Our kids got their first cell phones when they were jr high...ish. Hillary dutifully kept hers unscratched and unbroken for 2 years until it was "upgrade" time and she could get a new one for free. Parker, on the other hand, liked to take his swimming. He once went through 3 phones in one year.
Oh how things have changed...
Now that they are "adults" and we have a different kind of phone plan, they have to pay for their own phones. Hillary got herself an iphone 6, and a few months later, Parker followed suit. This is probably the most expensive thing he has purchased in his 19 years. And since the Otter box wouldn't be in for a few days, he was being extra careful.
Papaw (in his 60's, hardworking, responsible, authority figure) asked to see the new-fangled device. Parker solemnly shook his head. "Sorry, Papaw," he said. "No one holds this phone but me."
Whaaaaat...
He went on, "If you dropped it and it broke....well...I just don't want that to happen."
I wasn't sure whether to dissolve with embarrassment or howl with laughter. I mean, let's just look at the two guys' track records with phones. Papaw never took HIS phone into the swimming pool. Perhaps we should ask Papaw to hold it until the box comes in!
But this is the most expensive thing Parker has ever owned. It's treasure to him. And against all logic, it feels safer in his own hands.
Last night, Parker called to tell me that his throat was hurting. He has a medical condition that causes his esophagus to swell sometimes. He has been doing well for years, but the condition can be very serious.
So I lay in bed later, worrying. I tried to pray, "God, please keep Parker safe."
But I still clutched him firmly in my own hands.
Until God said, "You need to let me hold your phone."
I realized I was doing the same thing Parker had done. Holding one of my treasures stubbornly in my own hands.
"Do you trust me or not?"
"But God, I paid a great price for this child."
"So did I."
I imagined myself handing over my priceless treasure into the safe and secure hands of a trust-worthy God, and I fell asleep.
If only there were Otter boxes for children..... ;)
Our Family
Sunday, February 15, 2015
Monday, December 22, 2014
It All Comes Out In The Wash
There are some good things about having an empty nest - lots of "me" time, quiet evenings, a smaller grocery bill. But there is one thing that is NOT helpful...
Your husband finds out what you are really like. As there are no kids around to distract him, he notices your idiosyncrasies. And there is no one else to blame for how the car keys got into the refrigerator, or the fact that his "special pen" that he uses to write in his journal every night somehow got on YOUR nightstand.
Let's take the laundry as an example.
When Hubby stopped coaching, he had time to notice that our clothes don't actually wash themselves, and he decided to "help me out" by learning how to work the washer and dryer. I was happy to indulge him.
Hubby has A System.
1. Gather ALL the dirty laundry.
This is a nice idea, but early on in our marriage/family I figured out that this overwhelms me. I am a small person, and by the time I finished lugging the 13th basket of dirty clothes into the laundry room, the pile threatened to topple over onto me, smothering me and absorbing my decomposing body before my young children or Coaching Hubby would even miss me. Until someone ran out of underwear, of course. But since Hubby only started doing laundry after the kids were gone, he thinks my fear of the "dirty" pile is silly. My "system" of going from room to room, picking up random socks, a hand towel, two pairs of jeans, and a pillowcase, does not make sense to him.
2. Sort ALL the dirty laundry.
As much as Hubby loves my quirky little habit of dropping my wrung out wash cloths over the top of the shower door onto the floor, creating a cute little pile of dried-up laundry "dog bones" by the end of the week, he thought he could improve on it. He placed a basket in the bathroom. But that wasn't good enough. In a flash of brilliance, he realized if he placed TWO baskets in there, I could toss the towels and wash cloths in one and our colored clothes in the other one. Voila! His laundry is sorted before he even gathers it up!
I try. I really do. But my aim is not that good. So when I toss my wrung out wash cloth over the shower wall in the direction of the basket, sometimes it makes it and sometimes... well, let's just say Hubby's system still needs the kinks worked out.
3. Wash and dry the dirty laundry.
Hubby likes to wash like things together. By that, I mean, he does a load of towels, then a load of pants, then a load of shirts, then all the socks and undies together. Which is fine...until you have to go get groceries and then come home and put them away and then clean the toilets and then its dark and you are tired and you want to watch a movie and then you forget that the laundry isn't done.
And that's how you end up walking around wearing clean pants with dirty undies and no socks.
4. Put away ALL the clean laundry.
Clean towels in a basket are still clean towels. But Hubby likes to feel a sense of completion. So he doesn't consider the laundry "done" until everything is folded, hung on a hanger, and placed in the correct room. Towels are easy. You can carry the basket to the couch where you fold while you watch Netflix. Colored clothes, however, need to be hung up directly from the hot dryer or else they get wrinkled. And ironing is a subject for another post. Which is code for "I don't do it." So when the dryer beeps, telling me that it is almost finished with it's cycle and it will politely keep fluffing for 5 min but I better get in there soon, I run into the laundry room and hang up the things that are "high priority"...meaning, the wrinkles will show. The other things get neatly spread out on TOP of the dryer, so they can cool down without being in a wrinkled ball. This is partly due to the fact that I ran out of hangers and partly due to the fact that Netflix is on pause and I need to get this stupid chore done quickly. I would happily just leave the jeans and pajama pants in the dryer if there wasn't an annoying load in the washer that wanted to get dried.
Oh, and by the way, clean clothes that are wrong side out are still clean clothes. I see no problem with hanging up a tshirt wrong side out. However it comes out of the dryer is how it goes on the hanger.
Hubby would NEVER let wrong side out clothes into his washer or dryer.
And let's not even get into what happens when I put his wrong-side-out pants in the "work shirts only" section of his closet.
So, in the spirit of compromise, we have decided that laundry will be Hubby's job, and I promise not to help.
Only, every now and then I can't help myself. Something from the old days comes over me and I decide to wash the bedsheets on a non-bedsheet washing day. Which means I have to move those dry clothes out of the dryer. And put those socks and undies into the dryer. And 3 loads later...
Hubby (in his patient voice) "Honey, did you clean out the dryer lint?"
Me (sipping coffee) "...."
Him (Charlie Brown Teacher Voice) "Waaa wa waaaaa wah..."
But all I hear is how much he loves me.
And in the end, it all comes out in the wash.
Your husband finds out what you are really like. As there are no kids around to distract him, he notices your idiosyncrasies. And there is no one else to blame for how the car keys got into the refrigerator, or the fact that his "special pen" that he uses to write in his journal every night somehow got on YOUR nightstand.
Let's take the laundry as an example.
When Hubby stopped coaching, he had time to notice that our clothes don't actually wash themselves, and he decided to "help me out" by learning how to work the washer and dryer. I was happy to indulge him.
Hubby has A System.
