We had to have Hillary's car fixed this week. When Yancey and I went to pick it up, the nice man at the car shop explained that it was kind of unusual for that part to go out on this kind of car. But then he found a "pretty deep" scratch on the wheel and thought it may have hit a curb or something at some point. Yancey nodded gravely and said, "Yeah, it's been driven mostly by a teenager, so it's probably been curbed a time or two." I just kept my eyes down and focused on writing the check. No point in bringing up that she gets it from her mother, who has hit a curb or two or ten in her own driving career.
Yancey got in Hillary's car and headed home.
I got in my car, looked out the windshield, didn't see anything, and decided to just pull straight out instead of backing up.
BUMP....SSCcccraatch!
Yep, I ran right over the concrete parking barrier.
At this point I was committed....so I just gunned it and BUMP BOUNCED over it with my back tire too.
And I slunk down in my seat and drove away, hoping to God that man hadn't been looking out the plate glass window of his shop. If he saw me, he was no doubt calculating how much he was going to make off servicing this family's cars.
Hillary won't be around much longer, but thank goodness I have a second kid just getting ready to drive, so I still have a few years of blaming him for "deep wheel scratches". And maybe by the time he leaves home, my propensity for running over things will be curbed.
Our Family
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Clean Up Time
Christmas has come and gone, and the only thing left after the cooking and shopping and eating and present-opening and eating and visiting and eating and game-playing, is a garage full of trash bags and empty boxes.
I spent the morning on dishes and laundry, but by noon I realized this was no One-Woman job.
So I went downstairs where Parker and his friend were playing DJ Hero and informed them I needed Trash Heroes instead. All I was really asking for was a strong boy to carry the heavy trash bags up to the can at the end of the drive. And then burn the boxes on the burn pile out back. It was a 10 min job...tops.
Still, I braced myself for resistance...
But none came.
They paused the game, hopped right up, and went out the door.
Twenty minutes later, I looked out to find this...
I spent the morning on dishes and laundry, but by noon I realized this was no One-Woman job.
So I went downstairs where Parker and his friend were playing DJ Hero and informed them I needed Trash Heroes instead. All I was really asking for was a strong boy to carry the heavy trash bags up to the can at the end of the drive. And then burn the boxes on the burn pile out back. It was a 10 min job...tops.
Still, I braced myself for resistance...
But none came.
They paused the game, hopped right up, and went out the door.
Twenty minutes later, I looked out to find this...
The boys had just traded one game for another. They had first tried tying a snowboard to the back of the 4 wheeler. When that didn't work, they tried this dilapidated old trailer which has one wheel held on with a bread twisty tie. And while, in theory, this should make the job faster and easier, stopping every 2 feet to pick up a fallen bag or re-attach a wheel actually took longer.
Did they seem to care?
No.
It was an excuse to play in the snow with a loud and stinky machine.
Boy Heaven.
And when I came out to see what they were doing, Parker even included me in the fun by "drifting" around me...which involved him zooming around and around me in a tight circle until his wheels slid sideways on the snow. He is such a thoughtful son.
Parker Playbook page 27: When you have a boring job to do, find a way to include a 4 wheeler. And get a friend to help.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Little Angels
We went to the Christmas play at church last night. Hubby and I walked in and found a seat, while Parker promptly ditched us to sit in the back with his friends. I snuggled under my husband's arm while I watched other women dashing around with white sheets and headband halos, trying to make sure all the last minute details were taken care of. And I thought, "I am so glad I'm not there anymore." I have definitely paid my Christmas Program Dues in years past...Hubby and I were Joseph and Mary once, complete with a real live Parker-Jesus in a real live manger...I listened to Hillary practice her speaking and singing parts every year until I could say them myself in my sleep...and I even helped direct one program - including full choreography for each song.
But not this year.
This year Hillary wasn't even there, due to her new job. And Parker wasn't about to put on sheep ears and get on stage.
And that was just fine with me.
Until a little girl with blonde curls played the piano, plinking out her simple Christmas song in un-even beats and missing a note here and there.
I was flooded with memories. Hillary started piano when she was 4. How many times did we sit through those hesitant notes until she became the fluid musician she is today?
And when two different little girls sang "Happy Birthday, Jesus" I heard it in Hillary's little girl voice, the s sounds lisping through her buck-teeth because she always sucked her thumb.
And those wise men looked a lot like a young Parker, making his "wise" face and cracking me up in the process.
I waited for tears to fill my eyes.
I waited for pain to stab my heart.
But none came.
There was only happiness.
Happiness that I had HAD those years. That my children had lived and sang and worshiped baby Jesus.
And happiness for these children, who were getting their own chance to live it. And their parents, who might not realize how much these rushed days would mean 10 years from now.
I smiled. I clapped. I savored.
And my heart thanked God for all the little angels.
But not this year.
This year Hillary wasn't even there, due to her new job. And Parker wasn't about to put on sheep ears and get on stage.
And that was just fine with me.
Until a little girl with blonde curls played the piano, plinking out her simple Christmas song in un-even beats and missing a note here and there.
I was flooded with memories. Hillary started piano when she was 4. How many times did we sit through those hesitant notes until she became the fluid musician she is today?
And when two different little girls sang "Happy Birthday, Jesus" I heard it in Hillary's little girl voice, the s sounds lisping through her buck-teeth because she always sucked her thumb.
And those wise men looked a lot like a young Parker, making his "wise" face and cracking me up in the process.
I waited for tears to fill my eyes.
I waited for pain to stab my heart.
But none came.
There was only happiness.
Happiness that I had HAD those years. That my children had lived and sang and worshiped baby Jesus.
And happiness for these children, who were getting their own chance to live it. And their parents, who might not realize how much these rushed days would mean 10 years from now.
I smiled. I clapped. I savored.
And my heart thanked God for all the little angels.
Hillary
Parker and his best friend Cassidy (aka Joseph and Mary)
Parker and Hillary as toys in Santa's toy shop
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Half Baked
I was enjoying the moment...watching Hillary help lead worship and play piano on stage...relishing being sandwiched between my two best guys...when Parker leaned over to me and whispered, "Why don't you ever bake?"
He is famous for random thoughts that have nothing to do with the situation at hand.
I blinked and considered making up some excuse. But then I just went with the truth.
"Because I suck at it."
He nodded sagely.
Then he said, "Can we try baking something when we get home?"
I just smiled and patted his leg.
But after church, we headed to the grocery store for the ingredients, and the cookie baking commenced.
He is famous for random thoughts that have nothing to do with the situation at hand.
I blinked and considered making up some excuse. But then I just went with the truth.
"Because I suck at it."
He nodded sagely.
Then he said, "Can we try baking something when we get home?"
I just smiled and patted his leg.
But after church, we headed to the grocery store for the ingredients, and the cookie baking commenced.
I wasn't kidding when I said I'm no good at baking. I love to cook and I think I make some pretty respectable real food. But cakes, pies, and things like banana bread are beyond me. My cookies are always flat, crumbly, tasteless discs...and yes, I HAVE tried different recipes. I am happy to keep Pilsbury dough in my fridge and I frequently dip out a few cookies at a time so I can enjoy fresh, hot heaven. They are easy and they taste good.
But Parker was having none of that.
This would be a "from scratch" attempt.
So I measured and he mixed.
And I watched and he spooned softball sized balls of dough onto the cookie sheet.
And before long, we had this...
They looked ok. Parker tried one and declared them "amazing". I thought they kinda tasted like dust.
Oh yeah...there is one part of baking I'm really good at, and he was happy to leave it to me...
Sometimes things are about the process, not the product. I loved spending time with my son, sharing my kitchen and some tasty conversation. I might not be able to make cookies, but I know how to make memories.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Mothers and Daughters
As I was walking through Target today, I couldn't help noticing all the mothers and daughters. One lady in her 50s was blocking the aisle with her cart as she stared down the rows of tissue boxes. Two twenty-something beauties stood waiting for her. "Mom, what are you doing? How long does it take to pick out a box of tissues?" "None of these look right," she proclaimed in an extravagant, Jewish Mother kind of way. She looked at me and said, "Daughters!" I just smiled as the girls tossed their shiny black hair and rolled their eyes. But they laughed and you could tell they loved that woman ridiculously.
And later, in the check-out line, a toddler girl chatted childishly to her young mother while Grandma unloaded the cart onto the conveyor belt. And I couldn't help wondering...will that be me someday? Sharing the intimate and mundane with my grown-up daughter and her babies? Or will miles separate us so that I will follow her life in texts and facebook posts?
From the earliest days when I lay in bed in the dark and whispered "I love you" and Hillary tap-tap-tapped back from the womb as if in response, I knew I was connected to this new human in an extraordinary lasting way. But I secretly harbored the fear that she would grow up and away, straining my heart strings to the breaking point. After all, I had seen enough tv to know that girls turn into teenagers who think their mothers are awful and outdated. And I wasn't really sure what came after that. We lived hours worth of miles from my own mother's mother, and mostly saw her on holidays. So I didn't know there were women who had mothers for best friends. I just tried to enjoy the love Hillary lavished on me and braced myself for the day it would stop. But by some miracle, it never did! Even as a teenager, she just laughed and rolled her eyes when I acted Matronly. And as a college student, spreading her wings and trying new things, she keeps me in the loop by generously sharing details of her adventures. The other day, she texted me from work, "I bet I'm the only walmart employee that texts her mom on her lunch break ;) " To which I responded, "I'll bet so too...but I'm glad!"
I don't know what the future will hold. Maybe she will marry and move four houses down and ask me to babysit her children. Maybe she will stay single and travel the world taking pictures of famous people doing fabulous things. Maybe we will shop together in Target at Christmastime.
Whatever happens, I'm not afraid anymore. I know that we share a love that allows for freedom and tightly bound security at the same time. Those heartstrings are so much more elastic than I thought. Whatever happens I will always be her Mother. And she will always be my Daughter.
And later, in the check-out line, a toddler girl chatted childishly to her young mother while Grandma unloaded the cart onto the conveyor belt. And I couldn't help wondering...will that be me someday? Sharing the intimate and mundane with my grown-up daughter and her babies? Or will miles separate us so that I will follow her life in texts and facebook posts?
