Firsts

Give him the title “First Grader” and he cops an attitude! Little Squirt believes he’s All That with his GI Joe back pack and his big first grade open-and-close desk. He was too cool to allow me to take many pictures on his first day of First Grade, and didn’t even look back when he walked from my car ino the school building in the rain. He adores his cute young teacher and proudly showed her his missing teeth. He cannot wait for his first full day tomorrow, when he will get to purchase lunch at school and chocolate milk. (Let me repeat myself in case you went all ADD on me.) CHOCOLATE MILK! That is a rare treat for Little Squirt and he is beside himself with excitement!

Rock Star began his Sophomore year with little fanfare. He refused to allow me to take pics to mark the milestone, so you’ll just have use your imagination. (Bullhead jeans, white Hollister t, and a cloud of Axe body spray.) He hasn’t told me much about his classes, but I’ve heard about all the Lunch Drama. (Who sat with whom, who refused to sit with whom, who spit milk through their nose, etc. The crucial stuff of High School.)

And Butterfly. Oh my. She is stretching her wings and getting ready to fly off to college this weekend. I am keeping myself from spiraling into desolation by staying in Task-Mode. We’ve bought everything on her “What To Bring To College’” checklist, and I can no longer see my diningroom table. It is piled with dorm ware. I’ve relished the ordinary moments of hanging with her this week. We’ve seen a movie, had a few meals out, and just co-existed. I am painfully aware of the impending big hole in our home and my heart next week when she is living two states away.

Oohh firsts!!

thirtysomething

thirtysomething was just released on DVD! This thrills my heart and will be more effective than a sunlamp in getting me through the dreary winter months. I am beyond elated!

thirtysomething was my favorite show in the 4-year 87-91 span that it aired. I was young; in my early twenties. In those four years, my life morphed from being single to marriage to new motherhood. And I looked to those characters as being role models. It was like a fascinating glimpse into my future. I viewed The Thirties as older, wiser and more sophisticated, and I watched with fascination as the characters plowed through terrritory I would soon be camping in.

Critics of the show panned it for having characters that were whiny and self-indulgent. But I thought it was authentic. We marrieds understand that real couples sometimes argue about ridicuous, insignificant things. One the worst fights that Super Hubs and I ever had involved dry spaghetti and the garbage disposal. I’ll say no more.

I saw the writers deal responsibly with big issues like infidelity, infertility and cancer, but they also kept it all real and covered day-to-day life. The characters stressed about finances, parenting, and mother-in-laws. I liked the friendships, the candor, the real-life scenerios. And they had great clothes!

So if anyone is making out their Christmas list and a’wonderin’ what to get me, I’ll make it easy for you. thirtysomething.

An Ounce Of Mother-Wit Is Worth More Than An Ounce Of School-Wit

I have spent the past week getting my boys ready for school. I have gone through their closets and drawers paring down, systemetizing, organizing, and sorting through. I’ve gotten their outfits ready for school next week. Then I took them on a shopping excursion to buy some new shoes and school supplies. After a total of 10 hours of SoloWomanPower: They.Are.Ready.

The thing is....they could care less! While I feel greatly relieved that their bedrooms willl begin the school year clean and orderly, neither of them has any concern whatsoever whether or not their clothes fit or match or if they have enough #2 pencils in cute little plastic boxes. How un-fun is that?? I don’t get boys! Not at all.

My girl is way more school-fun. She’ll have every outfit ready with it’s precisely coordinated scarf or bauble. She’ll carefully choose each folder color according to the “feeling” that particular class evokes. (Black for math because it is akin to death.) She relishes getting ready for each school year, seeing it as a Opportunity. Opportunity to meet new boys and potentially be voted “Best Dressed.” She has been zealously planning the decor of her college dorm room since middleschool.

The boys are different. Little Squirt’s only concern is lunch. That A.) He’ll get to buy it each day, and B.) It’ll always be pizza.

Rock Star feels no enthusiasm for beginning his Sophomore year whatsoever. He truly would rather have the summer last indefinitely. We took the kids out for dinner last night. We discussed our expectations and hopes and optimism for the year ahead. We asked each child what they most looked forward to this school year. Rock Star’s answer:
“The last day before summer break.”

It Takes A Village

I was sitting in a hotel room with my husband in the middle of Lima, Peru, on August 27, 1991. We were playing cards on the queen-sized bed with it’s brownish quilt. We had been in the country for 1 week. A sibling group we’d flown over to adopt had fallen through. The 3 yo girl and her infant brother had lived with us for 72 hours, and then, for reasons out of our control, were sent back to their birth mother. The whole thing felt surreal. We were young twenty-somethings, visiting a third world country, and had just lost two children we’d begun to bond with and had hoped would become ours. I felt like we were starring in a movie on Lifetime.

Feeling discouraged and shell-shocked and alone, we had spent the remainder of the week doing a little sight-seeing, our spirits lifted only by the community of some other Americans, and the promises of our atttorney to find us another baby “really soon.”

