Friday morning, while I was at work, I received a call from Dan. In an uncharacteristically nervous voice, he asked me to say a prayer for him, as his boss had asked him to set aside some time to talk that afternoon. Red flags started to wave in front of my eyes, my heart started beating a little faster, and I became worried. "I'm sure it's nothing," my husband said, attempting to comfort me. But I heard something in his voice....
Later that day, after several hours of fretting, praying, and wondering, I walked into the house to find out what had transpired. Dan's red-rimmed eyes and the stricken look on his face told me all I needed to know, but his next words still took my breath away: "They fired me."
Woosh. "What? Why?" I felt my eyes bulging, my chin starting to quiver, my heart racing even faster. The explanation he received from his boss did nothing to pacify me. He has been falsely accused of damaging a rental car, which was, in actuality, stolen from in front of his hotel room many months ago while he was on a business trip. When it was found, it had several thousand dollars' worth of damage inflicted upon it. The rental car agency maintains that this automobile is virtually un-stealable, and that one must have the key in order to start the engine. And since the key was given to Dan, he must've crashed it into that ditch, walked away, and blamed it on someone else in order to keep his name clear. That's their story, at least, and it appears they've convinced Dan's former employer that this is the true sequence of events.
My husband is a man of great integrity; if he had truly had an accident in this car, he would've been the first to phone the authorities and report it. If the retribution had to be taken from his pay, he would've agreed, had the fault been his. But he doesn't, at this point, even have the opportunity to defend himself. Not to a judge, a jury, or to the people sitting behind their desks, casting down judgements and changing a family's life.
I was very angry at first. But I continue to be inspired by this man who exchanged marital vows with me nearly 15 years ago. He has not shown anger or resentment, although I believe he has every right to. He continues to provide the kids and I with a sense of security, even through this trial.
I have faith that we'll come through this with minimal damage, because although I claim to spend most of my time in the driver's seat, I know that it's God who's really in control. And now it's time for us to put our faith to the test, allow Him to take the wheel, and to listen and learn what He has in store for us.
"For I know the plans I have for you," declared the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11
Monday, December 3, 2007
Thursday, November 1, 2007
halloween 2007
I am a procrastinator. I'm married to Dan, and he's one too. Whether putting things off until the last minute is encoded in our DNA or is a learned behavior, our kids have the deck stacked against them. So it was not shocking to me that I'd be scouring the aisles of the local party store at 4pm on Halloween, searching for costume components for all 3 of our boys. They have now realized that just having an idea for an outfit is no longer enough.
I can't lay the blame completely on them, though, because not only have I modeled the procrastination trait, but for the majority of their lives, I've also shopped for and constructed their costumes (usually missing several hours of crucial sleep time the night before the big day). All they've been responsible for in the past was coming up with what they wanted to "be".
I will say that I am thankful that Halloween is one holiday for which preparation has actually gotten easier as the kids have grown. I haven't had to sew, cut, or glue pieces of felt or ribbon for a couple of years now; the days of the homemade cow, burrito, Pooh and Piglet costumes have passed. I mourn the loss of pink toddler cheeks peeking out of these creations made with love, but I rejoice in the creativity and humor of my teenagers. And I do it with bright eyes and bushy tail, because I got a good night's sleep on October 30th.
I submit for your enjoyment: Nick as Ron Burgundy ("Anchorman"), Andy portraying a Mexican cowboy, Bronco player Cris, pop-star Brooklyn, and our Packer-friend Adam. Happy Halloween.
I can't lay the blame completely on them, though, because not only have I modeled the procrastination trait, but for the majority of their lives, I've also shopped for and constructed their costumes (usually missing several hours of crucial sleep time the night before the big day). All they've been responsible for in the past was coming up with what they wanted to "be".
I will say that I am thankful that Halloween is one holiday for which preparation has actually gotten easier as the kids have grown. I haven't had to sew, cut, or glue pieces of felt or ribbon for a couple of years now; the days of the homemade cow, burrito, Pooh and Piglet costumes have passed. I mourn the loss of pink toddler cheeks peeking out of these creations made with love, but I rejoice in the creativity and humor of my teenagers. And I do it with bright eyes and bushy tail, because I got a good night's sleep on October 30th.
