Joy to the World!

We tried something different this Christmas. After driving frantically around St Louis a couple of weeks ago, spending money on stupid things we were just guessing our kids would like, and feeling pressured to get it done RIGHT NOW I was feeling a little stressed out. So my husband and I talked about it, and we decided to forgo the tradition of buying, wrapping, and placing surprise gifts under the tree. Our kids are old enough now that the things they really want need to be picked out by them. And we already have a family tradition of doing something special together on Christmas Eve. So we put the few piddly things we had already bought into their stockings and told them we were spending Christmas Eve shopping together in the city. They loved the idea! Parker was up at 3:39 am waiting for our bedroom door to open. (And mentally calculating how much he could add to the spending limit we had given them..."I have $5 in my coat pocket...and there's a dollar hidden under my lamp...and it's past the 20th, so I get my allowance...")
We all had a great time. The kids got much more stuff for the amount of money we would have spent, and they liked every purchase because they had picked it out themselves. Yancy and I got lots of pleasure from watching their excitement and being able to say "yes" to all their requests. When the money was all spent, we sat down in our favorite restaurant and chatted over dinner (Mom wasn't too tired from cooking to eat and she didn't have to worry about the dishes!) Then we went to a movie we'd all been wanting to see (a rare treat now, since Cuba's only theatre - a drive-in - is closed for the winter!) We were home by 10:00, ready to fall blissfully tired into our beds.
And now, it's Christmas morning. The real test of our new idea...will we still be happy with no presents to unwrap? After all, that's usually the centerpiece of Christmas morning.
We gave the kids their stockings (gloves, basketball socks, no candy) and then made breakfast together. We joked and laughed...my husband and I bumping into each other as he made sausage gravy and I made chocolate gravy (yes..it is a real recipe - southern, fat-filled, and delicious!) The Jackson 5 belted out ABC as Parker danced around and Hillary painted her nails at the kitchen bar. Funny...no one seems to even miss the gift opening bonanza. As Three Dog Night sang for us this morning...
Joy to the world...
All the boys and girls...
Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea...
Joy to you and me!

The Gift

This week our church held their annual Christmas pageant. It was just a simple compilation of skits, songs, and readings...kind of corny, but mostly sweet and funny. Hillary and her friend performed a singing Christmas card (which they wrote and choreographed on their own). It made everyone laugh. Later the youth group performed a beautiful sign language/dance to O Holy Night. And then toward the end, Hillary sang a worship song with the youth pastor and a few of the other kids. As they sang "Lord, I'm amazed by you.....Lord, I'm amazed by you.....how you love me" silent tears dripped down my cheeks. Because I am amazed. Amazed at God and how he works. Christmas is about the gift of a baby to the world. And as I watched my amazing girl sing, I was thinking that 16 years ago I was the 16 year old, holding my own new baby and trying to see how this gift of life was going to work out okay. I was terrified and ashamed...trying to act strong while fiercely holding onto my hopes, dreams, sanity, and a scrawny teenaged boy (who was just as afraid as I). I was pretty sure I had incinerated my own future as well as the lives of most of the people who love me. But God gives beauty for ashes. And as I've watched Hillary grow I see that he has given her a special portion of grace and beauty. She brings joy to those around her. She's creative and musical. She's beautiful on the inside and out. She talks to me about her life and makes me laugh and loves to read and gets good grades. I've joked before that she's too good to be true. But I think God just wanted to counteract the pain surrounding her entry into this life by pouring out blessing on her. And on me. For what better way to bring joy to a mother's heart than by making her child blossom and shine. But he didn't stop there. He gave me a sweet and sensitive son who knows when I need a hug, and never fails to make me laugh with his antics. And that scrawny teenaged boy grew into a man who loves me strong and well. I have a good life...a gift that just keeps on giving.

My favorite things...

As much as I lament my life in the country, it has it's moments...

