Directions to Neverland

Our Swiss Miss visited again this summer. Just like she has every year since her year as an exchange student at our high school. Since she doesn't have an American drivers license, she asked me to take her into the city to the mall. Then, unexpectedly, Hillary was off work and able to go with. I thought my part might be over since Hillary DOES drive and even has her own car (and paycheck)... But no- not only did they still want me to go, they wanted me to drive.
And it was like I'd travelled back in time to my daughter's junior high days. They laughed and talked over each other and painted their nails in the car and listened to their music loud. They tried on things they would never buy and bought things like boots and bejeweled cell phone covers. They ate Auntie Annes pretzels and talked about people and what they were wearing. And on the way home, they slept.
It was a fun day.
Swiss miss flew away yesterday and My Own Girl moves out in December. But even though these young women are brilliant and beautiful and can vote and buy their own gas and will probably change the world, its nice to know their little girl selves are still safely hidden inside. And that they can be called out anytime by having Mom drive them to the mall.

"Second (mall) to the right and straight on till morning"

Mirror mirror

It started innocently enough.
In an effort to cheer me up, Hubby picked up a pen and wrote a note on my bathroom mirror.
"You are so sexy to me."
I found it as I was getting ready for summer school, and it made me smile.
Since it worked so well, he kept adding things every few days, until eventually my mirror was covered with words. As I brushed my teeth every day my eyes searched the phrases until I found what was new. "thanks for being so caring." "I love to see you smile." "I like that you have shown me new hobbies." It became a game between us. And I couldn't bear to wash the mirror.
And so, as various company came and went this summer, people noticed.
And they decided to play along.
My dad added a note to Hubbys side of the mirror..."thanks for loving my daughter. Keep it up and I wont have to beat you up!"
We laughed.
And then cancer rudely butted its way into our family. And there hasnt seemed to be much to laugh about lately.
Until I went in the bathroom just now and saw another addition to my mirror. My brother in law had written "I love you for having a sister as sweet as Cassie (his wife)."
It struck me funny! And I laughed.
I laughed because he signed it with his initials. I laughed because it was unexpected. I laughed because these silly things are what make up Real Life.
I love that I am part of a family that allows everyone to help write our story. I literally look at myself through their words every day. And whether we are together or apart, healthy or sick, happy or sad, we are connected by love. That is what keeps the story alive as we hand it down to our children and their children.
And thats enough "reflection" for now :)

Father's Day(s)

Hubby and I went to a friend's birthday party this weekend. There were lots of little kids running around and we enjoyed sitting in the shade, watching their young parents run after them, wiping noses and pulling fingers out of the dog's mouth in the nick of time. We could laugh because we'd been there and done that. It was no longer OUR little boy responding to pleas of "be careful" with "I know what I'm doing!"--right before face-planting on the patio floor. And it wasn't OUR little girl carefully and daintily scraping birthday cake off the sidewalk with her fork--and EATING it. We ate our burgers in peace and didn't have to negotiate "hotdog before cake" rules with anyone. Of course, we have a whole different set of things to worry about at our kids ages. But for the moment I just enjoyed the show. I was struck at how involved the dads were- chasing boys around the yard and holding babies in the pool. It gave me hope for a new generation of hands-on daddies. And made me remember how much Hubby helped when our babies were little. He changed diapers and mixed formula and never complained about it. And as the kids have grown, so has he, going to track meets and filling out the FAFSA (a college financial aid form) and still (mostly) not complaining about it. So while we celebrate him on this Father's Day weekend, I try to make sure it isn't a once-a-year pat on the back. I tell him often that I'm thankful he made the choice to be the father, and the man, that he is. I work with plenty of children whose parent has made a very different choice. And the results are painful to watch.
Parenting is not easy. There are as many ways to mess it up as there are children in the world. But its not as hard as it might be if I had to go it alone.
So Happy Father's Day, Coach! I'm glad you're on our team...on Father's Day and all the Days in between.

