six months have been sort of a crazy adventure in more ways than one, so I figured that if the sign also served as a sweet reminder of this particular time of our lives, then all the better.

I had the best time thinking of quotes and/or verses that might be fun to use. Once I narrowed down the list, a quote from Peace Like A River was the early frontrunner, but then I remembered that when Alex and I read The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe a couple of years ago, there was one section particular that left me so choked up that I could barely read.

And when I remembered that quote? I ordered our little family a sign. Oh yes ma’am I did.

Last Monday I walked in our front door after my night-o-writing at a hotel, and I was tickled – TICKLED, I tell you – to see a very big cardboard box in our foyer. Alex and I opened it, and y’all, I really could have cried. I love our sign so much. And my hope is that the sign will be passed down in our family for many generations to come.

And now, if you sit on one of our sofas and look in the direction of the front door, this is what you see.

(Except that it wouldn’t be blurry in real life.)

(I just happen to have some crackerjack photography skills.)

(Also, it’s now a smidge higher on the wall because I felt like it needed to be above the light switch.)

(I may change my mind tomorrow, though.)

After D and I hung the picture, the little man stood in front of it for a little while. After a few minutes he said, “Mama? That’s a quote from The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe, isn’t it? Thanks for having that quote put on there. That means a lot to me.”

Oh my goodness it made me smile.

If you’d like pricing and shipping information about a sign of your own, email Andy and Tara at andrewshanelowry@gmail.com. If you mention BOOMAMA in the subject line of your email, they’ll give you 10% off your order during the month of March. That’s mighty sweet of them, I think.

And I speak from experience when I say that your sign will bless your heart every single time you pass it in your den or hallway or kitchen or wherever.

(Just trying to give you an idea about what the sides look like.)

(I apologize again for my sub-par photography.)

(Be sure to let me know if you’d like for me to photograph your wedding or other special events.)

We are crazy about our sign, and you will be crazy about yours, too. Let me know if you decide to order one!

Happy Thursday, y’all.

When I was growing up, I knew from an early age that my mama and daddy didn’t share the same taste in music. There was some common ground, of course – they both enjoyed standards from the 50s and 60s – but Daddy mostly listened to country music (Charlie Pride, Ray Stevens, Willie Nelson, and the like), while Mama preferred classical music. Or pop classical, at least.

Music Box Dancer, anyone?

Oh, my mama loved it. She also loved the soothing stylings of Ferrante & Teicher, a piano-playing duo whose eight-track tapes filled Mama’s Ford LTD glove box to overflowing.

Wouldn’t you love to know where they got those jackets? And those wigs?

Mama always claimed that it was “sooooo relaxin’” to listen to instrumental music in the car, and I think she was right considering that I typically wanted to take a nap after listening to one of her eight-tracks for five whole minutes. What I couldn’t understand, though, was why she enjoyed that music as much as she did. It just sounded so boring to me. Plus, I was more than a little aggravated that I couldn’t listen to my music from Xanadu or Grease while we ran our errands. Thankfully I had an older brother and sister who loved to listen to The Doobie Brothers and Kenny Loggins and James Taylor and Earth, Wind & Fire, but if I was riding in the car with Mama, I might as well accept my pop classical piano music fate. She adored it.

And really, why wouldn’t she?

That’s my musical heritage, y’all.

Like most children, I vowed and declared that when I was a grown-up, I would never listen to instrumental music in the car. I told myself that when I became a mama, I would be sure to listen to really cool music that kids would also like. You know, awesome stuff like The Theme from “The Greatest American Hero” and Jessie’s Girl. Or maybe even Tainted Love if I was feeling particularly sophisticated – since the people who sang it had fancy British accents and all.