From the earliest days when I lay in bed in the dark and whispered "I love you" and Hillary tap-tap-tapped back from the womb as if in response, I knew I was connected to this new human in an extraordinary lasting way. But I secretly harbored the fear that she would grow up and away, straining my heart strings to the breaking point. After all, I had seen enough tv to know that girls turn into teenagers who think their mothers are awful and outdated. And I wasn't really sure what came after that. We lived hours worth of miles from my own mother's mother, and mostly saw her on holidays. So I didn't know there were women who had mothers for best friends. I just tried to enjoy the love Hillary lavished on me and braced myself for the day it would stop. But by some miracle, it never did! Even as a teenager, she just laughed and rolled her eyes when I acted Matronly. And as a college student, spreading her wings and trying new things, she keeps me in the loop by generously sharing details of her adventures. The other day, she texted me from work, "I bet I'm the only walmart employee that texts her mom on her lunch break ;) " To which I responded, "I'll bet so too...but I'm glad!"
I don't know what the future will hold. Maybe she will marry and move four houses down and ask me to babysit her children. Maybe she will stay single and travel the world taking pictures of famous people doing fabulous things. Maybe we will shop together in Target at Christmastime.
Whatever happens, I'm not afraid anymore. I know that we share a love that allows for freedom and tightly bound security at the same time. Those heartstrings are so much more elastic than I thought. Whatever happens I will always be her Mother. And she will always be my Daughter.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Ice is Nice
Below freezing temperatures mixed with misty swirling precipitation gave us an unexpected day off school today. For a few hours, the different directions in which we've all been moving lately suddenly converged and we were home together with nothing important to do.
We slept late.
And then video games were played.
Peanut Butter and syrup was eaten straight from the jar.
Music was made.
Coffee was savored and books were finished and windows were stared out of.
And there was still time left for beds to be made and floors to be mopped and bathrooms that have been sorely neglected to sparkle again.
Ahhh.
I'm sure tomorrow tires will find traction and the world will begin moving again.
But for today....the ice is nice!
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Grasping
I have a good life, and I know it.
But when winter comes with it's long dark nights and it's cold that seeps into my bones, I have to fight The Fall . "Happy" things like Christmas decorations and colorful scarves and snowball fights sift through my gloved fingers without bringing me the joy others seem to revel in.
But I keep trying.
Grasping.
And I find things that feed my soul.
Little things like...a hot cup of coffee...my fireplace...Parker swinging his long legs into the car and his basketball bag over the seat into the back and asking if we can stop by sonic for a milkshake bc he KNOWS I'll say yes every time.
Things like my favorite TV show not being a re-run...my co-workers making me laugh until I cry...and a friend who never fails to answer my texts with lightning speed.
Hillary waking me up when she gets home from work, crawling in bed next to me and telling me stories about walmart and college.
Facebook.
Blogging.
And making my eternally effervescent husband chuckle because I am sitting in the dark wrapped in a blanket and taking every last second of the two minutes left before I absolutely HAVE to leave for work.
Little things...but big enough to wedge my cold fingers into like a rock climber scaling the mountainside, clinging to life.
So I count the days til Dec 21st when I get to start adding minutes of daylight again.
And I go to basketball games and teach first graders and wear layers and layers of clothing.
And I hold on to my little things.
And I remind myself that happiness is always within my grasp.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
O Christmas Tree
I have never been one to get excited about Christmas decorating. Oh, I used to fake it well enough when the kids were little and I thought I had to. But even then, I got the bare tree up...strung it with lights...and then sat on the couch and handed ornaments to the kids, letting them willy-nilly lop-side the tree with clusters of decorations and bare open spots.
Resulting in such unique creations as this...
Yes, those are tube socks, stuck to the tree branches. A three-year-old Parker's idea of beautiful.
And now, as the kids are older and even more involved in their own lives and sports and jobs, we found ourselves well into December with nary a decoration visible in our house. When I finally asked Hillary, "So, how important is it to you guys to have a tree?" she looked at me in horror and said, "MOM! You are such a scrooge!" And her next night off was put on the calendar as "tree decorating night."
This time, I didn't even have to lug the tree out of the box. My strong and manly son took care of that part. And since we now have a pre-lit tree, I didn't have to do that part either.
I made coffee.
Parker, ever the man, made sure to use his pocket knife a lot.
And after the 10th time I made him freeze so I could get the perfect pic, he used it to make slashing marks toward his own throat when he thought I wasn't looking.
And he made sure to mutter and complain about exactly how much "work" Hillary was doing to contribute to this job.
I guess he had forgotten about the year Headgear Hillary put up the tree by herself while he did the Hula to the Christmas music...
But woven throughout all the eye-rolling and sections of burned out christmas lights and good natured complaining about each other, there was lots of laughter and banter and memories being made.
And in the end, no matter how the tree ends up looking...I am happy. Because the two best gifts I've ever been given are sitting under my tree!
Resulting in such unique creations as this...
Yes, those are tube socks, stuck to the tree branches. A three-year-old Parker's idea of beautiful.
And now, as the kids are older and even more involved in their own lives and sports and jobs, we found ourselves well into December with nary a decoration visible in our house. When I finally asked Hillary, "So, how important is it to you guys to have a tree?" she looked at me in horror and said, "MOM! You are such a scrooge!" And her next night off was put on the calendar as "tree decorating night."
This time, I didn't even have to lug the tree out of the box. My strong and manly son took care of that part. And since we now have a pre-lit tree, I didn't have to do that part either.
I made coffee.
Parker, ever the man, made sure to use his pocket knife a lot.
And after the 10th time I made him freeze so I could get the perfect pic, he used it to make slashing marks toward his own throat when he thought I wasn't looking.
And he made sure to mutter and complain about exactly how much "work" Hillary was doing to contribute to this job.
I guess he had forgotten about the year Headgear Hillary put up the tree by herself while he did the Hula to the Christmas music...
But woven throughout all the eye-rolling and sections of burned out christmas lights and good natured complaining about each other, there was lots of laughter and banter and memories being made.
And in the end, no matter how the tree ends up looking...I am happy. Because the two best gifts I've ever been given are sitting under my tree!
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Tis the Season
It's December.
Basketball is in full swing.
And with a Coach on the girls' team and a Player on the boys' team when I SHOULD be doing this.....
Or this....
Or even this.....
I end up doing a whole lotta THIS....
(thanks to my friend, Sarah and her husband for taking this pic! ;)
"Tis the season to be sporty. Dribble, dribble, pass...and shoot the ball."
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Well, That Was Handi...
I was trying to organize the chaos that is my teacher-desk when I got the text.
Can u come get me?
It was Parker....wanting me to take him on a Sonic run before the first game of the season.
I looked at the time. 3:05.
I have a sub for the next two days and I really need to make a few copies.
I'm not even supposed to leave work until 3:20.
My Sonic budget is low.
So I texted back...
b there in 15 min
And I left it all and got in the car, because that's what my heart does when my children call.
Twenty min later we were sitting at Sonic where Parker told me about his day between bites of double cheeseburger. And made predictions about how the game would go around mouthfuls of onion rings. The sun dipped low enough to shine warmly into my eyes. We jammed to Parker's radio station. And then, it was time to get him back to school.
I slowly backed out of the parking spot and Parker exclaimed, "Mom!"
"What?" I shot back...slamming on the brakes...expecting to hear the bump of some scooter-riding granny as I hit her with my car.
"We've been sitting in a handicap spot!"
He was incredulous.
I was embarrassed.
What must that kid who served us be thinking? And I didn't tip him either. And no wonder that man across the way had been staring. He was probably trying to get my license plate so he could call the police.
I slunk down in my seat and tried to leave the parking lot inconspicuously.
Parker was still laughing as I dropped him off at the school.
And I was glad I had chosen THIS over that other stuff. Breaking the law is so much more fun than having a clean desk. And time with my basketball boy is always worth it...even if it IS spent in a handicap spot!
Can u come get me?
It was Parker....wanting me to take him on a Sonic run before the first game of the season.
I looked at the time. 3:05.
I have a sub for the next two days and I really need to make a few copies.
I'm not even supposed to leave work until 3:20.
My Sonic budget is low.
So I texted back...
b there in 15 min
And I left it all and got in the car, because that's what my heart does when my children call.
Twenty min later we were sitting at Sonic where Parker told me about his day between bites of double cheeseburger. And made predictions about how the game would go around mouthfuls of onion rings. The sun dipped low enough to shine warmly into my eyes. We jammed to Parker's radio station. And then, it was time to get him back to school.
I slowly backed out of the parking spot and Parker exclaimed, "Mom!"
"What?" I shot back...slamming on the brakes...expecting to hear the bump of some scooter-riding granny as I hit her with my car.
"We've been sitting in a handicap spot!"
He was incredulous.
I was embarrassed.
What must that kid who served us be thinking? And I didn't tip him either. And no wonder that man across the way had been staring. He was probably trying to get my license plate so he could call the police.
I slunk down in my seat and tried to leave the parking lot inconspicuously.
Parker was still laughing as I dropped him off at the school.
And I was glad I had chosen THIS over that other stuff. Breaking the law is so much more fun than having a clean desk. And time with my basketball boy is always worth it...even if it IS spent in a handicap spot!
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Hunk 'o Burnin Love
It was still dark when we stood in our Cousin's kitchen saying goodbyes and love-yous. We had a 6 hour trip ahead of us, and Basketball Practice to get to by 1:00.
And as we dallied a few minutes more waiting for the defroster to work it's magic on the lacy-iced car windows, Cousin cocked his head and said to my Hubby, "Why are you wearing shorts, dude?"
He's wearing shorts because this is a man who has traveled with me before.
And he explained that no matter how hot the inside of the car may be, if he attempts to touch the thermostat, I will exclaim (and here he morphs into a voice that sounds NOTHING like me) "I feel cold air blowing on my ankles!"
This trip he was taking a proactive approach.
Which somehow didn't make it past his waistline as he had chosen a long-sleeved turtleneck for the top half of his body.
Hours later, when the sun was full up and the trip was half over, Parker rose up from the back seat where he'd been sleeping.
"Dad," he said in a groggy voice, "It's HOT in here."
Hubby just grunted.
Parker went on..."I actually thought I peed my pants, but its SWEAT!"
Hubby answered, "I know, son. My back has been wet for hours."
