Heather

11/30/13

Happy Birthday Heather!  28 years ago at 6 a.m. I was admitted into the Navy Hospital at Patuxent River, Maryland in active labor and at 6:46 a.m. you were born.  My first child.  My only daughter.

For as long as I can remember, I wanted to get married and have children.  As a child, my favorite toys were dolls and all they encompassed.  I knew I wanted more than one child and I knew I wanted at least one girl.  I did not know you were a girl when I was carrying you.  I'll never forget that moment when I heard the words, "it's a girl!".  I cried tears of joy.  My heart was full and overflowing.

I had decided not long after I had met your Daddy that your name would be Heather, since I loved the way Heather Hodges sounded together.  Your middle name, Rochelle, came from a baby book.  Your Grandma Ethel pointed out your initials, HRH, stood for "her royal highness".  When your Grandpa came to see you the day you were born and you opened your eyes he said, "She's so smart!  She opened her eyes already!"  I reminded him that babies could open their eyes and maybe he was thinking about puppies, but he was convinced you were the smartest baby ever!  He wasn't wrong.

I'm sorry, but you didn't get any presents your first Christmas (you were not even a month old).  We didn't have any money for presents, but I felt like the richest person alive.  You were the sweetest, most agreeable baby.  You slept through the night at 7 weeks.  As you got big enough to move around and reach things, I only had to tell you no once.  A stern look from Daddy or me would usually be all it took to correct you.  You made us look like fantastic parents...but I know better.

Some funny things I remember:

• You were about 5 and I had been dieting and you overheard me tell someone I had lost weight.  You said, "I can tell you lost weight Mommy!"  Just as I was feeling all proud of my accomplishments, you continued, "your toes look skinnier!"  Thanks sweetie...thanks a lot.
• I think you were 4 when someone asked what you wanted to be when you grew up and you said, "a skeleton!"  I don't know what prompted that, it was probably around Halloween.  I'm glad you chose Dental Hygienist since I hear Skeleton doesn't pay that well.
• Speaking of Halloween, the year you were 9 you wanted to be a Power Ranger and wouldn't be happy until I made you the Pink Power Ranger costume.  Well, it had four billion different pieces to sew together out of pink and white felt which took me forever to make and when you put it on for trick-or-treat, you hated it because, "it was hot and scratchy."  Uhhhhh...you're welcome?

You are the best big sister.  When I was pregnant with Ricky, you said you hoped he was a boy.  When I asked you why you said, "Because if I have a sister, she will try to steal all my boyfriends".  You were three when he came home from the hospital and you loved him so.  I remember when you found out that all babies do not have feeding tubes in their tummies, like your brother did.  Even at your young age, you showed him compassion far beyond your years.  Ricky died when you were 5 and although you thought your heart would break in two, you knew he was safe with Jesus.

When Bobby came along you were 8 and like his second mommy.  He was born on Groundhog's Day and when you went to school to tell all your classmates, they laughed and teased you that your brother was a groundhog, which made you cry.  I'm so thankful you two are close as adults.

I wrote this poem when you were 7:

Ribbons and bows
Short, stubby toes
Sweet button nose
My little girl

Dressed up in pink
Bracelets that clink
Learning to wink
My little girl

Mud pies for lunch
Weeds in a bunch
Cookies to munch
My little girl

High heels and make-up
Tea in a small cup
Loving your new pup
My little girl

Giggling happy
Boo boos on your knee
Singing "Jesus Loves Me"
My little girl

My heart wants to soar
I couldn't love you more
I thank God that you're
My little girl

Heather, you are the daughter every mother dreams of.  I am so proud of the kind, caring, loyal, thoughtful, strong, hardworking, determined, sweet, funny, compassionate, loving, smart, woman you are.  I thank God for you.  On this day, and everyday, I am blessed to be your mom.  It may be your birthday, but I get the best gift - you.  I love you.

