It was Saturday morning and Parker was still in bed. I went in to wake him up so we could go to Hillary's track meet. I lay down beside him and said, close to his ear, "Parker...it's time to get up." He just groaned and turned his head away. "Come on" I said, "I've let you sleep as long as I can. Did you stay up late last night?" Without opening his eyes he said, "Not too late. I watched "How It's Made" and then I watched the weather." I chuckled. What 12 year old stays up to watch the weather? "Well, what's it supposed to be like?" I asked. "It's going to get cooler, then warm up again by the end of the week."
I looked around his room at the posters of airplanes...at his basketball medals he's strung together and nailed to the wall...at the graphic images he's printed off the computer and taped to his door...and I said, "I love who you are."
What I meant was..."I love that you love to practice your trumpet...that you listen to the oldies station...that you are good at video games. I love that you sing in the select choir...that you listen to books on tape...that you wear funky shoes...and that you dance like Micheal Jackson. I love that you say funny, random things at the craziest moments. I love that you are a unique person, who is comfortable in his own skin."
I don't know if he heard all that in that one little sentence, but I think he felt it. And that's all that matters.
Our Family
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Monday, April 21, 2008
Hold my heart in your hand
I love holding hands. One of the things that first attracted me to my husband were his strong, athletic hands. As big and manly as they are, they are still very gentle as he plays with my hair while we watch TV or rubs my back while I fall asleep.
One of the first things I did when my babies were born was put my finger in their tiny fist. I remember how they would bury their hands in my hair as I held them up to my shoulder to burp them or rock them to sleep.
Even now, sometimes as we're driving down the road...all together... I'll reach back into the back seat and hold out my hand, palm up. One of the kids will put their hand in mine and we'll just ride like that for a few miles. I give their hand a little squeeze, and smile at them in the rearview mirror. It's our silent little "I love you".
Yesterday, in church, as we four sat in a row in our pew, Parker reached over and took my hand. He lay my palm flat against his...and discovered that his hand was bigger than mine. He excitedly elbowed his dad and pointed and gestured, proud to have passed another milestone. Hillary patted his leg in big sisterly fashion...her new class ring glinting on her long slender finger. Yancy lay his arm on the back of the pew behind our two kids and put his hand on the back of my neck. They don't even know it, but they all hold my heart in their hands.
One of the first things I did when my babies were born was put my finger in their tiny fist. I remember how they would bury their hands in my hair as I held them up to my shoulder to burp them or rock them to sleep.
Even now, sometimes as we're driving down the road...all together... I'll reach back into the back seat and hold out my hand, palm up. One of the kids will put their hand in mine and we'll just ride like that for a few miles. I give their hand a little squeeze, and smile at them in the rearview mirror. It's our silent little "I love you".
Yesterday, in church, as we four sat in a row in our pew, Parker reached over and took my hand. He lay my palm flat against his...and discovered that his hand was bigger than mine. He excitedly elbowed his dad and pointed and gestured, proud to have passed another milestone. Hillary patted his leg in big sisterly fashion...her new class ring glinting on her long slender finger. Yancy lay his arm on the back of the pew behind our two kids and put his hand on the back of my neck. They don't even know it, but they all hold my heart in their hands.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Warning: Objects in this mirror are younger than they appear
I am very proud of my children. They are both quite creative and talented. And I've always tried to respect them as a person and value their independence...letting them make their own decisions (when appropriate) and letting them feel the consequences of those decisions. But sometimes their insides don't match their outsides. This becomes especially true when they begin the teen years.
When those hormones kick in and your baby blossoms into what looks like a full-grown person, it's easy to start expecting more than you should. They look like a grown-up... they can talk like a grown-up... they can certainly eat like a grown-up...and they even smell like a grown-up (stinky feet, BO, and too much cologne!). But they act, remarkably, like their age. Even though Parker is taller than I am, he still drags out his matchbox cars and tells me stories about each one and what it can do in his pretend world. And though Hillary could pass for my sister sometimes, she's still amazingly naive when it comes to certain things.