Team Player

If a new parent asked me for advice (which they never do), I would tell them that one of the most important lessons I've learned is to follow your child's lead. Not on things like whether or not you let them have cookies for supper, but on the extra-curricular activities our busy society seems bent on encouraging. When Hillary was little, I wanted to be just like every other middle class, trendy, smart, perfect mom. I watched them cart their kids to dance, gymnastics, music lessons, bible quiz, art classes...you get the picture. So when Hillary was about 3, I enrolled her in ballet and tap. She was so excited at first. She loved her new tutu and fancy shoes, and I loved being a mom of a beautiful little dancer. But after a few weeks of leaving daycare and rushing to class, where she had to practice standing straight and learning specific steps, she was tired of it. Oh, she loved to dance, but she was more of a free-styler. (And we have the home videos to prove it!) She started saying she didn't want to go to class, and being sad and grumpy when we had to go. I was undaunted. We were not quitters. We had started this, I had already paid for her recital costume...the group was counting on her to do her part in the performance. We pressed on. The recital (which she did actually enjoy) came and went and I smiled my proud smile and took lots of pictures of my little star on stage. And then...I let her quit. Why make a young child do something they hate? Don't we have our whole lives to do that? We tried several other things throughout the years (T-ball - "I'm not much of an outside girl" was her comment, gymnastics - neither she nor I were competetive enough, and piano - which she loved and still plays today - and incidentally was her own idea.)
By the time Parker came along (four years behind her) I had learned the lesson. I listened to what he talked about, and asked him what he wanted to do before enrolling him in things I wanted him to like. He played T-ball and loved it. He continued to love playing baseball and I thought, "OK, this is his thing." Not so fast. That's the other lesson I would share - Just because they love something now doesn't mean they'll love it for life. This summer (7 seasons later), tired of the drama of bad-mouthed teammates and their overly competetive parents, he decided he didn't want to play anymore. He's going to focus on basketball.
None of this means that things are always "hunky dory". Sometimes he complains about practice, his coach, his trash-talking teammates...and we ask him why he plays - even when he's frustrated he says "Because I like to play." And he straightens his back and does his best and hustles his heart out. Last weekend, he played in a tournament. He jumped and juked - grabbing rebounds and making important passes. His face was determined. His tennis shoes squeaked as he moved his feet. And when it was over - a victory!- coach told the whole team Parker was the "Player of the Game." He glowed. And so did I.

Leaving the Legos

Lately I've had the feeling that my house has it out for me. Laundry multiplies in the hampers, dishes grow from the sink...no matter how many times I straighten things up, it is somehow undone again. It's kind of like a horror movie where the person thinks they've gotten rid of the dead body, only to turn around and see it right back where it was.
When I was a new wife and young mother, I thought the cleanliness of my house was a symbol of my worth. I cleaned everything thoroughly every Saturday, whether it needed it or not. Of course, it didn't take long to clean 4 tiny rooms. And I was often lonely in those days and looking for something purposeful to occupy me. I was that person who regularly cleaned out closets and drawers, kept the water spots off my faucets, and never let mildew grow in my shower. I remember one time, though, when Hillary was little, and I went to pick up a Barbie from the bathroom counter for the hundreth time that day. Suddenly, the thought occured to me that someday there would be no more Barbies to put away. So I put her gently back down and there she lay for a day or two...a quiet reminder to me to enjoy my child while I could. There are no Barbies in our house now. They have been replaced by makeup, Algebra books, band instruments, and car keys.
My house, like my children, has also grown. With the blessing of a large house comes the burden of keeping it clean, and it takes a full day of hard work to make it shine. I manage to hold the worst of it at bay, most days. But last night, as I came into the kitchen to face dirty dishes and a sticky floor, I was met with a counter full of legos. I sighed. Then I thought about Barbie. Soon enough Parker will be leaving those legos for more manly things...so for now, I'm leaving them too...right where they belong.

