Someone's Child

Sometimes parenting is so much fun.
Sometimes parenting is very rewarding.
And sometimes it is just flat out HARD!  Sometimes it feels like a big fat sack of thankless responsibility.
Like those times when you have to set boundaries for your kid for their own good and they don't understand it.  Or when you have to say no to something they want.  And the conversation might go something like this..
"All I want is..."
Yes, child, but you can't see how getting that thing will lead to things you DON'T want. When Dad and I say no, there is a good reason.  We never say no just for saying no's sake.
"You don't understand!"
Actually, I do.  In this case YOU are the one who doesn't understand.  But that's ok because I have had the experience, and you haven't.  So whether you understand or not, I will help you do the right thing.
"I'm mad because you didn't give me..."
I know.  But you seem to forget all the things I HAVE given you.

And then I hear God standing right behind me clearing his throat.
Because lately, I've been feeling like a thwarted child.
"God, all I want is for my sister to be healed of cancer...my kids to be happy all the time...my job to be easy....  Why are you telling me no?"
When I say no, it is for a good reason.  I never say "no" just for saying no's sake.
"But you don't understand!"
Actually, I do.  In this case YOU are the on who doesn't understand.  But that's ok because I can see the whole picture and you can't.  So whether you understand or not, I will do the right thing for you.
"I'm mad because you didn't give me...more money, less pain, the answer I wanted..."
I know, dear little daughter that I love, but you seem to forget all the things I HAVE given you.

And like someone's Child, I cry and pout.  But like someone's Child, I still love my Parent.
And hopefully, I grow.  Like I have seen my own children do.

Someday, my kids will have kids.  And they will see things in a whole new way.  Just as someday, I will sit with my Father and understand.  But for now, I will give my child grace and love.  And I will rest in the Grace and Love given to me. Because I am Someone's Child.

Good Times, Best Years

I recently overheard a group of women talking about how hectic their lives are. How they are so busy with their babies and preschoolers that they can't even go to the bathroom alone.  An older grandmother sighed, "Yes, but they are the best years of your life."

I wanted to shout, "Don't say that!"

Lord knows I remember those days.  Sleepless nights, early mornings, ear infections, diapers, preschool field trips, Barbie dolls and motorcycles littering the floor, finding quality daycare, PAYING for quality daycare, t-ball games, sunday school, reading books and watching cartoons.  And they WERE good days.  Baby bath perfume and snuggles, tickle-fests, birthday parties, and complete control over where they went and who they were with. 

But to think that those are the best years and it's all downhill from there is a little sad.  

With each new stage, my children brought me good things and bad.  Challenges and new ways to have fun.  Learned new things themselves and taught me new things about myself.  

Even the dreaded "teenage" years have brought us joy and laughter along with bouts of emotional angst.

And now my children are launching into their own lives and I suddenly have more time to pursue hobbies that used to be only a dream.  Hubby and I have big chunks of time to go on mini-dates or attend a bible study together or just sit and watch tv (and watch what WE want to watch!).  I use the bathroom alone.

So if you asked me to pick the best years of my life, I would have to say...ALL of them!

They have not all been easy.

But they have all been good.

