In A World Of Wi-Fi

Between trying to figure out this blasted Windows 8 and Office365, I am nearing the edge of pure madness. I do not handle change well.

Wait.

Let me rephrase that...
I do not handle unnecessary change well.

There is a difference.

I have papers to write, deadlines to meet, and a headache from all the nonsense my computer screen is throwing at me. Seriously. Can't we all just get along? I mean, I know my laptop can't hear me, but my pleas for mercy overflow nonetheless. {Sigh}. It doesn't matter. My cries fall on deaf ears, or keyboard as it would be, and I find myself wandering into the ever-comforting glow of the blog neighborhood.

Now this I understand.

The husband looks at me from time to time and smiles. Poor guy. He thinks I am working away when really I am just sitting here thinking about that stupid car commercial we watched earlier. You might have seen it. A Chevy and a Ford are compared (imagine that) with one having the wonders of wi-fi and smiling kids zoned out on tablets and smiling parents high on the silence. The flipside of this is the less fortunate having to deal with no wi-fi on the road and less than quiet kids. I suppose the message is the virtual world is a happy world.

As the commercial faded out and the gloom of the world came back on in the form of the six o'clock news, the husband made what I considered to be a very profound statement,

"I'm glad we never had any of that and our kids learned how to talk with us."

I thought about that as we sat in silence. I can remember having three little kids crammed into a vehicle and wishing beyond wishing that we had those new-fangled  DVD systems for the car. We knew others that did and they all raved about the peace and quiet such systems brought to any excursion, no matter how long or short. Once, for a brief period and for a reason I can't recall, we borrowed some kind of contraption for a road trip. I can't really say if we liked it or not... that's one of those memories that have faded along with the pitter-patter of little feet. The point is, I suppose, is that instead of logging out of life and signing into the constant glow of a computer screen, our kids ultimately had nothing better to do than to talk to us.

Sometimes loud.
Sometimes whiny.

But always real.

Today we have three young adults who, oddly enough, seem to actually enjoy conversations with us old folks. Maybe it has to do with all those books we read to them as kids. Maybe it something with all those meals we ate around a table.

Or maybe, just maybe, it's because we could never afford all that entertainment stuff and were forced to acknowledge life head on and not muffle it through the foam and cords of headphones. A stretch, I'm sure, but something to think about, I'm certain. If nothing else, it took my mind off my own reality if even for a short time.

Now,

Back to my own problems.
Your prayers are appreciated.

Image provided by keyword "Windows 8 Nightmare." Thanks, frustrated user. I can totally relate.

Growing Pains That Feel Good

Typically I would bemoan the fact that my kids are growing up... you know, the "I'm so proud of them, but where have my babies gone" song. Trust me, I know that one well. Today, however, I found myself singing a different kind of tune.

The kind that lowered our phone bill.

A month or so ago (I do tend to get a little behind on these things), the middle proudly made his own cell phone purchase with his own cell phone plan. "I've got this, Mom," he said. Indeed, he did. When I made the customer service call today to officially drop his line from our family plan, the nice lady asked me why I was cancelling that particular service. I simply said, "My boy is moving on and taking care of it himself."

What a grand feeling.

In addition to that happiness at the end of the rainbow, the oldest told me recently that I can drop him from our insurance because, to paraphrase and echo the words of his brother, "I've got this, Mom."

It really doesn't take much to make me smile.

Grown Up Babies

Most days I think my blogging days are over. I'm really out of things to say and after all, even the best stories can only be repeated so many times.

But then,

There comes a day when you follow a u-haul trailer across a state line and watch your oldest unpack in what is now his own place. You fight back tears as you hang his clothes in his new closet and place his favorite cereal bowls in his new cabinets and cover his fridge with stuff from your own fridge just so he'll feel at home. You sneak a family picture onto his dresser and watch as his dad gives him a Bible and wonder how in the world a kid can survive on so little in the kitchen cabinets.