Toot Your Own Horn

What kind of mother asks her child to stop practicing his band instrument? Apparently one who teaches 22 first graders all day, brings home a bag of work, stops by the grocery store on the way home and cooks supper while doing laundry and cleaning the kitchen. But enough about me...
When Parker was little, I kind of thought he got his dad's voice. As he crooned off-key in his toddler voice I thought, "Oh well, he'll have other talents." The only instrument he seemed interested in was drums...and that was probably because he liked hitting things with sticks. Last year, in 5th grade, he was required to take at least one quarter of PE, art, and music. He loved PE, tolerated his art class...and fell in love with music! This year he is first chair trumpet in band, and sings in the select choir. At parent-teacher conferences the band director proudly told me, "He's a total band geek!" And it's true. Parker loves his trumpet. I never have to remind him to bring his instrument home. He brings it home every day...and practices without being told. He has a friend who lives down the street and sometimes he comes over with his trumpet and they practice together. In my bedroom. Which Parker has decided has the best "sound"...unmade bed and bras on the floor, notwithstanding.
Being a "band geek" myself, I love that Parker is involved in it. And he's doing remarkably well, considering the short time he's been playing. But after a while, I have to draw the line.
Tonight, after listening to his newest piece, I told him to stop and do his chores. He said, "Okay, just let me put away my trumpet." Ten minutes later, after the third thing I had tried to throw in the overflowing trash can had fallen into the floor, I made a beeline for my bedroom, from which sounds were coming that sounded suspiciously like trumpet playing. I followed the sound through my bedroom toward my bathroom door. There sat Parker, on the toilet, playing his trumpet. I guess that gives a whole new meaning to "tooting"!

Tough Love

If you read this regularly, you know I have great kids. They are kind, generous, friendly, funny...until it comes to each other. Nothing can turn them into psycopaths quicker than each other. Hillary hates it when Parker sings along with her favorite song on the radio (but probably not as much as he hates it when she sings along), and Parker is sure that the only reason Hillary got her driver's liscense was so that she could sit in the front seat when it wasn't her turn. A simple request from one almost always brings sighing and eye-rolling from the other one. They even argue over whose turn it is to sit by me on the couch. I am a normal human being, with two sides, but apparently I'm not large enough to give them the required 3 feet of personal space from each other.

No one told me this would happen. But I should've had a clue when I told 4 year old Hillary that the doctor said we were getting a boy and she said, "But I wanted a sister" as if she were explaining to a pimple-faced teenager at the fast food drive through that they had gotten her order wrong. Of course, once he got here, she loved him and mothered him and babied him, and gave into him. Til now, that is.

Older friends assure me that this is normal sibling behavior. And I certainly enjoy my own siblings now more than I ever did when we were young.

The funny thing is, for all their annoyance at each other, they can have moments of extreme loyalty. When Parker wakes up from a nightmare, he sometimes goes straight to Hillary's room, where she prays with him until he feels better. And the first time she had to drive them home in the stick-shift truck, he encouraged her all the way. Is it possible to be someones worst enemy and biggest cheerleader? Only if you're siblings!

Peace about pieces

This post is not about my children...but it is about a child. A child whose mother has breast cancer. That child is me.
We've only known about this for a few weeks. I have a wonderful group of friends who check on me often, asking if I'm doing okay with it all. And I am. Actually, it's been kind of easy. Because Mom has made it easy. She's positive, practical, and seems to be taking it all in stride. I guess that's what good moms do...make hard things easier. She has a strong faith and it shows in everything she does. And because she's strong, I can be too.
The day before Thanksgiving, they took her left breast. My dad, my sisters and I joined a whole group of other people who loved her in the hospital. We teased her that she had a "network" like the cell phone commercial because there was a whole entourage following her as they wheeled her down the hall to the surgical unit. We waited together, talking, laughing, and secretly praying in our hearts that it was going to be as okay as we hoped it would. Finally, the doctor came out. She did so well he let her go home the same day...Happy Thanksgiving!
I was able to stay with my mom for a few days. I did the things I could to help her...laundry, dishes, fixing her hair and standing in the bathroom with her as she examined her new scar. She didn't cry or complain. She said how nicely done it was.
This is not the first time she's had to deal with an imperfect body. She has no hearing in one ear and wears a hearing aid in the other, wears glasses, and lives with one side of her face being immovable due to nerve damage. She jokes about falling apart piece by piece. The truth is...my mom is more than the sum of her parts. Her most important part - her soul- can never be surgically removed. She's strong, beautiful, and full of faith...loved by everyone who knows her. Especially this child...just another piece of her.

Photo Shoot

Every now and then, my long-suffering family allows me to try to take a family picture of us all. It's a simple idea, really. Set up the camera on the tripod, pose the family, push the timer button, and run like...well, you know. Somehow, it's never that simple in reality.