I submit for your enjoyment: Nick as Ron Burgundy ("Anchorman"), Andy portraying a Mexican cowboy, Bronco player Cris, pop-star Brooklyn, and our Packer-friend Adam. Happy Halloween.
Friday, October 26, 2007
mr. clean doesn't even know my address anymore
My sixth grade son, Cris, needed a baby picture of himself to submit to the yearbook staff at school. So the other night, we hopped into the time machine that is my shelf full of photo boxes, and pulled out two that contain pictures from the mid-1990's. Looking through those snapshots, it was shocking for me to see how neat and tidy our little house in Thornton looked. The carpet was vacuumed, the floor swept, the counters clear. Knick-knacks appeared to be dust-free, and there were even decorations on the walls. Three little boys played happily with their toys and each other as I snapped away with my 35mm.
This is so remarkable to me because if you were to walk into our current home on any given day, you may find several pairs of shoes strewn haphazardly by the front door, the pan used to roast last night's dinner soaking in the sink, empty cereal boxes on the counters, newspapers and cups on the table, and a desk full of school papers and mail that needs to be sorted. I'm not posting all of this to air out our dirty laundry, so to speak, but because I was really taken with the home I saw portrayed on Kodak paper. "That looks so nice," I thought, as if looking through Better Homes and Gardens. "I would like to live there."
In early 1996, our boys were ages 4, 2, and an infant. I remember feeling very overwhelmed at times, like I couldn't keep up. I longed for a future filled with more than diapers, Barney, and toddler-sized tantrums. But now, looking back from my more experienced point of view, I'm left wondering what, exactly, was so stressful to me then? I couldn't have known that 1996 was before....
...before the kids gave up their naps, before the 4th child was born, before PTA, before basketball, before dance classes, before football, before cheerleading, before grueling high school schedules, before teaching Sunday School, before Dan's crazy travel schedule and working from home, before going back into the workforce, before Girl Scouts, before teenage angst, before a son's first relationship, before his driver's license, before curfews, before braces, before college nights and SATs, before satellite TV, before the internet, before cell phones. Before we had so much pulling on us, from so many different directions.
But we don't live in the before, and we don't yet live in the after. We live somewhere in the middle, and I have to remember that this is, like that was, just a season in our lives. And somewhere down the line, perhaps in the next decade, I'll be pulling photos off the shelf once again, and will have a reason to look at the images captured in 2007. Maybe by then I will have been able to dedicate time to filling my scrapbooks with our memories. I'll flip through the pages, look at the images of a busy-but-smiling family in a cluttered-but-loving-home, and I'll think, "That looks so nice. I would like to live there."
This is so remarkable to me because if you were to walk into our current home on any given day, you may find several pairs of shoes strewn haphazardly by the front door, the pan used to roast last night's dinner soaking in the sink, empty cereal boxes on the counters, newspapers and cups on the table, and a desk full of school papers and mail that needs to be sorted. I'm not posting all of this to air out our dirty laundry, so to speak, but because I was really taken with the home I saw portrayed on Kodak paper. "That looks so nice," I thought, as if looking through Better Homes and Gardens. "I would like to live there."
In early 1996, our boys were ages 4, 2, and an infant. I remember feeling very overwhelmed at times, like I couldn't keep up. I longed for a future filled with more than diapers, Barney, and toddler-sized tantrums. But now, looking back from my more experienced point of view, I'm left wondering what, exactly, was so stressful to me then? I couldn't have known that 1996 was before....
...before the kids gave up their naps, before the 4th child was born, before PTA, before basketball, before dance classes, before football, before cheerleading, before grueling high school schedules, before teaching Sunday School, before Dan's crazy travel schedule and working from home, before going back into the workforce, before Girl Scouts, before teenage angst, before a son's first relationship, before his driver's license, before curfews, before braces, before college nights and SATs, before satellite TV, before the internet, before cell phones. Before we had so much pulling on us, from so many different directions.
But we don't live in the before, and we don't yet live in the after. We live somewhere in the middle, and I have to remember that this is, like that was, just a season in our lives. And somewhere down the line, perhaps in the next decade, I'll be pulling photos off the shelf once again, and will have a reason to look at the images captured in 2007. Maybe by then I will have been able to dedicate time to filling my scrapbooks with our memories. I'll flip through the pages, look at the images of a busy-but-smiling family in a cluttered-but-loving-home, and I'll think, "That looks so nice. I would like to live there."
