Happy 4th of July!

We spent the holiday weekend with family.
Much family.

Between a wedding and a family reunion we managed to see both sides of Hubby's extended family.  We balanced mingling with huge clusters of newly met family members in color-coded t-shirts with small intimate gatherings in grandma's apartment living room.  And sprinkled in and all around were the trappings of summer and celebration.

(I'm lovin Great-Aunt Joanne's sparkly purple polish!)


Hillary had to stay home and work (I think I could copy and paste this sentence into every blog I write lately), but Parker got to sit and listen to all the shared stories about the people he loves in a past he can only imagine.  He told me this is one of his favorite things to do.  And I have to admit...it's mine too.  Our stories are the strings that tie us together into a Family.  And connect the past...

to the future.




Of course we topped it all off with some fireworks!

 

Happy 4th of July!

In the Driver's Seat

Parker has never been a big talker.  As a little boy he made plenty of noise, but it was mostly motorcycle sounds and fire truck sirens and explosions from toy guns. It was probably a good thing he didn't have much to say, considering his sister talked a mile a minute from the time she opened her eyes in the morning til she closed them again at night. We have plenty of old home videos where she is chattering away to the camera, gesturing wildly with her hands and tossing her hair while he looks around solemnly and silently with his big brown eyes.
As he grew into a teenager, he became even less generous with spontaneous conversation.  And I worried about staying connected to him through these years that are notoriously tough to navigate.
Technology to the rescue!
Parker may be the strong silent type, but the dude is a texting machine.  He racks up more incoming and outgoings a month than the other three of us COMBINED.  And that is saying something.

This year, something magical happened.
He got his driver's permit.
And something changes when he slides into the driver's seat.
He speaks!

While he used to prefer staying home alone playing video games while I went grocery shopping or ran errands, now he jumps at the chance to "help me out" by driving me places.  Especially if it involves taking the truck, which is a stick shift, which I can not drive.
I know...I know...you're thinking 'how can a woman with two college degrees not know how to drive a stick?'.  That's a whole other blog post.
Anyway, this week Parker helped me take a load of stuff to Goodwill.  He stacked it all in the bed of the truck, and his Papaw would have been proud of this "strapping" young man.  Like all good Temple Men, he used lots of industrial nylon straps and a few bungee cords to tether and tie and wrap and knot those boxes securely.
And then he chauffeured me smugly, reveling in the fact that he knew how to do something I didn't and that without his skills I would be a helpless old woman with too many boxes of junk in her basement.  And he talked.  About his friends.  About his stay with his grandparents.  About who invented the interstate system.
I just listened and smiled.
Yesterday, he drove me to the store in a neighboring town.  He talked.  Mostly about cars...which ones were cool and which ones were stupid...what kind he wanted when he turns 16...how to modify exhaust pipes...and how much rims might cost.
But this time, he didn't just talk.  He started to ask questions.  Like a real conversation.  He asked me what I thought about current events, and why I chose the career I have.  We chatted about big things and little things.    It was nice.  While he probably won't ever be a talk show host, I am starting to worry less that he'll be a mute who only communicates through texts.
It's not easy for me to be a passenger.  I would much rather be in control, steering us where I want us to go, with MY foot on the gas pedal getting us there on MY timetable.  But this is a parenting strategy I've worked to implement for years now.  Don't push.  Don't force.  Don't tailgate my kids' lives.  Watch, listen, respond.  The Rules of the Road have to be followed, of course, but there is more than one way to get to the post office.  They may choose the scenic route, but we eventually get there.  So whenever appropriate, I put my kids in the driver's seat.  And it seems to be working, because they keep letting me come along on the ride.