The Last One

As we pulled into the garage, Hubby said, "I need to mow this yard tomorrow."
We got out and walked toward the door.  Hubby stopped to pick up the gas can to make sure he had enough for the mower.
But the can was empty!
Hubby just shook his head, snorted a little like a bull about to charge, and said, "That kid!"
Apparently Parker had run out of his allotted gas money for the month.  Being the resourceful kid we have raised him to be, he raided the lawn mower gas.
I couldn't help laughing.
Through the years, Hubby has lost tools one by one, had his dolly cart robbed of it's wheels, opened the match box to start the grill only to find it empty of matches, and had his favorite snacks devoured while he slept.  Just the other day, I sent Hubby to the store for some chicken breasts and he came back with two bags of Chips Ahoy.  One of them was some new concoction with peanut butter cup chips.  Hubby LOVES peanut butter.   I'm sure he wanted to dig into them right then and there, but like a good grown up, he waited til after supper. We ate and then had to go to bible study.  Hubby shoved a few cookies in his mouth before we left.  When we got home both cookie packages were missing.  Seeing the steam start to come out of  Hubby's ears I sent Parker a quick text. "Please tell me the cookies are not all gone!"
"There are some regular ones down here" he texted from the basement den.  "But the peanut butter ones are gone.  And I didn't eat them all, I swear."  Having a friend who practically lives at our house comes in handy sometimes...
As I tried to console my peanut butter-deprived man, he pointed out to me that the kids NEVER take my last bit of snacks.  I pointed out that I eat healthy stuff that the kids wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole.  Then I remembered that they have both saved the last can of Coke for me on various occasions.  Hubby believes this is due to their great fear of me.  I choose to believe it's their great love for me.
Either way, it will all be over soon.  Today, we went to watch Parker march in a band competition.  We started going to this competition 6 years ago when Hillary began Varsity Band.  And as we walked up the sidewalk, I said, "Well, this is the last time we will do this."
Kids grow up and eventually have little ones of their own who will steal their cookies, lawn mower gas, and hearts.  And Hubby and I will remain, with full cookie bags and gas cans, and an empty house.  So I will laugh and enjoy Parker.  He is my Last One.

Not My Cup of Tea

Last weekend we traveled to a family reunion.  And, in a way, it was a mini-family reunion for us and our kids as well.  Not only did Hillary and Parker go with us, but they brought along their boyfriend and girlfriend.  I borrowed my dad's minivan and we packed it full of people and pillows, bags and boxes.  We drove into the sunrise with high spirits and McDonald's breakfasts.  We played the "cd game" where we took turns picking numbers (one for a cd, and the other for the track on that cd).  It was fun.  For a while.
Thirteen hours later, (after more food, a wedding, more food, visiting, and more food) we finally made it to the place we were staying.  I did what I always do...I made coffee.
My children are not coffee drinkers, so I only made a few cups.  I came down the stairs with my steamy mug and Parker's girlfriend said, "You made coffee?"
"Yep" I replied.
"Oooh..I want some!"
"Me too!" piped Hillary's boyfriend.
And that was the moment I knew...
My children had picked well.
Throughout the years I have been careful to not give my opinion away when it comes to my children's "significant others".  I learned early that the quickest way to get them to ditch a good one or hold on to a bad one was for a Parental Figure to voice a comment.  Besides, I am not the one who needs to like the person.  As long as my child likes them and they treat my babies well, I will be happy.
But drinking coffee is a definite plus.
Fortunately, both my children are currently in relationships with people who blend well with the family, have personality, seem to like my kids back, and are good looking to boot! They seem to be just my kids' cup of tea.
And my cup of coffee.

Spot On

Hubby loves to lift weights.
Me? Not so much.
But in an effort to love my man...and since I am tired of not being able to open my own jars...I have agreed to go to the weight room with him a few nights a week.
Not wanting to miss out on the fun, Parker is joining us.
And so, it has become a family affair.  Which I am LOVING!
The first night, I expected to be given my list of lifts, and for us all to be doing our workouts simultaneously.  How silly of me.  Apparently, there is an etiquette to this.  We all stand around the same machine.  I go, they rearrange the weights (which means they actually put some ON), Hubby goes, and then Parker goes.  It seemed like a huge waste of time to me, until Hubby explained that doing it this way gives everyone's muscles "rest time" between lifts.  I should have known men would figure out a way to let themselves rest without being obvious about it!
But this routine has other benefits as well.  When I am lifting, one of them "spots" me.  It's their job to watch how I'm doing it, correct me if I am doing something wrong, and help me if I get in trouble.  It hit me as I watched Hubby spotting Parker that this was a perfect physical picture of our family's love for one another.  Parker was bent over the bench, pulling back his arm with a weight in his hand, and Hubby was right beside him, with his own strong arms hovering close to Parkers, big hands touching Parker's elbow, supporting without actually taking the weight from him.  Because thats what kind of Dad he is. Patient and available, without taking over.
When the weight is too heavy, or you've been lifting it for too long, there is someone beside you to either make it lighter, or encourage you to push through until you get to the end.  It's not about taking the weight out of your hands, because that would never make you stronger.  Your Spotter is focused on you, talking to you the whole time, "You can do it!  Come on, three more... a little higher...don't forget to breathe..." And when it's their turn to lift, you do the same for them.
When it's over, you are all a little sweaty, a little sore, and a little stronger.
There have been plenty of times I have worried if we are doing it right.  But as I watch our little family work together through tough times, I am realizing that we are Spot On!

