As Forrest Gump's mom said, "Life is like a box of chocolates."
Today was an extra large economy box.
So I'm savoring the sweet moments that sit like sugar on my tongue. After all, I need something to get rid of the black licorice taste of the moment when I couldn't get the movie out of the RedBox and the 12 year old kid behind me had to step up and touch the screen for me. "I have used RedBox before!" I protested lamely. But she just rolled her eyes.
Anyway...sweet moments...
Sleeping in until the sun peeked in my window.
Driving along in the sunshine with my Boys and still maintaining complete control of the radio.
Watching Hubby dote on his little girl cousin and remembering what a good daddy he was to our Girl when she was Little.
Parker's smooth, fuzz-free jawline now that he's a regular shaver. And the few perfectly placed zits to balance the manliness with teenager.
Hillary's happiness over the posters advertising her next Concert in the Cafe, dotting her college campus with her own name and face.
The way Son and Daughter hugged when they saw each other tonight after a week of going their own way.
Snuggling under the covers with my Man, sliding my cold feet onto his warm ones, and burrowing into his back until we are connected in 100 places from nose to toes.
Mmm...delicious.
Our Family
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Friday, March 2, 2012
Cooking up a Story
"What's for dinner?"
Parker had just come in from track practice, sweaty and tousled and ready to consume large amounts of protein. Fortunately, I had already made myself a snack. I've learned how to survive around here.
"How about breakfast for dinner?" I asked as I cleaned out the fridge for him.
"That sounds Ah-mazing!" he replied before disappearing downstairs.
I put biscuits in the oven, filled a pan with bacon, and started scrambling eggs.
And then...he was back.
With a book.
"I know what I can do while you cook," he said. "I'll read to you."
And he did.
As I flipped and stirred and scrambled, he read about an underwater futuristic world in which a teenage boy and girl meet and begin an adventure. He had checked it out from the school library and had already read the whole thing for his class. But he thought I would enjoy it. So he re-checked it, just for me.
I couldn't help remembering how excited he'd been about learning to read as a 5 year old.
And then how frustrated he'd been as a faltering first grader. The words just didn't cooperate with his brain. He made a valiant effort. I happened to be in college (for the second time) and put my Teaching Reading classes to work. I gave him Reading Surveys and Phonemic Awareness tests, made sight word games and took Running Records. I found a web site with Lego comic strips to motivate him to keep reading SOMEthing. But it never got easy for him. And by third grade he resisted reading like a dog resists a trip to the vet.
So through it all, I read to him.
I love books...have always loved books. And I didn't want him to lose the magic of Story. So I read to him. And to keep him from feeling singled out, I kept reading to Hillary and even to Hubby.
And I never stopped.
Eventually (fifth grade) we found out he had Dyslexia. We got a 504 plan at school and a tutoring program that provided strategies that worked with his unique brain. His grades began to improve. His confidence began to bloom. But he still didn't choose to read if he didn't have to. I pretty much gave up hope that he'd ever read for pleasure.
And now this handsome high school kid is standing in my kitchen, reading to me for fun. His deepening voice still falters over a word now and then. And he stops to ask me what something means. His phrasing is a little un-even. But all I hear is a miracle blooming. He wrestles the words to get to the magic of Story. What I've spent years sharing with him, he is now sharing with me.
I fill his plate with food and he fills my heart with hope.
He bookmarks the page. But our story is far from over.
Parker had just come in from track practice, sweaty and tousled and ready to consume large amounts of protein. Fortunately, I had already made myself a snack. I've learned how to survive around here.
"How about breakfast for dinner?" I asked as I cleaned out the fridge for him.
"That sounds Ah-mazing!" he replied before disappearing downstairs.
I put biscuits in the oven, filled a pan with bacon, and started scrambling eggs.
And then...he was back.
With a book.
"I know what I can do while you cook," he said. "I'll read to you."
And he did.
As I flipped and stirred and scrambled, he read about an underwater futuristic world in which a teenage boy and girl meet and begin an adventure. He had checked it out from the school library and had already read the whole thing for his class. But he thought I would enjoy it. So he re-checked it, just for me.
