A Daughter of the Ozarks

The title of this book idea comes from an elite group I have the pleasure of belonging to called Daughters of the Ozarks. We are still in the early stages of gathering but have some very clear goals and plans for growth.  The idea for this book came to me during my most recent visit to Southern Missouri while I was sitting at a top of a mountain letting my daughter nap in her car seat.  I hope you enjoy and don't forget to let me know if you want to hear the rest of the story.  I'm trying to narrow down my book ideas and I need your help!  As always the story is fiction so please those of you that know me don't read anything into real life.

I can do this.  We can do this.  It will be an amazing adventure.  I stood at the top of Skyline Drive staring out over a magnificent view of the Current River.  The trees were every shade of green, red, orange, yellow, and brown imaginable and the river snaked through them looking like grey ribbon.  The cool breeze blew through my hair and I wished I had packed warmer clothes.  Hell, I wished I'd owned warmer clothes.  I felt energized and excited about my idea for the first time in what seemed like years.  "The kids are still young," I told myself.  "They won't mind moving."  I could make an impact here.  I could start educating people and help this area flourish.  This is where I needed to be.  I could live and work in a place I loved.  Best of all it was so far away.  I wouldn't have to see Jacksonville ever again and maybe the hard work here would help me forget or at least ease the pain of what I'd been through in the recent months.

I hopped back in my car and began driving around the Southeastern Missouri Ozarks with no direction.  I drove through tiny town after tiny town and couldn't decide in which town I wanted to start my new adventure.  Every house I drove by that was for sale was either way out of my price range or had wooden boards or sheets for windows and doors.  I wondered how much it would cost to build my own home.  I didn't need much.  I'd need to find a realtor.  Of course Ryan's grandfather had offered me to stay at his vacation home for as long as I needed but I couldn't impose for too long.  That's why I was there in the first place.  Ryan's grandfather, Bennett, had thought it might be good for me and my children to get away from Jacksonville for a little while given recent events.

Bennett was the nicest man I had ever met.  He had worked hard during the great depression to keep food on his family's table even though he was a child.  Bennett had fought in World War II as an under-aged soldier just to send the money home to his mother.  I still wasn't sure how the government didn't figure out he lied about his age.  Bennett was honorable and passionate.  He had finished school upon returning from war and turned a glimmer of an idea into a very profitable business, the beginning of the Go Green movement.  Bennett had reminded me so much of my own grandfather whom I cherished.  I remembered meeting him when Ryan and I first started dating and thinking, "if Ryan is half the man Bennett is, I will be a happy woman for the rest of my life."  I couldn't take advantage of Bennett's kindness, however.  He had offered the vacation home indefinitely but I couldn't just move in.  I had to find a place of my own.  Maybe Bennett could give me the name of his realtor.  No, that would clue him in to what I was planning and then he would insist that I stay at the vacation home.  I was just going to have to call around and find someone I liked.  I could do this.  I had bought a house before.  At least I had bought half a house before but Ryan had taken care of most of that.  I didn't even like our realtor then.

I could feel my earlier confidence about my decision beginning to shake.  The tears started to swell in my eyes as I drove through Big Spring and headed back to the vacation home.  I just needed to leave.  I needed to go back to Jacksonville, continue teaching, and live in misery for the rest of my life because no matter what I did to my home Ryan would still be a part of it.  Even if I moved into a different home in Jacksonville there would still be constant reminders of him, of us.  I was right back to where I started.  No direction for where my life was going or where it needed to go.  There was a time in my life where I would have asked God for direction here but, at this time in my life, regardless of what anyone else said, God had left me.  God wouldn't answer or help me.  I was alone.  Alone with two children to raise, who needed me to be strong for them because they were as lost and confused as I was.

I pulled into the driveway of the vacation home and allowed my mind to think about how amazing it would be to live here.  Bennett had designed the home on his own after searching the area for years trying to find a place he loved.  The vacation home was a two story, well three if you counted the garage as a floor, home built on top of a bluff.  It had a very Frank Lloyd Wright feel to it.  The outside was all natural wood siding stained in a medium red wood color and almost wall to wall windows.  You drove right into the bottom floor to park your car or your boat or your ATV or whatever vehicle you had need for at a river.  It was really just a slab of concrete with huge wooden telephone poles being used as supports for the rest of the house.  Actually I thought the wood telephone poles were really steal beams surrounded by rounded wood facade but I couldn't remember for sure.  It was wide open.  No garage doors, no gates, almost like a fancy carport with stairs in the middle.

I got out of the car, struggled to get my 40 pound child and my 30 pound child out of the car without waking up either of them and began climbing up the stairs.  I wanted to just sit down and cry.  I didn't want to do this for the rest of my life by myself.  I didn't want to have to take care of two children alone.  Ryan and I had always said we could only have two because then they didn't out number us.  Now, I was outnumbered.  What choice did I have though?  These two beautiful children were the only family I had left.  They needed me and somehow we would survive.  Hopefully do a little better than just survive.  My thoughts carried me and my sleeping children to the first floor of living space.  The couches were just to my left and I scurried quickly to plop each child on a separate couch.  I collapsed in the chair facing the fireplace and just stared.  What was I going to do?  I needed some guidance, some inspiration, maybe a fairy godmother. "Someone help me," I quietly muttered as a drifted to sleep.