So you find the local Wal-Mart and spend one hundred and sixty dollars of what you really can't spend just so he'll have a month's supply of ramen noodles and Totino pizzas. You buy him a broom and soap and a door mat. You think of things like ice cube trays and plastic pitchers and Country Time Lemonade. You put a brand new dish drain on the counter and fold a dish rag over the sink. You hang a curtain over the door window and make mental notes of how many other curtains he will need for the rest of the house.

When the sun sets and you know it's time to leave, you check the locks on his front door a dozen times and walk through each room taking just one more look. You wish you had brought a sleeping bag and a nightgown all the while knowing the next day would be just as hard. You stand on his driveway while his dad shakes his hand, commends him on becoming a man and being on his own, and prays a blessing over his home.

And you let the tears fall.

This whole parenting thing... we raise them up just to watch them leave and wonder where in the world the time went.

I wouldn't trade that time for all the ramen noodles in the world.

Why Is My Hair Orange?

I decided that today was as good as day as any to color away my gray. Once upon a time, you couldn't find my natural color in a bottle; nowadays there's a couple that are pretty darn close. Me being me, however, I thought we'd take it a notch or two darker (don't tell my dad). I sit here now... hair completely saturated, scalp burning slightly, stench in the air.

Oh, to be a female.

On the plus side, I have at least fifteen uninterrupted minutes to sit on the edge of my bed and peck out a few rambling thoughts. Trust me, nobody wants to see me parade through the house right now. It's better we keep this side of womanhood hidden from the innocent. Besides, the husband will brave the elements soon enough to make sure I have not dribbled any hair color on the tile while looking at me in amused wonder.

Oh, to be a male.

I've been thinking about the children a lot lately and wondering if I have done all I could do to prepare them for life. I've become something of a slacker in my midlife; I'm only hoping I was as dedicated as I like to pretend I was when I was younger. The middle reminded me the other day of how I use to always tell them their words had power- that's biblical, you know- and the oldest reminded all of us of how I used two plants as a lesson to them. No kidding here... the one we spoke "life" to flourished and the poor sap we spoke "death" to did not stand a chance. Funny how I don't remember that, but they do. Time has an odd way of picking and choosing memories.

At any rate, here all three of them stand just itching to fly the nest. I don't take it personally, I take it pridefully. Wait. Does that sound right? What I mean to say is I know they're not counting the hours to get away from me (I hope); I know they are counting the hours to try it on their own and in that, I take great pride.

But boy, will I miss those little people.

Did I rock them enough? Did I provide enough milk and cookies? Did I sing them enough songs, color with them enough, read to them enough? Did my good words outweigh the bad thoughts? Did I provide enough hugs? Enough band aids? Enough amusement? I know I was hard on them at times- I was their teacher for a while, you know. I also know reinforcements were called in from the father on more than one occasion. In case you haven't figured it out, parenting does take two. I don't ever want them to think they can tackle that life event on their own.

Good Lord, have we done enough?
Thank goodness they are HIS anyway.

With that in mind, what do I have to fear?
Except an empty lap. An empty table. An empty bed.

Sheesh. If this is what happens when I time the color on my hair, maybe I would be better of to stick with the gray... and now I'm making myself laugh.

It must be the fumes.

My Boy Is Gone

Years ago there was a mother who knelt before her six-year old son and whispered these words,

If you'll just put on that gown, I'll buy you that dinosaur you've been wanting.

The son replied with a silent shake of his head.

If you'll just put on that gown, I'll buy you that Power Ranger you've been wanting.

Again, a silent and solemn shake of the head.

If you'll just put on that stupid gown (said through gritted teeth), I'll buy you ANYTHING you want.

Time stood still.
The mother waited.
The boy pondered.

And then replied with a silent shake of his head.

The mother gave up. The son had won. Within minutes the procession song played and the boy marched. The only boy in a small group of girls. The only boy without a white cap and gown.