I couldn't help remembering how excited he'd been about learning to read as a 5 year old.
And then how frustrated he'd been as a faltering first grader. The words just didn't cooperate with his brain. He made a valiant effort. I happened to be in college (for the second time) and put my Teaching Reading classes to work. I gave him Reading Surveys and Phonemic Awareness tests, made sight word games and took Running Records. I found a web site with Lego comic strips to motivate him to keep reading SOMEthing. But it never got easy for him. And by third grade he resisted reading like a dog resists a trip to the vet.
So through it all, I read to him.
I love books...have always loved books. And I didn't want him to lose the magic of Story. So I read to him. And to keep him from feeling singled out, I kept reading to Hillary and even to Hubby.
And I never stopped.
Eventually (fifth grade) we found out he had Dyslexia. We got a 504 plan at school and a tutoring program that provided strategies that worked with his unique brain. His grades began to improve. His confidence began to bloom. But he still didn't choose to read if he didn't have to. I pretty much gave up hope that he'd ever read for pleasure.
And now this handsome high school kid is standing in my kitchen, reading to me for fun. His deepening voice still falters over a word now and then. And he stops to ask me what something means. His phrasing is a little un-even. But all I hear is a miracle blooming. He wrestles the words to get to the magic of Story. What I've spent years sharing with him, he is now sharing with me.
I fill his plate with food and he fills my heart with hope.
He bookmarks the page. But our story is far from over.
Sunday, February 19, 2012
Weighting is the Hardest Part...
My husband has been trying to get me to lift weights with him for years. Envisioning oiled-up, manly looking, female bodybuilders, I politely declined. Besides, I can't afford to lose any fat in my chest area if you know what I mean...
And then, Dr. Oz changed my mind. Dude knows what he's talking about. Oprah doesn't let just ANYONE write articles in her magazine, ya know. He promised my mind would be sharp, my bones would be strong, and my body would remain non-bulked up.
So that is how Hubby and I ended up in the weight room at school on a Sunday evening. Being married to a coach has it's advantages...
Hubby carefully explained the first machine, modeling where I should put my feet and how I should bend my knees. I stepped up onto the platform.
"Take off your coat."
"But it's cold in here."
He rolled his eyes.
"What? Are there rules about lifting in your coat?"
He just flashed me that half-cocked smile he has. "No, just like there's no rule about lifting in jeans and earrings."
Which is exactly what I was wearing.
I pulled on the bar 10 times and then stepped to the side. He put actual weights on for his turn. He likes to show off like that.
After showing me how to curl the 5 pound hand weight, he said, "Time to do planks."
I protested.
Those things are hard. Not to mention it involved getting on the dirty floor.
"Can't I do it on a bench?" I asked.
"Get on the floor," he said.
I put my coat down and rested my arms on top of it.
He set the timer on his phone for a minute. I lasted 59 seconds.
"That was good," he said encouragingly.
"I like this workout," I stated. "You don't sweat."
He just started laughing. "When you start lifting for real you'll sweat."
Whatever.
Finally it was time to go. As he locked up I asked, "So how long before I can tell if this is working?"
He just shook his head.
I might need a trainer who doesn't know me so well...
I walked to the car with a warmth in my muscles, a smile on my face, and visions of my future buff body in my head. This is gonna be good.
I can hardly weight.
And then, Dr. Oz changed my mind. Dude knows what he's talking about. Oprah doesn't let just ANYONE write articles in her magazine, ya know. He promised my mind would be sharp, my bones would be strong, and my body would remain non-bulked up.
So that is how Hubby and I ended up in the weight room at school on a Sunday evening. Being married to a coach has it's advantages...
Hubby carefully explained the first machine, modeling where I should put my feet and how I should bend my knees. I stepped up onto the platform.
"Take off your coat."
"But it's cold in here."
He rolled his eyes.
"What? Are there rules about lifting in your coat?"