I piped up from under my fuzzy blanket. "Well, you ARE wearing a TURTLENECK for goodness sake. Take off your shirt if you're hot." Lord knows I would have no qualms with undressing if comfort called for it. I have been known to ride down the interstate in nothing but my bra and panties when a too-long summer trip left me feeling bound up.
Apparently my family doesn't feel such freedom.
Parker cracked the window and stuck his fingers out.
Fortunately, it was time for a Starbucks Stop, and Hubby gladly parked the car and went in to get my mocha instead of going through the drive-through. I bundled up and walked around the parking lot to stretch my legs while Parker stuck his bare feet out the back windows.
With a coffee to warm my hands, and Hubby's coat wrapped around my feet, I was finally able to let him turn the dial from all-red to barely-blue for the last few miles home.
"Oh...thank God!" came a mutter from the back seat.
We made it home without anyone dehydrating, and now I'm sitting by the fire, thinking about the boys who love me. I know I am pampered and indulged, and on this Thanksgiving weekend, I am thankful for my Hunks 'o Burning Love.
And as we dallied a few minutes more waiting for the defroster to work it's magic on the lacy-iced car windows, Cousin cocked his head and said to my Hubby, "Why are you wearing shorts, dude?"
He's wearing shorts because this is a man who has traveled with me before.
And he explained that no matter how hot the inside of the car may be, if he attempts to touch the thermostat, I will exclaim (and here he morphs into a voice that sounds NOTHING like me) "I feel cold air blowing on my ankles!"
This trip he was taking a proactive approach.
Which somehow didn't make it past his waistline as he had chosen a long-sleeved turtleneck for the top half of his body.
Hours later, when the sun was full up and the trip was half over, Parker rose up from the back seat where he'd been sleeping.
"Dad," he said in a groggy voice, "It's HOT in here."
Hubby just grunted.
Parker went on..."I actually thought I peed my pants, but its SWEAT!"
Hubby answered, "I know, son. My back has been wet for hours."
I piped up from under my fuzzy blanket. "Well, you ARE wearing a TURTLENECK for goodness sake. Take off your shirt if you're hot." Lord knows I would have no qualms with undressing if comfort called for it. I have been known to ride down the interstate in nothing but my bra and panties when a too-long summer trip left me feeling bound up.
Apparently my family doesn't feel such freedom.
Parker cracked the window and stuck his fingers out.
Fortunately, it was time for a Starbucks Stop, and Hubby gladly parked the car and went in to get my mocha instead of going through the drive-through. I bundled up and walked around the parking lot to stretch my legs while Parker stuck his bare feet out the back windows.
With a coffee to warm my hands, and Hubby's coat wrapped around my feet, I was finally able to let him turn the dial from all-red to barely-blue for the last few miles home.
"Oh...thank God!" came a mutter from the back seat.
We made it home without anyone dehydrating, and now I'm sitting by the fire, thinking about the boys who love me. I know I am pampered and indulged, and on this Thanksgiving weekend, I am thankful for my Hunks 'o Burning Love.
All or Something
This Thanksgiving our family experienced another "first." The addition of a new job for Hillary meant the subtraction of one child from our family trip to visit seldom-seen loved ones.
And we all felt the jolt of life changing tracks.
Hillary sat on the couch as we prepared to leave.
"This is weird," she said. "It's so weird for Dad not to be yelling at me to get packed. It's weird to know I'm not going with you."
And it was weird for us too.
Weird in a stretching sort of way...you feel the pull, and it hurts, but just barely.
So off we went...Parker fully enjoying the emptiness of the backseat...Dad and Me looking forward and not back...and we ate and hugged and laughed and loved.
It would have been easy to mourn the way things used to be.
But to be sad would have been to pile guilt on Hillary and steal joy from Parker.
Instead, I chose to take pride in her new-found Independence and allow her to feel Satisfaction in a well-earned paycheck.
I chose to cherish the fact that I was getting to spend this holiday with Parker as he played Hero to starry-eyed younger cousins and showed respect to wizened elders.
We thought about Hillary, and she thought about us. I texted her funny anecdotes and sent her a picture of the bulging, over-the-top food table. And she texted me details about spending Thanksgiving Day with my sister...eating...cuddling with the dog and cats...putting up the Christmas Tree. And then about working Black Friday and how it wasn't as bad as she'd feared. She said "hi" on speaker phone to the gathered relatives.
It's easy to see life as All or Nothing. But the reality is that every moment...every situation...has Something.
And this Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for Somethings!
And we all felt the jolt of life changing tracks.
Hillary sat on the couch as we prepared to leave.
"This is weird," she said. "It's so weird for Dad not to be yelling at me to get packed. It's weird to know I'm not going with you."
And it was weird for us too.
Weird in a stretching sort of way...you feel the pull, and it hurts, but just barely.
So off we went...Parker fully enjoying the emptiness of the backseat...Dad and Me looking forward and not back...and we ate and hugged and laughed and loved.
It would have been easy to mourn the way things used to be.
But to be sad would have been to pile guilt on Hillary and steal joy from Parker.
Instead, I chose to take pride in her new-found Independence and allow her to feel Satisfaction in a well-earned paycheck.
I chose to cherish the fact that I was getting to spend this holiday with Parker as he played Hero to starry-eyed younger cousins and showed respect to wizened elders.
We thought about Hillary, and she thought about us. I texted her funny anecdotes and sent her a picture of the bulging, over-the-top food table. And she texted me details about spending Thanksgiving Day with my sister...eating...cuddling with the dog and cats...putting up the Christmas Tree. And then about working Black Friday and how it wasn't as bad as she'd feared. She said "hi" on speaker phone to the gathered relatives.
It's easy to see life as All or Nothing. But the reality is that every moment...every situation...has Something.
And this Thanksgiving, I'm thankful for Somethings!
Sunday, November 21, 2010
The Secret
I'll tell you a secret...
I never wanted to be a parent.
I carried dolls around and played my share of "house" when I was little. But by junior high I had decided the whole June Cleaver thing was not for me. I was going to have a LIFE. I was going to go to college and do something important. I was going to live in the city. And make money.
But parenthood found me while my head was turned. And by the time I lay in my bed in the dark and felt that little bump..bump..bump that was my firstborn morse-coding love messages to me, I had changed my mind. I was a Mommy.
So I threw myself headlong into it.
Turns out, I was pretty good at it.
And it has shaped much of who I am and what I do.
But far from keeping me one-dimensional, it has stretched me in ways I never would have found on my own. Parenting my children has made me strong when I thought I was weak...made me try things I thought I would hate, but I ended up loving...shown me parts of my soul I never would have seen without the mirror of a son and a daughter.
My children have introduced me to music, movies, books, and ideas I would have missed as a single city girl. And less fun but equally as important...smells, fears, and embarrassments as well.
But it's not just about the Parent part of me. They have fostered growth in my Person parts too. I have dealt with scars from my own past because I wanted to be a whole and healthy model. I have stretched the wings of my own creativity. I have taken time for myself. Because I don't just want them to know what a Good Mom looks like...I want them to know what a Healthy Woman looks like.
And far from holding me back, their pride and support has spurred me forward. I float on the currents of their belief in themselves and in me.
It's fine to say "Go do it!"
But it's better to say, "Look...watch me...it can be done!"
And so we fly together.
And I have a LIFE.
And I went to college.
And I have done something important.
And I will continue to do important things, inspired by those I love.
And that is the secret.
I never wanted to be a parent.
I carried dolls around and played my share of "house" when I was little. But by junior high I had decided the whole June Cleaver thing was not for me. I was going to have a LIFE. I was going to go to college and do something important. I was going to live in the city. And make money.
But parenthood found me while my head was turned. And by the time I lay in my bed in the dark and felt that little bump..bump..bump that was my firstborn morse-coding love messages to me, I had changed my mind. I was a Mommy.
So I threw myself headlong into it.
Turns out, I was pretty good at it.
And it has shaped much of who I am and what I do.
But far from keeping me one-dimensional, it has stretched me in ways I never would have found on my own. Parenting my children has made me strong when I thought I was weak...made me try things I thought I would hate, but I ended up loving...shown me parts of my soul I never would have seen without the mirror of a son and a daughter.
My children have introduced me to music, movies, books, and ideas I would have missed as a single city girl. And less fun but equally as important...smells, fears, and embarrassments as well.
But it's not just about the Parent part of me. They have fostered growth in my Person parts too. I have dealt with scars from my own past because I wanted to be a whole and healthy model. I have stretched the wings of my own creativity. I have taken time for myself. Because I don't just want them to know what a Good Mom looks like...I want them to know what a Healthy Woman looks like.
And far from holding me back, their pride and support has spurred me forward. I float on the currents of their belief in themselves and in me.
It's fine to say "Go do it!"
But it's better to say, "Look...watch me...it can be done!"
And so we fly together.
And I have a LIFE.
And I went to college.
And I have done something important.
And I will continue to do important things, inspired by those I love.
And that is the secret.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Who's Holding Whom?
Parker always loved to be held.
When he was a round-faced and chunky (we called him "solid") baby, I would pack him around on my hip. He would hang on like a little monkey and people would tease that HE should be carrying ME. At one point, I went to the doctor for chest pains, only to be told that I had pulled a muscle lifting Baby Huey.
Even rocking him to sleep was a workout...I would have to hold him tight against me for the first two minutes while he fought sleep like a battle tested warrior. Then, suddenly, he would relax and slump against my chest, eyes closed but still making little moans when he breathed out, as if even in sleep he was protesting. And I would rest my chin on his head and rock a while longer just to feel the heavy warmness of my baby boy against my mommy-soul.
Happily, even though he has grown up into your typical teenage boy, he never lost his affection for being affectionate. He freely hands out hugs and occasionally still lays his head over on my shoulder at church. When he comes home from school and basketball practice, he strolls toward me with open arms and says, "Hey, mama. How was your day?" in his now-manly voice. And if he thinks I seem down, he just gives me a long hug and doesn't say anything.
And he rests HIS chin on MY head and I feel the warmth of comfort against my weary-soul.
I give him a squeeze and a pat on the back and pretend that I'm holding him.
But deep down I wonder...Who is really holding Whom?
