Mommy Lessons

While visiting family for Christmas, we were blessed to meet 7 week old Izzy (the newest addition to our clan) for the first time. We all cooed and gooed and passed her back and forth. Until she started crying really hard. "Uh oh. That's not a good cry," declared her mommy and mom and grandma sprang into action. The baby was constipated and had been for a few days. They had tried everything they knew and nothing was working. All of us adults ran around making phone calls and giving useless advice. It was finally decided to give the baby some corn syrup in her bottle. And we waited...while she struggled and cried and curled around her cramping tummy. I could tell it was weighing on this brand-new mommy's heart and she finally put her head down on the table. Wanting to encourage her I said, "You can do this. You are an intelligent woman...you are a strong woman...and you can do this." And she did. Baby Izzy finally "went" and all the world rejoiced! A new mom had grown just a bit, and learned something new...a little corn syrup works wonders.
Less than 24 hours later, my advice rang back in my own ears as I rubbed my "baby" girl's back as she heaved over the toilet for the 10th time in as many hours. She was getting weak and had nothing left to throw up, but it just wouldn't stop. I had tried all the tricks I knew...to no avail. I comforted her as best I could, but I felt helpless. My parents and I prayed, coaxed ice chips and crackers down her, and called everyone we knew who worked in the medical profession. Finally, after 12 hours, we reached a friend who was a nurse. She told us to try to get our hands on some Dramamine...that it had the same ingredient as the prescription drug used to curb nausea. My mom flew to the convenience store while I wiped Hillary's face with a cold cloth. I don't know if it was the medicine or just that the virus had run it's course, but she finally stopped throwing up and went to sleep. This veteran mother-of-two had grown just a bit, and learned something new...Dramamine helps nausea-not just motion sickness.
No matter how old our children get, we will always wonder if we're doing the right thing at the right time. We will often feel scared, tired, and overwhelmed. But we will do our best. We will lean on our support network of friends and family. And we will grow and learn.

Leader of the Pack(ing)

After celebrating "our" Christmas morning with the opening of stockings and cups of spiced tea, I was reading aloud to the family from a short, funny Christmas novel. I paused at the end of a chapter to see if they were bored or wanted to hear more. "More! More!" cheered the kids, who were stinky and bed-headed, and reveling in their laziness. But my husband looked at the clock. We were leaving later to make the trek home to be with our families for Christmas.
"How long will it take you all to pack?" he inquired.
"I usually just stick my whole closet in the suitcase," Hillary chirped. "That way I always have whatever I need."
But Dad was already shaking his head. "We'll be there four days...which means every person needs four shirts, two pair of pants, and four pairs of underwear. And if you sleep in your underwear, you don't even need to pack pajamas."
Hillary looked horrified. Sleep in your underwear?
But she shouldn't be surprised. In an effort to keep me from having a nervous breakdown as I'm getting the family ready for a trip, my loving husband has been overseeing the packing of clothes for lots of years now. Like a general, he barks specifics...length of trip, expected weather, and planned activities. He arranges suitcases on the bed and carefully sorts socks and underwear into specific and secret zipped pockets. The kids dutifully bring him their armloads of articles, and he folds and refolds, determined to fit each person into their personal rolling suitcase. He's tried various methods and seems to like the "each person in his own suitcase" one the best. This stands in sharp contrast to the one ENORMOUS suitcase he purchased when he and I went to Mexico for our 10 year wedding anniversary. I thought for a moment he was going to save money on airfare by packing ME in the suitcase with the clothes. But, of course, after I shoved it full of the 20 different outfits I imagined I might need for 7 days on the beach, it was so heavy he could barely wrestle it into the trunk of the car. I'm surprised the airline didn't charge us extra for adding to the weight of the plane. And, as usual, I didn't need half of the stuff I'd brought, as we mostly wore the same two swimsuits everyday. And he swore that from that day forward, we would be more frugal packers.
I am thankful that he takes on this job. For, inevitably, when we reach our destination, Parker has no socks and Hillary can't find the bra she likes to wear with that one shirt. And I get to say, "Talk to your dad. He packed us." And for once something is not my fault.
I'm sure this is what God had in mind when he said in the bible that the man was to be the head, or leader, of the family. So if I have to make sure the bills get paid, the teachers get emailed, the underwear gets washed, and the tender emotions of teenagers are protected, that's ok. At least in this one area, my husband is the Leader of Our Pack!

