Living

Last week Todd and I attended a funeral. It was a beautiful and emotional service.

At dinner later that night, Todd asked the kids if I had told them anything about the funeral and then suggested I tell them a little about the man who died. We talked about the stories told, the pictures painted of a beloved son, brother, uncle, cousin, and friend. We all agreed that this was a man whom many loved. This was a man that had a lot to live for.

And then I shared with them how he died.

You see, this man chose his path, just as we all do, but in this case the path led to his suicide. We will never know the extenuating circumstances that made him feel that dying was his only choice, but lives are always affected by the choices we make.

I could feel the impact this story had on Ethan and I recognized the importance of “real” and profound conversations about the hard things in life. After all, we, as parents, are here to teach and prepare our children for these very difficulties.

I explained, “You see, we all have tough days, and you are going to have a lot of tough days. Sometimes we feel lonely and sad. But I want you to know that no matter how bad the day is, no matter how terrible you feel, there will always be a reason to live your life, the life God gave you. Your dad and I love you no matter what. We will always want you here with us, ALWAYS.”

I looked into Ethan’s red and slightly swollen eyes (an emotional response brought on by watching me cry, no doubt, because of course, I was all tears and snot by this point). I could see the thoughts sifting through his head, memories of past hurts hidden from view, tender feelings that even I know little about. Though young and carefree, he could understand and had felt some of the pain and disappointment that life brings.

“I could never kill myself,” he said solemnly. “I love you, mom.” It was simply stated, but profoundly felt.

Sometimes the Lord puts words into your mouth that you could not have chosen by yourself. If this conversation had been up to me, we probably wouldn't have had it. I would have assumed him too young for the subject matter, too removed from the situation. Even if we would have talked, I would have completely left out the cause of death, OR told the story leading with the facts of the suicide. Either way, my retelling would have lost the impact this version had on my son. Maybe this story, at this time, was important to Ethan's growth and development. Who can say?

And that is the difference between a conversation led by a fallible human mother, and a conversation prompted and inspired by a loving Heavenly Father.

Mad Faces and Aging

“Andrew, how was preschool today?”

“Good.”

“Is your teacher nice?”

“My teacher has a mad face.”

“Hmm…is she mean to you?”

“No. She just has a mad face and she is not beautiful,” Andrew said. “And mom, she has a brown tooth.”

This was obviously an area that Ethan felt he had some expertise, so he jumped into the conversation to explain.

“Andrew, sometimes when we get old, our teeth turn to wood and fall out.”

Bone turns to wood? Wow! Who knew? I guess we have a lot to look forward to as we age.

And just so you know, Andrew’s preschool teacher is a very nice woman but I guess he’s not really into the “older” crowd. Andrew has told me himself that he likes his women “tall, and strong, and talking.”

(this means no babies)

I guess he should have added another pre-requisite; under 40.

Yikes! I won't qualify for long myself!

Enough Summer

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!

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…

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.

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.

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.

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!

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!