When he was a round-faced and chunky (we called him "solid") baby, I would pack him around on my hip. He would hang on like a little monkey and people would tease that HE should be carrying ME. At one point, I went to the doctor for chest pains, only to be told that I had pulled a muscle lifting Baby Huey.
Even rocking him to sleep was a workout...I would have to hold him tight against me for the first two minutes while he fought sleep like a battle tested warrior. Then, suddenly, he would relax and slump against my chest, eyes closed but still making little moans when he breathed out, as if even in sleep he was protesting. And I would rest my chin on his head and rock a while longer just to feel the heavy warmness of my baby boy against my mommy-soul.
Happily, even though he has grown up into your typical teenage boy, he never lost his affection for being affectionate. He freely hands out hugs and occasionally still lays his head over on my shoulder at church. When he comes home from school and basketball practice, he strolls toward me with open arms and says, "Hey, mama. How was your day?" in his now-manly voice. And if he thinks I seem down, he just gives me a long hug and doesn't say anything.
And he rests HIS chin on MY head and I feel the warmth of comfort against my weary-soul.
I give him a squeeze and a pat on the back and pretend that I'm holding him.
But deep down I wonder...Who is really holding Whom?
Monday, November 15, 2010
Sole Mates
My kids have a thing for shoes.
Of course, one might expect that from an artsy girl like Hillary.
But don't be fooled...boys care about what's on their feet too. Parker has found a website where he can design his own shoe. He's spent hours tweaking his dream tennis shoe...changing background colors...adding a star here and a stripe there...putting his name and basketball number on the side... then mimimizing it and threatening the rest of us with bodily harm if we close it out before he is able to save up enough to order them. Even if that takes weeks...months...YEARS...
And I just let him dream.
But his sister had other plans. A few weeks before his birthday, she secretly went on the website and ordered his "perfect" shoes...with her own hard-earned money. She waited giddily for the mail each day, afraid he would guess what was up if he saw a box delivered with that company's name on the label.
She shouldn't have worried.
When they came, he was clueless.
"Mom," he yelled from the other room. "Hillary got a package."
And that was that.
She squirreled them off to her room where she wrapped them in black and gold paper (our school colors), and hid the bag because his birthday was still a week away.
Later when Dad and I got home from running errands, we were met with a beaming new-shoe-wearing Parker! "Look what Hillary got me!" he exclaimed. And she was beaming too. "I couldn't wait." she said sheepishly, "So I just went ahead and gave them to him."
He was happy.
She was happy.
I was happy. Because as much as they fight...get on one another's nerves...roll eyes and call names...it's good to know that deep down they really are sole mates!
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Working Girl
My girl is off to work today.
Oh, she's done odd jobs throughout her teen years...babysitting, cleaning for people, taking pictures. And we let her put off getting a real job for as long as we could. An unconscious effort to extend her free-wheeling, traveling, no-responsibility adolescence.
But with the start of college textbooks and gas guzzling commutes, she had to start looking in earnest.
She applied at the grocery stores and the banks...some hotels and the newspaper office...Wal-mart, Target, and Dollar Tree...even fast food...
Nothing.
I was starting to think I was going to have to sell one of my kidneys on the black market, when she finally got TWO calls in the same day! She chose waitressing in a real restaurant over the fast food option, hoping the tips would more than make up for the less-than-min-wage hourly pay.
And she started working.
The first couple of nights were predictably hard and hectic, but she was optimistic. Things would get better as she learned the ropes.
But it's been weeks now, and working for a demanding, verbally caustic, female boss who often gives conflicting instructions in the same breath is taking it's toll. Hillary comes home stressed and sometimes tearful and pours it all out, as I sit and listen and try not to talk. This is so hard.
But in a way, it's so good for her.
It's good in the way that making your child get their shots is good. It hurts and it's hard to watch. But you know that their body will take that bit of pain and use it to prepare for much worse things. And in the end, they will be healthier people.
And I know that learning how to deal with people who don't like you...and learning how to let someone else's anger wash over you without soaking in...and learning that you CAN take a stressful situation and deal with it...and learning how to prioritize when there are so many things to do...and learning that you are WHO you are and not WHAT you do at work....is going to make her Stronger. Better. Tempered.
And I know that this job is temporary. And she doesn't have a family or a house to take care of when she gets off work. And we are here to bind the wounds and repair the damage after every shift. So it will be ok.
Someday she will be out of school and making the world a better place by doing the things she loves and getting paid for it too.
So I take a deep breath. And I don't call her boss to give her a virulent piece of my mind. And I don't say, "Just quit!" And I don't follow her to work and do part of her job for her.
Even though I want to.
But I DO pray a lot.
And sometimes...it works. Like last night when she had a calm night and was let off early enough to do something fun with her friends.
I'm glad to see that she can take whatever comes her way...and WORK it!
Oh, she's done odd jobs throughout her teen years...babysitting, cleaning for people, taking pictures. And we let her put off getting a real job for as long as we could. An unconscious effort to extend her free-wheeling, traveling, no-responsibility adolescence.
But with the start of college textbooks and gas guzzling commutes, she had to start looking in earnest.
She applied at the grocery stores and the banks...some hotels and the newspaper office...Wal-mart, Target, and Dollar Tree...even fast food...
Nothing.
I was starting to think I was going to have to sell one of my kidneys on the black market, when she finally got TWO calls in the same day! She chose waitressing in a real restaurant over the fast food option, hoping the tips would more than make up for the less-than-min-wage hourly pay.
And she started working.
The first couple of nights were predictably hard and hectic, but she was optimistic. Things would get better as she learned the ropes.
But it's been weeks now, and working for a demanding, verbally caustic, female boss who often gives conflicting instructions in the same breath is taking it's toll. Hillary comes home stressed and sometimes tearful and pours it all out, as I sit and listen and try not to talk. This is so hard.
But in a way, it's so good for her.
It's good in the way that making your child get their shots is good. It hurts and it's hard to watch. But you know that their body will take that bit of pain and use it to prepare for much worse things. And in the end, they will be healthier people.
And I know that learning how to deal with people who don't like you...and learning how to let someone else's anger wash over you without soaking in...and learning that you CAN take a stressful situation and deal with it...and learning how to prioritize when there are so many things to do...and learning that you are WHO you are and not WHAT you do at work....is going to make her Stronger. Better. Tempered.
And I know that this job is temporary. And she doesn't have a family or a house to take care of when she gets off work. And we are here to bind the wounds and repair the damage after every shift. So it will be ok.
Someday she will be out of school and making the world a better place by doing the things she loves and getting paid for it too.
So I take a deep breath. And I don't call her boss to give her a virulent piece of my mind. And I don't say, "Just quit!" And I don't follow her to work and do part of her job for her.
Even though I want to.
But I DO pray a lot.
And sometimes...it works. Like last night when she had a calm night and was let off early enough to do something fun with her friends.
I'm glad to see that she can take whatever comes her way...and WORK it!
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Big Daddy
My husband is a big man.
Oh, he's not super tall or built like a psycho weight-lifter, but he does tower over me when I stand next to him. And his arms go all the way around my waist with room to spare.
And he opens jars and lifts vacuum cleaners and cast iron skillets effortlessly with one hand.
And can reach things in the top kitchen cabinets without even climbing on the counter first.
But that's not all...his personality fills up a room.
And his voice fills up a gym.
But when it comes to our kids, he's just a gentle giant.
As babies, they would sleep on his broad chest as he lay on the couch watching football on tv.
When they were toddlers, and I was teaching them to sleep in their own bed, HE was the one tearing up in the next room because he couldn't stand to hear them crying.
And when they were preschoolers, he was often the one who would tuck them in at night...fixing the blanket just so and getting the much needed, but never actually used "glass of water."
So when they got older and busier and didn't seem to need "tucking in" anymore, he came up with a plan to keep connected. Every night, he would lay with one of them for a few minutes...giving them a chance to tell him about their day or ask him questions or just feel his heavy arm thrown over them and know they were safe. This became especially important during basketball season, when those few minutes might be the only few minutes they got of him that whole day. Sometimes they would even fight over whose turn it was. I had to mark it on the calendar...alternating days filled with P's and H's.
More often than not, I would peek in to find one small bundle tucked snugly under the covers with one large man sprawled on top of the covers...snoring away like the Papa Bear he was. Then I would shake him awake and tuck HIM into his own bed!
Of course, nothing lasts forever, and now we usually go to bed BEFORE the kids!
But he still tells them goodnight.
And checks all the doors in the house.
And leaves the porch light on so Hillary won't have to fumble in the dark for her key.
And has trouble falling asleep until she's safely home in bed.
And he still shows them in a hundred ways a day that he loves them.
Because of all the big things about him, his heart is the biggest.
Oh, he's not super tall or built like a psycho weight-lifter, but he does tower over me when I stand next to him. And his arms go all the way around my waist with room to spare.
And he opens jars and lifts vacuum cleaners and cast iron skillets effortlessly with one hand.
And can reach things in the top kitchen cabinets without even climbing on the counter first.
But that's not all...his personality fills up a room.
And his voice fills up a gym.
But when it comes to our kids, he's just a gentle giant.
As babies, they would sleep on his broad chest as he lay on the couch watching football on tv.
When they were toddlers, and I was teaching them to sleep in their own bed, HE was the one tearing up in the next room because he couldn't stand to hear them crying.
And when they were preschoolers, he was often the one who would tuck them in at night...fixing the blanket just so and getting the much needed, but never actually used "glass of water."
So when they got older and busier and didn't seem to need "tucking in" anymore, he came up with a plan to keep connected. Every night, he would lay with one of them for a few minutes...giving them a chance to tell him about their day or ask him questions or just feel his heavy arm thrown over them and know they were safe. This became especially important during basketball season, when those few minutes might be the only few minutes they got of him that whole day. Sometimes they would even fight over whose turn it was. I had to mark it on the calendar...alternating days filled with P's and H's.
More often than not, I would peek in to find one small bundle tucked snugly under the covers with one large man sprawled on top of the covers...snoring away like the Papa Bear he was. Then I would shake him awake and tuck HIM into his own bed!
Of course, nothing lasts forever, and now we usually go to bed BEFORE the kids!
But he still tells them goodnight.
And checks all the doors in the house.
And leaves the porch light on so Hillary won't have to fumble in the dark for her key.
