Tested

My son is a hunter. Even though his dad would rather shoot basketball than guns, and his mom is known only for shooting off her mouth, his Papaw has faithfully introduced him to everything from duck to deer hunting. And so, when he turned 13, it was time to legally license him. Which required taking the Hunter Education Course. I assumed that sense we live in a rural, hilly, and wooded area where local kids are born with a gun in their hand, that it would be easy to find an offered course. But you know what they say about assuming...

The only thing available was a 12 hour, 3 night course in the next town over.

I took him the first night, expecting a small group of boys to be taught a few safety lessons, and certified automatically. At 13, he was not required to have a parent stay, and I toyed with the idea of just dropping him off. But when we entered the basement of the Baptist church we were met with 40 or more men, women, and kids. And the instructor got up and told the crowd in a very serious voice that it was extremely important to pay attention because the test had changed and was now all essay, so if you were a good writer you should pass easily. My stomach dropped. Parker is good at a lot of things, but writing is NOT one of them. And then the instructor laughed...ha ha ha, just kidding...it's 50 questions, multiple choice...

Not funny.

I wanted to take one of those bow and arrows on the table and show him kidding.

But instead I just sat there by Parker through the first hour of chapter 1. When the class took a break I told Parker I was leaving for a while and would be back toward the end of the class. He didn't seem thrilled about it, but I didn't want to be a helicopter parent...you know the kind that is always hovering. My husband already accuses me of babying our son. I wanted to stay, but I felt like I had to go.

I drove around and worried. I knew Parker would pick up the information by listening carefully to the instructor. But he had to take the test on his own. His dyslexia causes him to misread things sometimes and I was worried that he wouldn't pass the test...not because he didn't know the answer but because he would misread the question. I considered talking with the instructor to ask if Parker could have the test read to him. That's what happens at school. But singling Parker out would just embarrass him. I fought back tears and hated again that this stupid disorder was creeping up in yet another area of Parker's life, making him struggle for what most people take for granted.

I got back just in time for the second break of the night and sat quietly by Parker for the rest of that class. And when we got home he hugged me and said, "Thanks for coming back and staying with me, Mom."

On the second night, I came prepared. I sat through every minute of the class and read halfway through a novel while Parker listened raptly, eyes never leaving the instructor. I forced myself not to lean over and underline key terms or star important points. And at the end of the class the instructor said, "Now about the test..."

My ears perked up.

"Every time we give this test, I make sure there is someone available to read the test to those who need it. I encourage you to take advantage of this. You don't want to fail the test just because you're not a strong reader."

I couldn't believe it! I hadn't said anything! God had taken care of it without any help from me. For the second time in as many nights I blinked back tears.

The night of the test, Parker went into a side room with a whole group of other test-takers and had the test read to him. He came out with a beaming smile on his face! "Easiest test I've ever taken!" he declared, as he showed me his Hunter Orange patch and certification slip.

I guess we both passed.

18 Candles

My little girl is 18.

To celebrate, we will throw a party in her honor...but that's a couple weeks away. The actual Big Day landed on a Wednesday. So she went to school (even though in our house you can skip on your birthday if you want!). And she tried out for District Choir (and made it, I might add....top alto!). And then the four of us headed to the fanciest restaurant around. Sybill's, set in a grand, plantation style house, offers wonderful food, superb service, and an elegant environment. Due to the "pretty" price tag, it's a treat we save for very special occasions. And this was one. Hillary was so excited! Over candlelight and a real tablecloth my gorgeous young woman spoke of the day's events, college plans, and favorite birthday memories. Elegant and sophisticated, she fit right in and looked like she belonged to this graceful world.

And I couldn't help comparing it to other birthdays.

Chuck E. Cheese with blaring music and garish characters. Kid's World with Barbie cake and screaming kids climbing through the play place like mice in a maze.

My how things have changed!

And then, after cheesecake desert, Hillary looked at the time and said, "Mom, church starts at 7. We're only a little bit late."

Then again, some things never change!