The New York Elf

This is too funny not to post.

Apparently the middle school was having a "Dress Like an Elf" day. When I saw Parker, I said, "You look...nice." To which he replied, "I'm a New York Elf!"

Of course I grabbed the camera. He just rolled his eyes, said, "Well, this is making the blog," and posed for me.

Thanks, Elf...for granting my wish!

Father K'nex with Son

After a busy Sunday afternoon, our family sat down for "Family Meeting." We try to do this every week...just look at the calendar and touch base about ball games, lunch money, and school progress reports. When the "business" was done, Parker casually asked, "Hey dad, do you know where my K'nex stuff went that was down in the basement?" Parker and I had found several bags of pieces but hadn't been able to find the part he had already put together. We had looked for quite a while that afternoon. His dad replied, "Yeah, I took that apart a long time ago."

My first reaction was to laugh, thinking of my husband spending an extra hour painstakinly taking the thing apart piece by piece and putting it in bags so he could store something else on that shelf, instead of just setting the whole thing on the floor. After all, isn't that why we have a large, unfinished storage room? To leave bulky stuff like that sitting around. No wonder it took him so long to clean the basement.

But Parker wasn't laughing. He shot down the hall to his room, angry tears rolling down his face.

My befuddled husband looked around at Hillary and I. "What's wrong with him?"

My husband's logic (that Parker hadn't touched that toy the whole year it had been downstairs) was right, but his tone was wrong. Parker felt betrayed and unimportant. He had spent a long time and a lot of work putting that together, and his dad had uncerimoniously destroyed it without even ASKING!

When I tried to explain that, a conversation ensued that resulted in my trying to get him to see where he went wrong, and him implying that I had raised the kids "my" way, which was obviously the "wrong" way. Finally, in tears, I suggested that he just say something to make Hillary cry and his work would be done for the night!

We did get over it before bedtime. Dad appologized, Parker grudginly forgave, and we all went to bed. And when we woke up this morning...God gave us a snow day!

It was so nice to relax...the four of us tucked into our cozy warm house. As I was stirring the chocolate gravy, I asked Parker, "So you wanna talk about last night?" "Not really," he admitted as he bounced a small ball off the wall just inches above my head. "I wrote Dad last night and he wrote me back." Whew..okay, taken care of. Thank God I instituted that special journal thing a couple of years ago. Just some of that parenting "my" way, I guess.

Anyway...Parker and Dad worked together to rebuild the K'nex Carousel.

They spent hours.

The little boy from next door even got in on the action. Now Dad is really racking up bonus points with me!

So today, all is well. And once again we've proved that no matter what gets destroyed in our family...together we can put the pieces back together.

That's Amore!

It's Friday night. My husband is gone, scouting basketball teams and Hillary is off with the boyfriend. So I pry Parker off the TV and we make homemade pizzas together. As I chop, spread, and sprinkle, he talks about video games and basketball and how he either wants to be a teacher or a photographer when he grows up, but he doesn't want to photograph moving things, just things like landscapes and sunsets. And I'm so glad he's here.

And then, my honey calls, just to ask if I've looked outside tonight because the moon is really pretty and he knows I like a pretty moon.

And I know why my son is so caring...patient...fun to be with...easy to hug. He gets it from his dad.

"When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie....that's amore!"

BTW Here's the recipe to our favorite family pizza:

Spread store-bought alfredo sauce on a ready made pizza crust. Layer a few fresh spinach leaves, some chopped, cooked chicken, thinly sliced tomatos, and shredded italian cheese. (I like to add some chopped garlic and a few pineapple tidbits...maybe a little cilantro. Of course, if you're a 13-year-old boy you can just pile on the meat and be happy). Bake at 400 til the crust is browned and the cheese is melted.

The Perfect Tree(s)

When our kids were young, we used to make getting the Christmas tree a fun family outing. Then we discovered that Parker was allergic to evergreen trees, so we switched to artificial. Last year, the tree we've been using for several years broke. I'm sure it had nothing to do with Parker and his friend taking it down for me. I know they were very careful with it and were not in a hurry to get it done so they could have more room to bat a volleyball around the family room. Anyway, this year we needed to buy a new tree.

