Columns/Opinions

I had the distinct opportunity to meet two of Pittsburg’s most engaging citizens last week.

When I attended the splash pad grand opening, I met Serenity, a bright, vibrant 8-year-old. She told me she didn’t smile and didn’t take good photos. Challenge accepted.

I snapped a photo of her that would later become the front page photo for the Aug. 6 paper. Just before the paper went to press, I happened to catch a glimpse of a familiar face out the windows of The Pittsburg Gazette.

I ran outside to be sure and it was indeed Miss Serenity riding her bike on the sidewalk with a friend. I called for her to come inside the office where I showed her the front page on my computer. Her eyes lit up and you could tell she saw herself differently. She saw the newspaper differently. I told her to be sure and come back on Wednesday to get a copy.

American cowboys are the stuff of legends and I had the chance to celebrate them recently. A National Day of the American Cowboy celebration was held July 25 at the Fort Worth Stockyards.

My family and I don’t take plane rides, train rides, cruises or even hikes. We do road trips. Check that. We do hot car, fighting kids, junk food, sing-alongs, are we there yet? trips cross country (or across Texas, same thing) that would put the Griswolds to shame.

So it was that when we decided to head out for my daughter’s birthday trip, we stumbled into the Fort Worth Stockyards. When I originally started planning this weekend trip back in the spring, I was going to take the kids to Six Flags. Not sure how I ended up west of Arlington, but it probably had something to do with triple-digit temperatures and three-hour lines for rides that would have made everyone queasy anyway.

I can’t imagine being more blessed than I am. I have an amazing husband and am the momma of a green-eyed toddler, a curly-headed girl, and tow sweet TWIN BOYS.

I’m going to take you on a reality trip down a road called, “A Typical Twinning Day,” starring identical twins, Hunter and Carter, with a cameo by the lovely Bayli Belle (Sorry Tucker Tex, you’ll come along in 5 years but this particular day I am a momma of but three babies… all under two). Seatbelts, everyone!

I woke up to giggles in the dark, got out of bed, walked towards the noise and flipped on the lights to the kitchen to see that my twin boys, at 1 and 1/2 years old, climbed out of their cribs, and opened the fridge. They had every single thing out and on the floor. We’re talking butter, eggs, syrup, milk, juice, leftovers, lunch meat, hot sauce, jelly, coffee creamer… NOTHING WAS IN ITS CONTAINER.

They squeezed, scooped, busted and dumped it all out. It was 4 a.m.

I wasn’t worried when stories hit the airwaves of a large-scale military operation in Texas. I joked on the internet about Jade Helm.

The military is made up of men and women who have sworn to protect their country from enemies both foreign AND domestic. I know military folks. I have more in my family than I can count. Those who wondered if Texas was about to be taken over by the government were just trying to find something to be afraid of.

However, the conspiracy theorists must have wiggled their way into my subconscious. Coming home from Mount Pleasant the other day, I saw a line of cars stopped on Highway 49. It’s a nice, big, safe highway for the most part and four lanes at the time of this incident. I thought maybe there was a car stalled, or maybe an accident was backing up traffic. Pretty soon traffic was moving at a more normal pace and that’s when I noticed something strange.

Pittsburg native Laura Oglesby stays busy raising four crazy kids with her husband, Shaun. She will be writing the column, "Hide Your Crazy," featured on the Opinion page.

“Whoop that butt!” “Good Lord, he’s just being a kid!” Admit it. If you’re a parent, you’ve thought it, discussed it with your friends and some have even had the grits to say it to another. We’re not just swimming in a sea of judgments, we’re drowning in it. We judge others, we judge ourselves, and boom! A new word is born, comparison.

I’m a strict parent when it comes to obeying. Why? In my mind, if you don’t learn “No,” “Stop!” or “GO!” by walking age, you will see a pretty road, set out to go play on said road, get hit by a car or kidnapped and die. It’s how my mind works. I’m also strict on keeping to consequences. Why? If I warn you 12 times with no consequence, you think I’m a joke. Therefore, you don’t obey and you die. Momma don’t play.

I shudder to think of the tales my kids have told about me. Not that I’ve done bad things, mind you, but little kids will rat you out like a mob stoolie about stuff you didn’t even know you did.

I started wondering about the tall tales my offspring have spun about me on a recent Sunday as I was teaching Sunday school to a group of Kindergarten through second-graders. That day’s lesson was on miracles and specifically, how Jesus turned water into wine.

No sooner had the words ‘water to wine’ left my lips than two little hands shot up. They’d heard a word they knew! “My mama drinks wine!” one little girl shouted. “So does my dad!” chimed in a little boy. Want to know the real miracle? That these kid’s parents didn’t hear them.

My church babies always keep me laughing though. As do my kids and ANY kids. There’s no filter on their tiny mouths and you just never know what you’re going to hear.

By Tori Lyle

news@campcountynow.com

I love the simple things in life. One of those simple things is cats. I love them. Not like in a, ‘Oh, I think I’d like to have a cat as a pet,’ sort of way, either. More like the, ‘I would be a cat lady if it weren’t for my husband saying no all the time,’ kind of way.

And I wouldn’t be a well-kempt cat lady either – you know one of those women with diamonds dripping from the fingers with which she’s petting her $1,200 registered Persian feline. I’d have more of them than I could count – all colors, all sizes, all ages and all over the house and yard. I’d have so many kittens in my bed that I’d have to sleep on the couch.

By Tori Lyle

news@campcountynow.com

My dad and I made a deal when my family and I moved in with him – we would have a garden and split the work. He would plant and do all the legwork. I would preserve, dehydrate and freeze all that was harvested.

After three straight months of unseasonal Texas rain followed by ample sunshine – I got the short end of that stick. We planted cucumbers, squash, peppers, peas, tomatillos and tomatoes. Oh the tomatoes. So. Many. Tomatoes.

I thought for a while that they were never going to turn red. Last year's harvest never did. I ended up eating a lot of fried green tomatoes last summer. This year, I went ahead and picked a bushel of green tomatoes and made two batches of salsa verde. I would have been happy as a clam if that's all our two little rows of tomato plants had produced. Twas not to be.

By Randy Seybert, Pastor of Church on the Rock, Daingerfield