The bad part is, their own image in the mirror sometimes tricks even them, and they think they can take on more than they really can. Case in point...
Yesterday, I arrived at the school at 4:30 to pick Hillary up from track practice. She wasn't finished and I watched her run around and around the track, then do several sets of "up-downs". She finally strode toward the car, sweaty and out of breath, and said, "I've got to go in and sing my songs for Mrs. Carollo. I have to make up choir points from when I missed yesterday for the track meet." I wasn't thrilled. I had other things I needed to do, but I said ok. She hurried in the building. Fifteen minutes later she hurried back out, jumped in the car, and said, "OK, I've got to be at play practice by 5:00." It was 4:55. She hadn't had anything to eat, and wouldn't be finished with play practice until late in the evening. As we drove, I looked over at her. "What's wrong?" Then the tears came. "Mom, I haven't even had a drink of water! And I don't have time to get anything because I can't be late!"
We didn't get to this point by accident. When this play was first mentioned, her dad and I warned her that she was already pretty busy. But she just knew she could do it, and she loves acting so much, and won't this look good on a college resume? So we allowed it. Our mature minds tricked by our eyes and ears.
I didn't say I told you so. I dropped her off, went through Sonic drive-through, and brought her dinner. But I knew inside that this was partly my fault. She's not grown-up, she's 16. It's part of my job as a mother to occasionally protect my children from themselves. So she'll finish track season, and she'll sing at state choir competition, and the play will be over this weekend. And next time I am tempted to let her chuck herself over a cliff, I'll remember to just say no.
When those hormones kick in and your baby blossoms into what looks like a full-grown person, it's easy to start expecting more than you should. They look like a grown-up... they can talk like a grown-up... they can certainly eat like a grown-up...and they even smell like a grown-up (stinky feet, BO, and too much cologne!). But they act, remarkably, like their age. Even though Parker is taller than I am, he still drags out his matchbox cars and tells me stories about each one and what it can do in his pretend world. And though Hillary could pass for my sister sometimes, she's still amazingly naive when it comes to certain things.
The bad part is, their own image in the mirror sometimes tricks even them, and they think they can take on more than they really can. Case in point...
Yesterday, I arrived at the school at 4:30 to pick Hillary up from track practice. She wasn't finished and I watched her run around and around the track, then do several sets of "up-downs". She finally strode toward the car, sweaty and out of breath, and said, "I've got to go in and sing my songs for Mrs. Carollo. I have to make up choir points from when I missed yesterday for the track meet." I wasn't thrilled. I had other things I needed to do, but I said ok. She hurried in the building. Fifteen minutes later she hurried back out, jumped in the car, and said, "OK, I've got to be at play practice by 5:00." It was 4:55. She hadn't had anything to eat, and wouldn't be finished with play practice until late in the evening. As we drove, I looked over at her. "What's wrong?" Then the tears came. "Mom, I haven't even had a drink of water! And I don't have time to get anything because I can't be late!"
We didn't get to this point by accident. When this play was first mentioned, her dad and I warned her that she was already pretty busy. But she just knew she could do it, and she loves acting so much, and won't this look good on a college resume? So we allowed it. Our mature minds tricked by our eyes and ears.
I didn't say I told you so. I dropped her off, went through Sonic drive-through, and brought her dinner. But I knew inside that this was partly my fault. She's not grown-up, she's 16. It's part of my job as a mother to occasionally protect my children from themselves. So she'll finish track season, and she'll sing at state choir competition, and the play will be over this weekend. And next time I am tempted to let her chuck herself over a cliff, I'll remember to just say no.
Monday, April 14, 2008
What If?
What is it about becoming a parent that releases all kinds of irrational fears? I remember when my children were perfect, healthy babies. I used to check on them often when they were sleeping. Not just look at them, but put my hand on their back. And if I couldn't feel the subtle rise and fall of the tiny back, I put my fingers under their nose to feel for the movement of air. Or even disturbed their sleep just to see them move. "What if she stops breathing? What if he chokes on spit-up? What if the furnace is leaking poisonous gas and I don't know it?!"
