I am in The-Middle-of-Nowhere, Ohio this week taking classes for the family business. Truly, this is the smallest of small towns, and it’s making me realize what a city girl I really am. But at the same time, I’m finding out just how jaded that’s made me.

This afternoon, I went into a little coffee shop for a caffeine fix and while I was I paying, I looked outside to see a group of boys pull up on their bikes. They were probably about 14 or 15 years old, and there were a lot of them. They were all wearing black and had piercings in places that looked really painful. At first I was surprised to see them and all their gothness in this Po-Dunk town, but that only lasted only for a second, because the next thought that crossed my mind was that I had to walk through them when I went outside.

When I left the city yesterday, I was behind a man in a truck stopped at a traffic light when a car pulled up next to him. A young girl in the car took a full cup of soda from a fast-food restaurant and threw it at the man in the truck, then she and her friend quickly pulled away. It made me sick. Here was this poor guy, probably on his way home from work, and he AND the inside of his truck were covered with sticky soda because some stupid kids thought it would be funny. If he hadn’t been on that road, it would’ve been me.

That incident was fresh in my mind as I left the coffee shop today. I eyed that group of boys, clutched my purse a little tighter, stood a little taller, and tried to look all rough-and-tough in my girly-girl linen shirt as I walked out the door. I was prepared to get called a name, or have something thrown at me, or get followed and harassed. Instead, one of them saw me coming toward the door and he jumped off his bike to hold it open for me. I was still hesitant when I said, “Thank you”. But, when he said, “Sure thing. Have a good day”, then hopped back on his bike and started talking to his friends, I realized he was actually just a really nice kid.

Maybe living in Mayberry wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Yesterday afternoon, we were at a picnic with some friends when my daughter got a blister on her hand. She had been playing on the monkey bars, and though she has been doomed with blistered hands from the monkey bars many times before, she keeps going back for more. Seeing as how this is completely preventable pain, I have a hard time giving her much sympathy. Especially because these are, ”OH!! TRAGEDY OF TRAGEDIES!” blisters. The kind where she cries real tears when she washes her hands and cries, “It burns! It burns us!”

I have no patience for this lack of toughness. It’s probably because I’ve seen my son go through eight surgeries in his five years, and have seen him poked and prodded with needles more times than I can count. He once had an IV in his head, and he has scars all over his hands and feet from all the other times he’s needed something dripped into his body. He doesn’t even cry anymore when he goes to the lab for blood-draws, and immunizations are a walk in the park. Once, in recovery after surgery, he actually stopped breathing. His Dad and I stood there in terror and disbelief as a nurse stood over our son yelling, “Don’t quit on me! Don’t quit on me!”

So a few years ago, when my daughter fell to the floor in a panic as I came at her with a sewing needle to remove her first splinter, I didn’t even know how to handle the situation. At first, I thought she was joking. Because, really? Could a five year old actually melt down because of a splinter? The answer is, yes. My mild-mannered, sweet, wonderful daughter TOTALLY flipped out. She was on her back, lying on the floor, kicking, screaming, crying, snotting…it was unreal to me. When I finally got her to calm down and got that splinter out, she seemed to be rational again. She said, “It wasn’t that bad. It didn’t even take you very long.” I thought we had an understanding.

Turns out, I was wrong. Way wrong. Shortly after the splinter, she needed a strep test done and freaked out so much at the sight of the throat swab that she threw up. A strep test the next year took all my strength, along with the muscles of two nurses to keep her still. All while the doctor pinched my daughter’s nose shut to force her to open her mouth. Simple procedures and things like paper-cuts send her into so much of a tizzy, that we are ever fearful that she will actually injure herself, then go into shock. I can’t imagine a broken bone or a deep cut. God help us and everyone in a ten block radius if the girl ever needs surgery. They would definitely have to use sedatives…and I’m talking about for me. “Ma’am, please put down the nitrous tank. Your daughter needs you.”

