Thursday, April 30, 2009

Dearest May

Dear May,

I am writing to let you know that I have received your letter and understand your frustration and overall feelings of neglect.

Yes, it is difficult holding down the the month 5 spot. You could not have stated it any better when you offered up this disgruntled sentiment:

"I am but a mere gateway to the summer. A transitional existence of increasingly warmer weather, lackadaisical school academics, and cheaper beach rates."

I understand and clearly see your point of view.

It is true. People do tend to sell your month short. In some cases, there are several humans that pack up their bunnies, chicks, and colored eggs only to put up decorations that provide a mere smack-in-your-face. Clearly misrepresenting you and prematurely ringing in the summer months. Yes, let's go ahead and speak their names: June and July. Without naming any names and with NO disrespect to you, I provide you with examples that only further strengthen your argument

After viewing such graphic visuals, I can see where your disgust derives. It is obvious that this family has honored you with nothing. The merest representation of May being a frivolous pinwheel in and amongst the sand toys, shovels and buckets, sunglasses, water guns, and water bomb balls. Let's not forget the lays; truly a twist of the month-to-month knife.
But May, you are important. You hold several holidays to which many are grateful. Cinco de Mayo, Mother's Day, Memorial Day, countless high school and college graduations fall with in your calendar term. Perhaps it's best that you shift your focus towards these positives in which no June or July can contend.
Let's take May Day, ironically today, for example. There is no other month that celebrates its first day. Now, I know and can already hear the proverbial grumblings under your breath. Hardly anyone even recognizes this day for you.
But stop right there. The same cold-hearted family that blastfully decorates their home in YOUR month with the beach garb that your eyes have witnessed above, does, in fact, take time out of their day on May 1st to honor you, #5. Note the evidence below:
One year ago today, this family celebrated May Day with canvas painting outside in YOUR warm sunshine climate. Each boy was given free reign of colors and painting techniques in which to honor YOU.
The youngest son a mere 15 1/2 months, gravitated towards orange as his central theme and then went-to-town, if I may use such colloquial terminology, honoring you with splashes of vibrancy and joy. His mother bear solidified your significance to him on that day with one stubby footprint white.
Then the eldest son selected a base palette of green producing whirlwinds of colors with brushstrokes precise yet sohpiscticatedly pre-determined it seems for a newly turned 3 year old. His maternal guide allowed the canvas to dry only to signify your day forever in this little boy's walk with his footprint as well.
The hands of doom and disrespect hanging such hurtful symbols as you were forced to view previous are, in fact, the same hands that drew and hand painted the names of these canvases for YOU---on May 1, 2008.

The children blissfully selected the "doo-dads" to accompany their name and further be symbolic of their personalities.
On the back of this coupled pairing is each child's name AND DATE to forever hold a memory of their time with YOU.
Now, please month of May. Please do not turn from this letter in hatred or choose the pessimistic pathway of life.
Many times you are underestimated.
But for the many bowls of chips and salsa, the margaritas slurped, the ridiculous coffee cups that read "I heart my mom" and bundles of crinkled and poorly dyed carnations given, the cheap caps and gowns purchased at drastically inflated prices, the camping trips, and lake outings planned, and yes, the small crafts and tiny memories performed on your very first day, I beg of you...take note of your significance.
Hold it there.
Squeeze it tightly.
Feel proud of your place in among the 12.
Oh yes. One more thing...
"Hey May, do you have your sunglasses on?"
You might need them for this:

And be thankful with who and where you are!
It could be worse...
You could be January.
With deepest regards,
President of the Month Complaint Association

Blessings and Burdens

Laundry piles,
Days on end,
All chummed up and wrinkled on the bedroom chair,
Coming in last on my list as I pass by and cast them evil glares.

Boys closets cleaned,
Tubs stacked high in our corridor,
What goes to Goodwill?
Oh yeah, that bit fat pile over there on the floor.

Easter decor down,
Summer decor up,
Where did I leave my coffee?
Oh well, I'll just get another cup.

Time out for you.
Tell him your sorry; we don't hit.
If I see that ONE MORE TIME...
I am going to light a fire on the part of which you sit!

Dishwashers clean...
Moms, you know what I mean.