And has trouble falling asleep until she's safely home in bed.
And he still shows them in a hundred ways a day that he loves them.
Because of all the big things about him, his heart is the biggest.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
You've Been Hillary-ized!
Lately, Hillary has been working several hours per weekend for a lady who lives nearby. Hill takes a room per day and completely cleans and organizes it.
And then she comes home and tells me stories of how she turned drawers, cabinets, and closets full of random chaos into cubbies of neat and clean calm-ness.
While I am secretly thrilled to hear that I'm not the only woman who grows clutter in her corners, I am also secretly jealous that I don't have a personal organizer.
So when I came home late the other night, and found my bed made and all the dirty clothes picked up from the floor, I was pleasantly surprised.
But too tired to really wonder about it.
And the next morning, when I went into my closet, I found this.....
All my shoes were neatly lined up...all my clothes hung neatly on their hangers, grouped into categories like pants, tshirts, jackets, and long-sleeves. I gave a little squeal and finished getting dressed.
And then I went into the kitchen to make my coffee and I found this....
and this....
And while I would love to let you think this is how it always looks...well...I'd be lying.
When Hillary sauntered into the kitchen, I hugged her and said, "Did you do all this? It looks great!"
And she smiled her big smile and hugged me back and said, "Yep. You've been Hillary-ized!"
And then she comes home and tells me stories of how she turned drawers, cabinets, and closets full of random chaos into cubbies of neat and clean calm-ness.
While I am secretly thrilled to hear that I'm not the only woman who grows clutter in her corners, I am also secretly jealous that I don't have a personal organizer.
So when I came home late the other night, and found my bed made and all the dirty clothes picked up from the floor, I was pleasantly surprised.
But too tired to really wonder about it.
And the next morning, when I went into my closet, I found this.....
All my shoes were neatly lined up...all my clothes hung neatly on their hangers, grouped into categories like pants, tshirts, jackets, and long-sleeves. I gave a little squeal and finished getting dressed.
And then I went into the kitchen to make my coffee and I found this....
and this....
And while I would love to let you think this is how it always looks...well...I'd be lying.
When Hillary sauntered into the kitchen, I hugged her and said, "Did you do all this? It looks great!"
And she smiled her big smile and hugged me back and said, "Yep. You've been Hillary-ized!"
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Soothing the Soreness
A couple of days ago, my voice started acting up.
I felt fine. I didn't have a fever. I just sounded like an adolescent boy whose voice was changing.
I ignored it.
And of course it only got worse.
So today I gave in and went to the doctor, who commanded me to go home, take my medicine, and rest for the next two days.
I stopped by the store and stocked up on chicken-soupy stuff. And I texted Hillary to see if she was home and wanted to have lunch with me. Happily, she was...and she did!
And that's how I happened to be curled up in my favorite oversized chair with sunlight streaming in the windows sipping soup and listening to my beautiful grown up girl talk about enrolling for next semesters classes and the crazy funny things she and her friends were talking about lately.
Which somehow led to the subject of her beginnings with us. An unplanned and very early surprise to me and her dad's teenaged selves. And she asked the questions she hadn't asked so far.
Like "How did you tell Dad?"
And "What did he say?"
Things I guess I thought she had already heard. After all, I have shared the details many times through the years with people who needed to know there is Hope on the other side of a Story. But I've never really told it directly to the person to whom the story belongs.
Because, when the unexpected happens, we humans sometimes behave badly. And I never wanted to color her view of the people she loves with gray and black. But gray and black come in the same box with all those vibrant happy colors, and it's not fair to throw out the whole box of crayons.
So I told her how her Dad had been shocked but supportive, even from the beginning. How only hours after he found out, we walked down to the park where I sat down in a swing and he asked me in a tender and worried voice, "Should you be swinging? Can you still swing?".
And how he spent hours coloring in boxes on a sheet of graph paper until he had fashioned a sign to go over the crib that said "Yancey loves Fonda and Baby."
And how we had decided to stay together...not because of this...but including it.
And like the soup soothed my sore throat, sharing these happy little things with her soothed that spot in my heart that I keep thinking is healed, but sometimes surprises me with a familiar soreness. Not unlike the physical scar across my belly through which Hillary entered the world. It's totally healed, but occasionally gives me a tiny unexpected painful pull when I move a certain way. A reminder that I wouldn't have all this yellow and purple and orange without my gray and black.
So I sit here with my soup and my story and I am soothed...body and soul.
I felt fine. I didn't have a fever. I just sounded like an adolescent boy whose voice was changing.
I ignored it.
And of course it only got worse.
So today I gave in and went to the doctor, who commanded me to go home, take my medicine, and rest for the next two days.
I stopped by the store and stocked up on chicken-soupy stuff. And I texted Hillary to see if she was home and wanted to have lunch with me. Happily, she was...and she did!
And that's how I happened to be curled up in my favorite oversized chair with sunlight streaming in the windows sipping soup and listening to my beautiful grown up girl talk about enrolling for next semesters classes and the crazy funny things she and her friends were talking about lately.
Which somehow led to the subject of her beginnings with us. An unplanned and very early surprise to me and her dad's teenaged selves. And she asked the questions she hadn't asked so far.
Like "How did you tell Dad?"
And "What did he say?"
Things I guess I thought she had already heard. After all, I have shared the details many times through the years with people who needed to know there is Hope on the other side of a Story. But I've never really told it directly to the person to whom the story belongs.
Because, when the unexpected happens, we humans sometimes behave badly. And I never wanted to color her view of the people she loves with gray and black. But gray and black come in the same box with all those vibrant happy colors, and it's not fair to throw out the whole box of crayons.
So I told her how her Dad had been shocked but supportive, even from the beginning. How only hours after he found out, we walked down to the park where I sat down in a swing and he asked me in a tender and worried voice, "Should you be swinging? Can you still swing?".
And how he spent hours coloring in boxes on a sheet of graph paper until he had fashioned a sign to go over the crib that said "Yancey loves Fonda and Baby."
And how we had decided to stay together...not because of this...but including it.
And like the soup soothed my sore throat, sharing these happy little things with her soothed that spot in my heart that I keep thinking is healed, but sometimes surprises me with a familiar soreness. Not unlike the physical scar across my belly through which Hillary entered the world. It's totally healed, but occasionally gives me a tiny unexpected painful pull when I move a certain way. A reminder that I wouldn't have all this yellow and purple and orange without my gray and black.
So I sit here with my soup and my story and I am soothed...body and soul.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Short Sheeted
My kids' rooms are their own.
That's not to say I would bat an eyelash at snooping if I thought it was warranted, but as for messiness...it's all them. I figure I have enough to keep up with keeping the "public" parts of the house from catching the attention of the sanitation department. Oh, occasionally I stand at the door and toss things that belong to them toward their bed because I'm tired of it being in "my" space. And I put their clean laundry on the desk or chair. When I manage to get it folded out of the dryer before it's being worn again.
And they take turns going through stages...alternately letting piles grow until they begin to take over the room and then cloistering behind a closed door and blasting the music for a few hours until it looks presentable again (and my laundry room suddenly looks like their closets threw up).
And let's face it...my own bedroom tends to grow piles in the corner and sport an unmade bed and several coffee cups. So they come by it honestly...
But this weekend, as I was trotting to and fro in front of Parker's open bedroom door...toting laundry and dispersing fresh rolls of TP and gathering up dishes and putting away shoes...I happened to wonder how long it had been since he changed his sheets.
Turns out, not since he put them on there this SUMMER when he got his new loft bed!
Gross.
(eye roll)
I told him to take them off and wash them.
Which he did.
But they got no further than the dryer.
So I stood at the door and threw the clean sheets up onto his bed....assuming he would put them on when he got home from the movies with his friends.
You know what they say about assuming...
The next morning, when I went to wake him up for church, his (bare) bed was empty. I peeked around the corner and there he was, sprawled on the couch with his comforter thrown over his lanky body. I had a sudden flashback of my own 12 year old self sleeping on my mattress pad with a sheet thrown over me because I'd rather do anything than expend energy putting the clean sheets on my bed.
I shrugged....roused my lazy boy...and went to make the coffee. (I know what's REALLY important!)
And if that were the end of the story, this would be a pretty lame blog post.
But it's not.
No.
Parker's sunday school teacher came up to me before the worship service started and said, "I am really enjoying Parker. He made me laugh this morning."
Uh oh.
Polite smile. "Really? How?"
"Well, he told the class how he got home late and couldn't even sleep in his bed because there were no sheets on it. I told him I couldn't believe that and asked him who changes the sheets at his house and he said NOBODY."
Apparently he also told them that the sheets hadn't been off the bed since he bought it and he didn't really know how to put them back on.
There goes my mother-of-the-year award. And my reputation at this church which we have only been attending for a short while.
Oh well, I guess it's not as bad as the time he told the sunday school teacher of his 5 year old class, "Sometimes my daddy goes WooWee!" To which she stupidly replied, "Why?" And he responded, "Cause she's NEKKED!"
I'm thinking maybe I should be nice and change his sheets for him after all...I'm pretty sure I remember how to short-sheet. And if he happens to jam his toe in them? Well, it won't hurt any more than my PRIDE.
That's not to say I would bat an eyelash at snooping if I thought it was warranted, but as for messiness...it's all them. I figure I have enough to keep up with keeping the "public" parts of the house from catching the attention of the sanitation department. Oh, occasionally I stand at the door and toss things that belong to them toward their bed because I'm tired of it being in "my" space. And I put their clean laundry on the desk or chair. When I manage to get it folded out of the dryer before it's being worn again.
And they take turns going through stages...alternately letting piles grow until they begin to take over the room and then cloistering behind a closed door and blasting the music for a few hours until it looks presentable again (and my laundry room suddenly looks like their closets threw up).
And let's face it...my own bedroom tends to grow piles in the corner and sport an unmade bed and several coffee cups. So they come by it honestly...
But this weekend, as I was trotting to and fro in front of Parker's open bedroom door...toting laundry and dispersing fresh rolls of TP and gathering up dishes and putting away shoes...I happened to wonder how long it had been since he changed his sheets.
Turns out, not since he put them on there this SUMMER when he got his new loft bed!
Gross.
(eye roll)
I told him to take them off and wash them.
Which he did.
But they got no further than the dryer.
