Defective Ducts

I have defective tear ducts.

Honestly.

I get that it is important to make tears to moisten your eyes, to clear out dirt and debris, and I’m sure there is another really good purpose. I understand that tears come naturally when you are crying your eyes out in grief, extreme joy, and maybe even during intense anger or pain.

But why do tears insist on making an appearance during the curtain call of a middle school production of The Wizard of Oz?

Yes, you read it right. There they were, the cast of teenage players, all lined up with the crowd clapping madly; and suddenly my eyes are morphing into a glassy shade of red, the wetness filling the inside corners.

I could excuse myself if I had a daughter or son in the play, someone I had watched struggle and triumph over their stage freight, or witnessed them putting in the countless hours to learn their lines perfectly. Yes, my emotions would be right there with them, cheering (or tearing, as it were) them on, celebrating their victory.

But not knowing their individual struggles, I was sitting there imagining myself in their place, knowing how difficult it would have been for me; for I would have never had the guts to perform anything. I would have never even tried.

I teared up thinking about these brave young souls, pushing themselves to limits they didn’t even know they could reach. I watched proudly, I was in awe, because to me, this was greatness.

And as is true with anything great…my tears insist on being a part of it all.

Hannah, you were beautiful, gracious, and sugar sweet; everything the Good Witch Glinda should be!

37

Andrew: “Mom! Mom! Look in the mirror. Your butt is so fat in the mirror!”

And then he proceeded to give me a few open-handed smacks…it is my birthday after all!

Today I am 37.

Yes, HAPPY BIRTHDAY to me! I am right, smack in the middle of my late 30’s, but my brain still tells me I’m 24. I don’t know why 24, it’s just the year that stuck. Was I having more fun then? Maybe…

But the funny thing, ok, maybe not funny; the weird thing about that is I LOVE the 30’s. My 30’s have given me this wonderful sense of stability and self-confidence that has totally taken the place of the roller coaster emotions and uncertainty that riddled my twenties. I didn’t know myself nearly as well as I feel I do now. I’ve never felt quite as brave, self-assured, or capable as I do currently. I no longer feel I need the approval of others, though sometimes this does help. I don’t feel like I need to please everyone, and I think I’m better for it. I am comfortable with who I am.

My 30’s have even blessed me with a decent dose of wisdom and because I think I’ve always been wise (at the time…but not so much in retrospect), I can only imagine how much more I stand to gain in my 40’s!

I am not embarrassed to admit my age, I don’t hide or excuse it and I can’t imagine that I ever will (If this is somehow not true, don’t tell me. I need a little fantasy). I am proud to have lasted 37 years. I am grateful for each and every one of them. And someday, if I live long enough, like say 37 million years, I’m bound to reach perfection! Right?

Powerful Words

written February 8, 2011

I recently took a parenting class. We were told that at this age (approx. 3-5 years) kids do not understand lying and that whatever they make up, they believe is true. They believe in the power of words and so if they say it, it will actually happen.

Well, Andrew spent this morning stamping a red ink “smiley sun” on the bathroom door. When I confronted him about it, he claimed that he did not do it but rather a ghost held his hand and stamped the door.

A ghost? This was no surprise to me that it was a ghost of all things that forced this naughty deed – apparently there are ghosts everywhere in my house at all hours of the day and night. It’s a wonder anyone gets any sleep for fear of being overrun!

Did he believe a ghost had made him do it? Absolutely. You could feel his surety. Did I call him a liar? Nope, I just asked that he help clean it up and to let the ghosts know that there would be no more stamping on anything besides paper.

He promptly turned around and scolded the air.

Public and Private Lives

A couple of days ago I wrote a post about a pretty big happening here at my house, but the story wasn't mine. I posted it, right here on my public blog (I keep a private blog with all of my journal entries and this public one for when I want to share). As I prepared to go to bed, I felt extremely unsettled, like things were not ok. I kept remembering a time when I listened to a lady in church share her daughter’s sins during Sunday School. Her daughter was 16 and it was a terrible tragedy that her mother would treat her private stories as though they were the simple potty-training issues of a three year old. I vowed I would always remember that instance and never betray my child’s confidence in that way.

So, was the post a betrayal? I wasn’t sure. It was my daughter's story and she is only six, just a step beyond the toddler years, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that it just shouldn’t be displayed here. After crawling into bed, and after considering the fact that I did pray for guidance on this issue, and maybe, just maybe I shouldn’t be ignoring this feeling…I got up, turned my computer on again, and deleted the post. For memories sake, it’s great to have; for online entertainment, not so much.

Today as I read a few of my past journal entries to my kids, the ones that had to do with them, I was surprised at their reactions. Ava did not want to hear hers…not the one about that day anyway. Andrew LOVED hearing all of his, and Ethan got teary eyed when I read one about him from Valentine’s Day. He was embarrassed that his siblings heard it, even though they were there for the whole thing. Boy was I grateful I hadn’t posted that one publicly!