Best Foot Forward

Summer is rolling along.  And while I'd like it to be all coffee-on-the-porch-swing mornings and lazy-hammock afternoons, there is actually quite a bit of busyness.  With a large helping of travel on the side.
Last week, Hubby and I traveled to Virginia to see his brother and his wife.  We left Hill at home to guard the house and work at Wal-Mart, and Parker was still at his grandparents'.  So it was just The Man and I following the blue dot on his iphone map across the mountains, trying to make the 17 hour trip all in one day.  We did it...but it wasn't pretty.
After a day of recuperating, we went on to enjoy our little "vacation".  We sipped coffee in their front porch rockers...






















enjoyed the beach...

and did LOTS of talking and catching up.  Hubby and Lil Bro spent evenings swapping stories of their childhood, making us laugh til our sides ached.
But one event stands out from the rest.
We got pedicures!
I know there are those of you who can't believe a girl could live into her 30's without having experienced this pleasure.  But I was a pedicure virgin. Hubby's brother is a Navy man, and after his last deployment, he had told us that he'd started getting pedicures and it was great.  So this was my chance to use peer pressure to force my large manly husband to share this experience with me.
The four of us went to a little storefront shop staffed by people who spoke broken English.  We chose the Full Spa Pedicure.  And guess who got to go first...

I couldn't stop myself from snapping a picture.  Although it was hard to hold the camera steady as I was laughing so hard.  The other pedicure patrons (all women, I might add) were stealing glances at me out of the sides of their eyes and trying to suppress their own laughter.  The workers just looked at each other and rolled their eyes, saying something I couldn't understand but which I'm sure meant "first timers..."
It took me forever to choose a toenail polish color, but finally I was in my own chair sipping Starbucks and soaking my tootsies.

The chair began to knead my back.  And then the seat squeezed my butt.  And I tried not to spill my coffee as I searched for the button to turn off the seat as the chair did things to my behind I don't even let my husband do.
I finally got the chair to stop molesting me and the lady went to work on my feet.  I was a little worried when she laid out an arsenal of metal instruments that looked like they were better suited for torture than pampering.  But she handled them so deftly, I didn't feel a thing.  After much scrubbing and filing and massaging, she was ready to paint my toes.  "You wan de sie?" she asked.  I just stared at her, with a vacant smile, not sure what she was asking and scared to say yes.  Then I realized she just wanted to know if I wanted a design painted on my toe.  "Oh...yes.  Yes!  How about a flower."
She nodded and went to work free-handing a delicate bloom on each of my big toes.
I was enchanted!
Finally the four of us were finished.  And boy did we walk softly!

The next morning we said goodbye to our loved ones and headed back home.  It had been a great week.  But I missed my kids.  It was weird not to have Hillary flitting around, documenting every day with her camera.  I guess I've been spoiled to having my own Photographer with me wherever I go.  And I had barely spoken to Parker in two weeks.  I sent him a text a few days in..."So update me on how your stay is going."
To which he replied, "awesome"
He is a man of few words.
Even though I miss them when we're apart, it somehow still feels right.  Hillary is launching her own life.  And I love that Parker has a relationship with his grandparents unlike anything I ever had with mine.
So on mornings like this...when we are all back home together, both kids snuggled in their sheets while a gentle storm rumbles outside...I recognize it as a gift.
As a parent, I don't always know if I'm taking the right steps.  But now that I have flowers on my toes, I can put my best foot forward!

Ice Cream Cones and Go-Carts

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We went to Branson this weekend...home to live shows, outlet malls, Silver Dollar City...and basketball tournaments.  While my husband spent his days in a gym, coaching 3 to 4 games a day, I shopped and sipped starbucks and read novels.  In the evenings, when the games were finished we had dinner and walked The Strip. It was just the two of us, since Parker is spending time with his grandparents and Hillary had to work.
On our last night there, Hubby suggested we go get ice cream.  We took our cones from the kid at the window (why do fast food workers all look like babies these days?) and sat at a concrete picnic table watching teenagers with their friends and parents with their young children. There was a go-cart track next door, so we walked over to watch the little kids ride.
Suddenly Hubby said, "Look!  There's Hillary..."
A little girl of about 5 years old was racing around the kiddie track...blond hair wispy in the wind with a tiny ponytail like a whale spout on the very top of her head.  She had the gas pedal mashed all the way down and was frowning like it still wasn't going fast enough for her.
And I laughed, because it WAS just like Hillary 15 years ago.
I sneaked a glance at Hubby to see if he would cry.  No one can muster up sentimental tears quicker my Giant Burly Softie of a husband.
But he wasn't crying.  He was smiling.
And we walked back to the car, hand in hand, laughing at the memories of vacations past.  We both agreed that we didn't regret a single penny spent on going to the beach, or Disney World, or any of the other places that we really couldn't afford back then.  The memories we have of our kids and their smiles are priceless.
As we drove home the next day we dreamed out loud about all the places still un-visited and planned future vacations in exotic places with (and without) Grown-Up children.
Maybe it will happen.  And maybe it won't.
But either way, we already have a big stack of memories...and no regrets.