And the mother could care less.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Yep. That was me. Not one of my finer parenting moments, I can promise you that, but a moment to be remembered nonetheless. I wanted so badly to see the perfect picture that I almost missed a perfect moment.

I've never forgotten that.

The slap to my parenting face came when his name was called and he walked across the stage to accept his kindergarten diploma. I can remember holding my breath to see if he would actually make that walk or not. When he did take those first steps and managed to shake the hands of the three adults onstage, the fact that he was not decked out in his graduation attire became utterly meaningless. A major accomplishment had just taken place. He had not been manipulated into something he was not comfortable with, and yet he had stepped up to the plate and made an uncomfortable walk across a stage in front of a crowd of people. It really was a big deal. Later, after the congratulations and pictures and cake, when it was just him and me, he put on that cap and gown and let me take a picture. Even to this day that is one of the most precious photos I have in my possession and I wouldn't share it for the world.

A private moment. An understood compromise. A lesson learned.

Why am I thinking of a Sunday afternoon that took place a little over twelve years ago? Because yesterday another moment grabbed me and for a brief moment, locked me in a time warp where time stood still and reversed itself all in the same instant. I watched that same boy, with a senior year schedule and textbooks in hand, walk down a hall in search of his locker. His back was to me, his shoulders straight, his confidence high. I blinked and caught a glimpse of my little six-year old and my eyes began to water.

My boy is gone and a man has taken his place.

Time goes by too darn fast.



And not to be forgotten, the youngest successfully earned her driver's permit yesterday afternoon. It's no wonder I was the middle-aged woman standing in a high school hallway shaking my head and wiping away a tear. I'm just like my mother. =)

The Easiest Kind Of Makeover

I don't know that I'll ever be comfortable teaching my kids to drive. It's not that they're bad drivers. In fact, it's quite the opposite. We're on two out of three right now and I'll admit that I have yet to grip (too tightly) any arm rests. I suppose it's just the fact that when they are behind the wheel, they are the ones in control. I think that's the part that bothers me a little. It's just not natural... and yet it's exactly the way life should be unfolding. We're in no big hurry to get driver's licenses around here (the middle just turned seventeen, the same age the oldest was when he got his), but like everything else, I suppose, you just can't stop time from marching on.

The youngest may not be driving yet- though she reminds me almost daily that the time for her permit is just around the corner. Nonetheless, she has embarked on something new and something of her own. Blogging. She promises me that her own ramblings will revolve around no one in our family (of the human species anyway). Crafts, sewing, cooking, and the ever-present cats take up most of her time. She has a writing style somewhat like mine, only more entertaining without a doubt. I don't know if she'll stick to it or if it's just something to occupy her summer with, but it will be fun to read no matter how long it lasts. You can look her up HERE.

And finally, with the coming of the summer months, I thought it was time to lighten up the look of my own blog. A quick makeover never hurt anybody.

Besides, pink has always been my favorite color.

We Have Survived Another Year Without Medication

(And anybody that knows me knows that's an inside joke. I medicate other ways... believe me).

This was the middle and youngest at the beginning of this school year.

Full of hope.

Full of dread.

Full of hair.

The year went by pretty uneventful. In fact, on a scale of one to ten with one being the worst school year ever (which we've had) and ten being the best one yet, I would say this one came pretty darn close to being a ten. Very little drama. Very good grades.

One happy mom and dad.

(And this in no way reflects the fact that the oldest is no longer in the school picture, just so you know).

It was just a good year.

They even got along. I think deep down, way deep down, they are starting to realize they do kinda actually like each other... at least some of the time.

My two youngest.

Always missing the oldest.

Never really use to this changing family dynamic.

Senior Year #2 Coming Up Next.

So I Guess That Makes Me A Statistic

45% of people admitted that they use phone calls, text messages, tweets and emails

 to communicate rather than going into the next room to talk to other members of the household. 

How do you promote good communication with your family?

