Summer. It has come and gone, flown by almost imperceptibly.
I remember June 3rd. I saw the whole season stretched out before me and it wasn’t a happy picture. It felt long and arduous, and I knew I’d find myself begging for an end.
And now here we are, at the end. Tomorrow is the last day of freedom for school begins Monday morning. Surprisingly, I'm not ready to close that door.
I did not take enough (any) pictures, we did not enjoy enough lazy summer days or lick enough sweet and sticky popsicles. We didn’t play enough, slip-n-slide enough, sleep in enough, or go to the beach enough. There was not enough lounging by the pool or lying out under the stars at night.
But we did do all of those things…maybe there is no such thing as “enough” summer.
Though I suppose we could do with a little less of this intense heat!
Thursday, August 25, 2011
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Insectitis
It’s been awhile,
a LONG while,
and still I have very little in my head organized enough to write. Maybe I have been cured of the “bug” to be a writer, or maybe I’m giving up like I do in so many things. I like to think I’m giving myself over to the more pressing issues at hand, like…
Summer, in all its lazy splendor, brings with it a daily routine, for me at least.
Wake up late, yawn, stretch, shuffle into the kitchen, pour a bowl of cereal, and then suddenly notice (out of the corner of my eye) a group of skittering little black beasts!
Dropping everything planned for the day, including almost dropping the cereal bowl, I scurry right along with the colony, annihilating each one in my path, cursing myself for procrastinating the purchase of bug spray for the outside of my house. And just to be sure one of these nasty little scouts doesn’t leave any trace for others to follow, I clean, deeply, everything…and I mean everything!
It’s an undertaking, to say the least, and though I’m perfectly aware that my insanity is wholly unnecessary, I feel vindicated. At least at the end of the day there is always another large portion of my house cleaned to its bare bones, and not a single ant in sight…
at least until tomorrow.
a LONG while,
and still I have very little in my head organized enough to write. Maybe I have been cured of the “bug” to be a writer, or maybe I’m giving up like I do in so many things. I like to think I’m giving myself over to the more pressing issues at hand, like…
ANTS!
Yes, I am a little bit crazed when it comes to this sort of vermin. Ok – maybe I’m crazed when it comes to EVERY sort but you get the picture.
Summer, in all its lazy splendor, brings with it a daily routine, for me at least.
Wake up late, yawn, stretch, shuffle into the kitchen, pour a bowl of cereal, and then suddenly notice (out of the corner of my eye) a group of skittering little black beasts!
Dropping everything planned for the day, including almost dropping the cereal bowl, I scurry right along with the colony, annihilating each one in my path, cursing myself for procrastinating the purchase of bug spray for the outside of my house. And just to be sure one of these nasty little scouts doesn’t leave any trace for others to follow, I clean, deeply, everything…and I mean everything!
It’s an undertaking, to say the least, and though I’m perfectly aware that my insanity is wholly unnecessary, I feel vindicated. At least at the end of the day there is always another large portion of my house cleaned to its bare bones, and not a single ant in sight…
at least until tomorrow.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Butterflies
I wondered if butterflies set her stomach aflame as she waited, head dipped between arms stretched overhead. 
Was she startled by the sharp tone of the buzzer, her body launching automatically into the churning blue?
Did she feel the shift in the current as her competitors tore through the water in neighboring lanes? Was she driven or intimidated by the scream of the crowd? Could she hear us cheering her name?
I wanted to ask her if she felt nervous. I wanted to know if there was any piece of this that brought out a competitive edge in her, anything that made her want to win.
Was she startled by the sharp tone of the buzzer, her body launching automatically into the churning blue?
Did she feel the shift in the current as her competitors tore through the water in neighboring lanes? Was she driven or intimidated by the scream of the crowd? Could she hear us cheering her name?
I wanted to ask her if she felt nervous. I wanted to know if there was any piece of this that brought out a competitive edge in her, anything that made her want to win.
But Ava is six and swimming competitively is new, competition in general, is new. What if my question scared her into an early bout of anxiety? What if my curiosity killed her growing enjoyment of the water?
Could an idea be that powerful a suggestion? I guess I’m not ready to find out.
Monday, June 13, 2011
The Magic of Coins
Just one year ago, Ethan struggled personally with his failures in baseball. Water streamed from his eyes during, just about, every game. Struck out…tears. Tagged out…tears. Someone cut in line…tears. It was hard for us to deal with. I know, he’s a little boy, but I wanted my little boy to behave more like a man. You know, take that disappointment and crush it! Arggg!!
I’m not creative.
“Oh, you’re sad; hey, listen to this lecture on overcoming.”
“Bummer that you struck out. Here’s what you did wrong.”
“Hey! There’s no crying in baseball!”
As you have probably guessed, nothing changed.
Then Lori, the coach’s wife, comes over one day and hands Ethan a little baggie of quarters. There were probably about 12 of them. She said, “I’m giving these quarters to you, but, every time you cry, you have to give me one back. At the end of the season you get to keep whatever you have left.”