When our little guy was born, I really did make a point to be Very Intentional about what we listened to in the car. We wore out some Veggie Tales CD’s until he was about four, and then we gradually made the switch to Christian music – mostly praise and worship. Eventually we added our favorite singer / songwriters (Dave Barnes, Ben Rector, Gabe Dixon) to the mix, plus bands like NEEDTOBREATHE and The Fray. I’ve always used sports talk radio as a fall-back if I wasn’t in the mood for a sing-along, but over the last year I’ve noticed that the language has gotten increasingly colorful and not so appropriate for little ears. I’ve tried listening to Christian talk radio, but to be honest it’s a little difficult for me to get interested in a radio host’s thoughtful analysis of dispensationalism when I’m trying to run five or eight errands in a 90-minute window between school and soccer practice.

(And listen. I know that right now some of you are probably thinking, Why do you have to listen to anything? Why not just ride around with the radio / CD player / iPod turned off? Why not just enjoy some silence?)

(Well. Because that solution would be way too simple. And also way too quiet. That’s why.)

A few weeks ago I decided to hit the “scan” button on my radio and see if there was something new or different that might work as a more laid-back listening option, and I ran across a jazz station that’s run by Samford University. I figured I’d give it a try, and I have to say that much to my surprise, IT IS A DELIGHT. There are no screaming DJ’s, no commercials – just “Birmingham’s Smooth Jazz.” The little guy has been a good sport about it, even though a couple of days ago he reminded me of my own eight year-old self when he said, “Gosh, Mama – we sure have been listening to this music a lot lately.” But I’ve been surprised by how much I enjoy the fact that there aren’t any lyrics; it’s a nice change of pace, especially in the mornings.

Today we were on the way to school, chatting on and off while my new favorite station played softly in the background. We had just pulled up to a stop sign when I thought, Hold on. That sounds a little familiar. I think I might know that song. And when I turned up the volume, this is what I heard.

WAY TO ROCK IT, MAMAW. I mean, I don’t know what kind of full circle moment it is when you start listening to the jazz / easy listening version of music from your junior high days, but I confronted that milestone this morning. And I’ll have you know that I not only confronted that milestone; I walked around it, stared at it awhile, wondered how I felt about it, then threw my arms around it and happily embraced it for several minutes. Because regardless of how much I loved George Michael’s music when I was a teenager, it turns out that an instrumental version of his songs suits my 40s just fine.

And while I can’t say for sure, I have to admit that there’s at least a small possibility that I’m going to hop on the iTunes in the next day or two and see if there’s any Ferrante & Teicher music I need to download.

Clearly Mama was on to something. And as much as it kills me to admit it, I’m guessing that it probably would be “sooooo relaxin’” to listen to them now.

Nester and Kelly are each hosting a Christmas Tour of Homes right now, and even though I wasn’t planning to participate because I didn’t think I’d have time to pull a post together, yesterday I thought, Hey! I like Christmas! I like decorations! – and even though my decorations are nothing spectacular, they feel like home to our little family. So I thought I’d share.

This is the tree in our little boy’s room. I can take absolutely no credit for it because my mama decorated it when I was in Ecuador last month. But the little man is crazy about it, and I love walking down the hall and getting a glimpse of those lights.

Our tree looks a lot like it always does. For the last couple of years we’ve had colored lights instead of white lights, and I am a fan. I think white lights are so elegant, but Mama used to put colored lights on our tree when I was a little girl, so I have continued that tradition. Of course, Mama uses white lights on her tree now, but I’m going to stick with the colored lights. It’s A MATTER OF CHRISTMASTIME PRINCIPLE, PEOPLE.

Also, I should probably point out that Mama also decorated our main tree while I was in Ecuador. It makes me feel just the tiniest bit like a slacker, but more than anything it makes me resolved to plan a mid-November trip EVERY SINGLE YEAR FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE.

All I’m sayin’ is that it was delightful to walk in the house after a week away and find two beautifully decorated trees. THANKS, MAMA!

(Mama doesn’t actually read my blog.)

(She’s fond of saying that she certainly can’t get on the Internet considering that she’s not even sure how to “turn on the email.”)

I don’t know if this plant actually falls into the Christmas category or not, but I saw it at a local nursery a couple of weeks ago and decided that it needed to live with us. It was in the middle of all the poinsettias and miniature Christmas trees and rosemary shrubs and whathaveyou, so I told myself that it’s a Christmas plant and brought it home and the end.

