Stretched

I've decided to take up yoga.
Anyone who knows me knows I hate most kinds of physical exercise, but yoga seemed like something that fit with my desire to be lithe and limber while listening to soothing music and not breaking a sweat.
So I searched YouTube for "yoga for beginners", picked a video at random, and tried to follow the directions of the teeny bopper in tights who was effortlessly bending herself into geometric shapes.  My body refused.  So I got into Grab the Remote Pose and changed my search to "yoga for inflexible people who are trying it for the very first time".
And that's how I found Jen and her "Safe Stretches for Beginners" video.  Jen moved slowly.  And was completely non-judgemental.  She demonstrated each pose and then explained how to supplement with pillows, rolled up hand towels, and modified movements for those of us who are just starting out and have "tight" shoulders, hips, hamstrings....well, pretty much everything (except for things that are actually supposed to be tight - like the skin around my eyes).
Even with such a gentle instructor, the stretches felt awkward at first.  For a moment I thought, "Ow!  This hurts!"  And I wanted to stop immediately.  Holding the pose for a few seconds felt like enough and it was uncomfortable and I just wanted to pop back into my familiar bad posture.  But Jen said, "Just stay there.  And take deep breaths." And she stayed in her pose for twice as long as I thought was necessary.
And as I stayed there with her and took deep breaths, I realized something.
It didn't actually hurt.
Oh, I felt it for sure.  But it was really just...different.  Not painful. Just new.
And then she said, "As you breathe, you will soften into the stretch instead of resisting it.  And pretty soon you will be surprised at the improvement in your flexibility and range of motion."
And as I lay there with my cheek pressed into the carpet and my arm bent further back than I ever thought it could go, I knew she was so right.
Because, lately, life has put me in some positions that have stretched me in new ways.
My children's bedrooms no longer have dirty clothes on the floor and posters on the wall.  The furniture looks lonely and the rooms feel different.
And my husband, who has been home with me in the evenings for the past two years, is involved with coaching. My single dinner plate looks lonely and the table feels different.
Celebrations are changing, and the holidays feel different.
And at first, I want to say, "Stop!  This hurts and I don't like it.  Put it all back the old familiar way."
But I stay here, in the new position, and I breathe.
And it doesn't hurt.  Not really.  It feels weird, awkward, unfamiliar, new.
But I stay.
And I breathe.
And I stop resisting.
And eventually, the new feels more comfortable.
I sit in my favorite chair and read an entire book in one evening without any guilt.
I accept an invitation to a friend's "cookie party" without having to check my kids' activity schedules.
I laugh at emails and texts from my husband throughout the day and I smile in the dark as he climbs into bed late beside me, regaling me with what happened at the game.
I think about joining the community choir.
I am surprised at my new flexibility and range of motion.
Jen says other stuff too.  When she is relaxing into her stretches she says things like "..a nice stretch" and "..that feels really great."  I am starting to know what she means.
You know, many years ago, when I was doing Pilates (yoga's angry cousin) my kids sat on the couch and howled with laughter at my attempts at The Seal.
But now the living room is blessedly silent.
I breathe, and soften into it.

The Things That Didn't Matter (and the Thing that did)

A scene in a funny movie took me back in time this weekend.  A young mom of an elementary boy was fretting over the fact that her husband (who was babysitting) was probably letting her innocent baby play a "violent video game".  Or wait...maybe it was an old home video.  Because the words she was saying had come right out of my own mouth.  From this distance, it seemed funny.  But once upon a time I had taken that and many other things SOOOO seriously.  And now, I wondered why.
I was that mom who vowed her children would play with gender neutral toys.  Trucks AND dolls for everyone!  And no guns.  No toy guns, no water guns, no BB guns, not even a hot glue gun.  Or a stick that was bent and kinda looked like a gun.  (I had an imaginative son - I had to be vigilant!)
And no movies with kissing scenes.
Or bad words.
This goes for music too.  I once returned a movie soundtrack I had bought the kids because one of the songs had a curse word in it.  And then I cursed MYSELF for not looking into the lyrics more thoroughly BEFORE buying it.
Of course, I'm not saying parents should let their kids go to Hell in a handbasket.  But focusing on all that stuff was exhausting!  And, I'm sorry to say, a total waste of time.  My children grew into adults who play war themed video games, kiss their boyfriends and girlfriends, and listen to music that is sometimes "uncensored".  In other words, normal Americans.
If I could go back in time, I would tell my blonde, permed, floweredy dress-wearing self to relax.  I would tell her that parenting is not about rules, but about relationship.  And that even though she didn't know it at the time, she was accidentally doing some things right.  Like listening to her children's hearts.  And giving them permission to pick out their own clothes (even if they DID tuck their sweat shirt into their sweat pants). And learning to heal her own heart's wounds so she could be a whole person who lets others grow into whole people.
I would tell her to stop being so afraid that she was going to "mess up" her kids or that others would think she was a "bad mom".  I would tell her that her house was plenty clean enough and her kids would actually choose to eat vegetables someday (even saurkraut and asparagus!).
My grown up kids aren't perfect (thank goodness!) but they turned out remarkably well.  They love and are loved.  They feed themselves and manage to wear clean clothes (most of the time).  They respect their elders.  They have their own relationships with God.  They make mistakes and they try again.  And they stay in touch with their Mama!
Fortunately, mixed in with all those rules was a healthy dose of grace.  Grace when I was too grouchy from the stress of all that Perfect Parenting.  Grace when rules were broken and feelings were hurt.  Grace when we fell down that gave us space to get back up.
In spite of all the things that didn't matter, God gave us the one thing that DID!