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
almost a teen
Twelve years ago today, at this moment (Mountain Standard Time), I was celebrating the birth of my third son, Cris. My labor had been induced, because the doctor was fearful that he was already over 9 lbs, with one week to go in my pregnancy. Also, my original due date fell on Halloween, and I wasn't too fond of the idea of delivering my precious angel on this controversial "holiday". It just seemed a little creepy to me. So, when my ob-gyn dangled the induction-carrot before me, I sprang for it. 12 hours and an excrutiating amount of pain later, Cristian Daniel was born.
He was a beautiful little baby, almost too pretty to be a boy. He had big blue eyes, full, rosebud lips, and was an 8 lb. 4 oz. peanut. I fell instantly in love with the newest little man to join our testosterone-laden family. He had such a mild disposition, was early to smile and laugh, and was a great source of entertainment for his 2 and 4-year-old big brothers, who immediately began to include this tiny person in their daily play.
That teensy little boy has stretched and grown into a lean and lanky preteen, who is coming dangerously close to being able to look me straight in the eye without looking up. He is witty, athletic, cuddly (aw, Mom, why'd you have to say that?), loving, strong, protective, emotional, smart, talkative, focused, eager, and a child of God. He likes to play football, loves to play basketball, and won't admit it, but is an avid reader as well. He has dreams and aspirations, many of which involve his becoming an NBA star.
It has been a joy to watch him become a young man, and I look forward to experiencing the coming years with him by my side, having to look up to meet his eyes, as I know I soon will. Happy Birthday, Son.
He was a beautiful little baby, almost too pretty to be a boy. He had big blue eyes, full, rosebud lips, and was an 8 lb. 4 oz. peanut. I fell instantly in love with the newest little man to join our testosterone-laden family. He had such a mild disposition, was early to smile and laugh, and was a great source of entertainment for his 2 and 4-year-old big brothers, who immediately began to include this tiny person in their daily play.
That teensy little boy has stretched and grown into a lean and lanky preteen, who is coming dangerously close to being able to look me straight in the eye without looking up. He is witty, athletic, cuddly (aw, Mom, why'd you have to say that?), loving, strong, protective, emotional, smart, talkative, focused, eager, and a child of God. He likes to play football, loves to play basketball, and won't admit it, but is an avid reader as well. He has dreams and aspirations, many of which involve his becoming an NBA star.
It has been a joy to watch him become a young man, and I look forward to experiencing the coming years with him by my side, having to look up to meet his eyes, as I know I soon will. Happy Birthday, Son.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
sweet 16
Yesterday, my oldest son reached a milestone: his 16th birthday. It has become a tradition in our family for me to recall, in sometimes unwanted detail, the circumstances of my children's actual day of birth. So for the past several days, many of my sentences have started with the words, "Sixteen years ago, I was..." while I would glance at the clock, remembering.
Remembering the fear that struck my heart as Dan and I walked around his parents' neighborhood late in the evening of October 1, 1991, timing my contractions. After waiting for over 9 months to meet our first child, the realization that his arrival was imminent was terrifying to me.
Remembering the oxygen mask covering my nose and mouth, prohibiting me from shouting and screaming out of frustration as I worked so diligently to deliver him.
Remembering the intense relief I felt once he was born, once I could see that he was as perfect as he could be.
Remembering our first night together, after our loving friends and family left, and we could truly begin to get to know one another. I studied him, committing every bit of him to memory.
For 16 years, I have watched him grow and change from that tiny baby boy, swaddled and cozy in my arms, into the young man who now stands taller than I. Looking into his face, I see the strong nose and cheekbones of the man he'll soon be, but can still catch a glimpse of the chubby-cheeked, squeaky-voiced toddler he once was. In the scrapbook of my mind's eye, I can see him holding his Puffy in front of his mouth, sucking his thumb, humming the tune from Barney. "I love you, you love me, we're a happy family...."
It is my fervent prayer that as the years have passed, even through the times when we haven't been such a happy family, that he has always known how much I love him, how much of myself I've poured into him, and how proud I am to say he's my son. Before I had children, I had no idea what a wild ride motherhood would be; the highs can be outstandingly high, the lows can be crushing, but I thank God for the child He chose to bless me with to initiate me into this exclusive club of women.