As I began waking up I could feel eyes staring at me.  I could feel a person's body heat on either side of my body.  I kept my eyes closed and waited for a few seconds to see if my children would say anything.  My son was the first to speak up.

"I think she's dead," he said in his cute little three year old voice.

"She's not dead, she's sleeping so let's leave her alone," my daughter stated.  My daughter had always been the one to take pity on her old mom.  I could still feel them staring at me.  I began to develop my plan.  I tried to feel where their bodies were without making a move.  Then as I felt them move, I opened my eyes, screamed, and tackled both of them to the floor in a massive tickle war.  It was me versus them and I knew I would loose the battle.  I was the most ticklish person on the face of the planet but it was well worth the torture to hear my children laugh to the point of gasping for air.

"I'm hungry," my son said abruptly standing up thus indicating that the war was over.

"Okay, little man what are you going to fix for dinner?" I asked anxiously awaiting my favorite response.

"Oh, Momma, don't be silly.  I am just to small to fix dinner," Josh said with a grin on his face.  I smiled.  I didn't think I could ever get enough of his oh Momma's.  I hopped up forcing myself to be energetic and plodded over to the kitchen with Thing 1 and Thing 2 in tow.  The kitchen was really just an extension of the living room and dinning room.  It sat in the Southeast corner of the house which was the perfect location to watch the morning sunrise as you cooked breakfast and not experience added afternoon heat when you cooked dinner.  I stood staring into the refrigerator.

"Well," I said with a smile, "I could make turnip greens, frog legs, or gizzards."

"Eeeewwwww!"

"Don't like my ideas huh?  Well do either of you have a better idea?"

"Pizza, hot dogs, Jolly Cone, Dairy Shack, chips, and ice cream," rang out in a chorus so loud I couldn't distinguish which child said what.

"Okay, okay, okay."  I could tell this wasn't going to be an easy win but we had been driving all afternoon and with gas almost $4 a gallon, it was a battle I was going to win.  "I'm going to give you some options.  Each of you can pick one.  If they match up, great that's what we'll eat.  If they don't match up, I'll draw out of a hat.  Deal?  Okay, I can make grilled cheese and tomato soup, black bean enchiladas with cheese sauce, you get to eat chips with this one, or lasagna."  I held my breath hoping they would choose the same one and to my surprise, they did.

"Enchiladas," both of my children said at the same time with laughter in their voice.

Score!  That was what I wanted to make which of course is why I told them they could eat chips if I made that.  My children loved helping me cook.  They had always loved helping me cook.  Every night at least one if not both of them would be in the kitchen working.  Ever since Ryan had...well let's just say recently I had both of them more often then not.  We began cooking our meal together, with me making sure that Emma let her brother help.  After putting the enchiladas in the oven, we cleaned up our meal preparation mess and set the table.  The dining room table looked odd in this house to me.  It was some sort of round metal trough looking pedestal with a thick piece of round wood sitting on top of it.  It definitely had a consistent design feel to it but a round table in such a square and linear house had always been odd.  Ryan's grandfather had round tables in all of his homes though.  He said round tables reminded everyone sitting there that they were equals and kept them honest.  I think he played a lot of poker.  As Emma finished putting out the silverware the timer beeped telling us dinner was ready.  I pulled out the enchiladas as the smell of peppers, chicken and cumin filled the room.  We had just sat down to pray, yes I still modeled faith for my children even though I was currently filled with a lack of faith, when my phone rang.  I glanced at the number and recognized the area code as Jacksonville.  My breath caught in my throat.

*Don't forget to give me your thoughts.  Especially if you eventually want to find out what happens.*

Not Exactly Fairy Tale

Let me start by explaining what I'm going to do with some of my posts. A person whom I hope was not just an appearance maker in my life suggested that I write a book. I'm having some difficulties narrowing down my ideas. I thought instead of my picking, I would write the first part of my ideas on my blog and let my readers help me decide. Let me also say ahead of time that these will be fiction stories but will of course be influenced by my experiences in life. I may also write in the first person. Please don't assume that anything in my book writings is true.  My characters will be fictitious. Thanks for helping me and enjoy the read!

I remember the day that horrible thought first swept through my mind. I was curled up in the corner of my bathroom with tears streaming down my face. My chest was heaving as I tried with all my might to keep silent. I had finally broken. I had lost the ability to hold my emotions in check. My family was sitting at the table eating my delicious dinner and I was near hysterical on the cold marble tile of my bathroom floor.

I looked over at my floor length oval mirror and I didn't even recognize the person I saw. My eyes were not only red and puffy from my brief fit but they had a look of pure misery.  Not misery, rage.  I was furious.  I couldn't believe this was happening again.  I had worked all day in a job I was supposed to love but really resented, came home took care of meeting my children's needs and cooking dinner and my husband was going to sit at the table with his phone checking Twitter and Facebook, again.  This after I had kindly asked him to not bring his phone to the table.  