Today after church (when we all look kind of nice) I got Yancy to help me tack up sheets and direct lights to a certain spot. Then the fun began. I never really know exactly what I want, so I end up giving vague directions like, "Okay...do something funny." Or I pose each person in a way that looks cool, but requires an awkard holding of the arm, legs, and head. When they grimace in pain because their elbow is boring into the tile floor I sweetly say, "Remember, look natural...no, give me a better smile than that!" To which my husband replies, "Oh...natural...yeah, because I always sit indian style on the floor with my head tilted to the side." And the kids end up laughing so hard they ruin lots of shots. Then there's me...dashing into the hole I've asked them to leave for me, (so that it looks like we're just a happy family, casually sitting together)...all the time trying not to trip over the tripod leg, making sure my bra strap isn't showing, and striving to look relaxed instead of out of breath...all before the little light flashes ten times and then takes the picture - Ready or Not! I know there are people who do this for a living, and could give me great looking shots with a lot less effort, but where would be the fun in that?

High fashion in lowly places

Hillary has her own sense of style. She's eclectic. She's funky. She's creative. She does things like...wear her dad's ties to school, put a short dress over jeans, pair converse tennis shoes with something unexpected...and jewelry is no-holds-barred. So I'm flattered that she is constantly trolling my closet for things to wear. My style is more...conservative. Some may even say...boring. So I'm always surprised when she manages to make a complete outfit out of pieces of my stuff that I would never think to link. This happened just last night when she wore a skirt of mine with a red sweater and my brown heels to church. Of course, this putting together of outfits comes with many try-ons and discards, til my room looks like a teenagers with clothes draped over lamp shades and every other available surface. Finally she said, "Now I just need some jewelry." To which I said, "Good luck." She dug around for a few minutes and pulled out a long string of reddish beads that I bought for one holiday outfit and have never really worn with anything else. Voila! Magic. It was a perfect, sophisticated, but somehow youthful look.
The benefits of having a daughter my size is that I can root in her closet occasionally. Today was Royal Reader day at my school, and I was at a loss as to what to wear. It's too cold for a dress, but nothing else I have is very "royal" looking. In Hillary's closet I found a long, velvet, ruffled skirt and a sparkly blue shirt. Which I paired with UnderArmor pants and a pair of Parker's black ankle socks. For me, keeping warm trumps looking regal every time! But what a blessing...who else but an athlete with an artistic bent would have UnderArmor pants AND silver sequined shoes in her closet. I'm a lucky mom!

Double Date

Now that Hillary is 16, she's officially allowed to date. The weekend after her birthday, her boyfriend set up a group date at the nearby skating rink with all of their friends and even a Disney Princess birthday cake. He seems like a great kid, and a hard worker. He has a job at Wal-Mart and manages to work quite a few hours while juggling school and band. Last night was one of the few Friday evenings he didn't have to work, so Hillary wanted to take advantage of it. She invited one of her best friends and her boyfriend to come over and hang out with her and Larry at our house. She's never been one to have friends over often. I think she prefers going to other people's house where the responsibility of keeping everyone happy is on the host, and she can just enjoy herself. So when Larry first arrived, she seemed a little nervous. Wanting to help, but be discreet about it, I casually challenged my husband to a dart game, then offhandedly threw in, "Oh...do you guys want to play?" They didn't want to play, but they did want to watch. So we all went downstairs and Yancy and I had a rousing game of darts with wild shots and lots of verbal banter (He would say "trash talk"). The kids had a great time laughing at us...especially my technique of lifting my leg out behind me as I threw. I have to admit, it was a lot of fun for me too. I haven't flirted with my husband like that in a while. He laughed when I kept inching closer to the board (because my arms are shorter...and women's golf has closer tees, don't they?). And in the end, I let him win...or he just won because he's better than me.
Then it was 9:00 and Hillary's friends showed up. The ice was officially broken and it was time for the old people to retire to our Friday night TV show and let the young'uns have the downstairs family room. It was kind of nice to have our show punctuated by teenaged laughter from the other room. We just looked at each other...he took my hand...and we smiled.