I know that when I was 18, I would gladly have skipped a church service to be pampered and celebrated. Heck, I'd do it today, if given the chance! But Hillary has always loved going to church. There was one Sunday night...she couldn't have been more than 5...when Hubby and I decided to stay home and relax for the evening. Hillary just looked at us and said in a rather accusing way, "Does Pastor know about this?"

So she and I left Dad at Sybill's to pick up the tab, and we slid in the pew just as the service was being turned over to the preacher. Hillary took notes during the message, prayed in the altar service, and then laughed and teased with her friends as we lingered in the sanctuary. Happy and wholesome, she fit right in, and looked like she belonged in this Grace full world.

And even though it was her birthday...I was the one who'd been given a gift.

Radio Waves and World Wide Webs

I have a new favorite thing.

Actually its a very old thing with a modern twist.

Remember how the Walton's used to gather around their radio and listen to a ball game or radio show while grandma knitted and Pa puffed on a pipe? And the kids all scattered around the room listening? Well, just call us the Waltons!

I don't know how to knit, and I would never allow pipe smoke in my family room, but we enjoyed all the rest of it just last night. On our way home, I was enjoying a talk radio show on NPR. But, alas, we don't have a radio strong enough to pick up the signal from St Louis in the house. So I jumped on the internet and "listened live".

Parker lay next to me on the couch, letting me rub his head, while Hillary sat on the hearth and cleaned her tennis shoes with a bleach stick. I watched the flames flicker in the fire place and Yancy relaxed in his chair. We listened to a very entertaining, yet informative show that told stories about math (of all things) in such an interesting way that we sat in rapt attention. It was so peaceful. The worries of the world were pushed outside for a while. We were all in the same room at the same time...and even though we weren't talking, we felt connected. Unlike staring at a TV screen, we watched each other's faces as someone laughed or frowned to what they heard. In these days of crazy schedules it was nice to share an old pastime...by way of the latest technology.

Picture This

Had a sweet day with a sweet man who is getting better by the minute at acting like a boyfriend. Today he went to work with me and stuffed weekly folders, spruced up centers, and made copies where he was fawned over by a couple of other (jealous) female teachers whose husbands were nowhere in sight. Then he took me into the city so I could spend my birthday money. But as great as the day was, it did eventually wind down to an end.

As I sat next to him in the truck, late afternoon sun shining into the windshield, tires eating up the miles between fun and reality, I started to sink.

I hate it, but I do it every Sunday. The closer evening gets, the more I start to think about work and the dreaded Monday morning alarm clock. I fight. And sometimes I win. But more often than not, I don't.

By the time we got home, I was really sad. But I walked in the door, looking for my kids, because they always make me happier...and Parker bounded in front of me, hugged me, and then put his hands over my eyes.

"Don't look" he said as he steered me toward the kitchen.

Music was playing, and I could hear Hillary moving something around.

"OK." she finally said. "Open your eyes and see if anything has changed."

I slowly scanned the room until I saw my photo collage frame sitting on the counter...full of brand new shots of her, Parker, and love messages written in the sand. I exclaimed and examined and felt happy again. While we were gone, Hillary had taken her brother and her brand new birthday-present camera to the park. She printed out the best shots and filled my frame with love and beauty. And my heart with smiles.

Somehow, seeing the world through her eyes and her camera makes me realize how blessed I am...how God sends me beauty in flowerpetals and fingerprints...and how he's gifted my children with creativity and generosity. They are made in His image. And I'm engraved on His heart.

Boyfriends and Girlfriends

We were privileged to be invited to a fall family gathering at some friends' house last night. Hillary had her own (awesome) plans...an unexpected chance to go see Phantom of the Opera at the Fox, so it was just the three of us (Hubby, Son, and I). Feeling like we needed a little spice in our marriage, I suggested that Hubby and I be "boyfriend and girlfriend" for the evening. He agreed. Parker just sat looking bored out the window. So I asked him, "Parker, what should Dad do if he's going to be my boyfriend?"

Parker gave me that "Why are you asking me this" look and shrugged.

I pressed.

"Come on...what does a boyfriend do?"

"Well," he sighed, "be friendly to you?"

That's always a good start.

"What else?"

"And bring you stuff."

