A Stack of Memories

As we stood in church this morning singing, "Jesus, Hold My Hand" I had a sudden flashback. A sweet memory. So I leaned over to Parker and whispered, "Wanna know the memory I have of this song?" Since I was not wearing heels, he had to lean down so my mouth could reach his ear. And I told him about the time Loretta Cole and I sang this song as a special when I was 10. We practiced singing "parts" until we thought we sounded pretty good. But the thing I remember most was that we stood behind the podium. And I couldn't see over it. So we stacked a few hymnals on the floor and I stood on them.

Parker smiled and said, "You wanna know the memory I'll have of this song? That when my mother whispered her memory to me, I had to bend down to hear her."

And I couldn't help but picture our memories being stacked on top of each other like songbooks for the next generation to stand on.

No No

When my kids were toddlers, I used to joke that they would think their name was "No No" because it seemed like that's all I ever said to them. I think anyone who has ever lived through Christmas tree season with a 2 year old could understand.

But then I earned my degree in Child Development and was taught to be more positive. "Tell the child what you want them to do instead of what not to do."

And then I went to counseling and was taught to loosen my knuckle white grip of control over every thing remotely related to my family. "It's ok if their clothes don't match. It's not a reflection of your mothering."

And so we've floated along fairly smoothly down the river of time, and as my children show me respect and good judgement (most of the time) I respond by saying yes unless there is a reason to say no.

But sometimes I get busy and don't notice how much the four of us have allowed our loopy up and down and all around schedules and activities to mushroom. Until we start to suffer.

Like yesterday, when I came home from the chiropractor, who informed me that to keep my muscles from pulling my bones out of place, I needed to find a way to deal with my stress. Is it telling that when he corrected my posture (my shoulders are too rounded and my head is forward) I responded by thinking "How stupid of me! I will perfect my horrible posture right away."? And I immediately programed my phone to beep once a day to remind me to check my shoulder position. As if I had somehow purposefully chosen to defy the posture gods and was now being punished. Instead of thinking, "Ok. Now I know what the problem is, and how to correct it." But I digress.

I came home to dirty dishes and piles of laundry and tried to remember to breathe deeply and keep my shoulders back while making pizza. Parker headed straight for my room (his favorite tv watching spot). I didn't hear from him again for a while. Then Hillary came home and plopped on the couch. She was mysteriously and uncharacteristically quiet as well. When I finally checked on them, they were both sound asleep. In the middle of a Friday afternoon. They never do that.

And I realized it was time to call a time out for our family. But before I could get the words out my children took care of it themselves. Parker had originally planned for a friend to spend the weekend. That was cancelled at the last minute. Hillary had planned to go Cosmic bowling til the wee hours of the morning. But she chose on her own to stay home instead. We all just lay around together in front of the fireplace and watched lame tv and talked.

So maybe I'm not perfect. And I don't always keep us on the straight and narrow. But is that really a mother's job? What I really hope to do is to teach my children to see the signs of overcommitment on their own and make better choices from there. And last night proved to me that they get that.

Its ok to get off track sometimes. We are all human and that will happen. The important thing is to see that you're off track and adjust...before it's too late.

So do I think my family is perfect?

No.

But would I change them for the world?

NO NO!

Oh be careful little fingers....

First text from Parker's phone to mine:

"Get ur but over here"

Two seconds later...

"Sry wroNG PERSON"

Yeah, that's what I thought!

In Security

I lay on my bed and watched Hillary getting ready for the basketball homecoming festivities. She talked to me about her day as she shaved her legs, then did her make-up. Then she asked me to trim her bangs and fix her hair. Why she trusts me with this endeavor I'll never know...but I did my best and the result was ok. She slipped into a dress she wore two years ago, then said (with not a hint of panic), "Hmmm. I don't think I have any shoes." I frantically started texting friends and soon came up with a silver pair she could borrow. She gave herself one last glance and happily started out the door...alone...as her current boyfriend lives in another town and couldn't be here for the dance. I stood in the wake of her perfume, amazed at the security she seemed to have in herself. I couldn't help but be transported to my own high school days where every homecoming required weeks of planning, shopping for the right dress, tanning, and much blow-drying/curling/spraying the night of. Not to mention obsessing over who was taking whom to the dance.

An hour later, I stood in my own closet, among several tried-and-discarded outfits, frustrated because I couldn't seem to find just the right ensemble. And all I was doing was going to the ball game! It had taken Hillary 30 min to get ready to party all night...and here I was spending an hour (and considerable mental energy) just getting dressed to be at the game for the 20 min it would take to crown the homecoming court. Where ever Hillary's security comes from...it's not from her mother!

Perhaps I'm newly aware of this because I'm reading a book about women and their insecurity. Ok...I was reading it...I actually stopped half-way through because I was feeling insecure!

The point of the book is that our identity should come from who we are in Christ. We will never measure up to the world's ridiculous standards of beauty or success. And I know this in my head...but I'm still trying to convince my heart.

