Unpacking

Ahh...

Christmas is over.

I am home alone from holiday fun-making with family far and near. Time to unpack and put away all the new "stuff". This year it didn't take me nearly as long...a fact for which I am nothing but grateful. How I used to dread coming home from multiple Christmases and unpacking toys and other gizmos. I usually tried to prepare by cleaning out toyboxes and closets the week before Christmas, to make room to stuff our stuff.

But as the kids get older, I find the joy of Christmas coming in packages impossible to wrap.

Like the fun we had on our "family shopping day"...a tradition we instituted a few years ago in which we spend our time and money having fun together instead of separately trying to outdo one another with surprise "things." We laughed, we ate, we relaxed...and our children bought the things they wanted...with money to spare! How wonderful for me to know that they value our time together more than their spending limit. And that they have non-greedy hearts that know when they have enough and don't feel compelled to spend it all plus a little bit more. Merry Christmas to me!

And through a happy happenstance, my parents were able to join us on our "Christmas Morning" the next day where not a single gift was unwrapped, but we shared breakfast and stories and a little piece of life.

Then it was on to the other grandparents' house where we laughed at each other playing wii and then clung to each other through the freak bout of Christmas Flu that descended on the entire household. There is no one I'd rather be in a foxhole like that with than Papaw! Not generally known for his domestic endeavors, he cared for us all while we were too sick to care for ourselves or each other.

We lived through it to celebrate another day with my siblings and the various young children they've brought into our Christmases. It was fun to watch the little ones tear into their toys...but even more fun to see how excited my own child was to give a gift she had put her heart into. Parker and Hillary seemed happy with what they were given but equally so to see others receive. Especially my youngest sister who was surprised with an engagement ring!

Through it all, it was the stuff you can feel but not touch that seemed to matter.

Hillary basked in a budding new relationship (more about that later...maybe:) while Parker made up for lost time with my brother, who lives half a country away. (Fair warning to the ducks and geese!) And that is how I came to be home without them this post-Christmas day.

Unpacking my thoughts.

In a house not filled with stuff.

With a heart thats overflowing.

The Sleepover Song

(to the tune of The Christmas Song)

Boy brains vegging

by the Xbox light.

Music thumping

in your ear.

Mounds of food

being quickly inhaled.

And Mom squelching her deepest fears.

Everybody knows

that teenage boys are tons of fun.

Once you get past noise and smells.

Wouldn't trade these years for the world.

Happy teen boys are swell!

Baby slow down. The end is not as fun as the start. Please stay a child somewhere in your heart.

~U2

Drama Queen

Hillary did a great job playing a gun-toting southern belle in "Murder is in the Heir" last weekend. Several faithful family members joined my husband and I as we squeezed into the crowded high school commons for the dinner theatre. We were greeted by the cast members in full costume and character. Hillary aka Paula Thompson fluttered her eyelashes and looked up through her floppy hat as she welcomed us to the "mansion" in sweet southern drawl through ruby red lips. She never once dropped her accent or the essence of her character. The play began and our first course arrived. We got to know the characters and their motive for murder as we munched our beef brisket. Then it was time to vote. This was an "audience participation" performance. It was up to us to decide who the guilty guy or girl would be. Parker slyly suggested to me that we could cheat by taking the extra papers on the table and marking them all for "Paula". But we let fate take it's course. And in the end, it was Hillary holding the gun!

She later told me that another student had actually had the most votes, but he didn't know all of the lines for that ending. So it fell to Hillary to carry the crime. This doesn't surprise me at all. From the time Hillary was two years old, she's been in every form of drama production she could manage to get a part in. And she always knew her lines AND everyone else's. I remember her at 8 years old pantomining and prompting kids several years older who couldn't remember what it was they were supposed to say. She's the actor/director all rolled into one!

The play ended with Hillary being handcuffed and wrestled off stage to cheers and claps from the crowd. Then they were bowing, and people were coming up to tell me how good she was. And all I could say was "Thank you" when I wanted to shout "I know, right!"

But that would be a little dramatic.

We'll just leave the drama to Hillary for now.

Wonder-ful

This is Parker's way of encouraging me. Yes that is my head cut and pasted to WonderWoman's body.

He wrote on the side, "You can do anything. Your an amazing mom. Your undistructible."

I'll try to remember that.

Dirty Laundry

I was sitting at the table doing my make up in a tiny handheld mirror (being run out of my own bathroom by my husband's morning "stream and steam" routine), when Parker came through, clad in a towel, and headed for the laundry room. He pawed through the few clean but wrinkled items on top of the dryer, then sighed and headed back to his room empty-handed and underwear-less.

I had a twinge of guilt.

Two minutes pass and Hillary enters. Same routine only with pajama pants in place of the towel. Not sure what she was looking for, but she didn't find it. She left the kitchen and went straight for MY closet. Plan B.

I had a twinge of frustration.

Yep, you guessed it...the parade was not over. My wet-headed husband lumbered past and headed straight for the laundry room.

Now I was just flat-out mad!

What do they think? That our machines are magical? That clean clothes magically appear? Did they not notice that I worked late the day before and didn't even get home til after 5? And then I cooked supper and flew to a ball game. And then helped with homework before collapsing into bed. When did they assume I had done laundry? Maybe I get up in the middle of the night, so excited to wash their dirty drawers that I just can't sleep. Isn't it logical that if they haven't put the laundry INTO the machine...and I haven't been home in 24 hours...that there will be no clean laundry coming OUT of the machine?

But it's my own fault, of course. I've been a bad mother. Failed to bark orders and assign assignments...delegating missions to the troops in order to conquer family life disorder. Whatever will they do when I am gone and they are responsible for their own laundry-seeking offspring? Perhaps they will just teach them the valuable life lessons learned from their mother.

Lesson 1. It's always worth checking. More often than not clean laundry DOES magically appear. Along with food in the fridge and gas in the car.

Lesson 2. Use your creative thinking skills to problem-solve. Underwear has two sides. Every family member has some, so it's not unheard of to borrow in an emergency. And when all else fails, no one will ever know if you are going commando unless you tell them...or have PE that day.

Lesson 3. Laundry is not Love. Being loved is more than being provided for. It's comfort when you're upset, laughter when you're sad, and help when you're overwhelmed. Those things never run out.

Lesson 4. Over a lifetime...it all comes out in the wash.

A Joyful Note

I smiled as I sat in the dark auditorium and watched high school students from all over our region file in, clad in choir attire. It was the District Concert Choir performance. Hillary had practiced for weeks. Her effort was rewarded when she was chosen for Honor Choir, which is the higher of the two groups. And now, they stood straight and smiling, music in hand, beaming with anticipation. They sang an upbeat "Jubilant Song", impressed us with various vocalizations and harmonies in "Alleluia from Songs of Faith", made us wistful with "Set Me As a Seal Upon Your Heart", and rocked our souls with their rendition of "Daniel in the Lion Den." The crowd responded with a standing ovation. Then it was over and we all gathered around our choir directors to find out which students had been chosen to participate in All State Choir. Our choir director spoke softly and I couldn't hear what was being said... then whoops and hugs...and one of our girls had been chosen! Hillary leaped to hug her friend, her own face flushed with excitement and happiness that someone from her school had been chosen. But the director had more to say. Hillary had been chosen as the alternate alto! And Hillary whooped again and smiled all over herself. Even though it means she will have to attend every practice...learn every word...with no promise of being in the actual performance, she was so happy just to have been considered. I was happy too. And proud.

We followed the director to a back room where all the parents were given the specifics of official paperwork. Right beside me, a girl from another school was changing angrily from her singing clothes into her jeans. "I'm second!" she hissed at her mother. "Alternate means second! That's all. Who wants to be second best?" Her mother seemed angry and embarrassed. As she should be. What a contrast to Hillary's reaction. My heart swelled with pride in who my daughter was. I am thankful for her pure heart. Her maturity. Her positive personality.