Ok, be friendly to me and bring me stuff. Sounds kind of like the dog we used to have. But I can live with that.

We enjoyed our evening of music, conversation, laughter, food, and bonfire and my husband and I realized we are a little out of practice at being boyfriend and girlfriend. But it was fun to try.

Proud Tears

Band is the one thing my two kids will get to share. Because of the four year age difference, Hillary will be out of high school before Parker gets there, and (dare I hope) leaving college by the time he enters. So I was thrilled to be able to go to ONE parade competition and watch BOTH my kids performing. Hillary as drum major and Parker as banner carrier.

I sat with friends on the side of the road and watched as the other bands came by, small and squeaky and arrayed in various colors. Then finally, they came. The Wildcat Marching Band. Compared to the others they looked like a small army. They descended upon us in ruler straight lines, playing loud and strong. Parker marched tall and precise, knees high...toes pointed, just as Hillary had shown him at home as she made him prance around the living room to practice. His face was stone and I knew better than to yell. The drill team danced along behind.

My willowy Hillary led the band with head held high and arms making sharp directive motions. And marching backwards in high heeled boots, I might add.

I couldn't help it...tears sprang to my eyes.

I blinked quickly and bit my tongue and blamed it on the wind blowing in my face.

And then a grandmother of one of the band members leaned over and said to me, "Every time I see them perform, it always makes me cry!"

A perfect reminder that there is no shame in proud tears.

Rest In Peace

It was promising to be a full weekend...my husband was leaving town right after school on Friday for a coaching clinic, it was Homecoming week (football/dance), and the band had a parade competition on Saturday. No problem. I've got it covered.

And then Hillary threw up.

I rushed home from work, Sprite in hand, to nurse and nurture. She refused to even CONSIDER staying home from the football game. She is the drum major and the band would need her to lead them while they played. And the dance was after the game and she really wanted to try it. So after a nap, a shower, and some dramamine, she climbed on the bus (due to construction at our school our "home" games are 20 min away at the next town over). I crossed my fingers and kept my phone in my hand.

She perked up and made it through the game, then went on to the dance where she was meeting her date for the evening. She told me she probably wouldn't stay late, since she had the competition the next morning, and that she would call me when she wanted to be picked up. I cleaned up the house, shared a frozen pizza with Parker, and watched some TV. At 10:00 I knew I wasn't going to make it. I lay down in bed, fully clothed, and put the phone on my pillow. Parker was beside me, watching TV.

I dozed.

I started awake. 10:50. Ok, it's all good. The TV droned.

I dozed.

I started awake. The TV was off and Parker snored softly. 11:40. I checked my phone. She hadn't called. Was she ok? What if she was sick? Then I reminded myself that she was surrounded by a myriad of teens and teachers who loved her and all had my phone number if something happened. Not to mention that she is almost 18. A handful of months and she could potentially be living far away doing who knows what with who knows who whenever she wants. If she doesn't know how to make the right decisions by now, then really, what is the point?

I don't do well without sleep.

I dozed.

I started awake. 12:00. My phone was buzzing. "Mom, come get me". So much for not staying out "late".

New dilema. Leave Parker snoozing and hope he doesn't wake up with a nightmare, panicked because he can't find me, or wake him up and make him go with me. We don't have a home phone and his cell is out of commission at the moment. I shook him, told him where I was going, got a mumble in response, and left...taking my chances.

Fog. Moonlight. Don't hit a deer. Then your daughter will be sitting forlorn outside a dark school building and your son will awake in a dark empty house. And they will wonder why you've forsaken them while you are leaning unconscious on the horn with airbag dust floating around your face. I warned you - lack of sleep makes me crazy.

I had a sudden urge of sympathy for single parents. How do you do this without a partner?

I got Hillary home without incident, climbed back in bed next to the still-sleeping-soundly Parker, and tried to relax. And then Hillary appeared in the doorway. "I'm sleeping in here." And she slid under the covers.

And just like that...all was right with the world. The things most important in my world (save my hubby who is a big man and can easily take care of himself) were right there in bed with me...safe, sound, and sleeping. I drifted off to sleep.

And I rested in peace.