Reaching the Goal

I am so proud of the woman my daughter is becoming. In the last week, I have seen signs of maturity that make me burst with pride.

Last weekend, we hosted the family reunion at our house. Over 50 people, all ages, stages, and sizes laughed, loved, and ate, ate, ATE! On Sunday, we did "family church" in our living room and guess who was asked to use her talent on the piano...Hillary. She gladly agreed, even though she had no idea what she might be asked to play. As aunts, uncles, and cousins looked on, she struggled to take hymn requests that she had never even heard before. I have to admit, I was stressing for her! But she stayed calm and collected, told the people to just keep singing and she would follow along, and within a couple of times, had it down.

And speaking of talents...her youth pastor had challenged the youth group to find a way to give money for missions the next week. The goal was $20. They weren't supposed to ask their parents for it. They were to use a talent they had to earn the money. Hillary decided to take pictures at the family reunion and sell them for donations. She spent hours buzzing around...including everyone in at least one shot, and often stopping whatever fun thing she was doing to capture a moment that some relative thought might be camera-worthy. Before everyone left, she had the discs burned and ready to go. And she proudly deposited over $160 in the youth group jar the next Wednesday night!

And today, when the youth pastor and his family came over for dinner, she and Hayden (who graduated in May) sat at the table with us old folks while the younger kids chose to eat downstairs in front of the TV and video game. She listened with interest, and made insightful comments, discussing deep things, including politics and the sharing of her faith with others.

Parenting can feel like such a long journey. Some of it is fun...and some of it is not. We may not have arrived but we are definitely closer to "reaching the goal."

How to Be Happy

Step 1:

Blast Creedence Clearwater Revival singing "Down on the corner...out in the street..."

Step 2:

Rig your own version of a car wash's hanging hose.

Step 3:

Wave your hose in the air like you just don't care.

Step 4:

Always drink plenty of water.

Step 5:

Take frequent breaks.

Step 6: Never stop singing.

Remember...if you HAVE to work, might as well enjoy it!

Stay or Leave

"Should I stay or should I go?" The Clash

As we enter Senior Year, there is pressure to decide the path of the rest of your life. And like most 17 year olds, Hillary flits back and forth between ideas. A year ago she was completely certain she would take advantage of her A+ scholarship and go to the local community college for free for the first 2 years.
And I wanted her to.
Then, later, she decided she wanted to go away. Have the whole "college" experience and live in a dorm. Eat in the food court and work on campus. Maybe join a sorority.
And I wanted her to.
Coming into high school she was all about drama and thought she would be an actress.
Then she recognized her passion for photography (and her non-passion for the all-consuming committment of theater) and decided she would be a photographer.
Until she went to Washington, D.C. and visited the Newseum.
And now she has her heart set on photo-journalism.
Which pointed her to Mizzou.
Which requires a math class she hasn't taken and can't fit into her schedule this year.
Which brings us back to the free local community college and living at home for at least a year.
And I am riding this roller coaster with patience, because life is vast and opportunities abound when you are young and smart and beautiful. And a lot can change in a year.
So I am helping her fill out applications to ALL her options...just in case.
And preparing for a half empty nest. Or not.
But no matter what happens, I do not fear losing her. I look forward to getting to know her, grown-up. Whether she stays or leaves.

"Stay or leave

I want you not to go

But you should

It was good as good goes

Stay or leave

I want you not to go

But you did

So what to do

With the rest of the day's afternoon hey

Isn't it strange how we change

Everything we did

Did I do all that i should

That I coulda done"

Dave Matthews

Cart to Heart

At the end of a long and busy school day, I came home to an empty house, except for Parker. He had his music playing and was doing his homework. I loaded the dishwasher, switched the laundry, made a phone call, and offered to start supper which he refused because he had just finished an entire pizza. I had not just finished an entire pizza, so I made myself a grilled cheese sandwich and sat down at the table by myself with a book.
Sigh. Relax my back. Take a bite. Remember to breathe. Unwind.
Parker bounced into the kitchen.
"You wanna come look at go-carts on the internet?"
I just stared and chewed my cud like a glassy-eyed mama cow. Looking at go-carts that I'm not going to buy seems like the most boring thing I can think of. And then he said....
"Or...just come down there with me. And sit by me. While I look at go-carts?"
I said yes.
He clicked from site to site, naming parts, explaining how to measure wheelbase, and converting kph to mph, while I listened to the squeaks in his changing voice and watched the light in his eyes. And in-between we talked about his classes and his best friend who moved away, and stories the neighborhood boys tell each other.
If I never see another go-cart in my life, I couldn't care less.
But spending time with my son...I will NEVER regret.