In the song that is my life, she is a joyful note.

Tested

My son is a hunter. Even though his dad would rather shoot basketball than guns, and his mom is known only for shooting off her mouth, his Papaw has faithfully introduced him to everything from duck to deer hunting. And so, when he turned 13, it was time to legally license him. Which required taking the Hunter Education Course. I assumed that sense we live in a rural, hilly, and wooded area where local kids are born with a gun in their hand, that it would be easy to find an offered course. But you know what they say about assuming...

The only thing available was a 12 hour, 3 night course in the next town over.

I took him the first night, expecting a small group of boys to be taught a few safety lessons, and certified automatically. At 13, he was not required to have a parent stay, and I toyed with the idea of just dropping him off. But when we entered the basement of the Baptist church we were met with 40 or more men, women, and kids. And the instructor got up and told the crowd in a very serious voice that it was extremely important to pay attention because the test had changed and was now all essay, so if you were a good writer you should pass easily. My stomach dropped. Parker is good at a lot of things, but writing is NOT one of them. And then the instructor laughed...ha ha ha, just kidding...it's 50 questions, multiple choice...

Not funny.

I wanted to take one of those bow and arrows on the table and show him kidding.

But instead I just sat there by Parker through the first hour of chapter 1. When the class took a break I told Parker I was leaving for a while and would be back toward the end of the class. He didn't seem thrilled about it, but I didn't want to be a helicopter parent...you know the kind that is always hovering. My husband already accuses me of babying our son. I wanted to stay, but I felt like I had to go.

I drove around and worried. I knew Parker would pick up the information by listening carefully to the instructor. But he had to take the test on his own. His dyslexia causes him to misread things sometimes and I was worried that he wouldn't pass the test...not because he didn't know the answer but because he would misread the question. I considered talking with the instructor to ask if Parker could have the test read to him. That's what happens at school. But singling Parker out would just embarrass him. I fought back tears and hated again that this stupid disorder was creeping up in yet another area of Parker's life, making him struggle for what most people take for granted.

I got back just in time for the second break of the night and sat quietly by Parker for the rest of that class. And when we got home he hugged me and said, "Thanks for coming back and staying with me, Mom."

On the second night, I came prepared. I sat through every minute of the class and read halfway through a novel while Parker listened raptly, eyes never leaving the instructor. I forced myself not to lean over and underline key terms or star important points. And at the end of the class the instructor said, "Now about the test..."

My ears perked up.

"Every time we give this test, I make sure there is someone available to read the test to those who need it. I encourage you to take advantage of this. You don't want to fail the test just because you're not a strong reader."

I couldn't believe it! I hadn't said anything! God had taken care of it without any help from me. For the second time in as many nights I blinked back tears.

The night of the test, Parker went into a side room with a whole group of other test-takers and had the test read to him. He came out with a beaming smile on his face! "Easiest test I've ever taken!" he declared, as he showed me his Hunter Orange patch and certification slip.

I guess we both passed.

18 Candles

My little girl is 18.

To celebrate, we will throw a party in her honor...but that's a couple weeks away. The actual Big Day landed on a Wednesday. So she went to school (even though in our house you can skip on your birthday if you want!). And she tried out for District Choir (and made it, I might add....top alto!). And then the four of us headed to the fanciest restaurant around. Sybill's, set in a grand, plantation style house, offers wonderful food, superb service, and an elegant environment. Due to the "pretty" price tag, it's a treat we save for very special occasions. And this was one. Hillary was so excited! Over candlelight and a real tablecloth my gorgeous young woman spoke of the day's events, college plans, and favorite birthday memories. Elegant and sophisticated, she fit right in and looked like she belonged to this graceful world.

And I couldn't help comparing it to other birthdays.

Chuck E. Cheese with blaring music and garish characters. Kid's World with Barbie cake and screaming kids climbing through the play place like mice in a maze.

My how things have changed!

And then, after cheesecake desert, Hillary looked at the time and said, "Mom, church starts at 7. We're only a little bit late."

Then again, some things never change!

I know that when I was 18, I would gladly have skipped a church service to be pampered and celebrated. Heck, I'd do it today, if given the chance! But Hillary has always loved going to church. There was one Sunday night...she couldn't have been more than 5...when Hubby and I decided to stay home and relax for the evening. Hillary just looked at us and said in a rather accusing way, "Does Pastor know about this?"

So she and I left Dad at Sybill's to pick up the tab, and we slid in the pew just as the service was being turned over to the preacher. Hillary took notes during the message, prayed in the altar service, and then laughed and teased with her friends as we lingered in the sanctuary. Happy and wholesome, she fit right in, and looked like she belonged in this Grace full world.

And even though it was her birthday...I was the one who'd been given a gift.

Radio Waves and World Wide Webs

I have a new favorite thing.

Actually its a very old thing with a modern twist.

Remember how the Walton's used to gather around their radio and listen to a ball game or radio show while grandma knitted and Pa puffed on a pipe? And the kids all scattered around the room listening? Well, just call us the Waltons!

I don't know how to knit, and I would never allow pipe smoke in my family room, but we enjoyed all the rest of it just last night. On our way home, I was enjoying a talk radio show on NPR. But, alas, we don't have a radio strong enough to pick up the signal from St Louis in the house. So I jumped on the internet and "listened live".

Parker lay next to me on the couch, letting me rub his head, while Hillary sat on the hearth and cleaned her tennis shoes with a bleach stick. I watched the flames flicker in the fire place and Yancy relaxed in his chair. We listened to a very entertaining, yet informative show that told stories about math (of all things) in such an interesting way that we sat in rapt attention. It was so peaceful. The worries of the world were pushed outside for a while. We were all in the same room at the same time...and even though we weren't talking, we felt connected. Unlike staring at a TV screen, we watched each other's faces as someone laughed or frowned to what they heard. In these days of crazy schedules it was nice to share an old pastime...by way of the latest technology.

Picture This

Had a sweet day with a sweet man who is getting better by the minute at acting like a boyfriend. Today he went to work with me and stuffed weekly folders, spruced up centers, and made copies where he was fawned over by a couple of other (jealous) female teachers whose husbands were nowhere in sight. Then he took me into the city so I could spend my birthday money. But as great as the day was, it did eventually wind down to an end.

As I sat next to him in the truck, late afternoon sun shining into the windshield, tires eating up the miles between fun and reality, I started to sink.

I hate it, but I do it every Sunday. The closer evening gets, the more I start to think about work and the dreaded Monday morning alarm clock. I fight. And sometimes I win. But more often than not, I don't.

By the time we got home, I was really sad. But I walked in the door, looking for my kids, because they always make me happier...and Parker bounded in front of me, hugged me, and then put his hands over my eyes.

"Don't look" he said as he steered me toward the kitchen.

Music was playing, and I could hear Hillary moving something around.

"OK." she finally said. "Open your eyes and see if anything has changed."

I slowly scanned the room until I saw my photo collage frame sitting on the counter...full of brand new shots of her, Parker, and love messages written in the sand. I exclaimed and examined and felt happy again. While we were gone, Hillary had taken her brother and her brand new birthday-present camera to the park. She printed out the best shots and filled my frame with love and beauty. And my heart with smiles.

Somehow, seeing the world through her eyes and her camera makes me realize how blessed I am...how God sends me beauty in flowerpetals and fingerprints...and how he's gifted my children with creativity and generosity. They are made in His image. And I'm engraved on His heart.

Boyfriends and Girlfriends

We were privileged to be invited to a fall family gathering at some friends' house last night. Hillary had her own (awesome) plans...an unexpected chance to go see Phantom of the Opera at the Fox, so it was just the three of us (Hubby, Son, and I). Feeling like we needed a little spice in our marriage, I suggested that Hubby and I be "boyfriend and girlfriend" for the evening. He agreed. Parker just sat looking bored out the window. So I asked him, "Parker, what should Dad do if he's going to be my boyfriend?"

