Healing

The Man is recovering from ACL Surgery this week. Clara is recovering from a disagreement with her lower-left molar.

Homecoming

We arrived too late to the first location. We were misinformed of the time. The group had already left to catch a reservation; an inauspicious beginning to an evening already ripe with nervousness. Driving too fast, we followed her father's directions to the restaurant. We were both rattled by the change in plans and didn't speak much. He fidgeted with his tie. The few words we exchanged were brittle with feigned optimism.

We pulled into the restaurant and saw the group of gangly teenagers at once. The girls, like colorful birds, flitted about showing off strappy heels and inappropriately deep necklines. I couldn't help but notice how they were constantly touching each other in the way we only do when we are young. The boys slouched in starched shirts and neckties attempting to pull of nonchalant confidence. All of them covering their their awkwardness with silliness, and sarcastic barbs delivered without malice.

I noticed her immediately. He told me she would be in red. A pretty little girl in a shiny red dress. Her overdone hair and make-up beguiling her fifteen years of age. We got out of the car and approached her. I could feel the insecurity radiating from him. I tried to will confidence into the tall boy beside me. She greeted us with a grin and reached up to hug him. He patted her back uncomfortably and then she turned to me. We introduced ourselves with overbright smiles. Each of us assessing. Evaluating.

Then, in an awkward gesture, my son shoved a clear plastic box into her hand.

"Here's your flower."

I laughed as gently as possible, attempting to ease his tension and said, "No silly. You can't just give her the box" I removed the corsage, red to match her dress, and handed it to him. He looked a little stricken and she stepped in to rescue him.

"Will you put it on me?" She proceeded kindly to show him how it went on her wrist. Obviously more familiar with this routine than he was, she did her best to make him comfortable. I could have kissed her.

I asked if I could take their picture, as we had missed the photo time earlier at the house. I snapped a couple shots and then asked some questions about how they would be getting to the dance. She indicated two of the slouching boys and pointed out their luxury cars, obviously borrowed for the occasion.

My heart skipped a beat.

We had talked about this. He had assured me adults would be driving, that no one in their group was old enough to drive. He knows my rules. Was he lying to me or was this this just another last minute change? I stammered a moment and was unable to catch his eye. His awkwardness got the best of me and I nodded. I told them to have fun, reminded him to call me when the dance was over, and went back to my car.

And I sat there.

What had just happened?

I am not the mother that wavers on my rules. I call and drill other parents before parties. I drive to the football games to pick him up when the boy across the street could have driven him home, because he has only had his license for 6 months. And yet, in that moment. I couldn't do it. I knew what it would mean to him, singling him out in that way. Forbidding him to go with the group. I caved. Was I showing grace or weakness? I still am not sure.

I drove home praying all the way. For his protection. For his choices. For his heart.

He called me when the dance was over and I went to pick him up. His date had gone on without him to an after-party. He had asked on the phone if he could go as well and I said no. It was already almost midnight and we had never met the parents. He acquiesced without a fight.

When we arrived home he immediately went downstairs to change. Then he plopped down in the chair in the living room, dressed again in his familiar t-shirt and basketball shorts. His foray into the world of dating and adulthood over, for now.

And I think it's possible we were both relieved.

A moment to remember

I was sitting in the doorway to my bedroom, just inside the threshold where the carpet began and the hardwoods ended. My legs spread in a vee. Clara was standing between them holding onto my shirt, and I was, as usual, trying to convince her to let go. To attempt to balance herself for a few seconds. She understood what I wanted, but was being characteristically stubborn. Defiance sparkling in her pink face, as we went through our familiar routine. I removed one chubby hand from my shirt, and she giggled and grabbed hold with the other. All the while bubbling up belly-laughs. Incapable of resisting that delicious sound, I was giggling as well.

And then with a look that said clearly "Look. I could do it if I wanted to" she let go. She stood frozen in time for half a second, then took a step. And then half of another before she toppled to the ground and crawled away delighted with herself.

I gasped. A first step. Elation immediately filled me like a balloon and then, just as quickly, a bit wheezed back out again, deflating.

A first step.

My last child's first step.

Excitement and sadness had a little cat fight in my chest. Excitement won, hands down.

But it was left somewhat subdued by the vision of time passing before my eyes. Like the leaves just starting to turn vibrant shades outside my window. A breathtaking harbinger of the end of a season.

