Tuesday, August 25, 2015

That Moment When...

You comment on your son's Instagram post and he sees it while you're standing with him in the kitchen, reads it, scrunches his eyes like he's in pain, and deletes it, all while you're standing there.  And tells you "um, yeah, just going to delete this" while shaking his head incredulously.

Ouch.

Wednesday, August 5, 2015

Amazing Grace


You know what’s amazing?

My daughter’s kindness.

Her compassionate heart.

Her capacity for forgiveness.

It just blows me away.

Not long before school ended, we received a call from her teacher about an incident in her classroom in which a classmate had sad something unkind about Little Meems while she was working. She did not hear it, but was informed about the comment by her best friend, who is very protective of her. The situation, I was assured, had been dealt with accordingly and her teacher spoke with her about it and she seemed a little hurt, but was holding it together. She thought I would want to know.

Of course I asked her about it when she got home, and after some pressing, she told me what happened. I asked her how she felt, she said she was surprised and a little hurt. But she was bummed that the child had to miss recess because of it, and was a little perturbed that when she told him goodbye at the end of the day, he didn’t say it in return!

That’s what upset her.

I explained that he was probably embarrassed and possibly caught off guard by the fact that she would even bother to speak to him after what had happened.

“But he’s my friend,” she defended with a shrug. Because, why wouldn’t she still be kind to him?

Would YOU have been? I don’t know that I would have. I would have been too angry/bewildered/hurt/embarrassed to acknowledge him.  

But that’s my girl.

That's her heart.

I learn something from my children every day.  That day, I learned about grace.

How blessed is she?

How blessed am I?

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Tuesday, August 4, 2015

Little

I have a teenager, a preteen and a 9 year old.

Big kids, right?  I mean, they can practically take care of themselves at those ages.  OK, so not really, but they CAN contribute to their care and well-being now.  My daughter made herself an amazing salad last night for dinner because she didn't want pizza.  Voluntarily and independently.  See, you're reading this thinking "wait, the kid would rather have salad than pizza?" and I'm all "oh my gosh, she did it herself, and even cleaned up afterward!"  But the salad part is good too.  Girl loves her some veggies.  So, yeah, they're becoming more independent and responsible and mature (kind of) and big.

So big that sometimes you forget that they're really little.

This is especially true lately for my 9 year old.  He's a mature kid and as such, I sometimes forget he's, well, only 9.

And sometimes, it's good to be reminded.

I was reminded yesterday in church.

The beauty of church is that it forces you to stop, and listen, and reflect.  For me, it's not just about the message, it's a quiet time to reconnect with my so often overlooked inner peace.  A chance to just sit and BE.  

During a solo, T leaned over to me and whispered, "is he speaking Spanish?"  There was a lot of vibralto, and the soloist had a deep baritone and was truly moved by the music.  It made me remember when I was little, and I couldn't understand the soloists until one day, I did, and I thought, ok, this must mean I'm growing up.

Later, the minister mentioned leaving the church parking lot to head out on a trip.  He leaned over and asked "does he live in the church?"

He lives in our neighborhood, actually.

After a few minutes, T took hold of my hand, exploring the lines on it with his fingers and playing with my rings, and leaned his head against my shoulder.  As I gazed down at his curls, the way his eyelashes hit his freckles, his little brown stick legs, his mis-buttoned shirt, dirty fingernails and two different flip flops (oops), I realized that I haven't been fair to him.  Too often, I lump him into the same group as the older kids and for the most part he's happy to be there.  But he's not one of them.  He still marvels at his discoveries and plays pretend and likes to invent.  He's a little afraid of the dark and sleeps with a lovey.  He believes in Santa and the tooth fairy and miracles and magic.  He's still trying on who he is and getting a feel for all his opportunities.  His fingers are little, his feet are little, HE is little.

And I needed to be reminded of that.

Because I'm not ready to let that go just yet.

Monday, July 6, 2015

That Moment When...

That moment when you tell your child – who you haven’t seen in nearly a week and you’re trying to give him some space because he’s a teenage boy and that’s what they need despite the fact that it’s killing you that you haven’t talked to him – that you miss him and he responds with this.



 

Hear that?  It might have been the sound of my heart shattering into a million pieces.  

 

On the bright side, he hasn’t texted me 178 times like his sister.  Including at least 20 like this.

 

 

This is a partial shot.  There seriously were too many emojis to fit on the screen. 

 

She misses me.  She's told me 67 times. 


Oops, make that 68.


69.