The preceding was a facebook post from a local Christian radio station that I listen to on an (almost) daily basis. I had a few immediate comments:

What? You mean there's something wrong with that?

-or-

You make it sound like that's a bad thing. Some days I really AM that tired.

I ended up not responding with either one and instead headed over to blog land. I suppose that here I can be myself and not wonder what others might think (which is weird because obviously, you... the readers... are considered others right now.

Anyway.

Yes. I have resorted to the text message or the phone call or the facebook route to communicate with family members who are merely one uninsulated wall away from me. I've texted my kids goodnight from one bedroom to another and/or reminded them to do something or other via the virtual world. To me, that is no different from the original post-it note.

Granted, I also make it a point (much to their annoyance, I'm sure) to talk to them whether it's in the car on the way to school or by greeting them at the front door when they come home. I'm learning little by little how to navigate the teenage world (why is it so different from this end?) and I have little doubt that by the time I do figure it out, they'll no longer be teenagers.

The point is, I think any kind of communication is a good thing. Let's face it... we are in the electronic age. I learned how to text because of my kids. I'm on facebook because of my kids. If I ever end up on twitter, you can be sure that it will be because of my kids. I'm not their buddy. I'm not their friend. But I can sure learn a thing or two from them.

And hey, if that lets me stay in my warm, electronically-heated bed while I send them some random message of love or a reminder about the next day, then more power to the techno world.

Count me in on that forty-five percent.

Is That My Wooden Spoon Being Used As A Prop For A Knife?

I've been thinking today about my middle- not my midsection, but my middle child.

My second-born.

My third pregnancy.

My ever-changing boy.

He has always been unique, as each child should be. If you've been around this blog long enough, you've probably watched a few of those changes with me. I well remember the days of the hair growing out and the mostly black clothes and a few chains swinging from his skinny jeans. He left us scratching our heads on more than one occasion, and yet always had us laughing. He's got a way of doing that. 

This has been a good year for him. He's part of a criminal justice program at his school and has his sights set on college after he graduates next year. Last night the husband, a former criminal justice guy himself, decided it was time to show his boy a thing or two. I had already turned in for the night when the house shook... literally. I cautiously peeked out my bedroom door to see the husband and the son in the midst of a little self-defense training that involved props for weapons and scenarios of criminal intent (I'll omit those as to not cause alarm... or phone calls of worry).

An hour or so later the husband came to bed and I remarked how happy he looked. Nodding his head, he said his only wish would be that we could afford to provide the middle with some kind of professional (physical) training in addition to his education. I looked at him a little surprised. 

What do you call what you were just in there doing? I asked.

I'm not exactly a professional, he replied. 

Really? I wondered out loud. I mean, you're only somebody who has lived it. Somebody who has actually fought the bad guy, more than once, and is still around to teach your son. If that's not a professional, I don't know what is.

He sighed and we moved on to other topics, but I was once again reminded of how thankful I am that I married a man who is absolutely, positively devoted to our family. This morning the middle remarked how much that meant to him... his dad showing him a thing or two. 

And that made me smile and think about our kids most of the day.

Each one special.

And in no way my favorite. =)

What Church Is Not:

Rituals. Soundtracks. Outlines.


What Church Is:

A grown man taking his son in his arms, holding him, loving him, even after all that's been said. That same man bringing his other son into his embrace while the mother pulls the daughter up to complete the now crying, hugging, mushy group of a family. Holding his family tight and praying a prayer that I'm sure made  Jesus stand up and shout Glory!, I thought to myself,

This is church. Our living room. Silent except for sniffing. No audience. No outlines. No praise and worship band. An imperfect family seeking the wisdom of The Perfect One. A man who learned nothing from his earthly father leaning heavily on his Heavenly Father.

I gotta say, it was one of the most beautiful things I've ever experienced.



And with that, I've got to get ready for church. The building, that is.