Good

A few days ago my house was full of people. Cars lined the driveway and extra matresses were pulled out into the middle of the floor and the Pack n Play was wedged into a corner of the bedroom. And it was good.
Today I am sitting all alone, sipping coffee and recovering from a day spent teaching summer school. The house is quiet except for the fluttering of the blue jays right outside my window, pecking at the bread Hubby threw out. And it is good. I'm so thankful that God gave me both. A large rowdy family and the ability to enjoy being alone now and then, with moments of one on one time with special people sprinkled in. So tonight I'll cook dinner for three. And then make plans for vacation with twelve (not counting the dog). To quote Pete the Cat "It's ALL good!"

Table for Four...or Five

There are so many things I could've blogged about lately.
Like Parker's last track meet or Hillary's new job.
Or what a fabulous Mother's Day I had...

But the thing that finally got me to sit down and write was a simple Wednesday night family dinner.  Hubby and I got home from work and I started the beef and rice.  It wasn't long until Hillary sauntered through the door and perched on a bar stool, talking about her day and smiling her smile.  And then, another door-slam, a thunk of a gym bag hitting the floor, and Parker was there, asking what was cooking and adding music to the mix.
I cut up broccoli and melted cheese while they bantered about the details of this year's Senior Class Pranks as they folded towels on the table.
And then the meal was ready and we started filling plates.  And Hubby said, "Weren't we supposed to have corn?" and we laughed because I had forgotten to cook it.
John Lennon sang and we all settled around the table.  The kids laughed every time their dad tried unsuccessfully to "name that tune".
And then, yet another door-slam as Neighbor Boy joined our party.
They talked about the upcoming trip to State (track 4X100 team, on which Parker is an alternate), and Hillary reminisced about her own State Track Adventure.  They talked about music and they talked about people they liked and some they didn't.
There was nothing special about this mid-week meal...the kind we used to have nightly and think nothing of.  The kind that happens only rarely now as life moves each of us further away from each other and into that thing called The Future.  And that's why everything was special about it.  The laughter, the language, the sun shining in the windows.  The music and good food.  The relaxed openness that allows friends and neighbors to walk on in without ringing the doorbell.  It was an hour of pure happiness.
Everyone will remember the Big Things...Mother's Day and State Competitions.
But I will remember the Small Things...a Wednesday night dinner around the table.  
 They are life's dessert.

All That Jazz!

We went to see Hillary perform with her college Jazz Band tonight.
We had dinner in a corner booth with paintings of guys and dolls from the jazz era looking down on us.  The food was excellent and the company was sweet.
Then we moved downstairs, past a huge picture of Al Capone, to The Cellar, where we listened to Hillary's boyfriend and other talented musicians improv their hearts out.  Hillary and the rest of the choir wove harmonies and showed off their "scat" skills.

Hillary sang a solo, and I was struck, as always, by her confidence.  She knew every syllable by heart and entertained us with her gestures and expressions.  I leaned over to my friend sitting beside me (who also happens to be Hillary's old high school choir teacher) and said, "Man, that girl must have had a really good Choir Teacher!"  She just smiled.  But we both know she had much to do with who Hillary is today.

It was a good night, filled with food, music, my favorite Guys and Dolls...

and all that Jazz!

Baby Steps

A few weeks ago, as I was picking up laundry in Parker's room, I noticed a little bulge sticking out of a side pocket of his school bag.  I reached in and pulled out a tiny rubber fetus.  It was very life-like.  And very disconcerting.  I headed downstairs.
"Why is there a rubber fetus in your school bag?"
He looked up from his video game.
"Oh, that's from my Child Development class.  We all got one."
"What are you supposed to do with it?" I wondered aloud.
"Nothing. It's just for us to see.  It's actual size of a 20 week old."
Ok. Educational.  I guess. I had previously considered giving Parker something else small and made of Rubber designed to prevent pregnancy...but this could work too.
Then yesterday he came home toting a car seat with a 9 pound baby doll inside, complete with 2 diapers, a bottle, and a wristband for Parker so the computer chip could record how well he cared for Baby.
For the first 15 minutes, I was pretty impressed.
Parker was attentive, patient, and exceptionally gentle with Eve.  (He picked the name when he thought he was getting a girl...turns out he got a son with a girl's name. It happens.)