Senior Moments

It's 6:45 a.m.
My phone buzzes.
"Come down here and tell me if this looks good."

I smile..
It's the first day of Senior Year for Parker and I'm not sure who is more nervous, me or him!  Summer was a fast-moving river with lots of debris and now here we stand on the shores of the Last First Day.  We hadn't really talked about it much, and it seemed like no big deal.
Until the night before.
In true Parker fashion, he decided at the last minute that he needed to go school clothes shopping.  He thought, if I didn't have anything to do, I could run him to JC Penney (which is our ONLY option out here in the boondocks) to get a few new shirts.
I'm pretty sure he thinks I NEVER have anything to do....besides anticipate his last minute needs.
Anyway, I had Open House for my first graders, so I sent Hubby with him.
They came home with smiles on their faces, stories about their search, and three sharp-looking shirts for the price of one.  Parker disappeared into his room to try on every shirt with various pants...sleeves rolled up...sleeves rolled down...this pair of Adidas or that one.

And now it was morning, and he still hadn't narrowed it down.
I headed down the stairs.
I jokingly quipped as I entered his room.. "I'll tell you what looks good if you'll tell me."
I was wearing khakis and a silky top.  And flip flops.
He looked me over and said, "Lose the flip flops."
I blinked (his honesty is valuable, but abrupt sometimes) and ran upstairs to change shoes.
I came back in a pair of tan slip on dress shoes.
"God, no!  I HATE those shoes!"
Back up and down the stairs.
Black puma tennis shoes?  I was almost afraid to ask.
He glanced at me and pronounced.  "Yep.  That's better."
Having had my morning Stair Workout, we could finally turn our attention to HIS clothes which was supposedly the reason I was there...
Three changes later, he was finally happy with his ensemble, and we did the whole "stand on the front porch with your backpack and pose" first-day-of-school pics.
He looked good!
And apparently, so did I ;)
Whatever will I do when he's gone?  Who will keep me from shame when I have a Senior Moment and start to think flip flops go with khakis?
For now, I will just enjoy my handsome son posing on the porch and enjoy HIS Senior Moments.

Upended

I was away from the house the other day when I got a text from my dad.  He had gone over to borrow one of Hubby's tools.  His text said, "There is an upended lawn mower in your front yard.  Is that normal around here?"

"Yes," I responded. "Yes it is.  Welcome to my world."

  

 

Because the unusual is common when boys live in your house.

When I was pregnant with Parker and found out he was going to be a boy, I panicked.  I did not like boys much.  The ones I had known were loud and rough and gross.  And it was really hard to find cute outfits with matching shoes and bows for boys.  I don't like sports or Monster Trucks.  What on earth would I do with a boy??

And then he muscled his way into the world and stole my heart completely. 

Oh, he was loud and messy, and turned every bent stick into a toy gun (no matter how much I tried to civilize him by banning violent play).  But his chubby cheeks fit perfectly into the curve of my neck when we snuggled.  And his one little curl perfectly framed the purple bruise that seemed to live on his forehead from age 1 to at least 3. (Thank goodness he was hard headed ;)

I was transformed.  I became that mom who always had a Hot Wheel in her purse, a HandiWipe in her pocket, and an ear tuned for that inevitable it's-too-quiet-in-there sound.