So I stood at the door and threw the clean sheets up onto his bed....assuming he would put them on when he got home from the movies with his friends.
You know what they say about assuming...
The next morning, when I went to wake him up for church, his (bare) bed was empty. I peeked around the corner and there he was, sprawled on the couch with his comforter thrown over his lanky body. I had a sudden flashback of my own 12 year old self sleeping on my mattress pad with a sheet thrown over me because I'd rather do anything than expend energy putting the clean sheets on my bed.
I shrugged....roused my lazy boy...and went to make the coffee. (I know what's REALLY important!)
And if that were the end of the story, this would be a pretty lame blog post.
But it's not.
No.
Parker's sunday school teacher came up to me before the worship service started and said, "I am really enjoying Parker. He made me laugh this morning."
Uh oh.
Polite smile. "Really? How?"
"Well, he told the class how he got home late and couldn't even sleep in his bed because there were no sheets on it. I told him I couldn't believe that and asked him who changes the sheets at his house and he said NOBODY."
Apparently he also told them that the sheets hadn't been off the bed since he bought it and he didn't really know how to put them back on.
There goes my mother-of-the-year award. And my reputation at this church which we have only been attending for a short while.
Oh well, I guess it's not as bad as the time he told the sunday school teacher of his 5 year old class, "Sometimes my daddy goes WooWee!" To which she stupidly replied, "Why?" And he responded, "Cause she's NEKKED!"
I'm thinking maybe I should be nice and change his sheets for him after all...I'm pretty sure I remember how to short-sheet. And if he happens to jam his toe in them? Well, it won't hurt any more than my PRIDE.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
To My Readers..
Ok...you guys are always asking me to put these stories into a book. I am actually considering it. So leave me a comment and give me your top 5 posts.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Tops
Sometimes a woman just wants to shop.
I was feeling the need for that little boost that only a cute new top can give you. So I talked my husband into making it a "date" and we headed to the city. We took the back roads (for him) and stopped by Starbucks (for me) and eventually ended up at a department store where I can still waffle between the juniors and the misses sections. Arms full I headed toward the dressing room.
"You wanna come with me?" I asked. "Or you can go look at something else and I'll call you when I'm done." I know he secretly likes to look at fancy coffee pots and other kitchen machines that we can't afford and would probably never use.
He chose to go with me. And thank goodness he did...
I wriggled into an extra small top that was really two shirts sewn together and somehow got the straps all twisted. I came out to let him help me figure it out. He took one look and said, "You're gonna have to go take that off and start over."
Easy for him to say.
I flounced back into the dressing room, wondering how I was going to get out of this filmy non-stretch shirt without ripping it when I heard his deep voice float under the door.
"You're in the wrong dressing room."
Oh. I guess that would explain why the rest of my clothes had disappeared.
Now my face matched the bright red of the shirt that was causing all this trouble, and I sheepishly came out and went in to my own dressing room.
Where I tried pulling the offending article over my head.
I got it about half way and started to hyperventilate as I realized I was a bit stuck.
I lumbered around for a minute with my arm stuck out in front of my face like I was doing some kind of elephant impression (which I was starting to feel like, by the way) and finally popped out of the top, hair askew and breath coming in short puffs.
If my husband wondered why I was grunting and slamming against the stall walls, he didn't let on.
I peeked out of the dressing room.
"Could you get me a size bigger in this shirt?"
And off he went.
I did eventually find a few things and as we worked our way toward the check out I passed another woman who was critically eyeing herself in one of those square mirrored posts. She was saying, "What do you think about this top? I mean, it looks ok and I could wear it with jeans AND khakis..." And the man standing behind her was smiling and nodding.
But I swear his eyes were saying, "Just let me go look at coffee pots and automatic toasters."
I chuckled to myself and gave my Man a big smile. Cause he knows how to love me and he acts like its no trouble at all.
And when it comes to husbands...I think he's tops!
I was feeling the need for that little boost that only a cute new top can give you. So I talked my husband into making it a "date" and we headed to the city. We took the back roads (for him) and stopped by Starbucks (for me) and eventually ended up at a department store where I can still waffle between the juniors and the misses sections. Arms full I headed toward the dressing room.
"You wanna come with me?" I asked. "Or you can go look at something else and I'll call you when I'm done." I know he secretly likes to look at fancy coffee pots and other kitchen machines that we can't afford and would probably never use.
He chose to go with me. And thank goodness he did...
I wriggled into an extra small top that was really two shirts sewn together and somehow got the straps all twisted. I came out to let him help me figure it out. He took one look and said, "You're gonna have to go take that off and start over."
Easy for him to say.
I flounced back into the dressing room, wondering how I was going to get out of this filmy non-stretch shirt without ripping it when I heard his deep voice float under the door.
"You're in the wrong dressing room."
Oh. I guess that would explain why the rest of my clothes had disappeared.
Now my face matched the bright red of the shirt that was causing all this trouble, and I sheepishly came out and went in to my own dressing room.
Where I tried pulling the offending article over my head.
I got it about half way and started to hyperventilate as I realized I was a bit stuck.
I lumbered around for a minute with my arm stuck out in front of my face like I was doing some kind of elephant impression (which I was starting to feel like, by the way) and finally popped out of the top, hair askew and breath coming in short puffs.
If my husband wondered why I was grunting and slamming against the stall walls, he didn't let on.
I peeked out of the dressing room.
"Could you get me a size bigger in this shirt?"
And off he went.
I did eventually find a few things and as we worked our way toward the check out I passed another woman who was critically eyeing herself in one of those square mirrored posts. She was saying, "What do you think about this top? I mean, it looks ok and I could wear it with jeans AND khakis..." And the man standing behind her was smiling and nodding.
But I swear his eyes were saying, "Just let me go look at coffee pots and automatic toasters."
I chuckled to myself and gave my Man a big smile. Cause he knows how to love me and he acts like its no trouble at all.
And when it comes to husbands...I think he's tops!
Friday, October 22, 2010
Pizza, anyone?
I've become the kind of woman who eats pizza in bed.
I used to be in control.
I was the CEO of this family. The strategic command center through which all activities, responsibilities, thoughts and social interactions must pass. The menu planner/grocery getter/bill payer/house cleaner/homework checker/play date planner/calendar master/marriage maintainer....
And that was fun.
Exhausting...but rewarding.
I eventually figured out that I wasn't doing anyone any favors by running the world for them, and I set the goal of working myself out of a job. I gritted my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut as my kids picked loser boyfriends and got zeros on assignments they did at home but forgot to turn in to the teacher. I just took deep breaths as my husband paid the late fee on the bill he forgot to mail. And I tried not to think about the nutritional value of 12 bowls of cereal for supper versus a lean meat and three different colored vegetables.
And you know what? Nobody died.
My daughter is attending college and making new friends. She has a job and her own checking account. And she has chosen on her own to take a hiatus from dating until she knows who she is and what she wants.
My son has As and Bs this quarter, despite his dyslexia. He has a fun group of friends and is the kind of kid other moms tell me they WANT their kids to hand out with.
My husband has learned to cook more than taco salad and actually checks the account balance from time to time. He even does a little laundry!
And me?
Well, the other night, after working all day then going for a run, I rushed home from my women's bible study in time to catch one of my favorite tv shows. During the commercial, I ran into the kitchen to check on the non-nutritious frozen pizza I was having for supper...past Parker who was doing dishes by hand. "Grr!" I growled, as the pizza was a little too crispy.
To which Parker responded, "Yeah, I've given up trying to cook while I'm watching TV. It never goes well."
Thank you Mr. Belvedere.
I took my blackened pizza to my room and climbed into my bed to finish my show. I knew my husband would be up in a few minutes to cuddle me as I fell asleep. My phone buzzed and Hillary said, "Hey mom. I'm hanging out at Jen's. I'll text you when I start home."
I was happy. And the world spun madly on...
CEO's are efficient, but not very much fun. So I'll settle for being just one member of this small group of humans who love and take care of themselves AND each other.
I used to be in control.
I was the CEO of this family. The strategic command center through which all activities, responsibilities, thoughts and social interactions must pass. The menu planner/grocery getter/bill payer/house cleaner/homework checker/play date planner/calendar master/marriage maintainer....
And that was fun.
Exhausting...but rewarding.
I eventually figured out that I wasn't doing anyone any favors by running the world for them, and I set the goal of working myself out of a job. I gritted my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut as my kids picked loser boyfriends and got zeros on assignments they did at home but forgot to turn in to the teacher. I just took deep breaths as my husband paid the late fee on the bill he forgot to mail. And I tried not to think about the nutritional value of 12 bowls of cereal for supper versus a lean meat and three different colored vegetables.
And you know what? Nobody died.
My daughter is attending college and making new friends. She has a job and her own checking account. And she has chosen on her own to take a hiatus from dating until she knows who she is and what she wants.
My son has As and Bs this quarter, despite his dyslexia. He has a fun group of friends and is the kind of kid other moms tell me they WANT their kids to hand out with.
My husband has learned to cook more than taco salad and actually checks the account balance from time to time. He even does a little laundry!
And me?
Well, the other night, after working all day then going for a run, I rushed home from my women's bible study in time to catch one of my favorite tv shows. During the commercial, I ran into the kitchen to check on the non-nutritious frozen pizza I was having for supper...past Parker who was doing dishes by hand. "Grr!" I growled, as the pizza was a little too crispy.
To which Parker responded, "Yeah, I've given up trying to cook while I'm watching TV. It never goes well."
Thank you Mr. Belvedere.
I took my blackened pizza to my room and climbed into my bed to finish my show. I knew my husband would be up in a few minutes to cuddle me as I fell asleep. My phone buzzed and Hillary said, "Hey mom. I'm hanging out at Jen's. I'll text you when I start home."
I was happy. And the world spun madly on...
CEO's are efficient, but not very much fun. So I'll settle for being just one member of this small group of humans who love and take care of themselves AND each other.
Friday, October 15, 2010
Bouncing Back
"So what are your plans for Thursday night?" my husband casually asked me.
"I don't know. Why?" I respond.
"Cuz Parker thinks you're going to read to him. He has 400 pages left in his book and its due next week."