But soon, Little Eve began making unhappy noises.  A diaper change (which was way too non-messy to be realistic in my opinion) and all was quiet again.  Parker and son came downstairs to watch tv.
And then the real fun started.
Waaah waaaaaah!  He tried the bottle.
Waah waaaah!  He tried rocking.
By this point I was ready to send him and his homework to his bedroom.  That baby was cutting into my tv time.
He tried feeding. (Yes, he is watching tv.)

He tried burping.

He tried another diaper change.  

But eventually, he ended up doing what all exhausted new parents do....

he propped.

"Man," he exclaimed, "This was so much easier at the track meet when Lena was helping me.  She knew just what to do!"

"Which is why God intended babies to have TWO parents!" I quipped.

Fortunately, this was only a 24 hour assignment.  Eve went back to the foster home classroom this morning.  Parker got an 85%.  Apparently he missed a feeding, a burping, and a head support.

If only we could all be such competent parents.  Thank God there was no computer chip recording me when my babies were born!

Someday Parker will be a wonderful father (and hopefully, husband).  For now, I'm just glad he doesn't even have a pet goldfish.  It's a long life.  Let's take baby steps.

Field Events

"Parker wants you."
How many times through the years have I heard those words... From the church nursery when he was a toddler...from his sister when he was trying to prolong bedtime by asking for a drink...from his teammate when he just wanted me to hold his stuff during a game.
But this time the words weren't for me.
They were for his dad.
We were sitting at a track meet watching a multitude of colored jerseys milling around the track and field.  Parker was getting ready to high jump.  Most parents/spectators are required to stay in the bleachers, but Hubby strolled (like the Coach he is) right across the track lanes and onto the inner field.  I watched his broad back and his signature bright yellow hat as he stood around talking and listening to Parker and his co-competitors.  They gestured with their arms and lifted their knees and looked in deep discussion about form.  Hubby stayed put as Parker jumped...knocked the bar down...waited...jumped...made it...waited...jumped again. 
And I watched from the hill. 
It was like seeing invisible pieces of life suddenly fit together just the way they were supposed to. 
Because this father/son camraderie is new.
It's not that we've had any real "problems".  But like most animal species, there comes a time between young male and alpha male when heads butt and everything seems to be a challenge for personal honor.  For the last couple of years, I could ask Parker to scrub the toilet and he would reluctantly, but willingly go do it.  But Hubby could ask him to mow the yard and I feared for the carpet due to the sparks of fire coming out of Parker's eyes.  Homework help from Dad was impossible no matter how patiently Hubby thought he was explaining.  And even though Hubby is the Head Coach for girls basketball (and has been quite successful) Parker would stare straight ahead when Dad yelled helpful hints from the bleachers and say when we got home from the game "You are not my coach.  I only do what my coach tells me."
Hubby couldn't understand why Parker wasn't as "driven" as Hubby imagined himself to be at that age.  And I think he sometimes wondered how he had sired a son so different from himself.  

I stood between the two, seeing both sides and trying to nudge each closer to the other. 

But recently there have been signs of something new.  Parker chose his dad's old basketball number for his jersey. He rooted for Indiana in the Final Four because "well, Dad likes them...".  And he invited Hubby out onto his territory to watch him jump...close enough to offer encouragement and maybe a little critique.  And as Parker has opened up, Hubby has eagerly stepped in.  Whatever needed to be proven has been, and they are not only enjoying each other, but forging a special bond that only a Father and Son can know.  

So, when it was time for the last race to begin, and Parker asked his Dad to go to the "back stretch" because "I struggle with that section", I didn't feel left out.  I smiled from my lawn chair and watched my Boys with pride.  