1. Gather ALL the dirty laundry.
This is a nice idea, but early on in our marriage/family I figured out that this overwhelms me. I am a small person, and by the time I finished lugging the 13th basket of dirty clothes into the laundry room, the pile threatened to topple over onto me, smothering me and absorbing my decomposing body before my young children or Coaching Hubby would even miss me. Until someone ran out of underwear, of course. But since Hubby only started doing laundry after the kids were gone, he thinks my fear of the "dirty" pile is silly. My "system" of going from room to room, picking up random socks, a hand towel, two pairs of jeans, and a pillowcase, does not make sense to him.
2. Sort ALL the dirty laundry.
As much as Hubby loves my quirky little habit of dropping my wrung out wash cloths over the top of the shower door onto the floor, creating a cute little pile of dried-up laundry "dog bones" by the end of the week, he thought he could improve on it. He placed a basket in the bathroom. But that wasn't good enough. In a flash of brilliance, he realized if he placed TWO baskets in there, I could toss the towels and wash cloths in one and our colored clothes in the other one. Voila! His laundry is sorted before he even gathers it up!
I try. I really do. But my aim is not that good. So when I toss my wrung out wash cloth over the shower wall in the direction of the basket, sometimes it makes it and sometimes... well, let's just say Hubby's system still needs the kinks worked out.
3. Wash and dry the dirty laundry.
Hubby likes to wash like things together. By that, I mean, he does a load of towels, then a load of pants, then a load of shirts, then all the socks and undies together. Which is fine...until you have to go get groceries and then come home and put them away and then clean the toilets and then its dark and you are tired and you want to watch a movie and then you forget that the laundry isn't done.
And that's how you end up walking around wearing clean pants with dirty undies and no socks.
4. Put away ALL the clean laundry.
Clean towels in a basket are still clean towels. But Hubby likes to feel a sense of completion. So he doesn't consider the laundry "done" until everything is folded, hung on a hanger, and placed in the correct room. Towels are easy. You can carry the basket to the couch where you fold while you watch Netflix. Colored clothes, however, need to be hung up directly from the hot dryer or else they get wrinkled. And ironing is a subject for another post. Which is code for "I don't do it." So when the dryer beeps, telling me that it is almost finished with it's cycle and it will politely keep fluffing for 5 min but I better get in there soon, I run into the laundry room and hang up the things that are "high priority"...meaning, the wrinkles will show. The other things get neatly spread out on TOP of the dryer, so they can cool down without being in a wrinkled ball. This is partly due to the fact that I ran out of hangers and partly due to the fact that Netflix is on pause and I need to get this stupid chore done quickly. I would happily just leave the jeans and pajama pants in the dryer if there wasn't an annoying load in the washer that wanted to get dried.
Oh, and by the way, clean clothes that are wrong side out are still clean clothes. I see no problem with hanging up a tshirt wrong side out. However it comes out of the dryer is how it goes on the hanger.
Hubby would NEVER let wrong side out clothes into his washer or dryer.
And let's not even get into what happens when I put his wrong-side-out pants in the "work shirts only" section of his closet.
So, in the spirit of compromise, we have decided that laundry will be Hubby's job, and I promise not to help.
Only, every now and then I can't help myself. Something from the old days comes over me and I decide to wash the bedsheets on a non-bedsheet washing day. Which means I have to move those dry clothes out of the dryer. And put those socks and undies into the dryer. And 3 loads later...
Hubby (in his patient voice) "Honey, did you clean out the dryer lint?"
Me (sipping coffee) "...."
Him (Charlie Brown Teacher Voice) "Waaa wa waaaaa wah..."
But all I hear is how much he loves me.
And in the end, it all comes out in the wash.
Tuesday, December 16, 2014
Stretched
I've decided to take up yoga.
Anyone who knows me knows I hate most kinds of physical exercise, but yoga seemed like something that fit with my desire to be lithe and limber while listening to soothing music and not breaking a sweat.
So I searched YouTube for "yoga for beginners", picked a video at random, and tried to follow the directions of the teeny bopper in tights who was effortlessly bending herself into geometric shapes. My body refused. So I got into Grab the Remote Pose and changed my search to "yoga for inflexible people who are trying it for the very first time".
And that's how I found Jen and her "Safe Stretches for Beginners" video. Jen moved slowly. And was completely non-judgemental. She demonstrated each pose and then explained how to supplement with pillows, rolled up hand towels, and modified movements for those of us who are just starting out and have "tight" shoulders, hips, hamstrings....well, pretty much everything (except for things that are actually supposed to be tight - like the skin around my eyes).
Even with such a gentle instructor, the stretches felt awkward at first. For a moment I thought, "Ow! This hurts!" And I wanted to stop immediately. Holding the pose for a few seconds felt like enough and it was uncomfortable and I just wanted to pop back into my familiar bad posture. But Jen said, "Just stay there. And take deep breaths." And she stayed in her pose for twice as long as I thought was necessary.
And as I stayed there with her and took deep breaths, I realized something.
It didn't actually hurt.
Oh, I felt it for sure. But it was really just...different. Not painful. Just new.
And then she said, "As you breathe, you will soften into the stretch instead of resisting it. And pretty soon you will be surprised at the improvement in your flexibility and range of motion."
And as I lay there with my cheek pressed into the carpet and my arm bent further back than I ever thought it could go, I knew she was so right.
Because, lately, life has put me in some positions that have stretched me in new ways.
My children's bedrooms no longer have dirty clothes on the floor and posters on the wall. The furniture looks lonely and the rooms feel different.
And my husband, who has been home with me in the evenings for the past two years, is involved with coaching. My single dinner plate looks lonely and the table feels different.
Celebrations are changing, and the holidays feel different.
And at first, I want to say, "Stop! This hurts and I don't like it. Put it all back the old familiar way."
But I stay here, in the new position, and I breathe.
And it doesn't hurt. Not really. It feels weird, awkward, unfamiliar, new.
But I stay.
And I breathe.
And I stop resisting.
And eventually, the new feels more comfortable.
I sit in my favorite chair and read an entire book in one evening without any guilt.
I accept an invitation to a friend's "cookie party" without having to check my kids' activity schedules.
I laugh at emails and texts from my husband throughout the day and I smile in the dark as he climbs into bed late beside me, regaling me with what happened at the game.
I think about joining the community choir.
I am surprised at my new flexibility and range of motion.
Jen says other stuff too. When she is relaxing into her stretches she says things like "..a nice stretch" and "..that feels really great." I am starting to know what she means.
You know, many years ago, when I was doing Pilates (yoga's angry cousin) my kids sat on the couch and howled with laughter at my attempts at The Seal.
But now the living room is blessedly silent.
I breathe, and soften into it.
Anyone who knows me knows I hate most kinds of physical exercise, but yoga seemed like something that fit with my desire to be lithe and limber while listening to soothing music and not breaking a sweat.
So I searched YouTube for "yoga for beginners", picked a video at random, and tried to follow the directions of the teeny bopper in tights who was effortlessly bending herself into geometric shapes. My body refused. So I got into Grab the Remote Pose and changed my search to "yoga for inflexible people who are trying it for the very first time".