Hubby decided he liked skinny trees with lots of space between the branches. We already have a traditional tree with white lights and framed pics of the kids in the snow standing in front of the big window in the living room. So he thought we could get more creative with the downstairs family room tree, which always holds the special ornaments made or picked out by the kids. And the search was on.

You would think Lowes, Home Depot, Hobby Lobby, or Target would have what we were looking for. But no...the 27 trees in their stores differed from each other only in height and price and color of lights.

So we went online.

Trees N Trends and various other specialty tree sellers also disappointed. But we finally found something that looked promising at Michael's. The closest store was 50 miles away, but we were undaunted. We left the kids at home and took off Sunday afternoon, only to find that the store was out of that particular tree. And then, driving past a card store, we saw it...the PERFECT tree! But it was the display that they were showing their ornaments on. I asked nicely, but the lady wouldn't sell it to me.

So we had to make do. Hubby decided we'd go back to Lowes and get a 6 foot tree, a 4 foot tree, and a 2 foot tree and make an interesting grouping by our fireplace. When we saw the 2 foot tree, he realized it wouldn't even hold one of our family ornaments, so we just went with the 6 ft and 4 ft.

When we got home, the kids got to work. It's always their job to decorate the tree while I sit and supervise. They each picked a tree, fussed over which ornaments to hang where, and fought over who got to put the most important piece on (Dad's high school alma mater Bulldog ornament.) And they threw in a little dancing just for fun. It was very entertaining. You should see the video.

So now we are surrounded by trees inside and out. Come on, Christmas! We're ready for you now!

Favorite Things

I'm thankful for beautiful food...

And fruitful gardens.

And a daughter who's interested in memories...from generation....

my wedding dress circa 1993

to generation.

mimi's wedding dress circa 1973.

And a son who is helpful...

and musical...providing accompaniament to our holiday singing.

And free tickets to CATS...and time spent with friends.

And rest.

Why I love First-Graders

We all know that kids can be cruel. But some ages seem crueler than others. Junior high comes to mind. When I worked with 3 year olds, the harshest thing they could ever think of to say was, "You're not coming to my BIRTHDAY!" And while my first-graders can sometimes call each other names, or refuse to play with someone for a whole recess, they are generally pretty open and loving.
This morning, Annie came in late. She had been absent yesterday, and one side of her face was swollen and pink. Her cheek bulged and her eye squinted. Mom pulled me aside and said she had suffered from an abscessed tooth and was better today, but Mom was worried that the other kids would make fun of the way she looked. I told her I'd take care of it. Far from being mean, however, most of the kids showed great concern for her and joy that she was back. Then one boy said, "Oh my gosh...what is that -" I opened my mouth to cut him off before he could say 'on your face' when he finished "around your neck!?!"
What?
"Oh, that's my lip gloss." Annie happily replied, taking the lid off of it to show him the fat pink cylinder.
"Wow!" was all he could say.
Only a first grader could be wowed by a lipstick necklace when it was being worn by a girl with half a face.
Then, this afternoon, I was waiting in the car pick-up line with a couple of boys when a little kindergarten girl came tooling down the sidewalk in her motorized wheel-chair. She was laughing because her mom couldn't keep up with her. She whizzed past us, slowed down, and turned onto the wheelchair ramp. She confidently maneuvered to the unfolded ramp of the van and buzzed up into place. Her mom folded the ramp up and shoved it inside, then slammed the door.
And one first-grader said to the other, "Awesome!"
At what other age could we respond with awe and wonder rather than fear or pity?
So, that's that...I'm never leaving first grade!