Dust like wooly blankets on tables and chests,
Are we out of furniture polish?
Naw, I just have decided to take a rest.

Sewing til 2,
Sleep, oh I how I miss!
6:45 comes early,
I cave and turn on my PBS bliss.

Finish your bites,
Monograms and making dinner,
I got a new bag design on the burner,
Maybe we should just go to Mrs. Winner's!

Sunday School lessons,
A book I would LOVE to finish,
Blogs to read,
Laundry piles to diminish.

Orders to mail out,
Trains to play,
Flowers that need my tendin',
Oh, what a day.

Did I pay that bill on time?
Did I do that when I said I would?
Are you kidding? We're out of milk already?
3 gallons, NOT 2...I knew I should!

Post office trips,
Taking bag pics,
Emailing back clients,
An assistant is what I wish!

The juggling,
The snugglin',
The round-the-clock day,
It's what you get and what you love,
My boys, my life, k.Mac , Kenny: they are all worth my every today!

Now, where did I put my coffee?

.mac :)

Tuesday, April 28, 2009

G.I. Gnomes and The Diamond Cupcake Attack

Not long ago in a quaint little community nestled on the rooftop of a nearby Sewanee mountain, there was a teacher. She was rich in love with her job. Full of enthusiasm, well versed in classroom management, a near expert at organization and transitional strategies.

Yet, she lacked one thing.

Spontaneity in her 7-4 hour routine. Yes, Mrs. Casey was quite content with procedures and marking things as complete in her plan book.

Luckily for her, 2 very charming and exceedingly handsome gnomes along with their uber attractive, crafty, and quick witted fairy princess mother sensed the monotony of Mrs. Casey's regimen.

With no haste, this fairy princess mother and her 2 gnomes began planning what would become the most well thought out sidebar slaughter to Mrs. Casey's day.

Sewanee Elementary would feel the repercussions of their sheer celebrational joy when they were through.

This gnome just knew if he worked his cute and charming, not to mention sweetandlittle angle once the shock and awe of this jubilee jolt had worn away, he would, no doubt, have a mini white board in his hand and an endless supply of fresh-out-the-pack white markers.

And this quite-the-curious gnome had his eyes on performing his own skillful acts once he took the pry bar to the padlock of regularity in Mrs. Casey's room.

Yes, he would leave his mark. He had plans for his name to be forever tattooed on the day the clock of this classroom stopped.

Quick as sprites only much cuter, these 2 gnomes took inventory of their surprise attack ammunition.

real cute hands--check
surprise flower seeds--check
super creative fairy princess mother with a crafting plan--check

Operation Diamond Cupcake was in full prep mode...

Gnome 1: "Hurry up and get the dirt in the pot. We have not much time!"

Gnome 1 again: "Faster! Here, I'll help you. I am quick at this."
Gnome 2: "Sut-up! [mumbled aggressively under his breath] (That would be his version of "shut up".)
Fairy princess mother: "Boys. [insert stern low voice here} You...finger pointed at gnome 1...stop bossing. And you...finger pointed as gnome 2...stop saying that word. That's not a word we say in our fairy princess/gnome/really hunky handsome ogre home.
Narrator: "Fairy princess mother would like to let the audience know at this time that "Shut up" is really not a word used by members of this magical family contrary to the language used by gnome 2. She would like to interject here only to blame it on the rated G movie, Toy Story where this word is used twice as well as other unmagical words like, "idiot" and "stupid."

Gnome 2: "Bubba, don't forget the secret seeds!"

Ah yes, the secret seeds. Hearty, vibrant, and beautiful for bouquets. Sure to put a smile on any one's face as their colors are glorious and textures superb.

Narrator: Fairy princess mother would like to add that she feels the secret seeds along with the hand prints on the flower pot pushed this ammunition gift from loaded gun to heat sinking missile if you were to ask her.

Like hands of an angel, fairy princess mother made this gift grenade and had another tiny oozie package ready to be disengaged on Mrs. Casey's battlefield of structure and sticktothecourse.

Tank loaded and en route to battle, Gnome 1 talked the entire time, Gnome 2 slept as he was allowed to bring what means more to him than air, his "B" {blanket}, and Fairy Princess Mother sang at the top of her lungs and danced while driving all while attempting to converse with Mr. Chatty Kathy in the back.

