Of Fathers, Sons and WeedEaters

Parker has been mowing since last summer. But until his latest growth spurt, he was still too small to handle the weedeater. Finally, Dad decided it was time for him to take that next step to manhood. He told Parker to get his old clothes on and get ready to weedeat. A few minutes later, I found Parker on the back porch, waiting for his dad. One look at his face had me asking, "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." he clipped as he swung too hard on the porch swing.
I waited.
"I'm not too happy with Dad right now," he finally continued.
"You don't want to learn how to weedeat?" I asked.
"Yeah, I do. But he's not going to help me. I know he's just going to say, 'Get that whole yard done' and then he's gonna go inside and play an Xbox game while I do all the work."
Hmmm. This would be one of those times that Mom becomes the oil that smooths the friction between the grown man and the growing man.
While there have been times that the man of the house sat on his couch-throne and handed down work orders, I knew this wasn't one of them. So I gently explained that we might be having company that evening and that Dad wanted to build a bonfire and that I knew Dad was planning to stay outside with Parker and teach/supervise the work. The mood lifted just a little.
Dad did come outside and patiently explained the details of trimming a lawn well. And once he got started, Parker must've enjoyed the work. When he ran out of string, Dad told him he could just stop where he was and they would finish the next day, but Parker insisted that he needed to finish 'this one corner'. So Dad taught him how to re-string the machine, then stood back and watched while Parker struggled to start it. I would have stepped in (I was already worried about his arms being tired) but Dad just waited...giving Parker time to fail or succeed on his own. And when the weedeater sputtered to life, Dad looked at me with a proud see-I-told-you, and Parker beamed.
I'd say it was a job well done...for all of us!

wHOLE-ly conTENTed

In an effort to grab some quality family time this summer, we decided to pack our tents and our relatives and camp out for the 4th of July weekend.


And not only did we have FUN, we also learned some important lessons.

Like how to put up a tent (times 3)...

That your camping neighbors appreciate it when you keep the lid closed on the vault toilet...

How to split wood....

How to make popcorn and coffee over an open fire...

And how to jump a dead car battery.

But some of the most memorable lessons happened away from the campground. On our final morning there, it started to rain. Due to some lightning and some anxiety and some leaky tents, we spent a good part of our "sleeping" time in our vehicles. Finally, it was decided that we should drive into town to grab some breakfast while we waited out the storm. We squeezed into two cars and caravaned to town. As we neared the fast food restaurant my husband looked over and said, "We're going in, right?" I just stared at him. HE might be going in with his shorts and tshirt and hair that never has to be combed...but MY bedraggled, stinky, matted hair, racoon-eyed, shoeless, bra-less, pj-wearing self was absolutely NOT getting out of that car. He was lucky I was willing to ride through the drive-thru with him. (Let it be known that I will do a lot of things for a hot cup of coffee in the morning.) Fortunately, with my parents in the car, we out-numbered Hubby 3 to 1 and the consensus was "We are not going in." But as we pulled into the parking lot, my father-in-law pulled his SUV into a parking spot. We couldn't believe it! "Are they going in?!" We pulled up beside them as he rolled down his window and said with a somber face and voice, "We are not going in." Our whole car erupted with laughter! Apparently they had been having the same conversation!
We made it through the drive-thru, waited a considerable time for our bags of food, and headed back to camp. Lesson #1 - Always check your order before you leave the parking lot. Not only had they neglected to give us ketchup, but Yancy and Hillary had ordered cinnamon sugar biscuit holes which had been put in the bag with no icing to dip them in. Apparently this was Hubby's last straw. Back into town we flew.
When we arrived, he went straight to the counter to resolve the issue while I darted into the bathroom (the allure of a flushing toilet overriding my pride). When I came out, I saw my large husband, feet planted, finger pointing, deep voice booming "..so will you PLEASE give me another one!" I pretended I didn't know him and headed to the car, all the while thinking, "Lady, he might be saying the word 'please' but he is NOT being polite!" He entered the car triumphantly, 3 small containers of icing in hand. Apparently, restaurant policy is one icing per order - regardless of whether said order is a 6 piece or a 12 piece. But Yancey's policy is one container per every 6 biscuit holes. And they had already caused him considerable trouble that morning...and manager or no, by golly, he was getting his icing! And the final lesson of the day - Never, never come between a large, hungry, sleep-deprived man and his cinnamon sugar biscuit holes dipped in icing.

All By Myself

This was to be a week alone for me. Hillary was off to Girls State, and Yancey and Parker went to church camp. And, as they love me dearly, they were a little concerned. It seemed to dawn on Hillary the day before she left that I would be at home all day, every day for a week, all by myself. She looked at me with wide eyes and said in a breathy voice..."What will you DO?"
My answer..."Whatever I want!"
But she was still worried. "Sounds lonely to me," she said.
Never fear, I had plans.
My dreams were filled with lazy days in the hammock, cold drink and a good book in hand...no worries hanging over my head with the laundry caught up and the house cleaned.
And then I woke up.
Here are a few of the things I actually did this week:
Handled small crisis with daughter via text in middle of the night.
Handled small crisis with husband via text in the middle of the night.
Called bug people to come spray house for spiders who suddenly seemed to be everywhere.
Drove un-air conditioned car an hour away to the city for repair...waited for the shop to give me the loaner car which they had somehow misplaced...sat in Enterprise Rent-a-car lobby for an hour while they tried to find a car for me...(this all counts as one thing, right?).
Got my hair cut and colored.
Cleaned two bathrooms, one kitchen cabinet, and one closet.
Untangled a mistake with my employer and bank when (through no fault of my own) my paycheck was accidentally withdrawn from my account instead of deposited making me appear overdrawn.
Drove back to the city, picked up my own car, and flew back in time for bible study.
Cleaned up dog poop 3 different times.