First and Last

My baby started her senior year today. And it is tempting to start counting down the "lasts". The last first day of high school. The last dance, football game, parade.

But there are lots of "firsts" too. The first time she applies to college. The first "real" job application. The first drive to the city with friends sans parent. The first decisions about her future.

It's also my son's first day of 8th grade. And my husband's first day of his 10th year of teaching.

Why do we act as though there are only certain days we will never get back? Say things like 'You only ______ once in a lifetime'. The truth is every second that passes is one we'll never get back. You're only in this moment of time once in a lifetime, and then you're in the next one. One day with my 18 month old daughter is as precious to me as one day with my 18 year old daughter. So instead of being sad, I will try to enjoy every moment. As I have for the last 11 years of her school career. And hopefully, neither of us will have any regrets.

The Best Medicine

So all the stars aligned and I was able to leave work 15 min early, get gas, grab Parker, and make it into the city through a torrential downpour without having a wreck, to get my son to the pediatrician on time (or close enough). I was pretty tightly wound by the time I wrestled my fairly useless umbrella out of the car and into the doctor's office. Parker, on the other hand, took time to calmly stand in the rain and hold the door for a sweet older lady, who was absolutely charmed by his manners.
As I dripped in the elevator, he said with a smile, "I can't wait!"
"For what?" I wanted to know.
"They always check my height!"
Oh yeah. And he has grown considerably. Exciting.
We checked in, waited what felt like too long, and finally followed the nurse into the pre-see-the-doctor-room. She weighed Parker, asked a few questions and then instructed us to follow her. I saw the disappointment in his face so I said, "Ummm. Could you measure him?"
She was happy to oblige. And he was happy to find that he is 5 ft 6 inches. Up about 5 inches from last time.
We were finally seen, treated, and charged, then it was on to A&W where Parker had a #4 with an extra chili cheese coney dog on the side and a large root beer to my kiddie cheeseburger. Next stop...Target to search for a binder. They had my brand of hairspray, some much needed LARGE bandaids, and a candy bar...but no suitable binder. But never fear, Office Max saved the day. Only the parent of a disorganized dyslexic can understand the importance of a binder with built-in file folders and a zipper that goes all the way around. And yes, I paid $2 extra for insurance on it. Since his last two cell phones are sleeping with the fishes, I figured, why not? Any son who patiently stands in the front of every store waiting for his mother to delicately dry her exposed toes with a tissue so she won't squish when she walks...and isn't even embarrassed by it deserves a little extra, right?
$83 worth of medicine later (and yes, that was AFTER the insurance was applied) it was time to head home.
By the time we drove home, the storm was over...and the sun glowed through the scattered clouds spilling gold on the wet world.
I was feeling considerably better about things.
But I always do when I spend time with my extraordinary young man.
No matter what ails me, he always seems to be the best medicine!

Skinned Knees

When your kids are little, your life revolves around them. If they are sick, the world stops and you take care of it. And everyone understands.
Stressful, yes. But then you are assured by those older and wiser that it won't be this way forever and soon they will be older and it will all get easier.
Those people lie.
It doesn't get easier. Your sick kid still needs you, but you feel guiltier for taking off work. And people tend to roll their eyes when you stay home with a 13 year old.
So tomorrow is my third day of school with students, and I am trying to do my job as a teacher and my job as a parent by scheduling a doctor's appointment after school but before open house. Parker had a very manly bike wreck a couple of days ago, managing to grind several layers of skin off his knee. Of course, I washed it with peroxide. Of course I have tended to it every day since with Neosporin. It's only a skinned knee, right?
Wrong.
It is not healing.
Ironically, the same thing happened to Hillary (even the same knee!) a few years ago and I let it go for quite a while before I broke down and took her to the doctor. It was infected, required a prescription, and healed almost immediately when we finally got the right med. So this time, I vow to head it off before he has to start school on Tuesday.
Unfortunately, our doctor is an hour away. I know, there are those who think I'm too...finicky (to put it kindly) for not using our local quacks. But I've been there, done that, and been given the wrong diagnosis and prescription.
I guess tomorrow will be one of those days where there isn't time for anything to go wrong. And if I so much as stub my toe, the whole carefully planned schedule will come crashing down.
But I will look on the bright side...
At least I have a job. And it could be worse than a skinned knee. And I have health insurance...and a doctor I trust. And my children are still home to mess with my schedule.
For now.