He just flashed me that half-cocked smile he has. "No, just like there's no rule about lifting in jeans and earrings."
Which is exactly what I was wearing.
I pulled on the bar 10 times and then stepped to the side. He put actual weights on for his turn. He likes to show off like that.
After showing me how to curl the 5 pound hand weight, he said, "Time to do planks."
I protested.
Those things are hard. Not to mention it involved getting on the dirty floor.
"Can't I do it on a bench?" I asked.
"Get on the floor," he said.
I put my coat down and rested my arms on top of it.
He set the timer on his phone for a minute. I lasted 59 seconds.
"That was good," he said encouragingly.
"I like this workout," I stated. "You don't sweat."
He just started laughing. "When you start lifting for real you'll sweat."
Whatever.
Finally it was time to go. As he locked up I asked, "So how long before I can tell if this is working?"
He just shook his head.
I might need a trainer who doesn't know me so well...
I walked to the car with a warmth in my muscles, a smile on my face, and visions of my future buff body in my head. This is gonna be good.
I can hardly weight.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
The Naked Truth
I was already in bed when my cell phone buzzed. It was Hillary, letting me know she would be late coming home and updating me on her night class...Figure Drawing.
"So, how's it going?" I asked.
"Oh, we started on our life sized drawings tonight." she replied. "The model is a really TALL guy. He's like 6 foot 5 or something."
And then it got interesting.
"Did he have clothes on?" I wondered aloud, knowing this was the class she had been dreading since her first day in college.
"Nope," she chirped. "Naked as a jay bird."
I burst out laughing.
She continued, "I was hoping I'd get the back. But no such luck. I'm on the side towards the front. I leaned over to the girl next to me and said, 'Great, look what we get to draw'."
I was guffawing.
She seemed to be taking it all in stride.
We've always been fairly open about body parts around here. In my opinion, the more matter-of-fact you can make things, the less mysterious forbidden appeal they have. No silly "wee-wees" or "kitty cats" in our family. We used the correct anatomical names for everything. We even had a family discussion once about the plural form of the word "penis".
I'm very PC.
Until...the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition showed up in our mailbox today. I flipped through it and promptly hid it in a stack of Oprah magazines by my bed that I was sure Parker would never touch. This was mild compared to what I did to Hubby's first Swimsuit edition the first year we were married. THAT glossy little magazine was reduced to shreds by my kitchen scissors.
Anyway...I digress.
So why does it bother me more for my 16 year old son to gawk at mere pictures of a woman than it does for my 20 year old daughter to study the folds of a real live man?
I have no idea.
Maybe it's because she's an adult and he's a teenager with raging hormones.
Nah.
I think it's because the Swimsuit girls are a carefully crafted illusion, created to sell lies to my son. The entire purpose is to hide flaws and embellish assets and make him reach for something that doesn't exist. While the Art Model is human. Real flesh and bone. Hair, moles, and all. The entire purpose is to see what's really there.
And besides....the One-Eyed Monster ain't pretty. I doubt Hillary will be seduced.
Oops! What was that I was saying about using proper names???
Anyway, the bottom line (no pun intended) is that I can't hide my children's eyes from everything. I have to trust that they will make good decisions based on what we've tried to teach them. And that they will feel comfortable enough to come to us for help if (or when) they don't.
And that's the naked truth.
"So, how's it going?" I asked.
"Oh, we started on our life sized drawings tonight." she replied. "The model is a really TALL guy. He's like 6 foot 5 or something."
And then it got interesting.
"Did he have clothes on?" I wondered aloud, knowing this was the class she had been dreading since her first day in college.
"Nope," she chirped. "Naked as a jay bird."
I burst out laughing.
She continued, "I was hoping I'd get the back. But no such luck. I'm on the side towards the front. I leaned over to the girl next to me and said, 'Great, look what we get to draw'."
I was guffawing.
She seemed to be taking it all in stride.
We've always been fairly open about body parts around here. In my opinion, the more matter-of-fact you can make things, the less mysterious forbidden appeal they have. No silly "wee-wees" or "kitty cats" in our family. We used the correct anatomical names for everything. We even had a family discussion once about the plural form of the word "penis".