As I shuffled the deck of cards, there was a knock on our hotel room door. I answered it and was surprised to see our attorney standing there, holding a little bundle in her arms. I gasped as I realized the bundle was a tiny sleeping infant with curly black hair, swaddled in an orange blanket. “Boy or girl?” I asked. “Girl.” my attorney whispered. And then she placed the sleeping baby in my arms with the words, “This baby was born for you.”

Flash forward 18 years, two sons, and a whole lot of wrinkles later. That little “sleeping baby girl” will be leaving for college next week. And it’s taken a village to raise her. I don’t mean that negatively. She has been a joy and a delight, and I love her with everything that I am. Frankly, I’m not certain I will survive the transition to college without a wise therapist to guide me along! Butterfly brings a great amount of fun and laughter and positive energy to the family. I will miss her like crazy!

But there were times, particularly during the adolescent years, when Super Hubs and I were not key voices in her life. In fact, we were The Voices She Was Least Likely To Listen To, much like the adult voiceovers on Charlie Brown. “Wah wah wah wah wah wah.”

I am beyond grateful to “The Village” that has helped us raise this child; the godly women that have come alongside my daughter. They have consisted of church staff and small group leaders, relatives, teachers, neighbors, and close friends of mine. They have crossed paths with my daughter at Divinely-appointed times to offer prayer, counsel, encouragement, truth, guidance, or perhaps a gentle reprimand. For those moments or days or weeks when our parental exhortation fell on deaf ears, they surrounded her. Like a village.

I hosted a Prayer Shower for Butterfly on Monday night. I wanted to do something to honor her and send her off onto the next leg of the journey before she leaves for college. I invited some of those key “Village” women. There wasn’t enough room around my dining room table for the entire “Village,” so Butterfly chose some particular women that have been instrumental in her life as of late.

We shared a meal, and then spent time blessing her. But I was the one who was blessed beyond measure! Truly. As any mother knows, you love those that love your kids. I heard the voices of beloved women that have consistently spoken beauty into her life. They showed up to pray. One even sang an incredible song. They cared for her.

They are my angels. I will always be grateful. May they, too, be blessed beyond measure.

Would You Like A Frosty With That?

I envy Little Squirt’s personality. He dives into everything with gusto. Life is to be enjoyed! He’s always fully confident and courageous, thank you, God, and may he always be that way. He got his letter from school last week telling him who his new teacher will be. He has no angst over meeting his teacher or meeting new classmates or doing first grade work. He cannot wait for the adventure! He believes it will all be awesome, and for him it will.

We were having lunch together the other day, and I was telling him how much I will miss when school starts. Our conversation went someting like this:
Me: (facetiously) “How about you stay with me this year and I’ll homeschool you?”
LS: “Mommm......then I won’t get to eat lunch at school. And they have the best pizza ever!!”
Me: “Well, what will I do with myself all day long with you gone?”
LS: “You could get a job.”
Me: “And where do you think I should work?”
Pregnant pause.
LS: (said with great excitement) “You could work at Wendy’s!”

He is so very right. Didn’t the mantra goes something like, “You only have to be friendly to work at Wendy’s"? I can do that! I can be friendly.

Kiddieland

I begin grieving the end of summer at the start of August. The month always flies by so quickly. It’s crazy! Super Hubs and I jam-pack into August all the outings we intended to do all summer but were lax, for one reason or another.

We took Little Squirt to Kiddieland a few days ago. Kiddieland is Chicago-area’s oldest amusement park, having opened in 1929. It’s geared to youngsters belonging to the 10 and under crowd. I have a very faint memory of attending a grade school friend’s birthday party at this very place. Every child growing up in Chicagoland ought to visit Kiddieland once. It’s a classic.

We arrived to find a ginormous line wrapped around the parking lot. The park, sadly, is closing down for good at the end of the month due to a family feud and some hot mess. It must have been the reason that every child in the state of IL plus all of their cousins were there with us. It was insanely crowded! But my child would not be thwarted. Long lines or no, he dragged us around in the hot sun to every attraction possible. We sampled bumper cars and roller coasters, ferris wheels and log rides.

Amusement parks bring out Little Squirt at his very best. He was rocking the true Carnival Ride Spirit with his boundless energy, indomitable enthusiasm and positive mental attitude. He should seriously consider a career as a carnie.

I, however, came to the realization that I am too old for amusement parks. The heat, the long lines, empty ketchup packet holders and subsequent naked hot dogs, did not bring out my true Carnival Ride Spirit. It brought out my inner Crankmeister. At one point, while Little Squirt was cruising on a Mars mobile, I sought out a park bench to rest my weary back. I shared the bench comfortably with another woman at the other end. But then a third woman inched her way between us into a teeny space where no adult human backside should ever have gone. Subsequently, she booted my booty clear off the bench. Really now?!!