Yes, it was a wise and loving Heavenly Father that sent His Holy Spirit to inspire me to do what was right for His children. They are getting older, and though I love to write about them, what I write and share needs to be about me…not their private lives.

It was interesting that something so small was really a rather large lesson in growth for me. I was being tempered and tested as to whether I would accept guidance and correction when it was offered. I desire so much to have that direction in my life and the only way I'm going to benefit, is if I am willing to listen. I’m grateful to have taken that first step toward maturity and to have had the wisdom to recognize from whence it came.

Springing Forth

As a kid, my favorite season was always summer; the sun, the beach, endless playtime and, of course, no school. As a mom, my perspective has changed and so has my favorite time of the year.

I LOVE spring!

It was just a short time ago that I was in the back yard mowing the lawn. The grass was thin and tinged with brown. Nothing was really growing except for the area directly beneath the trampoline (who knew it would be such a greenhouse!), and I was wondering what kind of muscle and money was going to be needed to get it back into shape.

Fast forward two weeks and the lawn has never looked better. This may be a slight exaggeration but the whole thing is seriously green and growing beautifully! It’s almost a miracle, one that happens every March, and each time I am amazed.

Back in December I planted, on a whim, some spring bulbs I bought along with the groceries at Costco. I had big plans for them but by the time I actually got around to putting them in the ground, the plans went out the window and the small globs of dirt and root were buried in the front planter rather haphazardly. There aren’t nearly enough of them to make a bold statement but it sure didn’t dampen my spirits to watch the beautiful little tulips (and some other flower I can't name) suddenly springing forth. It makes my heart happy to see them every time I come in and out of the house. I bet with just a small bit of effort, I could have something interesting growing at all times in that space.

Will I ever expend the effort? I don’t know, but something about spring rejuvenates me and makes me feel like I can take on the world…growing one small thing at a time. Does this mean I might get my garden planted after all?

Laundry & TV

Mondays are not big, exciting days around here. I typically stay home and do the laundry. But, I have to admit, I really love this kind of no pressure, “ease into the week” day; and because it was raining off and on, it was even more enjoyable just hanging out in my sweat pants. Even tonight was relaxing. Baseball was canceled and so we enjoyed an early and easy Family Night together. I was even able to fold and put away all of the clothes by 9pm (this was a miracle all by itself).

But the real reason I love Mondays and laundry days…I get to watch TV. About 6 months or more ago, we canceled our cable and pretty much did away with TV all together. But there is this little known thing called Internet TV that still captures much of what I want to watch. I’m even able to cue everything just like I did on my DVR, but on Hulu.

Since I kicked the real TV habit, I have not found the time to watch except for Monday nights while I fold laundry and when I’m running on the treadmill. It is incredibly hard to believe that I used to watch about an hour or two every night! How did I get anything done and how was I ever ok with wasting that much time?

I guess TV is a hard habit to completely break because I have some real incentive to put in a few extra miles more often and I truly enjoy my quiet clothes folding time. So is TV all bad? I don’t know, maybe, but if my body is getting worked a little harder and I’m actually enjoying household labor, it can’t be completely ruled out.

Tonight I got caught up on this season’s The Amazing Race. If there was ever a reality show I would sign up for, this would be it. Racing my way around the world solving puzzles and completing challenges…now that is my kind of fun! I am well aware, however, that I could never take my husband with me. We would be headed straight for divorce court after this kind of competition. It’s hard to imagine that he wouldn’t want to be with me. I’m difficult, stubborn, controlling and bossy, but I’m determined and quick so we’d be a shoe-in to win.

Anyone else want to sign-up?

Kissing the Princess

Andrew has always loved princesses. He loves the movies, the stories, and he doesn’t even mind dressing up with the girls. Anywhere we go that resembles a castle turret of sorts (ie. Disneyland, Benedict Castle, the small tower-like structure on Mt. Rubidoux), he is convinced there is a damsel in distress that needs to be rescued and he’s just the man to do it.

He’s even begun calling one of the little girls in his sunbeam class “Princess.”

Friday night, at the wedding reception, he told us that the princess (or the bride) was going to say to him, “I want to kiss you.” And then he would say, “Yes.” He went about telling others that he would not be kissing her on the cheek or the nose; he was going straight for the lips.

Then Saturday night at the Eagle Court of Honor we attended, he spotted the only other 3 year old in the room and insisted on sitting at the table next to the “princess,” so he could talk to her of course. The night went on and he kept looking for a way to get her attention. Eventually he offered her a small handful of M&M’s and then went so far as to give her and her little sister a balloon each saving only one for himself.

He continually talks about kissing girls, he rewinds TV shows over and over to watch the one girl he has picked out as the one he “likes a lot.” It’s cute sometimes, it’s downright hilarious at others, but really I find this advanced maturity a little scary. My desperate, pleading prayer is that this phase ends by the time he is eight and doesn’t return until the age of 22. I suppose I shouldn’t hold my breath…