Humble beginnings indeed.....

I have been working on my ancestry in my free time for the last 2 or 3 years. I have discovered amazing things like the fact that we are descended from titled, British land owners, a possible link to a Pagan king and a few other interesting characters. From all of the stories and information I have gathered, there is one that means the most to me.

My great-great grandfather Benjamin Franklin Broyles made his living as a shoe and boot maker. I know this seems rather inconsequential but for some reason it really strikes a cord within me. My family history has never been filled with pioneers, adventurers or any daring type of person. My forefathers are mainly farmers, laborers and people who did the everyday jobs. For some reason though my mind pictures a humble man bent over his work bench, tacking the sole of a boot in place or putting his own personal touches on a pair of shoes made for one of children.

I have learned that we are all made up of stories. Some are one-of-a-kind, some sad, some pure luck and some are just your average story. The most important part is not the story itself, but what the person did afterward.

Oh, bless your heart.....

I can literally hear at least one of my father's sisters saying that as I reread my posts from the past year. For those who may not be familiar with the sentiment behind the phrase, allow me to share the quaint Southern tradition. As proper ladies would never outright be rude or make discriminating remarks to someone, they have in turn used a few simple phrases to be kind while sweetly masking their condescension. In my case, after reading my rantings which highlight my plentiful neuroses and hyperactive emotions, I am certain that any one of my Virginia-bred aunts would be sure to look at me and say "Oh well bless your heart". Sounds nice, doesn't it? In reality, it would be their way of saying "Honey, you are completely off your rocker". Which isn't too far from the truth sometimes.

There are certain things about oneself that can only be seen in the harsh light of the printed word.

One, I really am a bit (or a lot) dramatic when it comes expressing my emotions. I contend that this is due mainly to the fact that I grew up being a voracious reader who fell in love with the prose of Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte.

Two, I seem to vent or complain far more than I feel I should. I have kind of been told this before by trusted friends but I just don't know how to let things go. I guess we'll chalk this up to still being a work in progress.

Three, and this one should really be in all caps and bold, I need to stay out of relationships for a substantial amount of time and quit looking for the so-called "Mr. Right". Yep, the harder I look, the harder I fall and then the harder I fail. This last relationship lasted two years, he's been gone a month and I have already caught myself fantasizing about meeting someone else. Talk about jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Four, I am a good mother. Having kids with different abilities, like my girls, sometimes makes a parent second, third and fourth guess themselves about how they are handling things. I have a bit of a guilt complex that has been building over the last decade so I am very familiar with feeling like I'm failing as a mother. In hindsight however, my girls have the best possible life that I can give them and I try to instill in them everyday that they are wonderfully, perfect young women who can do anything they want to in this world.