Curbed

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.

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...

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.  

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.

Hillary 

Parker and his best friend Cassidy (aka Joseph and Mary)

Parker and Hillary as toys in Santa's toy shop

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.

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. 

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.

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!

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.

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!

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."

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!