Happy AnyWay

I sit on the beach and look past my sand-covered toes at the bobbing heads that are my family.  And I am completely happy. 
Happy that Hillary and Parker are jumping waves and boogie boarding and enjoying the ocean without fear.  Happy that my husband is egging them on, calling out things for them to try and outdoing them with his underwater flips. 
And Happy that they let me sit, enjoying the beach my favorite way...watching the glittering horizon...reading my book...holding my umbrella over my too-sun-sensitive skin. 
Occasionally they come back, one at a time or grouped together, and drip all over my blanket.  They breathlessly describe the fun they've been having and take treats out of the cooler.  They give me kisses with cold wet lips and then they head off into the surf for another round. 
I have always tried to let my children be who they are.  And with a little trial and error they seem to have discovered some things they like and some things they don't.  Some things they have in common and some things that are unique to each one.  I revel in it...this "to each his own" freedom in our family.
But I am still surprised when they return the favor.  They always let me know that they would be happy for me to join them...but they carry their happiness out to sea with them when I politely decline.
And we are happy...any way!

Flash Forward

As part of our family vacation, we visited the Newseum in Washington, D.C.  We probably wouldn't have known this place existed except that it is one of the places Hillary was introduced to during one of her trips a couple of summers ago.  It has only been open since 1997 and is a 6 story compilation of the best of journalism and the people who bring us the happenings of the world.  Hillary fell in love with the place and it fanned the glowing embers in her heart into flame, solidifying her decision to make Photojournalism her career goal. 
We oohed and ahhed and took pictures with cardboard G-Men.  We looked at Pulitzers and the Guttenheim Bible and re-lived the pain of 9/11. 
And about half-way through the day, we noticed some breaking news happening right outside the museum.  The streets were blocked off and police cars had lights flashing.  Fire trucks wailed in the distance, making their way to where we were.  And a man was sitting in the back of a police truck being dressed in "bomb gear".  Hillary grabbed my camera and we headed to the rooftop patio where we could get a God's eye view of the action. 
And there was a moment...as Hillary was hanging over the edge of the balcony, snapping picture after picture...showing no fear and determined to "get" the story...that it was like time folded in on itself and I saw what could be the future. 
And I was terrified at first.  I don't want my child to be the one running to the danger...going to war...risking her life to show us the world and the truth.
But then I was proud.  Proud to know that if this is the path she takes, she will be one of the best.  And the rest of us will know the world better as we see it through her unusual eyes.  God has made her uniquely for her calling.  And he will take her to it and through it.  (And me too!)
The bomb threat proved to be a false alarm and everything went back to normal.  We finished our tour and went on to the next attraction.
But the image of that moment was flash-burned into my heart.

My Fair Lady

I put Hillary in a beauty pageant once.  She was only two and I was still in my teens...so I was easily convinced to give it a try.  We borrowed a frilly white dress, curled her short golden bangs under, and lined up back stage.  I was not prepared to be surrounded by moms with mini-salons and make-up bags, barking orders at their 3 year olds to stand like dolls so they didn't mess themselves up before show time. I knew right away I had made a mistake.  I wasn't surprised when Hillary's name wasn't called in the first "cut".  But I WAS surprised when she ran out on stage anyway...waving and laughing...just happy to be there!  I swore, Never Again.

But here we are 16 years later, and Hillary comes home with an announcement...She has put HERSELF in the contest for Fair Queen of our county fair.  I shuddered inside, but smiled and supported as she handled the details in a newly grown-up way.  

She turned in her paperwork on time and found a sponsor for her Parade Float.  She attended the many activities and enlisted the help of her grandmas to find costumes and props.  

And while many of the girls chose float themes that would allow them to dress in formals and stand looking pretty, our girl chose to be the Director of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. 

The whole family got involved sorting candy and attaching "Golden Tickets" to be handed out by Oompa Loompas along the parade route.  

Hilly Wonka had more detail and characters on her float than any of the other girls.  I was pleased to see how many of her friends were willing to paint their hair green, or sweat it out in a Blueberry Girl pillowed costume just to help Hillary out.

And it paid off!  Her float won first place!  

Next was the talent competition.  Wearing a dress she had found at a thrift store, Hillary performed a rousing rendition of "Popular" from the musical "Wicked".  

She wowed the crowd...and won first place!  

By this point I was realizing that it didn't matter how it all ended...she had already had enough fun to make it worthwhile. The only thing left was the evening gown competition.

We arrived at the fairgrounds to find a colorful bouquet of girls in fancy dresses...hair salon perfect...and standing still with battery-operated fans pointed at their perfect faces because it was HOT out there. Not our girl...she put her make up on in her boyfriends car, fluffed her hair, and commenced to flitting from girl to girl...laughing and complimenting and lightening the mood as she tends to do.

And then she strutted her stuff...

And danced the dances they had just learned the day before without missing a beat...

When her question came up, "What is the best advice anyone has ever given you?" she responded with poise...explaining that her Dad had told her when she came into high school to relax and enjoy herself because you only get one high school career.  And she had.

(You will have to imagine Dad's teary eyed face in the crowd as it was too dark to capture it with my camera!)

And finally, it was time. 

Hillary held hands with the friend next to her...

and gave this face when they called her name!

