Cheers to Best Friends

A colleague passed away suddenly and unexpectedly this week. She has two young children and a husband and co-workers and friends who will miss her terribly. It's such a tragic, sad situation. It's clear that she left an indelible mark on so many lives, both as an educator and a  regular human person.

I can't stop thinking about her inner circle, her best friends. My heart breaks for them.

15 years ago I met my people. Four women who have become the greatest friends I've ever known. To honor the beautiful friendships that were lost this week, I thought I'd write a little list of the ways my people make life better.

1) We give each other grace, always. Sometimes I need to be whiny or feel sorry for myself, and I have friends who will listen and comfort and encourage; then they tell me that it's time to put my big girl britches on and get it together.

2) We call each other on our crap. "Why do you want to do that?" or "Why are you so upset about that?" are always acceptable questions.

3) We encourage each other. There is always someone just a a text away to remind me that I am strong and smart and capable and kind and badass (whether I feel that way or not).

4) We celebrate together. There is no competition or jealousy. We all truly want the best for each other and rejoice in one another's successes. When you have an inner circle, you can always brag to them without bragging.

5) We have a secret language. We've been friends long enough that certain words, phrases, (even emojis!) have their own meaning. Sometimes we don't have to say anything and the other four just know.

6) We laugh. Good grief, do we laugh! At ourselves, at each other, at life, at the world. We giggle and belly laugh. My people are funny. I think I'm going to live an extra ten years because of the laughter.

7) We listen. No matter what is going on, big or small, we share and listen to tiny details or big picture concerns. We hear each other.

8) I'm pretty sure we only  have one rule: If you wouldn't say something to one of us, you can't say it to yourself. No negative self-talk allowed. That's a big, valuable, important rule.

9) Group text. You know that thing you're tempted to tweet or Facebook that's probably not appropriate for social media? Find some friends you can text that to. Nothing is too embarrassing, gross, silly, or neurotic with my people.

10) Time and distance can't keep us apart. Traveling the world (or moving to the other side of it) doesn't make our friendship less. Moving a few cities over or to the backwoods can't stop us. It may not be as often as it used to be, but we make time to see each other in real life when we can.

So, at the risk of sounding fourteen, cheers to best friends. Treasure every moment you have with them.

That time Trey tried to kill me in Cabo

We love vacation. More recently, Trey and I love vacation, and our boys have flashes of fun in the midst of being grumpy teenagers. This summer we made our second trip to Cabo San Lucas, and it was even better than the first time we went. 

In case you weren't aware, I enjoy eating and drinking and food and drinks probably a little more than a normal person. So naturally we had to go back to The Office, my favorite restaurant from our trip three years ago. I had chilaquiles for the first time there, along with a Bloody Mary to write home about. I've made chilaquiles several times since then, but going back to the original seemed like a great way to perfect my technique. 

(Here's a recipe in case you're interested. FYI - You've got to have verde sauce, chicken, and an over easy egg or you're just not doing it right. Make your own tortilla chips for extra credit.)

Our first trip to The Office three years ago includes one of those vacation stories of misery that we all have. We could see it from our resort. It didn't look that far. We decided to walk. It was hot, and we were hungry. But it was far. I'm pretty sure it ended up being twenty-seven miles. The only saving grace is that we didn't kill each other on the way. That walk was so, so terrible. We may not have spoken to each other again until we got back home. 

This year we knew better, and Praise the Lord for taxis. We had the good sense to let someone drive us. I ordered my favorite dish and we relished the cool Baja morning together. We laughed and smiled and basically lived in the happy ending of a Hallmark movie for the whole meal. I even have pictures to prove it. 

Wait. The only picture we have is of just me. And my food. Isn't that a beautiful plate? It's possible that I ate it all. Don't judge. 

I promise everyone else was happy, too. 

The Office is as on the beach as a restaurant can be. Your feet are in the sand, and on one of our trips they had to move a neighboring table because the waves were rushing under it. So after our idyllic breakfast we walked out a little closer to the water. Trey looked down the beach toward our hotel and said the words that changed our lives forever. Or maybe just for the morning, but whatever. 

"You know, last time we walked it was so hot and we were all hungry. Now there's a nice breeze and we're full and happy. Let's just walk back and enjoy the morning." 

And, like suckers, we agreed. 

Basking in the joy of our full bellies and happy family time, entranced by the waves crashing along the Sea of Cortez, we set out along that brutal journey. 