And that's how I found Jen and her "Safe Stretches for Beginners" video. Jen moved slowly. And was completely non-judgemental. She demonstrated each pose and then explained how to supplement with pillows, rolled up hand towels, and modified movements for those of us who are just starting out and have "tight" shoulders, hips, hamstrings....well, pretty much everything (except for things that are actually supposed to be tight - like the skin around my eyes).
Even with such a gentle instructor, the stretches felt awkward at first. For a moment I thought, "Ow! This hurts!" And I wanted to stop immediately. Holding the pose for a few seconds felt like enough and it was uncomfortable and I just wanted to pop back into my familiar bad posture. But Jen said, "Just stay there. And take deep breaths." And she stayed in her pose for twice as long as I thought was necessary.
And as I stayed there with her and took deep breaths, I realized something.
It didn't actually hurt.
Oh, I felt it for sure. But it was really just...different. Not painful. Just new.
And then she said, "As you breathe, you will soften into the stretch instead of resisting it. And pretty soon you will be surprised at the improvement in your flexibility and range of motion."
And as I lay there with my cheek pressed into the carpet and my arm bent further back than I ever thought it could go, I knew she was so right.
Because, lately, life has put me in some positions that have stretched me in new ways.
My children's bedrooms no longer have dirty clothes on the floor and posters on the wall. The furniture looks lonely and the rooms feel different.
And my husband, who has been home with me in the evenings for the past two years, is involved with coaching. My single dinner plate looks lonely and the table feels different.
Celebrations are changing, and the holidays feel different.
And at first, I want to say, "Stop! This hurts and I don't like it. Put it all back the old familiar way."
But I stay here, in the new position, and I breathe.
And it doesn't hurt. Not really. It feels weird, awkward, unfamiliar, new.
But I stay.
And I breathe.
And I stop resisting.
And eventually, the new feels more comfortable.
I sit in my favorite chair and read an entire book in one evening without any guilt.
I accept an invitation to a friend's "cookie party" without having to check my kids' activity schedules.
I laugh at emails and texts from my husband throughout the day and I smile in the dark as he climbs into bed late beside me, regaling me with what happened at the game.
I think about joining the community choir.
I am surprised at my new flexibility and range of motion.
Jen says other stuff too. When she is relaxing into her stretches she says things like "..a nice stretch" and "..that feels really great." I am starting to know what she means.
You know, many years ago, when I was doing Pilates (yoga's angry cousin) my kids sat on the couch and howled with laughter at my attempts at The Seal.
But now the living room is blessedly silent.
I breathe, and soften into it.
Wednesday, October 22, 2014
The Things That Didn't Matter (and the Thing that did)
A scene in a funny movie took me back in time this weekend. A young mom of an elementary boy was fretting over the fact that her husband (who was babysitting) was probably letting her innocent baby play a "violent video game". Or wait...maybe it was an old home video. Because the words she was saying had come right out of my own mouth. From this distance, it seemed funny. But once upon a time I had taken that and many other things SOOOO seriously. And now, I wondered why.
I was that mom who vowed her children would play with gender neutral toys. Trucks AND dolls for everyone! And no guns. No toy guns, no water guns, no BB guns, not even a hot glue gun. Or a stick that was bent and kinda looked like a gun. (I had an imaginative son - I had to be vigilant!)
And no movies with kissing scenes.
Or bad words.
This goes for music too. I once returned a movie soundtrack I had bought the kids because one of the songs had a curse word in it. And then I cursed MYSELF for not looking into the lyrics more thoroughly BEFORE buying it.
Of course, I'm not saying parents should let their kids go to Hell in a handbasket. But focusing on all that stuff was exhausting! And, I'm sorry to say, a total waste of time. My children grew into adults who play war themed video games, kiss their boyfriends and girlfriends, and listen to music that is sometimes "uncensored". In other words, normal Americans.
If I could go back in time, I would tell my blonde, permed, floweredy dress-wearing self to relax. I would tell her that parenting is not about rules, but about relationship. And that even though she didn't know it at the time, she was accidentally doing some things right. Like listening to her children's hearts. And giving them permission to pick out their own clothes (even if they DID tuck their sweat shirt into their sweat pants). And learning to heal her own heart's wounds so she could be a whole person who lets others grow into whole people.
I would tell her to stop being so afraid that she was going to "mess up" her kids or that others would think she was a "bad mom". I would tell her that her house was plenty clean enough and her kids would actually choose to eat vegetables someday (even saurkraut and asparagus!).
My grown up kids aren't perfect (thank goodness!) but they turned out remarkably well. They love and are loved. They feed themselves and manage to wear clean clothes (most of the time). They respect their elders. They have their own relationships with God. They make mistakes and they try again. And they stay in touch with their Mama!
Fortunately, mixed in with all those rules was a healthy dose of grace. Grace when I was too grouchy from the stress of all that Perfect Parenting. Grace when rules were broken and feelings were hurt. Grace when we fell down that gave us space to get back up.
In spite of all the things that didn't matter, God gave us the one thing that DID!
I was that mom who vowed her children would play with gender neutral toys. Trucks AND dolls for everyone! And no guns. No toy guns, no water guns, no BB guns, not even a hot glue gun. Or a stick that was bent and kinda looked like a gun. (I had an imaginative son - I had to be vigilant!)
And no movies with kissing scenes.
Or bad words.
This goes for music too. I once returned a movie soundtrack I had bought the kids because one of the songs had a curse word in it. And then I cursed MYSELF for not looking into the lyrics more thoroughly BEFORE buying it.
Of course, I'm not saying parents should let their kids go to Hell in a handbasket. But focusing on all that stuff was exhausting! And, I'm sorry to say, a total waste of time. My children grew into adults who play war themed video games, kiss their boyfriends and girlfriends, and listen to music that is sometimes "uncensored". In other words, normal Americans.
If I could go back in time, I would tell my blonde, permed, floweredy dress-wearing self to relax. I would tell her that parenting is not about rules, but about relationship. And that even though she didn't know it at the time, she was accidentally doing some things right. Like listening to her children's hearts. And giving them permission to pick out their own clothes (even if they DID tuck their sweat shirt into their sweat pants). And learning to heal her own heart's wounds so she could be a whole person who lets others grow into whole people.
I would tell her to stop being so afraid that she was going to "mess up" her kids or that others would think she was a "bad mom". I would tell her that her house was plenty clean enough and her kids would actually choose to eat vegetables someday (even saurkraut and asparagus!).
My grown up kids aren't perfect (thank goodness!) but they turned out remarkably well. They love and are loved. They feed themselves and manage to wear clean clothes (most of the time). They respect their elders. They have their own relationships with God. They make mistakes and they try again. And they stay in touch with their Mama!