Hmm…interesting. I had never thought of bribery… and it worked, like MAGIC!
At the end of the season he added eleven quarters to his piggy bank and we were all saved from an endless round of frustrated monologues.
I’ve never forgotten this magic and neither have my kids. This summer Ava joined a swim team and the practice pool was pretty cold. She was fine the first day, crying the second and third. This wasn’t shaping up to be a very good season for her, and so the magic bag of quarters made its second appearance. Her requirements were the same, hold back the tears and push past the discomfort. She has happily only lost one.
Today was Andrew’s first day of swim lessons. The pool is not bathtub warm and so he found his teeth chattering for most of the half hour. At one point he needed to use the restroom and the tears began to flow.
Enter; the magic quarters! He couldn’t wait to get his hands on that beautiful little bag of change. Only seven more lessons with no tears before those babies are fully earned.
Now, I don’t know how well they will work on my stubborn little almost 4-year old. He tends to think he can do whatever he wants. But I’m happy to let him try. I believe in the magic of coins!
I’m not creative.
“Oh, you’re sad; hey, listen to this lecture on overcoming.”
“Bummer that you struck out. Here’s what you did wrong.”
“Hey! There’s no crying in baseball!”
As you have probably guessed, nothing changed.
Then Lori, the coach’s wife, comes over one day and hands Ethan a little baggie of quarters. There were probably about 12 of them. She said, “I’m giving these quarters to you, but, every time you cry, you have to give me one back. At the end of the season you get to keep whatever you have left.”
Hmm…interesting. I had never thought of bribery… and it worked, like MAGIC!
At the end of the season he added eleven quarters to his piggy bank and we were all saved from an endless round of frustrated monologues.
I’ve never forgotten this magic and neither have my kids. This summer Ava joined a swim team and the practice pool was pretty cold. She was fine the first day, crying the second and third. This wasn’t shaping up to be a very good season for her, and so the magic bag of quarters made its second appearance. Her requirements were the same, hold back the tears and push past the discomfort. She has happily only lost one.
Today was Andrew’s first day of swim lessons. The pool is not bathtub warm and so he found his teeth chattering for most of the half hour. At one point he needed to use the restroom and the tears began to flow.
Enter; the magic quarters! He couldn’t wait to get his hands on that beautiful little bag of change. Only seven more lessons with no tears before those babies are fully earned.
Now, I don’t know how well they will work on my stubborn little almost 4-year old. He tends to think he can do whatever he wants. But I’m happy to let him try. I believe in the magic of coins!
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Uncool Moms
I always knew the day would come when I’d regularly hear the words, “That’s not cool, mom.” Is there a more common phrase in the teenage vernacular?
Well, that time has come and it wasn’t from the mouth of my eight year old, nor was it said for any reason I had previously anticipated.
The other day Andrew burst out with an, “Oh my G--” expletive. Surprised, but keeping my cool, I asked, “What did you say?”
He happily, and matter-of-factly, repeated the offending phrase. You see, around these parts we don’t use the Lord’s name in vain and mom is not even comfortable with the substitute, “Oh my gosh.” But, the offender is only three, and being a three year old means repeating anything and everything you hear.
So, I calmly explained the rules and asked that he not use that phrase again. We’d been through this discussion with my older two kids and they were always willing to keep their language clean. This was supposed to be an easy one. Andrew, on the other hand, responded with a, “But that’s not cool!” and then became a repeat offender the very next day.
Of course, I pointed out the infraction with a more serious tone, and he responded, “No, Jacob says it’s a real word.” Jacob is his four year old baseball friend.
“Um, being a “real” word is not the issue. You may not say that word, ok?”
I got the “that’s not cool” response once again along with a stronger challenge to the rules. Wow! I’ve got a beast on my hands…a kid who questions everything, and without a natural regard for authority.
You could claim that I deserve this and I would have to agree. What is parenting if you aren’t challenged?
But on a positive note, I have finally entered the realm of the “uncool”, a milestone I am quite excited to have achieved.
Only REAL moms are UNCOOL!
Well, that time has come and it wasn’t from the mouth of my eight year old, nor was it said for any reason I had previously anticipated.
The other day Andrew burst out with an, “Oh my G--” expletive. Surprised, but keeping my cool, I asked, “What did you say?”
He happily, and matter-of-factly, repeated the offending phrase. You see, around these parts we don’t use the Lord’s name in vain and mom is not even comfortable with the substitute, “Oh my gosh.” But, the offender is only three, and being a three year old means repeating anything and everything you hear.
So, I calmly explained the rules and asked that he not use that phrase again. We’d been through this discussion with my older two kids and they were always willing to keep their language clean. This was supposed to be an easy one. Andrew, on the other hand, responded with a, “But that’s not cool!” and then became a repeat offender the very next day.
Of course, I pointed out the infraction with a more serious tone, and he responded, “No, Jacob says it’s a real word.” Jacob is his four year old baseball friend.