A Midsummer Night's Dream

To be bored...or not to be bored.  That is the question.
So in an effort not to let the summer slip by unnoticed, I scoured the internet for fun things to do in our area.  I discovered a free Shakespeare Festival in Forest Park.  Just the thing-eth!
Hillary had to work, but Hubby, Parker and I packed a killer cooler, grabbed some lawn chairs and headed to the city.

The park had been transformed into "Shakespeare Glen"...complete with colorful tents, gypsy dancers, and multitudes of rabble like us.
We picked a shady spot on a hill and spread out our blanket.  Aside from a few ants, we were all smiles as we laughed and ate and watched people.

The variety was amazing.  There was a group of elegant senior citizens in front of us eating off real plates and drinking wine from crystal goblets.  They even had a cake in a tin cake pan!  Then there was a group of teenagers behind us, snacking on Doritos and sharing several mis-matched quilts.  There were young parents with their small children, and college kids with dreadlocks.  Even if there hadn't been a play to see, there would still have been a show!

Parker and I walked over to watch a side show juggling act.  The handsome young jester had us laughing with his antics and gasping at his ability to juggle knives while standing on a giant pink ball.  I have a feeling Parker and I are going to be saying "Oookaay?" in a fake british accent and giving each other thumbs up and cheesy smiles for a long time to come.  It was magical.  Only the sun setting over the tops of the line of port-o-potties reminded me we were still in the 21st century.
Finally it was time for the main event to begin.  We settled in to watch a live performance of The Taming of the Shrew.

It only took us a few minutes to get used to the Bard's language, and then we were laughing at his jokes.  When intermission came, Hubby and I walked around to the concession tents to see what they had to offer.  They had hot dogs and mixed drinks and...coffee?!  I couldn't believe it!  Right in front of me was a Kaldi coffee tent.  Not exactly Starbucks, but it could definitely pass for a first cousin.  But, alas, we had accidentally left our cash in the car.  I sighed and went back to our seats while Hubby headed to the Port-o-pot.
A few minutes later, he came walking back and handed me a Kaldi Mocha!  Perhaps he was trying his hand at the Taming of His Own Shrew...but never has such love shone from my eyes for that man. The show had resumed so he whispered, "I'll explain later."  Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth I just drank my coffee and asked no questions.   Later I found out that while Hubby was using the urinal, he looked down to see a crumpled $10 bill on the floor.  He figured it was a gift from the gods and used it to make his woman happy.
When the fun was finally over, we packed up our stuff and said goodbye to Shakespeare.  We were tired but happy and spent the drive home talking about our favorite parts of the show and friends who would've enjoyed sharing it with us.
Thank you, Shakespeare, for a mid-summer night's dream.

Just a Hair

(Note: something changed in Playlist. If you want music with the post, it won't start automatically. You need to scroll down and hit play.)


All I wanted to do was get back to my roots.
Well, ok...get RID of my roots is more like it.
I wanted to be blonde!

When I was little my hair was white-blonde and shiny.  Never mind that my mom cut it into a bowl shape and curled it under all around so I looked like the little boy in the Buster Brown shoe ad.  It stayed pretty light until my teens, and even then it might darken a bit in winter, but the summer sun turned it gold again in no time.

But then I birthed Parker.  And neither my body nor my hair has ever been the same.  I turned into a brunette.  Deciding that God knew what he was doing in the first place, I found a hairdresser and began changing it back.

Fastforward 15 years, when a routine visit to the beauty shop for highlights somehow took a wrong turn, frying the ends of my hair and forcing me to go back to the dark side for a few months if I wanted to avoid going bald. It was fine for the winter.  But now it's summer.  And I want to be Chelsea Kane.