Memories, December, And Pictures To Go With It

The second of December? Good Lord. Where has the time gone? It seems like just yesterday I was trudging through knee-deep snow in the Rocky Mountains hoping to induce labor...  that and walking up and down a flight of steps during every commercial break of The Young and The Restless and As The World Turns (my soap opera days). I can't remember my exact due date with the oldest. I think it was November 27th at first and was later changed to December 9th, or something like that. Doesn't matter. He arrived just when he was suppose to, somewhere in the middle of those two guessing dates on the morning of December 4, 1993.

I remember the night before his birth so clearly that it's almost eerie. I'm sure I am not alone in that some memories are so exact, so right there, I swear my mind could fool myself if only for a short time. I was wearing a light blue and white-striped button down, short-sleeved shirt. The husband came home from his Army duties to a supper of Hamburger Helper Chili Mac and after the sun went down, we sat in a dark living room of our rented town home on the ugliest-couch-known-to-man looking at the twinkling lights on our first Christmas tree together. Around ten o'clock we went to bed and around eleven o'clock I knew something felt different. A few hours later, I called the maternity ward at the hospital, described what I was feeling to the friendly Air Force nurse, and was assured that I was not in labor.

She was wrong.

I remember the husband insisting we take our little baby carrier and my packed bag to the hospital when I finally woke him up and we left our home around three in the morning. I told him there was no need, the lady said it wasn't labor, and that they would probably give me something to help my stomach (keep in mind this was my first, my mom wasn't close by, and the book did not describe anything I was feeling). Ever the practical man, he said he wasn't making a trip back to get everything and he was pretty sure this was the big moment.

He was right.

That little boy showed up a little after six-thirty that morning and we made the happy calls to the grandparents. The next day, we loaded that little baby seat into the backseat of a Mustang where I hovered beside him terrified of all the passing cars on the freeway. I can still see us arriving back at our town home, setting our tiny little bundle still in his baby seat on that ugly couch, and looking at each other. We had nobody but us and I don't mind admitting that I felt utterly helpless. Nine months was suddenly not nearly enough time to prepare for our new family of three and our home felt a lot different than a fully staffed maternity ward. Thank God for that man. He sprang into action and by the end of that first hour had me settled into our not-so-ugly rocking-chair holding the most beautiful baby ever while he lined up bottles and stacked diapers and did everything else that needed to be done. It took a few more days of this same pattern before he looked at me and said, Wanna take him to see your parents?

And that's what we did... took a less-than-one-week-old baby on a fourteen-hour drive from the Rocky Mountains to the Midwest (in DECEMBER, of all times) and gave my mom and dad the surprise of their life.

One of my all-time favorite memories.

The tree we sat looking at on the evening of December 3rd.

Surprising my parents a week later.

The striped blue and white shirt and the ugly couch .

The not-so-ugly rocking chair.

Happy & Sad (Don't Know What Else To Call It)

Picture this:

The horseshoe drop-off area at your kids' high school.
Your teenage daughter dressed up for professional day to earn extra credit.
Her boyfriend walking by at the exact same time your mini-van drives up.

Keep in mind this is the same girl who typically wears a camouflage jacket and jeans and boots on any given day. She is now in a skirt and heels and looking very professional. As she recognizes the boyfriend walking up in his own camouflage jacket and jeans and boots, her only response is,

Drive, Mom! Drive!

Oh, the things that make me laugh.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

We lost a member of our extended family yesterday whose passing came as such as surprise- I mean, the events leading up to it were so unexpected, my head is still whirling from it all. I suppose it's good for us all to  be reminded from time to time that life certainly is fleeting... we never know when our day may come. I know I have been looking at my own close family in a brand new light. A renewed appreciation. My heart aches for the unexpected tragedy of it all.

Life is a balancing act of the laughter and the tears.

May your laughter side always weigh more.

Ponytail No More

A long time ago, my boy began growing out his hair. He had spent his elementary years and the first few years of middle school in private schools where the hair was kept short. In the eighth grade, he branched out into the public school system and a style of his own. While my opinion of public school might be a mixed bag, my opinion of his style never wavered.