Mission status: on the premises.

Target in view.
Gnome 1, Gnome 2, and FPM scale the wall to make the attack more dramatic.

Then...ready, aim, fire!

Mrs. Casey was hesitant at first, unsure of who was charging towards her only to break cadence in her routine.

Perplexed, she froze...


HUGE HUGS blasted her all around! She gushed smiles and full on squeezes as torpedoes of kisses rained down.

The missile and oozie were brought in.
Oozie first...wait for it, wait for it, NOW!!!
Knocked backwards, Mrs. Casey was completely blown away with the explosion of this gift and its aftermath.

Sparks flying, fire broke out in her classroom. Panicked and full of dismay, all children rushed to help their battered teacher relinquish the flames!

As the battle raged on, Gnome 1, Gnome 2, and Fairy Princess Mother were whippin' some major teacher tail. The classroom was evacuated and forced outside where torture equipment was placed on Mrs. Casey's head as Gnome 1 and Gnome 2 struggled to keep their prisoner in line.

The territory was almost destroyed. In the battle of math class vs. mayhem, mayhem was contemplating waving their victory flag.

The army of 3 decided for one final blow.

The heat sinking missile.
The macdaddy demolition crew.
The au revoir and peace out.

Key around her neck, like the commander of a naval submarine, fairy princess mother set detonation in motion...

And Mrs. Casey and her regimen for higher learning was K-O'd.

All by the hands of an angel {with extremely dirty hair}...

Moral of the story:

A) You can plan, but your plans might just be 'bout to change!
B) Best to eat the handmade cream cheese icing with "diamond" sprinkles as diamonds are your birthstone when you're born in April.
C) Happy Birthday, Aunt Kim! We love you!
D) Thematic gifts revolving around a cupcake theme that include jewelry are to-die-for.
E) Handmade not Hand Grenades.
F) Who in the world mixes G.I. Joes in a fairytale setting??? A girly mother of 2 boys, that's who!!
G) Wash your stinkin' hair, Fairy Princess Mother!

.mac :)

Sunday, April 26, 2009

The Space Between

4,745 days today.

She has been gone.

It was her latest perfume of choice.
I can still smell it at the mere thought of her.
Her last.
I can remember breathing it in so deeply as I rubbed her smooth legs and stroked her hair smelling especially behind her ear demanding of myself to not ever forget her face, her feel, her smell, HER.

It's the space between where uncomfortableness, grief, and absolute heartache ease their way into the numbness of moving on knowing that this scar will never heal.

13 years.

The early years were always unbearable. You turned the calendar to #4 month and the aching and resist began to churn in your stomach.

Those middle years were a combination of disbelief that you had, in fact, lived that long without her and the relief that those sharp pains had subsided into only everyonceinawhiles of curled-up-in-a-ball on the floor missing her.

Which leaves me to this new number. 13.
And how am I today?
Pre-occupied and passionate.
Pre-occupied with her grandsons.
Passionately wanting to hear her voice

Mollye Ann Cook was born on October 12, 1950 to Harry and Merriam Cook. My grandparents were 22 when they had my mom. Mom-mommie looks every bit of 12 to me here.

The space between.

Here's mom at Eli's age now. 4 years old. Spirited and fiesty are like rays of golden sunshine beaming from that sweet little face. Those rays never stopped shining her entire life.

The space between.

At 20 years old, she was a sophomore at University of Maryland on her way to earning a degree in teaching. I was this age when she died.

The space between.

Here's mom at 22. This was the year she graduated from Maryland. I get lost in this picture sometimes. It's mesmerizing to me to some effect. Until tonight, I couldn't put my finger on exactly what it was. I always like to daydream about what was on her mind, ask her what eyeliner she used to make her green eyes look so absolute, tell her that the braces investment was so worth it.

The space between.

Roughly 9 years later, here she is. With me.Yes,with me. And who else? Mom-mommie, of course. The three of us round this time where devoutly Saturday shoppers for depression glass and other antiques. I sat in the back and those 2 in the front galvantin' around the middle Tennessee area wheelin' and dealin' on what good finds were out there. Her face. Her grandsons have blessed me with this same look. The wonderment of your child is like nothing words can match.