Out of all the events happening on the field that day, watching their relationship deepen was my favorite. 

Good Friday

The calendar said "Good Friday"...

And I have to agree!

Cruisin'

Over Spring Break I went on a cruise with my sister.  We were very excited since neither of us had ever gone on a cruise before.  And we were looking forward to some "girl time" where we could laugh and talk and not do dishes or laundry or work for a few days.
I should have known we were in for trouble when we went to Target together a few days before we left for Miami.  Sis thought we needed a couple of new sundresses to take with us.  We each chose one and headed for the dressing room.  I went into the first empty one I saw and started undressing.  I heard Sis saying she would have to wait because there were no dressing rooms free.  "Well, come in here with me," I replied through the door.  "There's plenty of room."
And then I threw open my dressing room door to see a woman wearing a black dress and a stunned expression as she tried not to stare at my biscuit-dough belly.
She was not my sister.
I gathered as much dignity as one can wearing only a bra, panties, and ankle socks, and slammed the door.
My sister was a few steps down, crying-laughing.
I wish that was the end of the story, but before we left that dressing room I had not only exposed myself to a stranger, but also tried to get into a dressing room that was not mine, opening the door (why wasn't it locked??) on some poor girl whose face I (thankfully) did not see.  We left Target with a few new laugh wrinkles, but no new clothes.
Undeterred we packed our old shorts and swimsuits and flew to Miami where we got in a thousand-person line to board the Carnival Imagination.  Ahead of us was a group of Asians in matching yellow and orange windbreakers.  And behind us were two gals who must not have gone to first grade because they obviously didn't know how to stand in a line.  They were pushing and yelling at each other and kept bumping into Sis' back.  Just when I thought we were gonna have a smackdown, the line moved and we were going through ship security and walking up the gangplank.  We found our room and then headed for the food.
And the ship slid slowly away from the dock and out to sea.

We explored the ship (which means we got lost lots of times).  We ate tons of good food.  We went to a comedy show and drank fruity umbrella drinks and watched a guy propose to his girlfriend.  We changed clothes a lot.

And we laughed.
We explored Key West...

And we laughed.
We conquered Cozumel....

And we laughed.  Mostly she laughed at me.  I can't help it if I'm sensitive to the sun.  I considered wearing a burqa, but couldn't find one colorful enough for Mexico.

We talked and shopped and ate and drank and wondered how our steward, Winston, could make animals out of towels.

Eventually our ship turned toward home and we made sure to squeeze every drop of fun and sun out of the last day at sea.

Tired, but happy, we got back on the plane and attempted to leave Miami.  Two delays and lots of turbulence later all the "happy" I had stored up on the bonnie blue sea was evaporating into the blue sky.  When the stewardess finally made it to our seats with her cart, I considered asking for a parachute.  But instead I just made do with a Coke.  I was hungry, tired, and I really had to pee.
Then my sister pulled out the camera, and we started going through the pictures.  Soon we were laughing like we always do.

And then we were pulling our rolling suitcase through the airport where my sweet, thoughtful Man was waiting with a bouquet of fresh flowers for me (He always does this when he picks me up from the airport).  Only this time he had two bouquets...one for each of us girls.
And our skies were blue again.
I missed Hubby and the kids.  But I'm glad I made memories with my sister.  Cruisin' through life is easier when we're in the same boat.