Happy birthday, Son. And thank you for 16 wonderful years.
Remembering the fear that struck my heart as Dan and I walked around his parents' neighborhood late in the evening of October 1, 1991, timing my contractions. After waiting for over 9 months to meet our first child, the realization that his arrival was imminent was terrifying to me.
Remembering the oxygen mask covering my nose and mouth, prohibiting me from shouting and screaming out of frustration as I worked so diligently to deliver him.
Remembering the intense relief I felt once he was born, once I could see that he was as perfect as he could be.
Remembering our first night together, after our loving friends and family left, and we could truly begin to get to know one another. I studied him, committing every bit of him to memory.
For 16 years, I have watched him grow and change from that tiny baby boy, swaddled and cozy in my arms, into the young man who now stands taller than I. Looking into his face, I see the strong nose and cheekbones of the man he'll soon be, but can still catch a glimpse of the chubby-cheeked, squeaky-voiced toddler he once was. In the scrapbook of my mind's eye, I can see him holding his Puffy in front of his mouth, sucking his thumb, humming the tune from Barney. "I love you, you love me, we're a happy family...."
It is my fervent prayer that as the years have passed, even through the times when we haven't been such a happy family, that he has always known how much I love him, how much of myself I've poured into him, and how proud I am to say he's my son. Before I had children, I had no idea what a wild ride motherhood would be; the highs can be outstandingly high, the lows can be crushing, but I thank God for the child He chose to bless me with to initiate me into this exclusive club of women.
Happy birthday, Son. And thank you for 16 wonderful years.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
ringing in the new year
Disclaimer:
When I wrote my first entry for this blog, I made sure to state that I "may not post every day, or even every other day". I think it's quite obvious simply by looking at my datelines that this was a gross understatement. I have also mentioned that I have two teenagers, and that it is very difficult for me to elbow my way through the crowd to get some screen time. And, may I call your attention to the title of my blog, the "About Me" blurb to the right, and to my color-coded-out-of-necessity calendar. I will try to post more often.
Now for a much-overdue update:
The new year is always an extremely busy time for us. Not the traditional New Year, which is celebrated nationwide with the tooting of obnoxious paper horns and public drunkenness, but the (announcer voice) New School Year. The one marked by summer-vacation-weary moms, who are more than ready to clean their abused homes, get caught up on some reading, and enjoy a bit of peace and quiet before the bell rings and their little bundles of energy come running through the door, leaving shoes, socks, and backpacks in their wake. Our schedule (see above) was already tight prior to August 20, with football and cheerleading practices requiring much time behind the wheel, in the stands, and on the sidelines. Add to it the (voice, again) Back To School Shopping for four kids, and you'll understand why I was looking forward to the opportunity to catch up on my household tasks.
My optimism was purely in vain, though, because there has not been one blank, white, neon-free square on our calendar thus far. Someone always has to be somewhere, and they can't drive themselves. I had such high hopes for this September, because last year was so tough, our move into our new home coinciding with the beginning of the school year. However, this year's schedule has been nearly as unforgiving, with my mom's move coming on the first weekend, and our garage sale on the second. To add to the chaos, Dan's been training for the Tour Davita, which is a 230 mile bike ride to raise awareness for kidney disease. And what's that I see on the horizon but the start of Girl Scouts, which is, for the Leader, like having another part-time job.
With the advent of the New School Year comes delightful events, such as Back To School Night, Meet The Teachers, High School Orientation, just to name a few. The last one, in particular, is always entertaining. Our high school hosts an evening during which we, as parents, follow an abbreviated version of our child's schedule, complete with passing times and bells. Dan and I were both able to attend, so he took on the schedule of our Freshman son (who wishes to remain unnamed here), and I tackled that of our Junior, Nick. I used the map he gave me, along with the list of his classes, to find the appropriate classrooms. I felt the years melt away, and it was easy to imagine it was my first day of high school; people were lost, asking for help, looking for a familiar face in the crowd. When one was found, questions were asked:
"How was your summer?"
"Which class do you have now?"
"Can you believe school's starting already?"
And some, spoken on cell phones, that brought me right back to the present:
"Did you put the roast in the oven yet?"
"Have you finished your homework? I told you, you can't go until it's finished."
