Queen of Hearts

Hillary's reign is over.  After a year of parades and appearances, it came down to one final week.  She flitted through a flurry of activities with this year's contestants... emcee'd the children's beauty contest...

 which included doing the hokey pokey on stage in high heels...

and waved goodbye to her subjects in the parade as she threw candy to the kids.

She hosted the talent portion of this year's contest, looking beautiful and sounding professional as she introduced each new contestant and made encouraging remarks as they left the stage.  Then she gave the Finale a boost by belting Babs' "Don't Rain on My Parade".  

 I can't tell you how many people came up to me and made comments about how "wonderful" and "talented" she is and how she's "the best they've seen".  And I agree.  She was a Queen who made her Subjects proud.  But as a member of her inner court, I can tell you that she has more than outer beauty.    

The crowd watched as Hillary made her glamorous Final Walk and then crowned the new Queen.

But no one else saw what happened backstage afterward...

My thoughtful girl had purchased a sturdy but pretty box for the new Queen's crown and sash and had placed a letter inside giving her tips to make her duties easier and a list of things to expect.  She also included her phone number and offered her help anytime the new Queen needed something.  No one had done anything like this for us and we had stumbled our way through the State Fair finding things out as we went. It was sweet and thoughtful and so like my Hillary.

And later, when it was just her and I, Hillary said, "I'm so glad she won.  She's not the type who would do anything to embarrass the Fair Committee like being at a party with underage drinking and stuff."  I hadn't even considered that.  To me, this was just a Beauty Pageant...a way for girls to dress up and have fun.  But Hillary had taken it seriously, with a maturity that made me proud.  She consciously served her community all year, attending events and representing her county with grace and dignity.  She recognized that she was a role model.  And she used her power for good.

But I am not surprised.  Because Hillary has lived her life like this for a long time now.  She has known from early on she was a child of the King and she acts accordingly.  And others notice.

Just yesterday at church, a man sitting in front of me turned around to say, "I just want to tell you what a good job you've done with your kids.  Especially your daughter.  She seems like she's got her head on straight."  I just smiled and told him God had blessed us and it had nothing to do with me.  

But I wanted to say it has nothing to do with her head and everything to do with her heart.

Her reign may be over, but she remains the Queen of our heart.

Foreign

I have foreign toothpaste in my bathroom.

No, I didn't order it from the internet.  It was carried here in the suitcase of Hillary's best Swiss friend who is staying with us for a few weeks.  Swiss Miss is sweet and funny and beautiful.  And she is amazed at how many fat people ride around in motorized wheelchairs in America.
Hillary took her on a road trip to Chicago last week.  And despite the fears of some "mother hens" in the family, the girls made it without being mugged or murdered.  I was proud of the way Hillary took initiative and tried to plan ahead.  And of the way she went for it even as little fears nibbled at her toes.  (And I am thankful to Tony and Peter for hosting the girls and for all their advice!)

I share my heart and my home with my children.  And in return, they broaden my world.  I came home from bible study the other night to find my driveway full of unfamiliar cars.  And my basement full of friends.  Hillary and Swiss Miss were there along with a boy who had a pierced lip and a shy smile.  Parker and his friend, Hunter were downloading music from itunes, but stopped long enough to greet me with an exuberant hug that left my toes dangling inches from the floor for a few seconds.  There was music and laughter and German accented talking.  There was life in my family room.

I love that these two amazing people totally mess with my world.  I love that they live life with open arms.  I love that I find strange toothpaste in my bathroom, strange cars in my driveway, and strange music in my playlist.  This is my life and I love it.
Anything else would just seem...foreign.

Oh Baby!

It was another weekend of travel.  But this time it was my turn for Family Fellowship. My brother and his wife are having a baby!  The first one in the family since MY baby was born 15 years ago.

My brother and my "baby"

So we all descended on Mom and Dad's house and partied like pros.

There was much laughing and eating and hugging.  Doors were fanned...mosquitos were swatted...dogs were petted.  And games were played.  Parker and I were a team, and between his head full of "useless knowledge" and my ability to spell words correctly and backwards, we pretty much dominated at Cranium.

As the weekend came to an end, my mom commented on how she enjoyed watching me and my siblings get along and have fun together.  And I know just what she means.  There is just something about watching the ones you love, love each other that fills you up and puts a smile on your face.  And since the four of us live states away from each other, we don't take our time together for granted.  Petty annoyances are swatted to the side like pesky mosquitoes and we focus on the happiness of a few precious and rare hours together.

It's good to know that some things change...and some things never do.

As Parker drove me home (all 4 hours) he talked about the weekend and how much fun he had.  And seeing it through his eyes, I enjoyed it all over again.

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

(Scroll down and hit play if you want music with this post)
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.