BethAnn Buehler's Blog, page 6

Mall Walkers...

I met the sweetest group of people today. I was at another mall (but in my defense I was shopping for the hubster). Granted, these folks thought I was a mall walker but still, they invited me to join their group! Truth was I was looking for a specific store and I wasn’t sure what level it was on (there were three) so I stopped to check my surroundings. Clearly I look like I could use the exercise but I wasn’t out of breath so there’s that. In other news we’re going out to dinner tonight and I’ve picked a place with both cherry cobbler and banana pudding on the menu. I also got to drive slightly over the speed limit for the first time since we landed here because there was no traffic on I 85 this afternoon. And I found the puppy adoption store. Danger! Danger!  #IDidHaveOnTennisShoes #FourDogsIsAlot#ATLOTPDayThree

The Daily Melt...

Don’t let anyone tell you that major life change isn’t stressful. Don’t look at photos on Pinterest or Facebook or Instagram and assume you’re doing something wrong or that you’re somehow lesser because you don’t look like a million bucks while toting around your perfectly organized life in a fur lined storage tote. I don’t care who you are—that’s not reality. Whether you’re moving a kid to college, downsizing, moving 600 miles away or just trying to organize your stuff enough to send a kindergartner off on the first day with the right colored pencils, change can be brutal.
My daily meltdown (and let’s hope there’s just one today!) happened at 11:15a in the middle of Hobby Lobby. There I was, comfy in my favorite holey sweatshirt with my hair up in a knot, when I burst into tears in the middle of the store.  I love to decorate for the holidays and Hobby Lobby has their fall décor out in full swish.  It would’ve been oh so easy to fill a cart for my newly renovated home. Then it hit me, hopefully it’s not going to be my home anymore. A few remaining signatures on a couple of documents are all that’s needed and then my home will belong to someone else which means for the first time fifteen years I won’t have a home. The truth is, I don’t know where I’ll be when it’s time to decorate for fall. And while that thought terrifies me because the boys and I have made a beautiful home here and I genuinely love my house and all of the memories we’ve made inside these four walls, the thought also makes me happy because I know the next family that lives at our address has an amazing journey ahead of them. I know they’ll be living in a home where every corner has been prayed over and planned and cared for and well loved. I’m hopeful that I’ll find a new house to pray over soon, and that means I’ll get to renovate anew with my eyes on the goal of making a home for the boys and I and our guests. I know it won’t happen overnight, but I refuse to believe it won’t happen.  After I pulled myself together and managed to grab what I went to Hobby Lobby for in the first place, I ended up in an area of the store I’ve never really frequented before. And this is what I found there waiting for me. Be still my planning heart!  I’m thanking God today for putting this little notebook in my path and giving me a ray of hope for the journey ahead.  #ATLOTP825

We're Headed Outside the Perimeter (OTP)...

I’ve been oddly quiet lately and those of you that know me well have caught on that something’s askew in Buehlerland. You aren’t wrong. While the hubster, the kiddo, and the puppies and I are fine, our world was flipped upside down last week when we found out that two thirds of us are moving to Atlanta, GA in mid August. Our other third, that bright-eyed boy that lights up my life, will be moving to Bloomington a week later.
Mayhem? You bet. Dismay? By the boatload. Gut wrenching? Pardon the graphic but a day hasn’t gone by in the last week that I haven’t tossed my cookies at least once. Fear? So overwhelming I can barely catch my breath sometimes. This wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t even in the notebook of possibilities. But this is what I’m learning through the upheaval that’s become my life as of late... Love is messy and love is hard and stupid and painful but love is also absolutely worth it. Thank you for checking on us. And praying for us. And loving us. Please don’t stop. We know we’re only as strong as our tribe and we are oh so grateful for each and every one of you. We’re trusting that God is right in the middle of our mayhem and we believe you are his angels.

The Day After...

High school graduation was supposed to be a fun filled day of celebration but that's not how it went for us.  After alternately sitting in the rain and hiding out under the bleachers for 2.5 hours trying to squeeze a ceremony in between storm cells, it turns out we didn't get to have graduation. Anyone with a cell phone could have checked their weather app and predicted the coming storm with near pinpoint precision so at the end of the evening you can imagine the scene: we were wet, and tired, and disappointed, and beyond frustrated for our kids. In my opinion, graduation shouldn't be dependent upon weather and it certainly isn't something to be squeezed in anywhere.  I don't know how else to describe our evening except to say it was a failure of epic proportions. 