Parker gave me that "Why are you asking me this" look and shrugged.

I pressed.

"Come on...what does a boyfriend do?"

"Well," he sighed, "be friendly to you?"

That's always a good start.

"What else?"

"And bring you stuff."

Ok, be friendly to me and bring me stuff. Sounds kind of like the dog we used to have. But I can live with that.

We enjoyed our evening of music, conversation, laughter, food, and bonfire and my husband and I realized we are a little out of practice at being boyfriend and girlfriend. But it was fun to try.

Proud Tears

Band is the one thing my two kids will get to share. Because of the four year age difference, Hillary will be out of high school before Parker gets there, and (dare I hope) leaving college by the time he enters. So I was thrilled to be able to go to ONE parade competition and watch BOTH my kids performing. Hillary as drum major and Parker as banner carrier.

I sat with friends on the side of the road and watched as the other bands came by, small and squeaky and arrayed in various colors. Then finally, they came. The Wildcat Marching Band. Compared to the others they looked like a small army. They descended upon us in ruler straight lines, playing loud and strong. Parker marched tall and precise, knees high...toes pointed, just as Hillary had shown him at home as she made him prance around the living room to practice. His face was stone and I knew better than to yell. The drill team danced along behind.

My willowy Hillary led the band with head held high and arms making sharp directive motions. And marching backwards in high heeled boots, I might add.

I couldn't help it...tears sprang to my eyes.

I blinked quickly and bit my tongue and blamed it on the wind blowing in my face.

And then a grandmother of one of the band members leaned over and said to me, "Every time I see them perform, it always makes me cry!"

A perfect reminder that there is no shame in proud tears.

Rest In Peace

It was promising to be a full weekend...my husband was leaving town right after school on Friday for a coaching clinic, it was Homecoming week (football/dance), and the band had a parade competition on Saturday. No problem. I've got it covered.

And then Hillary threw up.

I rushed home from work, Sprite in hand, to nurse and nurture. She refused to even CONSIDER staying home from the football game. She is the drum major and the band would need her to lead them while they played. And the dance was after the game and she really wanted to try it. So after a nap, a shower, and some dramamine, she climbed on the bus (due to construction at our school our "home" games are 20 min away at the next town over). I crossed my fingers and kept my phone in my hand.

She perked up and made it through the game, then went on to the dance where she was meeting her date for the evening. She told me she probably wouldn't stay late, since she had the competition the next morning, and that she would call me when she wanted to be picked up. I cleaned up the house, shared a frozen pizza with Parker, and watched some TV. At 10:00 I knew I wasn't going to make it. I lay down in bed, fully clothed, and put the phone on my pillow. Parker was beside me, watching TV.

I dozed.

I started awake. 10:50. Ok, it's all good. The TV droned.

I dozed.

I started awake. The TV was off and Parker snored softly. 11:40. I checked my phone. She hadn't called. Was she ok? What if she was sick? Then I reminded myself that she was surrounded by a myriad of teens and teachers who loved her and all had my phone number if something happened. Not to mention that she is almost 18. A handful of months and she could potentially be living far away doing who knows what with who knows who whenever she wants. If she doesn't know how to make the right decisions by now, then really, what is the point?

I don't do well without sleep.

I dozed.

I started awake. 12:00. My phone was buzzing. "Mom, come get me". So much for not staying out "late".

New dilema. Leave Parker snoozing and hope he doesn't wake up with a nightmare, panicked because he can't find me, or wake him up and make him go with me. We don't have a home phone and his cell is out of commission at the moment. I shook him, told him where I was going, got a mumble in response, and left...taking my chances.

Fog. Moonlight. Don't hit a deer. Then your daughter will be sitting forlorn outside a dark school building and your son will awake in a dark empty house. And they will wonder why you've forsaken them while you are leaning unconscious on the horn with airbag dust floating around your face. I warned you - lack of sleep makes me crazy.

I had a sudden urge of sympathy for single parents. How do you do this without a partner?

I got Hillary home without incident, climbed back in bed next to the still-sleeping-soundly Parker, and tried to relax. And then Hillary appeared in the doorway. "I'm sleeping in here." And she slid under the covers.

And just like that...all was right with the world. The things most important in my world (save my hubby who is a big man and can easily take care of himself) were right there in bed with me...safe, sound, and sleeping. I drifted off to sleep.

And I rested in peace.

God Gifts

Work has been really stressful lately. There are a lot of changes going on, which makes people uncomfortable and sometimes causes conflict and tears. Through it all, I've tried to keep my perspective...I have a life and a job...not the other way around. I have asked people I trust to pray for me, and tried to fill my soul with encouraging scriptures. And it seems to be working.

Today I walked into a room, just to share some information and was met with a frustrated and overwhelmed person who needed to vent. Words and tears flowed. My reaction was to say, "Can I pray for you?" And I did. I hugged that person and prayed the Holy Spirit into the room. And when I got back to my own classroom I thought, "What the heck was that?!?" As much as I want to be a bold Christian witness, I'm usually not. It's totally unlike me to pray at work with a person I'm not even really that close to.

Weird.

I just threw a little prayer heavenward...God, I don't know if I was supposed to do that or not. But please take care of it.

By the end of the day, I was drained. I was finishing up in my room when my two kids walked in! It was an unexpected surprise...and they had been to Mobil and had a Coke for me! I let out a little scream and they ran to me and hugged me...

And I just started crying.

They knew nothing of my day, but Hillary just smiled and said, "Is this one of those 'I love you' moments from God?"

And it was!

My sweet kids are one of God's greatest gifts to me. And the added bonus of my favorite soft drink was just a reminder that He knows me down to the smallest detail. I obeyed and he rewarded.

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows James 1:17

Irrational Behaviour

It's Monday again.

But actually, most of the day went fairly well, considering.

I got through the school day without maiming any loud and wiggly boys, stopped by the chiropractor after work so he could relieve my stressed spine-induced headache, took a walk with my husband, and snatched a few minutes to update my facebook status. Then it was time to help Parker with his homework.

I hate homework.

And so does he.

He slogged through his math, produced several grade reports for me to sign, and informed me that he needed a composition notebook TONIGHT. I sent him downstairs to check our extra supply stash, but he was certain there was NO composition notebook down there. Hillary asserted that there was, but she wasn't about to leave her spot on my bed watching a movie she'd only seen 500 times to get it for him. I insisted. She sighed huffily. But the composition notebook was found.

And it was pink.

The dirty dishes were calling my name, so I left Parker painstakingly covering the pink notebook cover with bright yellow duct tape and decided we'd come back to homework in a little bit.

As I unloaded the dishwasher I pondered why my cabinets were built for giants, causing me to have to climb (literally) to reach the top shelves. Then I tried to unscrew the coffee mug lid so I could wash it out by hand. But there was no budging it. I used a wet cloth to get a better grip. I strained with all my might. Then I remembered that my husband had used the mug last. How unconsiderate of Hercules not to loosen the lid for me. Especially since he was downstairs that very minute sitting on his butt, playing a FOOTBALL GAME while I was juggling laundry, dishes AND homework all at the same time! And just like that, she burst into the room...Crazy Woman. I marched downstairs with a crazed look in my eye and shoved the mug into his surprised and somewhat scared looking face. "Open that!" I snapped. "And then go upstairs and get 50 hangers and hang up all those CLEAN clothes and then put them away!" "Please." I added not nicely.

I went back to the sink and finished washing up.

Then Crazy Woman disappeared and I was left feeling bad for her actions.

My Gentle Giant of a husband creeped past me with empty hangers, and then again with full ones. I dried my hands and went to appologize.