"I want out.  I want to take the kids and leave.  I want a divorce." I was utterly shocked the minute the words silently exited my mouth.  I stared at myself in the mirror.  Who was this person in the mirror?  It couldn't be me.  I took vows and I married the man of my dreams, my knight in shining armor.  I couldn't possibly have even thought that divorce was the answer.  I splashed some water on my face, gave my body a good shake, plastered a smile on my face and walked back to the dinner table to finish eating with my perfect family.

For the next few nights I became very quite and thought a lot about the state of my marriage and how everything had changed.  It felt as if my brain and my heart were at war and I didn't have a clue who was going to win.  My brain was saying my life was falling apart and my heart was saying it'll get better.  I didn't know what to do.  Who do you talk to about your life falling apart when everyone thinks you are the luckiest woman alive? That's what pre-marital counseling should tell you.  They should give you resources on what to do if you start thinking about divorce.  Who was my pre-marital counselor anyway?  Maybe she does have some resources.  Of course if I call her then I would be admitting to someone that I can't take care of my marriage and that I'm a complete failure.  After the week finished, I was still at loss.  

So, here I was stuck in a world that was exactly what I wanted by appearance and nothing at all what I wanted in every matter that counted.  I got out of bed at the sound of my youngest crying through the baby monitor and looked at my husband who had covered his head with a pillow to drown out the sound.  "Must be nice," I thought to myself, "just cover your head and pretend your child doesn't need you."  I made the trip down the hall opened the door and scooped up my third little angel.  Her cries immediately stopped and she snuggled close as we marched down the dark stairs to the kitchen.  Our routine was peaceful.  Sometimes it was the only thing in the day that I could depend on being perfect.  I went to grab a cup from the shelf and there wasn't one.  I looked on the counter, still no baby cup.  I dreadfully opened the dishwasher with it's light that said not clean lit up.  Of course, all of my baby's cups were sitting in a dishwasher that was full and had soap in it but had not been started.  "If I have to be up at 5 in the morning and I don't even have a clean cup for Delilah, then you're going to be the one to get up and wash it...BY HAND," I said in my head to my husband. I stormed upstairs and down the hall with my feet slapping against the bare wood floor.  I flung open the door and was received by the fake, startled gasp.

"Is something wrong?" Robert asked.

"Yes, something is extremely wrong.  Delilah doesn't have a clean cup and if I try to put her down she'll scream and then wake up everyone in the house," I snapped.

"So, you'd rather just wake up me?" Robert said as he replaced the pillow over his head and rolled over.

"If I'm gonna have to do everything on my own like a single mom I might as well be a single mom," I quietly said as I once again slapped my feet down the hall.

Once back in the kitchen I managed to hand wash the cup while holding my baby, got her milk and snuggled down in our favorite chair with a book. She drank her milk and while I was reading her book to her I began wondering how hard it really would be to be a single mom.  I wondered why people even got married in the first place.  Maybe a hundred years ago it was important to have someone to take care of you and procreate legitimately "in the eyes of the Lord" but women fought hard to get people to understand that we can take care of ourselves and who really knows what God thinks about out of wed-lock pregnancies anyway.  Of course my pregnancies were all in wed-lock so I was safe there.

"Maaaam!" My daughter startled me back to reality and signed that she was hungry.  So we went to make breakfast.  As I cooked my favorite breakfast meal of bacon spinach quiche, any excuse to eat pie crust for breakfast, I could feel my anger from the morning melting away.  I knew this recipe by heart and it was effortless to make.  It was one of the only ways to get my family to eat spinach which I guess is supposed to be some sort of super food or something.  It was also one of the only recipes I could quickly manage with a baby on my hip for 98% of the time.  My Delilah smiled and chattered as she watched me cook.  I gave her the fork and let her stir the mixture.  We poured the egg mixture into the pie shell and stuck it in the oven and grabbed a snack while we waited for the quiche to cook.

An hour later, the quiche was cooling, the table was set for breakfast, and I was waking up all my men in the house.  My husband and two sons were silently going through their morning routine as I fed Delilah.  Robert was the first to make it to the table.  Neither of us spoke to each other.  He was almost finished eating when I asked, "do you think you could watch Delilah while I jump in the shower?"  I tried to keep my tone in check but wasn't as successful as I had hoped.

"I haven't take a shower in like a week," Robert responded.

"Okay," I replied while secretly thinking about how gross that was and wondering why he didn't make time for a shower and mentally adding that to the list of reasons to divorce.  Okay, that was a stupid reason but still super gross.  I just got up and took Delilah with me towards the shower.  On the way upstairs I passed my oldest Atticus who gave me a cheery high five, then Bonnie who looked barely awake, and Caleb who had his hands full of "exploring gear".  I gave Delilah some toys and hopped in the shower finishing in record speed with my frustration with my husband mounting equally as fast.

When I got downstairs the kids were ready to go so I snatched them up and we were out the door.  All of the kids said good bye to their father, I did not as I was seriously contemplating changing the locks before he got home, or maybe just packing up the kids and moving in with my father, God help us.