Fortunately, mixed in with all those rules was a healthy dose of grace. Grace when I was too grouchy from the stress of all that Perfect Parenting. Grace when rules were broken and feelings were hurt. Grace when we fell down that gave us space to get back up.
In spite of all the things that didn't matter, God gave us the one thing that DID!
Saturday, September 13, 2014
The Bride and The Brother
(disclaimer - none of the dresses pictured here are The Actual Dress - Can't have Dad or Groom seeing the dress before the wedding ;)
When my kids were little, they fought so bad I considered adopting them out to separate families and starting over. So imagine my surprise when a newly-engaged Hillary included Parker on the short list of people who must be present on Shopping for the Dress Day.
We converged on the little local shop of her choice, each ready to fulfill our designated assignments. I was to help in the dressing room, give emotional support, and (of course) hand over the cash if a dress was found. Parker was to take pictures and videos on her phone, and use his practiced eye and brutal honesty to keep her from believing the salesgirl's hype. He never bends the truth over something as silly as sparing your feelings. ("Do these pants make me look fat?" Quick glance. "Yes.") Hillary's job was pretty much to pretend to be a princess, have fun, and direct this Disney movie.
(Strong enough to lift 3 wedding dresses with a single hand, and secure enough to hold Sister's purse for her at the same time!)
In the dressing room, I lifted and tugged and zipped and laced and fluffed and smoothed. And we laughed. A lot.
Each time Hillary emerged, followed by her loyal train-bearing mum, Salesgirl oohed and ahhed and used 25 synonyms for "beautiful". Parker looked up from his phone and said things like "nice" or "too poofy" or "that one's better".
After trying on several dresses, Hillary started to narrow down the aspects she liked and didn't like.
And then I slipped one dress over her head as she looked in the mirror and I heard a soft "wow" slip from her lips.
When my kids were little, they fought so bad I considered adopting them out to separate families and starting over. So imagine my surprise when a newly-engaged Hillary included Parker on the short list of people who must be present on Shopping for the Dress Day.
We converged on the little local shop of her choice, each ready to fulfill our designated assignments. I was to help in the dressing room, give emotional support, and (of course) hand over the cash if a dress was found. Parker was to take pictures and videos on her phone, and use his practiced eye and brutal honesty to keep her from believing the salesgirl's hype. He never bends the truth over something as silly as sparing your feelings. ("Do these pants make me look fat?" Quick glance. "Yes.") Hillary's job was pretty much to pretend to be a princess, have fun, and direct this Disney movie.
The doors opened and we walked through.
Rows and rows of fluffy white surrounded us. Hillary and I couldn't help sharing a little "this is happening!" squeal. The salesgirl (who was wearing a dress so short I wanted to cover Parker's eyes) led us through the store. She asked our budget, which quickly narrowed us down to a handful of hanging racks. We started pulling dresses.
And the fun began!
In the dressing room, I lifted and tugged and zipped and laced and fluffed and smoothed. And we laughed. A lot.
Each time Hillary emerged, followed by her loyal train-bearing mum, Salesgirl oohed and ahhed and used 25 synonyms for "beautiful". Parker looked up from his phone and said things like "nice" or "too poofy" or "that one's better".
After trying on several dresses, Hillary started to narrow down the aspects she liked and didn't like.
"I like how flowy this one is."
"Hmm...I think I like the sweetheart neckline better."
"Definitely not this kind of waist-line."
Parker dutifully went back to the racks, searching for dresses that contained all the right elements and none of the wrong ones. Just like a man. A helpful man.
And then I slipped one dress over her head as she looked in the mirror and I heard a soft "wow" slip from her lips.
NOW we're getting somewhere...
She had been concerned at the beginning that she might like so many dresses it would be too hard to choose. And she did like several. But somehow, you know when you slip on The One.
She swayed out and stood on the pedestal in front of the mirror. Salesgirl went bananas. And Parker said, "I like it!" Hillary couldn't wipe the smile off her face. She twirled and turned to look at herself from every angle. I could tell she didn't want to take it off. Holding out her hands she sing-songed "I think we're saying yes to the dress..."
I paid (it happened to be half-off! a small miracle..) and we spent the rest of the day browsing antique shops for veil ideas, getting Starbucks, and having dinner at the Mexican restaurant with Aunt Cassie. The conversation was as good as the food. And I didn't have to break up a single argument ;)
When it was time to all go our separate ways, Parker hugged his sister and said, "I'm proud of you."
And I was proud too...proud that my son was willing to help his sister, and that my daughter was willing to share her special day with her brother. Proud to have children I can LIKE as well as love.
I guess I'll keep them after all.
Launched
They call it "launching" for a reason.
Picture an ocean cruiser easing from shore...horns blowing, music playing, and smiley happy people waving goodbye as they head to some exotic tropical vacation.
It's nothing like that.
Launching your kids into adulthood feels more like a toy boat being ripped out of a child's hands by a swollen muddy ditch before you were finished playing with it.
Yeah. It's like that.
Before you have a chance to finish your Safe Sailing presentation, they're off- caught in the swirling current and bumping into debris, the life-jacket you handed them tossed on the ground by your feet.
The boat's not afraid. The boat is just riding the waves. But you stand on the shore crying like a 5 year old.
They're floating away from you. Fast. What if they sink? What if they get smashed? What if they sail somewhere you don't know how to find them?
They bump into plenty of things...
Regardless of how much you try to prepare them, life is always harder than they expect. Classes are boring. Roommates are inconsiderate. Part-time jobs suck. And employers dare to take taxes out of paychecks before they give them to you! Homework is due, even if no one told you to look online because that's where the professor posted it. They get stressed. They don't eat right or sleep enough. They get sick and have to take themselves to the doctor (although they do send you the bill). And they take sudden detours down streams you did NOT plan for! (How dare they steer their own little boat! Did they not see the detailed course you charted for them on the map taped to the boat's steering wheel?)
But every now and then, their travels bring their boat back to home port for a minute. And you realize that they're still afloat. They're wiser. And more...Themselves. They like saurekraut and sushi. They play on their church worship team and volunteer for Outreaches in poor neighborhoods. They find people to love who love them back. They tell stories of their adventures in places you've never been, and wear clothes you didn't buy them, and have ideas you didn't put in their head.
They've traded in their toy boat for an adventure schooner. One they are learning to be captain of.
They are not sinking.
So you smile and restock their cargo hold with encouragement and food and advice and clean laundry and cash for another semester (and a few oranges to ward off scurvy).
And then you sit back and drink your Starbucks and watch them sail off into the sunset.
Bon voyage, Launchees!
Picture an ocean cruiser easing from shore...horns blowing, music playing, and smiley happy people waving goodbye as they head to some exotic tropical vacation.
It's nothing like that.
Launching your kids into adulthood feels more like a toy boat being ripped out of a child's hands by a swollen muddy ditch before you were finished playing with it.
Yeah. It's like that.