For a while we were happy. We strolled. The boys walked close to the water where the sand was packed down, and then they ran from the larger waves as they came close. There was laughter and frivolity for a short while. 

And in an instant it was over. My feet began to sink ankle-deep in sand with every step. Keaton started complaining about his knee. (Sidebar: The pediatrician suggested an MRI the week before we left, but we had plane tickets and decided he would probably be fine to wait until after Cabo as long as he took it easy. Because we're parent rock stars.) Tucker kept repeating, "We should have taken a cab...We should have taken a cab."

I thought, "No kidding, genius. But it's too late now and we're screwed." But I didn't say that out loud because parent rock stars. 

Trey had that look on his face that he gets when he thinks he might be in trouble. When telling my parents this story later he said, "I don't get in trouble very often, but I always know when I am." 

Truth.

He was trying to be positive. "Look at the progress we're making! It looks so close now!" And I said many, many bad words in my head. 

At one point about halfway there I stopped. I looked around and appreciated the beauty of the beach, the mountains, the ocean. I remembered how much I love this place and how peaceful it makes me feel. Trey noticed that I stopped and asked if I was okay.

"Yep. I just decided to lay down on this beach right here and die. It's a happy place. I'm headed to Jesus. See y'all later."

He didn't think that was a good idea. We pressed on. 

In his defense, we did keep getting closer. I completely tuned out my suffering children (they are old enough - this was an "every man for himself" situation). I felt hope rising in my chest. I could do this! We were almost there! And as we approached our hotel, I stopped again to revel in our victory. 

That's when I looked up and realized it wasn't our hotel. Our hotel was still eleventy billion miles down the beach. More bad words in my head. Many, many more.

At that moment, the largest wave we had seen all morning came crashing to the beach. It was a sight! I was stopped at the back of the pack, Tucker and Keaton were ahead of me a bit higher up the beach, and Trey was a little ahead of all of us, closest to the water. 

And the wave attacked him. 

I saw it all like slow motion. As the wave crashed up the beach, it knocked Trey to his left to his knees. Tucker rushed toward him - it was a hero moment for the kid even though he never could have gotten there in time to help. Keaton yelled something like "Look out!," truly concerned for Trey's safety. 

Being the kind and helpful wife I am, I yelled, "Make sure your phone isn't in your pocket!" I sort of mimed it, too, with hand motions and everything. Because that's just how helpful I am. 

Trey got his bearings quickly and stood back up just in time for the wave to attack him again on its return to the ocean. Down he went once more, this time flat on his butt. He was completely and unequivocally soaked. 

And then we laughed. A lot. Trey said, "I guess I'm not in trouble anymore?" I agreed that the universe had punished him enough for his bad decision. 

So we kept walking. 

The boys decided it was easier to walk in another person's footprints, so Trey went first and we all tried to walk right in his steps. This helped with our misery a tiny bit. 

A man came by on a horse, and I'm pretty sure he offered to give me a ride back to the resort. I'm also pretty sure I declined. It's also possible he was trying to sell me the horse. Or some drugs. I must have looked pretty bad. 

Finally we made it back to the hotel. We all survived, and now we have the vacation story of 2017 that can be shared over Thanksgiving dinner for years to come. 

Where did we go for breakfast the next morning? The Office. We took a taxi both ways. 

On Writing...

I would like to write more. I really would. I've mentioned before that I used to always write about my kids, but they're now at an age where it seems disrespectful to share every detail of their lives. I also take my job really seriously, and I feel some kind of pressure to be Mrs. Hickman even when I'm just Stormy. Sometimes my non-school persona has a bit of a potty mouth and/or enjoys tequila, and I don't ever want that to be an issue in my professional life.

Now seems like a good time to mention that anything and everything on this blog is personal and in no way represents my employer (even though just regular Stormy is really not scandalous at all).

I've been thinking a lot this summer about things that make me want to write. Here's a non-all-inclusive list:

• gospel music
• Ray LaMontagne's voice (if it doesn't move you, you might want to check and be sure your soul is still there)
• clever lyrics (such as "she reflects the world in happiness and echoes all the pain")
• Tucker's smile (How did Trey and I make that person with that smile? It shines.)
• sitting on the patio with Trey
• flowers that open up in the sunlight and close at night
• Keaton's laugh (It's like the sky opens and the angels laugh along)
• Jesus (and the way he feels so close even when I feel far away)
• Rice, Texas
• thinking about my grandparents
• steel guitars and waltzes
• the ocean
• words in books like Jeffrey Lent's A Slant of Light 

 Obviously, there are a lot more.