To his credit, he forgives easily. He was done in 10 minutes and life went back to normal.

Until Parker said, "Mom, I have to memorize all the states and their capitals for the test tomorrow."

Crazy Woman peeked around the corner.

But I threw a dish towel at her and she slinked away.

I settled Parker on the comfy chair with his interactive, talking, states and capitals puzzle (God bless Melissa & Doug - creators of such a wonder) and made myself some popcorn.

"Washington...capital Olympia" the puzzle stated in a computer-y voice.

Best $19.99 I ever spent.

Take that, Crazy Woman!

Validation

Thursday was the big day! The small town where I teach was hosting a part of the Tour of Missouri bike race. It's a very big deal with nationally known athletes and media coverage. And Parker wanted to go.

So I let him skip his school for a day and go to work with me. Our school was getting out early so the kids could enjoy the excitement with their families. All I had to do was entertain my first graders for 3 1/2 hours.

The students noticed Parker right away. "Mrs. Temple! There's a MAN in our room!" Once I explained who he was, they couldn't wait to get him to "work" with them.

During Reading, he read with Emily, a special ed student who listened raptly with big eyes. During Math, he flitted around the room, reading directions and helping students stay on track. By "specials" time, he was ready for a computer break. When I had to pick the kids up a short 20 min later he exclaimed, "Already?!"

He opened ketchup packets during lunch and helped line the kids up when it was time to leave.

And when the room was finally empty he said, "Boy, now I know why you're so tired at the end of the day! These kids take a lot of work!"

Ahhh...I am validated.

Maybe I should take my husband to work with me next!

Reaching the Goal

I am so proud of the woman my daughter is becoming. In the last week, I have seen signs of maturity that make me burst with pride.

Last weekend, we hosted the family reunion at our house. Over 50 people, all ages, stages, and sizes laughed, loved, and ate, ate, ATE! On Sunday, we did "family church" in our living room and guess who was asked to use her talent on the piano...Hillary. She gladly agreed, even though she had no idea what she might be asked to play. As aunts, uncles, and cousins looked on, she struggled to take hymn requests that she had never even heard before. I have to admit, I was stressing for her! But she stayed calm and collected, told the people to just keep singing and she would follow along, and within a couple of times, had it down.

And speaking of talents...her youth pastor had challenged the youth group to find a way to give money for missions the next week. The goal was $20. They weren't supposed to ask their parents for it. They were to use a talent they had to earn the money. Hillary decided to take pictures at the family reunion and sell them for donations. She spent hours buzzing around...including everyone in at least one shot, and often stopping whatever fun thing she was doing to capture a moment that some relative thought might be camera-worthy. Before everyone left, she had the discs burned and ready to go. And she proudly deposited over $160 in the youth group jar the next Wednesday night!

And today, when the youth pastor and his family came over for dinner, she and Hayden (who graduated in May) sat at the table with us old folks while the younger kids chose to eat downstairs in front of the TV and video game. She listened with interest, and made insightful comments, discussing deep things, including politics and the sharing of her faith with others.

Parenting can feel like such a long journey. Some of it is fun...and some of it is not. We may not have arrived but we are definitely closer to "reaching the goal."

How to Be Happy

Step 1:

Blast Creedence Clearwater Revival singing "Down on the corner...out in the street..."

Step 2:

Rig your own version of a car wash's hanging hose.

Step 3:

Wave your hose in the air like you just don't care.

Step 4:

Always drink plenty of water.

Step 5:

Take frequent breaks.

Step 6: Never stop singing.

Remember...if you HAVE to work, might as well enjoy it!

Stay or Leave

"Should I stay or should I go?" The Clash

As we enter Senior Year, there is pressure to decide the path of the rest of your life. And like most 17 year olds, Hillary flits back and forth between ideas. A year ago she was completely certain she would take advantage of her A+ scholarship and go to the local community college for free for the first 2 years.
And I wanted her to.
Then, later, she decided she wanted to go away. Have the whole "college" experience and live in a dorm. Eat in the food court and work on campus. Maybe join a sorority.
And I wanted her to.
Coming into high school she was all about drama and thought she would be an actress.
Then she recognized her passion for photography (and her non-passion for the all-consuming committment of theater) and decided she would be a photographer.
Until she went to Washington, D.C. and visited the Newseum.
And now she has her heart set on photo-journalism.
Which pointed her to Mizzou.
Which requires a math class she hasn't taken and can't fit into her schedule this year.
Which brings us back to the free local community college and living at home for at least a year.
And I am riding this roller coaster with patience, because life is vast and opportunities abound when you are young and smart and beautiful. And a lot can change in a year.
So I am helping her fill out applications to ALL her options...just in case.
And preparing for a half empty nest. Or not.
But no matter what happens, I do not fear losing her. I look forward to getting to know her, grown-up. Whether she stays or leaves.

"Stay or leave

I want you not to go

But you should

It was good as good goes

Stay or leave

I want you not to go

But you did

So what to do

With the rest of the day's afternoon hey

Isn't it strange how we change

Everything we did

Did I do all that i should

That I coulda done"

Dave Matthews

Cart to Heart

At the end of a long and busy school day, I came home to an empty house, except for Parker. He had his music playing and was doing his homework. I loaded the dishwasher, switched the laundry, made a phone call, and offered to start supper which he refused because he had just finished an entire pizza. I had not just finished an entire pizza, so I made myself a grilled cheese sandwich and sat down at the table by myself with a book.
Sigh. Relax my back. Take a bite. Remember to breathe. Unwind.
Parker bounced into the kitchen.
"You wanna come look at go-carts on the internet?"
I just stared and chewed my cud like a glassy-eyed mama cow. Looking at go-carts that I'm not going to buy seems like the most boring thing I can think of. And then he said....
"Or...just come down there with me. And sit by me. While I look at go-carts?"
I said yes.
He clicked from site to site, naming parts, explaining how to measure wheelbase, and converting kph to mph, while I listened to the squeaks in his changing voice and watched the light in his eyes. And in-between we talked about his classes and his best friend who moved away, and stories the neighborhood boys tell each other.
If I never see another go-cart in my life, I couldn't care less.
But spending time with my son...I will NEVER regret.

First and Last

My baby started her senior year today. And it is tempting to start counting down the "lasts". The last first day of high school. The last dance, football game, parade.

But there are lots of "firsts" too. The first time she applies to college. The first "real" job application. The first drive to the city with friends sans parent. The first decisions about her future.

It's also my son's first day of 8th grade. And my husband's first day of his 10th year of teaching.

Why do we act as though there are only certain days we will never get back? Say things like 'You only ______ once in a lifetime'. The truth is every second that passes is one we'll never get back. You're only in this moment of time once in a lifetime, and then you're in the next one. One day with my 18 month old daughter is as precious to me as one day with my 18 year old daughter. So instead of being sad, I will try to enjoy every moment. As I have for the last 11 years of her school career. And hopefully, neither of us will have any regrets.