He definitely had a style of his own, and his style was all about hair.

It grew longer.
Covered one eye.
Eventually hid both eyes.

Surpassed his chin.
Touched his shoulders.
Went down his back.

He marked his last hair cut (a minor trim, I might add) around February 2010, I think. I do believe he knows the exact date. A week ago, I had just come home from an out-of-town trip when he made the following announcement,

Mom, I'm ready to cut my hair.

Now, I handled this staggering statement rather well. I didn't cry. I didn't jump up to hug him. I just sat stunned. And probably as only a mother can know, it really had nothing to do with the hair. His hair had been something of a battle in the early years... we wanted it short; he did not. We (as in his dad and me) came to realize that his long hair was something that he needed. Something that defined who he was. He was never one to blend in.

Anyway, at that moment I looked at the man he is becoming.

Ready to make a change.
Ready to make a statement.
Ready to move forward.

That's my boy.

Getting What I Asked For

Today we register the youngest child for high school. Not sure how I feel about that (except this officially gives [husband] and I four years to plan our high-five, we're-going-to-Disneyland moment when she walks that platform to receive her diploma). Ha!



That was my facebook status on August 1st. My mom had remarked that I would be needing a box of tissues on that graduation day to which I replied that the middle and the youngest were already taking bets on whether or not I would cry the first day of school. As it turns out, I didn't even make it that far.

I took the daughter to the high school last night for her freshmen orientation. Her school is starting what they call Freshmen Academy this year which just basically means that freshmen are on a different bell schedule than the rest of the school. Taking into account this school has over 1600 students, I don't think that's a bad idea, so last night was just all about them.

We fought with her locker for a while which already had her monstrous-sized textbooks inside. Back on the first when the kids registered, they were given their books and lockers that day... again, not another bad idea. We knew this locker opened because the middle had already demonstrated it that particular day. Last night, though, we weren't having a lot of luck.

We weren't the only ones. Sheesh. I think the whole locker thing is half the battle. A man nearby was armed with a can of WD-40 to which we gladly accepted; I don't know that it did much good, though. We finally figured out that her best bet was to just get mad and give it a good yank. We even called the oldest brother and with his four years of locker expertise, he agreed.

You can bet I will praying about that darn locker.

I was hot and frustrated by that point while the girl of mine was cool and collected. After she was done messing with her locker, she said she would like to walk the halls to find all her classes. First hall, second hall... maybe up to a fifth hall (?) and then those halls break off to the right and left (think squares, the middle keeps repeating in my head)... all I did was follow her around like so many other moms in the building. It was somewhere in the middle of all that that I began to realize I really was not ready for this.

Each time she found a class, she would walk inside to introduce herself to the teacher. This was done while I waited in the hallway at her request. I was standing outside one particular door leaning my face against the cool concrete wall feeling like a complete dork (hey, can't think of a better word) and listening to the faint echoes of her voice from inside the room. It was at that point that the strangest thought occurred to me as tears welled up in my eyes,

What in the world have I done?

I raised this confident daughter (not alone, mind you) who is perfectly comfortable in her own skin. She didn't need her mom trailing behind and telling the teacher her strengths and weaknesses. She did all that on her own. Her brothers are just the same. Oh, I know they still need their mom for things like clean laundry, supper on the table, and the occasional listening ear, but for the most part, they are independent and determined and just how I always wished I could be.

This is why I had them making their own lunches in kindergarten * and learning to do dishes while standing on a step stool and teaching them to try to address problems (whether with a friend or with a teacher) on their own before they brought to me. They are turning into the young people adults I always wanted them to be and to tell you the truth, it scares me to death. I feel proud and helpless all at the same time.

The oldest is talking about spreading his wings and taking off on his own... just talking, Mom, he says. The middle is starting his own journey, following on the heels of his dad, in criminal justice... my boy, in law enforcement? And the youngest tells me just to wait in the hall... who is that girl?

