I'm With the Band

This was the first parade of the season (hence the t-shirts and shorts instead of uniforms). Every year in July this little county kicks off it's fair with a parade. But this is the first year Parker is marching. He has been practicing, marching around the house with knees high and toes pointed. Of course, as they came down the street, I ran to meet them, camera in hand.

I shouted his name...but he was all business. Not a glance my way.

This was also a first for Hillary. She's been marching in this parade for four years, but this is the first time she's done it as drum major. She was nervous and excited. She has also been practicing...arms high and movements sharp. As well as coaching Parker on his marching technique.
She didn't mind at all that I was running down the side of the road with them, taking shot after shot. You can't see it behind the refelective shades (a vibe inherited from her daddy), but she told me later she was nodding and raising her eyebrows in a friendly "Hi! How are you!" way to everyone who called her name. Which was a lot. She has a lot of friends.
I am so proud of them both. I told people as I ran by them barefoot...focusing and shooting pictures..."That's my kid." I want everyone to know I'm with the band!

Stumped

It's the middle of summer. The excitement of being home with nothing to do is starting to wear off. One particular day recently, my son (and his neighborhood friends) were lounging, long arms and legs draped over the chair, exuding that "I'm bored" look. All I wanted to do was lay in the hammock and read, and I knew I had to get him and his little friends busy or they would be pestering me like mosquitoes every other page.

So I gave them a job.

A manly job.

I handed out axes and pointed them to the old stump in our yard. They went at it with gusto.

I know there are a couple of you who may point out that my son's exposed toes are in grave danger, but actually, the boys were surprisingly careful. (And I was hovering, offering safety tips and taking pictures...so much for relaxing in the hammock.)

They chipped away at that stump for at least an hour. My ever-entreprenuial son said, "Do you think we could get $2 for this?" I said the salary would be commensurate with their performance. An hour later, wiping sweat, he said, "I think we should get at LEAST $20!"

This is not a project that will be finished in a day....or a week...or maybe not even this summer. But I really don't care about getting rid of the stump. The boys have eagerly taken this challenge on. They swing their ax and proudly show their strength. They are careful and considerate to be safe with each other and show their capacity to work together and protect others. Plus...they're just having so DARN MUCH FUN! Over the past few days they have randomly chipped, pounded, and poked at it. They have discovered bugs and bug eggs. They have embedded firecrackers and blown little bits off at a time. They have talked about setting it on fire. (OK, I do have my limits)

But if an old stump can give my boy a chance to hone his man skills AND have fun at the same time...who am I to cut him off at the knees (oh yeah...pun definitely intended!)

What's in YOUR Dryer?

Things I've actually found in my dryer:

money (who hasn't)
scissors
a fork
toy motorcycle
matches

What's the weirdest thing you've ever found in your dryer?

Exploding Eggs (and other things)

My husband and I went to town the other day. Parker didn't want to go, so we let him stay home alone. As we were walking out the door, Yancy said, "Parker, I'm putting these eggs on to boil so I can have egg in my salad when we get back. Watch them and don't let them boil dry." My overprotective motherness wanted to step in...no children playing with the stove while adults are gone...but I am trying to let Parker grow up, so I let it go. Sure thing, Daddy-O!
A few minutes later, I got a call on my cell phone. Parker, in his normal I-never-get-excited voice said, "Mom..." "What is it? What's wrong?" "Well...the eggs are exploding." I tried to stay rational. I mean, we hadn't even been gone that long. I figured the eggs had just overcooked and cracked open, letting some of the yolk out into the water.
"Is anything on fire?"
"no"
"Are you hurt?"
"no"
"Did you turn the burner off?"
"no"
"Well, turn the burner off and just leave it all alone. We're on our way home. We'll be there in just a few minutes."
We walked into a very stinky kitchen. The pan was dry and black...and pieces of egg were EVERYWHERE. They were stuck to the cabinets, on the sink...even across the dining area over by the patio door. Who knew eggs could do that?
I rushed to Parker and inspected him for injuries (there were none) and started asking obvious questions like "What happened?" Apparently, he went to watch TV and forgot all about the eggs till he heard them blowing up. Then, he wasn't sure what to do and was too scared to try to move the pan or turn off the burner...so he just crouched and waited for them all to finish exploding, then found the cell phone and called us. He was a little shaken up. Give the boy a sack of dynomite disguised as fireworks and a watermelon and he'll happily blow things up all day. But let an egg explode and he just can't take it.
By the way...if anyone would like to nominate us for parents of the year, just go to www.explodingeggs.com. (just kidding)

Please Don't Feed the Animals

No, my daughter is not in a "Brittany Spears Wannabe" contest, but she is holding a real snake. And look at that huge smile on her face. She's loving it!

Ever since she was little, I haven't been able to take her anywhere without her getting up close and personal with the animals. Once when she was 4, her daycare class took a trip to a petting zoo. There were baby goats to feed and rabbits to pet. But where was Hillary? Over by the barn, arm deep in the ONLY animal that was locked in a cage. I figured there was a reason that dog wasn't allowed out with the kids, but with Hillary's arms snaked around it's neck, it was wagging it's tail and...well...smiling.


