Launched

They call it "launching" for a reason.
Picture an ocean cruiser easing from shore...horns blowing, music playing, and smiley happy people waving goodbye as they head to some exotic tropical vacation.
It's nothing like that.
Launching your kids into adulthood feels more like a toy boat being ripped out of a child's hands by a swollen muddy ditch before you were finished playing with it.
Yeah.  It's like that.
Before you have a chance to finish your Safe Sailing presentation, they're off- caught in the swirling current and bumping into debris, the life-jacket you handed them tossed on the ground by your feet.
The boat's not afraid.  The boat is just riding the waves.  But you stand on the shore crying like a 5 year old.
They're floating away from you.  Fast.  What if they sink? What if they get smashed?  What if they sail somewhere you don't know how to find them?
They bump into plenty of things...
Regardless of how much you try to prepare them, life is always harder than they expect.  Classes are boring.  Roommates are inconsiderate. Part-time jobs suck.  And employers dare to take taxes out of paychecks before they give them to you! Homework is due, even if no one told you to look online because that's where the professor posted it. They get stressed.  They don't eat right or sleep enough.  They get sick and have to take themselves to the doctor (although they do send you the bill).  And they take sudden detours down streams you did NOT plan for! (How dare they steer their own little boat! Did they not see the detailed course you charted for them on the map taped to the boat's steering wheel?)
But every now and then, their travels bring their boat back to home port for a minute.  And you realize that they're still afloat.  They're wiser.  And more...Themselves.  They like saurekraut and sushi.  They play on their church worship team and volunteer for Outreaches in poor neighborhoods.  They find people to love who love them back.  They tell stories of their adventures in places you've never been, and wear clothes you didn't buy them, and have ideas you didn't put in their head.
They've traded in their toy boat for an adventure schooner.  One they are learning to be captain of.
They are not sinking.
So you smile and restock their cargo hold with encouragement and food and advice and clean laundry and cash for another semester (and a few oranges to ward off scurvy).
And then you sit back and drink your Starbucks and watch them sail off into the sunset.
Bon voyage, Launchees!

Pomp and Circumstance (and confetti)

Cheers explode and confetti rains down...and it's over.  My Son is no longer a high school student.  He is a high school graduate.  Diploma in hand- tassel officially moved to the "I'm done!" side.
I am proud.

I am happy.

I am dog-gone tired!

I'm all for big ceremonies.  We need them to mark passages from one life stage to another.  We need them to celebrate all the hard work and growth it takes to get there.
But it's the small moments I enjoy.
The details.
Like the way Parker wore his cap way back on his head because he didn't want to mess up his hair. 

(After all, it takes work and lots of product to achieve so much swag!)

And how he followed Hillary's wildly gestured silent directions as he marched into graduation - looking directly at her camera and giving his best fake smile.  (She has trained him well)

 

I loved that Hubby got to sit right beside our boy, and I wondered what they were whispering about as they waited for the 70 kids in front of Parker to walk across the stage.

I think about all the moments that have made up this Senior Year.
A last First Day picture.

Parades in morning sunshine on a fall saturday.

Listening to Parker chat about his life as he facetimes with his uncle.
An 18th birthday.
Waking up at all hours of the night and checking my phone for Parker's "home" text because I can't rest deeply till I know he's safely in the house.
Extra cars in my driveway, boys in my basement, and laughter around my kitchen table.

Hugs before he leaves for bonfires, camp-outs, and air-soft wars with his friends.
Letters back and forth when things were too tense to talk face to face.
Rubbing his hair as he lays over into my lap and vents about his fears and his friends.
Watching movies.
Crying at a funeral.
ER visits.

Dances.

School Play.

A pile of track medals on my kitchen counter.

Huge containers of chocolate milk mix and gallons of milk per week.

And like confetti, these shiny colorful moments explode and make something big and sparkly that lasts for just a moment, but make up a lifetime.

Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

Any woman who has tried to find a decent pair of jeans that don't cost more than your mortgage payment, knows what the Mall can do to your self-image.  After trying on a dressing room full of failures, I was feeling fat.  Actually I was feeling small-boobed, big footed, fat, and ugly.  So what do you do when the jeans don't fit?  You go to the make-up store of course!  I can't shrink my booty in a day, but I can cover up my wrinkles with expensive stuff that smells good and comes in cute bottles.
And then you get your hair done.
And you know what makes it even more fun?
Taking your 18 year old son with you.
Parker was out of school for spring break and quickly agreed to ride along when I said I was going to the city that day.  He had followed me into the make-up store, carried my bags, and then sat and waited while I got my hair cut and colored.  I assumed he would wander off to browse in some "man" store like Lids or the sporting goods store.  But he said, "Nah, I'll just wait here."
And he did.
Patiently.
And quietly.
For an hour and a half.
I must tell you that I was the envy of every woman working in that salon that day.
"Is that your son?"
"Yes," I smiled proudly.  I was glad we got that out of the way immediately.  Some people think I don't look "old enough" to have a son that age and I always worry that people will assume I'm some kind of Sugar Mama Cougar.
"He's so HANDSOME!" one lady crooned.
"And look at him just waiting on you.  What a good son!"
"My kids are 16 and 20 and they don't wanna go NO where with me anymore." said the hispanic lady painting bleach on my hair with a brush.
"Umm hmmm" came the agreement all around.
I felt lucky.  I AM lucky.  Because my son is just like his dad - thoughtful, patient, and helpful.
We left the salon and went to Radio Shack, where it was my turn to wait patiently as Parker browsed through electronic parts and pieces for fun.  And then we hit the outlet mall where I joked that his purchases from the Adidas store were payment for his good behavior in the salon.  We even caught a movie on the way home.  It was a fun day.
I know that someday he will have another woman to follow into makeup stores and beauty salons.  And I will be happy for him when that happens.  (and hopefully SHE will be happy too because I trained him well!)  But for now, I'll toss my newly coiffed hair and enjoy the company of this boy who is "hair today"...

I'm Lovin' It

Ya know what I love?

FactTime-ing with Hillary while I'm driving down the road (because when she calls I can't NOT answer - it's against mother rules).

Getting a big hug from Parker and being left with the scent of his cologne long after he's gone.

Videos on facebook of my crazy daughter singing and gesturing in public to the world at large.

Meeting Parker's new friends and using my parent powers to make them laugh nervously while my own kid rolls his eyes and mouths "she's joking" behind my back.

Getting shopping advice via text from my Savvy Style Expert (hillary).

The patience in Parker's voice while he talks me through the steps to Bluetooth-link my phone to his car radio even though he is hanging out with his friends at McD's.

The fact that he doesn't mind that I've borrowed his car and made him drive the old falling-apart truck because I can't drive a stick and he can.

Texts from either kid that say "home".  Because then I can let out the breath I've been holding.

Quiet time by myself on a sunny morning to write about things I love!

Building Bridges

For weeks, Parker has been building these things called boomilevers for the Science Olympiad at school. He not only works on it at school with his science teacher, he also carts home boxes of supplies and spends hours at my kitchen table measuring, cutting, sanding, and gluing pieces of feather-light wood into something that looks like a bridge. 

He is tireless.

He has made no less than 10 of these things so far, and every time he tests it by putting weight on it, something snaps and breaks.

And he just starts over. 

He examines where it broke (the weak spot) and builds a new version with a slightly different design. 

And these things aren't quick. He may spend hours completing one side of one boomilever.

I watch him as I'm cooking supper or loading the dishwasher, and I wonder where he gets the patience. It seems so tedious. I would have given up after model number 2...

But he doesn't. 

He doesn't curse the wood for being too weak, or the glue for not holding, or the weight for being too heavy. He just salvages what he can and starts over. 

Recently, several families I know and love have had problems with their teenagers. 

Bridges that they have been working on for years seem to be crumbling beyond repair. In moments like that, things can seem hopeless. 

But watching Parker reminds me that there IS hope. 

We don't give up, because what's on the other side is too important to us to leave the chasm gaping.

We shouldn't blame our children for being too weak. We shouldn't curse ourselves for not being able to hold. We can't blame the weight for being too great. 

We just pick up the pieces, identify the weak spots, come up with a new design, and rebuild. 

"It seems that all my bridges have been burnt.

But you say that's exactly how this grace thing works.