The space between.

My most favorite gift I received from mom her last Christmas alive was this book.
God doesn't leave out the details. He doesn't. Mindful of her time on this earth ending although she was totally unaware, He had her pen these words to me on the inside cover:

The space between.

And then there was the dress.
Mom was an expert seamstress. An art form mom-mommie taught both she and my Aunt Sharon. Mom made all of my formal gowns for high school.

Yet it wasn't until my sophomore year of college, that mom sent me a note with 2 swatches of fabric asking me which one I would like best to have my spring formal gown made in.

God gave her a full year and a half with me wearing 3 formals of store bought dresses before the desire to sew for me again.

The space between.

The night before she died she had begun to sew the pinned pieces together. It was lying in her sewing room next to her machine 13 years ago today. Mom-mommie couldn't bare to finish it. She took it to a local seamstress to complete. I wore this 8 days after mom died to my spring formal returning to college that very day from her death.

The space between.

Our 1st Christmas without her. The absence of the one who had all the packages tied just so with crisp corners folded. Candles on the mantle and stockings hung. Family heirloom and her handmade Christmas ornaments adorning the tree in just the right spots. Goodies baked. Christmas music filling the house.

A woman fills a home with comfort, joy; a longing to be there.
I see this picture and ache at the pain my dad felt to do just the bare minimum for the sake of Adam and me knowing all too well that he could never replicate what had been lost. Her light was so bright in our home. Maybe that's why dad chose to hang up the tapestry curtain over the french door.

To remind him her light was not there. Yet, none of us needed a reminder.

The space between.

It's the spaces between that God gives us. His timing. His will. His plan. No tapestry can cover the light He has for us all if we just turn to face Him.

About 3 months after mom died, my dad called me at school. He said he had a package sent to me and there was a book inside. He wanted me to read it. He said there was a note from mom in there and I would know it when I saw it.

I asked where he got this book and if it was one of hers. He replied that he found a scribble of paper in mom's nightstand with a list of books on it. You see, mom was an avid reader. Always ready for a new read, I can see her grabbing that scrap paper to jot down a book title she heard from a radio program or television.

He took her scrap paper filled with potential books to the local bookstore in hopes of finding one. He said he thought that reading something she wanted to read would help him in missing her as much as he did.

Dad adored Mom. Adored is actually an understatement.

Upon his search, it turns out the book he was sending me was, in fact, not on her list, but merely the book beside one that she did have written down.

The title of this book was too ironic for him not to include in his purchase.

He said he went home, sat on the front porch swing with a beer and read the book he was sending me.

And with that, he simply re-stated his initial words to me on the telephone:

"I just sent you a package. There's a book inside. You need to read it. There's a note from your mom in there for you. You will know it when you see it."

I received the book, my curiosity and anxiousness through the roof. I began reading. It was a collection of poems.

I love poetry. To read it. To write it. I am in heaven. There is just something about fragmented thoughts that give way to such beauty and precise sentiment.

Page 107.

Smacked me right in the face as the mere scan of the title had tears welled up in the corners of my eyes.


I can remember breathing it in so deeply...

Mom was named Mollye Ann Cook.
When she married, she became Mollye Ann Casey.

I was named Meghan Alicia Casey.
When I married, I became Meghan Alicia Cobble.

Page 107, the title of the poem: MAC.

Filled with emotion and disbelief, I was torn at what would be on the page before me. Completely stunned by the title, I had to collect myself before reading.

Trembling with sadness and about 2 sniffs away from my curl-up-in-a-ball on the floor missing her, I read these words:


Mac is asleep now
Growing wings in her room

All fifteen years of her
are ready to come true

All of her faces return me
I remember especially how she waited for me at the gate
with her arms begging
"Hold me, Mama!"

It has been such a long time since I have squeezed her in against my heart
...It will be longer still
Until I can again.