Sweetie

Last weekend I went to a cookie exchange. It was a total "woman" thing, but I did get some help from my sweet husband. While I was slaving over the hot oven, I was wondering aloud how I was going to get these 24 cookies to the church without having to worry about my container. He offered to make me a disposable tray out of some cardboard covered with foil. Sounded great to me. I baked and he went to work.
He cut a large square...sliced the corners at an angle...folded them up to make sides...covered the sides with black electrical tape...covered the whole thing with foil, more tape, and more foil...and voila! He set it on the counter, and that's when I realized how BIG it was.
Not that I should be surprised. My husband is a big man who does things in a big way. When our old microwave went out, he bought the biggest, most powerful one they had in the store to replace it. The salesman assured me I could cook a turkey in it. I'm not sure why I'd want to...but I can. And when the dogs chewed up our latest FedEx delivery, my MAN built a box for the delivery man to leave future packages in, and set it right by the front door. This handy box is roomy enough for the FedEx man himself to get in. Maybe he could jump out with our package in his hands...like a lady jumping out of a cake. I'm sure I'll be thankful if we ever have a couch delivered and we aren't home to bring it in.
Anyway, when I asked him why the hand-crafted tray was so large, he replied that he didn't like for his cookies to be stacked and he's sure other people feel the same way. So I lay my cookies in the box...single layered...and with room to jostle without touching each other...and headed to my event.
As I wrestled my box of goodies into the building, my friends exclaimed, "My! How many did you make? I thought we were only supposed to bring 2 dozen."
I explained.
I sat the tray on the table among the dainty china and sophisticated silver and went into the other room with everyone else to enjoy some singing. When we came back in to share the cookies, I noticed that my cookies had been placed on a plate and my big box was no where to be seen. Probably some other jealous lady had swiped it.
But that's okay. Not everyone has a sweet husband at home. So I'll gladly share. The box. Not the husband. That big sugar daddy is all mine!

Gettin Squirrely

This is deer season, and the mighty hunters take to the woods (aka Parker and Papaw). They are dressed warmly...camoflauged and orange-vested. They are armed with two kinds of guns, various liscense and tags, and plenty of snacks.

They sit in the woods for hours...and they see NO deer.

But a great hunter will not be deterred. There were squirrels aplenty. And Parker shot a few of them...making his first official kill and so reaching the True Hunter Rite of Passage.

But that wasn't the end of the fun. Later we all took a walk. When we passed a persimmon tree, Papaw stopped to introduce the grandkids to the taste of the ripe fruit...and cut the seed open to find a "spoon" meaning that we will have a hard winter with enough snow to need a shovel.

All in all - it was a great weekend!
Unless you happened to be a squirrel!

Life Song

Why do we expect our kids to be just like we are?
Thank God they're not!
Recently, I was scheduled to sing the solo at church. I tried not to think about it til Saturday night. When I finally got around to choosing a song, it was one that sounds better with harmony. So I asked Hillary if she'd mind singing with me. Her face lit up...and with not a second of hesitation she said, "Sure! What's the song?" There was no sense of duty or obligation. There was only pure joy at being asked, and open-hearted pleasure at the chance to share her talent.
I've been singing in front of people since I was two. I can't remember not performing. I took it for granted and assumed everyone could sing. I was often asked to do it, and sang for weddings, funerals, revival services, and even a local TV telethon once. But as I got older, the fear got stronger. What if I mess up? Forget the words? Miss a note? Show the world that I'm not as good as they think I am? So I masked my fear with confidence and tried to convince myself it was real.
Then came a time in my life where I became unworthy for the church platform. My sin was evident for all to see. And I suddenly had an excuse to refuse requests to sing. For years I sat back, only using my talent occasionally, when someone pressed and begged and made me feel guilty enough that I couldn't refuse.
And finally...through many tears, prayers, sermons, messages in tongues, and sessions with a wise Christian counselor...God and I came to a solution. We made a deal. I didn't have to be worthy. I only had to be willing. And if I was willing, he would do the rest. I wasn't singing for me. I wasn't singing for others. I was singing for him.
So now, when I'm asked, I try always to say yes. But it doesn't come easy. And that's okay...for it keeps me dependent on Him instead of me.
And I'm sure there will be something in Hillary's life that makes her hold onto God with both hands. But for now, she shares her multiple talents with joy...and an unscarred heart. She sings and dances and writes and draws and takes pictures...and loves it! Her exuberance overflows onto those of us around her.
And it heals me.

Joy on the Journey

Parker is the kind of guy who enjoys his leisure time. Lying on our bed, watching TV is his idea of the perfect Sunday afternoon. However, his dad had other plans for him. He needed him to mulch up the leaves in the front yard. Parker didn't complain...he just started to get ready.

I was sitting in the chair, making a grocery list, while Parker turned dressing warmly into a 30 minute James Bond vignette.

He lay his coveralls on the floor and rolled around, sliding into them a centimeter at a time, grunting and frowning as if he had just been shot and was crawling back to the bunker.