It's not the long walk home that will change this heart

But the welcome I receive with every start

Mumford and Sons Roll Away Your Stones

Home School

We don't make beds here.
Unless company is coming, of course.  Or occasionally when we change the sheets and decide to do crisp corners and actually place the decorative throw pillows on the bed for a couple of hours before climbing in and rumpling it all up again.
I realize this makes me a Bad Mother in some circles.  And I worried about it for years. (Not enough to actually make the bed every morning, but enough to keep it a secret!) But recently I've been reading about intentionality and creativity, and I've discovered my parenting flaw isn't a flaw at all.
I am a Mother, but I am also a First Grade Teacher in a public school.  Monday through Friday I manage 20 or so 6 year olds - getting them to read, write, compute, think, play, eat, clean up, walk in lines, take turns, and lose teeth.  And that's not counting Party days and Assemblies (or the enormous amount of time spent on bathroom issues).  I study the Common Core (or whichever set of Rules de Jour happen to be imposed on me at the moment) and try to make sure my little minds are pushed and stretched to their full potential.  After all, school is for learning.  But I also make sure we carve out time to talk, move, explore, fight, make up, draw, cry, and laugh.  After all, school is for learning.
When it came to my own children's education, we pretty much did it the traditional way.  My kids went to preschools with trained teachers who guided their development with play and creative activities.
They went to a private elementary school with an accelerated academic curriculum that stressed traditional Christian values and morals.
They went to public Middle schools where they were subjected to standardized testing, bad behavior, and the smells that come with almost-adult bodies being managed by still-childish brains.
And they went to a public High school where they both had to have their Dad for a math teacher.
They were in after school clubs.  They played sports.  They got good grades.  They made friends and had boyfriends/girlfriends.  They went to Prom.
But as my children are launching into the Real World, I am seeing the importance of Home School.
Being successful in the Real World is about much more than having A's on your transcript.  It's about living on your own, getting along with roommates, paying bills, building relationships, finding/keeping a job, obeying traffic laws, having fun, making decisions, solving problems, resolving your past, and dreaming about your future.  No one rings a bell to tell you it's time to move in a straight line to the next phase of your life.  No one tells you what page to turn to in your Book of Life.  You have to know yourself and others and figure stuff out on your own.
So while I'm glad public school taught them to read, write, and compute, I'm also thankful for what they learned at Home.
Things like, "Go to bed when you're tired." "Its important to eat vegetables." "You don't have to like your siblings, but you do have to figure out how to resolve conflict with them." "If you spend all your allowance now, you won't have any for next week." "Not every family looks and acts like ours, but that doesn't mean they are doing it wrong" "Exploring new music, books, art, movies, is a worthwhile way to spend time and money" "Serving dinner off the stove is ok if it means you have time to sit at the table and eat and mama has less dishes to do"  and  "If it comes down to a choice between making the bed and spending time with someone you love, leave the bed unmade."
Because, no matter where you were educated, we are all Home Schooled.

The Write Stuff

Recently, Parker introduced me to a movie on Netflix called "The Letter Writer".  It's about an old man in a retirement home who spends his days writing letters to people he doesn't even know, encouraging them and telling them good things about themselves.  He gets their names from the phone book.  One young recipient tracks him down, and a life-changing relationship is formed.
"This movie made me think of you," Parker said, "because you like to write to people."
And I do.
I have always loved words.  As a child, reading could take me to other worlds, and writing could help me say things I was too afraid to voice out loud.  But I never really understood the importance of written down words until recently.
My sister passed away in December.  We were very close.  The kind of close that made words unnecessary most of the time.  One look, one raised eyebrow, and we knew what the other was thinking.  When they stopped the cancer treatments and she and I sat alone in her hospital room, I said, "There are no 'last' words. You already know everything I would say." And we were comforted by the fact that there was no unfinished business to regret.
But after she had been gone for a while, I started to forget things I knew.
And then I came across a letter she had written me as a Christmas gift a few years ago.
She spelled out how much she loved me and told stories about our childhood I already knew.  She reminded me of how we always took care of each other and called me her sister and her friend.
And then she ended by saying, "I am certain that you know how much I love you, but just in case you need uplifting or reminding some day..."
And I do!  I need reminding!  As my counselor said, "I think it's providential that she wrote this down."
Words are powerful.  Words are the way we give something of ourselves to the people we love.
It's why I write this blog.
It's why I text people I love when my thoughts turn to them in the middle of an ordinary day.
It's why I started journals for each of my children when they were still in the womb.  I wanted to capture my thoughts and feelings about them.
A couple of nights ago Hubby was out of town and Parker and I went to dinner together.  We chatted over our Mexican food about school and relationships and music and life.  It was so much fun to spend time with this amazing young man.
When I got home I pulled out his journal so I could save this precious ordinary Thursday evening for him.  When I opened the dusty book, I realized the last entry was several years ago!  I started reading, and for a little while I got lost in first words, first days of school, first girlfriends...I realized that these words were as much for me as for my kids.
"..just in case you ever need reminding..."
And I do.  I need reminding that we laughed over something silly...that I worried over their friendships and relationships...that they said something that melted my heart...that I was happy, scared, proud, and (every now and then) wrong!
I can leave my children money, things, memories... but with my words I can leave them ME.  I can leave them insight into my heart and thoughts.  I can leave them snapshots of themselves through my eyes.
So I'm thankful God made me a letter-writer.  And I will resolve to keep it up.
Just in case you need uplifting or reminding someday...