And now I am the kind of mom who lives among this...

 

and this... (but we made a seat belt...see?  it's perfectly safe)

I have a random empty jug hanging from my backyard tree limb, extra cars in my driveway, and extra boys in my basement.  My TV is so complicatedly hooked up to video games, I can't turn it on when I'm home by myself. 

I have broken bicycle parts in my garage, NO money in my checkbook, and no food in my cabinets.

But I have soooo much joy in my heart!

I am thankful my life got upended.



The Princes and the Pea (sized spider)

My son is such a boy sometimes.
Like yesterday when we were walking down a nature trail and he kept spitting.  I looked over at him and said, "What IS it with boys and spitting??"  And then my husband held one nostril shut and blew the other one out ON THE GROUND!  I was aghast.
"I miss Hillary.." I muttered.

But then there are times when I see a glimmer of hope that I've somehow civilized him after all.  Like last night, when he and his friends decided to have an impromptu camp-out.  It started as a visit to his friend's campsite a few miles away.  Neighbor Boy and his family took their RV out to celebrate the holiday weekend, so Parker and his Sidekick went out to sit around their campfire.  Thirty minutes before curfew I got a text begging me to let them stay longer.  They even got Neighbor Mom involved.  She told me that they had met some other kids and were having fun and didn't want to leave.  Not wanting them to drive home in the wee hours of the morning with the drunk drivers and deer I told them to just stay the night.
They jumped at the idea, but had to come home to get a few things.
They tromped in the door smelling like campfire and outdoors.  I dug the sleeping bags out of the basement storage room and Sidekick tucked them under his arm.  "Be sure to shake them out before you get in them," I said.  "There might be spiders."  He paled and gave a girl-like squeak.  "I don't think I want to hold these anymore," he said.  He held them at arms length by the elastic strap.
In the meantime, Prince Parker was gathering up essentials - clean underwear, his toothbrush, a phone charger, cologne...
The "kids" they had met must be of the pony-tail wearing, leg-shaving variety.  Thank goodness Neighbor Mom and Dad would be out there to keep an eye.
He started up the stairs and then stopped and said, "Do sleeping bags have pillows in them?"
Hubby and I looked at each other.
"No."
"Well, then, I'm grabbing my pillow!" he said.
When they were safely out of range, Hubby and I had a good laugh!
This morning, Neighbor Mom texted me this pic of the Burrito Boys...

They made it through the night, but they look as disheveled as the poor princess who slept on the pea.  Parker confessed to his dad that caterpillars kept falling on them all night out of the trees. They were probably attracted to all that cologne. Guess the boys didn't get much sleep! They may be rough and tough by day, but put them in sleeping bags in the woods for a night with caterpillars and a pea-sized spider and their Pampered Prince sides are revealed.  

I must admit, these Princes royally rule my heart.

Orchid Donor

I am a murderer.
A plant murderer, that is.
Green things shrivel in my presence.  Blossoms wither and fall. I have a black thumb, and I have come to accept it.
My mother and my daughter, however, stubbornly refuse to give up hope.  My mother comes every spring with her shovel and gloves and a truckload of mulch.  She pulls out the weeds that have overtaken my flower beds and "amends" the soil.  She assures me as she leaves the newly planted sprouts in my inept hands that "all" I have to do is water them a little every day and keep the weeds pulled out.  I can practically hear the seedlings screaming "Don't leave us..." but she does.
My daughter takes a different approach.  Maybe all I need is something small in a pot inside the house.  Where I will see it and remember to give it water.  So she brings me flowers with beautiful blooms.  Which last about 27 hours before they commit suicide.  Last year on Mother's Day she got me an orchid.  I pretty much ignored it, knowing that I shouldn't get too attached to the pretty white blooms.  Much to everyone's surprise, it was still blooming a few weeks later.  Apparently orchids require very little water.  It lasted almost a year before if finally dried up to spidery roots and gave up the ghost.  Hillary was so proud of me she got me ANOTHER one this year.  I vowed to make this one grow.  I read the directions.  "Easy as 1-2-3!" they proclaimed.  "1.  Water once a week with 3 ice cubes. 2.  Place in well-lit spot.  3.  Keep away from drafts."
I carefully placed 3 ice cubes on the mulch in the pot, placed it on my kitchen table and crossed my fingers.
The next day the root where the ice had been looked puny.
Maybe the ice can't be directly on the root.  Ok, I will just give it water then.  I put 3 ice cubes into a cup, waited until they melted, and then measured the water.  The next week I poured out exactly that much water onto the orchid.
And one by one the petals fell off.
And the long stem started to turn brown.
And now it looks like something from a Tim Burton movie.