Sweet Moments

As Forrest Gump's mom said, "Life is like a box of chocolates."
Today was an extra large economy box.
So I'm savoring the sweet moments that sit like sugar on my tongue.  After all, I need something to get rid of the black licorice taste of the moment when I couldn't get the movie out of the RedBox and the 12 year old kid behind me had to step up and touch the screen for me.  "I have used RedBox before!" I protested lamely.  But she just rolled her eyes.
Anyway...sweet moments...
Sleeping in until the sun peeked in my window.
Driving along in the sunshine with my Boys and still maintaining complete control of the radio.
Watching Hubby dote on his little girl cousin and remembering what a good daddy he was to our Girl when she was Little.
Parker's smooth, fuzz-free jawline now that he's a regular shaver.  And the few perfectly placed zits to balance the manliness with teenager.
Hillary's happiness over the posters advertising her next Concert in the Cafe, dotting her college campus with her own name and face.
The way Son and Daughter hugged when they saw each other tonight after a week of going their own way.
Snuggling under the covers with my Man, sliding my cold feet onto his warm ones, and burrowing into his back until we are connected in 100 places from nose to toes.
Mmm...delicious.

Cooking up a Story

"What's for dinner?"
Parker had just come in from track practice, sweaty and tousled and ready to consume large amounts of protein.    Fortunately, I had already made myself a snack.  I've learned how to survive around here.
"How about breakfast for dinner?" I asked as I cleaned out the fridge for him.
"That sounds Ah-mazing!" he replied before disappearing downstairs.
I put biscuits in the oven, filled a pan with bacon, and started scrambling eggs.
And then...he was back.
With a book.
"I know what I can do while you cook," he said.  "I'll read to you."
And he did.
As I flipped and stirred and scrambled, he read about an underwater futuristic world in which a teenage boy and girl meet and begin an adventure.  He had checked it out from the school library and had already read the whole thing for his class.  But he thought I would enjoy it.  So he re-checked it, just for me.
I couldn't help remembering how excited he'd been about learning to read as a 5 year old.
And then how frustrated he'd been as a faltering first grader.  The words just didn't cooperate with his brain.  He made a valiant effort.  I happened to be in college (for the second time) and put my Teaching Reading classes to work.  I gave him Reading Surveys and Phonemic Awareness tests, made sight word games and took Running Records.  I found a web site with Lego comic strips to motivate him to keep reading SOMEthing.  But it never got easy for him.  And by third grade he resisted reading like a dog resists a trip to the vet.
So through it all, I read to him.
I love books...have always loved books.  And I didn't want him to lose the magic of Story.  So I read to him. And to keep him from feeling singled out, I kept reading to Hillary and even to Hubby.
And I never stopped.
Eventually (fifth grade) we found out he had Dyslexia.  We got a 504 plan at school and a tutoring program that provided strategies that worked with his unique brain.  His grades began to improve.  His confidence began to bloom.  But he still didn't choose to read if he didn't have to.  I pretty much gave up hope that he'd ever read for pleasure.
And now this handsome high school kid is standing in my kitchen, reading to me for fun.  His deepening voice still falters over a word now and then.  And he stops to ask me what something means.  His phrasing is a little un-even.  But all I hear is a miracle blooming.  He wrestles the words to get to the magic of Story.  What I've spent years sharing with him, he is now sharing with me.
I fill his plate with food and he fills my heart with hope.
He bookmarks the page.  But our story is far from over.

Weighting is the Hardest Part...

My husband has been trying to get me to lift weights with him for years.  Envisioning oiled-up, manly looking, female bodybuilders, I politely declined.  Besides, I can't afford to lose any fat in my chest area if you know what I mean...
And then, Dr. Oz changed my mind.  Dude knows what he's talking about.  Oprah doesn't let just ANYONE write articles in her magazine, ya know.    He promised my mind would be sharp, my bones would be strong, and my body would remain non-bulked up.
So that is how Hubby and I ended up in the weight room at school on a Sunday evening.  Being married to a coach has it's advantages...
Hubby carefully explained the first machine, modeling where I should put my feet and how I should bend my knees.  I stepped up onto the platform.
"Take off your coat."
"But it's cold in here."
He rolled his eyes.
"What?  Are there rules about lifting in your coat?"
He just flashed me that half-cocked smile he has.  "No, just like there's no rule about lifting in jeans and earrings."
Which is exactly what I was wearing.
I pulled on the bar 10 times and then stepped to the side.  He put actual weights on for his turn.  He likes to show off like that.
After showing me how to curl the 5 pound hand weight, he said, "Time to do planks."
I protested.
Those things are hard. Not to mention it involved getting on the dirty floor.
"Can't I do it on a bench?" I asked.
"Get on the floor," he said.
I put my coat down and rested my arms on top of it.
He set the timer on his phone for a minute.  I lasted 59 seconds.
"That was good," he said encouragingly.
"I like this workout," I stated.  "You don't sweat."
He just started laughing. "When you start lifting for real you'll sweat."
Whatever.
Finally it was time to go.  As he locked up I asked, "So how long before I can tell if this is working?"
He just shook his head.
I might need a trainer who doesn't know me so well...
I walked to the car with a warmth in my muscles, a smile on my face, and visions of my future buff body in my head.  This is gonna be good.
I can hardly weight.
 

