Enough

As Hillary and I walked out of church this morning, I stopped to talk with a teary-eyed friend. After exchanging hugs and words of encouragement, my friend said, "So does your daughter think I'm crazy?" "Are you kidding?" I replied. If there is one thing my family is used to it's seeing a crying (sometimes hysterical) woman. They are so used to it, it doesn't even faze them anymore.

In the beginning, I worried about this very thing. I was so afraid my recurring struggles with anxiety and depression would scar my children, making them view emotions in some distorted way. I determined this would not happen. So through the years I've stopped hiding my tears and been honest about my hard times. Only by acknowledging and explaining it, can I verbalize to them that emotions are human and are nothing to be afraid of. And that they (my children) are not responsible for mine. It's not their job to make me happy, or bear my sadness.

So I let them see me reading my self-help books...writing scriptures on my arms...texting a friend...or playing a sermon on cd that speaks to my soul...going to a counseling appointment...or climbing into their father's lap like a little girl being comforted by his calm solidness. I want them to know there are things you can do to help yourself when you feel bad. And that just being there with someone in their sadness is many times...enough.

I let them cheer me with surprises, like a just-loaded dishwasher or a new framed photo. I let them hold onto me for long hugs. And then I let them go on with their life, knowing that they've offered comfort, but it's ok to leave me and do their own thing. I let them see me get over it, and be happy and silly...because those are emotions too.

And I hope this is enough.

Kiss Me Goodbye

Mornings used to be all on me. I would get up early, get myself ready, then get the kids ready and take us all wherever we needed to be. I often groused that Hubby had no responsibility, but secretly I didn't mind because I like to be in control of things.

But now, with two mostly grown children, my involvement in their morning consists only of turning the hall light on and opening someone's bedroom door. They do the rest...from showering and dressing themselves to grabbing their own pop tart or cereal for breakfast. And since Hillary has her own car, they get themselves to school on their own timetable. Because I work out of town and have to be there early, I have gotten used to eating my breakfast in a quiet kitchen and heading out the door as they are heading to the shower. Having produced two offspring who seem to relish mornings just as much as I do (which is to say NOT AT ALL!) I have been politely keeping to myself...not forcing conversation or goodbyes.

Until last night, when the kids and I were riding home from a ball game in the dark. Music was playing and no one was saying anything when Parker said, "You know mom, I was thinking today..." My ears perked up. At this age, you can never be sure what topic is going to come up. He went on, "I was thinking 'I didn't even see my mom's face this morning. I heard her voice but didn't see her face. And what if something happened to her at school...the last time I would have seen her face was the night before.'"

I was speechless. Then apologetic. "I'm so sorry," I said. "I just assumed you guys were busy and didn't want me to bother you in the mornings."

They both piped up...talking over each other..."No! Not at all, Mom... We want you to kiss us goodbye..."

I couldn't believe my good fortune. To have two beautiful, talented, creative, well-behaved children is such a blessing. But to have them as teenagers still asking for kisses...well that's an opportunity I will never pass up! I remember taking their tiny faces in my hands all those years ago and covering them with kisses until they squealed with laughter. I wanted to get in as much as I could before they got old enough to politely oblige me with an offered cheek when we parted ways. And here they were, generously giving me a few extra years of silly mother affection.

Soon enough they will be kissing me goodbye...but until then it's still my turn.

"Always have to steal my kisses from you..." Ben Harper and the Innocent Criminals

Voice Mail

Parker finally has his phone back. After jumping in the pool this summer and ruining his second phone in a year, we made him wait until we were due for an upgrade to get a new one. Finally the day came, and he is now the proud owner of a blue Xenon that slides open and has a touch screen. To tell the truth, his not having a phone was probably harder on me than it was on him. I love being able to be in instant contact with my kids if necessary.

Like when I was sitting outside the school, waiting for him to emerge from the weight room where he is doing after school workouts. I was watching for him, looking for the tall slim young man with big hands and feet that he has become. I've gotten used to his new lanky body and deeper gravely voice.

And then I tried to call his phone to make sure he knew I was there.

And it went to voice mail.

And the message he had recorded over a year ago began to play...

"Hey, this is Parker..."

And it was his little boy voice. High and young and so innocent that it caught me off guard. I was suddenly reminded how quickly things change. Then he threw his bag in the car and filled up the front seat with his teenaged boy body and said, "Sorry, I missed your call." I just smiled and said, "That's ok. And every now and then, when I call...could you just let it go to voice mail?"

Kitchen Krazy

It was day 2 of being snowed in at home. I hadn't yet ventured out of the house, but that certainly didn't mean I was isolated or lonely. No...due to our family's fun reputation people bravely traveled over the river and through the woods to our house. Hillary and her new boyfriend trudged around in the backyard, bringing snow into the house on their tennis shoes and pant legs. Parker and his friend Hunter played Wii and loud music and some game which required lots of jumping and rough-housing and made me ponder the strength of the floor dividing the upstairs and down.

It was a good day.

Made even better when it was time to cook supper.