I exhaled. And began clapping and "whooping" happy cheers for Clara. She laughed and clapped in response. Then I scooped her up and ran downstairs to show her father.

Monday, Monday

It's Monday morning in our home. All the telltale signs are there. The laundry I put off over the weekend is piled to precarious heights in the hall. Because our home doesn't have a laundry room per se, it has a laundry closet. A closet that is just inside the entrance from the garage. This is a serious flaw in a home otherwise designed to accommodate a pack of kids. Inevitably everyone comes in through the garage and has to navigate baskets and piles to reach the rest of the house. And on Monday it's the worst. A veritable obstacle course requiring weaving and jumping and wading. Sometimes while holding your nose. It could be a new Olympic event. I'd win.

Allison woke up surly and whining about not wanting to go to school. This has happened every Monday since school began.

I overslept a bit because my Sunday afternoon nap kept me from falling asleep last night. You would think I would learn about those Sunday naps. But each time I have the opportunity to climb into my bed on a Sunday afternoon, I succumb. The luxury of that rare daytime sleeping winning out every time against the inevitable night-time wakefulness. I'm so weak.

There are no groceries in the house. Not even milk.

There is a list on the desk of 5 places I have to call today to make appointments.

It's Monday.

And yet, I refuse to give in to my typical Monday melancholies. Because I have much to be grateful for on this way-too-warm-for-freakin-October morning.

1. I went and had dinner and girl-talk on Friday night with 3 friends who have known me since I was a child myself. We laughed, reminisced about first loves, and pondered the mysteries of our great big God. I just have to say, I have the best friends ever. I'd be lost without them. And besides, there was chocolate cake. I'm just sayin.
2. Ben pooped on the potty of his own accord. There was potty-dancing and singing and extravagant rewards. Because really, is there a bigger day for the mother of a 3.5 year old than when you get to stop cleaning poop out of his underoos? I think not.
3. Pumpkin Spice Lattes are back at Starbucks. And nothing says autumn like an orange $5 cup of coffee.
4. I won a Praise Baby DVD from Bloggy Givaways. Do y'all (yes it's true. I say y'all. For real.) know about this fabulous site? They give stuff away, like every day. Just for leaving comments. I put it in my Google Reader and when I am interested I pop on in and follow the instructions. And I finally won something. Which I just knew I would eventually. And then I did my WOO-HOO-I-just-won-something-dance (which is totally different from my potty-dance by the way). And I can't win again for another month, so I don't mind sharing my secret with you.
5. Clara started saying "Hi" to everyone she meets. And it's just too cute for words. She says "Hhhaaaahh" all drawn out and dramatic. Because she's southern too you see. And social. And quite proud of herself.
6. Open play at Gymboree from 1-4 on Mondays. Enough said.

So now, my question is: What are you thankful for this Monday morning? Or, ahem, Tuesday morning, since it took me an entire day to write this because of my new blogging time restrictions.

Discipline stinks.

On blogging and balance

The last couple days I have been creeping back tentatively into blogging. Lurking quite a bit, commenting occasionally, writing not at all. There were many things I wanted to accomplish this week, on my blog-hiatus: Getting my home back to some semblance of order, decorating for fall, catching up on the two time-intensive Bible studies I am involved in, and most importantly - being less distracted with my children.

My home is still an epic disaster, the boxes of autumn decorations are still in the attic, but my Bible Studies are caught up. And my children? My children and I have had a great week.

We went to the park, the playground in our neighborhood and "Old McDonalds". We visited Gymboree and the playplace at the mall. We went on a leaf hunt (which was difficult since the leaves in Georgia are still only hinting at changing colors), we did puzzles and built train tracks. Ben worked on his cutting skills and we made artwork with paper-shapes. I took Allison shopping for new accompaniment tracks and a new Bible. I slept more and thus had more energy and was a bit less snarly.

Granted, some of these things would have occurred anyway, but without the blogging moratorium others would have been neglected. The inevitable result of morning hours slipped away unnoticed, as I attempted to pacify my children between my efforts at introspection and wit.

I know this is true, because it is happening now, as I write this. My littlest ones are being bribed with Sesame Street and sugary snacks in hopes that they will give me 'just one more minute'. Time to finish my thought, find that elusive word. And then the next one. Until eventually they will be hanging at my knees. Only then will I get up, irritated and reluctant, to get what they need, which is so often, just me.