What?! Like I have six hours to do nothing but sit and read out loud to him when he is perfectly able to read to himself. Yes, he hates to read. Yes, it's painstakingly slow for him. But he's in HIGH SCHOOL now. And he's known about this all semester. Mom NOT to the rescue this time.
A couple of "parent-y" lectures, a few daily reminders, and 27 questions later, he had actually read 9 out of 12 chapters on his own, and did as much of the writing assignment as he could over what he had read.
Sometimes I have to push him.
But other times he can be amazingly persistent.
When my brother sent us his old ping-pong table, which happened to be in many pieces by the time it arrived, Parker set out to put it back together. There were no directions. Just a bag full of screws, some metal legs, and two large pieces of wood.
Parker laid it all out and started piecing things together.
He found a pic of a completed table on the internet.
He tried a piece here and a screw there.
And just as it looked like it was going up perfectly...it collapsed onto his friend's head (who had wandered over to see what was happening and was promptly put to work helping Tom Sawyer).
Undaunted, Parker laughed...and started over.
I left to have dinner with my sister.
And by the time I got back with Parker's SuperSonic-no pickles-onion rings-and a Rt 44 sweet tea, he was playing ping pong on a perfect ping pong table.
Because this is what he EXCELS at...solving a problem...putting a puzzle together...working with his hands.
And that's why I don't worry.
Life won't always be easy for him. And he will make mistakes.
There will be hits and misses.
But I know he will always bounce back!
"I don't know. Why?" I respond.
"Cuz Parker thinks you're going to read to him. He has 400 pages left in his book and its due next week."
What?! Like I have six hours to do nothing but sit and read out loud to him when he is perfectly able to read to himself. Yes, he hates to read. Yes, it's painstakingly slow for him. But he's in HIGH SCHOOL now. And he's known about this all semester. Mom NOT to the rescue this time.
A couple of "parent-y" lectures, a few daily reminders, and 27 questions later, he had actually read 9 out of 12 chapters on his own, and did as much of the writing assignment as he could over what he had read.
Sometimes I have to push him.
But other times he can be amazingly persistent.
When my brother sent us his old ping-pong table, which happened to be in many pieces by the time it arrived, Parker set out to put it back together. There were no directions. Just a bag full of screws, some metal legs, and two large pieces of wood.
Parker laid it all out and started piecing things together.
He found a pic of a completed table on the internet.
He tried a piece here and a screw there.
And just as it looked like it was going up perfectly...it collapsed onto his friend's head (who had wandered over to see what was happening and was promptly put to work helping Tom Sawyer).
Undaunted, Parker laughed...and started over.
I left to have dinner with my sister.
And by the time I got back with Parker's SuperSonic-no pickles-onion rings-and a Rt 44 sweet tea, he was playing ping pong on a perfect ping pong table.
Because this is what he EXCELS at...solving a problem...putting a puzzle together...working with his hands.
And that's why I don't worry.
Life won't always be easy for him. And he will make mistakes.
There will be hits and misses.
But I know he will always bounce back!
Sunday, October 10, 2010
My Happy Place
I love my hammock.
It's the place where I go to quiet my mind and take in the sun and the sounds of blowing leaves and chirping insects.
It's my Happy Place.
I headed out there on Friday afternoon with my bowl of soup, and was followed by Hubby. And then Parker. And then Hillary. Until there we all were, in various swings, hammocks, and lawn chairs, having family dinner together under a chandelier of leaves.
And I hadn't even tried.
Take THAT We-never-have-dinner-as-a-family-anymore lie.
And then later this weekend, after 17 of us had enjoyed a local festival together, we trickled back to my house. My sister claimed the hammock. And like fire-flies to a flame, we were soon gathered out under the trees...laughing, swinging, and petting the neighbor's dog who thinks she's a part of my family.
My mom ran to the grocery store for hotdogs and the Men built a fire and an impromptu party was born.
Family of all sizes...by blood and by blend...filled the yard. Children with flashlights bobbed between trees and toddlers went from grown-up to dog, alternately begging and giving treats.
And in true Provider fashion, my Dad loaded up his roasting stick so no one would have to wait for their hot dog.
We ate and we laughed and we played with fire. We stayed up late basking in the love created by this hodge-podge of imperfect people we call family.
And it was a Happy Place.
It's the place where I go to quiet my mind and take in the sun and the sounds of blowing leaves and chirping insects.
It's my Happy Place.
I headed out there on Friday afternoon with my bowl of soup, and was followed by Hubby. And then Parker. And then Hillary. Until there we all were, in various swings, hammocks, and lawn chairs, having family dinner together under a chandelier of leaves.
And I hadn't even tried.
Take THAT We-never-have-dinner-as-a-family-anymore lie.
And then later this weekend, after 17 of us had enjoyed a local festival together, we trickled back to my house. My sister claimed the hammock. And like fire-flies to a flame, we were soon gathered out under the trees...laughing, swinging, and petting the neighbor's dog who thinks she's a part of my family.
My mom ran to the grocery store for hotdogs and the Men built a fire and an impromptu party was born.
Family of all sizes...by blood and by blend...filled the yard. Children with flashlights bobbed between trees and toddlers went from grown-up to dog, alternately begging and giving treats.
And in true Provider fashion, my Dad loaded up his roasting stick so no one would have to wait for their hot dog.
We ate and we laughed and we played with fire. We stayed up late basking in the love created by this hodge-podge of imperfect people we call family.
And it was a Happy Place.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Wine Not?
I drove home with my windows down...letting the wind whip the stress out of my head and neck and blow my hair all to crazy.
I pulled in to my empty driveway, mentally ticking off all the things on my list that still needed to be done today.
What was I going to cook tonight? Oh, yeah...crispy chicken and veggies.
Sort through the mail.
Unload and then Load the dishwasher.
Get a snack first because I'm STARVING.
But the sun was streaming so tantalizingly. In that perfect golden way it has when fall has just begun and the sky is unnaturally blue. And I couldn't stand the thought of missing it.
So I grabbed my snack and I headed to the hammock.
And I swayed silently and felt the rays soak into my skin.
And listened to the crickets.
And then...looking for some excuse (ANY excuse) to prolong staying outside, I decided to paint my toenails. That's on my list...somewhere...I'm pretty sure. So it counts, right?
The name of my chosen hue was "Wine Not".
Perfect!
After all, my family wasn't home, and wouldn't be until later in the evening.
Why not skip the cooking and let them warm up left-over potatoe soup just for tonight?
Why not leave the dishes and laundry and mail sorting until after dark?
Why not sit here in the sun and paint my toenails.
Why not take time for my own soul?
Why not notice how the spider webs sparkle in the grass?
So I did.
Because, really...Wine Not?
I pulled in to my empty driveway, mentally ticking off all the things on my list that still needed to be done today.
What was I going to cook tonight? Oh, yeah...crispy chicken and veggies.
Sort through the mail.
Unload and then Load the dishwasher.
Get a snack first because I'm STARVING.
But the sun was streaming so tantalizingly. In that perfect golden way it has when fall has just begun and the sky is unnaturally blue. And I couldn't stand the thought of missing it.
So I grabbed my snack and I headed to the hammock.
And I swayed silently and felt the rays soak into my skin.
And listened to the crickets.
And then...looking for some excuse (ANY excuse) to prolong staying outside, I decided to paint my toenails. That's on my list...somewhere...I'm pretty sure. So it counts, right?
The name of my chosen hue was "Wine Not".
Perfect!
After all, my family wasn't home, and wouldn't be until later in the evening.
Why not skip the cooking and let them warm up left-over potatoe soup just for tonight?
Why not leave the dishes and laundry and mail sorting until after dark?
Why not sit here in the sun and paint my toenails.
Why not take time for my own soul?
Why not notice how the spider webs sparkle in the grass?
So I did.
Because, really...Wine Not?
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Unexpected
Things don't always go the way you expect them to.
Like last weekend when I decided we don't have enough sit-down family dinners at the kitchen table. And I announced we would eat our food in the same room at the same time...causing a pained expression to cross my football enthusiast husband's face. But he sat. And I thought it would be so special I should take a picture of our perfect family and write a blog about eating together. So I asked Hillary to run downstairs to get the camera. She promptly asked Parker to do it. Who promptly refused. Irritably. Causing Hubby to growl and bark. Until I finally said, "Forget it!" I mean, seriously...who wants a picture of this?
We sat and we ate. And we made strained small talk.
And by that evening, we were back to normal.
Fast-forward to this weekend.
The grandparents came up, and we were taking the kids to Six Flags. We had extra tickets, so each kid got to invite a friend. I was glad, because I expected they would want to go off separately from each other and have non-irritating, non-sibling fun. We got inside the park and went our separate ways. A couple hours later, I texted Hillary..."Where r u? And have u seen ur brother?"
She answered, "He's with me. We r at The Ninja."
Well, what do you know?
We old folks made our way over there just in time to see the four of them come off the ride...smiling and glowing like only teenagers who just came off a roller coaster can do. "Mom!" Hillary exclaimed. "We want to take an Old Tyme Photo, but we don't quite have enough money."
So we adults/money givers, followed them to the shop. We watched them dress up and act out. We shelled out the cash for the two pictures they would illegally share later. And we admitted we had had enough fun for grown-ups for one day. We let the kids stay and we left to get dinner. Hillary would drive them home later.
I watched my son and daughter and their friends walk away from me side by side. Enjoying each other's company and making fun memories. And I had to smile.
Sometimes things don't go the way you expect them to.
Isn't it grand?
Like last weekend when I decided we don't have enough sit-down family dinners at the kitchen table. And I announced we would eat our food in the same room at the same time...causing a pained expression to cross my football enthusiast husband's face. But he sat. And I thought it would be so special I should take a picture of our perfect family and write a blog about eating together. So I asked Hillary to run downstairs to get the camera. She promptly asked Parker to do it. Who promptly refused. Irritably. Causing Hubby to growl and bark. Until I finally said, "Forget it!" I mean, seriously...who wants a picture of this?
We sat and we ate. And we made strained small talk.
And by that evening, we were back to normal.
Fast-forward to this weekend.
The grandparents came up, and we were taking the kids to Six Flags. We had extra tickets, so each kid got to invite a friend. I was glad, because I expected they would want to go off separately from each other and have non-irritating, non-sibling fun. We got inside the park and went our separate ways. A couple hours later, I texted Hillary..."Where r u? And have u seen ur brother?"