I'm very PC.
Until...the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit edition showed up in our mailbox today. I flipped through it and promptly hid it in a stack of Oprah magazines by my bed that I was sure Parker would never touch. This was mild compared to what I did to Hubby's first Swimsuit edition the first year we were married. THAT glossy little magazine was reduced to shreds by my kitchen scissors.
Anyway...I digress.
So why does it bother me more for my 16 year old son to gawk at mere pictures of a woman than it does for my 20 year old daughter to study the folds of a real live man?
I have no idea.
Maybe it's because she's an adult and he's a teenager with raging hormones.
Nah.
I think it's because the Swimsuit girls are a carefully crafted illusion, created to sell lies to my son. The entire purpose is to hide flaws and embellish assets and make him reach for something that doesn't exist. While the Art Model is human. Real flesh and bone. Hair, moles, and all. The entire purpose is to see what's really there.
And besides....the One-Eyed Monster ain't pretty. I doubt Hillary will be seduced.
Oops! What was that I was saying about using proper names???
Anyway, the bottom line (no pun intended) is that I can't hide my children's eyes from everything. I have to trust that they will make good decisions based on what we've tried to teach them. And that they will feel comfortable enough to come to us for help if (or when) they don't.
And that's the naked truth.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Loved
I scrolled through facebook today and smiled at my friends' posts about Valentine's Day gifts. I didn't get roses, chocolate, or a diamond bracelet. But I don't mind. As corny as this sounds, I feel so ridiculously loved most days that I don't need a holiday to make my heart flutter.
When Parker hugs me for no reason...when Hillary posts something sweet on my facebook wall...when my Handsome Hubby supports my Starbucks habit...
I feel loved.
Impromptu family movie nights and phone calls from my parents and texts from my friends make me feel loved. When Parker cleans his plate AND the serving dishes and declares my cooking "amazing" I feel loved.
And when Hillary thinks it's a compliment that people say she looks like me, I feel loved.
Even the chore of weekly grocery shopping turns into a date as Hubby and I take time for lunch out together, and then observe our silly ritual of sharing a Peanut Butter Snickers on the way home (shhh don't tell the kids).
If I had a charm on a bracelet for every act of love lavished on me, my scrawny arms couldn't lift it.
Fortunately, my heart is big enough to hold them all.
When Parker hugs me for no reason...when Hillary posts something sweet on my facebook wall...when my Handsome Hubby supports my Starbucks habit...
I feel loved.
Impromptu family movie nights and phone calls from my parents and texts from my friends make me feel loved. When Parker cleans his plate AND the serving dishes and declares my cooking "amazing" I feel loved.
And when Hillary thinks it's a compliment that people say she looks like me, I feel loved.
Even the chore of weekly grocery shopping turns into a date as Hubby and I take time for lunch out together, and then observe our silly ritual of sharing a Peanut Butter Snickers on the way home (shhh don't tell the kids).
If I had a charm on a bracelet for every act of love lavished on me, my scrawny arms couldn't lift it.
Fortunately, my heart is big enough to hold them all.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Seeing the Spider
"Mom, have you written any new blogs lately?" Parker asked.
"No...I just haven't had time and I haven't been inspired..."
"Well, you should."
And he's right. I've been making excuses to myself. The kids are mostly grown now. They probably don't want my anecdotes about them all over the internet. Especially Parker...I mean he's a teenage boy.
Fate has a way of bursting our myths.
The truth is I've been hiding.
Recent events have left me feeling sad and betrayed and questioning myself. So I have retreated from everything that would give other people a peek into my life. But the truth is, there are so many more people in my life who love me and want me and need access to my heart than there are those who hurt on purpose...or even unintentionally.
A friend who recently had her first baby said to me, "I wish more women would talk about ALL aspects of motherhood...not just the fun stuff." She is so right.
One day last summer Parker was peering out our back window through a pair of binoculars. "Mom! You have to come look at this spider!"