The Best Medicine

So all the stars aligned and I was able to leave work 15 min early, get gas, grab Parker, and make it into the city through a torrential downpour without having a wreck, to get my son to the pediatrician on time (or close enough). I was pretty tightly wound by the time I wrestled my fairly useless umbrella out of the car and into the doctor's office. Parker, on the other hand, took time to calmly stand in the rain and hold the door for a sweet older lady, who was absolutely charmed by his manners.
As I dripped in the elevator, he said with a smile, "I can't wait!"
"For what?" I wanted to know.
"They always check my height!"
Oh yeah. And he has grown considerably. Exciting.
We checked in, waited what felt like too long, and finally followed the nurse into the pre-see-the-doctor-room. She weighed Parker, asked a few questions and then instructed us to follow her. I saw the disappointment in his face so I said, "Ummm. Could you measure him?"
She was happy to oblige. And he was happy to find that he is 5 ft 6 inches. Up about 5 inches from last time.
We were finally seen, treated, and charged, then it was on to A&W where Parker had a #4 with an extra chili cheese coney dog on the side and a large root beer to my kiddie cheeseburger. Next stop...Target to search for a binder. They had my brand of hairspray, some much needed LARGE bandaids, and a candy bar...but no suitable binder. But never fear, Office Max saved the day. Only the parent of a disorganized dyslexic can understand the importance of a binder with built-in file folders and a zipper that goes all the way around. And yes, I paid $2 extra for insurance on it. Since his last two cell phones are sleeping with the fishes, I figured, why not? Any son who patiently stands in the front of every store waiting for his mother to delicately dry her exposed toes with a tissue so she won't squish when she walks...and isn't even embarrassed by it deserves a little extra, right?
$83 worth of medicine later (and yes, that was AFTER the insurance was applied) it was time to head home.
By the time we drove home, the storm was over...and the sun glowed through the scattered clouds spilling gold on the wet world.
I was feeling considerably better about things.
But I always do when I spend time with my extraordinary young man.
No matter what ails me, he always seems to be the best medicine!

Skinned Knees

When your kids are little, your life revolves around them. If they are sick, the world stops and you take care of it. And everyone understands.
Stressful, yes. But then you are assured by those older and wiser that it won't be this way forever and soon they will be older and it will all get easier.
Those people lie.
It doesn't get easier. Your sick kid still needs you, but you feel guiltier for taking off work. And people tend to roll their eyes when you stay home with a 13 year old.
So tomorrow is my third day of school with students, and I am trying to do my job as a teacher and my job as a parent by scheduling a doctor's appointment after school but before open house. Parker had a very manly bike wreck a couple of days ago, managing to grind several layers of skin off his knee. Of course, I washed it with peroxide. Of course I have tended to it every day since with Neosporin. It's only a skinned knee, right?
Wrong.
It is not healing.
Ironically, the same thing happened to Hillary (even the same knee!) a few years ago and I let it go for quite a while before I broke down and took her to the doctor. It was infected, required a prescription, and healed almost immediately when we finally got the right med. So this time, I vow to head it off before he has to start school on Tuesday.
Unfortunately, our doctor is an hour away. I know, there are those who think I'm too...finicky (to put it kindly) for not using our local quacks. But I've been there, done that, and been given the wrong diagnosis and prescription.
I guess tomorrow will be one of those days where there isn't time for anything to go wrong. And if I so much as stub my toe, the whole carefully planned schedule will come crashing down.
But I will look on the bright side...
At least I have a job. And it could be worse than a skinned knee. And I have health insurance...and a doctor I trust. And my children are still home to mess with my schedule.
For now.

Through the Ghoul Gate

I just love read-alouds. I've read to my children since they were in the womb. I've even been known to tape record myself reading aloud to my husband so that he could "listen" to a book I knew he would never read. And if you think that my children growing up would stop storytime, you would be wrong. They still indulge me. Especially in the summertime. We find a few minutes almost every day to gather and share a book. (No small feat considering that everyone has something to do...and all those doings overlap or leapfrog each other so that getting all 4 of us in the same room at the same time is a small miracle). Everyone gets comfy and the only rule is that there are no rules. Text if you want...interrupt with a question or comment...request a "pause" to stick a pizza in the oven. Every summer I think "this will be the year they lose interest". But at the end of each chapter, someone asks for just one more. And if we skip a day, someone asks "Aren't we reading today?"
This summer we are reading "The Graveyard Book" by Neil Gaiman. We love him because he is wildly imaginative and creepy enough to send a chill down our spines between chuckles. Anyway, the boy in this story is being raised by ghosts in a graveyard, and has adventures and learns lessons just like any child would. And today he went through the Ghoul Gate. He was feeling unloved and put-upon by the ghostly adults in his life and went to a deserted corner of the graveyard to sulk. Three ghouls came along and convinced him to go with them. They made it sound so good that he said yes.
And I stopped to inquire of my listeners thoughts on the matter. Good decision or bad?
Hillary paused in her texting and said, "Bad"
Parker immediately said, "Good!"
Good? Why?
"Because he'll have an adventure. And by the time he gets home, he will have learned to appreciate his life and all the people in it."
Pretty deep for a 13 year old. And of course he was right. But how many of us can see at the beginning of a hard and scary thing that we will be better off when it's over? Even the bible tells us to give thanks in everything and rejoice when we are persecuted. Easy to read...hard to do. But in the end, isn't that what life is about?
Having an adventure.
And appreciating it.

So You Think You Can Dance

Hillary has always been a dancer.
When she was little, she would turn on her music (via her indestructible Fisher Price tape player) and gyrate and jump til she was completely out of breath. Her moves consisted mostly of jumping quickly from foot to foot, throwing her arms wide, and then slicking her hair behind her ears, just to start all over again. And, being the proud mama I was, I would clap and cheer and video it all.
And now that she's tall and willowy, every move she makes seems set to music. And she picks up new dances with ease.
I guess she doesn't get it from her mother.
Just last night, I was putting cookies in the oven, she was perched on the counter top, texting and talking all at once, and Parker was turning up the music (because it's never quite loud enough). I closed the oven door, potholder in hand, and got the sudden urge to try my hand (or butt as the case may be) at "popping". I loosened up...planted my feet...put my hands on my knees...and shook my booty. Parker said nothing, but moved behind the safety of the bar. Hillary glanced up from her texting.
"Is this how they do it?" I asked, now jumping slightly with my calves and succeeding at jiggling not only my "junk" but my upper arm fat as well.
"Is that how they do what?" she asked skeptically.
"You know...that dance. I've seen people do it."
She raised one eyebrow and said, "I've never seen anybody do that!"
Nevertheless, I kept at it, watching my reflection in the glass patio doors and trying different methods. Hillary proceeded to laugh herself off the countertop and into the floor.
I have to admit, I've never been known for my rhythm. During one high school dance, a group of well-meaning African American friends circled me, determined to "get Fonda her groove on." And they gave it a good go. But they weren't miracle workers and eventually admitted defeat. Hillary, being young and optimistic and ignorant of past failed attempts, gamely suggested I try something easier...like a dance with actual steps.
As luck would have it, it was time for the cookies to come out of the oven. So the dancing stopped and the eating began. And thank goodness...my calves were cramping and my fat was starting to hurt.
I guess I'll stick to baking and leave the dancing to her.

Walk this way

I miss my kids.
As they get older, they have a way of finding things for themselves to do that don't include me.
As I write this, Hillary is off on an adventure with some girl friends. They drove two hours away to eat at a famous restaurant that throws your food at you. Although, she did text her dad that the main reason for the trip was to scope out cute waiters...and theirs is NOT. Oh well.
And Parker is in another state, traveling and visiting relatives with his grandparents. And loving the fact that he's the "only child" for a while, I'm sure.
But the silver lining is that, with no one in the house but me and Yancey, we can take the time to snuggle a little longer. Then have coffee on the couch. And take our morning walk.
How luxurious to spend hours a day in focused conversation with a man who loves me.
So as hard as it is to watch your kids grow up and leave the nest (even for short, trial flights!) I'm glad that God is helping me learn to walk this way.

Empty beach...full heart

My sister and I arrived at the beach early this morning. We wanted to beat the heat, and the tourists. No matter how many times I've seen it, the ocean never disappoints. The blues and greens..the crashing white foamed waves...the soft wind and the deceptively friendly sun. As I walked along the edge, looking for shells for Cassie, I noticed a small boy and his mom building a sand castle. I smiled, remembering the castles I've built (or watched be built) with my kids. Being here without them has been different. Every time I see a dolphin I want to turn and say, "Look, kids!" When we ride in the boat with Stewie (the dachshund) standing guard with his long chocolate ears flapping in the wind, I want to laugh with them. But they are living their own life back home. Marching in the Fair Parade, going out with friends, and visiting grandparents. And I will see them in a few days.
So I sit here on the beach. It's empty except for an old man with a metal detector, and a mother and child building a small city. And I smile and thank God for all the memories I've been allowed to collect over the years. Each one as beautiful and as different as the shells Cassie is picking up. And my heart is full.