I texted Hillary a picture with this caption 'the orchid is well and truly dead."

Ever the Optimist she replied, 'that's ok.  It had a good try."

She offered to get me another one but I said "No!"  If plants communicate there must be molecules floating away from my house that warn 'beware...those who enter here are not long for this world'.  There is no need to put me or the Plant Kingdom through any more.  

Since no one seems to sell plants that require no water, sunlight, or care-taking, I think I will just buy some artificial Christmas trees, cut the tops out of them, and put them in front of my house as shrubs.  I will focus on nurturing children, which I do seem to have a knack for, and leave it at that.

Off Track

It had been a long day.

Field Day in First Grade had left me tired, stinky, and flat-haired.  I stood in my kitchen, browning ground beef for supper, still in my ugly yellow School Shirt and shorts.  (The next school I teach for will have to have colors I look good in.  I mean, really...what white person do you know that really looks good in yellow??) I had just remarked to Hubby, "I'm so glad we don't have anywhere to go tonight."

Then Parker breezed through on his way to the garage.  

"Gotta go up to the school for my Track Banquet.  See ya later."

Track banquet..??? What!?

I froze him in his tracks with that Look I've perfected after 21 years of parenting. 

"You have a Track Banquet?"

"Yes"

"Why didn't you tell me?  Did you not WANT me and dad to come?"

He shrugged.  "I figured you knew."

Of course...I should've used my ability to read people's minds.  I should have checked the secret MomWire that posts all important activities.  How silly of me...

I took a breath and calmly asked, "What time does it start?"

"6:00"

It was 5:31.

He went out the door and I flew to my lair to turn straw into gold.

A few minutes later Hubby came to find me.  "You ready?"

snip..snip...

"You're cutting your hair?" he asked in disbelief.  "Now?"

"Of course, now!" I replied.  Because that's what I do when my hair doesn't work with me.  I torture it with sharp instruments until it gives in and poofs a little.
He rolled his eyes and wisely walked away.
A few sprays of body spray, a swipe of deodorant, and a change of clothes later, we were in the car headed to the school.
And then I got a text from Parker.
"It doesn't start until 6:30."
Awesome.  Just enough time to do NOTHING but too much time to go inside and sit and wait.
But that is why God gave me this child.  He knew I would be the kind of woman who would petrify into her rock-solid routine and opt out of the world at large if given the chance.  So He must have thought it would be funny to give me a son who would force me to face the unexpected and adjust at a moment's notice.  The kind of child who tells me as I head to bed that he put the socks he HAS to have tomorrow on the washer.  Or eats the entire pack of hotdogs I had planned to use for supper as his afternoon snack.  A kid who brings home friends unannounced, puts off homework until the last minute, and forgets to tell me about sports awards banquets.
It turned out fine, as it always does.  And I beamed with pride as I took pictures of him receiving awards for being All Conference, All District, qualifying for State, and being recognized for earning the most points for the boys team for the season.
I thank God for this boy who keeps his mama off track.