Have you ever had one of those days where life just brings the storm?  As we sat in traffic leaving our non-graduation, I couldn't help but think about all of the times our school administrators have given our kids the speech about the importance of the day after graduation and how those very same administrators were woefully ill-equipped to actually handle the real storm that hit us last night. It turns out it was our kids who showed up in force and ultimately got the staff to cancel (finally) the event (in the middle of our third lightning delay) so the class of 2019 could have a do over and celebrate their accomplishments the correct way at a later time.  It turns out that our kids were better leaders than the grown ups last night.

So that day after high school graduation (in our case the graduation that didn't happen) that everyone talks about? It's today for my kiddo and this is what he's done with it. Bandolier Baby (the first track from his upcoming debut EP) released this morning on iTunes, Spotify, and numerous other music outlets I've never heard of. The lyrics are open and honest and while the kiddo knows he's first and foremost a songwriter and guitarist, he also knows this is where it all starts. You have to put yourself out there All. The. Way. if you really want to chase your passion and oh, what a leap it is! I'm certain that in the years to come when the hubster and I look back and listen to these early recordings we'll remember this phase of the kiddo's life with nothing but the purest love and pride a parent's heart can hold. And I hope by then we're able to laugh about last night.  #TheBestDays #Buhler #WHSSen19rs 

Our Plans...

I love seeing Facebook history posts hit my newsfeed. I love seeing how far we’ve come and how much we thought we knew about a given thing at the time. Things change (the kiddo didn’t even apply to Purdue or Michigan and he turned down William and Mary) and while that can be scary, I love knowing that regardless of our plans, God directs our steps. #IUclassof2023


April 30, 2015--#TBT of my two goofballs at Purdue for the Purdue-Michigan game. The grandson of Frederick L. Hovde is in the Michigan gear, ever the faithful UofM alum (despite his seriously deep Purdue roots), and the great grandson was just a newbie 6th grader in this pic. Now that little blondie is 19 days away from being a freshman in high school and you guessed it—Purdue is his #1 choice. Where in the world does the time go? #WHSclassof2019 #Purdueclassof2023#maybeMichigan #momwantsWilliamandMary

He Didn't Have To...

Jesus didn’t have to go to the cross. 
For some of you this may not be new news but to me, it’s both fresh and profound and exactly what my soul needed to hear.  It's true.  Jesus didn't have to go to the cross.
Let me explain…  Jesus knew his coming death was the fulfillment of prophecy.  When he went to the garden of Gethsemane to pray, he asked God straight out—if there’s any way you can let this pass me by, please do so.  And he was told flat out he would be betrayed by one close to him and that he would carry his own death piece, the cross, to the hill where he would hang.
Let’s be honest.  Jesus wouldn’t have been the first son in the world not to do what his father asked.  He wouldn’t have been the first person to disagree with authority and he wouldn’t have been the first person to experience a fear-based response and run from danger.  He wouldn’t have been the first person to take the easy way out.  He had a choice. 
To my way of thinking, the garden was middle ground.  When Jesus looked out over the city in one direction, he saw a land filled with people that would betray him and lead him to his death.  But I what I didn’t know, what I learned just recently (I’ve been a Christian for over forty years mind you), is that if Jesus would have just turned around and looked the other way, he could have easily slipped into the Judean wilderness and disappeared.  He could have walked away.  Prophecy unfulfilled.  Destined changed.  History altered forever.
When the call comes and it’s not a favorable diagnosis, it would be easier to run.  When the conversation starts with I don’t love you anymore, it would be easier to run.  When there was nothing else we could do is all that’s left to be said, it would be easier to run.  When we watch the people we love struggle and resist help, it would be easier to run.
Have you ever wanted to disappear?  Have you ever thought about just chucking it all and running?  I often joke that I’ve thought about running away far more as an adult than I ever did as a kid.  I think most of us have felt that way.  There are days it seems life is made up of a thousand flaming arrows headed straight toward our hearts.  If we responded how we wanted on those days, the freeways would become a parking lot as we each tried to flee to anywhere. But. Here.  Yet for the overwhelming majority of us, we don’t run.  Why don’t more of us run?
In my opinion today marks one of the most crucial moments in Holy week.  It was tonight, Thursday night, when Jesus sat down with his disciples and shared what would be their last meal together, Jesus’ last meal on earth.  To set the scene, you’ve got men from all walks of life who’ve become best friends.  While being called together for dinner probably wasn’t unusual, as Jesus begins to explain what’s going to happen and what he expects from those that choose to follow him in the days to come, it’s obvious this meal is like no other the group has ever attended.  In today’s terms the last supper is much like the final meeting before the team is dismissed and the real work starts.  The events that will unfurl over the next few hours will blow apart this close-knit group and life will become anything but ordinary.  Some will doubt--I don’t believe what I’m hearing.  Some will stand in dismay--why is He washing my feet?  Some will deny--I never knew him.  One will betray—it is he.  To think it could have all been avoided if Jesus would have only turned around and headed less than an hour the other direction.
Jesus knew there were flaming arrows aimed directly for his heart.  He knew his place in history was to obey his Father’s will and take the hit.  If ever there was a one-for-all moment, surely it was when Jesus decided not to turn and go the other way.
We’re all going to face days when the arrows come and we find ourselves asking exactly the same thing Jesus did--if there’s any way this can pass me by, please let it do so.  Doubt is going to creep in.  Dismay is going to come.  Denial is going to settle deep and betrayal may befall us.
Tonight when we set down to dinner and talk our way through the events surrounding the last supper, I’ll use words like integrity, loyalty, responsibility, honesty, hope, faith, and love to tell my son a few of the reasons I don’t run, even when it would sometimes be the easiest thing to do.  I’ll plant these seeds deep in his heart and pray when the arrows come his way he'll follow the ultimate example, that of Jesus, and decide to stay instead of running.