It has occurred to me that perhaps I should try my hand at writing some fiction, but it's something I've never done before. Mostly what I've written are hyperbolical accounts of real life events. (Yes, I looked up "hyperbolical" to be sure I was using it correctly.) I'm not even sure how to start writing fiction. So I bought this book.

I open it up and read the prompts almost daily, but haven't written a thing from it. The prompt that came up tonight is this:
"Write a letter to the reader of a novel you haven't written yet."

This could be fun.

Dear Reader, 
Thank you so much for agreeing to read my novel!  I assure you that it's going to be great - nothing less than the best from me! I'm thinking it's probably going to be set in a small town in Texas. The characters will be third or fourth generation in the town, and they will have lots of drama. Only there will be one central character who is female and strong and smart and will have been hurt really big in life but it's made her a better person so she doesn't have time for any small town drama. I know it totally sounds like Hope Floats, but it's not. I promise. 

I'll probably write a beautiful passage about an ordinary object and people will be talking about my words for years. Like hay. Or a pond. Or hay growing near a pond. I'll use lots of big, fancy words, and it will be awesome. 

But I might change my mind, and the main character might be a stoic old man who seems gruff on the outside but takes in a hurting young person. Wait. I might have stolen that from Kent Haruf. Scratch that. 

Speaking of...have you read any of Kent Haruf's novels? You should totally do that before you read mine. Besides, mine's not done yet anyway. Or started. 

There will also be humor. I like to laugh when I read, so it only seems right to make my readers laugh, too. And maybe something very serious. You'll probably cry, so make sure to have tissues handy when you read my beautiful, funny, sad novel.

Anyway, you're going to love it. I promise. When you get a minute, go ahead and let me know your address so I can send you a copy as soon as it's done. Are you planning on moving soon? Or ever? You should probably also include that information.

Thanks a bunch!
Stormy

When the Principal Can't Quite Get it Together...

Students leave our school after fourth grade and go on to intermediate school. We don't have a graduation, but instead have an end of the year program. Students are recognized for perfect attendance, good grades, the usual school stuff. They sing a couple of songs, and then their principal says something inspirational. After that the fourth graders do a "farewell parade" through the halls with music, dancing, and pom poms. It's great fun.

Unless the principal can't handle the inspirational speech part. Which, in my case, is the case. Two years in a row.

This year I made it through the whole program without the hint of a tear, but then I had to talk. I looked at those faces, those kids I've seen every school day for two years now. High fives. Stories about weekends and spring breaks. School projects. Leaders in assembly. Lunch on Tuesdays. I looked at them, and I realized they were leaving us. And I just couldn't do it. The inspirational speech went something like this:

"Students, *deep breath* you will always *blubber* be a part of our *sob sob* school family *blubber blubber*. Gosh, I'm really not good at this part. *crying and tears* *something mostly inaudible and strongly dumb-sounding* leadership, character, blah blah blah *more tears and crying*"

Y'all. It was bad. 

So here is what I would like to say to them if I could speak instead of being a mess:

Parents, thank you. Thank you for loving your kids enough to send them to school every day and encourage them in any way you can. Thank you for sharing them with us. It's truly a gift.

Students, we see you. We know you're not perfect, but it doesn't matter to us. We look at you and see what you are and all that you can be. We see people who are capable and smart and kind and unique. When growing up gets hard, and it will, I hope you'll be able to see yourself the way your parents and your school sees you -- full of promise. 

No matter where you go or what you do in life, you will always be a part of this school family. We love each and every one of you just as you are, and we can't wait to see you change the world. Thanks for letting us be a small part of your lives. 

Maybe next year I'll just write something down and have someone else read it. It sounds MUCH better without embarrassing sobs!

Something I want to remember

One of Keaton's teachers and his wife had twins very prematurely last week. One of the babies passed away, and the other must have a long road ahead of her. Tonight some students organized a prayer vigil for this family at the park near our home. Keaton read a scripture in front of the crowd.

Psalm 119:50 "My comfort in my suffering is this: Your promise preserved my life."

He chose it himself.

A local pastor led a beautiful prayer. In it has asked God to light the way, and if not the whole way simply just light the next step on our paths. I want to remember that.