I hadn't really been transported back in time 20 years to the orange and green of my alma mater, but was walking along the corridors of the red, silver and white of what will be my children's. I am the parent now, and this is their turf; these halls and classrooms will become snapshots that make up a slide show of memories in their minds. I am just a visitor here.
As such, I attended Nick's classes, including AP English/Comp, AP US Gov, AP US History, Honors Physics, Pre-Calc, and Spanish III. Much has changed in the two decades since I attended high school; listening to what is expected of my son, it is obvious that he has the schedule of a college student. I was excited and daunted by all he would be experiencing in the coming months, thrilled to hear how enamored his teachers are of their chosen profession. They love what they do, have a heart for teaching teenagers, and are well prepared for whatever challenges lie ahead. He is in good hands.
I passed by Dan at one point in the evening, giving me evidence that our sons are able to greet one another during this passing period. I am pleased to say I was lost only once, and late only once as a result. I had forgotten how quickly one can cross an entire campus when worried about being tardy. When Dan and I met up at the end of the night, he shared that he was so late to 2nd period, he just decided to skip it all together. He was able to make it to his other 6 classes on time, and was equally impressed by the caliber of our Freshman's instructors, and by the amount of information he'll be presented with this year. We went to dinner and shared our new found knowledge, our concerns, our praises. We agreed that a difficult year is ahead of our sons, but we know they will rise to the challenge and impress us, and themselves. We have full confidence that they are each moving in the right direction, toward the goal of a college education, independence, and success.
Tonight, our younger children's elementary school hosted it's Back To School Night, so I was able to meet with their teachers once again, hear how the school year is going thus far, and what their plans are for the months ahead. Cris and Brooklyn have much to look forward to, as well. It was a relief to hear the instructors speak about concepts I have a clear understanding of, and to know that these two kids will still be able to come to me for homework help. And more importantly, that I'll be able to give it.
I am very pleased to report that the 2007-08 Back To School Season is now officially over. Football season rages on into November, just in time for the retailers to convince me that I should be preparing for The Christmas Season.
When I wrote my first entry for this blog, I made sure to state that I "may not post every day, or even every other day". I think it's quite obvious simply by looking at my datelines that this was a gross understatement. I have also mentioned that I have two teenagers, and that it is very difficult for me to elbow my way through the crowd to get some screen time. And, may I call your attention to the title of my blog, the "About Me" blurb to the right, and to my color-coded-out-of-necessity calendar. I will try to post more often.
Now for a much-overdue update:
The new year is always an extremely busy time for us. Not the traditional New Year, which is celebrated nationwide with the tooting of obnoxious paper horns and public drunkenness, but the (announcer voice) New School Year. The one marked by summer-vacation-weary moms, who are more than ready to clean their abused homes, get caught up on some reading, and enjoy a bit of peace and quiet before the bell rings and their little bundles of energy come running through the door, leaving shoes, socks, and backpacks in their wake. Our schedule (see above) was already tight prior to August 20, with football and cheerleading practices requiring much time behind the wheel, in the stands, and on the sidelines. Add to it the (voice, again) Back To School Shopping for four kids, and you'll understand why I was looking forward to the opportunity to catch up on my household tasks.
My optimism was purely in vain, though, because there has not been one blank, white, neon-free square on our calendar thus far. Someone always has to be somewhere, and they can't drive themselves. I had such high hopes for this September, because last year was so tough, our move into our new home coinciding with the beginning of the school year. However, this year's schedule has been nearly as unforgiving, with my mom's move coming on the first weekend, and our garage sale on the second. To add to the chaos, Dan's been training for the Tour Davita, which is a 230 mile bike ride to raise awareness for kidney disease. And what's that I see on the horizon but the start of Girl Scouts, which is, for the Leader, like having another part-time job.
With the advent of the New School Year comes delightful events, such as Back To School Night, Meet The Teachers, High School Orientation, just to name a few. The last one, in particular, is always entertaining. Our high school hosts an evening during which we, as parents, follow an abbreviated version of our child's schedule, complete with passing times and bells. Dan and I were both able to attend, so he took on the schedule of our Freshman son (who wishes to remain unnamed here), and I tackled that of our Junior, Nick. I used the map he gave me, along with the list of his classes, to find the appropriate classrooms. I felt the years melt away, and it was easy to imagine it was my first day of high school; people were lost, asking for help, looking for a familiar face in the crowd. When one was found, questions were asked:
"How was your summer?"