Then he s-l-o-w-l-y zipped them up...

all the way to his chin, dramatically grimacing and panting (and clearly enjoying himself).

Until he had finally conquered the life-threatening challenge and was ready to defeat the leaves and ride off into the sunset on his mower...a hero.

How often do I approach my to-do list with grumbling and grouching...making the job twice as hard because I'm hating it the whole time and I'm just mad that so much has to get done. How much nicer to prepare with singleness of mind...making it into something fun. Yes, it took him as long to get ready as it would have taken him to finish the whole front yard. But what else would he be doing? I'd rather see him acting out his own imaginary movie than sitting in front of one on tv. And his job did get done before the sun went down. I hope he keeps this ability to have some joy on his journey.

That's my kid!

As I was doing parent teacher conferences I often got skeptical looks from the parents when I showed them the pluses in the behavior column of their child's report card. "Are you talking about my kid?" they would ask incredulously. They couldn't believe that the whiny, forgetful, rambunctious child they knew could be quiet and compliant and responsible at school.
And I have to admit, sometimes I'm the same way. Living with my children, I see all of their warts and blunders and sometimes I expect too much. So it's really nice when other people let me know when they see my children being wonderful.
A lady who helped out at the church Harvest Festival bragged on Parker. She said he and his friend helped her carry things and clean up afterwards. He was polite and respectful. And his dad and I weren't even there! So he did it without being prompted. I was so proud of him.
Then several people told me how wonderful Hillary was in the skit she was in for a revival service. And a young, newly married couple commended her for staying in her skirt and not changing back into jeans like so many other youth who help out with the music on the platform at church. I know how hard that was for her!
Things like this make my heart burst with pride and joy. We've tried to instill godly values into our children, but ultimately, it's up to them whether or not they live them out. And it's great to know that they are growing into responsible, respectful, and reasonable young people.

The Votes Are In

Our elementary school held a mock election yesterday. Each student got to vote for president using the computer. So today, we wrote about it in our journals.
Here are some of their thoughts: (I edited the spelling, but left a few of my faves just for fun!)

"I voted for Barack Obama because my holl (whole) family voted for him."
"I voted for Barack Obama because I like him. He is a united Amerucn."
"I voted for John McCain because John McCain is old and he would know more."
"I voted Barack Obama because I want he to be the president."
"I voted for Brk Bomm. He likes chili with crackers."
"I voted for John McCain because he looks like George Washington."
"I voted for Barack Obama because he is nice. Because he plays basketball."
"I voted for John McCain because he is nice."
"I voted for Barack Obama because he is good."
"I voted for Broc Obamu because he duz not kill babys." (Wow)

We actually had quite a bit of discussion about baby killing...and the war. I'm all for exposing the kids to the democratic process and how it works, but these are not conversations I really want to have with my first graders. They can't even tie their shoes.
If there were a proposition on the ballot to keep children innocent, I'd vote yes.

What's the Rush?

After a good Sunday morning service, a great lunch with friends, and coffee and chocolate chip cookies, Hillary and I sat down at the computer so she could show me the latest pictures she'd found of potential prom dress patterns. I asked her if she'd mind if I checked my email really quick. Of course she didn't. So I clicked and entered passwords and clicked again...and waited...and jiggled my leg...and tapped my fingers...and shook the mouse around.
Hillary looked at me and said, "Where are you going?"
"Nowhere, why?"
"Well, what's the rush?"
And she is so right. I tend to be the kind of person who reads while she watches tv, does a crossword puzzle while she cooks, and makes the grocery list during church services. Why? I don't know. I just do it without thinking. I constantly feel as though if I'm not going so fast I can't breathe then I must be forgetting to do something. Something really important that I'll be sorry for later. But regardless of my breathless vigilance, we occasionally run out of toilet paper or pay a bill late. And the world doesn't end.
Thank goodness I have children to remind me of that.