She answered, "He's with me. We r at The Ninja."
Well, what do you know?
We old folks made our way over there just in time to see the four of them come off the ride...smiling and glowing like only teenagers who just came off a roller coaster can do. "Mom!" Hillary exclaimed. "We want to take an Old Tyme Photo, but we don't quite have enough money."
So we adults/money givers, followed them to the shop. We watched them dress up and act out. We shelled out the cash for the two pictures they would illegally share later. And we admitted we had had enough fun for grown-ups for one day. We let the kids stay and we left to get dinner. Hillary would drive them home later.
I watched my son and daughter and their friends walk away from me side by side. Enjoying each other's company and making fun memories. And I had to smile.
Sometimes things don't go the way you expect them to.
Isn't it grand?
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Desired Outcomes
I recently participated in a Parent Survey which asked the questions, "What makes a parent successful?" and "What is your desired outcome for your kids?" My answer was that a parent is successful if they KNOW their children, and that what I hope my kids become is the most THEMSELVES they can be. I want them to be grown-ups that know who they are, pursue their dreams with gusto, fail and fall...but know how to get back up and learn from experience. I want them to be people who like who God made them...and who are liked by others.
So when my sister-in-law said this...my heart smiled.
"I just have to tell you what great kids you have. I mean, really...they are just good to be around."
And she should know after having spent several hours in a car with the both of them.
I think she meant...they know how to talk with adults.
I think she meant...they are smart and funny.
I think she meant...they each have quirks and they know it but they don't seem to mind.
So as I watched them being THEM throughout the wedding weekend...
Proudly escorting the moms of the bride and groom...
Hunting with my brother and making him laugh...
Sitting with girls in church on Sunday and acting "cool"...
Taking a huge responsibility like saving memories and turning it into something creative and unique...
Sitting with the grown-ups in a smoke-filled room and getting the jokes...
Finishing a college assignment by taking pictures of mom and dad in a cotton field...
I smiled and thought about "desired outcomes".
And knew that what they are is what I hoped they would be.
And whatever else they become is exactly what I hope they will be.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Exposing the Truth
I was sitting at the kitchen table, chatting with my brother and sister-in-law, telling the story of how I went to the Pleasure Zone (the closest "adult" store) to find a lingerie shower gift. How I had never been there...how I had to show my ID just to get in the door...how there were many interesting and educational things on display...how after 34 years of living and birthing two babies I still didn't know what the plastic mold of two feet were for...when Parker piped up, "So THAT'S where you were."
I paused.
Of course he was sitting with us, drinking in our laughter and storytelling, because that's how we do it at our house.
"What are you talking about," I asked.
"Well, when Hillary picked us up from school on Friday (meaning him and his two female friends), I asked where you were and she said you were at the Pleasure Zone."
WHAT?
Hillary told two random 14 year old girls that Parker's mom couldn't pick them up from school because she was visiting the Pleasure Zone?!?
There goes my reputation.
I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing.
After all, it was the truth.
And I've always told my kids the truth.
See, I believe that kids can handle it. From a pretty young age, kids know what's going on...even if they may not know how to express it. They know when Mom's stressed and they know when Parents love each other. They know when you're lying and when you're telling the Truth. They see it if you profess one things to your friends and then live out something different. So I've let them know me, warts and all. And they return the favor.
And it works for us.
And that's the Truth.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
Grown Up
As I was sitting downstairs, enjoying some rerun on tv, Parker texted me from the far away reaches of...his bedroom.
"What are we doing Friday?"
I thought for a moment, checked my handy phone calendar, and replied, "Nothing that I know of."
He went on to explain that he had been invited to a girl's house to watch movies. Wanting to save me time and trouble he figured he could go home with her from school and then Hillary could pick him up later. How sweet of him to keep me completely out of it.
I know the family and I know that this may be his first "hang-out date" but it won't be his last and I know how much he wants this...so I say it sounds fine to me.
And the next day, I email the other mom.
And discover that there will be two girls and my son alone at their house watching a movie while this mom and dad are down the street having dinner with friends. She said it should be fine bc they are all "good kids".
My heart sank.
Parker is a low-key guy. He doesn't ask for much and he doesn't get excited about much. But I knew he REALLY wanted this. He is a good kid. And I REALLY wanted him to have friends and fun. Some part of me didn't want to disappoint him. For a split second, I actually considered it.
But then the bigger part of me...the part that is the Grown Up...the part that is the Good Mom...spoke up. And I knew I had to say no.
Later that night, I talked it over with Hubby, and then called Parker into the kitchen.
"I need to tell you something. You know your plans for Friday night...?"
"-are gonna work!" he interrupted hopefully.
"There isn't gonna be a grown-up there." I said.
His face fell. But he just groaned and said, "Ok." Then he went back downstairs to watch tv. He didn't like it, but he understood it and wasn't going to fight it. That's the kind of kid he is.
I was thinking, "This SUCKS!"
And then Dad saved the day.
"Hey," he said suddenly. "Why don't the girls just come over here? We will be home and they can watch the movie here until the other parents get home."
We floated the idea by Parker and he happily agreed.
And that is how we came to have two giggly girls and two only-recently-macho boys (of COURSE the neighbor boy came over!) in our basement on a Friday night...eating my homemade pizza and looking up music videos on the computer and hoola hooping on the wii. Having all kinds of teenage fun. Because they aren't Grown Up yet, and they shouldn't have to be. I want them to have the fun they ARE ready for without the responsibility they AREN'T ready for.
So I will continue to make sure my son gets to be the kid he is.
And I will be the Grown Up.
"What are we doing Friday?"
I thought for a moment, checked my handy phone calendar, and replied, "Nothing that I know of."
He went on to explain that he had been invited to a girl's house to watch movies. Wanting to save me time and trouble he figured he could go home with her from school and then Hillary could pick him up later. How sweet of him to keep me completely out of it.
I know the family and I know that this may be his first "hang-out date" but it won't be his last and I know how much he wants this...so I say it sounds fine to me.
And the next day, I email the other mom.
And discover that there will be two girls and my son alone at their house watching a movie while this mom and dad are down the street having dinner with friends. She said it should be fine bc they are all "good kids".
My heart sank.
Parker is a low-key guy. He doesn't ask for much and he doesn't get excited about much. But I knew he REALLY wanted this. He is a good kid. And I REALLY wanted him to have friends and fun. Some part of me didn't want to disappoint him. For a split second, I actually considered it.
But then the bigger part of me...the part that is the Grown Up...the part that is the Good Mom...spoke up. And I knew I had to say no.
Later that night, I talked it over with Hubby, and then called Parker into the kitchen.
"I need to tell you something. You know your plans for Friday night...?"
"-are gonna work!" he interrupted hopefully.
"There isn't gonna be a grown-up there." I said.
His face fell. But he just groaned and said, "Ok." Then he went back downstairs to watch tv. He didn't like it, but he understood it and wasn't going to fight it. That's the kind of kid he is.
I was thinking, "This SUCKS!"
And then Dad saved the day.
"Hey," he said suddenly. "Why don't the girls just come over here? We will be home and they can watch the movie here until the other parents get home."
We floated the idea by Parker and he happily agreed.
And that is how we came to have two giggly girls and two only-recently-macho boys (of COURSE the neighbor boy came over!) in our basement on a Friday night...eating my homemade pizza and looking up music videos on the computer and hoola hooping on the wii. Having all kinds of teenage fun. Because they aren't Grown Up yet, and they shouldn't have to be. I want them to have the fun they ARE ready for without the responsibility they AREN'T ready for.
So I will continue to make sure my son gets to be the kid he is.
And I will be the Grown Up.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Dance
So I thought Hillary was laid back about dances. But I swear her brother makes her look like a diva by comparison.
He talked about Homecoming all week...the pep assemblies...the spirit days...the moves the band would do at Friday's game...but nary a word about the Dance. A co-worker who has a son the same age asked me if Parker was going. I replied that I had no idea.
And then, on the way to the Football game that night, Parker (who had to be there early) called Hillary on her cell phone. He wondered if we had already left the house. He needed us to bring him some clothes for the dance. Which would start in 3 hours immediately following the game. Total afterthought. No big deal.
So after the halftime show (at which the band totally ROCKED, by the way) we followed him into the band room as he stripped off his outer uniform.
Me - "So what clothes, exactly, do you want?"
Parker - looking at Hillary - shrugging - "You just pick me out something."
Are you serious???
The two of them finally decided on the perfect outfit and Hillary made him promise to dance with a girl.
Then she and I ran home and gathered the goods. We got back just as the game was ending and handed the mess of clothes and shoes to Parker. He went off to change and (I found out later) walk into the dance through the back band door because he hadn't even bought a ticket. Talk about playing it loose!
But he came home with a smile on his face and stories to tell. His first high school dance now just a fresh memory.
And I am reminded one more time that life doesn't have to be planned out ahead of time. And it's ok to let your friends and your sister help you out. Because it's not about what you wear. You still get to DANCE!
He talked about Homecoming all week...the pep assemblies...the spirit days...the moves the band would do at Friday's game...but nary a word about the Dance. A co-worker who has a son the same age asked me if Parker was going. I replied that I had no idea.
And then, on the way to the Football game that night, Parker (who had to be there early) called Hillary on her cell phone. He wondered if we had already left the house. He needed us to bring him some clothes for the dance. Which would start in 3 hours immediately following the game. Total afterthought. No big deal.
So after the halftime show (at which the band totally ROCKED, by the way) we followed him into the band room as he stripped off his outer uniform.
Me - "So what clothes, exactly, do you want?"
Parker - looking at Hillary - shrugging - "You just pick me out something."
Are you serious???
The two of them finally decided on the perfect outfit and Hillary made him promise to dance with a girl.
Then she and I ran home and gathered the goods. We got back just as the game was ending and handed the mess of clothes and shoes to Parker. He went off to change and (I found out later) walk into the dance through the back band door because he hadn't even bought a ticket. Talk about playing it loose!
But he came home with a smile on his face and stories to tell. His first high school dance now just a fresh memory.
And I am reminded one more time that life doesn't have to be planned out ahead of time. And it's ok to let your friends and your sister help you out. Because it's not about what you wear. You still get to DANCE!
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