Heroes

Parker is going deer hunting this weekend, and he is SO excited. We bought new insulated boots, and pocket handwarmers, to go with his camo pants and jacket. We were talking about his trip last night and he said, "I can't wait til this weekend." I assumed he was looking forward to the actual hunt, but then he went on..."I get to see one of my...heroes." He was talking about my brother.
My husband is a big sports guy (basketball, football, etc). He likes hunting in theory, but never seems to get around to actually going. So my dad is coming up on Friday to get Parker and they will continue on to my brother's house where not only will they go on a manly deer hunt, but the next morning they plan to duck hunt, too. Austin is as into hunting as my husband is into basketball.
Parker has always looked up to my brother. In his mid-twenties, Austin is halfway between Parker and myself. So he's always been prone to "cool" stuff that little boys adore and moms fear. Parker's first weapon was a Christmas gift from his uncle. I almost had a heart attack, but neither of them seemed to think a bow and arrow was an unusual gift for a small boy.
It's all about perspective. When I look at Austin, I see my little brother...pesky, adventurous, determined. When my son looks at him, he sees a man...strong, smart, rugged, and someone to be looked up to. I'm glad. I love that Parker has so many different men in his life that he can look up to. He idolizes his dad...his sports hero. He looks up to his grandpas...both deeply spiritual, smart, and affectionate men. He brags about his other uncle, who is serving our country in the Navy. These men are part of who Parker is, and who I want him to become. Each of them shows Parker a different, but good part of being a man. They take an interest in him...call him..email him...and spend time with him. And he learns courage, leadership, strength, tenderness, and determination. So, yeah...these men are Parker's heroes...and mine too.

Girls Just Wanna....TALK!

When I asked Hillary how she wanted to celebrate her birthday, she said that all she wanted was to spend a day shopping with her best friend who lives 2 hours away. So, this weekend, we met Lizzie and her parents halfway, and headed into the city for a big day of shopping. Even before the girls' butts hit the back seat, they were talking non-stop. One would tell a story in long, run-on sentences, while the other punctuated her friend's commentary with giggles. "and I was wearing a wife-beater, but it was a really cute one, and it was white, with lace and stuff at the top, and I had on a cami underneath it..."
My husband drove in silence. At 6' 1 and 250 pounds (in his refelctive sunglasses) he looked like a hired driver/bodyguard. It's not unusual for him to go for miles without saying anything, and I assumed he was thinking up basketball plays or something. Finally, I asked "What are you thinking about?" He looked at me with a straight face and said, "That I've never wanted to get to a mall so fast."
I'm still laughing!

Sick Day

We stayed home today, Parker and I. This sick day was a long time coming. He started running fever several days ago, but seemed fine as long as he was medicated. So, I put it off, hoping it would go away on it's own. I made excuses...he didn't need to miss school, I couldn't miss work, he had basketball practice (and the coach was making cuts), then it was Halloween. Of course it didn't go away...it got worse. He started having a wracking cough and I decided the world was going to have to find a way to spin without me...my son needed attention. I took him to the doctor, who promptly diagnosed him with bronchitis and gave us a prescription for a Z-pack, Mucinex, and a day at home.

How lovely it was to spend this quiet Friday at home with my boy. He stayed in his pajamas all day and I cleaned house and got some laundry done. He watched TV for a while, then pulled out his Legos and created all kinds of wheeled things. He described them to me in great detail, telling me what function each component served, and why he made this one this way and that one, that. This is the magic of being 12. Parker can watch a grown up movie with us, and "get" jokes. He can explore our back woods by himself and make his own macaroni and cheese. He wears a man's shoe size, and looks me eye to eye. But he can still enjoy building with Legos...and sometimes crawls in our bed at night...and gives me hugs for no reason. I'm glad I had this day with him. I know it won't last forever, so I'll enjoy it for today.

