Growing into myself

My kids are growing up. I might be able to ignore that fact if life didn't give me almost daily reminders. College applications come in the mail. Jeans from just last summer now seem laughably small. And I am often asking Hillary to reach the top shelf, or Parker to carry the heavy vacuum cleaner up the stairs for me. It's been a wild ride...and it's not exactly over. But it would be easy to spend time lamenting the baby days...the early years when things seemed much more under my control.
And then I spend a Friday evening being just a woman, not a mom. I went with a couple of other girls from church to take a meal to a young mother of twins who just lost her husband. She smiled and thanked us. I hugged her and sat in the floor, reading about hippos and elephants with wide-eyed toddlers. And I realized that I could focus on ministering to this family...because my own was taking care of themselves at the moment.
I believe that raising my children well is one of the purposes God has for me. But as they become more independent, he sets new things in front of me. I guess my kids aren't the only ones who are growing. My Father must be proud!

Who's That Girl?

I was loading the dishwasher, while Hillary was in her room, taking so long to get ready for the Homecoming dance that her poor boyfriend fell asleep on the couch, when she called for me. When I stepped in her room, she was sitting in front of her dressing table with a sad face and poofy hair. "Mom, can you fix this?" I went to work on it, explaining the whole time that I don't know how to fix hair. But soon she was happy with it and went off to raid my make-up bag. I returned to the chores.

A few minutes later she was back, safety pins in hand. "Mom, I can't get this belt to stay pinned. It's not tight enough." I suck at saftey pinning, which I told her. Nevertheless, I gave it my best shot and once again she was smiling. "You're such a Miracle Mom!" she beamed.

Say again?

"You always make things work, even when you say you're not good at it."

Oh.

Then it was time for pictures and quick hugs and they were out the door. So young and beautiful I wanted to say, "Wait! I love you!" But I didn't want to get all parentally emotional and lose my Miracle Mom status.

I looked into the camera to check out the pictures I had just snapped and felt a little shock. It was like looking at myself. She looked so much like me. Who is that girl? I think she's a little bit me.

The Cost of Spirit Week

4 rolls of duct tape.... $8.63

Getting your little brother to help you..... one bribe.

Being the "DUCT TAPE QUEEN".......priceless!

Saturday vacation

Sleeping in...
Cuddle time...
Coffee...
Real breakfast...
Hearing from friends- old and new...
Bedhead kids in sloppy pajamas...
Clean house...
Full pantry...
Perfect day.

Fun and Games

We are a game-playing family. But I think Parker enjoys games more than any of us. Since his first rousing round of Cootie Bug when he was three years old, he has been hooked. Games that require strategy are his favorite...he plays chess with his dad, Othello with me, Battleship with his sister. And that's no surprise because it perfectly suits his brain. He sees parts of a whole and how they fit together. He thinks "outside the box."
And while word games are harder for him, he's still usually willing to play. Like recently, when a whole group of extended family decided to play Scattergories. The first three rounds, he struggled to get a point here and there. And then it hit me...how hard this was for him. His dyslexia causes him to be a slow reader...he often confuses similar looking words...and then to think of words that must begin with the same letter - with the pressure of a timer, no less! It must've been disheartening. But he didn't even complain. He didn't cry or throw his pencil or say, "That's not fair!" He just laughed it off and kept trying, round after round. So at the risk of sounding like the overprotective mother who babies her boy too much I said, "Dyslexics get extra time." No one protested. We gave Parker about a minute to look over the word list before we started each round. And it helped. He actually got several words each time. And he smiled and laughed and good-naturedly crossed it off when we wouldn't allow him to use Zed as the name of a place, even though he swore it was a kingdom in a video game.
But if I hadn't noticed, how many rounds would he have suffered through, feeling not-quite-as-smart, struggling silently inside without anyone even knowing it. How many times in the past has he done it? Like the time he worked for an hour on a paragraph at home one night, and when he showed it to the teacher the next day, she snapped that he could do better. I only know about this because he described the incident in his daily journal: "I think the teacher is mad at me. I thought my paragraph sounded like the back of a book. My mom thought it was wonderful." And how many times in the future...when I won't be there to help.
I hate that he has to struggle. But I love that he's willing to. The creativity and determination that is part of his character makes me proud. He knows his weaknesses...but he also knows his strengths (and there are many). He faces life with courage. He's not afraid to play.