Thank You...

Have you ever been so sick you tell yourself you're never going to feel good again? That you're never going to get well? Yeah, that's where I was earlier today. I've been stuck at home this week and I've missed out on a lot of things because I've had no choice but to clear my calendar. I know for some of you that sounds heavenly but for my energy type, it's pure punishment. I'm the girl that can't stay in her jammies past 6a (trust me, I've tried). That can't nap (even when I need to) unless it's Sunday afternoon. The one that has a hard time slowing down (if only I had a dollar for every time I heard that advice)! With all of these thoughts bouncing through my aching brain while I was waiting for a chest X-ray this morning, I managed to throw myself a pretty spectacular pity party.

Fast forward a few hours (and three new meds) later and party clean up has brought some much needed clarity. I'm grateful I'm not worse because for some that isn't the case (I need to get over myself). I'm grateful for quality medical care (complete with stupid forms and boring waits) because for some that isn't the case. But most of all, guys, I'm grateful for you. I'm blessed beyond measure and it's all because of so many of you. You guys amaze me.
Thank you for lifting me up this week and for being awesome! Thank you for caring and for taking time to reach out. Thank you for notes and texts and soup and fresh fruit and for homemade whoopie pies (forget I mentioned those because I can't share, I have germs)! I promise I'm on the mend and I'll be back in action soon, which means it's time to reschedule our plans. And there's a bonus... When we get together we'll get to go right to the front of the line because when I start hacking, people run! #NotContagious #StillNeedToDitchTheHeadache

WE HAVE TO GO...

We have a thing around here. A sure fire way to tell when the kiddo is annoyed with me. I get “mother”ed. The kiddo doesn’t call me mom or momma like he sometimes does when he’s tired, and he doesn’t send out a low, groaney, drawn out mom like other teens might do.  Nope.  Not my kid. Mine looks at me and very sharply says MOTHER and this is the tell, that not so subtle way I know that I’ve gone too far, overstepped my bounds, insulted his intelligence, breathed wrong on a given day, or otherwise just ticked him off.  
So imagine my surprise today when for the first time ever I check my texts and the word MOTHER pops up from the kiddo.  Before you judge me, just know that I’ve been in my office all morning staying in my lane and he’s at school.  I know what you’re thinking but cut me some slack.  Surely I couldn’t have screwed something up all the way across town, right? We took the kiddo to see John Mayer last summer, his first concert and his best concert, and it was magical.  Our little trio had an amazing night and we made some of our biggest memories over sodas and wailing guitars.  Walking to the car we promised ourselves if John ever got close enough that we could go again, we’d do it without question.  That night is still something we talk about all these months later.  We promised each other.
When MOTHER landed on my screen this afternoon, I had to read the text twice before I could fully comprehend that the kiddo wasn’t saying it to chastise me, point out a flaw, or call me to the carpet for something.  Nope.  For the first time ever this MOTHER was used to snag my attention and hold it tight.  
HE’S COMING BACK After I figured out who HE was, my first thought was that I have no idea where we’ll be on August 12th. Where the kiddo will have landed for school and how I’ll be filling my time and dealing with the newly vacant room at the end of our hallway. 
WE HAVE TO GO  Well of course we do! I have no idea if money for five tickets is in the budget but yes.  We have to go.  The kiddo has invited his dad and I to join him, his bestie, and his girl at the concert and there’s no place I’d rather be. There’s no place else I’m going to be.  
I’ve been mothered a lot over the past seventeen years but never once has it made me smile like it is right now.  Thanks for putting Indy back on the calendar, John. This is MOTHERhood gold.  