Scary

It's Halloween.
And even scarier than me wearing Parker's Damon Bailey basketball jersey to school and walking through the elementary parade carrying one of my student's fake-blood-filled hearts (which also happened to be leaking all over my hand), is the fact that my son is getting texts from a girl called "Rock".
He's been 13 for five minutes!
My husband saw the phone vibrate where it lay on the bar in the kitchen. He picked it up, but neither of us knew how to view the message. (It's a new phone). So I took it to Parker and said, "How do you view your texts?"
He just looked at me and said, "Why?"
WHY?
"Because I want to view your texts, that's why!"
He showed me and I quickly scanned all 9 texts he's gotten in the last week and saw nothing inappropriate. "Rock" just wanted to know if he was coming to the football game. He wasn't. He wanted to go to the youth group's Harvest Festival bonfire thing.
The fact that "Rock"s text didn't change his mind only gives me small comfort. There is probably some cute young thing at the bonfire! I knew I should have made him dress up as the Wart-Faced Man. Oh well...Maybe the fact that he put his dirty underwear back on after his shower "I turned them wrong-side out, mom!" will keep the girls at bay for now.
Dirty underwear...now THAT's scary!

13

Do I have to change my blog name, now that my baby has turned 13?

Family Closeness

My car is sick. It has been for a couple of weeks now, but just like I do with my kids, I waited it out to see if it would go away on it's own. Of course, it only got worse. So I called to get an appointment with the closest Hyundai dealership/service place (an hour away), only to be told that they could not get it in on Friday (one of the few days off I have) and would look at it on Monday morning. Since I have to be at work on Monday morning, my husband decided we'd have to take it in on Friday and leave it for them. There would be no dropping it off Sunday evening in their lot and leaving the keys in the car. He wanted to hand the keys to a live person...leaving me carless and totally dependent on him for at least the next 5 days. Our only other vehicle is his Chevy S10 truck...which is a stick shift...which I can't drive. Oh well, it can't be that bad, right? I'll just have an excuse to spend more time with him.
Did I mention that the seating capacity in this truck is about the size of a large suitcase? When we bought it Hillary was a scrawny little girl and Parker was just a toddler. We all fit neatly across the seat on the test drive, and we thought "This is great! And we have the car, so we won't all need to ride in it very often. But if we do, we can manage."
Can I just say that the only one who hasn't grown in this family is me.
So this morning, we all piled in together to go to church. Being the smallest, I was assigned the sliver of seat by the door...one cheek on Hillary's lap and another cheek pressed against the window. Parker squished in between his dad and sister, legs tangling up with high heels as the stick shift jutted dangerously close to the Temple Family Legacy Maker. The only one who looked comfortable was the driver...silent and sun-glassed.
But we made the best of it...
Mile 1 - "Mom, could you tighten your butt muscles so your bone won't poke so hard into my thigh?"
Mile 3 - "I'm hot!" We turned the "air conditioner" on medium...which means we cracked the window a little more.
Mile 7 - "Hillary, get your high heel out from between my toes!"
Mile 7 1/2 - "Parker, did you remember to put on deodorant today?"
Mile 10 - "I can't feel my foot."
Thank God it's only 11 miles to our church. We arrived, 10 min late, and piled out of that truck like clowns at the circus. Sunday school and church seemed a short reprieve. I think that's the only time I've ever actually wished for Pastor to preach longer. But we managed to get back in the truck and home in one piece, thanks to some yoga moves and olive oil.
Hopefully, that's the last time we all four have to be at the same place at the same time until I can get my car back.
But at least I can say, with honesty, that we are a "tight-knit family"!

They're ba-a-ack!

I remember when I was in junior high, pinch-rolling my jeans to make them tight at the ankle, and my mom laughed and talked about how back in her day the bigger the bottom of the pant leg the better. I just rolled my eyes. How could bell bottoms ever come back?!
Well, of course they did. Not exactly like mom's, but wide-legged and hip-hugging nonetheless.
Not so long ago, my sister and I were laughing over pictures of ourselves in our 80's velour shirts, flats, and one-piece jumpsuits. Surely, the 80's would never return! How could anything so ridiculous looking become cool again?
But everywhere I go, I see long sweaters with wide belts, button-up shirts with cap sleeves, and big plastic jewelry. And tonight, after spending time at the mall with friends, Hillary excitedly told me about a wonderful discovery! "They're like leggings, mom, but they don't go all the way up. Just to your knees. And if I wear them with the same color heels they kind of look like boots."
Those are called LEG WARMERS, Hillary. And do you even know how many jokes have been made about that particular fashion accessory? It reminded me of the time, when she was 5 years old and went to her first dance class, and she was trying to explain about the really cool thing that the teacher used to play the music. "It was like a cd, only bigger." "You mean a record?" Boy did I feel old then.
I know fashion cycles...and I've been known to wear things I swore I would never wear. But all I can say is...if hair "wings" come back, I'm drawing the line!