Hmmm

Yes, that is a firecracker in a slingshot.

As creative and daring as this trick is...I fear it could give new meaning to the old phrase, "Look, ma, no hands!"

Engineer in the Making

An old piece of siding, a patio table, a firework, and a lighter...just imagine what the boy could do with a roll of duct tape!

Of Fathers, Sons and WeedEaters

Parker has been mowing since last summer. But until his latest growth spurt, he was still too small to handle the weedeater. Finally, Dad decided it was time for him to take that next step to manhood. He told Parker to get his old clothes on and get ready to weedeat. A few minutes later, I found Parker on the back porch, waiting for his dad. One look at his face had me asking, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." he clipped as he swung too hard on the porch swing.
I waited.
"I'm not too happy with Dad right now," he finally continued.
"You don't want to learn how to weedeat?" I asked.
"Yeah, I do. But he's not going to help me. I know he's just going to say, 'Get that whole yard done' and then he's gonna go inside and play an Xbox game while I do all the work."
Hmmm. This would be one of those times that Mom becomes the oil that smooths the friction between the grown man and the growing man.
While there have been times that the man of the house sat on his couch-throne and handed down work orders, I knew this wasn't one of them. So I gently explained that we might be having company that evening and that Dad wanted to build a bonfire and that I knew Dad was planning to stay outside with Parker and teach/supervise the work. The mood lifted just a little.
Dad did come outside and patiently explained the details of trimming a lawn well. And once he got started, Parker must've enjoyed the work. When he ran out of string, Dad told him he could just stop where he was and they would finish the next day, but Parker insisted that he needed to finish 'this one corner'. So Dad taught him how to re-string the machine, then stood back and watched while Parker struggled to start it. I would have stepped in (I was already worried about his arms being tired) but Dad just waited...giving Parker time to fail or succeed on his own. And when the weedeater sputtered to life, Dad looked at me with a proud see-I-told-you, and Parker beamed.
I'd say it was a job well done...for all of us!

wHOLE-ly conTENTed

In an effort to grab some quality family time this summer, we decided to pack our tents and our relatives and camp out for the 4th of July weekend.


And not only did we have FUN, we also learned some important lessons.

Like how to put up a tent (times 3)...

That your camping neighbors appreciate it when you keep the lid closed on the vault toilet...

How to split wood....

How to make popcorn and coffee over an open fire...

And how to jump a dead car battery.

But some of the most memorable lessons happened away from the campground. On our final morning there, it started to rain. Due to some lightning and some anxiety and some leaky tents, we spent a good part of our "sleeping" time in our vehicles. Finally, it was decided that we should drive into town to grab some breakfast while we waited out the storm. We squeezed into two cars and caravaned to town. As we neared the fast food restaurant my husband looked over and said, "We're going in, right?" I just stared at him. HE might be going in with his shorts and tshirt and hair that never has to be combed...but MY bedraggled, stinky, matted hair, racoon-eyed, shoeless, bra-less, pj-wearing self was absolutely NOT getting out of that car. He was lucky I was willing to ride through the drive-thru with him. (Let it be known that I will do a lot of things for a hot cup of coffee in the morning.) Fortunately, with my parents in the car, we out-numbered Hubby 3 to 1 and the consensus was "We are not going in." But as we pulled into the parking lot, my father-in-law pulled his SUV into a parking spot. We couldn't believe it! "Are they going in?!" We pulled up beside them as he rolled down his window and said with a somber face and voice, "We are not going in." Our whole car erupted with laughter! Apparently they had been having the same conversation!
We made it through the drive-thru, waited a considerable time for our bags of food, and headed back to camp. Lesson #1 - Always check your order before you leave the parking lot. Not only had they neglected to give us ketchup, but Yancy and Hillary had ordered cinnamon sugar biscuit holes which had been put in the bag with no icing to dip them in. Apparently this was Hubby's last straw. Back into town we flew.
When we arrived, he went straight to the counter to resolve the issue while I darted into the bathroom (the allure of a flushing toilet overriding my pride). When I came out, I saw my large husband, feet planted, finger pointing, deep voice booming "..so will you PLEASE give me another one!" I pretended I didn't know him and headed to the car, all the while thinking, "Lady, he might be saying the word 'please' but he is NOT being polite!" He entered the car triumphantly, 3 small containers of icing in hand. Apparently, restaurant policy is one icing per order - regardless of whether said order is a 6 piece or a 12 piece. But Yancey's policy is one container per every 6 biscuit holes. And they had already caused him considerable trouble that morning...and manager or no, by golly, he was getting his icing! And the final lesson of the day - Never, never come between a large, hungry, sleep-deprived man and his cinnamon sugar biscuit holes dipped in icing.

All By Myself

This was to be a week alone for me. Hillary was off to Girls State, and Yancey and Parker went to church camp. And, as they love me dearly, they were a little concerned. It seemed to dawn on Hillary the day before she left that I would be at home all day, every day for a week, all by myself. She looked at me with wide eyes and said in a breathy voice..."What will you DO?"
My answer..."Whatever I want!"
But she was still worried. "Sounds lonely to me," she said.
Never fear, I had plans.
My dreams were filled with lazy days in the hammock, cold drink and a good book in hand...no worries hanging over my head with the laundry caught up and the house cleaned.
And then I woke up.
Here are a few of the things I actually did this week:
Handled small crisis with daughter via text in middle of the night.
Handled small crisis with husband via text in the middle of the night.
Called bug people to come spray house for spiders who suddenly seemed to be everywhere.
Drove un-air conditioned car an hour away to the city for repair...waited for the shop to give me the loaner car which they had somehow misplaced...sat in Enterprise Rent-a-car lobby for an hour while they tried to find a car for me...(this all counts as one thing, right?).
Got my hair cut and colored.
Cleaned two bathrooms, one kitchen cabinet, and one closet.
Untangled a mistake with my employer and bank when (through no fault of my own) my paycheck was accidentally withdrawn from my account instead of deposited making me appear overdrawn.
Drove back to the city, picked up my own car, and flew back in time for bible study.
Cleaned up dog poop 3 different times.

Oh, and in the meantime, I managed to host a parenting group at my house, read one good book, and have lunch with a friend.

Don't worry, Hillary. There was no time to be lonely.

My family starts to trickle home today. I am looking forward to seeing them. As busy as I was having FUN, I still missed them.
After all, alone time is overrated!

With a Twist

Recently we spent a "Six Flags Day" with some loved family members. I have to admit, I was not looking very forward to it. Theme parks are hot, noisy, and suck money right out of your pocket when you aren't looking. Not to mention that Parker has always hated roller coasters and ends up spending the day sitting and holding our bags while I have to ride with Hillary on every neck popping, hair raising ride they have.
But not this year.
This year he decided for himself that he was going to "conquer his fear" and ride the roller coasters. We started off nice and easy with the Screaming Eagle. He and I climbed into the seats and pulled the bar down snugly. He gave a nervous smile...and off we went. I screamed...he grunted. I held onto my head with both hands so it wouldn't get whipped off in the turns...he laughed. Before I knew it, he was whooping and throwing his hands up in the air, enjoying the ride of his life! And that's all it took. Now I had the priviledge of sitting and holding the bags while Hillary and Parker ran from ride to ride, laughing and gesturing and exclaiming to one another.
I couldn't help thinking back to when he was younger and we (being the wise parents we are) tried to force him to face his fears. We made him ride a water slide ride that all of us could do together. We promised him it would be fun. We tried to convince him it would be fine. We finally forced him...and it was neither fun nor fine. At the top of the slide he buried his head in my side. As we began the descent, he started to scream and cry. I spent the whole 5 seconds the ride lasted praying for God to not let this scar my child and feeling sorry that I'd betrayed Parker's sensitive feelings. Why was it so important to us that he ride scary things? How would it matter if he went his whole life being the person who was scared of roller coasters? It didn't seem to matter to him if he was teased by his sister and his friends about being afraid. He would rather be true to himself than pretend he was having fun when he was not. Isn't that a good quality in itself?
But now, here he was, inches taller, pounds heavier, years older...riding those same scary rides with screams of joy instead of terror. And the only REAL difference was he had decided to do it for himself. Our poking and prodding never changed a thing. When he was ready, he did it.
Just one more up in a series of ups and downs...one more twist in this roller coaster that is parenting.