On Being Methodist

I have not blogged in 2017. I think it's mostly because I'm busy. I'm not super special or anything so I don't think anyone should really care too much about my opinion on most things. That's not self-deprecating. I get tired of other people's (often uninformed) opinions about things, and anything I have to say just seems like more noise. Alas, I find myself back on the ol' blog.

I think about religion a lot lately. I'm sorry to say that often it's because "society" or "social media" or "those people" make Christians out to be crazy, judgmental zealots who think everyone who isn't Christian would like to see them punished. That's just not true.

I think about my Methodism.

I was born and raised a good Baptist girl with strong Bible knowledge, an "of course I believe" attitude about faith, and a (borderline unhealthy) amount of guilt for my sin. I can still recite the books of the Bible in order and plenty of verses that are appropriate for occasions of joy and sadness. I never missed church on Sunday morning, evening, or Wednesday night. Never.

Then I went to college and stopped going to church. I visited one or two, but it was just weird going to a place where I didn't know anyone after being the daughter of the matriarch of First Baptist Church (you know it's true, Mom😊). So I didn't go.

Then I met Trey, who went to church regularly with his family. When we were secretly dating (if you don't know that story I'll fill you in sometime), I started going to church with him. It was the only place we went out in public together without other friends. I had never been to a Methodist church before, but the basics were like my church back home.

I learned that Methodists recite stuff and the preachers wear robes. Baptists don't do that. I learned that John Wesley has a whole bunch to do with being Methodist. Baptists pretty much only give credence to Jesus (and maybe Billy Graham), so adding in another guy was odd to me. The people at Trey's church were kind to me and made me welcome, and they taught the Bible.

On the first Sunday of 2000, I joined. Trey didn't even know I was doing it until he saw me walk forward at the end of the service (not an invitation like my Baptist church, but similar). I wanted it to be about me and God, not about my relationship with Trey.

It's 17 1/2 years later, and sometimes I'm still fascinated that I'm a Methodist. Keaton just went through confirmation, which is like Christian basic training that you do when you're in sixth grade followed by a public profession of faith. A little part of me feels like it's too scripted - learn this, do this, get Jesus; but another part of me is happy that he had this experience of learning the tenets of his church.

I've also thought more than once lately that I might like being Catholic. I'm not converting or anything, but when there are times I'm not sure what to pray I sometimes think "Catholics probably have a prayer for this." When thinking about friends and acquaintances who are struggling, I've thought, "I wish I could light a candle for them." I don't think there are magic candles or anything, but having something to physically do seems comforting when life is dark for a friend.

My reflection on Methodism came to the forefront of my mind this morning during our communion service. We Methodists have communion the first Sunday of every month. Just before we were invited to the table, our pastor, Tommy, said something that especially struck me today. I know we have open communion (all Christians can participate no matter the denomination), and I'm certain that I've heard this before, but today it warmed my soul.

I'll paraphrase part of what he said to explain that all believers could participate. He said that we believe this table belongs to Jesus. So we don't get to invite you - Jesus does. And Jesus invites everyone he loves. And you know what else? Jesus loves everyone. Everyone. He invites us all.

And I remembered at that moment one more reason why this church is my church.

To bring this all full circle, I want to say this: I believe in Jesus. I know and love lots of people who don't, and those people are not less than me. They are not scary. They are kind and have big hearts and love their families. And Jesus loves them, too. We should all do our best to act like it.

So that one time I ran a marathon...

My 2015 goal was to become a runner. I looked back at some old posts and was reminded that on April 15, 2015, I could not run more than half a mile. I was frustrated and felt ridiculous.

One year, six months, and 26 days later I ran a marathon.

What follows are random thoughts about that.

1) I was persistent that people who run marathons are crazy, and I had no desire to run one. Then I ran three half marathons, and I got the urge to push myself a little farther. This is how the impossible happens - small steps of possible push you a little further until suddenly a ridiculous thing happens. Pretty cool.

2) A friend who also ran her first marathon immediately said she wanted to do another. She got a blister that caused her to overcompensate on one side and threw off her stride for much of the race. I got the feeling that she wants to do better. I have mad respect for that. But I'm all good. My marathon was not fast (5 hours and 43 minutes), but I feel like it's exactly what I trained for. I currently have no desire to do that again. Those half marathons sure are fun, though!