And if, by some miracle, they survived babyhood, I just knew I was going to damage them psychologically. Will she remember how I yelled at her because she peed in the floor for the 10th time the first day we tried potty training? Will he be forever scarred by my making him cry himself to sleep in his crib because everyone knows your child should learn to sleep in their own bed. What if I raise a brat by buying her name brand clothes? What if he has low self-esteem because I DIDN'T buy name brand clothes?
It doesn't get any easier, you know.
Just now, Hillary got in the car and backed out of the driveway. This happens every day - usually several times a day. And she always comes back, safe and sound. But in this moment, I wanted to jump in front of the car and say, "Wear your seatbelt....or...on second thought...just don't go. Stay here where I can keep you safe." Of course, that's an illusion. We can't really keep our children safe any more than we can keep ourselves safe.
So I finished loading the dishwasher, and she drove away. And life goes on.
So far, so good.
And if, by some miracle, they survived babyhood, I just knew I was going to damage them psychologically. Will she remember how I yelled at her because she peed in the floor for the 10th time the first day we tried potty training? Will he be forever scarred by my making him cry himself to sleep in his crib because everyone knows your child should learn to sleep in their own bed. What if I raise a brat by buying her name brand clothes? What if he has low self-esteem because I DIDN'T buy name brand clothes?
It doesn't get any easier, you know.
Just now, Hillary got in the car and backed out of the driveway. This happens every day - usually several times a day. And she always comes back, safe and sound. But in this moment, I wanted to jump in front of the car and say, "Wear your seatbelt....or...on second thought...just don't go. Stay here where I can keep you safe." Of course, that's an illusion. We can't really keep our children safe any more than we can keep ourselves safe.
So I finished loading the dishwasher, and she drove away. And life goes on.
So far, so good.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
A-wash with love
For only four people, we produce an amazing amount of laundry. I know this because I spent most of yesterday and part of today gathering, sorting, washing, drying, folding, hanging, and otherwise handling it.
So this morning (as the snow flew outside our windows) Parker came out of his room wearing denim shorts and a t-shirt. When I asked him why he was wearing that to church on this 30 degree day he said, "That's all I could find." I directed him to the dryer, where he found clean, dry jeans waiting for him...still warm. Go me!
And just now, Hillary came downstairs and gave me the biggest hug. "What was that for?" I asked. She said, "Well, I just finished writing my paper and I still have Algebra to do and I remembered that I needed my track uniform for tomorrow. I went into the laundry room to wash a load, and there were all my pieces...neatly stacked and folded." I was amazed that she was actually thinking this far ahead (maybe there is hope, after all), but even happier that she had taken the time to thank me.
When we go to bed tonight, the clothes we're wearing will already begin filling the hampers. But for right now, I'm on top of the pile!
So this morning (as the snow flew outside our windows) Parker came out of his room wearing denim shorts and a t-shirt. When I asked him why he was wearing that to church on this 30 degree day he said, "That's all I could find." I directed him to the dryer, where he found clean, dry jeans waiting for him...still warm. Go me!
And just now, Hillary came downstairs and gave me the biggest hug. "What was that for?" I asked. She said, "Well, I just finished writing my paper and I still have Algebra to do and I remembered that I needed my track uniform for tomorrow. I went into the laundry room to wash a load, and there were all my pieces...neatly stacked and folded." I was amazed that she was actually thinking this far ahead (maybe there is hope, after all), but even happier that she had taken the time to thank me.
When we go to bed tonight, the clothes we're wearing will already begin filling the hampers. But for right now, I'm on top of the pile!
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Saving Face
My car was in the shop yesterday (in the town where I teach - 12 miles away). I tried to catch a ride with another teacher, but it didn't work out. So my sweet husband agreed to get up extra early, take me to school, and come back to get the kids and himself to their school. I got up early, showered, dressed, packed my lunch, and made coffee. To save time, I decided to take my make-up with me and put it on when I got to school.
We took the back roads (my husband always does this...I don't know why, when the interstate is faster...anyway). It was just getting light and we talked as we rolled along. It was kind of peaceful and I joked him that I could get used to this.