He knows I'm terrified of spiders, so he never misses an opportunity to point out a big scary one.
He handed me the binoculars. But try as I might, all I saw was the many trees in our back forest.
"I don't see anything."
He took the binoculars back and looked again. "It's right there. See right between those two trees."
I tried again. Nothing.
And then he reached over while I was still looking through the lenses and turned the focus knob a bit.
And like magic it appeared! A huge beautiful Charlotte of a spider! Hanging in mid-air on an intricately spun web. She had been there all along. I just had to have the right focus.
I try to make my blog about the spiders. The good stuff. I focus in on 5 happy minutes and make an entire story about it. And that is important.
But the truth is I have WAY more trees in my life than spiders. We struggle financially and my house is rarely clean and my kids do stuff like wreck cars and sing in bars. I let things go sometimes that I shouldn't because I'm too tired or lazy to confront. Sometimes I skip church. Sometimes my son gets detention and my daughter runs out of gas. I don't always like my kids. I don't always like my husband. I don't always like myself.
But if we didn't have those trees, where would the spider hang her web?
It all mixes together to make my backyard.
It all mixes together to make my life.
Today I want to see the spider...AND the trees.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
The Web
I used to think parenting was all about me. It was my job, my calling, and if I didn't execute every detail of every day correctly my children would be forever scarred and the world would be a dark place.
Thank God I got over that!
Our family is not a wheel with me as the hub...all spokes by necessity connecting to me.
It's more like a web...all of us connected to all of us simultaneously.
Parker would never learn this if it had to come through me.
There are some things only my Man can teach him.
And then again, when the time came for Parker to shave for the first time (I guess he got tired of his sister calling him "The 'Stache") it was me he elbowed to follow him to the bathroom. I didn't do anything but stand there and supervise, but he seemed to be happy with that.
So it's not an exact science, this parenting thing.
Even siblings sometimes do it. Hillary was asking me just last night what I thought about a certain situation involving Parker and some of his friends. He hadn't even told me about it. I could let my feelings be hurt and worry that I should be more "in control" of the details of his social life...OR I could be happy he has a sister to confide things in. A girl who loves him as much as she gets annoyed with him. And that's a lot! A girl who has learned some of her own lessons the hard way and is willing to share her wisdom.
This web we've woven is strong, but flexible. And when one strand gets tugged, we all feel it in some way.
And it doesn't stop with us. My children have grandparents, aunts and uncles, and family friends who are part of our intricate pattern. It makes our web larger and stronger. Kind of like a safety net.
So instead of worrying, we can have fun...
which adds beauty to our web.
Thank God I got over that!
Our family is not a wheel with me as the hub...all spokes by necessity connecting to me.
It's more like a web...all of us connected to all of us simultaneously.
Parker would never learn this if it had to come through me.
There are some things only my Man can teach him.
And then again, when the time came for Parker to shave for the first time (I guess he got tired of his sister calling him "The 'Stache") it was me he elbowed to follow him to the bathroom. I didn't do anything but stand there and supervise, but he seemed to be happy with that.
So it's not an exact science, this parenting thing.
Even siblings sometimes do it. Hillary was asking me just last night what I thought about a certain situation involving Parker and some of his friends. He hadn't even told me about it. I could let my feelings be hurt and worry that I should be more "in control" of the details of his social life...OR I could be happy he has a sister to confide things in. A girl who loves him as much as she gets annoyed with him. And that's a lot! A girl who has learned some of her own lessons the hard way and is willing to share her wisdom.
This web we've woven is strong, but flexible. And when one strand gets tugged, we all feel it in some way.
And it doesn't stop with us. My children have grandparents, aunts and uncles, and family friends who are part of our intricate pattern. It makes our web larger and stronger. Kind of like a safety net.
So instead of worrying, we can have fun...
which adds beauty to our web.
from Charlotte's Web
Charlotte's Daughters: "Oh! That would take us a lifetime!"
Wilbur: "A liftetime. That's what we have."
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