Concerned about keeping my hair healthy, my hairdresser tried a new product on me.  I should have known something was wrong when she washed it 3 times before she let my head out of the sink.  She frowned and she blow-dryed.  She applied lots of gel and hairspray, mumbling something under her breath about "turning those streaks darker".  And then she said, "Do you have to go anywhere today?"
Uh-oh.
She turned me around to face the mirror and there I was with a cute new cut...and blue streaks in my blonde hair!
"Actually," I replied, "I have to go to Parker's basketball games this evening."
"Well, do you have a ball cap?"  she asked.
I just looked at her.  I do not wear hats.
She sniffed.  "Well, sit up at the top of the bleachers."
I think she wanted to re-do my head then and there, but she was already backed up by an hour.  We made a plan for me to come back in two days, and she finally let me leave.

I rushed home to grab a few things before heading to the gym.  Hillary's car was in the driveway.  I tried to duck in and out before she saw me, but I heard her yell up the stairs, "Mom?"
Darn.
She bounded up the steps.  She stopped.  "Wow!"  and then "Mom, I'm so proud of you!"
Of course she would assume I'd done it on purpose.  It's exactly the kind of Rock Star thing she would do.
Then she added, "Come meet my friends."
I came halfway down the stairs trying to keep my head in the stairwell and gave a half-hearted wave and a "nice to meet you" to her friends.  The handsome young man who is Hill's new boyfriend, gallantly said hello, hiding his surprise that his girlfriend's mom looked like a character from the X Men.

I made my escape and sped to the ballgame.  Where I sat in the car waiting for Parker to come out.
I texted him.  i'm in the parking lot.
He texted back.  come in.
can u come out?
y can't u come in?
Um...because I have blue hair?
I pulled the food card.  i thot u wanted to get something 2 eat.
im coming out
Sigh.

Ever the honest son, he took one look at me and said, "Whoa.  That's really blonde."
I turned to face him full-on.
"With blue streaks..." he continued.
As we drove toward McDonalds he said, "I'm not gonna lie...that's gonna take some getting used to."
"The blonde?" I asked.
"No, I'm already used to the blonde," he said.  "I'm talking about the blue."
Great.

He had one game left.  By this point, I had facebooked my dilemma and gotten helpful feedback from loving friends.  I decided to march into that gym, with it's ultra-violet lighting, and Rock this Look like somebody's momma.
So I did.
And you know what?  No one even seemed to notice.
These people know what's truly important in life...basketball.

So maybe it wasn't so bad.  And maybe I tend to over-react...just a hair.

The Hard Stuff

As much as I love my kids, parenting is not always fun and games.
Yes, they make me laugh.
Yes, they are sometimes helpful and kind.
Yes, I consider them my friends...up to a point.

And then there are those times when The Hard Stuff is called for and I feel like a failure.  I wonder what went wrong when I thought we were doing so well becoming Good People.  And I can't worry about being their friend, because there are hard things to say that they don't want to hear.  And I love them too much to let them go out into the world with unfinished edges.

So I withhold my help when I know they can do it on their own.  And instead of unquestioned sympathy I give the unvarnished Truth.  And I hate every minute of it.

It's times like this...when she hangs up still crying and he sits sulking alone in his bedroom... that I have to grit my teeth and trust that our bonds will stretch and not break.

This has been one of those days.
But now it's 8:30 and the four of us are tooling through the dark towards Dairy Queen.  It started with a coupon I found in my purse (buy one Blizzard, get one free), and then Parker got out of practice, and Hubby got finished working out, and Hillary arrived home and wanted to know why I had my keys in my hand.  After crashing into each other all day, the pieces finally came together seamlessly.
Hubby and Parker compared notes about how much weight they lifted that day.
Hillary told us about her "date".
Mumford and Sons sang from the cd player.
The breeze blew into my face, lacing my hair with the scent of honeysuckle and damp earth and Summer Night.
And the corners of my mouth began to turn up again.

At least for today, the Hard Stuff will be topped off with a little bit of Soft Serve