A mile from my school, I realized that my make-up bag was not with me. The peace was gone. I was in panic mode. Of course, Mr. Laid-Back didn't understand what there was to worry about. It was too late to go back, so I told him to take me to the only place in this small town that might carry make-up and be open at 6:55 am...the grocery store. He rolled his eyes, but pulled into the parking lot.
I paid an exorbitant price for the two pieces of cosmetics they had in the store...some foundation and some midnight blue eyeliner...and hopped back in the truck. Yancey grumbled that he wouldn't have time to pack his lunch now, but he kissed me goodbye and delivered me right to my classroom door.
I made do with the make-up I had, caught up on some grading, and started to unload my ubiquitous bag....and there it was in the bottom of the bag....my make-up! I guess I had put it in there earlier so I wouldn't forget it.
When I got home that evening, I couldn't help but tell on myself. And did he get mad? No, he just rolled his eyes and smiled.
My husband's easy-going nature can drive me crazy when he's sitting on the couch watching TV while the room falls apart around him, or when he invites people over without telling me, or when he's cruising down the back roads instead of taking the fast way. But, I have to admit, it's pretty great when it's saving my face!
We took the back roads (my husband always does this...I don't know why, when the interstate is faster...anyway). It was just getting light and we talked as we rolled along. It was kind of peaceful and I joked him that I could get used to this.
A mile from my school, I realized that my make-up bag was not with me. The peace was gone. I was in panic mode. Of course, Mr. Laid-Back didn't understand what there was to worry about. It was too late to go back, so I told him to take me to the only place in this small town that might carry make-up and be open at 6:55 am...the grocery store. He rolled his eyes, but pulled into the parking lot.
I paid an exorbitant price for the two pieces of cosmetics they had in the store...some foundation and some midnight blue eyeliner...and hopped back in the truck. Yancey grumbled that he wouldn't have time to pack his lunch now, but he kissed me goodbye and delivered me right to my classroom door.
I made do with the make-up I had, caught up on some grading, and started to unload my ubiquitous bag....and there it was in the bottom of the bag....my make-up! I guess I had put it in there earlier so I wouldn't forget it.
When I got home that evening, I couldn't help but tell on myself. And did he get mad? No, he just rolled his eyes and smiled.
My husband's easy-going nature can drive me crazy when he's sitting on the couch watching TV while the room falls apart around him, or when he invites people over without telling me, or when he's cruising down the back roads instead of taking the fast way. But, I have to admit, it's pretty great when it's saving my face!
Sunday, April 6, 2008
That Hat
My mom and dad were here for a visit recently. While my dad and Parker did man stuff, we girls went antique shopping. We wandered down the aisles, picking up random things and commenting on what they were, or how we could use them to decorate my house, or how "we used to have one just like this!" In one booth, Hillary found a black felt hat, with a wide black satin ribbon around it, tied in a bow in the back. "Mimi!" she cried, "Look at this! Isn't this cute?" It was an old style that sat snugly down on the head, framing the face. Before we could even respond, Hillary had it on. "You should try it on," she said to my mom, who is still getting used to her new wig, made necessary by the chemo treatments she's enduring. "Oh, I don't think so," mom said, "I don't have the face to carry off a hat." But she did try it on, and we said how cute she was, and we all laughed and enjoyed the pleasure of being together.
Before we left the store, Hillary went back for the hat. She had her own money, and, since she couldn't convince my mom to buy it, Hillary was going to buy it for herself. My mom smiled and said, "You just take that hat and enjoy it." To which Hillary replied, "I wish you would enjoy it." And mom said, "I will - on your head!" Hillary said, "If you won't wear it, I'll wear it...in honor of you."
This morning, Hillary wore that hat to church. She looked so cute with her new haircut sticking out all around the bottom. Everyone commented on how pretty she was. She looked like no one else there, and she held her head proudly. And I thought I could see some of my mom's spunk in the reflection of her eyes. In a way, they're both wearing that hat.
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