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...

Super Man

"Mama..." he said sheepishly, flashing the dimples.  "I need to ask a favor.  Will you write a speech for me.  For tomorrow?"
"Absolutely..." I replied without batting an eyelash. "NOT.  But I will sit beside you while YOU write it."
So he settled in with his notebook and the list of speech types he had to choose from.
Toast
Eulogy
Award Acceptance Speech
Tribute
After I explained what each one was, he decided to write a Tribute speech about his dad.
Once I got him started, the paper filled up fast.  He talked about how his dad never meets a stranger, how he is always willing to help push someone's car out of a snowy ditch or use his truck and his back to help someone move.  He talked about how faithful he has been to his family, his friends, and his teams. He talked about how his manly size and large voice hide a teddy bear heart.
My own heart swelled with pride as I saw my hubby through his son's eyes.
The teacher had said these could be made-up speeches.  So Parker could have chosen to tribute anyone from Superman to LeBron James.  So it meant something to me that, while his friends were eulogizing each other's tragic accidents with tricycles and badgers,  he chose to write seriously about our own SuperMan.
Wait...does that make me Lois Lane?
Either way, I am glad these guys let me be their sidekick.

Tai chi and me

Hubby and I were snowed in for a week. Alone. 

In a blissfully quiet house.

After reading stacks of books, drinking gallons of coffee, and watching an entire discontinued tv series on Netflix, we decided we better relax and de-stress by learning the ancient martial art called Tai Chi. I pulled up a free video on youtube and master Pee Wee (name has been changed to protect the innocent) led us in a warm up.

Three days later, we had mastered the warm up and were ready for the first pose called Parting the Wild Horse's Mane. Can I just say, this stuff is harder than it looks... Master Pee Wee talked us through it sllooowly and showed us the steps several times. We had to keep rewinding and trying it again until i was afraid my imaginary horse was getting a bald spot. But perseverance pays off and we finally moved on to White Crane Separates Wings. In the beginning, mine looked more like Chicken With Head Cut Off, but with Pee Wee's patient coaching hubby and I were soon "moving like water." 

And then the kids came home.

Thinking they would be impressed at their parents new ninja skills, I said, "hey, wanna see some Tai Chi?"

We made it to the second warm up move before Hillary let a giggle escape and whipped out her phone.

"Put that away!" I commanded as I rotated my elbows in a big circle which caused my hands to slide across my chest in a way that made me look like I was doing a breast self-exam. 

"I won't post it" she promised. "I just wanna show ONE person."

The little techie wasn't fooling me. I may be old but I just read an article about how images posted online are out in the cloud forever.

"Put it away." 

"Ok, ok.." She said, lowering it and pretending the camera lens wasn't still pointed at me.

I considered showing her the Mother Wrap Fingers Around Daughter Skinny Neck pose, but I was taught never to use my powers for evil.

She finally went to take a shower and Hubby and I continued. 

It is very hard to clear your mind when you can hear guffaws coming from the closed bathroom door.

Breathe in. Step forward. Lift arms. Separate hands.

And I finished with my favorite pose... "Lady Relaxes Into Happy Weekend."

Drinking with Darth Vader

My kids are grown-up.

I think.

I mean, the signs are all there.  Hillary's friends are starting to get married and have kids.  Parker has visited colleges.  They both have voter registration cards.

During our Christmas Family Shopping Day, I stood back and watched as my son walked into a real jewelry store to pick up a ring he had bought for his girlfriend (No, it's not an engagement ring, just a promise ring).  His sister accompanied him so she could check out the display.  (she takes every opportunity to send pics of rings to her boyfriend- and yes, it WILL be an engagement ring...) I chuckled as I watched the saleslady bring out the ring and assume Parker and Hillary were the happy couple.  They laughed and set her straight.  And I thought, "Am I really here?  In this stage of life where my children are in a jewelry store looking at rings and they look like they BELONG there?"

Then we went to Target, and Hillary got all excited to find wine glasses in the dollar bin.  And I thought, "Yep, it's official.  Grown-up."

And then, as we rounded the toy aisle, she gasped.  "Oh. My. Gosh." 

It was a giant Darth Vader doll.  Two feet tall and complete with mask and everything.  

"I have to have this!" she said.  (The explanation as to why would fill a whole other blog post.)

And then there's Parker.  The boy who used to cry for mama when he had to spend the night at his grandparents' house.  The boy who has spent this year's entire 18 day Christmas break at his grandparents' house and can go for days without so much as a text to mama.  (And before you start to think "oh, how sweet that he loves his grandparents so much" I should tell you that his girlfriend lives in the same town as them.)

But just as I began to despair that he was grown up I got a text from him.

"hey mama.  i'm not having the best morning.." He went on to detail the reasons why and then he continued..

"...and THIS happened..."

I laughed.  I couldn't help it.  This heavy denim comforter has been with Parker since he was about 5.  We tease him all the time about his "blankie" because he takes it anywhere he has to stay overnight.  It's way too big and heavy for my washing machine, so we have to send it off to the dry cleaner periodically.  Parker endures the sleepless nights until it returns.  I have warned him it is getting threadbare and suggested maybe we should start looking for a replacement.  But he doesn't want to talk about it.  

And now it has a 3 corner tear.  

Luckily, my mom is an awesome seamstress and will probably find a way to patch or stitch it.  

Gosh, I love these Grown Up Children.  I love that they embrace responsibility with one hand while holding on to the things that keep them young in the other.  They remind me that its ok to be both.  

So when the bills are stacking up and I'm counting the years to retirement, Darth Vader and I will sit wrapped in our "blankie" and figure it all out over a glass of wine.  

Someone's Child

Sometimes parenting is so much fun.
Sometimes parenting is very rewarding.
And sometimes it is just flat out HARD!  Sometimes it feels like a big fat sack of thankless responsibility.
Like those times when you have to set boundaries for your kid for their own good and they don't understand it.  Or when you have to say no to something they want.  And the conversation might go something like this..
"All I want is..."
Yes, child, but you can't see how getting that thing will lead to things you DON'T want. When Dad and I say no, there is a good reason.  We never say no just for saying no's sake.
"You don't understand!"
Actually, I do.  In this case YOU are the one who doesn't understand.  But that's ok because I have had the experience, and you haven't.  So whether you understand or not, I will help you do the right thing.
"I'm mad because you didn't give me..."
I know.  But you seem to forget all the things I HAVE given you.

And then I hear God standing right behind me clearing his throat.
Because lately, I've been feeling like a thwarted child.
"God, all I want is for my sister to be healed of cancer...my kids to be happy all the time...my job to be easy....  Why are you telling me no?"
When I say no, it is for a good reason.  I never say "no" just for saying no's sake.
"But you don't understand!"
Actually, I do.  In this case YOU are the on who doesn't understand.  But that's ok because I can see the whole picture and you can't.  So whether you understand or not, I will do the right thing for you.
"I'm mad because you didn't give me...more money, less pain, the answer I wanted..."
I know, dear little daughter that I love, but you seem to forget all the things I HAVE given you.

And like someone's Child, I cry and pout.  But like someone's Child, I still love my Parent.
And hopefully, I grow.  Like I have seen my own children do.

Someday, my kids will have kids.  And they will see things in a whole new way.  Just as someday, I will sit with my Father and understand.  But for now, I will give my child grace and love.  And I will rest in the Grace and Love given to me. Because I am Someone's Child.