But today, contrarily, I don't feel guilty. Because it's Saturday. And because of the wonderful week we spent together. And because making them wait occasionally is easy to justify. I certainly wouldn't want to raise a pack of narcissists just because I jumped each time they asked me to. Because I had the nerve to not be interested in anything but them. Ha.

But neither do I want them to remember me as a stay-at-home-mom that was always distracted, disinterested, or perpetually yearning towards more than mothering them could offer. Always wishing I was doing something other than simply enjoying this fleeting time together.

This parenting thing is a bit of a tightrope walk, isn't it? And I guess what is required is balance. That's the key to so much of life.

Balance.

And therein lies the problem. I've never been good at balance. My self-discipline is flighty and ephemeral. And so, in what was sadly predictable, my blogging got too big. The minutes I could carve out for 'my hobby' didn't come close to covering my new desire to write, and read, and write some more. Each day I was inundated with new post ideas and continually frustrated with my lack of time to write them.

Darn those four children and their need for perpetual attention, and bathing, and chauffeuring, and listening, and reprimanding. And food. Turns out I am supposed to feed them too.

So I stole the time. A few minutes here from my children. Some there from my husband. From my Bible Studies. From Oprah. From my sleep. From my housekeeping. Okay not really from housekeeping. We all know I didn't actually spend any time on that.

But in my week off I realized that it was just too much. Too many minutes. Too much stress and guilt at things not done. Too much sacrificing. And this is why I have been reluctant to return. Because I am not sure how to fix that, and find a balance in it all.

But I am going to try.

Because I love this hobby that has allowed me to feel creative, connected, smart and even occasionally funny. Attributes I would never have ascribed to myself before. I am just going to have to try to do it in a smaller, less time consuming way. And so I will be reading less, commenting less, and yes, writing less. And I ask you - you crazy people that come here and read the blather I put out - to understand. And to not take it personally if I don't come by your place quite as often as I did. Or if I am a bit quieter when I do.

And to know that I am just trying to find a way to keep all the balls in the air so I don't have to drop this one completely. Because I have become quite attached to it, and it's little voice. And to you that bother to listen to it. And all of your unique voices. And the oddly magnetic cacophony we make together.

Please. Stop and read this post.

I am in from my hiatus at the request of another blogger. Jenn at Serving the Queens lost a family member last weekend. Sgt. Matthew Blaskowski came home from Iraq today. He died serving our country. A picture of him and Jenn's heartbreaking words are found here. What Jenn asked me to do; what she asked many of us to do, is invite people to leave comments on a tribute she is creating for his parents, Terry & Cheryl Blaskowski. She would like everyone to go to his page and post their words of support. The funeral is Thursday and she would like to present them with a card containing these comments at that time.

This is not about how you feel about the war. This is not about the place to take a stand. This is about a man who signed a piece of paper to serve his country, our country, no matter what, and the family that lost him. This is our chance to stand together and show them our love, our God, our support for their son, who is a hero for doing what so few would.

So please, go to this page and leave a comment. You do not have to have a blog of your own to leave a comment.

And if you feel lead, and I hope that you do, share the link to Matt's page on your own blog, or by email. I want Mr. and Mrs. Blaskowski to be blown away by the people that want to honor their son and the sacrifice he made for us all.

Here I go again.

I love blogging.

I love having a place to record my thoughts, to experiment with different types of writing, to share the funny stories of my children. And the community, I have been overwhelmed by the community I now feel a part of. The support and perspectives I received on my post about Brandon blew my socks off!

I rarely feel that blogging is a burden. In fact, I get frustrated that I can never seem to find the time I want to spend on it. So many posts, that start in my head, never see the light of day. Because I can't seem to find the time to write them.

Because I have children. And people expect me to raise them or something.

But unfortunately, I need to take another break. There are some things I need to focus on here at home, that I have been neglecting. Because as usual, discipline in my life is something I struggle with. And I spend time reading and writing that I really should have been spending in other areas of my life. And so it's obvious to me now, that I lack the discipline to be able to juggle everything at once. So I doubt I will post much this week. And the same goes for reading and commenting. But I'll be back next week.

Because I love blogging.

And in the meantime, read this post by the incomparable Veronica Mitchell if you haven't already. Because it says what I am really going through better than I ever could. Except the PhD part. And because it's fabulous. Like her.

See ya soon.