"Which class do you have now?"
"Can you believe school's starting already?"
And some, spoken on cell phones, that brought me right back to the present:
"Did you put the roast in the oven yet?"
"Have you finished your homework? I told you, you can't go until it's finished."
I hadn't really been transported back in time 20 years to the orange and green of my alma mater, but was walking along the corridors of the red, silver and white of what will be my children's. I am the parent now, and this is their turf; these halls and classrooms will become snapshots that make up a slide show of memories in their minds. I am just a visitor here.
As such, I attended Nick's classes, including AP English/Comp, AP US Gov, AP US History, Honors Physics, Pre-Calc, and Spanish III. Much has changed in the two decades since I attended high school; listening to what is expected of my son, it is obvious that he has the schedule of a college student. I was excited and daunted by all he would be experiencing in the coming months, thrilled to hear how enamored his teachers are of their chosen profession. They love what they do, have a heart for teaching teenagers, and are well prepared for whatever challenges lie ahead. He is in good hands.
I passed by Dan at one point in the evening, giving me evidence that our sons are able to greet one another during this passing period. I am pleased to say I was lost only once, and late only once as a result. I had forgotten how quickly one can cross an entire campus when worried about being tardy. When Dan and I met up at the end of the night, he shared that he was so late to 2nd period, he just decided to skip it all together. He was able to make it to his other 6 classes on time, and was equally impressed by the caliber of our Freshman's instructors, and by the amount of information he'll be presented with this year. We went to dinner and shared our new found knowledge, our concerns, our praises. We agreed that a difficult year is ahead of our sons, but we know they will rise to the challenge and impress us, and themselves. We have full confidence that they are each moving in the right direction, toward the goal of a college education, independence, and success.
Tonight, our younger children's elementary school hosted it's Back To School Night, so I was able to meet with their teachers once again, hear how the school year is going thus far, and what their plans are for the months ahead. Cris and Brooklyn have much to look forward to, as well. It was a relief to hear the instructors speak about concepts I have a clear understanding of, and to know that these two kids will still be able to come to me for homework help. And more importantly, that I'll be able to give it.
I am very pleased to report that the 2007-08 Back To School Season is now officially over. Football season rages on into November, just in time for the retailers to convince me that I should be preparing for The Christmas Season.
Sunday, September 2, 2007
35 years young
Happy Birthday to my hubby! Since I posted 8 words to describe Brooklyn on her big day, I will do the same for Dan:
He's 1. funny, 2. handsome, 3. creative, 4. a social butterfly, 5. ambitious, 6. a good friend, 7. outgoing, 8. a sports fan, 9. a great husband, 10. tall, 11. cute in his bike shorts, 12. embracing his baldness, 13. a leader, 14. a fabulous dad, 15. the head of our household, 16. a jokester, 17. entrepreneurial, 18. travel-savvy, 19. adventurous, 20. competitive, 21. loving, 22. a Sunday-afternoon napper, 23. rambunctious, 24. goofy, 25. a Law & Order viewer, 26. generous, 27. great with kids, 28. good at fixing things, 29. a perfectionist (about some things), 30. a golfer, 31. a skier, 32. a valuable employee, 33. a good cook, 34. smart, and most importantly.... 35. a Godly man.
I love you, and wish you a happy 36th year!
He's 1. funny, 2. handsome, 3. creative, 4. a social butterfly, 5. ambitious, 6. a good friend, 7. outgoing, 8. a sports fan, 9. a great husband, 10. tall, 11. cute in his bike shorts, 12. embracing his baldness, 13. a leader, 14. a fabulous dad, 15. the head of our household, 16. a jokester, 17. entrepreneurial, 18. travel-savvy, 19. adventurous, 20. competitive, 21. loving, 22. a Sunday-afternoon napper, 23. rambunctious, 24. goofy, 25. a Law & Order viewer, 26. generous, 27. great with kids, 28. good at fixing things, 29. a perfectionist (about some things), 30. a golfer, 31. a skier, 32. a valuable employee, 33. a good cook, 34. smart, and most importantly.... 35. a Godly man.
I love you, and wish you a happy 36th year!
Monday, August 20, 2007
where did the summer go?