In the meantime, I'm learning from my graceful, beautiful girl who has nothing to prove and seems to know she is loved beyond measure...and beyond judgement.

And I pray that God will keep this gift in her safe.

And secure.

Super Sonic Son

"Can we stop by Sonic?"

This question has become all too familiar lately. Discerning family members have discovered the way to Parker's heart is through his stomach. And thanks to his collection of gift cards, combined with his monthly allowance, Parker's trips to the fast food chain have become almost as frequent as his mother's trips to the coffee shop.

And today was no exception.

We pulled up to the menu board and I asked him what he wanted.

"An extra long chili cheese coney, and a Super Sonic double cheeseburger," he replied. "And we'll see how I feel after that."

I know how I would feel! But apparently this tall lanky lad with brand-new hairs on his upper lip has a (large) stomach of steel.

"Oh, and a Route 44 sweet tea." he added as an afterthought.

He pulled out his wallet (which has become a permanent fixture recently) and flipped through his cards...as nonchalantly as a wealthy gentleman in a swanky restaurant...then looked at me and said, "You want anything?"

Well, since he was offering....

"I mean, you can get a soda or something," he continued.

Oh, thanks. "One small Coke for me"

Although his offer may, at first, seem less than generous, the fact that he offered at all is heartening. I am proud of the way he's beginning to relish taking care of himself...and others. Going from the little boy who conned his momma into doing everything for him to the young man who helps her grade papers and offers to carry heavy things for her didn't come quickly or easily.

So even if he still drives me crazy sometimes by leaving his dirty cereal bowl sitting in my bedroom or asking me where all his clean underwear are (when I just put several pair in his room), my pride in him is super-sized.

Enough

As Hillary and I walked out of church this morning, I stopped to talk with a teary-eyed friend. After exchanging hugs and words of encouragement, my friend said, "So does your daughter think I'm crazy?" "Are you kidding?" I replied. If there is one thing my family is used to it's seeing a crying (sometimes hysterical) woman. They are so used to it, it doesn't even faze them anymore.

In the beginning, I worried about this very thing. I was so afraid my recurring struggles with anxiety and depression would scar my children, making them view emotions in some distorted way. I determined this would not happen. So through the years I've stopped hiding my tears and been honest about my hard times. Only by acknowledging and explaining it, can I verbalize to them that emotions are human and are nothing to be afraid of. And that they (my children) are not responsible for mine. It's not their job to make me happy, or bear my sadness.

So I let them see me reading my self-help books...writing scriptures on my arms...texting a friend...or playing a sermon on cd that speaks to my soul...going to a counseling appointment...or climbing into their father's lap like a little girl being comforted by his calm solidness. I want them to know there are things you can do to help yourself when you feel bad. And that just being there with someone in their sadness is many times...enough.

I let them cheer me with surprises, like a just-loaded dishwasher or a new framed photo. I let them hold onto me for long hugs. And then I let them go on with their life, knowing that they've offered comfort, but it's ok to leave me and do their own thing. I let them see me get over it, and be happy and silly...because those are emotions too.

And I hope this is enough.

Kiss Me Goodbye

Mornings used to be all on me. I would get up early, get myself ready, then get the kids ready and take us all wherever we needed to be. I often groused that Hubby had no responsibility, but secretly I didn't mind because I like to be in control of things.

But now, with two mostly grown children, my involvement in their morning consists only of turning the hall light on and opening someone's bedroom door. They do the rest...from showering and dressing themselves to grabbing their own pop tart or cereal for breakfast. And since Hillary has her own car, they get themselves to school on their own timetable. Because I work out of town and have to be there early, I have gotten used to eating my breakfast in a quiet kitchen and heading out the door as they are heading to the shower. Having produced two offspring who seem to relish mornings just as much as I do (which is to say NOT AT ALL!) I have been politely keeping to myself...not forcing conversation or goodbyes.

Until last night, when the kids and I were riding home from a ball game in the dark. Music was playing and no one was saying anything when Parker said, "You know mom, I was thinking today..." My ears perked up. At this age, you can never be sure what topic is going to come up. He went on, "I was thinking 'I didn't even see my mom's face this morning. I heard her voice but didn't see her face. And what if something happened to her at school...the last time I would have seen her face was the night before.'"

I was speechless. Then apologetic. "I'm so sorry," I said. "I just assumed you guys were busy and didn't want me to bother you in the mornings."

They both piped up...talking over each other..."No! Not at all, Mom... We want you to kiss us goodbye..."

I couldn't believe my good fortune. To have two beautiful, talented, creative, well-behaved children is such a blessing. But to have them as teenagers still asking for kisses...well that's an opportunity I will never pass up! I remember taking their tiny faces in my hands all those years ago and covering them with kisses until they squealed with laughter. I wanted to get in as much as I could before they got old enough to politely oblige me with an offered cheek when we parted ways. And here they were, generously giving me a few extra years of silly mother affection.

Soon enough they will be kissing me goodbye...but until then it's still my turn.

"Always have to steal my kisses from you..." Ben Harper and the Innocent Criminals