Bobby

Today, our family celebrated Thanksgiving.  Bobby will not be here on Thanksgiving since he leaves early Monday morning for Navy boot camp in Great Lakes, IL so we held it early.  I know in my heart that holidays will never be the same.  I was used to spending many holidays without my husband throughout his military career, but I've never had to spend a holiday without Heather or Bobby.  I guess I will learn a "new normal".

Bobby is my third child, second son.  I was 36 when he was born an he'll be 20 in a few months.  Bobby was an easy baby, but happiest when he was finally moving.  It seemed like he went from crawling to running.  I don't remember much walking.  What a busy little fellow he was.  I wanted to share some of my sweetest memories.

• When Bobby was about 10, he and I were flying from Florida to Virginia to visit my dad.  Our plane had climbed above the clouds and the sun was shining brightly, reflecting off the clouds below and they were sparkling.  It was such a beautiful sight, he turned to me and said, "Mama, are we in Heaven?!?"  I still find that precious to this day.
• I have a card at work Bobby made me when he was about 9 that says, "I love you more than video games". 
• At about age 8, he informed me I made "the best grilled cheeses in the whole world".  A degree from Le Cordon Bleu, would not mean as much to me as that statement has.
• Bobby was 12 when we visited my brother, Danny and his family in Pennsylvania one year.  We were spending the day in Amish Country and had stopped at an Amish Market.  As we were crossing the street and Bobby was running (go figure!) across, he fell flat into the only pile of horse doodie for miles!  Bob cleaned him up the best he could, but it was quite a stinky ride back to my brother's house.
• At age 6 the young son of a black family down the street used to come to our house and play and one day after the boy left, Bobby said, "he is my favorite brown friend."

Bobby, there is so much in my heart that cannot be put into words.  I am proud of you.  I thank God for you.  I will pray for you (as I always do).  Your Dad and I have tried to give you the tools you need to survive and succeed in this world.  You will do great.  I love you and am blessed to be your mom.

Act your age

I've been thinking about age lately and what it means to "act your age".  I'm 56.  I don't care to be any other age than that.  I love being 56...which really works out well.

I know vibrant, active 80 year olds and idle, dull 30 year olds.  Age is a number assigned to the years we've been allowed.  At 56, I'm on the downhill slide.  I'm past middle age, meaning I'm not likely to live to be 112, so I'm more aware of making my remaining years worthwhile.  I don't have a bucket list, things I feel I must accomplish before I die, but each day I'm allowed I strive to:

• Be kind.  I learned that it's usually more important to be kind than be right.
• Learn something new. 
• Forgive others and myself.
• Love people.  Not just the easy people...all people.

Do I get it right every day?  Hardly, but I begin each day anew.  A fresh start to be the best 56 year old I can be.  Watch out world, I'm acting my age.

Little Miss Stuffit

Little Miss Stuffit
  by Gina Hodges

Little Miss Stuffit sat on her tuffet
eating her cakes and pies
When she overate, along came more weight
which went straight to her hips and her thighs.

Gym Class

I never cared for Gym Class.  Take an overweight teenager, stuff her into a hideous, one-piece, red gym uniform and ask her to perform feats of strength and endurance.  Oh how I envied the girls who could run and jump and glide gracefully with their ponytails flowing...while I huffed and puffed like a river dancing hippo.

It's hard to narrow down which part of Gym I disliked the most.  Each semester held it's own misery.  One semester was Field and Track and gave us Field Hockey, Archery, and Cross Country....oh, the torture that was Cross Country.  I think I may hold the school record for slowest time running Cross Country.  Running may be an overstatement.

Another semester was dedicated to Gymnastics.  Trampoline, balance beam, the horse, parallel bars, un-parallel bars...all torture devices waiting to maim and kill.  We also did tumbling in Gymnastics.  My worse day in Gym was during a tumbling class.  The Coach explained what we were going to do.  One girl would be on her hands and knees on the mat.  We would take a running start and when we reached that girl, we would spring over her head-first, doing a forward roll.   A running forward roll.  Over a live person. 