The Naked Truth

I was already in bed when my cell phone buzzed.  It was Hillary, letting me know she would be late coming home and updating me on her night class...Figure Drawing.
"So, how's it going?" I asked.
"Oh, we started on our life sized drawings tonight." she replied. "The model is a really TALL guy.  He's like 6 foot 5 or something."
And then it got interesting.
"Did he have clothes on?" I wondered aloud, knowing this was the class she had been dreading since her first day in college.
"Nope," she chirped.  "Naked as a jay bird."
I burst out laughing.
She continued, "I was hoping I'd get the back.  But no such luck.  I'm on the side towards the front.  I leaned over to the girl next to me and said, 'Great, look what we get to draw'."
I was guffawing.
She seemed to be taking it all in stride.
We've always been fairly open about body parts around here.  In my opinion, the more matter-of-fact you can make things, the less mysterious forbidden appeal they have.  No silly "wee-wees" or "kitty cats" in our family.  We used the correct anatomical names for everything.  We even had a family discussion once about the plural form of the word "penis".
I'm very PC.
Until...the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition showed up in our mailbox today.  I flipped through it and promptly hid it in a stack of Oprah magazines by my bed that I was sure Parker would never touch.  This was mild compared to what I did to Hubby's first Swimsuit edition the first year we were married.  THAT glossy little magazine was reduced to shreds by my kitchen scissors.
Anyway...I digress.
So why does it bother me more for my 16 year old son to gawk at mere pictures of a woman than it does for my 20 year old daughter to study the folds of a real live man?
I have no idea.
Maybe it's because she's an adult and he's a teenager with raging hormones.
Nah.
I think it's because the Swimsuit girls are a carefully crafted illusion, created to sell lies to my son.  The entire purpose is to hide flaws and embellish assets and make him reach for something that doesn't exist.  While the Art Model is human.  Real flesh and bone.  Hair, moles, and all.  The entire purpose is to see what's really there.
And besides....the One-Eyed Monster ain't pretty.  I doubt Hillary will be seduced.
Oops!  What was that I was saying about using proper names???
Anyway, the bottom line (no pun intended) is that I can't hide my children's eyes from everything.  I have to trust that they will make good decisions based on what we've tried to teach them.  And that they will feel comfortable enough to come to us for help if (or when) they don't.
And that's the naked truth.

Loved

I scrolled through facebook today and smiled at my friends' posts about Valentine's Day gifts.  I didn't get roses, chocolate, or a diamond bracelet.  But I don't mind.  As corny as this sounds, I feel so ridiculously loved most days that I don't need a holiday to make my heart flutter.
When Parker hugs me for no reason...when Hillary posts something sweet on my facebook wall...when my Handsome Hubby supports my Starbucks habit...
I feel loved.
Impromptu family movie nights and phone calls from my parents and texts from my friends make me feel loved.  When Parker cleans his plate AND the serving dishes and declares my cooking "amazing" I feel loved.
And when Hillary thinks it's a compliment that people say she looks like me, I feel loved.
Even the chore of weekly grocery shopping turns into a date as Hubby and I take time for lunch out together, and then observe our silly ritual of sharing a Peanut Butter Snickers on the way home (shhh don't tell the kids).
If I had a charm on a bracelet for every act of love lavished on me, my scrawny arms couldn't lift it.
Fortunately, my heart is big enough to hold them all.
 