Before you have a chance to finish your Safe Sailing presentation, they're off- caught in the swirling current and bumping into debris, the life-jacket you handed them tossed on the ground by your feet.
The boat's not afraid. The boat is just riding the waves. But you stand on the shore crying like a 5 year old.
They're floating away from you. Fast. What if they sink? What if they get smashed? What if they sail somewhere you don't know how to find them?
They bump into plenty of things...
Regardless of how much you try to prepare them, life is always harder than they expect. Classes are boring. Roommates are inconsiderate. Part-time jobs suck. And employers dare to take taxes out of paychecks before they give them to you! Homework is due, even if no one told you to look online because that's where the professor posted it. They get stressed. They don't eat right or sleep enough. They get sick and have to take themselves to the doctor (although they do send you the bill). And they take sudden detours down streams you did NOT plan for! (How dare they steer their own little boat! Did they not see the detailed course you charted for them on the map taped to the boat's steering wheel?)
But every now and then, their travels bring their boat back to home port for a minute. And you realize that they're still afloat. They're wiser. And more...Themselves. They like saurekraut and sushi. They play on their church worship team and volunteer for Outreaches in poor neighborhoods. They find people to love who love them back. They tell stories of their adventures in places you've never been, and wear clothes you didn't buy them, and have ideas you didn't put in their head.
They've traded in their toy boat for an adventure schooner. One they are learning to be captain of.
They are not sinking.
So you smile and restock their cargo hold with encouragement and food and advice and clean laundry and cash for another semester (and a few oranges to ward off scurvy).
And then you sit back and drink your Starbucks and watch them sail off into the sunset.
Bon voyage, Launchees!
Sunday, May 18, 2014
Pomp and Circumstance (and confetti)
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Cheers explode and confetti rains down...and it's over. My Son is no longer a high school student. He is a high school graduate. Diploma in hand- tassel officially moved to the "I'm done!" side.
I am proud.
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I am happy.
I am dog-gone tired!
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I'm all for big ceremonies. We need them to mark passages from one life stage to another. We need them to celebrate all the hard work and growth it takes to get there.
But it's the small moments I enjoy.
The details.
Like the way Parker wore his cap way back on his head because he didn't want to mess up his hair.
(After all, it takes work and lots of product to achieve so much swag!)
And how he followed Hillary's wildly gestured silent directions as he marched into graduation - looking directly at her camera and giving his best fake smile. (She has trained him well)
I loved that Hubby got to sit right beside our boy, and I wondered what they were whispering about as they waited for the 70 kids in front of Parker to walk across the stage.
I think about all the moments that have made up this Senior Year.
A last First Day picture.
Parades in morning sunshine on a fall saturday.
Listening to Parker chat about his life as he facetimes with his uncle.
An 18th birthday.
Waking up at all hours of the night and checking my phone for Parker's "home" text because I can't rest deeply till I know he's safely in the house.
Extra cars in my driveway, boys in my basement, and laughter around my kitchen table.
Hugs before he leaves for bonfires, camp-outs, and air-soft wars with his friends.
Letters back and forth when things were too tense to talk face to face.
Rubbing his hair as he lays over into my lap and vents about his fears and his friends.
Watching movies.
Crying at a funeral.
ER visits.
Dances.
School Play.
A pile of track medals on my kitchen counter.
Huge containers of chocolate milk mix and gallons of milk per week.
And like confetti, these shiny colorful moments explode and make something big and sparkly that lasts for just a moment, but make up a lifetime.
Monday, March 24, 2014
Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow
Any woman who has tried to find a decent pair of jeans that don't cost more than your mortgage payment, knows what the Mall can do to your self-image. After trying on a dressing room full of failures, I was feeling fat. Actually I was feeling small-boobed, big footed, fat, and ugly. So what do you do when the jeans don't fit? You go to the make-up store of course! I can't shrink my booty in a day, but I can cover up my wrinkles with expensive stuff that smells good and comes in cute bottles.
And then you get your hair done.
And you know what makes it even more fun?
Taking your 18 year old son with you.
Parker was out of school for spring break and quickly agreed to ride along when I said I was going to the city that day. He had followed me into the make-up store, carried my bags, and then sat and waited while I got my hair cut and colored. I assumed he would wander off to browse in some "man" store like Lids or the sporting goods store. But he said, "Nah, I'll just wait here."
And he did.
Patiently.
And quietly.
For an hour and a half.
I must tell you that I was the envy of every woman working in that salon that day.
"Is that your son?"
"Yes," I smiled proudly. I was glad we got that out of the way immediately. Some people think I don't look "old enough" to have a son that age and I always worry that people will assume I'm some kind of Sugar Mama Cougar.
"He's so HANDSOME!" one lady crooned.
"And look at him just waiting on you. What a good son!"
"My kids are 16 and 20 and they don't wanna go NO where with me anymore." said the hispanic lady painting bleach on my hair with a brush.
"Umm hmmm" came the agreement all around.
I felt lucky. I AM lucky. Because my son is just like his dad - thoughtful, patient, and helpful.
We left the salon and went to Radio Shack, where it was my turn to wait patiently as Parker browsed through electronic parts and pieces for fun. And then we hit the outlet mall where I joked that his purchases from the Adidas store were payment for his good behavior in the salon. We even caught a movie on the way home. It was a fun day.
I know that someday he will have another woman to follow into makeup stores and beauty salons. And I will be happy for him when that happens. (and hopefully SHE will be happy too because I trained him well!) But for now, I'll toss my newly coiffed hair and enjoy the company of this boy who is "hair today"...
And then you get your hair done.
And you know what makes it even more fun?
Taking your 18 year old son with you.
Parker was out of school for spring break and quickly agreed to ride along when I said I was going to the city that day. He had followed me into the make-up store, carried my bags, and then sat and waited while I got my hair cut and colored. I assumed he would wander off to browse in some "man" store like Lids or the sporting goods store. But he said, "Nah, I'll just wait here."
And he did.
Patiently.
And quietly.
For an hour and a half.
I must tell you that I was the envy of every woman working in that salon that day.
"Is that your son?"
"Yes," I smiled proudly. I was glad we got that out of the way immediately. Some people think I don't look "old enough" to have a son that age and I always worry that people will assume I'm some kind of Sugar Mama Cougar.
"He's so HANDSOME!" one lady crooned.
"And look at him just waiting on you. What a good son!"
"My kids are 16 and 20 and they don't wanna go NO where with me anymore." said the hispanic lady painting bleach on my hair with a brush.
"Umm hmmm" came the agreement all around.
I felt lucky. I AM lucky. Because my son is just like his dad - thoughtful, patient, and helpful.
We left the salon and went to Radio Shack, where it was my turn to wait patiently as Parker browsed through electronic parts and pieces for fun. And then we hit the outlet mall where I joked that his purchases from the Adidas store were payment for his good behavior in the salon. We even caught a movie on the way home. It was a fun day.
