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!
Our Family
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Thursday, December 20, 2007
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.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, December 10, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
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"!
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"!
Monday, December 3, 2007
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!
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