The Bride and The Brother

(disclaimer - none of the dresses pictured here are The Actual Dress -   Can't have Dad or Groom seeing the dress before the wedding ;)
When my kids were little, they fought so bad I considered adopting them out to separate families and starting over.  So imagine my surprise when a newly-engaged Hillary included Parker on the short list of people who must be present on Shopping for the Dress Day.
We converged on the little local shop of her choice, each ready to fulfill our designated assignments.  I was to help in the dressing room, give emotional support, and (of course) hand over the cash if a dress was found.  Parker was to take pictures and videos on her phone, and use his practiced eye and brutal honesty to keep her from believing the salesgirl's hype.  He never bends the truth over something as silly as sparing your feelings. ("Do these pants make me look fat?" Quick glance. "Yes.") Hillary's job was pretty much to pretend to be a princess, have fun, and direct this Disney movie.

The doors opened and we walked through.

Rows and rows of fluffy white surrounded us.  Hillary and I couldn't help sharing a little "this is happening!" squeal.  The salesgirl (who was wearing a dress so short I wanted to cover Parker's eyes) led us through the store.  She asked our budget, which quickly narrowed us down to a handful of hanging racks.  We started pulling dresses.

And the fun began!

(Strong enough to lift 3 wedding dresses with a single hand, and secure enough to hold Sister's purse for her at the same time!)

In the dressing room, I lifted and tugged and zipped and laced and fluffed and smoothed. And we laughed.  A lot.

Each time Hillary emerged, followed by her loyal train-bearing mum, Salesgirl oohed and ahhed and used 25 synonyms for "beautiful".  Parker looked up from his phone and said things like "nice" or "too poofy" or "that one's better".

After trying on several dresses, Hillary started to narrow down the aspects she liked and didn't like.

"I like how flowy this one is."

"Hmm...I think I like the sweetheart neckline better."

"Definitely not this kind of waist-line."

Parker dutifully went back to the racks, searching for dresses that contained all the right elements and none of the wrong ones.  Just like a man.  A helpful man.

And then I slipped one dress over her head as she looked in the mirror and I heard a soft "wow" slip from her lips.

NOW we're getting somewhere...

She had been concerned at the beginning that she might like so many dresses it would be too hard to choose.  And she did like several.  But somehow, you know when you slip on The One.

She swayed out and stood on the pedestal in front of the mirror.  Salesgirl went bananas.  And Parker said, "I like it!"  Hillary couldn't wipe the smile off her face.  She twirled and turned to look at herself from every angle.  I could tell she didn't want to take it off.  Holding out her hands she sing-songed "I think we're saying yes to the dress..."

I paid (it happened to be half-off!  a small miracle..) and we spent the rest of the day browsing antique shops for veil ideas, getting Starbucks, and having dinner at the Mexican restaurant with Aunt Cassie.  The conversation was as good as the food.  And I didn't have to break up a single argument ;)

When it was time to all go our separate ways, Parker hugged his sister and said, "I'm proud of you."

And I was proud too...proud that my son was willing to help his sister, and that my daughter was willing to share her special day with her brother.  Proud to have children I can LIKE as well as love.

I guess I'll keep them after all.

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!