Trial Flight 101

My daughter is a senior. Sigh. I'm thinkin all those thoughts about time running short and where and what she'll be when she "grows up". My little bird will soon fly the nest.

So what better way to stretch her wings than a trip to Washington DC with an educational group and responsible adult chaperones...but no one that she actually knows. Months ago she wrote an essay and was chosen by the Crawford County Electric CoOp to participate in this trip of a lifetime. I helped her pack her bags, double checked her itinerary, asked her a million times if she had her phone...and then handed her over to people I'd never met and watched her drive away.

I could still see the van's taillights when I texted her..."You having fun yet? ha." And of course she was. Everyone was "really fun" and everything was "amazing." And then I promised myself no more texts...let her enjoy herself and have her own time.

The next day they boarded a plane for Baltimore. Her first time on an airplane. I was anxious. I was jealous. I was proud and excited. Would she love flying as much as I do? Would she get sick? What if she did? Who would hold her puke bag and rub her back?

And then I got this text, "We're in baltimore!:) (the "good morning baltimore" song from hairspray comes to mind) and i LOVE flying! I got a window seat (i have such good friends);) wish you were here!"

Through the miracle of texting, we watched her as she joyfully flew through the week...seeing monuments...meeting new people...and dancing the night away on a Potomac cruise. I didn't have to contact her, she was happy to contact us...sharing her experiences with unfettered enthusiasm and not seeming in the least "caged."

I stood at my window this morning (the day Hillary comes home) and watched the little wren and her family who have built a nest in our eaves. All spring she has been bringing bugs and worms in and taking waste and old feathers out while she waits for her babies to be ready to fly. And now, they are all outside of the nest...hanging on to the wooden post and porch screen with their tiny clawed feet...Mama Wren chirping encouragement. And with a flash of feathers and an awkward zig-zaggy arc they make it safely to the ground where they will hop around and make little trial flights until they are flitting about as effortlessly as their mama. I know how you feel, Mama Wren.

Fly, little bird...fly! But know that you'll always have a feather in my nest.

What Teen Boys Are Made Of...

Long, long legs

and

empty cereal bags...

At least that's what mine is made of!

Same Difference

Parker walked into the living room, swinging an almost empty bread sack, and asking, "Mom, do you want me to save this or just throw it away?"
"Why would you throw it away?"
"Cause all that's left is the feet." he replied with a totally straight face.
Hillary cracked up. Of course he meant the "heels" but when this was pointed out to him he said, "Feet...heels...same difference."
The night before, we had been working on a crossword puzzle as a group, shouting out clues and twisting the paper this way and that so we could take turns seeing the squares. Parker was making tea in the kitchen. Someone shouted out a clue and Parker guessed "can?"..."No, it ends with an 'e'" was the reply. Parker shrugged and said, "Same difference."
Again, laughter, because obviously, it is NOT the same difference. But to Parker's dyslexic brain, it is. What I love about him is that he seems to enjoy the humor we get out of his verbal snafoos. He doesn't seem to see it as a flaw in himself, but as a funny acceptable part of who he is. As a chronic worrier about my children's feelings, I tend to try to hold it in when he makes funny word mistakes...and then I scrutinize his face for clues that the others are hurting his feelings. But he just smiles and gets this look like, "Yeah, I make people laugh. What can YOU do?"
Dyslexic...genius...Parker...
Same difference to me.

between The Rock and a Smiley Face

I am thankful for affectionate children. They both give me lots of hugs, touches, and full-body-contact attention. They are like two puppies with a favorite chew toy. All it takes for one of them to notice me and suddenly want to be by me, is for the OTHER one to be by me.
Like today, when I was lying in the big chair, trying to be still enough to ward off my womanly "time of the month-ness" and Hillary came to lie beside me - plastered to me from toes to neck (which is as far as I can stretch on her) and lay her head on top of my head. Sure enough, it wasn't two seconds til Parker appeared. Hillary had (wrongly) assumed that since my other side was against the chair arm, she would have me to herself. But, ever the problem-solver, Parker just lay ON TOP OF MY BODY. And when Hillary had to get up to get her calendar so we could have family meeting, Parker quickly slid into her spot...even as she was saying, "Do NOT get my spot, Parker!".
A couple of days ago, the three of us went into the city. Hubby was working, my car was in the shop, and I don't drive a stick shift. So it fell to Hillary (who was forced by Dad to learn to drive on a stick shift) to chauffer me to the car place. And Parker just came along for the ride.
There we sat, literally shoulder to shoulder, on the small bench seat...air conditioning on high (which means the windows were all the way down) and itunes tooting at full volume. Things were fine for at least 5 miles. Then it began.
Parker - Can I find this one song on your ipod?
Hillary - No.
P - I just want to hear one song.
H- What song?
P - You'll see.
H- Why can't you tell me?
P - You'll like it.
H- Then tell me.
P - I promise you'll like it.
H- Why won't you just tell me?
P- Cause I want it to be a surprise.
H- Well, at least wait til this song is over.
Not an argument to draw blood but annoying just the same. Fifty seven similar verbal exchanges later...we were in the city, stopping and going from stoplight to stoplight while Hillary complained about the pain in her leg from holding down the clutch and Parker gave tips on how she should drive. This prompted more exasperated sighs and eye-rolling. And there I was...(sing with me now) "stuck in the middle with two..."
But there's really no place else I'd rather be. I know it won't last, so I'll enjoy the touch while I can. And someday, I may be living between them as they start their own testy, touchy families on opposite coasts. And I'll remember waking up in the middle of the night with Parker breathing into my left ear and Hillary snuggled into my right, and I'll just smile...and stretch...in all my empty space.

Community Service

When the youth pastor at church recently announced that he was coordinating a "missions week" in our own town (using the church as a home base for service projects), I thought, "What a good idea. I'll bet Hillary will want to help."
It never occured to me that Parker would be interested. He has always been most comfortable at home...especially at bedtime! Through the years, his friends have tried valiantly to get him to spend the night at their houses. And he did give it an honest shot...making it until midnight or so before showing up on our doorstep, pillow in hand.
So I was surprised when Parker said, "Mom, when does that mission trip start? I want to do it."
He packed a few things and off he went.
And he was a natural...cutting trees and stacking brush, helping to build a well-house, and mowing an older person's yard. Things he loves to do.
But by Wednesday, sleeping on the gym floor was getting old, and when I saw him at church he said, "I'm coming home with you."
Later I asked him what he liked best about being part of the missions week. He said, "I just liked helping the people. One lady called and said how much it meant to her for us to help her out. And I just liked doing those things."
When did that scared little boy become a servant young man?
Then, later that night, I woke to find him lying between his dad and me. I guess we have a few years yet!

