Forty Candles On A Cake

Forty candles on a cake. Not a big deal, I know. My aunt keeps reminding me that at least I'm still around for another birthday. Family and friends older than me say forty is young. My kids think forty is old. I just don't know what to think.

I always thought by forty I would have it all figured out. Now I feel kinda like my son will feel in about ten years. You know... that feeling you get somewhere in your mid-to-late twenties when you realize that you didn't quite have it all figured out at seventeen? That's where he's at. Seventeen and knows it all. That's not a bad place to be. We just all know that sooner or later reality sets in.

I didn't quite expect reality to set in so quickly with me. I'm feeling the need to re-invent myself, I'm just not sure what that self should be. No longer a teacher, no longer a faithful church member, no longer a granddaughter. I can honestly say that I feel lost in my own life. If my hair wasn't red, I do believe I might try it blonde just to have something different.

And I have nothing to complain about. Absolutely nothing. I could go on, but I would sound like a broken record. Great family, faithful cat, rocking chair front porch. I'm starting to think I may be my own worse enemy. How does a person get over the nothing part and move on to the something? I know it's out there. I just can't seem to find it.

So I write this blog and love my family and drink my non-fat lattes while I try to unravel the mess that brought my once content life to a screeching halt. My daughter sits down beside me for the sole purpose of patting me on the head. You're getting those time-to-go blues, she said. She knows me very well. My birthday just happens to coincide with the time that we are packing up to head back home. That could be part of my problem.

At least for now.

To The Friends I Have Not Seen

My daughter keeps asking me if I'm going to see any friends while we are home, and I keep thinking the same thing... I really don't think so. Usually when we visit I have a list of people I want to see and places I want to go. This year has been different. I really don't want to see anyone but the people I am staying with. And I have no idea why I feel this way.

I love my friends. I have some great ones. I'm not mad at anybody. No one has offended me. I just feel really protective of my time and when I look at the calendar and realize the time is rapidly winding down, I don't want to go anywhere I don't need to.

I'll probably regret this when I get back. Or maybe I won't. All I know is that this visit has been different in a good way. I wouldn't change a thing. I just hope nobody gets mad at me because I didn't stop by.

And as crazy as that sounds, it has happened before. Sometimes visits just don't work out. Last Christmas the snow and ice disrupted the plans I had. Just this summer I ended up driving my dad to the emergency room that effectively canceled some things I was going to do. That's just the way it is. You can't please everybody.

So this year I didn't plan a thing outside of my own family activities. Days are spent doing stuff (or nothing at all) with my mom and evenings find us all just sitting around. We can all feel Saturday fast approaching, though. Mom has been doing some mending for us (yes, I still bring things home for her to sew) and Dad mentioned that we still need to go out for breakfast before we leave (something him and I always do). I'll probably do one more load of laundry and tell the kids to start gathering up their stray socks. We'll return our library books and make one more run to the grocery store for snacks for the road. It all just goes by so fast.

As I sit here with the cat beside me, however, I realize that he probably has more to be concerned about than we do. Our poor kitty does not handle car rides well. He senses the movement of suitcases and goes into hiding. Right now he is very relaxed. He has no idea what is coming.

That's because right now all is calm. The middle child is listening to his grandpa discuss his idea of impressing girls while the kitchen is raided once again for pumpkin pie. Yes, I have some good friends out there, but I promise you that none are as entertaining as my dad. I am content being right where I am. I'll try to see everybody else the next go-around.

And hope that everyone understands.

Packing Away Christmas

Well, baby and family have headed back home and we are on our final week of The Visit Home. I listen to my dad talk on the phone and my mom and girl discuss Farmville and think about how different everything will be this time next Sunday. I'm still trying to figure out a way to stay.

Take the extra bedroom in Mom and Dad's house, for instance. I was thinking last night how easy it would be to swap out the full size bed for a couple of twin beds. In my mind I had it all decorated and fixed up. Of course, this scenario only included my girl and me because naturally the boys would want to head back home with their dad. I was trying to calculate how many weeks might go by before I desperately missed my husband. I decided instead of weeks it would probably be more like days. Sometimes I think it would be easier if I didn't like him so much. I know I would never stay behind without him. Too bad.

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The morning hours have turned into the late afternoon hours. Mom is packing up her Christmas stuff and telling me stories about where and how she acquired most of them. I try to remember all of this. I also note how she carefully packs and sorts her tree ornaments and wonder why I seemed to have missed that gene. Dad is in his recliner and the cats roam freely now that baby and family (and dogs) have went home. Tomorrow we'll help take down the Christmas lights and pack away the decorations in the garage. Another holiday season has come to an end.

Well, almost to an end. I'm hoping to get in a little post-holiday shopping with Mom and I still have a birthday to celebrate this week. New Year's Eve will come and go and we'll head back to that dirty word called reality. With the changing of the calendar we will hope for a better year to come... even if I can't fix up that extra bedroom.

Learning To Live

The only problem with being home is the reminder that a whole other life remains hundreds of miles away. The only problem with looking at old pictures is being reminded of the ones who are no longer with us.

I was determined to breathe each moment of this visit...

Holding baby. The next time I see her she may be too busy to be held.
Visiting family. There's nothing like being in the same room with my brother.
                       Or listening to my dad sing every kind of song.
                       And looking across a snow-covered pond.
                       Even drying dishes for mom.