She's mine.
They're all mine.
God help us all.



* and just so you don't think my kids went to kindergarten with candy and cupcakes and soda, we had the lunch-making rule: one PB & J sandwich, one piece of fruit, one snacky-type thing, and one juice box. I kept everything within their reach and it worked out very well, not to mention it gave me a little extra time to fix my own lunch (or at least no excuse not to). 

Where Did I Put Those Candles?

Tomorrow our little girl turns fourteen.
Our baby. The youngest. The last one to come aboard.

I was thinking about her last night. It took exactly thirty-six minutes for her to make her entrance into this world. That should've been a sign. She's never been one to delay what needs to be done. She gets that from my grandma. She can cook, sew, and organize just like my mom. She reads constantly, is a good writer, and wants to be a social studies teacher. I suppose she gets that from me. She's got big plans and more ambition than she realizes. She's her dad all over again.

She is something else.

I was reminiscing out loud yesterday about those early days when we first brought her home and the middle visibly cringed. He knew what I was going to say before I ever said it. How protective her brothers were! The oldest, around four at the time, came to me and asked if the middle- who would have been two, was suppose to be in their baby sister's bed. In I went and there they both were... her, just weeks old and sound asleep and him, one of her big brothers, carefully keeping watch at the other end of the crib. Anywhere that baby went, they were sure to follow. That relationship may not be as obvious now, but I can assure you it's very much alive.

We knew she was going to be our last. I made it a point then to try my best not to rush the years. I hope I didn't complain too much about the bottles and diapers and toys scattered everywhere, but knowing me, I'm sure I did more often than not. Even now I look around and see stray charger cords and crumpled pop tart wrappers and random plastic lids missing from random plastic bottles. As long as there are kids in the house, they are going to make their presence known. My mom has reminded me not to rush this part either. She says once they move on, the home is never quite the same. I'm gonna trust her judgment on that one even as I look forward to evenings that don't combine the smell of tuna fish sandwiches and microwaved popcorn.

That is a smell I will not miss.
That and hair in the sink and snide remarks made through closed doors.

But the sight of the three of them together?
Now that's a sight that never gets old...
No matter how many birthdays we celebrate.

No wonder my mom likes those family pictures so much.

Does The Mom Definition Include The Word RELAX?

Well, we got the youngest registered for her first year of high school, the middle all set for his junior year, and the mother has so far remained in one piece. Going to a small high school like I did (maybe 60-something in a graduating class), the size of the kids' school still manages to freak me out a little. The lockers number up into the thousands and the hallways remind me of a coastal southern town... apparently everything is set up in squares. The middle assures the youngest that she'll figure it all out in a matter of days, and the youngest assures me that I am more nervous than she is.

She's probably got a point.

It does seem kind of weird not involving the oldest in the back-to-school plans. The other night he took the other two for a ride and ice cream and as the front door shut on a quiet house, the husband asked, "Is this what we have to look forward to? What in the world are we going to do with ourselves?" He went back to the computer and I went back to my book. I'm guessing we'll keep doing what we always do. About an hour after the kids left, a storm began to blow in and I began to pace faster than the wind. I sat on the front porch watching the pine trees sway and wondered where in the world those kids were. The rain fizzled out and in they came. The husband's words? "Now mama can relax."

No rest for the weary.

And yesterday a tiddly piece of news drifted my way. On the scale of bigger things happening in the world, this would be considered nothing more than a speck of dust in the midst of the Sahara, but in my little corner of the universe, it was as ear-splitting as the proverbial clanging cymbal. I was reminded that God does indeed have a plan and that His plan makes a whole lot more sense than mine. If I would have had my way a few months back, then somebody else would have missed out. It just made me think of how much easier things would be if we all sought to stay within His plan. Of course, who am I to talk... I have enough trouble keeping my own feet planted.

Yep. It's been quite the week and it's only Wednesday.