As soon as the Coach explained it, I did not know how I could possibly perform this act.  I watched as girl after girl sprinted up to the human barrier, floated over her, rolling gracefully on the other side.  I told the Coach I could not do this.  I had never done a running forward roll in my life.  She said I had to try it.  So off I galloped toward the waiting girl (I pray she wasn't looking) I leaped up in the air and crashed down right on top of that poor helpless child.  My pride was bruised, but my neck wasn't broken.  And that girl...I think it was her worse day in gym class too.

Happy Birthday Ricky

Warning..what you are about to read might make you sad.  That is not my intention. 

25 years ago today our second child was born.  Our first son, Richard John Hodges, "Ricky".  During a routine ultrasound when I was 5 months pregnant with him, they discovered his urinary tract was blocked, which resulted in severe kidney damage among other things.  We were told he had no chance of survival.  The doctor told me I would carry him to term and he would die soon after he was born so we should plan for his funeral...it would be easier they said.  So we did.  Instead of a crib, we bought a casket.

The weeks dragged on and then on August 23, 1988, Ricky came into this world.  He wasn't crying, he wasn't even breathing.  The Neonatal team at Sacred Heart Hospital whisked him away to do what they could.  The day passed and Ricky was still with us.  A week passed and it was time for me to be discharged.  Ricky had to stay, but he was still with us.  A month passed, then two.  After four months, Ricky was finally discharged and came home.  We had already returned the casket and bought a crib by that time.  Months turned into years.  There were many doctors and hospital stays and procedures and surgeries. 

Then on March 22, 1991, at Wilford Hall Medical Center in San Antonio, Texas, while I held him in my arms, Ricky left us.  2 1/2 years after he arrived...2 1/2 more years than we ever imagined.  While there have been tears shed, our hearts are full and overflowing.  We feel blessed beyond measure.  We were allowed 2 1/2 years of his smiles, his laughter, and we are eternally grateful.

What I know:
1.  Doctors are not God.  They don't know everything.
2.  Bad things happen to good people.  Rain falls on the just and the unjust. 
3.  Without my faith in God and the comfort of my Savior, Jesus Christ, I would not be able to tell you Ricky's story with joy in my heart.
4.  It's important to be kind to others, you never know what they are going through.
5.  People sometimes say the wrong thing when you're grieving.  Forgive them.
6.  Life is short and precious.  Tell the people in your life that you love them...better yet, show them.

Happy Birthday Ricky.

My Brother

My Mom named him Danny after the singer/actor Danny Kaye.  Two and a half years older than me, I thought he was the greatest thing ever.  I was never happier than when he let me participate in whatever it was he was doing at the time.

As older brothers often do, he delighted in teasing me.  If  he came up with a clever idea, he'd always let me try it first to work the bugs out.  If things went wrong, he'd always say, "I'll give you a quarter if you don't tell Dad".  I wouldn't have told on him anyway because I didn't want him to stop letting me hang out with him; the quarters were just a bonus.

I was probably 11 and Danny asked me if I wanted to try out the parachute he just made.  A parachute?!?  WOW!  Of course I wanted to try it out.  No kid I ever knew had flown in a parachute (do you fly in a parachute?...jump?...sail?) and I was going to be the first!  We proceeded out to the barn where he had one of Mom's sheets with rope tied to the four corners.  He tied the ropes securely around my waist and instructed me to climb up the ladder in the barn to the highest point.  When I reached the top he told me to hold the parachute out and jump into the bales of hay about 40 feet below. 

Now, I was not the least bit afraid.  After all, this was my brother.  He had invented this parachute and he was letting me take the maiden flight, what an honor!  I stepped to the edge, held the ends of the sheet in both hands and jumped off; fully expecting to float gracefully down to Danny waiting below.  Instead I dropped like a rock and ended up falling head first with my head stuck between two bales of hay.

I think I deserved two quarters that day.