Seeing the Spider

"Mom, have you written any new blogs lately?" Parker asked.

"No...I just haven't had time and I haven't been inspired..." 

"Well, you should."

And he's right.  I've been making excuses to myself.  The kids are mostly grown now. They probably don't want my anecdotes about them all over the internet.  Especially Parker...I mean he's a teenage boy.

Fate has a way of bursting our myths.

The truth is I've been hiding.

Recent events have left me feeling sad and betrayed and questioning myself.  So I have retreated from everything that would give other people a peek into my life.  But the truth is, there are so many more people in my life who love me and want me and need access to my heart than there are those who hurt on purpose...or even unintentionally.  

A friend who recently had her first baby said to me, "I wish more women would talk about ALL aspects of motherhood...not just the fun stuff." She is so right. 

One day last summer Parker was peering out our back window through a pair of binoculars.  "Mom! You have to come look at this spider!"

He knows I'm terrified of spiders, so he never misses an opportunity to point out a big scary one.

He handed me the binoculars.  But try as I might, all I saw was the many trees in our back forest.  

"I don't see anything."

He took the binoculars back and looked again.  "It's right there.  See right between those two trees."

I tried again.  Nothing.

And then he reached over while I was still looking through the lenses and turned the focus knob a bit.

And like magic it appeared! A huge beautiful Charlotte of a spider!  Hanging in mid-air on an intricately spun web.  She had been there all along.  I just had to have the right focus.  

I try to make my blog about the spiders.  The good stuff.  I focus in on 5 happy minutes and make an entire story about it.  And  that is important.  

But the truth is I have WAY more trees in my life than spiders.  We struggle financially and my house is rarely clean and my kids do stuff like wreck cars and sing in bars.  I let things go sometimes that I shouldn't because I'm too tired or lazy to confront.  Sometimes I skip church.  Sometimes my son gets detention and my daughter runs out of gas.  I don't always like my kids.  I don't always like my husband.  I don't always like myself.  

But if we didn't have those trees, where would the spider hang her web?

It all mixes together to make my backyard.  

It all mixes together to make my life.

Today I want to see the spider...AND the trees.

The Web

I used to think parenting was all about me.  It was my job, my calling, and if I didn't execute every detail of every day correctly my children would be forever scarred and the world would be a dark place.
Thank God I got over that!
Our family is not a wheel with me as the hub...all spokes  by necessity connecting to me.
It's more like a web...all of us connected to all of us simultaneously.
Parker would never learn this if it had to come through me.

There are some things only my Man can teach him.
And then again, when the time came for Parker to shave for the first time (I guess he got tired of his sister calling him "The 'Stache") it was me he elbowed to follow him to the bathroom.  I didn't do anything but stand there and supervise, but he seemed to be happy with that.
So it's not an exact science, this parenting thing.

Even siblings sometimes do it.  Hillary was asking me just last night what I thought about a certain situation involving Parker and some of his friends.  He hadn't even told me about it.  I could let my feelings be hurt and worry that I should be more "in control" of the details of his social life...OR I could be happy he has a sister to confide things in.  A girl who loves him as much as she gets annoyed with him.  And that's a lot!  A girl who has learned some of her own lessons the hard way and is willing to share her wisdom.

This web we've woven is strong, but flexible.  And when one strand gets tugged, we all feel it in some way.
And it doesn't stop with us.  My children have grandparents, aunts and uncles, and family friends who are part of our intricate pattern.  It makes our web larger and stronger.  Kind of like a safety net.
So instead of worrying, we can have fun...

which adds beauty to our web.

from Charlotte's Web

Charlotte's Daughters: "Oh!  That would take us a lifetime!"

Wilbur: "A liftetime.  That's what we have."