3) Throughout the week leading up to the marathon, I worried about several things. What if I fell off a curb, broke my ankle, and couldn't run? What if I got a stomach bug? What if it was 90 degrees on race day? What if I did my very best and was (gasp!) last? What if I physically couldn't finish? I literally prepared for months for those 5-6 hours of my life, and I had one shot. I don't experience that often. It was a real mental effort to stop worrying about factors out of my control, and probably something I need to practice.

4) Marathons are boring. For real. There are water stations with nice people and other runners for a while, but once everyone spreads out it's just you, your running partner (more on that later), and one foot in front of the other. We decided to make it to 20 miles before putting in headphones because we knew we'd need a distraction.

I had downloaded two podcasts from TED radio hour. Wouldn't you know it! The first guest that I listened to was a researcher who believes that outside our brains the only adaptation that gives us an advantage over animals is our ability to run with endurance! That's what helped ancient people survive! Humans weren't faster or stronger that animals, but they could endure without tiring out. I laughed out loud as I listened.

The second podcast (which I didn't quite finish) was about parenting, specifically over parenting vs. letting your kids learn how to navigate the dangers of the world. I spent some time thinking about my own parents and how they raised a person who thinks she can do any absurd thing like run a marathon. I hope I'm doing that for my own kids.

5) I ran as part of Team Mercy Project, committed to raising money for the organization that works to free child slaves in Ghana. It gave a little more meaning to the time I was spending on training and obsessing. At the end of the race, giant posters lined the road with the faces of the 80 children who have already been freed. I was overwhelmed with emotion, but quickly realized that if I started crying I would stop breathing! I was fresh out of energy and air and everything else in that last stretch. Those smiling faces are a great sight after running 26.2 miles.

6) My school family is amazing. Not only did they hold a bake sale to raise money for Mercy Project and my race, but they presented me with this amazing book with photos of the kids and words of encouragement - even a poster that Trey brought to me during the race. It's overwhelming how thoughtful these people are. I made a crazy decision to run a marathon, and for months they've listened to me talk about it, plan for it, and obsess about it. Honestly, I'm sure I was a little annoying with my obsession, but rather than making me feel that way they went out of their way to send me off with well wishes and mementos. Several people even texted me during the race. I learn so much from them every day.

Also, I really had to finish knowing that 600 kids and 70 staff members would be asking me about it on Tuesday!  Ha!

It says, "Thank you, Mrs. Hickman, for showing us perseverance. From your Cardinal art students."

7) In case you didn't know, Trey Hickman is a saint. I decide to do crazy things that take up lots of time and he helps me find a way to make it happen. This goes way back to teacher certification, masters degree, that year I spent working in Austin on the weekends being an online teacher, and now a marathon. I got up too early every weekend and left to run. I woke him up, ran for hours and left him to take care of whatever was going on at home. He never once complained. He believes I can do anything and supports me no matter what I take on. He's the best.

It's been an interesting experience with my kids. As I increased mileage, they would give me a hard time and tell me they could totally do that, too. Then I hit about 20 miles and they changed their tune to decide I was nuts. When Tucker looked at the race map the night before, he said, "That's a long way. Are you sure you can do this?" (Thanks for the support, man.) After the race, Keaton said, "Wow. I was a little concerned but you did it!"

And I love that. I love that they can look back at their mom who is probably old and uncool to them and see that I can run a marathon. And if I can do that, they can do anything. Anything!

8) Finally, Erin. Erin is strong and athletic and has run eight marathons (now nine). When Erin learned a year and a half ago I wanted to run, she ran with me. She helped me train for my first half, then my second. She told me that I could run a marathon, and then she signed up with me. She sent me a training plan on August 25th, and we stuck with it. There's something about knowing that another person is waiting for you at 5:30 on a Saturday morning that makes you get out of bed. Without her, I would have given up long ago.

We ran through good days and bad days, talked every week about life and work and kids, and just persevered. We even tried to run ten miles when it was 103 degrees, but that's a story for another day!

How I feel about the fact that a person would unselfishly give up the time to help me reach this goal is hard to explain. She could have trained harder and finished faster, but instead she stayed next to me. It's kind of unremarkable for her - it's just who she is. And I am honored to be her friend. During the marathon a couple stopped us and asked if we were sisters. I told them that we've been friends long enough that we might as well be. Love you, Erin!

And that's a wrap. I ran a marathon. For real.

Tradition says that you finish your first marathon and you ring the gong!