Girls gone....good!

Hillary and I had the priviledge of attending a conference together this weekend. It was amazing!

The decorations were adorable...the speakers were inspiring...and every detail had been planned to make us feel pampered and feminine.

One of the highlights was a concert by Natalie Grant. Afterwards I snagged her as she was walking by on the way to her bus and we got a quick pic.

How exciting!

After rocking with the worship band and listening to Christine Caine, Vera (Something Russian), and Casey Gibbons encourage our souls, we chilled (literally! ha) outside...roasting marshmallows...listening to a live jazz band...and getting a pink extension put in Hillary's hair. The $5 donation went to breast cancer research.

But even better than the outdoor movie, the jewelry shopping, and the Starbucks, was the time she and I got to spend together. We talked and laughed and prayed and cried.

I loved just watching her as she exclaimed about everything, took a million pictures, and praised with hands raised and tears running down her cheeks. I am proud of the woman she's becoming. I know that not every mother of a teenage girl is so lucky.

"And God saw everything that he had made, and behold, it was very good"

First Game

Calling all sports fans and interested family members...Today marked the opening of the junior high boys basketball season. Though Parker has played on a community team for several years, I knew we weren't in Kansas anymore when he dressed in khakis and a collared shirt for school today. I forgot that athletes have to dress up on game day. I oohed and ahhed. I haven't been able to get him into khakis since he was old enough to say, "I hate these pants!" He packed his uniform (#41...his favorite number and also his dad's old number), his basketball shoes, and a snack and left for school. I didn't see him again until the game.

And at the end of the game, he chose to stay with his team and ride the bus home. Where is my little boy who always wants to go with mom and dad? That boy is in my scrapbooks. This young man is in the gym!

Celebrations

Homecoming! A week's worth of assemblies, crazy and creative clothing, special projects, and friendly class rivalries. Hillary (President of the Junior Class) put a lot of hard work into this statue...and it paid off. Juniors won spirit week by 1/2 a point! Go team!



Then, after the football game, it was off to the dance. Or, rather, off to the Mexican restaurant to grab a quick, but somewhat romantic dinner before the dance. How nice of them to invite Mom. I'm sure it had nothing to do with Hillary forgetting something and needing me to bring it to her. I'm just that cool.


Then more celebration...Hillary turns 17! She had a birthday dinner at home (favorite meal cooked by mom) complete with two cakes and red flowers (courtesy of boyfriend, Larry).

Do you see a theme here? Oh, you noticed that Larry was in every picture? By the way, that leads us to the latest celebration. Their "1 year anniversary"! Wasn't it just yesterday she was picking boys up and putting them down again like a distracted shopper? I worried she was turning out to be a heartless heartbreaker. But I'm not sure I'm ready for a relationship this long. Maybe I'm just hard to please! Maybe I should just celebrate like everyone else. Pass the party hat!

Finding Parker

I think the words "junior high" must come from some obscure language where it means "contradictions". At least that's what I've experienced in raising a junior high boy.
He turns 13 in a month...and suddenly he doesn't use our bathroom anymore. He uses the front bathroom (which actually locks and has a solid shower curtain instead of a glass door). He obsesses about his hair and his clothes. But he almost never remembers to brush his teeth.
He isn't afraid to stay home alone..even when it's dark.
But he read Dr. Seuss' "Oh the Places You'll Go" yesterday and declared it the best book ever.
Friday night was homecoming, and we all went to the football game. Parker carried my chair for me. When I told him how nice that was he replied, "Well, I want to know where you're sitting." The strength of a man and the insecurity of a boy.
He left with a group of boys and a frisbee and I didn't see him again for a long time.
When it was time for me to go (which was immediately after the half-time show where Hillary led the band in it's first "moving" field show ever!) I started looking for him. I saw some guys down at the end of the field, throwing a football and running around. I strained my eyes, but I couldn't make out which one was him. I folded my chair up and continued looking around. There were some old people to my right...and a group of teenagers sitting right behind me. That's when it hit me.
Those teenagers weren't teenagers at all! They were Parker and his friends! There he sat, shoulder to shoulder with a cute blonde girl, surrounded by several other guys and girls...looking and acting cool.
I nonchalantly nodded to him. "I'm leaving." "Ok." "Don't let dad leave you." "I won't"
It was all I could do not to take a picture.
But his nervous smile clearly said, "Please be cool."
So I was.
Until I got in the car.
Then I laughed a little and tried not to get a tear in my eye.