The Right Sort

Since it is my motherly responsibility to prepare my children for success in the real world, I recently tore Parker away from the cartoon reruns he'd been wasting his morning on, and informed him that this was "his" summer. He's thirteen now and it's time he start learning some life lessons. We start with laundry.
I dumped it all out in the kitchen floor and started to show him how to put loads together, noting the weight and color of each item to decide where it went. He caught on right away.
Then I noticed something.
He was using his hands...and not complaining a bit.
When Hillary got this same lesson several years ago, she comandeered my kitchen tongs so she wouldn't have to touch anyone's underwear. Parker was just sorting willy nilly with not a thought to butt germs.
So I asked him about it.
"You don't mind touching other people's underwear?"
He just gave me a look and said, "It's just our family. And you can wash your hands."
Of course you can.
He may have his own little quirks, but when it comes to laundry...he's the right sort!

What's That Smell?

A couple of mornings ago Hillary pulled me down the hall toward Parker's room.
"Mom, something smells horrible in there. You've got to come smell."
I stuck my head in the door, but all I could smell was the Oust she had apparently bathed the room in. I said, "I smell Oust."
"Yeah, Oust mixed with a horrible other smell," she insisted.
I investigated for dog poop or a buried banana, but found nothing. There was nothing to be done except let the Oust settle and see if the smell returned.
So this morning, she grabs me again.
"Do you smell that now?"
I smelled nothing out of the ordinary.
"That horrible....boy smell?"
Oh! That explains it. Once you've birthed one of the horrible boys, nature mercifully makes you immune to that smell. Perhaps so you don't kill your offspring.
Then she said, "Isn't there anything we can do about it?"
Short of rubbing Vicks salve under her nose, which she did not see as a valid option, there was not.
She will just have to hold her breath when she goes in there to wake him up in the mornings. And eventually his horrible boy smell will go away...and be replaced with a horrible man smell.

Growing Pains

My husband was grouchy today. But I guess that's what a stubbornly stopped up toilet will do for you. When my sister's dog pooped in the floor, Hillary, wanting to be helpful - and save the dog from my wrath - cleaned it up. All well and good except she dumped the dog poop AND the 42 paper towels she had used to pick it up into the downstairs toilet.
Dad plunged.
And plunged again with the brand new plunger specially designed to fit our narrow sloping hole.
And poured Drano in and let it sit.
And tried to flush.
And bored into the clog with the brand new snake, purchased for this special occasion.
And can I just say it's a good thing we have two other bathrooms, cause this one is just going to have to sit for a while. I tried pointing out that it will eventually disolve on it's own, but he just grunted and laid back in his big chair with his eyes closed, which is what he does when he's trying to not be mad, and groused about how spoiled the kids are.
This is not Hillary's first go-round with troublesome toilets. A couple of years ago, she flushed the upstairs toilet when it was clogged...and the chain got looped on itself, keeping the tank from filling up and creating a waterfall over the sides of the bowl. She let it go for a minute or two, while trying to stop the deluge with a few scraps of toilet paper before she finally yelled for me. Seconds later Parker yelled from downstairs, "Dad! It's raining poop water down here!" This little faux pas caused us to have to replace all of the ceiling tiles and repaint the downstairs bathroom. And did we take it out of her allowance? No, Hubby pointed out, We did not. And was she the one getting her feet wet and wearing her arm out twisting the plumbing snake? No, She was not. I reminded him that everyone makes mistakes sometimes, and that she never complains when she has to take her brother places, and she does laundry and dishes without being asked, and when she goes out with her friends she uses her own money from her allowance or babysitting job. He didn't respond, just headed toward the Xbox to work out his frustration in virtuality. Perhaps they should create a game where you get points for blowing up toilets.
Anyway, a little while later Hillary came down and said, "Mom, I've decided I'm not going to church camp this year." I was shocked. She had been very excited about it. But due to being chosen for a special trip to Washington DC, and also being chosen to participate in Girls State, she was already going to be gone two weeks out of the month of June. Church camp was the third week she would be asking off from her brand new job with a local photographer. "Yeah, I really need to work. My boss needs me and I'm going to need the money." I asked her if she was sure. She said yes, but her mouth had that tightness around it I know means she's trying not to cry. I said, "Well, I know that's a hard decision, but it is a mature one and I'm proud of you."
And then I read aloud to her in the big comfy chair for a while.
And she let me.
And that's how it is to grow up. It loops in and around and onto itself with good and bad decisions and consequences of our own actions. Or maybe it swirls. Like an overflowing toilet.

Long Live the Short-lived Pet

Since our painful loss of Lady, I have put the nix on new pets for a while. But that didn't stop Hillary from "rescuing" a turtle on one of her runs. She brought the little guy in, promising me that a turtle would be fine because she could keep it in her room and I wouldn't have to mess with it. I just rolled my eyes, which she took for an "OK".
She rummaged through the storage room for a small plastic dishpan, filled it with a few leaves and a rock, and plopped Speedy into his new home.
Later that night she got online to research the proper care and feeding of turtles.
The next morning the dishpan was empty.
"Where's Speedy?" I asked.
"Oh, that just sounded like WAY too much work! Do you know they have to soak in warm water for 30 min EVERY DAY? I let him go last night."
Run, Speedy....run!

Pretty in Purple

Ironed Out

As a recovering perfectionist, there are a few things I've just had to let go of. Ironing is one of them. I've never been one who thought everything had to be ironed...but now I tend to think NOTHING has to be ironed! I was raised better than that, of course, and both my children's grandmothers make the effort to smooth out our wrinkles whenever they have the chance. So this weekend, as we were getting ready to go to church with Memaw and Papaw, the question was asked, "Does this need to be ironed?" Of course my response was....well, mainly I just sat there and tried to pretend I didn't hear the question. But Hillary jumped up. "I'll do it! If someone will show me how."
Really?
That was all Memaw needed...and the ironing lesson began in earnest. Cloth was folded, smoothed, repositioned...and tips were given all along the way. And 10 minutes later, Dad's pants were declared wearable.
Hillary was so excited she got her own clothes out and ironed them too.
Then she logged on to facebook so she could change her status to "Hillary Temple just learned how to iron creases that will cut paper."
Who knew? I would have gladly given her this glorious job sooner.
Then I think about how excited she was when she first learned to cook mac and cheese...or sort the laundry...and how now the shine has worn off. Will her passion stay as strong as her pleats? That remains to be seen.
But for now, she's off to church, head held high, without spot or wrinkle!

On Track

Having one kid in jr high and one kid in high school can make for a busy life. Even when they are doing the same thing (running track, for example), it's like squeezing two seasons into one. Different practice schedules...different coaches... different meets in different towns on the same day. Fast food is eaten, laundry is undone, and nerves are frazzled. So in lieu of losing my sanity, my family graciously granted me a two week time-out. I went to work, I came home, I tried not to answer the phone. And everyone had clean underwear for a change. A couple of days in, while scarfing down my homemade butternut squash risotto, Hillary said, "This is AMAZING, mom. I haven't had a real cooked meal in DAYS." Thank you for pointing that out.
Anyway, Saturday marked the end of my hiatus...and what better way to re-enter the atmosphere than spending all day at Parker's track meet, waiting hours to watch him run for seconds and texting Hubby to keep him updated because he and Hillary were doing the same thing 60 miles to my right. But fate smiled upon me and it was actually a pretty good day. The clouds kept the rain to themselves, I got to catch up with another Mom-friend whose son was also competing, and Parker won his heat in hurdles.
Later that evening, I was just lounging in my bed, thinking about watching tv when the kids came in to see what I was doing. They both scrunched in beside me...arguing playfully about who got to "be by mom". This is something they do often (on the couch, on the porch swing) even though I have two sides. Each one always thinks the other is somehow getting more of me. This amazes me as I would assume that having put up with my crabbiness, they would have had quite enough of me already. But they made a Mom-sandwich of me, loving me from both sides. And I loved it. We laughed and told stories and made up words with our own definitions. We were so comfy we fell asleep like that.
They always know how to put me back on track.