Wonder-ful

I have started a new bible study called Wonderstruck.  The first lesson is on "awakening" to the wonder of God...noticing the things around us that reveal God and make us want to know him more.  One of the homework assignments was to write down three moments in the past week in which you've encountered the wonder of God and his handiwork.
I thought...
Then I remembered the tenderness with which my husband held me just this morning.  His gentle strength, and the way he loves me continually puts me in awe.  He has been a living, breathing example of God's love for me.
I thought some more...
And I chuckled a little at the memory of Parker laughing at himself over some silly spelling mistake he had made.  His sense of humor is so quirky and wide ranging he often makes me laugh out loud before I even feel it coming. He appreciates the cheesy and the ironic.  He reminds me of the creativity of God...the surprising way He can turn a situation on it's side and bring joy from it.
I thought a little more...
And I remembered the pictures Hillary posted of herself and a couple of other girls, dressed in formals and masks for a Masquerade Ball.  These are new friends, and she is embracing new experiences in a new place.  Her fearless willingness to try things that would scare me reminds me of the God Who Makes Things New.  She sees wonder in the world and captures it with her camera.
And this is just one week's worth.  If I never saw another sunset, or heard another song...if I never attended another church service, or marveled at a fat full moon...these three humans God has put so close to me would be enough to make me believe in God.
I think that is Wonderful.  Just like they are.

Getting the Gold

Track season is in full swing.  This is Parker's favorite sport and he participates in several events.  (And has the various pairs of shoes to prove it.  Apparently one does not high jump in the same shoes that one long jumps in - or runs in- or practices in. But that's another blog...)
Recently, at the end of another hours-long meet that was cold and windy, I stood by the fence and videoed as Parker ran the last leg of the last race - the 4X400 meter relay.  The baton touched his fingers and he shot off, pumping his arms and grimacing with the effort of giving it his all.
But the other guy  was out in front, and when they crossed the finish line, Parker was in second place.  He bent over and grabbed his knees, breathing hard and shaking his head.
And then he stepped over to the guy who just beat him and said, "Way to keep your team in first place!  Good Race!"
He continued on to the other 3 teams and shook their hands and said, "Good job." and "Nice run.'
And in that moment, I was more proud of  him than for any medal he has ever won.  He reminded me of his dad, being a good sport and remaining proud of his effort instead of getting mad or making excuses.
He may have won a silver medal, but he has a heart of gold!

Ties That Bind (and belt)

We spent Easter Sunday visiting our families Back Home.  The four of us, converging from two locations, had suitcases and stuff spread from one side of town to the other.  Sunday morning before church, Hillary decided she wanted to wear the new dress her Memaw had just given her from Avon.  But alas, she had no accessories.  What's a Fashionista to do?
"Hmmm..." she says looking in the mirror. "I only brought flat boots and that won't look right with this dress.  If only I had some red heels."
I sighed and knew this was my cue.. "I brought red heels to wear with my pants," I offered.  "You can have them."
"Sweet!" she sang.  "Now I need a belt."
She rummaged through my own mother's closet, but found nothing to her liking.
"How about a scarf?" my sister suggested helpfully.
She came out with a couple, but Christmas Pentecostal Preacher's Wife wasn't really her style.
Back in she dove.
And out she came with one of my dad's ties.  "This is perfect!" she cried.
And with a little pinning and creativity she pulled it all together.
"I wish I had some earrings..." she said glancing slyly my way.
Good thing I brought two pair.
She donned my dangly black earrings and...
Voila!

"Thanks for sacrificing your stuff for me, Mom" she said as she gave me a huge hug.  "What's one more sacrifice after 21 years?" I joked.  

She was off to join the worship team and there was nothing for me to do but take my barefoot self to MY mom's closet and borrow a pair of HER shoes. 

That's the thing about family.  Between all of us and our pieces, you can always somehow get what you need.  So, like Hillary I say, "Thanks Mom and Dad...for giving me shoes to stand in and a tie that binds."

A Starbucks Story

Parker, Hubby, and I happened to be in the city this week.  

And no trip to civilization is complete without a Starbucks stop.