Driven

I'm sitting in a straight-backed chair...waiting. I'm nervous. How long have they been gone? I keep looking out the glass door. Please, please, please let her pass the first time.
Hillary has been driving us around as often as we'll let her, since she got her permit several months ago. She's come a long way. She no longer swipes mailboxes with the edge of the mirror or makes turns as wide as a semi. She's studied her book and knows which way to turn the wheels when you're parked on a hill. I've quizzed her on the location of the blinker, emergency break, hazard lights, and defroster. And before we got to the liscense bureau, we found some parked cars for her to practice parallel parking between. A couple of times talking her through it and she was parallel parking like a pro. Still, she was nervous. She kept saying, "I'll never live it down if I don't pass the first time." We got to the right place, signed her in, and sat down to wait. Soon they called her name, I handed her the keys, and she left with a stranger and my car. I tried to act cool, but I was secretly watching every move in the reflection of the glass door that was propped open. She turned the blinkers off and on, stepped on the brake, and honked the horn. Check, check, check went the lady in uniform. Then they s-l-o-w-ly pulled away.
It's been hours, I'm sure. Or only 15 minutes. Then they're back and Hillary is walking across the parking lot toward the door. I can't read her face. At least she's not crying...but she's not really smiling either. They walk in the door. "How'd you do?" I ask. "Eighty" she says...letting it out in a puff of breath she's been holding. And I breathe again too. "That's good!" I say. That's passing. That's better than her friend who just got her liscense with a 73%. I want to stand up and cheer. But, of course, I don't.
Later, I'm riding in the back seat, while Hillary drives and her friend sits in the passenger seat. They're laughing and talking and listening to music. And I feel the earth shift...just a little. I catch a glimpse of my grown-up daughter, the beautiful, independent woman she'll be. And I'm proud.

We've Got Spirit, Yes We Do!

I've never considered myself extremely creative. I come from a family of public speakers, musicians, and artists, but somehow it all skipped me. This is quite a handicap when you have children. As soon as they are old enough to be involved in any kind of school (including pre-school) you are expected to pull off such miracles as... creating a costume for a party at which your child may choose to be a fruit or a vegetable, designing an award-winning Valentine box, or inventing a science experiment with a twig, a piece of string, and a AA battery. And just to make it interesting, you usually have about 5 minutes notice.
My children have always had faith in me. "Mommy, this year I want my Valentine box to be a tiger and you can slide the valentines into his mouth." We actually pulled that one off, thanks to my mom and sister and a round oatmeal canister. (We did not, however, win the prize. That went to the paper mache bear.) Anyway, despite the fact that they're older and should know better by now, they still think I can pull off miracles.
It's only October and we've already participated in several "Spirit" week activities. These always require dressing up and props. For Hillary's we had a little notice and she was lucky enough to get her Memaw to take her to the costume store. So she was ready for Nerd Day, Pirate Day, and Police Woman Day. Parker was not so fortunate. He rolled out of bed yesterday and said, "Mom, I need to dress like a rock star today." Well, since I didn't have any black leather pants in his size lying around the house, I had to think fast...I asked Hillary. She found him some (sorta) "holey" jeans and spiked his hair with gel. I painted his fingernails black and put eyeliner on him. Voila! A Rock Star is born.
The great part about it is, my kids accept my efforts with a smile. They never complain about shredded yellow paper stuck in their sleeves for hay, because I didn't have any yarn for their scarecrow outfit. They truly have a sweet spirit. And that's the best kind.

Playing with Fire

What is it with boys and fire? Parker and his friends can't seem to resist. The only chore Parker actually likes to do is burn the cardboard boxes that we keep out of the trash. He frequently asks if he and his friends can build a fire. They are quite serious about it. They start with old newspaper, 55 matches, and a few leaves...then add small twigs and finally a bigger branch or two. Never are they content to sit and watch it burn...no! They must throw more things into it, one at a time. Perhaps they are budding scientists, conducting experiments on what will flame instantly, what will melt, and what will just produce noxious smelling smoke that drifts into my house. They put the ends of long sticks into it, then pull them out and wave them around, leaving a thin trail of smoke. Parker even tried to make a "smokestack" one day by putting one end of a cardboard wrapping paper tube in the fire and watching smoke puff out the other end. But alas, the tube just ended up burning away. I know this is a boy thing, because I had a girl first. And never, one time in 16 years, has she ever asked me if she and her friends could burn anything.
When we moved to this community, (and especially out of town and into the country) it was with the hopes that our family life would be simpler, more cohesive. And, for the most part, it has worked. We spend more time together, are more aware and a part of each other's lives than before. So even if I occasionally feel stifled here in this small town...if I can't have Starbucks every day, get to a book store in less than an hour, go to a play, or interact with people from diverse ethnic, educational, and cultural backgrounds, at least my kid gets to play with fire. This is one small consolation.