Mac is growing wings tonight
I can see them coming
They will be larger than mine
They will lift her out ahead of me

It is hard for me to imagine how far she will go or how soon
It is something she is dreaming now...
So I pulled up the quilt around her tonight
And I kissed her where she used to smile so much
...On the voice that must deny me

...I closed the light around us
It is time for us to be foreigners

Mac is leaving me
It is that twist in nature that my own mother warned me about
...The next time I see her she will be my sister

...I can hardly wait to be your friend
It has been so hard to be your keeper

Wherever you are when you read this page
wherever you are going from here
I want you to know that I'm still here
In the body where you came from

I'm a woman, Mac
I carried the seeds like you do now
...I don't know how important it is for you to come back me before you leave a 2nd and final time

It's my turn to stay behind the fence

~Merrit Malloy

Her words to me.

It was no accident Dad stumbled upon this book. The book next to the one mom had scribbled on her scratch paper.

Floored both literally and physically, I cried deep rooted tears of sorrow. I cried for the mother I needed so badly. I cried for my dad who missed her more than he could stand and for my brother who had so much from her to still learn and see.

I cried.

The space between.

The Christmas book title with the hand written note...
The dress...
The poem...

And the picture of mom at 22. The one I mentioned being so mesmerized by. Captivated by her look.


This was the age I accepted Christ. I prayed in my dorm room for all the hurt, the sadness, the void, knowing at that moment that He was the only one that could mend it all with His undying love.

Was it a coincidence that picture of mom at 22 captivated me so?


It was another one of God's details for me to observe, connect with, and grow from.

The space between is just that as well. He gives us those spaces of time to rest in His love and to look for the details He adds to our life. Once found, these details are meant for us to grow in our strength in reliance on Him and work on our earthly life to not miss the mark.

Never lose hope.
Be bold.
Live your dreams.

Choose to love with your lips and not let hate fill your heart.

4,745 days today.
13 years.
I can remember breathing it in so deeply...

I will always remember it.

The space between

Glory to God, I will never be the same.

I love you, Mom.


Friday, April 24, 2009

15 days ago...

The boys and I played with sidewalk chalk on Good Friday.

The air was moist, sticky on our skin.
The chalk against the concrete seemed to melt vibrancy into our creations.

Names first, middle, and last scribbled.
Trains sketched.
Noah's Arc.
Scattered colors.
Cheeks smeared with chalk.

I drew this.

He was heavy on my heart that day.

And within an hour's time, torrential downpours commenced.
The southeast experienced severe weather.
Tornado touchdowns.
Even some deaths.

I was actually on my way back from my local fabric store in Kenny's truck. Windows up and pellets of rain pouring vehemently down, I heard the strangest howling noise.

It was the Chattanooga area's weather siren.

Immediately, I clicked on the radio only to hear:

"Take cover. Stop driving. Get in a bathtub. Stay away from windows."

Freaked and under control ironically at the same time, I called Kenny. The power was out at our home and he and the kids were safe. Together, he slowly talked me through the storm as I gave him updates on the weather forecast and where tornadoes were hitting.

I made it home.

Limbs down and leaves scattered like the toys in the boys' bedrooms was the extent of our damage. Our imperfect scribbles, scratches, and drawings had vanished; gone forever with the storm. We were without power for almost 24 hours after that.

In that space of time sans sewing machine humming, dishwasher drumming, and light flicking amid the wrestle play fights by candlelight and the snuggles in bed listening to the rainfall, I reflected on my today...

No paper needed as my thoughts seemed to tattoo my very mind and soul:

-The air was moist; sticky on our skin.
-He was heavy on my heart that day.
-Even some deaths.
-And within an hour's time, torrential downpours commenced.
-Our imperfect scribbles, scratches, and drawings had vanished; gone forever with the storm.
-Freaked and under control ironically at the same time...
-He was heavy on my heart that day.
-Take cover.
-The chalk against the concrete seemed to melt vibrancy into our creations.

-I made it home.

And there it was, my words right before me. The story of Easter.

His pain, the heaviness of his struggles

[The air was moist; sticky on our skin.
He was heavy on my heart that day.]

People gathering to see this miracle worker slain.

His death on the cross.
[Even some deaths.]

The curtain to the Holy of Hollies ripping; the Earth shaking.
[And within an hour's time, torrential downpours commenced.]

Our sins forever forgiven with His blood.
[Our imperfect scribbles, scratches, and drawings had vanished; gone forever with the storm.]