We don’t have a mantel over our fireplace (note to self: after five years in this house, it might be time to remedy that situation), so I hang our stockings on the circa-1974 bar that sits in a corner of our living room. It’s one of those unique-to-this-house traditions that makes me smile, mainly because it’s not really the most typical place to put some stockings (“Their stockings were hung by the wet bar with care / In the hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there but resist the temptation to rifle through the cabinets and fix himself a hot toddy”).

We don’t actually have any alcohol in or around the wet bar, mind you, but still: I am tickled by the notion of stockings hanging on a bar. WACKY BAPTIST, I AM.

Last year Alex’s teacher asked us to send in 350 strips of fabric, and after I finished breathing into my favorite paper bag that I keep on hand specifically for craft-related meltdowns, I went to the fabric store and waved the instruction sheet in the general direction of a couple of sales clerks while I tried not to panic in the presence of all those notions and needles and specialty scissors. After I bought the fabric, my sister had mercy on me and cut every single one of those fabric strips in approximately seven minutes.

You may be picking up on the fact that my family members tend to stand in the gap for me where Things Crafty are concerned. They understand that, if I’m left to my own devices, any task requiring scissors and/or thread is going to turn real ugly real fast.

ANYWAY (WAS THERE EVEN A POINT TO THIS STORY?), I think the fabric wreath is as cute as it can be, and I hung it on our back door as a reminder that the Lord always sends people to walk with us through difficult craft-related times.

Hallelujah.

I hung some ornaments on the chandelier in our dining room, and this is a picture of that and also sort of a picture of one of my feather trees. And I don’t really know what else to say about that.

HI. WELCOME TO MY CHRISTMAS TOUR. I TOOK SOME PICTURES OF SOME STUFF AND SOME THINGS.

And listen. This is what you call DECORATIONS GONE AWRY. I found that orange bird at a flea market in my hometown, and I wanted to put it in the center of the main wreath in our dining room. But then I realized that attaching the bird to the wreath would require some sort of wire or fishing line or whatever, and I was all, NO THANK YOU, MA’AM, I BELIEVE THE BIRD WOULD JUST LIKE TO REST ON THE WINDOW SILL.

Really, I’m just here to inspire you to reach for the decorative stars. I feel that it’s my mission and purpose in life. Go big or, well, just give up and fix yourself a Diet Coke and watch that Selling Spelling Manor show on HGTV because she has ONE HUNDRED FIFTY NINE toy soldiers that she bought at Los Angeles-area Costcos.

FASCINATING.

This is one of our Nativity sets. Normally it’s spread out a little bit more, but Alex set it up and I just left it alone. I can’t decide if the cow and the donkey are feeling anti-social or if they’re standing guard over baby Jesus, but either way: DELIGHTFUL.

I have a child who enjoys a Christmas countdown, so we have several different countdown items in our breakfast room. One is the chalkboard – a gift from A.’s sweet kindergarten teacher.

I found this countdown placemat at Target right after Thanksgiving, and it’s been a huge hit what with the spinny wheel that you use to change the date and all.

This Advent wreath makes my heart melt a little every time I look at it. I ordered it from Ann’s son Caleb, and all the profits go to Compassion International. We’ve been using one candle throughout Advent, but on Christmas Eve, we’re going to light ‘er up with 24. For me this wreath has been a great visual reminder that with every day of Advent we inch a little bit closer to the birth of Jesus; with every day of Advent we move a little bit closer to the manger.

Somebody really needs to sing “Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus” right now.

Seriously. I’ll start. Y’all chime in with some harmony.

Finally (FINALLY!), this is our Christmas card tree. I started putting a Christmas card tree in our playroom about five years ago when we got a free tree from Home Depot (it was a Thanksgiving sale promotion). This year the Christmas card tree looks a little sad because we haven’t gotten a whole lot of cards yet, but I’m holding out hope that the tree will be filled to overflowing by the end of next week. Since most of our friends have kids who are 10 and up, the cards don’t roll in quite as fast as furious as they did when everybody had toddlers and couldn’t wait to share a picture of their young’uns wearing various and sundry smocked clothing items on the beach.