Mrs. Christmas...

For as long as I can remember I’ve loved the lights, and the music, and the hype, and the hustle of December.  Shopping doesn’t stress me out.  I don’t stear clear of the mall for an entire page of the calendar.  I don’t even mind wrapping football shaped presents that were never meant to be covered in paper, let alone sport a bow.  I’m the granddaughter of Mrs. Christmas and I consider my love of all the things associated with this month a welcome benefit of being loved by such an amazing woman.
I can’t remember a time she wasn’t wrapping something in shiny foil paper that became her trademark or making peanut butter fudge to give to friends.  She wrote cards by the dozens and always managed to have a little something for everyone she encountered during the Christmas season.  
While I think about her every day, there’s never a time she’s with me more than at Christmas and this year is certainly no exception. She’s everywhere in my memories this month. Is it just me?  Am I just paying more attention to every flocked tree and blue ornament?  Every “Lite Brite” ceramic tree and carol?  Every silver and gold decoration?  Don’t even get me started on the blue lights...
To me Christmas is time to reflect on the amazing gift God gave us in the form of his Son.  It’s a story of unconditional love to a power of infinitiy so I guess it’s only natural that when I think of that, I think of her.  Her love for me came with no strings, no prerequisites, and no performance reviews.
My grandma didn’t know me at the end of her life, recognizing me only for an instant here and there when it seemed the moon and stars aligned, but I knew her with my whole heart, that very same place her memory often grows so large I have to stop and catch my breath.

RockStar Fashion...

It's easy to forget that my unspoken communication can sometimes send a message I don't intend.  A sigh, an eye roll, an ill-timed huff…  I'm guilty of them all.  I’m just not usually guilty of them all at once!  Except for this morning, when the kiddo appeared from the depths of his closet ready for school.  I have no idea what I did (because I didn’t say a thing) but clearly it was wrong. Way wrong.
In my defense, it’s been an interesting fall in the world of Buehlerland fashion.  The kiddo has always been what I would call a Dapper Dan.  In fact, just this time last year I remember joking that it looked like Ralph Lauren and the Brooks Brothers were having an illicit affair in my laundry room.  The kiddo knows how to sport a suit and when he needs to step it up, he does so in custom tailored, cufflink clad, matching tie and pocket square style.  It’s a look a mom can easily get used to in a hurry.
But dressing down has changed for the kiddo this year and while my savings account isn’t complaining, the new look has taken some getting used to.  Gone are the matching outfits (he would die if he heard me call them that) and put together style my kiddo used to labor over.  In their place is a much more casual look which I can only describe on a given day with words such as “oh,” and “huh,” or the occasional “really,” which I try to toss in every so often for variety.  When I asked the kiddo about the change, he rattled off something about GQ and rock stars and trends and I have to admit, I laid off at that point rather than stepping fully into the conversation. If living with a world-class debater has taught me anything it’s this--knowing when to step out of a conversation you aren’t fully prepared to have is a very useful thing.  He was clearly disappointed with my reaction and we didn't leave it in a good place.  I’d like to think I’m enlightened enough to catch myself rolling my eyes or sighing a bit too loudly, but the truth is I’m not always there and this morning I got called out on it.  I could play the mom card here because frankly, I’m entitled to my opinion and my eye roll was a mere one of tens as opposed to the thousands I’ve endured over nearly eighteen years of parenting.  Or I could let it go and see it for what it really is—a one on the scale of things that matter and things that don’t.  Honestly, I really don't care what he wears most days.

Chances are he's already forgotten about this morning.  But I haven’t.  Which is why I think the best thing I can do is own this mistake and show the kiddo that I’m not above stepping up to correct my error.  #BuehlerLife