7:45 AM-- We close our car doors and the kids heft their heavy, overloaded backpacks onto their shoulders. The packs are full of newly sharpened pencils, reams of crisp white paper, folders with sharp corners. Their faces show their mixed feelings about this day: there's a sparkle in their eyes that hints at the excitement they're reluctant to tell about, a nervousness in the smile of my girl. My 6th grade son is working hard to maintain the scowl he's had since I woke him this morning. But his pace is brisk, purposeful. They tolerate the annual photo taken in front of the school's marquee sign to record this day, to chart their growth as they pass from grade to grade. This will be the last picture I take of my son in front of this sign, so I am happy to see that the scowl is not as pronounced, and looks kind of like a smile. Through the viewfinder, anyway.
Once the photo has been taken, my son once again walks quickly ahead of us, and we hurry to follow him, so that we can say goodbye. And good luck. And have a great day. And I love you. And we'll see you this afternoon. One more photo beside the welcome back sign on the door, and then he's gone. He'll emerge again this afternoon, more tired, less purposeful, happy that he's free again. Until tomorrow. But we won't be there to record the second day for the photo albums, much to his relief.
It's my daughter's turn to lead us to her door. Her turn to pose for a picture, to say goodbye. But she's not ready to go in alone. I walk her to her seat, and help her take out the brand new supplies and put them in her desk. She hangs her empty backpack on her chair, pulls it out and sits down. Her class has 3 pets, and her teacher is nice. She gives me permission to leave, but I do get a hug and a kiss first. She is ready to be a 3rd grader.
Back at home, my two high-schoolers are laughing, joking, getting ready to leave for the bus stop. The younger of the two is beginning his Freshman year, much to the delight and dismay of his Junior brother. They haven't been in school together for years, and will now share the same bus, lunch period, campus. I know my son would be fine on his own, but take comfort that his big brother will be there if he needs him.
Now it's time to leave, to catch the big yellow bus, but the boys know that even though there's not a sign to pose in front of, I will still mark the occassion with a photo. Their smiles are big, that much I can see, even through the viewfinder. My older son is happy; he's an Upperclassman. His smile is confident, his eyes are shining. My younger son smiles a rare, wide smile. His teeth are showing, the sun glistens off his braces. Most of the pictures I have of him from the past 2 years show him with a tight, closed-lip smile, hiding the metal that is guiding his teeth into straight,white lines. He is having fun, but I know he is nervous. After the photos are snapped, he follows his brother down the driveway, still laughing and joking. I hear their voices trail off as they round the corner, and I shout to their retreating backs. Have a good day! I'll see you this afternoon! I love you! And then they're gone, too.
I walk back into the house, which is much quieter now. For the past three months, it has been filled with the sounds of electric and bass guitars, keyboards, stereos, TVs, video games, teenagers, children. But now the sound of the air conditioner pumping cool air through the vents sounds louder than ever. The hot Florida sun doesn't know that summer's over. I pour a cup of coffee, sit down to read the paper before I head off to work. I am wishing I had taken the day off, to enjoy the silence. I could have spent time working on my scrapbooks, maybe finding the photos from the other first days. There have been 12 of them, and there is only going to be one more for my oldest son before he goes off to college. I will be there when he goes, looking through the viewfinder, recording another kind of first in our lives. But this afternoon, they will all come home, and they will share their stories of new teachers, new classrooms, new friends, new things they have already learned. They will have conquered their first day, and I will serve them cake, and listen to them talk, and I will be so proud of them.
This is a bittersweet day. This is the first day of school.
Once the photo has been taken, my son once again walks quickly ahead of us, and we hurry to follow him, so that we can say goodbye. And good luck. And have a great day. And I love you. And we'll see you this afternoon. One more photo beside the welcome back sign on the door, and then he's gone. He'll emerge again this afternoon, more tired, less purposeful, happy that he's free again. Until tomorrow. But we won't be there to record the second day for the photo albums, much to his relief.
It's my daughter's turn to lead us to her door. Her turn to pose for a picture, to say goodbye. But she's not ready to go in alone. I walk her to her seat, and help her take out the brand new supplies and put them in her desk. She hangs her empty backpack on her chair, pulls it out and sits down. Her class has 3 pets, and her teacher is nice. She gives me permission to leave, but I do get a hug and a kiss first. She is ready to be a 3rd grader.