As we pulled into the parking lot, Hubby made some comment about me being a "strange little woman," which automatically made me think of the line from Toy Story... "You're a sad, strange little man..." 

So I quoted it to Hubby.

He just looked blankly at me through his sunglasses.

"Do you remember what movie that's off of?  Huh? Do you?" I pestered.

Parker piped up from the backseat, "Ooh I know this!  Come on Dad, you know this."

Hubby  refused to play.

He ordered me a tall mocha and inched the car toward the window.

I thought I'd be helpful by finding a clip of the line on youtube.  I was sure if he heard it, he would remember.  

(Because this was was MUCH more fun than just TELLING him the name of the movie)

We came to a stop in front of the drive-thru window, and just as the pierced and tattooed barrista said, "hi, how are you today?" Tim Allen's voice said, "YOU ARE A SAD, STRANGE, LITTLE MAN.."

Only the guy couldn't see me holding up my phone, so he just gave Hubby a startled look.

I was crying laughing and I wished I had thought of this before.  Just think how much fun I could have making my husband say weird things to drive-thru workers.

"Say Hello to my Leetle Friend!"

"Go ahead...Make my day.."

Fortunately, the lid was already on my coffee, so the drive-thru guy couldn't spit in it like I'm sure he wanted to.  

And Hubby is good natured enough to roll his eyes at my attempts to amuse myself at his expense.  Lucky for me he loves me...to infinity and BEYOND!

No "Wires" Attached

I often hear people complain about the evils of technology.  (When I say "people" I mean "old people" because I'm pretty sure I've never heard anyone under the age of 30 complain..)  Anyway, "people" see teenagers sitting side by side in some public place, each with their fingers flying over smartphones, and lament the death of real, face-to-face interaction.  The rise of video games, facebook, and texting gets blamed for everything from the failing education system to global warming.
But I'm kind of thankful for technology.
I have a quiet son.  He can talk when he's in the mood.  But he's usually not in the mood!  If it weren't for texting, I would never know what he's thinking. Especially when it comes to emotional conversations.  Face to face is too intense for him.  If he's angry, or frustrated, or sad...we text about it.  If I have to ask him uncomfortable "mom" questions...we text about it.  And if he wants to convince me to let him do something...he texts me about it.
Just this weekend, we were at a celebration full of people.  Both of my kids were there with us, mingling with people Hubby and I went to high school with.  Hillary chatted and laughed and (of course) took lots of pictures.  Parker sat quietly at the edges, face impassive, not giving away any clues about whether or not he was having a good time.
Then I checked his Instagram.  He had posted several pictures with descriptive captions, detailing what a good time he was having and how cool his dad's old friends (basketball players) were.  And I thought about how nice it was to have this window into his brain.  Far from isolating us, this technology gives us a sort of secret connection.
When I check facebook or twitter and Hillary has posted some silly thing she's done or friend she's seen or food she's eaten, I feel like I'm there with her.
When I pull up Netflix and see tv shows that I know she just watched, it's like she's not far away.
And when my kids text me their thoughts, it's like our hearts and minds touch for a minute.
And it goes both ways.  Each of them have said to me that they are glad I blog about them because it lets them see themselves through my eyes for a bit.
So I will embrace technology.  (Even if my kids DO have to help me figure out how to use it ;)
Our heartstrings firmly connected as we go wireless-ly into the future.