Those are the good things. The rough times come when we drive by houses whose owners are no longer there. I suppose I shouldn't say rough, but just stark reminders how things have changed. My grandma's house is no longer my grandma's. One particular graveside I visited still has a mound of fresh dirt. Our old house just looks sad. So much is different, and yet nothing has changed. Life is funny like that.

I thought about other families tonight that have lost their loved ones, especially the young. As I loaded down our kids' stockings with candy canes and marshmallow santas, I thought about empty stockings that are tucked away in dusty attics because the memory of past holidays is too much to bear. I look at my oldest with his new electric guitar, and the middle with his pocket full of money, and the youngest with her make-up and perfume... and I am reminded what a blessing it is to have those noisy, arguing, and sometimes ungrateful children around. I watched young parents prepare endless bottles and change dirty diapers and thought about what lies ahead for them. I wondered what my dad was thinking as he watched his family unwrap presents. You just never know what the next holiday might bring.

That's why I'm hanging on to every moment. Not out of a doomsday state of mind, just the reality of knowing that life has a way of moving on whether we are ready or not. Maybe that's why I filled those stockings tonight and why I had so much trouble leaving Aunt Patty's earlier today. There were so many simple, family traditions that I once took for granted.

I'll not make that mistake again.

Battlelines In The Sand

Holding a little baby makes me think of so many different things...

Our firstborn. What fun that new baby was.
The baby we lost. I remember the day and I remember the tears.
Our second son. Unique from day one.
The baby girl. So sweet in her frilly dresses.

Often times I look at our kids and wonder where those little babies went. I once had a house full of toddlers; now I have a house full of teens. Legos and Hot Wheels and Barbies once dominated our living room; now laptops and i-pods and power cords litter the floor. I use to answer questions with Maybe when you're older; now the words Only when you turn eighteen, graduate, and are out of the house are the standard response. Things sure have changed.

I am trying very hard to enjoy this phase in our life, though.

Trying very hard.

After all, there was a time when I yearned for our babies to talk.
And walk.
And go to school.

Then I wished I could take it all back and start over.

So I am trying my best to embrace these teenage years and not wish them gone. I try to find the joy in watching three kids carve out their path through life while wondering what the one we lost might have been like.

I'm trying my best to support them in things they would like to try while holding the reins tight on things that might turn out to be a bad idea. It really is turning out to be a tricky thing to balance.

(And do moms always have to be the one to balance these things? Just wondering.)

Little babies. They are so sweet, so full of hope, so full of things yet to come.

Which is why I told my niece to enjoy her new little one now. While she is tiny and quiet and safe in her arms. It definitely won't last.

Do Looks Matter?

You can't judge a book by its cover. Man sees the outside, but God sees the heart. We've all heard sayings like those, but I wonder to what extent we really believe them.

Are boys with long hair automatic trouble makers? Do girls in short skirts always mean problems? Do we give labels to everyone we see?

Maybe I should lose the plural version of the pronoun we and stick to the singular version, me. I know my thoughts have changed over the last year.

I have a son who definitely has his own sense of style. Gone is the clean-cut hair style and button-up shirts. He now has hair longer than his girlfriend's and his choice of clothes mainly leans towards the many shades of black. When not in school, a chain or two typically hangs from his steel-studded belt.

There was a time that this look might have bothered me. I'm sure that I have purposely avoided kids sporting a similar style. After all, that kind of look could only mean trouble, right? When other people, though, started looking at him with raised eyebrows, I began to rethink things. And when family members began questioning my decisions as a parent, I found myself on the side of defending his look. The more I had to explain it (and I'm not even sure what it is), the more I found myself looking at my own heart.

For instance, other than the occasional teenage drama that accompanies the daily life of a high school student, he has never given us reason to question his actions. He goes to church (voluntarily, I might add) twice a week. He cares about his friends. He would defend his siblings in a heartbeat. He loves his granny and pa. He loved his grandma.

On the flip side (and for example purposes only) could be other kids that I have known. The kids that wear the look adults like and talk the talk adults expect. I've heard (some of) these same kids pray the prayer of the righteous and then cuss out a classmate at recess. I've seen (a few of) their names in the paper for drug charges. Did their short hair cuts and polo shirts keep them from trouble or simply protect them from judgmental glances while they took a walk on the wild side?

I know only time will tell for my own boy. Right now I am more concerned for him developing his own identity and walking his own path than I am about how long or short his hair may be. Sure, he wears a lot of black, but I must say he wears it well. Through the years I have always heard the same remarks from his teachers, He is comfortable in his own skin. That he is. Not a follower. Not a cookie cutter product. Just him. And I happen to be proud of that.

He has taught me to stop and think before I jump to judge someone based on how they look. Or maybe it's how others look at him that have taught me that. Whichever it is, I have grown because of it. And that can only be a good thing.

Besides, I happen to genuinely like young people. I've often wondered how a purple streak (or two) might look in my hair, but my girl has advised against it. Apparently forty is not the age to experiment with different neon colors in my hair. I'm sorry I missed the chance.

Home

There's a gleam in your eyes, said my husband. It must be because you're home. He knows he's right.

It is good to be home. Everything is predictable. The town is the same. Dad has his recliner. Mom took us shopping.

The kids have already argued and will most likely continue to do so. We spent money on parts today for a vehicle that is always needing something fixed. The cat is moody. Some things just don't change.

And that feels good. No traffic. Meeting family members in Walmart. Sitting at a table with my parents. Drying dishes for my mom.

Will we get bored? Most likely. Will we be lonely? Never.

It really is the most wonderful time of the year. It's time to be home.