Oh, and in the meantime, I managed to host a parenting group at my house, read one good book, and have lunch with a friend.

Don't worry, Hillary. There was no time to be lonely.

My family starts to trickle home today. I am looking forward to seeing them. As busy as I was having FUN, I still missed them.
After all, alone time is overrated!

With a Twist

Recently we spent a "Six Flags Day" with some loved family members. I have to admit, I was not looking very forward to it. Theme parks are hot, noisy, and suck money right out of your pocket when you aren't looking. Not to mention that Parker has always hated roller coasters and ends up spending the day sitting and holding our bags while I have to ride with Hillary on every neck popping, hair raising ride they have.
But not this year.
This year he decided for himself that he was going to "conquer his fear" and ride the roller coasters. We started off nice and easy with the Screaming Eagle. He and I climbed into the seats and pulled the bar down snugly. He gave a nervous smile...and off we went. I screamed...he grunted. I held onto my head with both hands so it wouldn't get whipped off in the turns...he laughed. Before I knew it, he was whooping and throwing his hands up in the air, enjoying the ride of his life! And that's all it took. Now I had the priviledge of sitting and holding the bags while Hillary and Parker ran from ride to ride, laughing and gesturing and exclaiming to one another.
I couldn't help thinking back to when he was younger and we (being the wise parents we are) tried to force him to face his fears. We made him ride a water slide ride that all of us could do together. We promised him it would be fun. We tried to convince him it would be fine. We finally forced him...and it was neither fun nor fine. At the top of the slide he buried his head in my side. As we began the descent, he started to scream and cry. I spent the whole 5 seconds the ride lasted praying for God to not let this scar my child and feeling sorry that I'd betrayed Parker's sensitive feelings. Why was it so important to us that he ride scary things? How would it matter if he went his whole life being the person who was scared of roller coasters? It didn't seem to matter to him if he was teased by his sister and his friends about being afraid. He would rather be true to himself than pretend he was having fun when he was not. Isn't that a good quality in itself?
But now, here he was, inches taller, pounds heavier, years older...riding those same scary rides with screams of joy instead of terror. And the only REAL difference was he had decided to do it for himself. Our poking and prodding never changed a thing. When he was ready, he did it.
Just one more up in a series of ups and downs...one more twist in this roller coaster that is parenting.

Trial Flight 101

My daughter is a senior. Sigh. I'm thinkin all those thoughts about time running short and where and what she'll be when she "grows up". My little bird will soon fly the nest.

So what better way to stretch her wings than a trip to Washington DC with an educational group and responsible adult chaperones...but no one that she actually knows. Months ago she wrote an essay and was chosen by the Crawford County Electric CoOp to participate in this trip of a lifetime. I helped her pack her bags, double checked her itinerary, asked her a million times if she had her phone...and then handed her over to people I'd never met and watched her drive away.

I could still see the van's taillights when I texted her..."You having fun yet? ha." And of course she was. Everyone was "really fun" and everything was "amazing." And then I promised myself no more texts...let her enjoy herself and have her own time.

The next day they boarded a plane for Baltimore. Her first time on an airplane. I was anxious. I was jealous. I was proud and excited. Would she love flying as much as I do? Would she get sick? What if she did? Who would hold her puke bag and rub her back?

And then I got this text, "We're in baltimore!:) (the "good morning baltimore" song from hairspray comes to mind) and i LOVE flying! I got a window seat (i have such good friends);) wish you were here!"

Through the miracle of texting, we watched her as she joyfully flew through the week...seeing monuments...meeting new people...and dancing the night away on a Potomac cruise. I didn't have to contact her, she was happy to contact us...sharing her experiences with unfettered enthusiasm and not seeming in the least "caged."

I stood at my window this morning (the day Hillary comes home) and watched the little wren and her family who have built a nest in our eaves. All spring she has been bringing bugs and worms in and taking waste and old feathers out while she waits for her babies to be ready to fly. And now, they are all outside of the nest...hanging on to the wooden post and porch screen with their tiny clawed feet...Mama Wren chirping encouragement. And with a flash of feathers and an awkward zig-zaggy arc they make it safely to the ground where they will hop around and make little trial flights until they are flitting about as effortlessly as their mama. I know how you feel, Mama Wren.

Fly, little bird...fly! But know that you'll always have a feather in my nest.

What Teen Boys Are Made Of...

Long, long legs

and

empty cereal bags...

At least that's what mine is made of!

Same Difference

Parker walked into the living room, swinging an almost empty bread sack, and asking, "Mom, do you want me to save this or just throw it away?"
"Why would you throw it away?"
"Cause all that's left is the feet." he replied with a totally straight face.
Hillary cracked up. Of course he meant the "heels" but when this was pointed out to him he said, "Feet...heels...same difference."
The night before, we had been working on a crossword puzzle as a group, shouting out clues and twisting the paper this way and that so we could take turns seeing the squares. Parker was making tea in the kitchen. Someone shouted out a clue and Parker guessed "can?"..."No, it ends with an 'e'" was the reply. Parker shrugged and said, "Same difference."
Again, laughter, because obviously, it is NOT the same difference. But to Parker's dyslexic brain, it is. What I love about him is that he seems to enjoy the humor we get out of his verbal snafoos. He doesn't seem to see it as a flaw in himself, but as a funny acceptable part of who he is. As a chronic worrier about my children's feelings, I tend to try to hold it in when he makes funny word mistakes...and then I scrutinize his face for clues that the others are hurting his feelings. But he just smiles and gets this look like, "Yeah, I make people laugh. What can YOU do?"
Dyslexic...genius...Parker...
Same difference to me.