She was crowned and cloaked and clapped for.  And my faith in the world was a little bit restored.  It hadn't been expensive dresses or fake teeth...salon hair or pageant coaching...political connections or breast implants that had won this competition.  It had been true Grace and Poise and Confidence.  It was inner beauty that couldn't be contained.  

Our princess is now, truly, a Queen.

Joy and Peace

Team Player

No one was more surprised than I when Parker announced he was playing football this year.  Of course I didn't want him to.  Of course I had visions of broken collarbones and twisted knees and of his beautiful boy face getting bruised and scarred.  But I took a breath and let it be his decision.
And his Dad beamed and clapped him on the back and told everyone we met that his son was playing football.
Parker came home from the first day of Football camp, heavy gear slung over his shoulder, and seemed pumped.  He showed us the footwork he'd learned and told us he had been put with the quarterbacks to practice.  But a little later, he asked me for headache medicine.
The second day, he was a little more subdued, but still had a smile on.  And asked for more headache med.
Later that night, as I cut his hair, he said, "Mom, that football helmet gives me a headache."  And my internal MommaAlert began to ding.  As we talked, I realized that he was trying to tell me he wanted to quit.  As much as I wanted to say "Thank goodness...I never wanted you to play anyway", I hedged and encouraged and let him think out loud.  Then I told him he should talk to his Dad about this.
That night, The Journal appeared on Hubby's pillow.  In his scrawling, dyslexic handwriting, Parker told his Dad he had made his decision.  He had wanted to try football...and he did.  But he knew now it wasn't for him.  He admitted that he had wanted to make his Dad and his Coach happy.  He listed his reasons, and even wrote out what he would say to Coach when he turned in his stuff.
And to my Husband's credit, he replied,
"Parker,  Thank you for telling me all that.  I love you and am proud of you no matter what you do.  I am as proud of you playing trumpet as I am of you playing football.  I had my high school experience, and now you have to have yours.  Love, Dad"
The next morning, Dad took Parker to the school and stood back watching while Parker went out and talked to Coach.  Then they came home and worked together on manly stuff...changing out brakes and headlights on our cars...getting their hands black and dirty and working in harmony.  And watching them get along, I knew everything was ok.  Because no matter what Parker plays, he knows his Dad is on his team.
So he can't lose.

Love.. and other Stuff

I have done some hard work in the last few weeks.  Emotional work  As Parker says..."getting my head fixed."
Nevertheless, as Hubby and I rode down the road in silence the other day, I couldn't help myself from posing a TOTAL "woman" question...
"Tell me something you love about me."
Now, he would have every right to roll his eyes and change the subject, as this is not the first (or the fifteenth) time I've said something like this.  And he has given me hundreds of answers through the years, from my painted toenails to the way I cook for him.  I should really know what he loves about me by now.
Still...
He didn't roll his eyes and he didn't laugh.  And he didn't even seem annoyed.
He pondered for a moment and said, "I love how peaceful you've become."
And that one sentence melted my heart.  And affirmed all the soul-searching and tears...all the journaling and counseling...all the energy it takes to learn to live a new way.
I kissed him.  And then I laughed.  And I said, "You know what I love about YOU?  I love that you never have to ask me what I love about you!"
And it's true.  The way my husband gives unconditional love and stands so securely in our love for him has taught me SO much.
So if I'm "peaceful", part of it is his fault!
And I just love that about him ;)

His and Hers

My husband and I have different parenting styles.  We have learned to mesh the two so that most of the time, they fit seemlessly together and we forget how different we are.

Nothing like a LONG car trip to remind us...

We had been packed in the car for hours.  Eating snacks out of the cooler...adjusting and readjusting various body parts...listening to hours of audio books.

We had already worn ourselves out having fun.  Visiting with my brother and his wife...playing in the ocean...watching movies...playing games.

And now we were BACK in the car.  

With miles to go before we sleep.

And it began...

"Move your feet."

"No.  You can lay over against the door."

"Move them...NOW."

"You put your head in my space ALL the way down here.  My feet aren't hurting you."

Enter Mom...

I turned off the radio and patiently asked leading questions, trying to ascertain fairness and diplomatically bring a peaceful agreement to the back seat.

But I had barely turned back around when the argument resumed.

"Get. Your. Feet. DOWN."

"You have PLENTY of room."

I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath.

Fine.  I would just let them fight it out.  That's how they learn, right?  They have to practice solving their own problems.  I can't always intervene between the two of them.  

Enter the Father...

"HILLARY PUT YOUR *^#@ FEET ON THE FLOOR! PARKER SIT UP! BOTH OF YOU SIT UP STRAIGHT AND LOOK FORWARD AND DONT SPEAK AGAIN UNTIL WE GET TO THE HOTEL!"

Silence.

And a uneventful if not peaceful ride ensued.

The next morning, over breakfast, I reminded the kids that, as almost-grown-ups they needed to use what they had been taught about treating others as they wanted to be treated.  And then I used a bit of Father-style and bluntly said, "Parker - watch your tone.  You can sound really hateful."  and "Hillary - watch your tone.  You can be really whiney."

And they nodded with understanding.  And treated each other deferentially the rest of the way home.  

And I sang quietly to myself..."It takes two to make a thing go right.  It takes two to make it out of sight..."