Good things are on the way. =)

Bacon Makes A Family Happy

There are days when I enjoy my kids, and then there are days when I really enjoy my kids. Today was one of those days.

The middle swept up cat food without being asked, although we still have no idea why the young cat freaked out and made the mess that she did. The oldest met us for lunch and made the three complete as they made me laugh with their view on life as they know it. The youngest randomly put her arm around me in the middle of the grocery store and said she had really enjoyed her day with me.

The beauty of that last line? We had been to the mall and I didn't buy her a thing. So like I said, there are good days, and then there are really good days. For supper, I cooked 'em all two packages of bacon and made their day complete.

Life really isn't all that complicated.

"I've Got This, Mom."

So those words were spoken to me last night. The oldest came home from work with tales of an injured hand of which no great concern was raised until late in the evening when he began to complain of his fingers hurting. As he painfully peeled back his bandages for me to inspect, I must have uttered a gasp of some sort. He looked at me with the faintest hint of alarm and asked if there was a problem.

"You probably should've went to the doctor with that."

The middle, whose experience with cuts and gashes and overall bloodiness has left him somewhat of an expert in the area of messed-up hands, immediately stepped up to the plate, assessed the situation, and pretty much took over. While I gathered what bandaids I could find and located our capless bottle of hydrogen peroxide, a bowl of water and washcloth had already been produced with instructions from the younger brother to the older brother on the importance of properly cleaning a wound. I realized I was nothing more than IN THE WAY when a question was asked in which I gave a ridiculous answer and was rewarded with a you've-got-to-be-kidding look. I took the hint and took a seat. Picking up my nook to read, I let the brothers know that I was just going to stay out of their way and not say a word.

To which I promptly heard, "Betcha ten bucks she says a word."

I looked up to see the oldest peering around the corner at me smiling and realized then and there that yes, they did indeed have the situation covered. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. I wanted to just plain out stop time.

I am blessed.

Teenage Daughters

My daughter and I debating the appropriate length of a skirt...

I 

Absolutely

Positively

LOVE THAT GIRL.

Why Moms Cry

Well, I held it together just fine yesterday until sometime approaching the midnight hour. The husband and I were talking about the day, he got up to do something, and when he came back he looked at me with an expression of sincere concern.

"Are you all right? Are you sick? Did I say something wrong?"
"Nope," was all I could come up with, "just a little choked up, I guess."

I was thinking about those last thirteen years of school (gotta count kindergarten, you know!). The first time we took him to school to meet his teacher. The first time I saw that little head looking out the school bus window. The first time I gave him a detention.

Ha! Didn't expect that last one, did you? I was his fourth grade teacher at the time and that particular year is full of great memories and some rough ones. In fact, I taught all my kids for at least one year (the middle was lucky enough to have me for three... yikes!). It isn't easy being mama and teacher, but that's another story.

Back to the oldest, though, school -the academic part, anyway- has never been his thing. He's had some ups and downs and close calls, but you never knew a kid with a better attitude (and you could ask anyone who knows him to confirm that). He got a little nervous towards the end of this year and stated what has become my all-time favorite line(s):

"I am learning what regret is like. If I would have known how this would feel now [waiting on a particular final grade], I would have tried a lot harder in the beginning."

He did it, though. He buckled down and pulled through and walked a stage yesterday. He told me he came across one teacher who had helped him a lot this year and said, "Mr. B seemed really glad to see me graduate." The oldest shook the man's hand and thanked him because that's the kind of kid he is...

But he's not a kid anymore, is he?

He's a high school graduate who bought himself an ipad with his graduation money and shortly thereafter had his first minor fender-bender on the way home. That was a first for me, too. When the phone rang and the first word I heard was a distressed sounding "Mom?" ... well, it's no wonder yesterday was a toil-on-the-emotions kinda day.

And why I was little choked up by the time my head hit the pillow.

Very, VERY proud of you, son.