I love to cook. It occupies me and makes me happy. And satisfies my need to "nurture" my family. So I made Chicken Tortilla Cannelloni, and salad, and garlic bread and we gathered round the table and talked with our mouths full.

Then I started cleaning off the table and Parker put on a silly kids cd and we all laughed at his lip syncing to "I have orange pants...I wear them when I dance....but I don't get out that much...". Everyone joined the fun and we were singing and slinging dishes with little flourishes. Hillary and Josh were still sitting at the table with their backs to me. I was at the sink, scrubbing a pot, and feeling overwhelmed with joy I danced and shook my head and scrubbed in time to the music. I looked up and Josh was laughing so hard his head was down on the table. I hadn't realized he could see the whole show in the reflection of the glass patio door! Thank goodness I hadn't gone into my "popping" routine.

But much to Hillary's credit, she just laughed along and didn't seem the least embarrassed by my antics. Parker either. They just shake their heads and look at their friends as if to say, "Isn't she great?" What on earth am I doing wrong? I thought teenagers were supposed to be embarrassed by their mothers. Oh well, if they're going to play the music, I might as well dance along!

Unpacking

Ahh...

Christmas is over.

I am home alone from holiday fun-making with family far and near. Time to unpack and put away all the new "stuff". This year it didn't take me nearly as long...a fact for which I am nothing but grateful. How I used to dread coming home from multiple Christmases and unpacking toys and other gizmos. I usually tried to prepare by cleaning out toyboxes and closets the week before Christmas, to make room to stuff our stuff.

But as the kids get older, I find the joy of Christmas coming in packages impossible to wrap.

Like the fun we had on our "family shopping day"...a tradition we instituted a few years ago in which we spend our time and money having fun together instead of separately trying to outdo one another with surprise "things." We laughed, we ate, we relaxed...and our children bought the things they wanted...with money to spare! How wonderful for me to know that they value our time together more than their spending limit. And that they have non-greedy hearts that know when they have enough and don't feel compelled to spend it all plus a little bit more. Merry Christmas to me!

And through a happy happenstance, my parents were able to join us on our "Christmas Morning" the next day where not a single gift was unwrapped, but we shared breakfast and stories and a little piece of life.

Then it was on to the other grandparents' house where we laughed at each other playing wii and then clung to each other through the freak bout of Christmas Flu that descended on the entire household. There is no one I'd rather be in a foxhole like that with than Papaw! Not generally known for his domestic endeavors, he cared for us all while we were too sick to care for ourselves or each other.

We lived through it to celebrate another day with my siblings and the various young children they've brought into our Christmases. It was fun to watch the little ones tear into their toys...but even more fun to see how excited my own child was to give a gift she had put her heart into. Parker and Hillary seemed happy with what they were given but equally so to see others receive. Especially my youngest sister who was surprised with an engagement ring!

Through it all, it was the stuff you can feel but not touch that seemed to matter.

Hillary basked in a budding new relationship (more about that later...maybe:) while Parker made up for lost time with my brother, who lives half a country away. (Fair warning to the ducks and geese!) And that is how I came to be home without them this post-Christmas day.

Unpacking my thoughts.

In a house not filled with stuff.

With a heart thats overflowing.

The Sleepover Song

(to the tune of The Christmas Song)

Boy brains vegging

by the Xbox light.

Music thumping

in your ear.

Mounds of food

being quickly inhaled.

And Mom squelching her deepest fears.

Everybody knows

that teenage boys are tons of fun.

Once you get past noise and smells.

Wouldn't trade these years for the world.

Happy teen boys are swell!

Baby slow down. The end is not as fun as the start. Please stay a child somewhere in your heart.

~U2

Drama Queen

Hillary did a great job playing a gun-toting southern belle in "Murder is in the Heir" last weekend. Several faithful family members joined my husband and I as we squeezed into the crowded high school commons for the dinner theatre. We were greeted by the cast members in full costume and character. Hillary aka Paula Thompson fluttered her eyelashes and looked up through her floppy hat as she welcomed us to the "mansion" in sweet southern drawl through ruby red lips. She never once dropped her accent or the essence of her character. The play began and our first course arrived. We got to know the characters and their motive for murder as we munched our beef brisket. Then it was time to vote. This was an "audience participation" performance. It was up to us to decide who the guilty guy or girl would be. Parker slyly suggested to me that we could cheat by taking the extra papers on the table and marking them all for "Paula". But we let fate take it's course. And in the end, it was Hillary holding the gun!

She later told me that another student had actually had the most votes, but he didn't know all of the lines for that ending. So it fell to Hillary to carry the crime. This doesn't surprise me at all. From the time Hillary was two years old, she's been in every form of drama production she could manage to get a part in. And she always knew her lines AND everyone else's. I remember her at 8 years old pantomining and prompting kids several years older who couldn't remember what it was they were supposed to say. She's the actor/director all rolled into one!

The play ended with Hillary being handcuffed and wrestled off stage to cheers and claps from the crowd. Then they were bowing, and people were coming up to tell me how good she was. And all I could say was "Thank you" when I wanted to shout "I know, right!"

But that would be a little dramatic.

We'll just leave the drama to Hillary for now.