But tonight, I looked at my daughter and saw her rubbing her blistered hands without any tears in her eyes. Maybe it’s because she’s getting older, maybe it was because she was with friends, maybe it’s because I told her last night that she needs to “buck up”. No matter what kept her from coming to me and crying in pain, I was really, really proud of her and this new found backbone of hers. Another thing no one tells you about being a parent is just how gratifying such small steps can be.

I’m not trying to go all Alanis Morissette on you, but isn’t life ironic?

My husband and I just got back from a couple of days away to celebrate our 10th wedding anniversary. Ten years ago today, on August 23, 1997, at exactly 2:00 PM, at a church not far from here, our marriage ceremony began.

When I think back on our wedding vows, I remember them very clearly. We stated that we would be true to each other, in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, until we are parted by death.

Today, on August 23, 2007, at exactly 2:00 PM, at a funeral home not far from here, my Uncle’s calling hours began.

Tonight when I saw my Aunt, who had been married to her husband for 43 years, I couldn’t help but think how lucky I am to have been married to mine for only ten. I can only hope and pray that my Uncle is looking down and helping us on this journey. He obviously knew what he was doing.

I am sitting here at my computer, still drying my eyes after a tough evening at the funeral home. To my Uncle, I love you and I will miss you. To my husband, I love you and I cherish you.

Until we are parted by death.

My husband and I have notoriously bad vacation luck. A few years ago, during Hurricane Charlie, we were at a hotel in Virginia when it started raining in our room at about 2:00 AM. It had nothing to do with the hurricane though. It was due to the yahoos upstairs who left their shower running, then went out for the evening. I heard one drip coming down near a window, and by the time maintenance got there it was like we were in a downpour. Everything was soaked. We had the displeasure of moving the kids and all the gear that comes with them, to another room in the middle of the night.

During the huge blackout of 2003, we were stranded in a hotel in Cleveland. Not only was there no electricity, but there wasn’t any water either. No ice, no flushable toilets, and no gas in our car to get the heck out of the blackout area. AND, to top it all off with a big, fat cherry on top, our daughter was very, very sick with what we later found out was viral meningitis. Ahhh…good times, good times.

A few months ago, my husband and I were at a hotel in Indiana when an alarm went off at 4:00 AM. We were on the 11th floor, and for an hour we heard this over and over, “There is an emergency in the building. Please stay where you are until you receive further instructions.” I sat on the edge of the bed, with my shoes on, ready to run out the door as soon as that voice told me to do so. Thank goodness, she never did.

A couple of days ago we woke the kids at 5:45 AM for our last family trip of the summer. It started raining halfway into our drive and never stopped. We were supposed to go to an amusement park, but instead we ended up walking around Wal-Mart for hours before we could check into our hotel. Woo hoo!

At about 11:30 that night, my husband and I were watching TV in our hotel room, with the kids sound asleep in the bed next to us, when the electricity went out. A few minutes later a fire truck arrived and parked below our 3rd floor window. I barely had time to picture myself fashioning a ladder made of hotel-room bedsheets before the fire alarm went off. We each grabbed a kid, some warm clothes, and the car keys, and evacuated the building with all the other guests. It was cold, it was raining, it was a nightmare. We sat in our car until 2:30 AM before they let us back into our room.

The ride home yesterday was literally hell and high water. We had to drive at a snails pace to get through the massive amounts of water on the road. But, as we would go through the mini-lakes on that little two-lane road, our daughter would laugh out loud. She thought it was FUN! I was clutching the door, constantly checking that seat belts were fastened, and telling my husband to be careful…and she was laughing.

I suddenly thought about how our son had slept through the entire debacle the night before. Neither one of our kids heard the blaring alarm. And, how my daughter, wearing her Daddy’s big sweatshirt, was perfectly content to lie in his arms in the front seat of the car while there were firefighters running around outside. They had no sense that anything was wrong or that there was anything to worry about. As far as they were concerned, they were safe and sound, and Mommy and Daddy would take care of everything.

And, with that realization, I finally found myself with a smile across my face.