Hair

One of my children has been all about their hair lately. You might guess it's my teenage girl. You would be wrong. Yet another thing no parenting book ever warned me about...11 year old boys can suddenly be very picky about how they look. This summer, Parker decided he wanted to let his hair grow out some. Fine by me. I think he was going for the messy, skateboard/surfer look. He has thick hair with natural waves and as it grew it formed adorable curls around his face and neck. What a cutie!
Right before school started I suggested we trim it (to keep it at that nice cute stage) but Parker refused. He wanted it to get "really long." It started to look less cute and more shaggy and unkempt. It started to bush out. Being the kind of parent I am, I bit my tongue and let him have his individuality. But by school picture day I just couldn't let it go anymore. I trimmed it. Not a lot, just enough (according to me). Parker didn't throw a fit, but he didn't seem happy either. All the next day I felt guilty. What kind of educated, progressive mother cuts her kid's hair against his will just so he'll look a certain way in his school picture? (I know...almost every mom reading this blog!) Anyway, picture day came and went and less than a week later Parker had his first basketball practice. He walked in the door after practice, red-faced and sweaty, and the first words out of his mouth were, "I'm cutting my hair!" I was taken aback. But of course, I didn't show it. I casually asked why. "Because you lose 70% of your body heat through your head and all this hair is keeping my heat in. It's too hot for basketball," he informed me. Guy rule #11...looking good is fine until it interferes with your sport!

Things I'll keep

It's Friday night. The pieces of our lives are scattered over the week like stuff at a yard sale. Some things never out of the box- things I didn't get to. A few pieces broken. Most past their usefulness - important at the time, but quickly forgotten. But there are a few things I'll keep. Hillary, driving me down our road...back straight, both hands on the wheel, holding her breath as we pass another car. The curls at the nape of Parker's neck when I trimmed his hair the night before school pictures. The warmth in my husband's voice when he told me my new haircut was "hot" and kissed the back of my neck. These things I'll wrap carefully and tuck away to be brought out when the kids are gone and my calendar is empty. Treasures, if only to me.

Shameless Bragging

My wonderful, musical Hillary was selected for All Conference and All District Choir. Not only did she make it, but she apparently recieved the top score for altos in our school's conference. This is a big deal! We are so proud of her.
I also happen to have the sweetest, most thoughtful son in the world. When I got home from school today (I had to stay late...again) Parker was washing the coffee pot for me. This is no small feat considering we have a multi-gadget coffeemaker which grinds the beans then brews the coffee. And if there are a few soap suds in my cup of coffee right now...I'm not complaining. He also made my bed and straightened the shoes in my closet. He said he and Hillary talked about it and they didn't want me to be stressed today. Hillary went home with a friend to spend the night, so it was all up to the little Man. (Hmmm...maybe I should cry in the car more often!) Perhaps he was straightening shoes so he wouldn't have to load the dishwasher. Perhaps he was just finding things to do which would require putting off his homework (and which I couldn't complain about). Perhaps he's been watching his dad, who has a knack of knowing how to cheer me up. All I know for sure is that I'm thankful.

Hillary means hilarious

Thank God my children are happy, upbeat people. They certainly don't get it from me. Hillary is one of the happiest people I have ever known. She usually sees the bright side of life and cracks up over the simplest things (like my facial expressions, my hair, my clothes...). Her name actually means "cheerful". Last night is a perfect illustration of her inner joy, or just her cluelessness as to what's happening around her. It had been a long day for me...I hadn't slept the night before, some stressful stuff had happened at work, and I had spent 2 hours working in my classroom while she was at youth group and still didn't have everything done. By the time she came out of the building, I was so tired I was feeling sick. (FYI I'm also on my period....never good for me or my family). I was grouchy and snapped at Parker and Hillary and then just started crying and couldn't stop. Parker was just sitting there looking at me with big eyes like he'd just been warped into the car from another time and place and had no idea what was happening. Hillary reached up and gave my shoulder a little squeeze. I appologized to the kids and tried to cry a little more softly. All was quiet except for the radio (tuned to the oldies station a la Parker.) I check my rearview mirror and all I can see is Hillary dancing like there's no tomorrow. She's whipping her head around and pumping her arms like Snoopy on the Charlie Brown christmas special. And darned if it didn't make me start to smile.