What we leave behind...and what we don't

Lately people have been asking me if I'm doing alright.  They are referring to my oldest child leaving home.  She's been in college for a couple of years, but it was a junior college and she still lived with us.  A few weeks ago she transferred to a major university to live in the dorms.
I started to have a moment when she and I went down to her room to pack her stuff.  It felt overwhelming, and sad.  I didn't even know where to start.
And then I started to notice what kind of things she was taking and leaving behind.  I made sure she had her clothes and computer and school supplies.  She made sure she took her 4 inch heels and the Bobba Fett bobble head her boyfriend gave her.  Who needs an umbrella or gloves?  We had to make room for the picture of her on her bike when she was 5.  And the poster she stole from the storage room of the art department at her old school.
I couldn't help but chuckle inside.
And when it was all said and done, she left so much in her room that I knew she would be coming back!
We settled her into her dorm room and drove the 3 hours back home without Chatty Cathy in the backseat.
And for the first couple of days I thought about her SO many times... I was curious how her classes were going and if the meal plan was working and if she was happy.  But I made myself give her space to spread her wings.
And then she texted me.  And called.  Every day I heard from her about the details of her new and exciting life.  Instead of losing a part of me, I was gaining new experiences vicariously.  I never lived in a dorm or had an all night "jam" session with my musician friends.  But now I felt like I was there.
She was home last weekend to visit and I asked her, now that she had been there several weeks, what was one thing that was better than expected.  The showers, she said.  The water was always hot and there was always one open even though the whole floor shares the shower room.  Then I asked her what she missed about home.  I thought she might say cable tv and dvr, or her privacy, or homecooked meals.  But her answer was "mostly you and dad".
So I am not afraid.  Even though she is moving on, our connection remains strong.
We are the thing she can't take with her.  But we have not been left behind.

Comfort - able

I'm doing a study on Attachment Theories and Love Styles.  And yes, I totally embrace the nerdiness of that.
Anyway, part of the study was to think about a time you were comforted as a child...who comforted you and how they did it.
And like I always do, I applied this to my children as well.
I asked each of them to think of a time they had been comforted.
Both of them easily came up with times...that involved their Dad.  Granted, he is large and comforting and makes people feel safe when he's got those big guns wrapped around you.  But what was I?? Chopped liver?  Oh they eventually got around to saying that I always seemed to understand their feelings and allowed them to be sad, mad, or whatever they were feeling.  That's a good thing, right?  I comforted myself by saying that maybe my "comforting" was just so EVER-PRESENT that they didn't realize what it was. You know, like taking the air for granted as you breathe.  It's a theory.
But then, Parker got the stomach flu.
He spent lots of time in the bathroom between bouts of restless sleep.
I went to town for medicine.
And then I got this text from him.
"Will you come lay with me when you get back?"
And of course I did.  I lay on top of his blankets and tried not to breathe his infected air.  I followed him to the bathroom and patted his back and gave him a fresh cold washcloth to wipe his face.  I prayed.
After a while, I started to rub his head.  But I wasn't sure if this would help or make it worse.  I don't like to be touched when I'm sick.  So I asked him if that's what he wanted.  He mumbled, "Yes.  It helps."
And then he added, "These are the times I feel comforted by you."
I smiled in the dark.
And I was the one who was comforted.

A Dance, A Thread, and a Robin(son)

Every year, at Homecoming, the dance team girls get some guys to perform a swing dance with them at halftime.
And that's how I came to be sitting on the bleachers, watching my son do the jitterbug...
I was impressed!  They only practiced a few times, and he is normally pretty quiet and reserved.  But there he was gliding across the floor with a smile on his face, effortlessly spinning and lifting his partner.  Parker and Alexa aka Fred and Ginger.
Of course, video was sent to all the grandparents!
Later, when I was talking to my dad about it, he said, "When I saw that video, I told your mom it was like watching Grandpa Robinson." I was intrigued.  My dad has told Old Family Stories my whole life, but I'd never heard this one.
He went on... "When I was a boy, Grandpa used to come stay with us for a week or so at a time. Me and my brothers would play old bluegrass music on our guitars and fiddles and Grandpa would get up and dance.  Boy, he could cut a rug!"
I smiled as I felt a warm thread of connection to this past person I never got to meet.  He was gone long before I was born and the only thing I knew of him was an intricate drawing given to me by my own Grandma (his daughter).  It was a doodle of the letters of his name intertwined with a bird...a robin.
And now my son dances and my daughter draws.
And the thread pulls gently, comfortingly, linking us all together.
Past dreams dance into the future on my children's feet.