Those were good Christmas card times.

So. There you have it. My (endless) (non-crafty) Christmas tour. I hope I didn’t put you to sleep, but if I did, I certainly hope you enjoy your nap.

Be Merry, y’all.

Apparently I made an unconscious decision last week to spend untold energy thinking about Things That Are Getting On My Last Nerve (2011 edition). Oh my. I WAS A PILL. I would blame it on jet lag, but there’s only a one hour time difference between Ecuador and Alabama. And for the first part of the week I thought maybe I was just tired (which was a valid assumption considering the fact that I’ve never been more in love with sleep than I was last week…I liked it so much that I totally would’ve put a ring on it if I could have).

But now that I have the benefit of a little bit of perspective, I think I was a little bit, well, ticked. I was mad that I slipped back into my comfortable suburban life so easily. I was mad about the poverty of my own dadgum spirit. I was mad because a family member had another setback with her health, and she’s been through more in the last few years than anybody I know. I was mad about everything that I needed to get done last week when all I really wanted to do was crawl in my bed. I was mad when the dishwasher didn’t empty itself and the clothes didn’t hop from the washer to the dryer and THE DVR DID NOT RECORD “THE OFFICE” EVEN THOUGH WE SPECIFICALLY TOLD IT TO RECORD “THE OFFICE,” CLEARLY EVEN THE ELECTRONICS ARE CONSPIRING AGAINST ME.

So I think the bottom line is that the whole re-entry thing forced me to take a long, hard look at my spoiled American self. And oh. I did not care for what I saw. I did not care for what I saw at all.

It’s getting better, though. The fog is lifting a little bit. We’ve had a whole bunch of family time over the last few days, and it’s helped a lot. Because you know how there are some husbands who see their wives going through a touch-y transition and they’re all “Oh, I’ll back off and give her some space and she’ll talk when she’s ready to talk?”

I am not married to that person.

However, I am married to the person who says, “Woman, you’re about to miss a whole bunch of fun with your people if you don’t get up out of that bed, so GET ON UP OUT OF THAT BED BECAUSE WE’RE GONNA MAKE HAPPY MEMORIES IF IT KILLS US. HAPPPPP-Y MEMORIES!”

And then he’ll make up a really bad song in a silly voice that’s kind of a cross between Rosco P. Coltrane and anyone who lives in the southernmost portion of Louisiana.

And do you know what I do?

I get up and go. And it’s good.

Plus, this week we have family coming to town for Thanksgiving, and I’m always a happy camper when I get to spend a couple of days chopping and mixing and cooking for a crew of people. Martha actually called me last night to confirm what she’s going to bring, and she was delighted to tell me that she’s going to bring a lemon pound cake and a sweet potato pie and a pecan pie and a congealed salad and is that enough? Do I think that’s enough? Am I sure that’s enough?

I bet you a dollar to a donut that she ends up bringing an Italian cream cake, too. Because WHAT IF WE DON’T HAVE ENOUGH?

I’ll put Mama in charge of the dressing when she gets to our house – she has a talent for chopping onion and celery into the tiniest, most perfectly shaped pieces – and then I’ll do the pork tenderloin, lima beans, rolls, asparagus casserole and sweet potato casserole. I’m going to let Honeybaked Ham bake the, you know, ham, and we’re not going to have turkey because a few years ago we discovered that nobody particularly enjoys it.

We were going through the turkey motions, y’all.

And it was time to stop pretending.

What are your big Turkey Day (or Non-Turkey, as it were) plans? Is there one certain dish that you cannot wait to see in the Thanksgiving Day line-up? Because I’ll go ahead and tell you that sweet potato casserole is my FAVORITE. My SHUT-IT-DOWN, MAMA’S-GONNA-HAVE-ANOTHER-HELPING-FOR-DESSERT favorite.

What about you?