Roll on…

As Alabama’s “Roll On” began playing through the car stereo the other night, I tried to really listen to the words of that song. I know it, word for word, because the song has been on the radio longer than I have been alive. But it seemed to really hit home while my oldest child was sleeping after a long week at school and a complete and utterly embarrassing meltdown at daycare, and her little sister sat quietly next to her in the back seat, peering out the window into the fading daylight.

As I took a quick peek in my rear-view mirror, silent tears started streaming down my face as I realized how this song has become my family’s anthem.

Their dad  was still on the road, heading home from hauling cattle to the sale a hundred miles away for some good friends of ours. He’s been on the road for what feels like forever; in reality it hasn’t been that much, and he has been home at night more than before he became a self-employed trucker.

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Loaded up and ready to roll.

That said, it doesn’t make life in our house any easier.

The girls miss their daddy, and I do too. Not only do they tell me on a pretty regular basis, but I see it in their eyes that they know things are different. It is a strange thing for me, because my dad was always around growing up. The good thing is that it isn’t always this way.

I miss our semi-normal routine when their dad is gone; and although I maintain a pretty tight ship whether my husband is home or not, it is tiring to do it all alone.

I secretly worry every time the wheels on our truck turn. I worry he hasn’t had enough sleep, I worry about other drivers, I worry about the weather; even though I know my husband is more than capable to handle anything the miles under his tires might throw at him. Worry does no good, but just like a child, I can’t help but worry a little about him. I guess that’s what happens when you love someone a hell of a lot.

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I am blessed to have a man in my love that loves his family very fiercely.

I pray for the scales to be closed, yet I know and appreciate the importance the DOT workers do to keep all of us safe- no matter the headache it causes my husband and the other drivers we know.

I both despise the sound of the phone ringing, yet can’t help but wish for the work to steadily pour in. Sometimes I struggle to not tell the guy on the other end how self-absorbed he is, calling my house at supper time, asking my husband to leave his wife and kids; while I can hear his family in the background of the call. But the truth is that we signed up for this when we went into business for ourselves.

I hate when he is gone, yet sometimes (secretly) wish for him to be gone for a couple days; you know, so I can have some time to myself…

When he is gone overnight, I never sleep very well.  The kids hate the fact they don’t get to see their daddy in the morning, and the drama seems more constant. I know there are a lot of kids and wives that see their dads and husbands a lot less, and I don’t want to sound ungrateful- I admire the hell out of Shane for busting his butt day after day to help us chase our dreams. If it takes him being on the road, I guess the kids and I will keep on singing these words:

“Roll on family, Roll on along; Roll on Daddy till you get back home; roll on family, roll on through; roll on mama like I ask you to do, roll on eighteen-wheeler, Roll On!”

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To all you wives and mommas out there, holding down the fort; and to all you guys making a living on the road: God bless you. Thank you for all the work you do behind the scenes to keep America rolling on!

~Much love,

Richelle

Unfiltered

“There’s two dates in time that they’ll carve on your stone, and everyone knows what they mean; what’s more important is the time that is known, in that little dash in between…”- “Pushing up Daisies”, by Garth Brooks

On the day that the good Lord chooses to call me home, I hope I am doing something that fills my heart with happiness. I hope on the day that my family chooses to return my body to the earth, that they saddle up my ashes on top of a good looking horse and lead him to a green pasture overlooking the land my family has tended to for years. As they quietly unload the remnants of what was once my body, and scatter my ashes along the edge of the creek, I pray that the only sounds they hear are the birds singing their happy songs, the rippling of the water over the rocky creek bottom, and the swishing of the horse’s tails. No chirping cell phones, no music blaring from an Ipod. I hope they speak kindly of me; telling stories of how I lived and of the legacy I am leaving behind.

A legacy that is more than stacks of laundry, dirty dishes, and an 8 to 5 office job.

A life full of laughter and love for my husband and kids, horses and dogs, friends and family members.

I hope to raise children that know there is an entire world beyond their fingertips; beyond the  Facebook status updates and Twitter feeds. Young adults that can figure out that sometimes the only evidence of their idiot mistakes they need are memories; memories that fade with age and heal with time. Adults that can carry on conversations with other adults face to face and that can deal with hardships on their own, without needing the input from the rest of the world.

Because experiencing life second hand is not living (thanks to the doctor’s office hold music for that reminder!). Life is too short to be spent trying to live vicariously through our “friends” Facebook updates. A good life should not be judged by your Instagram photos or number of songs downloaded from Itunes. Get out from behind the lens once in a while, and learn to value what you are seeing #unfiltered.
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I want to live a happy, prosperous, love-filled life; so when the time comes to start pushing up daisies, I will be missed for so much more than a social- media presence. We all deserve to live this one trip around the sun to the fullest, and I intend to start living it for myself.

I hope you can live your life for yourself, too. #Unfiltered. #Uninterrupted. Un-hash-tagged.

Until next time,

Richelle