Compelled, inspired, a desire to know him more...his body in the tomb.
[Freaked and under control ironically at the same time...]

Mourning His death likewise mourning my soul for its imperfections.
[He was heavy on my heart that day.]

Accepting His place forever in my heart and temporarily with His Father in Heaven,I am covered. Wrapped in His love forevermore as in the tomb His body was not found.
[Take cover.]

He is here for all of us to do just that.

With Jesus, my life is more vivid, more alive.
[The chalk against the concrete seemed to melt vibrancy into our creations.]

I am His. Kept. Saved. Forever.

[I made it home.]

And there is no place I would rather be. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you for the many blessings you give, the wisdom you share, the glory You are through us all. It is a privilege to know you more and more everyday.

15 days ago symbolically.
Forevermore internally.


Wednesday, April 22, 2009

This Kiss

He's done it again.
Laid a BIG SMACKER right on my life.
7 years ago in June,
I'll have been his wife.

His words; I beamed.
His sneakiness; his schemes.

Busy with life,
A sewin' and a stitchin',
Racin' trucks and playin' outside,
Meetings and schedules AND cleaning the kitchen!

Has left me NO time to unwind and relax,
No fingers tap-tapping,
Words are but faded footprints found on my blog tracks.

Little time for snuggles and spending my time,
With the one who holds my heart forever in his hands,
Secretly he watched,
As I met all my life demands.

His perception,
His patience,
His rightbymyside,
Pen words on my soul; to his care I do confide.

I am a lucky one.
For my reality and bliss go hand-in-hand,
This kiss: my weakness and forever my strength.
The sweet and the salty,
Kenny Cobble, YOU make MY life complete.

Amazing you are,

your wife :)

Thursday, April 16, 2009

I LOVE my wonderful wife! this is DEFINITELY not what I do....I don't blog....I don't post....I do read this thing...but this REALLY....generally NOT my deal!


I just really HAVE to say....from the very bottom of my heart....I LOVE MY WONDERFUL WIFE!

By now you have hopefully realized that this is NOT Meghan! Yes, yes, yes....I broke the rules and signed in under her name....I know....I know...not supposed to really do that....but at this I really care? NO!

Let me tell you some things about my wife:
- she is WAY too hard on herself!
- She has THE BEST smile on the planet!
- She does a magical job raising our two WONDERFUL boys (there is no price tag on the peace I feel when I go to work KNOWING I don't have to worry one bit about where they are, who is watching them, or what they might be doing that day!)
- She makes a MEAN chicken casserole, baked spaghetti, pork tenderloin, twice baked mashed potatoes (and she doesn't even like mashed potatoes!), strawberry-pretzel dessert, do I really need to go on here???????
- She bought me a JEEP for Christmas....can you believe that???? I mean we go from cutting corners and not doing Christmas gifts for each other for the past few her finding a way to get me a JEEP...seriously????
- She has an absolute PASSION for is contagious!!!
- She really cares about the point that she almost tortures herself over things sometimes!
- She has a GREAT work ethic (if you ladies had any idea how many times she has burned the midnight oil after spending a FULL day with a 2 and a 4 year old so that she could make these creations and try to help our family out....TRULY AMAZING!)
- She has a faith in God that is growing and maturing's like she's getting wings in this department and really spreading them to fly!
- Did I mention that she is the mother of my two FAVORITE BOYS on this Earth? What an amazing gift that has been to both of us...and what an amazing experience to share with the woman you love!
- She makes my lunch!
- She makes our bed! (these last two may sound small...but they are truly two of my favorite things!)
- She loves to DANCE (bless her heart I do NOT love to...and this has limited her some...but you should see that million dollar smile when she does!)
- She buys me gum...because I am always freaking out about my breath!
- She is, without question, the MOST creative person I know!
- She so often reminds me of my wonderful, wonderful, wonderful, grandmother Ruby....whom I miss VERY DEARLY!
- She fills my bucket up!

- She has taken my life...for the last 11 years....6 of those married....and helped me make it better....helped me make myself better....helped me make our family better....

I am forever in your debt wife....I can never repay it....but I will walk with you EVERY STEP OF OUR WAY!

I Love You,
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