The House that Parker Built

Should I be worried that my son likes to dismember and destroy things? Just last week he took apart our old fan (after it blew up in his bedroom) and scattered the parts all over the garage. He did put it back together after we explained that the garage was actually for us to park the car in, not his personal workshop.
Then a few days later he wanted to know if he and his friend could take Yancey's hatchet and shovel into the woods behind our house. I know, this sounds like the beginning of a scary movie. They worked up a sweat hacking down as many small trees as they could and leaning them together against another tree to make a club house. I'm sure that if these same boys had to chop wood as a chore, it wouldn't be nearly so much fun. They actually created a pretty cool-looking lean-to structure. I know this, not because I actually walked into the woods myself (a nature girl, I am not), but because Parker took my camera back there and took about 30 pictures of it. I think he gets his affinity for hacking things down from his father, whose first instinct when we bought our house in the woods was to start cutting down trees.
Anyway, positive things about this story...Parker actually asked before he used his dad's tools, he actually put them away when he was finished, and he built something with his own two hands. Perhaps what he loves is not destroying things, but creating things. He just likes to rearrange the parts!

Start your morning with a BANG

A few days ago, as I was getting ready to walk out the door to go to work, I hear my daughter's voice calling from her room. "Mom! Can you come here for a minute?" I'm thinking..."What could be so important that you can't come out of your room?" So I put down my coffee, car keys, lunchbox and huge bag that I carry back and forth to school every day and head for the back of the house. She cracks her door. "What's wrong?" I ask. She's crying....and then I see her hair...bangs choppy and askew. "I tried to trim my bangs and I didn't think I was getting them too short but LOOK AT THEM!!!" she wailed. This is where my supermom powers kick in. She's lucky she caught me before I left. Since I started teaching in the neighboring district, I have to leave the house earlier than anyone else. Dad is now in charge of getting them to school. It should be easy, since he goes there anyway (he teaches math at the high school). But according to Parker, he's the one who has to keep an eye on the clock and yell at Dad when it's time to go. Anyway...a few more seconds and Hillary would have had to either figure this out on her own or follow her Dad's suggestion to wear a doo-rag wrapped around her head. Thinking fast I pulled down more hair and trimmed it to give her a little more bang with a little less chop. It wasn't perfect, but she thought it was great. One catastrophe out of the way, and it's not even 7:20.
Now that Hillary is older, there is so much she doesn't need me for. It's nice to know that I can still solve a crisis for her now and then. If only they were all that easy.

Where have all the Experts gone?

From the moment of conception, there are experts everywhere...telling you what to expect, how to feel, what to think, and how heavenly it is to be a parent. Babies are cute. Babies are funny. People will smile politely and look interested as you blather on about how the baby made the funniest face in the bathtub last night, or pooped on your husband when he tried to change the diaper. Entire sections of the bookstore are devoted to books that give you advice. Feed them this. Teach them that. No TV before the age of 2 (except for Baby Einstein of course!). There are charts broken down by age so you can map out where your genius is on the curve of normal. Websites, blogs, your pediatritian, your mother, your husbands mother, TV talk shows... From breastfeeding to starting Kindergarten, you're pretty much covered.
But once the baby fat starts to melt and your toddler starts to tower over you, the sea of information becomes a puddle (a muddy one at that). At least this is how it's been for me. Where is the book titled "What to expect when your child enters middle school"? Sure, there are experts at how to deal with PROBLEMS with older children. Drugs, sex, and rock n roll (all that jazz). But where are the cutsie, uplifting stories about 6th grade sons and 10th grade daughters? OF COURSE I loved their baby days and sometimes wish I could go back in time and kiss that soft baby cheek and dress them in clothes I chose. But this is a pretty great stage too! My children are smart and beautiful and articulate, and can get themselves breakfast and brush their teeth without me telling them to. (OK so maybe I still have to remind Parker about that once in a while!) They tell me stories about their day. They show kindness to others and are sometimes unselfish and grown-up. We can watch the same TV shows. I LOVE being their mom right now, just like this. When I read a poem Hillary has written, or watch Parker play football with the neighbor boys, I am overwhelmed with pride and I wonder "How did such amazing people come out of me?" Maybe I'm doing okay...maybe I don't need an expert after all.