I know that someday he will have another woman to follow into makeup stores and beauty salons. And I will be happy for him when that happens. (and hopefully SHE will be happy too because I trained him well!) But for now, I'll toss my newly coiffed hair and enjoy the company of this boy who is "hair today"...
Sunday, March 23, 2014
I'm Lovin' It
Ya know what I love?
FactTime-ing with Hillary while I'm driving down the road (because when she calls I can't NOT answer - it's against mother rules).
Getting a big hug from Parker and being left with the scent of his cologne long after he's gone.
Videos on facebook of my crazy daughter singing and gesturing in public to the world at large.
Meeting Parker's new friends and using my parent powers to make them laugh nervously while my own kid rolls his eyes and mouths "she's joking" behind my back.
Getting shopping advice via text from my Savvy Style Expert (hillary).
The patience in Parker's voice while he talks me through the steps to Bluetooth-link my phone to his car radio even though he is hanging out with his friends at McD's.
The fact that he doesn't mind that I've borrowed his car and made him drive the old falling-apart truck because I can't drive a stick and he can.
Texts from either kid that say "home". Because then I can let out the breath I've been holding.
Quiet time by myself on a sunny morning to write about things I love!
FactTime-ing with Hillary while I'm driving down the road (because when she calls I can't NOT answer - it's against mother rules).
Getting a big hug from Parker and being left with the scent of his cologne long after he's gone.
Videos on facebook of my crazy daughter singing and gesturing in public to the world at large.
Meeting Parker's new friends and using my parent powers to make them laugh nervously while my own kid rolls his eyes and mouths "she's joking" behind my back.
Getting shopping advice via text from my Savvy Style Expert (hillary).
The patience in Parker's voice while he talks me through the steps to Bluetooth-link my phone to his car radio even though he is hanging out with his friends at McD's.
The fact that he doesn't mind that I've borrowed his car and made him drive the old falling-apart truck because I can't drive a stick and he can.
Texts from either kid that say "home". Because then I can let out the breath I've been holding.
Quiet time by myself on a sunny morning to write about things I love!
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Building Bridges
For weeks, Parker has been building these things called boomilevers for the Science Olympiad at school. He not only works on it at school with his science teacher, he also carts home boxes of supplies and spends hours at my kitchen table measuring, cutting, sanding, and gluing pieces of feather-light wood into something that looks like a bridge.
He is tireless.
He has made no less than 10 of these things so far, and every time he tests it by putting weight on it, something snaps and breaks.
And he just starts over.
He examines where it broke (the weak spot) and builds a new version with a slightly different design.
And these things aren't quick. He may spend hours completing one side of one boomilever.
I watch him as I'm cooking supper or loading the dishwasher, and I wonder where he gets the patience. It seems so tedious. I would have given up after model number 2...
But he doesn't.
He doesn't curse the wood for being too weak, or the glue for not holding, or the weight for being too heavy. He just salvages what he can and starts over.
Recently, several families I know and love have had problems with their teenagers.
Bridges that they have been working on for years seem to be crumbling beyond repair. In moments like that, things can seem hopeless.
But watching Parker reminds me that there IS hope.
We don't give up, because what's on the other side is too important to us to leave the chasm gaping.
We shouldn't blame our children for being too weak. We shouldn't curse ourselves for not being able to hold. We can't blame the weight for being too great.
We just pick up the pieces, identify the weak spots, come up with a new design, and rebuild.
"It seems that all my bridges have been burnt.
But you say that's exactly how this grace thing works.
It's not the long walk home that will change this heart
But the welcome I receive with every start
Mumford and Sons Roll Away Your Stones
Sunday, February 16, 2014
Home School
We don't make beds here.
Unless company is coming, of course. Or occasionally when we change the sheets and decide to do crisp corners and actually place the decorative throw pillows on the bed for a couple of hours before climbing in and rumpling it all up again.
I realize this makes me a Bad Mother in some circles. And I worried about it for years. (Not enough to actually make the bed every morning, but enough to keep it a secret!) But recently I've been reading about intentionality and creativity, and I've discovered my parenting flaw isn't a flaw at all.
I am a Mother, but I am also a First Grade Teacher in a public school. Monday through Friday I manage 20 or so 6 year olds - getting them to read, write, compute, think, play, eat, clean up, walk in lines, take turns, and lose teeth. And that's not counting Party days and Assemblies (or the enormous amount of time spent on bathroom issues). I study the Common Core (or whichever set of Rules de Jour happen to be imposed on me at the moment) and try to make sure my little minds are pushed and stretched to their full potential. After all, school is for learning. But I also make sure we carve out time to talk, move, explore, fight, make up, draw, cry, and laugh. After all, school is for learning.
When it came to my own children's education, we pretty much did it the traditional way. My kids went to preschools with trained teachers who guided their development with play and creative activities.
They went to a private elementary school with an accelerated academic curriculum that stressed traditional Christian values and morals.
They went to public Middle schools where they were subjected to standardized testing, bad behavior, and the smells that come with almost-adult bodies being managed by still-childish brains.
And they went to a public High school where they both had to have their Dad for a math teacher.
They were in after school clubs. They played sports. They got good grades. They made friends and had boyfriends/girlfriends. They went to Prom.
But as my children are launching into the Real World, I am seeing the importance of Home School.
Being successful in the Real World is about much more than having A's on your transcript. It's about living on your own, getting along with roommates, paying bills, building relationships, finding/keeping a job, obeying traffic laws, having fun, making decisions, solving problems, resolving your past, and dreaming about your future. No one rings a bell to tell you it's time to move in a straight line to the next phase of your life. No one tells you what page to turn to in your Book of Life. You have to know yourself and others and figure stuff out on your own.
So while I'm glad public school taught them to read, write, and compute, I'm also thankful for what they learned at Home.
Things like, "Go to bed when you're tired." "Its important to eat vegetables." "You don't have to like your siblings, but you do have to figure out how to resolve conflict with them." "If you spend all your allowance now, you won't have any for next week." "Not every family looks and acts like ours, but that doesn't mean they are doing it wrong" "Exploring new music, books, art, movies, is a worthwhile way to spend time and money" "Serving dinner off the stove is ok if it means you have time to sit at the table and eat and mama has less dishes to do" and "If it comes down to a choice between making the bed and spending time with someone you love, leave the bed unmade."
Because, no matter where you were educated, we are all Home Schooled.
Unless company is coming, of course. Or occasionally when we change the sheets and decide to do crisp corners and actually place the decorative throw pillows on the bed for a couple of hours before climbing in and rumpling it all up again.
I realize this makes me a Bad Mother in some circles. And I worried about it for years. (Not enough to actually make the bed every morning, but enough to keep it a secret!) But recently I've been reading about intentionality and creativity, and I've discovered my parenting flaw isn't a flaw at all.