Here she is at age 8, necking with a camel...and causing her poor Papaw T to have heart palpatations.

So I was not surprised when she was the first one of us to volunteer to hold wild animals at the reptile place we visited today. We happened to be with Papaw P this time. (You would think the grandparents would have learned by now.)

The "tour guide" was a teenaged girl who told us about each animal in a quiet, breathy voice...even as she threw chunks of bloody horse meat to the alligator, tiger, and lion. When we got to the inside reptiles, she walked into the pen of 60 various sized alligators and grabbed one for us to touch. (Hmm...Hillary needs a summer job...)
Of course Hillary wanted to be first. She finally convinced everyone to touch it. (I, of course, was busy taking pictures) She even got a reluctant Parker to hold the baby alligator.

Next came the Spiny Backed Something-or-Other Lizard.
Parker was having none of it this time.

Papaw had walked away and was watching the animals safely behind glass. I heard him say, "Well, who's ready to go?" Hillary ignored him and asked Miss Teen Crocodile Hunter "Can we hold a snake?"
As the girl was transferring the big boa from her body to Hillary's, I heard Papaw mutter "Sometimes those things strike." No one paid any attention to him.
We did finally get out of there. All limbs and eyeballs safe and accounted for. And we had lots of fun laughing together. I just hope Hillary's luck holds, and her charm with animals keeps her from someday being lunch.

Neighborhood mom

It's Monday morning, so you know what that means...time to load up my car with neighborhood boys and take them to golf. Just in case you were jealous that I am getting to be home this summer, sleeping in and hanging out, while you're going to work...don't be. At 7:00 this morning, I had just gotten out of the shower and was rummaging in the kitchen for something when the doorbell rang. Did I forget to say I was only in my panties and bra? I knew it was a little boy (golf doesn't start til 8:00...what the heck is he doing here so early!!!), so I yelled "DON'T get the door!" In response I heard Hillary saying "Oh, hi. Come on in." All I can say is being too busy to put away your clean laundry can be a blessing at times. I managed to grab a tshirt and pair of jeans from the laundry room and wiggle them on before he came around the kitchen wall. Whew! He went downstairs to make himself at home til we were ready.
Forty five minutes later, I am driving through town with my backseat full of cologne, hats, big feet, and boy bragging. The conversation ranged from "My mom makes me wear a cup to play baseball now" to "My church is right up here. I want to get baptized, but I'm afraid I'll drown."
These boys seem very at ease with me. And as much as I complain sometimes...I'm glad. I know that God put me here...in this house...in this neighborhood...in this car...for a reason. He did it for my son, and the other sons who live on our street. This is an important time of growing and transformation, and I have the opportunity to help shape lives and attitudes. So I keep my fridge full of snacks, put up with stray bikes and dogs in my yard, try to ignore the smell of boys in my basement, and give lots of attention.

"Let the children alone, don't prevent them from coming to me. God's kingdom is made up of people like these." Matthew 19:14 (The Message)

Missing

Have you noticed that something has been missing from my blogs this week? That something (or someone) is Hillary. She's been gone to church camp. Today is the day! They're coming home.

I remember the first time she went to camp. She was 8 years old...and I didn't miss her at all. That's because I went with her! As a worker.

The next few years, I didn't follow her to camp, but I did fuss and fiddle over preparing her. I washed all her clothes, made elaborate lists of every possible thing she might need, and packed her in coordinating outfits sealed in large ziploc bags and labeled day by day. (I know...it's a sickness) But this year, I hardly did anything. She packed herself (literally - she showed me how she could fit in her suitcase. Good thing the church doesn't charge per pound to haul the luggage!) She was excited...and I was excited for her. Even though I knew I would miss her being here, I was happy she was getting to go. I wasn't worried about her safety. I wasn't moping about her absence. It was nice...for me AND for her.

She gave me a huge hug when she got on the bus, and waved out the window as they drove away. All cell phones were confiscated and held by the leaders when they actually got there, so I knew I wouldn't get to talk to her every day. But I did get a text message Monday night. "Camp is great! I miss you guys!"

The week passed, like it always tends to do. And Parker got to feel like an only child for a few days. And now it's Friday and Hillary just called. Even though I haven't been sad this week, I felt a surge of pure joy in my heart when I heard her voice. She was so happy and full of stories. She took 5 tapes full of video. We will relive camp together when she gets home.

Is this what it's like to let your child go? When she goes to college or gets married or moves across the country to act, sing, dance, or take pictures will I so easily let her pack herself and not dissolve into tears as she drives away, waving out the window? I hope so. I want to let her fly...free from guilt...and live her life with her through her stories. I want to feel joy when I hear her voice, without being sad in between times. I want to learn to miss her without something missing in my own life.

I'll let you know how it goes!