Back at home, my two high-schoolers are laughing, joking, getting ready to leave for the bus stop. The younger of the two is beginning his Freshman year, much to the delight and dismay of his Junior brother. They haven't been in school together for years, and will now share the same bus, lunch period, campus. I know my son would be fine on his own, but take comfort that his big brother will be there if he needs him.
Now it's time to leave, to catch the big yellow bus, but the boys know that even though there's not a sign to pose in front of, I will still mark the occassion with a photo. Their smiles are big, that much I can see, even through the viewfinder. My older son is happy; he's an Upperclassman. His smile is confident, his eyes are shining. My younger son smiles a rare, wide smile. His teeth are showing, the sun glistens off his braces. Most of the pictures I have of him from the past 2 years show him with a tight, closed-lip smile, hiding the metal that is guiding his teeth into straight,white lines. He is having fun, but I know he is nervous. After the photos are snapped, he follows his brother down the driveway, still laughing and joking. I hear their voices trail off as they round the corner, and I shout to their retreating backs. Have a good day! I'll see you this afternoon! I love you! And then they're gone, too.
I walk back into the house, which is much quieter now. For the past three months, it has been filled with the sounds of electric and bass guitars, keyboards, stereos, TVs, video games, teenagers, children. But now the sound of the air conditioner pumping cool air through the vents sounds louder than ever. The hot Florida sun doesn't know that summer's over. I pour a cup of coffee, sit down to read the paper before I head off to work. I am wishing I had taken the day off, to enjoy the silence. I could have spent time working on my scrapbooks, maybe finding the photos from the other first days. There have been 12 of them, and there is only going to be one more for my oldest son before he goes off to college. I will be there when he goes, looking through the viewfinder, recording another kind of first in our lives. But this afternoon, they will all come home, and they will share their stories of new teachers, new classrooms, new friends, new things they have already learned. They will have conquered their first day, and I will serve them cake, and listen to them talk, and I will be so proud of them.
This is a bittersweet day. This is the first day of school.
Friday, August 10, 2007
limping along in his mother's footsteps
I believe it all started when I was 10, and I took a backward tumble off a swing in a Denver park. I landed on my foot, breaking a toe. Over the years, my poor feet have suffered multiple contusions, a pounding from a concrete pole, and a broken pinky toe just a couple of years ago.
I now pass the torch.
Poor Nick was helping his friend build a dock when a 200+ lb. piling rolled onto his big toe, shattering the bone. These crutches will be his new appendages for the next couple of weeks. On the upside, he has some new nicknames: Crutchy and Hoppy. Imagine his joy.
I now pass the torch.
Poor Nick was helping his friend build a dock when a 200+ lb. piling rolled onto his big toe, shattering the bone. These crutches will be his new appendages for the next couple of weeks. On the upside, he has some new nicknames: Crutchy and Hoppy. Imagine his joy.
not a baby anymore
My only little girl turned 8 on 8/8. She found this to be incredibly exciting. And since she's the baby of the family, I joined in her incredible excitement. It keeps me young. In honor of her special day, a tribute:
8 Words That Describe Brooklyn~
~Silly
~Sweet
~Cuddly
~Cute
~Loving
~Smart
~Helpful
~God's Girl
Happy Birthday, Brookadoo!
Thursday, August 9, 2007
starting my very own buh-log
I remember when gabbing with girlfriends meant being tethered to the wall by a twisty cord that was so stretched out, it pooled on the floor under the phone when it was hung up. When I was a teenager, it wasn't hung up often. I have great sympathy for my mom during those years, now that I have teens of my own. It's not the phone they commandeer, though, but our family computer. They spend a lot of time in front of the glowing screen, gabbing with their own friends through MySpace and FaceBook. So, I've decided to jump on board, and start a blog. Or buh-log, as my kids accuse me of saying.
I don't promise to post every day, or even every other day, but enough to give my friends and family a little glimpse of what our gang has been up to. I may even include a photo now and then. It all depends on how much time I can sneak in online. Come to think of it, I may just go back to using the phone.
Welcome to my buh-log.
I don't promise to post every day, or even every other day, but enough to give my friends and family a little glimpse of what our gang has been up to. I may even include a photo now and then. It all depends on how much time I can sneak in online. Come to think of it, I may just go back to using the phone.
Welcome to my buh-log.
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