I am a Mother, but I am also a First Grade Teacher in a public school. Monday through Friday I manage 20 or so 6 year olds - getting them to read, write, compute, think, play, eat, clean up, walk in lines, take turns, and lose teeth. And that's not counting Party days and Assemblies (or the enormous amount of time spent on bathroom issues). I study the Common Core (or whichever set of Rules de Jour happen to be imposed on me at the moment) and try to make sure my little minds are pushed and stretched to their full potential. After all, school is for learning. But I also make sure we carve out time to talk, move, explore, fight, make up, draw, cry, and laugh. After all, school is for learning.
When it came to my own children's education, we pretty much did it the traditional way. My kids went to preschools with trained teachers who guided their development with play and creative activities.
They went to a private elementary school with an accelerated academic curriculum that stressed traditional Christian values and morals.
They went to public Middle schools where they were subjected to standardized testing, bad behavior, and the smells that come with almost-adult bodies being managed by still-childish brains.
And they went to a public High school where they both had to have their Dad for a math teacher.
They were in after school clubs. They played sports. They got good grades. They made friends and had boyfriends/girlfriends. They went to Prom.
But as my children are launching into the Real World, I am seeing the importance of Home School.
Being successful in the Real World is about much more than having A's on your transcript. It's about living on your own, getting along with roommates, paying bills, building relationships, finding/keeping a job, obeying traffic laws, having fun, making decisions, solving problems, resolving your past, and dreaming about your future. No one rings a bell to tell you it's time to move in a straight line to the next phase of your life. No one tells you what page to turn to in your Book of Life. You have to know yourself and others and figure stuff out on your own.
So while I'm glad public school taught them to read, write, and compute, I'm also thankful for what they learned at Home.
Things like, "Go to bed when you're tired." "Its important to eat vegetables." "You don't have to like your siblings, but you do have to figure out how to resolve conflict with them." "If you spend all your allowance now, you won't have any for next week." "Not every family looks and acts like ours, but that doesn't mean they are doing it wrong" "Exploring new music, books, art, movies, is a worthwhile way to spend time and money" "Serving dinner off the stove is ok if it means you have time to sit at the table and eat and mama has less dishes to do" and "If it comes down to a choice between making the bed and spending time with someone you love, leave the bed unmade."
Because, no matter where you were educated, we are all Home Schooled.
Saturday, February 15, 2014
The Write Stuff
Recently, Parker introduced me to a movie on Netflix called "The Letter Writer". It's about an old man in a retirement home who spends his days writing letters to people he doesn't even know, encouraging them and telling them good things about themselves. He gets their names from the phone book. One young recipient tracks him down, and a life-changing relationship is formed.
"This movie made me think of you," Parker said, "because you like to write to people."
And I do.
I have always loved words. As a child, reading could take me to other worlds, and writing could help me say things I was too afraid to voice out loud. But I never really understood the importance of written down words until recently.
My sister passed away in December. We were very close. The kind of close that made words unnecessary most of the time. One look, one raised eyebrow, and we knew what the other was thinking. When they stopped the cancer treatments and she and I sat alone in her hospital room, I said, "There are no 'last' words. You already know everything I would say." And we were comforted by the fact that there was no unfinished business to regret.
But after she had been gone for a while, I started to forget things I knew.
And then I came across a letter she had written me as a Christmas gift a few years ago.
She spelled out how much she loved me and told stories about our childhood I already knew. She reminded me of how we always took care of each other and called me her sister and her friend.
And then she ended by saying, "I am certain that you know how much I love you, but just in case you need uplifting or reminding some day..."
And I do! I need reminding! As my counselor said, "I think it's providential that she wrote this down."
Words are powerful. Words are the way we give something of ourselves to the people we love.
It's why I write this blog.
It's why I text people I love when my thoughts turn to them in the middle of an ordinary day.
It's why I started journals for each of my children when they were still in the womb. I wanted to capture my thoughts and feelings about them.
A couple of nights ago Hubby was out of town and Parker and I went to dinner together. We chatted over our Mexican food about school and relationships and music and life. It was so much fun to spend time with this amazing young man.
When I got home I pulled out his journal so I could save this precious ordinary Thursday evening for him. When I opened the dusty book, I realized the last entry was several years ago! I started reading, and for a little while I got lost in first words, first days of school, first girlfriends...I realized that these words were as much for me as for my kids.
"..just in case you ever need reminding..."
And I do. I need reminding that we laughed over something silly...that I worried over their friendships and relationships...that they said something that melted my heart...that I was happy, scared, proud, and (every now and then) wrong!
I can leave my children money, things, memories... but with my words I can leave them ME. I can leave them insight into my heart and thoughts. I can leave them snapshots of themselves through my eyes.
So I'm thankful God made me a letter-writer. And I will resolve to keep it up.
Just in case you need uplifting or reminding someday...
"This movie made me think of you," Parker said, "because you like to write to people."
And I do.
I have always loved words. As a child, reading could take me to other worlds, and writing could help me say things I was too afraid to voice out loud. But I never really understood the importance of written down words until recently.
My sister passed away in December. We were very close. The kind of close that made words unnecessary most of the time. One look, one raised eyebrow, and we knew what the other was thinking. When they stopped the cancer treatments and she and I sat alone in her hospital room, I said, "There are no 'last' words. You already know everything I would say." And we were comforted by the fact that there was no unfinished business to regret.
But after she had been gone for a while, I started to forget things I knew.
And then I came across a letter she had written me as a Christmas gift a few years ago.
She spelled out how much she loved me and told stories about our childhood I already knew. She reminded me of how we always took care of each other and called me her sister and her friend.
And then she ended by saying, "I am certain that you know how much I love you, but just in case you need uplifting or reminding some day..."
And I do! I need reminding! As my counselor said, "I think it's providential that she wrote this down."
Words are powerful. Words are the way we give something of ourselves to the people we love.
It's why I write this blog.
It's why I text people I love when my thoughts turn to them in the middle of an ordinary day.
It's why I started journals for each of my children when they were still in the womb. I wanted to capture my thoughts and feelings about them.
A couple of nights ago Hubby was out of town and Parker and I went to dinner together. We chatted over our Mexican food about school and relationships and music and life. It was so much fun to spend time with this amazing young man.
When I got home I pulled out his journal so I could save this precious ordinary Thursday evening for him. When I opened the dusty book, I realized the last entry was several years ago! I started reading, and for a little while I got lost in first words, first days of school, first girlfriends...I realized that these words were as much for me as for my kids.
"..just in case you ever need reminding..."
And I do. I need reminding that we laughed over something silly...that I worried over their friendships and relationships...that they said something that melted my heart...that I was happy, scared, proud, and (every now and then) wrong!
I can leave my children money, things, memories... but with my words I can leave them ME. I can leave them insight into my heart and thoughts. I can leave them snapshots of themselves through my eyes.
