Friday, September 25, 2015

Morning Coffee and T

"Mom, can you take me out to buy some clay?  I want to sculpt things like Michelangelo.  And after that, can we go to Guitar Center and see if they have Cellos?  Wait, how much do Cellos cost?"

That was Wednesday, the only day of the week where there currently is NOTHING going on and I was looking forward to hitting the gym.  Guess where I went instead?

In the mornings, I have coffee and time with just my little T, something I haven't had since he was in preschool.  The other two, being in middle school, leave the house an hour before he does, and it's amazing how quiet this child is.  But, there's also plenty of conversation.  Such as...

"Are skin cells the only ones that regenerate?"
"Well, I finally found out how Microsoft got its name."
"Do we have any denatured alcohol?  I want to try to separate the DNA from a banana."
"What is denatured alcohol?"
"So I've been researching fencing lessons..."
"Was Steve Jobs married?"
"I understand about squaring numbers, but how to you square MC, because you can't square letters."
"Wait, is that algebra?  Algebra sounds cool, like a puzzle."
"I wonder what it would be like to be Albert Einstein."
"What are aerosols?  And, if they're damaging the ozone, then wouldn't our atmosphere be escaping, but without atmosphere the earth would be getting colder, so why do they call it global warming?"
"Are there bullies in college?"

I sip my coffee and listen.  I answer when I can.  And nod my head in agreement.  Often we Google the answers, and sometimes we just guess and discuss.  Afterwards, he hugs me goodbye and runs off to the bus, and I go back inside to reflect on our conversation and just how much I love this little boy with the big questions.

So how do you start your day?!?

Tuesday, September 8, 2015

She's Off

"Are you going to walk me to the bus stop?”

“No.  You don’t need me to.  And trust me, you don’t want me to.”

“But…” a little flash of panic in her eyes.

“You’re in middle school.  You got this.”

And she does.  But, my Little Meems doesn’t love change, and heading off to middle school is a big one.  

This is a little girl who still likes to hold my hand.  Even though she’s 12, and probably shouldn’t want to, I let her, because one day she won’t want to.  I say little because she is, but also she isn’t.  She and I are stuck somewhere between the lands of big and little and we’re trying to meet in the middle, but sometimes we miss each other.  She wants to be independent, yet she wants me to do everything for her.  I want her to not need me so much, yet I want her to still value my help and opinions.  So it goes with preteens, I guess.

This popped up in my Facebook feed on Monday.  My memory from 5 years ago, when she entered first grade.  

This is now.  Although the first picture is how I will always see her.

She is still missing teeth.  She still favors turquoise nail polish.  The hair is curly (although we have discovered the straightening iron), the eyes are big, the dimples are bigger.  I miss that little face.  I miss stealing sugar from the sweet spot between her neck and chin.  

I sent this to her last night.  I want her to read it every day.  

The bus came and went without incident this morning.  I watched from the hidden safety of our garage, so I could be there with her, just not with her.

She’ll be fine.  

Will I? 

Sure.  But I’m gonna go have a little cry now if you don’t mind. 

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.


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?

bf045b5fe72c4a5fc217a8ca9dbb8ee8.jpg (236×217)

Tuesday, August 4, 2015


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.