“Um, being a “real” word is not the issue. You may not say that word, ok?”
I got the “that’s not cool” response once again along with a stronger challenge to the rules. Wow! I’ve got a beast on my hands…a kid who questions everything, and without a natural regard for authority.
You could claim that I deserve this and I would have to agree. What is parenting if you aren’t challenged?
But on a positive note, I have finally entered the realm of the “uncool”, a milestone I am quite excited to have achieved.
Only REAL moms are UNCOOL!
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Journals, Contemplation, and Insanity
For five and a half months I was perfect at one thing…journaling. I never missed a day. Then, as I was re-prioritizing my day’s activities, I decided I was spending too much time on the computer, too much time thinking about writing, and too much time indulging the many Internet distractions that come with sitting in front of the glowing screen. This left me little time for the other pressing obligations I can’t avoid.
I restructured my goal knowing (and fearing) the very strong likelihood I would stop writing all together. I mean, if you don’t set the precedence to write every day, then how often do you write? Once a week is far too seldom to ever delve into weightier matters, every other day is inconvenient especially if the said day to write is already way overbooked. So what is left? Write whenever you have the time? Guess how often that really ends up being?
It’s been only about two weeks without more than two journal entries. Not long…yet, but the yearning to write is there and getting stronger. You see, it’s not the writing that I miss so much; it’s the meditating and organizing of my thoughts that I realize I need!
Writing requires contemplation, and with that contemplation comes realization and understanding. So much in my head right now is swirling. I need to write about it just to still the current, to catch my breath, so to speak.
And so for my sanity’s sake, I think I might take up the torch again and try to keep it burning bright---with only maybe a few dim days. Summer is upon us after all, and my personal time will be at an all-time low.
Hmm…I remember when summer was my favorite time of year. Now, I’m not entirely sure.
I restructured my goal knowing (and fearing) the very strong likelihood I would stop writing all together. I mean, if you don’t set the precedence to write every day, then how often do you write? Once a week is far too seldom to ever delve into weightier matters, every other day is inconvenient especially if the said day to write is already way overbooked. So what is left? Write whenever you have the time? Guess how often that really ends up being?
It’s been only about two weeks without more than two journal entries. Not long…yet, but the yearning to write is there and getting stronger. You see, it’s not the writing that I miss so much; it’s the meditating and organizing of my thoughts that I realize I need!
Writing requires contemplation, and with that contemplation comes realization and understanding. So much in my head right now is swirling. I need to write about it just to still the current, to catch my breath, so to speak.
And so for my sanity’s sake, I think I might take up the torch again and try to keep it burning bright---with only maybe a few dim days. Summer is upon us after all, and my personal time will be at an all-time low.
Hmm…I remember when summer was my favorite time of year. Now, I’m not entirely sure.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Outdated Technology
We drove home from church today and the electricity was out. The garage wouldn’t open but that revelation wasn’t enough to convince the kids that there truly was no power. They immediately ran through the house turning lights on and off and checking all of their favorite electronic devices.
No juice.
Its Sunday so if there ever was a good day to be without power, this one is it.
My kids wanted to call their grandparents and so we plugged in the “emergency” phone. You know, the one with the long cord…the one you can’t walk around with. Yep, that one. We still haven’t switched over to digital phones and on days like today, I am grateful.
“Ok, mom, what is grandma’s number?” Ava called from the hall where the phone was plugged in.
“It’s on the list on the wall.”
I listened as she and Ethan collaborated together eventually dialing the correct number.
“Um, mom?” Ethan asked.
“Yes?”
“Uh, how do you hit “talk”?”
I laughed out loud. Who knew we were already so far removed from the traditional “phone” that my kids wouldn’t really know how to use one.
“Just put it to your ear and talk. There is no button, you just have to dial.”
They hardly believed me, but with a small amount of convincing they finally brought the alien phone to their ear and connected with Grandma…to their wonder and amazement. Wow, the phone really worked! It was almost a miracle.
The next obstacle was hanging up. Now what were those instructions again?
No juice.
Its Sunday so if there ever was a good day to be without power, this one is it.
My kids wanted to call their grandparents and so we plugged in the “emergency” phone. You know, the one with the long cord…the one you can’t walk around with. Yep, that one. We still haven’t switched over to digital phones and on days like today, I am grateful.
“Ok, mom, what is grandma’s number?” Ava called from the hall where the phone was plugged in.
“It’s on the list on the wall.”
I listened as she and Ethan collaborated together eventually dialing the correct number.
“Um, mom?” Ethan asked.
“Yes?”
“Uh, how do you hit “talk”?”
I laughed out loud. Who knew we were already so far removed from the traditional “phone” that my kids wouldn’t really know how to use one.
“Just put it to your ear and talk. There is no button, you just have to dial.”
They hardly believed me, but with a small amount of convincing they finally brought the alien phone to their ear and connected with Grandma…to their wonder and amazement. Wow, the phone really worked! It was almost a miracle.
The next obstacle was hanging up. Now what were those instructions again?
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