So I'm thankful God made me a letter-writer. And I will resolve to keep it up.
Just in case you need uplifting or reminding someday...
Saturday, January 25, 2014
Super Man
"Mama..." he said sheepishly, flashing the dimples. "I need to ask a favor. Will you write a speech for me. For tomorrow?"
"Absolutely..." I replied without batting an eyelash. "NOT. But I will sit beside you while YOU write it."
So he settled in with his notebook and the list of speech types he had to choose from.
Toast
Eulogy
Award Acceptance Speech
Tribute
After I explained what each one was, he decided to write a Tribute speech about his dad.
Once I got him started, the paper filled up fast. He talked about how his dad never meets a stranger, how he is always willing to help push someone's car out of a snowy ditch or use his truck and his back to help someone move. He talked about how faithful he has been to his family, his friends, and his teams. He talked about how his manly size and large voice hide a teddy bear heart.
My own heart swelled with pride as I saw my hubby through his son's eyes.
The teacher had said these could be made-up speeches. So Parker could have chosen to tribute anyone from Superman to LeBron James. So it meant something to me that, while his friends were eulogizing each other's tragic accidents with tricycles and badgers, he chose to write seriously about our own SuperMan.
Wait...does that make me Lois Lane?
Either way, I am glad these guys let me be their sidekick.
"Absolutely..." I replied without batting an eyelash. "NOT. But I will sit beside you while YOU write it."
So he settled in with his notebook and the list of speech types he had to choose from.
Toast
Eulogy
Award Acceptance Speech
Tribute
After I explained what each one was, he decided to write a Tribute speech about his dad.
Once I got him started, the paper filled up fast. He talked about how his dad never meets a stranger, how he is always willing to help push someone's car out of a snowy ditch or use his truck and his back to help someone move. He talked about how faithful he has been to his family, his friends, and his teams. He talked about how his manly size and large voice hide a teddy bear heart.
My own heart swelled with pride as I saw my hubby through his son's eyes.
The teacher had said these could be made-up speeches. So Parker could have chosen to tribute anyone from Superman to LeBron James. So it meant something to me that, while his friends were eulogizing each other's tragic accidents with tricycles and badgers, he chose to write seriously about our own SuperMan.
Wait...does that make me Lois Lane?
Either way, I am glad these guys let me be their sidekick.
Saturday, January 11, 2014
Tai chi and me
Hubby and I were snowed in for a week. Alone.
In a blissfully quiet house.
After reading stacks of books, drinking gallons of coffee, and watching an entire discontinued tv series on Netflix, we decided we better relax and de-stress by learning the ancient martial art called Tai Chi. I pulled up a free video on youtube and master Pee Wee (name has been changed to protect the innocent) led us in a warm up.
Three days later, we had mastered the warm up and were ready for the first pose called Parting the Wild Horse's Mane. Can I just say, this stuff is harder than it looks... Master Pee Wee talked us through it sllooowly and showed us the steps several times. We had to keep rewinding and trying it again until i was afraid my imaginary horse was getting a bald spot. But perseverance pays off and we finally moved on to White Crane Separates Wings. In the beginning, mine looked more like Chicken With Head Cut Off, but with Pee Wee's patient coaching hubby and I were soon "moving like water."
And then the kids came home.
Thinking they would be impressed at their parents new ninja skills, I said, "hey, wanna see some Tai Chi?"
We made it to the second warm up move before Hillary let a giggle escape and whipped out her phone.
"Put that away!" I commanded as I rotated my elbows in a big circle which caused my hands to slide across my chest in a way that made me look like I was doing a breast self-exam.
"I won't post it" she promised. "I just wanna show ONE person."
The little techie wasn't fooling me. I may be old but I just read an article about how images posted online are out in the cloud forever.
"Put it away."
"Ok, ok.." She said, lowering it and pretending the camera lens wasn't still pointed at me.
I considered showing her the Mother Wrap Fingers Around Daughter Skinny Neck pose, but I was taught never to use my powers for evil.
She finally went to take a shower and Hubby and I continued.
It is very hard to clear your mind when you can hear guffaws coming from the closed bathroom door.
Breathe in. Step forward. Lift arms. Separate hands.
And I finished with my favorite pose... "Lady Relaxes Into Happy Weekend."
Monday, January 6, 2014
Drinking with Darth Vader
My kids are grown-up.
I think.
I mean, the signs are all there. Hillary's friends are starting to get married and have kids. Parker has visited colleges. They both have voter registration cards.
During our Christmas Family Shopping Day, I stood back and watched as my son walked into a real jewelry store to pick up a ring he had bought for his girlfriend (No, it's not an engagement ring, just a promise ring). His sister accompanied him so she could check out the display. (she takes every opportunity to send pics of rings to her boyfriend- and yes, it WILL be an engagement ring...) I chuckled as I watched the saleslady bring out the ring and assume Parker and Hillary were the happy couple. They laughed and set her straight. And I thought, "Am I really here? In this stage of life where my children are in a jewelry store looking at rings and they look like they BELONG there?"
Then we went to Target, and Hillary got all excited to find wine glasses in the dollar bin. And I thought, "Yep, it's official. Grown-up."
And then, as we rounded the toy aisle, she gasped. "Oh. My. Gosh."
It was a giant Darth Vader doll. Two feet tall and complete with mask and everything.
"I have to have this!" she said. (The explanation as to why would fill a whole other blog post.)
And then there's Parker. The boy who used to cry for mama when he had to spend the night at his grandparents' house. The boy who has spent this year's entire 18 day Christmas break at his grandparents' house and can go for days without so much as a text to mama. (And before you start to think "oh, how sweet that he loves his grandparents so much" I should tell you that his girlfriend lives in the same town as them.)
But just as I began to despair that he was grown up I got a text from him.
"hey mama. i'm not having the best morning.." He went on to detail the reasons why and then he continued..
"...and THIS happened..."
I laughed. I couldn't help it. This heavy denim comforter has been with Parker since he was about 5. We tease him all the time about his "blankie" because he takes it anywhere he has to stay overnight. It's way too big and heavy for my washing machine, so we have to send it off to the dry cleaner periodically. Parker endures the sleepless nights until it returns. I have warned him it is getting threadbare and suggested maybe we should start looking for a replacement. But he doesn't want to talk about it.
And now it has a 3 corner tear.
Luckily, my mom is an awesome seamstress and will probably find a way to patch or stitch it.
Gosh, I love these Grown Up Children. I love that they embrace responsibility with one hand while holding on to the things that keep them young in the other. They remind me that its ok to be both.
So when the bills are stacking up and I'm counting the years to retirement, Darth Vader and I will sit wrapped in our "blankie" and figure it all out over a glass of wine.
Sunday, October 13, 2013
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.
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.
Saturday, September 28, 2013
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.
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.
Friday, September 6, 2013
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.
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.
Saturday, August 24, 2013
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!
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!
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