But at the end of the day, it was worth every miserable moment. Little Squirt had the time of his life, and memories were created. His joy was contagious. We shared cotton candy on the car ride home and it was sensational, as cotton candy can only be.

I'd Like A Little Whine With My Dinner, Please

I’ve spent a lot of time on the beach this week. Little Squirt is taking swimming lessons at the lake in our town, and after the classes he wants to free-play in the water for a while. I’ve sat in the sun sheathed in #30 sunblock, a book on my lap. The book is really only a prop. I’m too distracted by the adorable little toddlers playing in the sand. When Little Squirt is done with his lesson, he splashes out to the dock, where he spends the next 2 hours climbing on and jumping off. So then I keep my eyes fixated on him and all his play gear. So far this summer, he’s lost 4 pairs of goggles, two plastic shovels and a dophin mask. I am not exaggerating.

Sitting on the beach, I’ve had lots and lots of time to think. Time to contemplate. Review my life. Feel a little content. Feel a little frustrated. Consider the future. Get anxious. Butterfly’s entrance to college is in 3 weeks, and my boys will be in school full time. I’ll be home alone all day for the first time.....ever! What will I do? Continue to pour myself into the church volunteer work that I’ve done for many years? Get a fun and mindless part-time job that allows me to be home when the boys are home? Rekindle my nursing career and dive into learning something new and exciting? So many things to muse. None of which excite me, candidly. What is that about?

And this is a week of several disappointments. I’m feeling raw and tender and misunderstood. Not valued. Overlooked. I’ve had a Victim Mentality. Ironically, I really deplore it when others have a Victim Mentality. People wih a Victim Mentality are stuck and life draining. But darnit, you can't help how you feel! And today I was feeling Victimized. A Victim of some slander. A Victim of some unfortunate timing. A Victim of some miscommunication. Poor me. I am a Victim. Let me wallow in my grievances.

So I sat on the beach today, feeling the weight of an ambiguous future, and mentally recapping all the injustices done to me this week. I was enjoying my misery, relishing it, soaking it in like the sunshine. The Misery was getting comfortable, like a favorite pair of jeans. But interestingly enough, it's hard to stay stuck in the muck for long when you’re sitting on a beach.

I reframed my mindset. What is right in my world this week?
-An unexpected and affirming message from a FB friend, just when I needed affirmation, telling me he viewed me as someone who consistently modeled joy and happiness. (Oh, if only he knew.....)
-The American journalists released from prison in N. Korea. I had been praying for their release intensely.
-A beautiful conversation with my teenage son this morning, in which I was impressed with his spiritual growth and maturity.
-The invitation of a close friend, a soul-filling friend, inviting me to dinner tonight, just as I was considering dining on Self-Pity.

Little Squirt and I got in the car to go home and I turned on the radio. I listened to him loudly bellow the lyrics to “I Need To Know” along with Mark Anthony. “I need to know...I need to know...tell me baby girl cuz I need to know...ohwoahwoahwoah....”
Then he asked, “Mom, what does he need to know??”

He makes me laugh all the time. Little Squirt is definitely what is right in my world.

A Taste Of Summer And A Dream

I’ve taken a week off Blogosphere and now I’m back with a vengeance, and bound and determined to get back to blogging consistently this week. But sometimes I need a break from the deep (and not so deep) contemplation writing puts me in. Occasionally I need to take a break from thinking, so to speak, and just allow myself to enjoy a day without considering how I need to chronicle it through blogging. Just feel the experience privately.

It’s been a week of swimming lessons and Driver’s Ed and one bad hair cut. I’ve devoured the latest juicy Patricia Cornwell novel and thoroughly relished it. I’ve enjoyed several movies, watched Little Squirt frolic on the beach, and sat in the sun with friends, talking about nothing and everything. I’ve spent several cool evenings relaxing on the back deck with my husband and a glass of wine. That is how summers should be, filled with seemingly insignificant yet precious moments that I know I’ll be grieving come the winter months.

This summer is a bridgeway to change, and last night I had a dream: My three children were heading out the door to walk to school together in the snow. I was zipping up the coat of my youngest, and wrapping the scarf around his face. I was fulll of angst; wondering if I should drive them. The snow was swirling, and I didn’t want them to get cold in the blustery weather. Or injured. Or have someone hurt them. All kinds of fears filled my mind. So I verbally considered loading them into my car, but my daughter objected. “We’ll be okay, Mom,” she said. So I let them go on their own. I felt it was the right thing to do, even though it was hard to watch them walk away.

I sat on the beach today and processed my dream. Did the winter represent a New Season? My children will be heading to three different schools this fall. The oldest will be two states away, and the baby will be gone all day for the first time ever. It’s a Season of Change for sure. For all of us. I generally deplore change. I really do. But I keep holding onto my daughter’s reassurance in the dream, ”We’ll be okay, Mom.” And I’m going to have to trust that they will. But will I?