That's the way the toilet flushes...

I have a new student. I was warned from the beginning that he's ADHD and borderline autistic, so it might be a challenge. But as soon as he entered the room, extra tall for his age, and sticking close to grandma (who is raising him), I knew I would love him...and I do.
He has only been here two days, but he's already given me many moments of laughter mixed with a few (almost) tears.
One of the first things he said to me when he finally decided to talk was..."My momma left me. She left me all alone and now I am at a new school and I am all alone. That wasn't very nice." I agreed. But I told him that I was glad he was in my class and that some of the other kids were living with their grandparents too.
Then, a little later, he had to go to the bathroom. I showed him where it was (right outside our classroom) and went back to walking around the room, supervising the students' writing. He came bursting back in the room loudly exclaiming, "I HAD TO POOP BUT I COULDN'T EVEN POOP BECAUSE THE TOILET JUST KEPT FLUSHING AND FLUSHING AND I THINK ITS BROKEN SO I COULDNT EVEN POOP BECAUSE THE TOILET IS BROKEN!" I calmly explained that we have automatic toilets which flush on their own, so we never have to worry about forgetting to flush them. He just looked at me and said, "OK, I'M GONNA GO FINISH POOPING NOW!" By this point the rest of the class was laughing uncontrollably. What could I do besides shrug my shoulders, say, "That was funny, wasn't it?" and laugh along. Some days...that's just the way the toilet flushes.

A stitch in time

Some of my earliest memories of my mother involve fabric, needle and thread. She was always sewing something...curtains, doll clothes, even a suit for my dad. We kids had access to anything she owned...except her sewing scissors. Get caught cutting paper with them and you were in BIG trouble! The smell of new, cotton fabric, the crispness of thin paper patterns, and the rhythmic thrum of the sewing machine are forever etched into my childhood. She made almost all my sister's and my clothes - often matching outfits - causing people to ask if we were twins.

By junior high, however, I had realized that none of the other girls wore homemade clothing. They shopped at the mall and wore polo shirts with name brands stitched on the front, jeans with Guess on the pocket and shoes with little blue Keds tags on the back. My lovingly stitched dresses and cotton shorts seemed suddenly shabby and poor. The embroidered tags that said, "Made especially for you by Sandy" just couldn't compete with Jordache. So I allowed her to sew for me only when it was absolutely necessary. Like when we couldn't afford a $200 prom dress so she bought a few yards of satin and sequins and made me one.

While I was eschewing her talent, others were begging for it. She always had a stack of things to sew for other people. People payed her to hem their slacks, sew dresses for weddings, make curtains, and even decorative pillows for their designer furniture.

As I neared high school graduation, planning a wedding with a new baby and a new attitude, I began to appreciate her gifts. Her talent provided me with a beautiful sequined and laced wedding gown, bridesmaids dresses, and even the cumberbunds for the candlelighters...all things I never could have afforded to buy.

That marriage has reached it's fifteen year anniversary, and that baby is dress shopping for junior prom. And in an ironic twist, she disdains the cookie-cutter dresses from the mall boutiques in favor of a custom design "Made especially for you by Sandy".

She thinks it's fabulous that her mimi can listen to her describe the bodice from this dress and the skirt from that one, sketch it out, and make it real. She proudly shows off the one-of-a-kind creations that make her friends jealous. What I thought was a sign I was less than the other girls...she thinks makes her special. And I love that. It's kind of like a gift from God...a way for me to make up for not appreciating the all-night sewing marathons on Saturday night, so I could have a new Easter dress on Sunday morning. Mom's stitches of love were strong and sure, and enough to keep our hearts from ripping apart - even through the wear and tear of adolescence.

And even though I don't have Mom's talent for sewing, I can only hope I do have her talent for weaving threads of love through my family that will never fray.